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Still, a day rarely ends without fellatio... deep, brusque, the taste of thick sperm only countered by offerings of salted water which serve to enhance her constant thirst.
Four days after Miss Jenny’s return to the caverns of Wall Street, daily chores completed, 128 departs 88’s stall, tiptoeing past the coal black nakedness of 127, noting her prominent buttocks are well welted after an early morning run. The human equine seems even more muscular, a high protein special diet and constant exercise augmenting an incredibly athletic physique. 128 marvels. As Nurse Kelly explained many months ago, the level of care for the subjugants of Nusquam is boundless, 127 sure to serve... be run to exhaustion in harness... for years to come.
128 nods in greeting. 127 knows to remain obediently silent, her return gesture causing to ring a small bell hooked to her nose piercing, the sound, the constant feel no doubt highlighting her sense of being owned and under total control.
128 moves onward to peek from the stable door, as always seeking to minimize encounters with members demanding some form of degrading servitude. Seeing a couple strolling in the distance, backs toward her, she concludes a dash to the low cinder block building where she is fed, bathed and bedded can be stealthily achieved.
She exits. Feet prancing in
haste, she visually examines the couple, holding hands. The woman is Caucasian, dressed in a flowing silk sarong of white, its sheerness giving way to the light breezes of the tropics and bringing comfort. The man is of bronze. He is tall, naked, and muscular. The dearth of steel bands, his left buttock devoid of a keloided letter ‘N’, suggest he is not a subjugant. Still, there seems to be an exchange of power... she fully clothed.... he naked... and the feminine hand seems to subtly guide.
Having to move in their direction, the dormitory building beckons. She nears, the couple’s steps casual. On toes, 128 moves concentrating on quiet, postulating she can enter the dorm unseen and surrender herself to a tending nurse for a supervised toilet visit and possible bath.
Alas, Rex, one of the many Mastiffs, intercedes. Resting at the dormitory door, he barks in greeting, alerting the clothed woman, naked male. Mere yards from her destination, heads turn. The woman also seems to bark.
“Stop.”
Though the voice sonorous, 128 understands the word to be a command. The woman no doubt a member, 128 to serve and please, she obeys, knowing to place her hands atop her head and await more directives.
The duo turns to face her. The woman wriggles her finger, come hither. 128 knows to change her route. Her gambit failing, the relative tranquility of the dorm denied, she indeed comes hither.
Chapter Thirty-One
As 128 nears, there comes familiarity. The woman is stunningly gorgeous, well coifed raven hair, the shifting sarong hinting at perfect form. 128 has before seen her... not at Nusquam. Movies... television... she is no doubt as famous as she is beauteous. Bald, branded and tattooed 128’s sense of inferiority pervades as does her envy. Then a name is recalled. It is Hollywood actress Florence Gale, her amazing talent exceeding her looks.
In standing proximate, for many moments 128 gawks in timid silence. Then she finally glances at the actress’s naked companion. African America, even features projecting a rugged handsomeness, his front side is as impressively shaped and muscled as his back. But more impressive is a long, thick male appendage. Jutting forth from a shaven hairless pubes, it heavily swings between powerful thighs, the uncircumcised tip just about grazing his knee caps. The woman smiles in noting 128’s roving eyes.
“You must by now have had enough cock here at Nusquam, 128. How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know Ma’am. Months I suppose.”
“And your role here? With breasts like these I would think you’d be in the milking parlor,” the woman’s free hand brazenly reaching forth to tweak right nipple then left.
The tantalizing touch brings a frisson of delight, the half dollar sized nipples crinkling in humble response.
“See what the forced chastity does for them, Shannon. Such sensitivity. Her pups, as big as they are, seem to sit up and beg for attention.”
128 feels a chill. Despite the heat of the tropics, goose bumps form, her sense of submission and being put on display initiating the curious loop of the masochist... humiliation leading to arousal leading to more humiliation.
“Not the milking parlor, Ma’am. I’m assigned for now to the stables, grooming for Miss Penny... and her steed 88.”
“Yes, grooming and fluffing him quite nicely I am sure. Some of the girls like their steeds to be erect when working them, Shannon. It’s quite entertaining for women of a certain ilk. Tried my hand at it a while ago. Just have little aptitude for the sjambok. It’s laborious stroking naked buttocks to get a reluctant steed into a lather... and that’s the only way to enjoy them... work ‘em hard, run ‘em fast.”
The woman releases the huge brown hand. The man knows to fold his arms behind his back and part his feet, the enormous manhood swinging even more freely. It is a pose intended to both expose and tantalize.
“I’m Florence Gale. You may have recognized me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And this is my stud, Shannon. Also known as the Cannon. Shannon the Cannon. And I am sure by now that your straying eyes have apprised you of the source of his appellation...”
A shy 128 nods... his manhood a cannon indeed.
“Is Penny working her steed now?”
“No Ma’am. She returned to New York. Back in a couple of weeks.”
“Good. Then you have some time. Can you cook... serve?”
