Dexter Chronicles

Writers' Notes: There's always something interesting going on at the FemTech Field Offices. Maybe your wife or girlfriend, or other important woman in your life will invite you to attend a friendly little after-hours auxiliary meeting while she's attending an educational lecture. Hmmm? You might even get to meet Erica. Won't that be nice?

The Sue Dexter Chronicles — Chapter Eleven

***

Meanwhile, back at the FemTech lecture hall, tall, stately, beautiful Stacy Phillips walked to the microphone; her slit tight black grown flashed an amazing length of shapely leg and stocking-top garters. Even with only women present, the room hushes.

"Hello ladies, I'm Dr. Stacy Phillips and I am a Senior Researcher with FemTech." What she didn't tell them was that she has been a Senior Researcher with FemTech for over thirty-five years.

Stacy was stunning in her wasp-waisted low cut dress. She had the ambiance of a very, very satisfied adult woman, and the look of a very vital youthful goddess. Of course, she had just fed vast quantities of princkcum to her rival, Dr. Michael Dolin and that contributed to her satisfaction. But it did not explain how an older Senior Researcher could have obtained (maintained?) such a youthful appearance.

"The general public has been given little information regarding the long-term biological impact upon a woman who has obtained a princk. Nor have we disseminated information about the research concerning the affects upon princkmistresses of fluids obtained from 'milking' or 'extracting' or 'draining the reservoirs' of princk-fed males, and I'm not at liberty to divulge FemTech research in this regard. But I will say that we expect to go public with some of the data gained from these experiments. And, of course, you all will be the beneficiaries of our research."

The crowd responded with polite applause, not fully understanding that this magnificent healthy female-creature, who looked like she was twenty-something was actually quite a bit chronologically, but not physically, older. Stacy thought to herself, "Yes. Males are so very, very useful, and FemTech has the males, you might say, by the balls and we're never, never going to let go. Why should we? And if a few balls get crushed in our grip, that's all the better!" And she envisioned her fingers tightly wrapped around Michael Dolin's tender plums.

As the quiet applause died down, she came out of her sexual musing.

"Uh, yes. Thank you, thank you. You are all in for an experience that will be as exciting and ... long-lived as mine, I'm sure."

"But let us turn to the effects of our sexual fluids upon males. Other than the earlier discussed, fairly well known effects of regular consumption of princkjuice upon banded house-males, the following observations also can be made regarding long-term exclusively princk-fed male in the Pens: "

"The males' musculature, skin and internal organs steadily increase in firmness, tightness and elasticity over time. What this means from the standpoint of our sexual pleasure is that males fed steady quantities of princk fluids will retain and vastly improve in the tightness of their orifices, while at the same time reduce the amount of tearing and destruction which is so common. This increased ability to stretch and accommodate large objects without tearing does not, however, short-circuit or prevent the male from feeling the pain or fear normally associated with the body's normal pre-princkjuice range of elasticity. In other words, although the male knows intellectually from repeated daily experiences in the Pens that he did not and will not tear, he can not overcome his biological underpinnings and internal neural receptors that continue to try, to the very depth of his being, to warn him to avoid the perceived damage that our sexual invasion could potentially do to him. "

"For example ... " — and a large overhead curtain lifted behind Stacy and the other women sitting on the stage, exposing a naked young male tethered to a ring imbedded in the stage floor by a heavy nylon leash locked to his perineum "D"-ring piercing — "this male has been in the Pens for quite some time. His muscles, organs and tissues are reportedly physically very, very resilient and his rectal muscle and tissue tone is such that anal or intestinal tearing is extremely unlikely. He has demonstrated some behavior that let lets us know that he intellectually knows that. Let's see what happens. Being out of the Pens for an evening is a very special treat. But he may not appreciate it entirely tonight."

The other women moved off the stage, taking their chairs with them and sat comfortably in the wings while two other women, one with a hand-held camera and the other with sound equipment stood ready.

"Hi, April," said Stacy, to an attractive young woman who walked onto the stage to the microphone. "Would you introduce your brother?"

