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On Friday, April 2, 2010 at 1:12:27 PM UTC-4, Elizabeth Herron wrote:
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1 TheKristenArchives: How Good Are The Dirty Stories? An Assessment
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Michael was then thoroughly washed. He was scrubbed with a rough, exfoliating cloth over his entire body. He felt like a dog, up on the table as this stranger bathed him. When the suds were rinsed away, he was incredibly clean and smooth. He was towel dried, and without his gown, led out of the room.
The air felt cold on his nude, hairless skin. His body looked foreign to him, the last vestige of his former self gone. He covered himself in modesty as he was marched through the halls, his heart racing. Brought to a set of double doors, Michael was taken aback when they opened. Petrified, he had to be sternly pushed into the room. He knew he had reached his final destination.
The industrial kitchen was huge! Cabinets, sinks, counters, appliances: all gleamed in stainless steel. The oven was gigantic, the most prominent object in the room. An ominous orange glow issued from behind the glass window of its door, filling Michael with dread.
A small crowd, standing near a wheeled table, looked over as Michael entered. A female, middle-aged and attractive, inspected him as she adjusted her white apron. The herdstress stood with the customers who had chosen him the day before, while three armed guards positioned themselves in the room. With a click from the door, the man knew he had just locked him in.
“Yay!” clapped Audrey, when Michael arrived. “He looks so different!”
“Aw,” observed her mother. “The poor thing looks terrified.”
Michael could only stand in place, aghast at his surroundings. He could see racks of knives as he glanced around. Oversized pots, pans, trays, and platters were neatly organized around the room. Huge grill racks hung from the walls, along with a collection of steel spikes, each longer than a man. Multiple wheeled tables were pushed into a far corner, each ready to be topped with man-sized cooking apparatus. Next to the oven was an upright, giant metal tube; the glass door of which revealed another spike, vertically waiting to impale and roast.
“Come on,” the chef said, waving in Michael. “I won’t bite.”
The man took a few short steps toward her, his knees feeling weak. She looked him over with pretty brown eyes. She may have been nearing 40, but Michael would have found her quite pretty in any other circumstance.
“He must be a shy one,” the chef smiled at the other women. “C’mon. Over here, please.”
Michael warily approached, noticing a rectangular tray atop the table. Measuring four foot by three foot, it could easily accommodate a man. “Please,” he nearly begged. “What’s… How are—”
“Shh,” comforted the chef, coming beside him. “Don’t you worry. I promise, I’m going to take very good care of you.”
“But, you’re not really—” the man’s voice was shaking, “I mean, you don’t… c-cook—”
“It’s going to be so easy,” the chef said softly, rubbing his back in consolation. “You just need to be brave a little bit longer. No pain from the guards, no unnecessary suffering for being disobedient. You’ve been the perfect bull all this time. It’s going to be beautiful, and you’re going to be making this young woman so happy.”
“This… This is f-fucking crazy,” he gasped, his eyes darting around.
“Just relax,” she soothed. “I promise to be gentle. So, so gentle. I have a lot of experience with bulls, and I’m going to make sure you’re comfortable every step of the way.”
Michael glanced at the others in the room. They were tense, waiting to see what would happen. The guards had advanced a few paces, prepared for any disobedience.
“Now,” the chef said, “I need you to climb onto the tray. On your hands and knees, please. Be careful, it’s slippery.”
Michael looked at the surface of the tray, seeing that it was slick with a thin coat of oil. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, as he carefully maneuvered himself onto the tray. Its shallow sides contained the man perfectly as he assumed all fours, trying not to slide on the slick surface. The top of his head faced the women, his eyes staring shamefully down. The giddy clapping of the daughter again sounded when he was situated.
“Excellent,” said the chef, gathering a bottle and a large brush from a counter. “So, Audrey, I’ll walk you through how a bull is prepped. First, we’re going to liberally drizzle oil on his backside.”
Warm liquid began dripping over his back as Michael stayed in position. He saw it begin coming down is arms and pooling around his hands. Down his bottom is was poured, running along the backs of his thighs. Little drips began trickling down his sides, plopping to the tray. She continued drizzling along his calves and feet, the smell of coconut filling the air.
