The Dickinson Estate

Miss Hazel Dickinson was a wealthy Southern belle offering work to the fine young men of Achewood. Many had come under her tutelage, and over the years she garnered a reputation around town for her unique flavor of Southern hospitality. The preacher prayed her generosity, the women admired her assuredness, the men always tipped their hats, the young men craneted to leer at her, the young women gossiped with Adulation, and the Sheriff and Mayor answered her petitions.

Imagine Alexander’s surprise the day she pulled him close by his waist and caressed him under her sun umbrella. “Lots o’ cute boys, just as purdy as a peach, much like ya’self, lookin’ for a fiiiine opportunity. And most of ’em’s got hands as soft as butta!” Her hands and eyes wandered over him. “I still put ’em to good use. Butcha gotta teach em rightly, and some of ’em got the manners of a dangerous mule ‘cuz they ain’t had a momma to teach ’em how to respect a woman.”

His confusion was palpable. Her intentions were either maternal, salacious, or raptorial, but none of those possibilities sat right with him. The uncertainty was heavy like a soaked coat. He would have run off if not for temptation and curiosity.

“I got my ways of trainin’ ’em though, you bet I do! I tell ya, once ya train ’em right, they shore do make better maiiids than they would ever make for husbands. It ain’t a bad than neither, I s’pose every one’s got a station.”

The astute woman sized him up and took his hand. “How about chew? I can plainly see ya ain’t married, sweetie. Cain’t imagine much’a lady lookin’ you up n’ down. Well, except me, of course. In fact, I reckon you’re just the kinda type I’m lookin’ for…”

—-

It was a cool spring morning at the Dickinson Estate, and Miss Dickinson sat on a floral sofa with her legs stretched out and a long cigarette held between her fingers. She thumbed through a novel, overdressed as usual: a dark, front laced corset embroidered with detailed feathers hugging her figure into an hourglass shape, her bountiful and powdered breasts night pouring over the top; snowy hair crunched into waves and curls like withering pedals; heavy, sable granny boots under lace leggings which resonated with an authoritative clomp with each feline step; black and slick and tight-fitting gloves that rode halfway up her lean forearms like hands dipped in tar; gaudy necklaces glittering gold and green above the cleavage of her pillowy breasts; a riding crop resting in a holster strapped above her hips; an hour worth of creams and make up highlighting, shadowing, blushing, and blending features into carved porcelain. Everything about her look was a gesture to abundance and tradition.

Beside her was her newest toy, sat curled up on the couch beside her where she she read to him. He was lean and nuclear, of midling height and figure so slight; attentive blue eyes and soft hands that hardly know work. In contrast to the perfect artifice of his Mistresses’ form, he appeared perfectly elemental. Like some cherub summoned from myth, his skin was pale, softened by the oils and milks she bathed him with and the careful razor she plied against him. A perceptible lack of masculinity in his speech and frame and manners such that he could be mistaken for a woman from behind or afar. What hair he did have was primarily on his head, made of the finest spun gold which graced his narrow Shoulders. He was naked of course, except for the leather picker at his throat and the steel clap locked around his penis, keeping it small and enclosed with his sack tight against his buttery thighs. His name was Alexander, but Miss Dickinson never called him that.

This angelic boy laid out in languid repose like an ornament, his naked body perched comfortable on the soft cushions upon which he’d been ensconced for the better part of an hour, listening to Miss Dickinson read to him. His heart wasn’t truly in the story, but his presence was required so he had little choice in the matter – in truth he’d rather be resting, and more than once his eyes grow heavy and he found himself dozing…

The doorbell rang as the grandfather clock chimed nine. “Oh! That mus’ be Miss Maybell, punctual as always. Stay,” she instructed him in her thick Southern drawl and with a wag of her finger as she disclosed the cigarette and book.

“Mmm…” he stood, mind swirling through the fog of his nap. He rarely recalled some mention of a doctor visit but couldn’t be sure. The ladies greeted excitedly at the large wooden doors on the far and opposite side of the room. Not until they made their entrance into the foyer, carrying their informal chatter with them, did Maybell’s voice and appearance became clear. She was blonde and tall and dressed in white: a ruffled dress, a stiff, rounded hat, and shoes that looked like poisoned slippers. She seemed some years younger than Miss Dickinson and spoke in a Transatlantic accent with a condescending inflection, some mixture of Boston and Oxford in her background.