"Sure. This is my big brother, Jason. My mother and I brought him to the Pens about, let me see" — she took out a small notebook and began to flip the pages — "six years, two months and seven days ago."

"How old was he then, April?"

"Jason was seventeen years and exactly three months and that meant I was eleven years, ... (she looked up at the ceiling) ... one month and six days," she said proudly.

"Thank you, April. And why was he brought to the Pens?"

"He was sort of 'extra.' He was older then the rest of us, and mom just didn't really like him. I think she thought he looked the most like dad, and that really was a bad thing for him."

"What do you mean by 'extra?'" Stacy was really interested in how women, princks, and males interacted.

"Oh, I've got three younger brothers. Actually, I used to have four younger brothers, but we had a little accident. So Jason was a fifth brother, the oldest, and mom felt that it would be just fine if we gave him to FemTech, so we did."

"You used to have five brothers and then you had four. What happened?"

"Well, mom and I were both going after the oldest one left at home, Ralph, and mom was a little angry because he hadn't put the dishes away after he had dried them, and she's pretty well endowed. I mean real big. Kind of like me. And she just sort of took him. You know, she just plunged into him that night, really hard. He was trying to cough her out, you know. Not just a cough in the throat, but deeper, real deep. But a man can't really cough a woman out, you know. But they try, and the coughing feels pretty good down there. You know, when a man is coughing or choking because someone is doing his face and you're doing his butt, you can feel it all the way down there even though the other woman's princk is way up in his throat. It's really more of a vibration then a sound. I think it's because they know if they don't get her penis out of their mouth they're going to die, so that's why they use every ounce of strength they have. It's actually pretty cool to have happen, but you can't do it too much because some people are attached to their males. I mean, mom and I are always attached to our males, if you know what I mean. Anyway, when I was over at a friend's house, we really got in trouble with her mom because of what we did to her dad, I mean the mom's dad. He was pretty old and weak, and even though we were little kids, he didn't have much of a chance. Oh, shit, I got off the topic, didn't I? Anyway, back to my brother, Ralph. Like I said, I'm pretty big and so is my mom, and I was going between his buns and by the time I looked up, Richie was beyond red-faced. I mean he was darker than that, but he was still alive. Of course, he was stuck on mom's princk like a hotdog on a campfire stick and he couldn't have backed off her either because I was shoving him forward. I guess mom and I both sort of did it to him. Anyway, mom was in a furious state of sex. I mean she was breathing hard and loud and almost roaring. I was deep into his butt and mom was shoving us both around the room. I don't even think she remembered that I was there. It was like I was the smaller locomotive in the freight yard or something. By the time she pulled part way out, Richie was still breathing, but I bet if he lived he'd be retarded like my brother Dale. We've had Dale so oxygen deprived so often that now he's either always acting like a moron or is a moron. I really can't tell, except he sure does act funny. You know, when people tell you something's dangerous and they say, 'Don't try this at home' ... Shit, that's exactly what we're always doing at home. As long as it's safe for mom and me that is. Anyway, back to Ralph. I think he died when mom began to pull out, but even so, his mouth was still holding hard to her princk, so mom starting pumping him again and she really got off on it. I don't think she even knew he was gone. Anyway, mom definitely didn't care, and because of that my other three brothers were really scared of her after that, and they still are. There are absolutely no goof-ups at my house. Mom always says that if she had invented baseball, it would have been one strike and you're out. None of this fucking three strikes crap. That's what mom says."

"Um, April."

"Yes?"

"We would like you to show the women here tonight that even though Jason is very, um, physically pliable and resilient, he really doesn't emotionally understand his enhanced survivability. So let me ask you, when was the last time you took Jason anally and caused him some physical damage?

"Let's see..." — April got out her little notebook and began leafing through the pages again — "the last time I really made him bleed was after he'd been in the Pens for two years, seven weeks. It was the typical rectal tearing, with no serious hemorrhaging that time. And, of course, my cum took care of any possible infection and stopped the bleeding, too. So do you want me to do it to him now? I'd really like to."

