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“Somewhat. I have not been formally trained.”
“That will do. We eat simply and Shannon likes large tits. And you no doubt are a good fluffer, your otherwise hideous looks aside. I don’t do oral, at least giving, and that seems to be the best catalyst for Shannon... and his cannon. I’m going to have you assigned to my cabin... until Miss Penny returns. We’ll find a subjugant to take care of her steed in the meanwhile.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Servitude arranged, 128 reports to the unassuming cinder block building, marked number 7. She is grateful to be relieved of nightly stays in the dorm, communally being fed, bathed and bedded, if sleeping upright on a low stool... anus impaled... can be so described. Yet she is apprehensive.
What will be expected of her? If Miss Florence Gale cares not to use the sjambok, what is it she does? Why is she a member of Nusquam?
In referencing the milking parlor, there is no doubt the ravishing woman has visited.... a facility to date unseen by 128. Is that her thing... the lactation scene?.. so termed by Miss Penny.
128 knocks on a heavy wooden door. It opens and she is greeted by Shannon. And her roving eyes again rove, for the cannon appears prepared to fire. The largest penis 128 has seen stands straight upwards, thickly engorged, the purple tip unsheathed, glistening and pressing his stomach well above his navel.
“Come in 128,” the voice deep and masculine.
The muscled form steps to the side and 128 enters, glancing to see abundant moisture about his lips and chin. Decorum suggests she divert her inquisitive look, noting that the interior of building 7 is surprisingly well decorated. There is tasteful furniture, the comfort inviting. In seeing Miss Florence Gale, 128 politely focuses, truncating her examination. The incredible beauty rests somewhat supine, slumped in a large lounge chair with a well iced drink in hand. A bent right leg is draped over one arm. Sans undergarments, a short, flimsy diaphanous silk skirt barely veils her mons.
She smiles sheepishly, drawing down her leg to assume a more ladylike pose.
“Welcome 128 to my jungle abode. It’s unpretentious... unglamourous. But that’s why I’m here, leaving those things behind in Hollywood.”
Once again a crooked finger beckons. 128 tiptoes forth, hands on head, the desired humbleness a protocol for moving about in the presence of a Nusquam member. She pauses, standing before the gifted woman of talent and beauty. Even in such a casual setting her presence radiates, bringing a glow to the room.
“You may lick my feet.”
128 instantly falls to her knees and bows, the words known to be a command. She also knows to widely part her knees, her labia yawning, feeling the room air within her sex, sensing Shannon offering a lustful visual examination.
“I have certain... well... proclivities... as you can imagine with every member of Nusquam. Being a public figure, I cannot even shop or eat in a restaurant without gaining notice. So you can imagine the tabloid stories and photos if my modest peccadillos were to be engaged in public.”
With her words, Shannon the Cannon strolls to her right side, parting his feet, hands again slipping behind his back. Erection slightly wavering, a blemishless hand extends, palming and lifting the low freely hanging testicles. The gesture reminds of an owner petting her cat.
“I like cock. Lots of cock. Big black cock. There are not too many places in the world where I can engage in my... preferences,” the hand rising, two fingers extending to gently smooth up and down the underside of an erection rapidly renewing.
“Shannon is a stud... a professional gigolo. Renowned... expensive... and obedient to a woman’s desires. Isn’t that right Shannon?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“6,000 dollars per day, 128. I like to think of it as 500 dollars per inch,” the comment coming with a light effeminate laugh. “But I can afford it. I earn well. My acting remains in demand and I have the talent to fill many roles beyond that of mere air headed glamour girl.”
As 128 licks, extending her altered and trained tongue, by rote she looks up, adhering to the protocol of humbly looking into the eyes of those she pleasures. Miss Florence’s fingers graze so teasingly, bringing the self controlled Shannon to slightly shudder with the distant joy.
“Yes, curious, is it not? I can have any man in the world. Yet I choose to pay.”
The fingers move upwards to the penis tip, circling where 128 has learned to tantalize the steel encased penis of steed 88. Shannon moans but he moves not.
“I want it how I want it. I’ll pay and play... under my auspices... my rules. I want it hard, hot and deep. And I want it under me. Your role, 128, besides preparing a meal or two, will be to keep Shannon... and his cannon... presentable for me. That means shaving, grooming and fluffing. There are times when I just like to look without toying. And I want him presentable... that means stiff... a tummy thumper.”
With that, the two fingers move to the top of the amazing stiffness then slowly pull to press downwards. Shannon grimaces but despite the awkward and uncomfortable angle he moves not, protests not. When Miss Florence snatches away her hand to release, the erection snaps upwards, thumping the taut stomach muscles like a slamming trap door. A giggle erupts, a little girl playing with a favorite doll.
“And you’ll have clean up duties as well, of course. I’ve found that girls like you enjoy the taste of sperm. If not, you’ll come to savor his seed. There will certainly be enough of it.”
Chapter Thirty
-Three
128 kneels on all fours. She has been caged. The enclosure low, she cannot stand and with wrist and ankle bands secured to the bars, such is assured. A short chain clipping to her neck collar to the bars below also assures she must keep her head down. And with space limited, her back is arched, mandating her buttocks be perched high, her branding prominent.
“I’ve always been intrigued with the permanency of Nusquam’s indoctrination,” Miss Florence muses, her right hand slipping through the bars, fingers smoothing over the engorged flesh of the bright red letter ‘N’. “I suppose it’s possible to shuck your steel bands, grow back your hair. But the tattooed number on your forehead, and the branding... highlighted by the dye introduced to your open wounds... make it impossible to leave this place behind... mentally... emotionally. You’ll always be thinking... aware of Nusquam and the masochistic joys of serving here... no matter where in the world you find yourself.”