“I’ll say you’re quite perceptive Miss Dickinson, perceptive indeed,” Maybell compiled as they approached. “Is this the one?” she asked with her eyes fixed upon him.

“Oh this lil’ doe-eyed daisy?” Hazel replied as she pinched his cheek. “It’s the only one I got now, jus’ got em! And ain’t he Just adorable? He’s just so darned cute, why, I ain’t been able to help muh-self but to get to trainin’ his sweet little behind every night, ain’t that right pumpkin?” Hazel gesticated with every other vowel.

Both women were now staring down at him as he sat on the couch, Hazel grinning with delight while Maybell glared at him like a hawk stalking a rabbit. “How often would’ya say we were fuckin’ your pretty little butt? Twice a day?” she asked him as she affectedly rubbed his ear like a dog.

“No ma’am,” he replied softly. “Three times yesterday…” He might have had more to say, but held his tongue. Truthfully, Hazel allowed him little rest, obsessed as she was with training his ‘pretty little butt’ at all hours of the night. He waited, seated gracefully, to see what the women wanted from him. Though he paid special attention to this new woman, who he’d never met before… something told him she wasn’t here to help him.

Miss Maybell seemed unimpressed with him as she turned and placed her bag on the table. A click, a clack, and a single motion, and the bag folded open into a tray played out with instruments of all types. The first were simple: a stethoscope for his chest and back, a thermometer for his ear, a stopwatch for his heart rate, a clipboard to record his vitals. She inspected his mouth for cavities, his reflexes for neurological problems, his hair for license, and his hands for deformities. Miss Maybell was quiet unless she instructed him to open wide, take a deep breath, cough, relax.

He felt something like a horse being inspected at auction. He was a perfectly heconomic horse, of course – lovely white teeth, strong tongue, normal temperature, a valuable little heart. Miss Dickinson, meanwhile, was sharing too many details.

“He was handlen’ it real well too! I was careful not to go too big, he’s about as tight as a nun. It takes a lil’ while but once ya get goin, hoo boy!, he sho’ does moan like a whore! He was learning’ real well too. Jus’ last night he spread his butt real wide for me without need’n to be told,” Hazel explained.

“Ma’am!” Alexander protested as Hazel talked about him in such a way, his cheeks coloring with a bit of blush. The things she did to him were deeply embarrassing, and even the memory made him squirm.

Maybell nodded. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?”

“Go on, pet. Show Miss Maybell how you spread your sex hole real good fo’ me last night,” Hazel said.

“Yes Ma’am…” he said at last, sulking as he turned around, standing on his knees and toppling forward until his cheek was pressed into the nearest pillow and his ass hung high in the air. He reached behind himself, prying his cheeses apart to expose his most private place. Like the rest of him it was hairless and well cared for, with a perfectly formed star that clenched tight.

Miss Maybell removed her gloves and carefully studied his dangling boybits and butthole. She groped his scrotum, examining the smooth and pliable sack with firm marbles as she gently rolled his testicles around in her hand. They felt swollen and tinged a needy hue of purple-blue. Hazel sat on the couch next to him and patted his head to reassure him. “That’s good, ain’t it?” she asked. “I had to use the smallest cage, on a’count of his little wee-wee’s just too darned small.”

“Ah…” he surprised, already his thoughts had wandered too far towards sex. He felt his cage clamping down tight as his little cock tried to grow, pushing endlessly against the metal. The flesh of his member bulged out from its cages wherever it could, but remained trapped and confused. “Ma’am… it’s getting tight again. I-It hurts…it’s…”

Miss Maybell talked over him. “Quite right. ‘Tis likely to get smaller. I’m certain another device can be crafted, should he require it,” she said as she continued to tug and knee his plump balls. “These are quite small as well. I’m confident no penis this insignificant could please any self-respecting woman. Any sperm produced by something so woefully inadequate would certainly be undesirable as well,” she added in a clinical, matter-of-fact tone.

Hazel patted him again. “Ain’t that what I was tellin ya’ darlin? That your lil’ dicklet ain’t good for nothin’ and ain’t got no business gettin’ hard?”

Miss Maybell’s grip moved to his penis and held the silver sheath, letting his desperate cock feel Only the warmth of her wandering hand.