"April, ... be our guest."

April turned and walked toward Jason, who had been trying all this time (beyond hope) to chew through the heavy nylon tether. April grinned at Jason and slowly advanced toward him. She was a tomboyish young woman, with ample but small breasts, and a glow of farm girl good looks and health that all would call her beautiful. Jason was strong looking and moved with a surprising amount of grace, considering his accommodations for the past six years. As she strolled over to him, he let go of the tether and moved away from her to the "end of his rope," you might say.

"Please don't do it to me. Please!"

At his whining, April turned to the audience and smiled.

April wore a simple outfit: a white button-up blouse and a cream colored short diaphanous silk skirt, which began to rise in front from her sexual anticipation. As she walked slowly toward him she straddled the tether rope so that it was between her advancing footsteps. You could see that Jason was afraid to make any evasive actions that could cause the rope to touch his sister, and pretty soon she was standing over him as he cowered on the stage.

"Jason, honey" April said sweetly. "Turn around and bend over. You know, just like we discussed."

But Jason's eyes were fixed on the end of April massive equipment. It was a sturdy piece of flesh that Jason had seen many, many times before and it still terrified him. It was, ... well, ..., ah, ... substantial. Sort of like a blunt instrument. Its head didn't bob up and down like most other princks would. It sort of rose and fell like the tides. Its head ... its head must have been at least three inches across at the widest, tucked in with a little waist beneath its head and steadily expanded as it made its way toward the trunk of that tree. How could that thing get in him? Could it?

He sat spread-eagle before her with the tether running tight from his perineum ring to the fastening in the stage floor. The camerawoman and sound engineer moved in closer and his image was displayed on a large overhead screen.

April shed her shoes and moved a bit closer to him, so the tips of her bare toes just nuzzled the end of his limp cock. She pointed her right foot and gently lifted his penis off his balls and placed her toes where the base of his cock began.

"Jason, do as I say." And she leaned forward a bit onto his testicles.

"Please, no. April."

"Oh, yes, Jason. You know I am prepared to mash your testicles into jelly, don't you." She bent down and softly hissed in his ear, "FemTech would be mad. They'd get over it, but you wouldn't!"

As her pressure increased on his balls, he began to nod his head up and down, up and down.

"Please, yes, I'll do it. Yes, yes! Arghgh!"

"You're so cooperative, Jason."

She tapped ... hard ... and then lifted her foot. Tears were streaming down Jason's cheeks as he struggled to turn around and get on his hands and knees for her. The camera was moving in for close-ups as she tore away her little skirt. God, her tool was massive. A FemTech experiment in the outer limits of possibilities? Or perhaps a purposeful act of medical research? Either way, she was going to sink it into him.

The camera picked up the glistening reflection of April's natural lubricating ooze slicking the large surface of her princk. "It better be 'Slippery when wet,'" one woman said to her neighbor as she gazed at the seemingly impossible combination of his rectal opening and April's monstrous tool.

April pressed the head of her princk between Jason's butt cheeks, cruelly spreading them even further apart.

"Jason. We're going to do the 'plow,' give me your hands."

"Oh, god," Jason whispered to himself, as he lifted his arms behind him and pressed the right side of his face against the wooded stage floor. Jason was now a tripod: knees and head on the floor, and with his sister holding his arms and hands above and behind his back he did, in fact, look like a plow. But it was April who was both doing the plowing and planting the seeds.

April bent her knees and lowered his arms so that her pelvis, princk, Jason's ass, arms, chest and face formed a straight line, and then pushing with her legs and hips and pulling with her strong young arms, first the head of her massive penis bullied its way passed his helpless sphincter guardian, and then its widening inches began to tunnel steadily into Jason's warm wet depths.

Many women in the audience turned their heads and grimaced, waiting for the ripping, tearing and splattering of blood, which seems so inevitable. But Stacey and one of her Medical Research staffers on stage simply leaned in a little closer and smiled knowingly to one another.

Jason' s screaming and his gasping, choking breaths only interrupted his howling as he fought the pain and his possible journey to insanity. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know his face was pressed to the floor, or that his sister was impaling him once again with the staff that had come to have the only meaning for him in his life. It was impossible for him to even locate the source of his agony ... the near dislocation of his shoulders, the pain in his rectum, the fear of being rent asunder. There was even a fleeting fear that she might decide to no longer do this to him. That she might stop this ritual of six years that gave him meaning in his life, his elemental reason for being. He loved her and her princk and worshiped it. He truly belonged to her. With all his resistance, he would never, ever, raise a hand to stop her. Her princk belonged in him as much as it belonged hanging from her groin.

But as much as Jason was in pain, April was in pleasure. Oh, the tight sweetness. Oh, the release which was beginning to churn deep within her. Her cum was about to mingle with the precum already swirling around within him. April's movements, once slow and smooth, became jerky and violent as she ruthlessly rubbed and jammed her mammoth organ forward and side-to-side. April began a deep rumbling grunting sound that transformed into a high-pitched series of screaming squeals. No recognizable words, just long, "Ahheeeeeeeaaaaaa," punctuated by short quick inhalations, and then "Ahhheeeaaaeeeaaa!"

April released his arms and collapsed on Jason's back, and he, in turn, slowly sank to the floor like an ice cube melting.

The camerawoman and sound engineer had followed this in great detail, and when April pulled out of her brother, they and Stacey and her assistant were there at the scene.

The large overhead screen showed the close-up action. April's enormous princk, so wide at its base, was fully inserted to the hilt into Jason's rectal cavity. And then she began to withdraw her weapon. She leaned back and placed her hands where the small of his back met the tops of his buttocks and steadily pushed him down and off her, It was like a school bus backing out of a garage that was much too small for it. As she pulled herself out, his sphinctal muscles clung tightly to her princk as if he didn't really want to let her go. Truthfully, each time after the violence of the insertion, thrusting, and her orgiastic eruptions, Jason found that a peace and fullness defined him. And as cruel as it was, it kept him alive.

Finally, April came to the "narrow" waist of her princk just below its head. She turned coyly to the camera and to Stacey. Stacy nodded her head and April pushed hard against her brother's buttocks and with a gasp of final pleasure, popped herself free.

What the camera caught was his anus, unharmed, squeezing shut. Not a drop of April's juices dripped from Jason's rectal orifice. There was, however, quite a bit dripping from April's princk and Stacey's assistant handed her a towel and then started applauding for April. The audience joined in, even more enthusiastically when they saw Jason actually stagger to his feet and stand up. It was no exaggeration to say that they applauded as much for Jason as for April.

The overhead screen retracted to the ceiling, the women took their chairs and sat on the stage once again, this time joined by April, while her brother was helped off (to more applause) by a FemTech Security Officer who would take him back to the Pens.

A relieved Stacey Phillips took her place at the microphone. This was one event that she hadn't personally choreographed. But what her Senior Medical Assistant, Terrie Evans, MD, told her was right: FemTech's work in Terrie's Division appeared to be coming along on right on schedule.

"Ladies and girls, I certainly want to thank April and Dr. Evans for their presentation of male elasticity. And what you saw should be instructive for the brief, very brief balance of my little talk."

"Although what you saw was extraordinary, and Jason successfully survived with no damage, you should be advised that even a well elasticized male can, in fact, be wounded and killed by a brutal sexual assault by an experienced princkmistress, and deaths in the Pens do occur. So, the males' warning systems, just like Jason's, are not to be considered faulty by any means. However, it is considered to be a very, very positive result that males become tighter and more elastic, rather that looser and more brittle over time."

"This same form of elasticity has been also long been noted in the skeleton, cartilage and tendons of the long-term princk-fed males. As I mentioned last week, this led, eight years ago, to a very exciting series of now ongoing trials concerning the use of uterine and ovarian implants in males of all ages and experiments regarding the possibility of FemTech Male Reproduction Units or MRU's, particularly regarding the birthing of males infants by breeding-stock male 'mothers.' In essence, human male husbandry, or as we jokingly call it — 'husbandry husbandry.'" The crowd chuckled and tittered.