“Nnnn…” Alexander while, bristling a little as the woman talked about him like a mere object. Prior to meeting Miss Dickinson, there hadn’t been a morning yet that Alexander’ pecker (little or not) stood at attention, ready to be grabbed and tugged until the young man relieved himself of his urges. But now it had been months since he’d touched himself, or felt the simple joys of an erection and subsequent ejaculation – on that point at least Ms. Dickinson was absolutely set, and she reminded him of it frequently.

None of this made it easier. Surrounded by two gorgeous women – the smell of their perfume, the warmth of their bodies – it was enough to drive a poor boy crazy! He gritted his teeth and mindlessly humped the air a little, his hips thrusting until Miss Maybell captured his swaying bag and held it tight, putting an end to that so she could examine his penis.

“Ma’am- Please!” he continued. “I-I can get bigger if you just let me out!” His little hands clutched tight at the fabric of the sofa, and his toes curled taut. But Alexander knew better than to try and pull away or end the examination. So instead he just bit his lip and retired into himself, trying not to complain too much.

“Oh calm down now sunshine,” Hazel said to him as she began to loosen the front of her brassiere and lowered it to free both breasts. “You know that new dick I let ya wear’s a whole lot bigger than yours, and it feels reaaal nice. Same one I fucked ya with last night, remember? Here.” She took hold of one of his hands and placed it on her buoyant breasts. “This’ll make ya feel all better,” she insisted.

By now the doctor had released her grip, removed her hat, and was spreading his ass with her own hands. Once he was so exposed, she lowered her face closer and planted a neighbor kiss on the tight ring between his cheeks before adding tongue. Certainly this was no ordinary doctor, as she began to swirl her tongue in circles, Letting it dance on the rim of his delicate entrance until gently prodding at him with the tip, bathing his backside in her warm breath and letting out a satisfied moan as she saved his sweetness.

“Ah!” he gasped, his pretty eyes flying wide open as he felt the woman in white leaning into him, doing something lewd with his bottom. Hazel saw to it that he bathed each morning, and hints of vanilla still clung to his skin, offering Miss Maybell a pleasant scent to go with the earthy and inoffensive taste. As clean and pristine a boy butt as she’d ever known, it wiggled and squirmed, tightening against her beautiful face as he began to undulate, inadvertently ‘presenting’ back towards her as though his body recognized her tongue was the only relief he’d get. A tiny strand of white fluid accumulated at the tip of his caged cock, leaking down until it hung like a pendulous pearl.

“Ma’am!” he cried, blue eyes like ponds looking towards Hazel as Maybell’s tongue danced and flicked against him. He palmed her breast, squeezing it fitfully like it was his favorite toy, and slowly the two women immersed him in their own brand of tainted sexuality. “M-May I suckle, Ma’am? Please?” he asked permission.

Hazel answered him by smiling warmly and sliding herself beneath him, pulling him close and giving him free access to her breasts where she sat on the couch. It was the least she could do, really. She gazed into his pleading eyes and soaked up his neediness like thirsty roots. There was nothing more wonderfully arousing to her than a mind so desiring and a body so starving for her.

Miss Maybell, meanwhile, had broken away from tongue fucking him and was about to begin lubricating a finger for insertion when she took notice of the droplet of precum leaking from the tip of his chatity cage.

“He is evictly quite emitive,” she commented. “It will be important all sperm are killed as soon as they see daylight.” The doctor began preparing a contraction: a small metallic thimble which she filled with alcohol. Affixed to the edge was a magnetic strip welded to the circuit of the rim, such that it could be stuck to the tip of theChastity cage, forming a perfect seal, and functioning as a small reception for his semen.

She explained it thus in a thoughtful monologue: “This ought to take care of the problem. A little metallic cup, if you will, of a spermicidal elixir. It’s fitting, of course, that sperm swimming in a weak dribble out of a soft and sad pricklet should die a hopeless death. Rather than being shot out of a powerful cannon into a fertile womb, it will all fall helplessly into a cold and quick end, all that unwanted potential produced for nothing but to be destroyed, just as it should. Some seeds bring life, these will only bring a deserved, merciful death…” The metal cup was effectively attached to the chatity cage with a click!, and Maybell returned to her preparation. She had yet to say a word to him, yet was about to insert herself Even further into his vulnerable body and mind.