"At this point, we are successfully experimenting with implanting pig uterus into experimental breeding-stock male-mothers, and it is anticipated that an artificial uterus using the same basic operating system as organic micro-slivers will be available. At one time, we at FemTech thought that we might have to be somewhat restrictive or conservative in the use of males for our natural, instinctive sexual satisfaction out of the concern that we might actually run out of these submissive, ornery, tricky, fearful little men and boys."

"However, ladies and girls, we now know…," Stacy took her time and looked at each of the women and girls in the large crowd, "… and are very proud to announce…," Stacy paused again for effect before the totally silent audience, "… that in a short period of time, we'll be having a steady, planned migration of choice long-term males from the Pens to the FemTech 'paternity wards,' and our concerns regarding limited numbers of males will end."

"If women themselves wish to have children, male or female, they will always be able to do so. But if you wish to avoid the somewhat arduous task of carrying a child and giving birth, you can always have your males implanted with the DNA of your choice and let the men do the work." The audience responded with ardent cheers and amazed applause. "Yes, just think about it … paternity wards." And a graceful exquisite smile slowly crossed Dr. Philips's face as she acknowledged the appreciative crowd with a wave and a bow, and then walked off the stage modestly grinning to herself at life's wondrous possibilities.

"Yes," she thought to herself, "Maybe Marsha will grow tired of her husband, the famous Dr. Michael Dolin. He would be another good subject, … and good example … for men who think that they can stand in the way of FemTech and destiny. Yes. Hmm, a pregnant Dr. Michael Dolin with a naked swelling abdomen on the cover of a future issue of the FemTech Journal. Yes. With an issue on every newsstand. That sounds very nice, indeed."

Sue Dexter sat in the crowd thinking about what Dr. Phillips had just said. "Just imagine … someday … an unending clan of tight little Roberts to serve me. I think that might be fun."

A woman sitting next to Sue saw her smiling and said to her, "Think of that. All the males we could ever want, and all of them fatally addicted to our yucky sexual discharge! How comical." And they both leaned towards each other with a hand on the other's shoulder and laughed. Yes, this was going to be a fine New World, positively quite fine.

***

***

After the seminar, Erica Olmsted went into her private back office, unbuttoned her white blouse, and hung it up in the closet. She then reached down, shimmied out of her black skirt, and placed in the closet, as well. Still wearing her heels and her fishnet top, she fixed herself a drink, drank it and then sat down in her "interview" chair.

"Phyllis?" she called out, who's the first one?"

"It's a son of one of the women in tonight's Seminar."

"Very good," said Erica. "And his status?"

"Banded, teeth removed, and standard FemTech binding; wrists and elbows bound behind the back; ankles tethered by elastic cording. One more thing, Erica, he hasn't been princked yet."

"Hmm. A virgin," she thought to herself. "What's the manifest?"

"His name is Jon, and his mom wants him addicted and subdued. His mother has certainly done her homework. Jon is polite, respectful, and physically and mentally spread open. Submissive. You know, … stunned."

"Show him in."

Phyllis walked into the room leading a young boy by a neck collar and leash; he was trying to look as brave as he could. He was younger than she thought he would be and when he stood right in front of her, she began to fix him with her eyes. "Jon, Jon?" she said. "Where are you?"

Where was Jon? He was lost in fear and admiration staring at Erica's crotch as her magnificent cobra began to slowly un-hood itself and rise and spiral from her groin. "How could it keep getting bigger?" Jon thought. And yet it did. Bigger and ramrod straight!

"Jon. Let your knees know the softness of the carpet." Mesmerized, he slowly sank to his knees before her as she reached forward with her right hand and clutched him by the hair on the back of his head.

As she drew him to her waiting drooling female penis, she gracefully slipped her left foot around the back of his head so that the crook of her ankle held his neck firmly. There was no escape.