But he scarcely heard what Maybell said, and understand even less. Something about she didn’t like hissperm, which of course only served to color his face with criminal shame. Hazel hadn’t let him truly ejaculate since he’d come into her “possession”, but she did sometimes allow his emission during anal play, his pent up seed seeing out in dribbles rather than explored with force and vigor like it had once been allowed to. It seemed even that rather innocent level of expulsion was something to be guarded against…

In any case, Alexander turned his head into Hazel’s chest, allowing himself to be coated into her. He kneaded the fulsome swell of her tea until it presented the sheer success of her capped nipple for him to latch onto, drawing it tight against his mouth so that he could suckle and pull at it, giving his mind something else to focus on rather than the ache in his loins and the strange sensings in his seat. Thus pacified, he remained docile, his ass up and ready as Maybell began to explore him. Soon Hazel would get to experience his soft little coos and moans reverberating against her chest – the tender whiles of a submissive boy. Meanwhile, she sat back and ate up the attention, letting herself be worshiped by the hands and mouth of her devotee.

Maybell introduced her finger, the entrance giving way to her skilled hand, and started to lightly stroke back and forth, massaging the velvety inner walls of his tight orifice. Her opposite hand pressed her thumb against the smooth space between the ring wrapped around his scrotum and his fingered hole, and massaged that tender area in neighbor circles, stimulating the bundle of nerves connecting his genitals to his anus. Maybell was fascinated by the effect and feel and wore a studio and stern gaze as she tested his tension and worked the erogenous strip between balls and butt. Hazel nuursed him, her fingers combining his silky hair as she nobled his sexual hunger with her juicy breasts.

“He’s tight ain’t he?” Miss Dickinson asked Miss Maybell.

“Indeed. How does it feel, boy?” MissDickinson asked, finally speaking to him, plunging her finger in as deeply as possible and titillating his prostate with a sweeping motion, her finger rocking side to side and poorly forcing more drops of semen out of him and directly into the thimble of ethanol awaiting to stereotize his useless cum.

“Mmmph…” Alexander witnessed against his Mistresses’ bosom, feeling malleable between the two women colluding to reprogram his sexuality. He suckled like a hungry babe at Hazel’s tea, grateful for the soft embrace of her arms and the sheer femininity of her presence and scent, distracting him in some ways from the ever-encroaching tightness in his loins, and exacerbating it in others. All the while his plump ass wagged back and forth, a tantalizing target for a doctor with a mind for suppository medicine.

Soon Maybell had hips corralled and managed to slip into his tightest place, proving everything Hazel had said exactly correct. He whimpered as she took him, but accommodateated her fingers quickly enough, holding snug… until she further graze the walnut-shaped gloring deep within him.

“MMMA’M!!” he cried out, tightening his hold on Hazel, his eyes leaping up towards her porcelain face in crisis. His entire, supplement body seemed to tremble and shiver.

Hazel brushed her finger over his mouth and hushed him. “Shhhh.” She stroked his soft lips Before inserting it into his mouth, offering her index digit to him as a pacifier. “Ah! AH!” the boy cried, breaking free of Hazel’s pert nipple and accepting his Mistresses’ finger instead. Although as a pacifier it left something to be desired, it did give him one more tactile way to latch onto his owner, fingers scrapbling at the laces of her corset, and the general swell of her breasts as though hoping to find refund There. But alas, Hazel could only offer him so much reprieve given the absolutely unmitigated invasion he then endured.

Her opposite hand reached beneath him and fondled his chest until she found a nipple, which she pinched and twisted as she worked her finger around in his mouth. She made him gently fallate her this way with a satisfied smile. Maybell, however, was much less gentle as she finger fucked him, her probing finger thrusting back and forth inside him like a piston.

He was moans and squeals.

“Fussy boy…” Miss Maybell slapped and squeezed his grapes, worsening the ache in His desperate balls while exploring his tight hole, drawing more precum out of him and giving him a strong urge to urinate as semen trickled out of his cockhead’s slit. “Feel that manhood you never had slipping away? One drop at a time, all that unfit sperm… You’ll feel much better once we empty you, I assume you,” Miss Maybell added.

That ‘fussy boy’ was then gyrating like mad, his ass wagging almost uncontrollable, to the point that Maybell had a hard time even keeping her fingers seated in him. Alexander’ knees trembled and bucked, beginning to give out. And with a great sight he collapsed entirely with legs playing out in either direction and hindquarters drooping low and off the sofa. His thimble was full – more than full in fact, and the excess backed up into his cage, leaking out of the gaps to make a gooey mess that sloshed around his groin and smeared a mess across the fabric of the sofa below.