"Pleasth, no. No. Oooth, awuooth, splessooth..." Her bayonet stabbed him in the mouth interrupting his protests, as her smooth left leg slid across the back of his neck until it was the crook of her knee that now held him in place. Then, just as gracefully, her right leg joined her left around his neck and head, drawing her princk deeper and deeper into him.

She let go with her arms and leaned comfortably back in the chair as she had planned. His whole body began to shake ... first gently with little fine tremors, and then violently as he tried to pull his head back and disgorge the massive hook which was now deeply imbedded in his throat. But he had fallen forward, and his two points of contact with the world were his knees and his face. And his face had fully slid down upon Erica's fine feminine shaft. Vast quantities of princk precum pumped out of Erica into her little subject. Her legs increased the pressure on the back of his head and neck, drawing his face tight and tighter to her. His nose was now pressed against the firmness of her belly and he couldn't breath. He looked up into her cool merciless eyes. The sensation of the princk precum flowing through her exquisite sexual tubes and channels was causing Erica to begin to swoon when his collar picked his medical distress and began to set off its loud alarm. Phyllis walked back into the room. "Harumph! Harumph! Hello!? Erica!?"

"Oh. Oh. What! Oh. Thank you, Phyllis. Almost ... phew ... inadvertently ... phew ... almost ... terminated ... another one. I do believe his mother might have been upset," she said unlocking her legs and letting hs face get some breathing room.

She leaned down and pushed both his head and her not-quite-fully-buried princk down between her thighs so that she could get a better look at him. He looked up at her with the most pitiful face. She grabbed his soft little ears and used them as handles to work his tight mouth up and down her staff. Ten, twenty ... strokes ... long strokes ... almost out of his mouth, but not quite ... didn't want to spill any of that precious princkcum on the rug ... how can anything that feels this good involve anything that tastes that bad? Twenty five long strokes ... uhm ... now short strokes ... tight gums right under the head of my princk ... oh, yessss, ... rub the skin, ... rub and mouth-hug my cum-breathing dragon ... ah, yes ... umm ... closer, ... umm, closer, umm, ... ."

With the force of a ranging storm at sea she exploded into his face and a little princkcum squirted out between the tight seal of his lips and her slippery throbbing penis. She shook her head back and forth and moaned and moaned and then sighed in ecstasy. Hearing Erica's loud sighs, Phyllis came in with a juvenile-sized ball gag. When Erica eventually withdrew her princk from its scabbard in his throat and threw Jon to the rug, Phyllis quickly placed a towel over Erica's still pulsing princk and shoved the ball gag in Jon's mouth, lashing it to the back of his head and neck. "Mustn't mess up the carpet, Jon," Phyllis sternly cautioned.

Erica wiped off her steaming princk with the towel, tossed the towel in a plastic bag, and sealed it. "Take it to the lab for testing, and don't get any finger prints on it," she joked with Phyllis as she tossed the bag and towel in the recycling bin. They both laughed. Jon was on the floor with a look of terror. Erica and Phyllis then dragged Jon off to the lift to whisk him to one of the post-princking recovery areas where medical treatment would be available, if necessary. "Just swallow, Jon," said Phyllis. "Just swallow and you may not choke to death." As to the recycling bin, it was a nasty job to do the stale prink-rag laundry, but there were many males who begged to do it just to get a few hours out of their PENS cages.

Erica sat back down in the chair, looking amazingly composed and dangerous, her princk no longer rock hard, but softer and leaning to her left. Erica nestled her magnificent butt into the chair, rearranged the leopard cushions, and placed her arms across the back of the chair. She enjoyed looking good for her work. It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it. She looked up at Phyllis who had fixed herself a drink and was ready to go back to the waiting room, filled with men and boys.

"So, Phyllis," Erica purred, "who's next?"

***

The Sue Dexter Chronicles — End of Chapter Eleven

ã 2005 MystyMason

Any comments welcomed. Contact Mysty at mystymason172@hotmail.com