“And now, we’re going to spread the oil with a brush,” the chef explained, bringing the soft bristles over every inch of Michael’s backside. He caught his breath when they found their way between his cheeks, and he could barely hold still when they caressed his feet.
“Look at him shimmer!” Audrey observed with excitement.
“Yes,” said her mother. “The oil certainly adds definition to those muscles.”
“Very good,” the chef said, satisfied when he was glistening. “Go ahead and lay on your back, feet facing toward the oven.”
Carefully, Michael sat on his bottom. He lay back on the cold metal, trying to avoid looking at the women staring at him. He felt the chef take his ankles, placing his feet on the lip on the tray. Above was the bright ceiling, at which he stared. He desperately wanted to wake up from this terrible dream.
“Before we oil his front,” the chef instructed, “we’re going to apply a tension ring.”
Michael glanced nervously to see what she was talking about. The chef approached on his left, holding a black band. She quickly placed it under his scrotum, stretching it up and over his flaccid penis.
“Ohh! What does that do?” Audrey asked.
“Tension rings are used to keep bulls erect,” the chef explained. “Once he begins to become aroused, it’ll keep the blood in his penis.”
“They also help produce more powerful orgasms,” the herdstress informed.
“You’re not getting anything out of me,” Michael muttered, though he began to feel a twinge in his penis after the ring was applied. With all his being, he didn’t want to become aroused, but these women focusing on his penis made it incredibly difficult. Feeling warm oil begin drizzling from his chest down to his groin definitely didn’t help the situation.
“And again,” the chef said, “we coat him evenly with the brush.”
The bristles passing along his chest felt good, but Michael tried to ignore it. He knew the orgasm was essential. Maybe that was his one chance, he thought: no orgasm, no oven!
It wasn’t so easy remaining calm when the brush was passing over his privates. It felt wonderful, and even with all of Michael’s resistance, he was slowly growing. Soon the chef moved on, and he relaxed. He tried to banish any sexy thoughts from his mind, keeping his eyes focused on the lights; he didn’t want to see these women surrounding him.
Down his bare legs the chef worked, making them shine. The tops of his feet were next, and Michael flinched terribly when the bristles found their way in between his toes. He heard giggles about his ticklishness from the onlookers.
“Excellent,” said the chef, setting her brush down. “Now, we must restrain the bull in place.”
Michael’s heart lurched when he heard this! He peered to see the chef retrieving a length of rope and bringing it to his side. The other women watched in fascination as the chef took Michael’s left leg, bringing his bent knee back toward his chest.
“Today we’re going to use a frogtie,” she informed. “This is quite useful for both bulls and heifers.”
Before he knew it, the rope was wrapped expertly around his ankle and thigh, binding them together.
“Now, see the groove on the bottom of the tray?” the chef showed Audrey. “We run the rope through, under the tray to the other side. Then we tie his right leg.”
“You have got the best job!” declared the daughter, following the chef to Michael’s right leg. She watched as with a few wraps, tugs, and knots, the man’s other leg was bound. Not only could he no longer straighten his legs, but he could no longer close his knees.
“And finally,” the chef went on, gathering much smaller lengths of rope, “his wrists are secured to his ankles.”
The tying completed, Michael was now completely helpless. His legs were pulled back and open wide, leaving both his bottom and genitals embarrassingly on display.
“And last but not least,” the chef said, coming to stand next to Michael’s head, “we finish basting him.” She rubbed her hands together, having taken a handful of oil. She glided her hands around his bald head, and gently covered his face. The man was now glistening from head to toe.
“That is quite a sight!” exclaimed the mother, approaching Michael. “God, he look delicious!”
“What part do you want to try the most, mother?” the girl asked, gazing down on her birthday present.
“His rump, for sure!” she answered hungrily.
“His tenderloin will be phenomenal,” the chef offered. “His ribs, too!”
“His muscle is lean, simply superb,” the herdstress observed, happy with her luck at obtaining this specimen.
Michael couldn’t believe people would be talking about another human like this! He tested his bonds, but they were tight. Glancing at the guards, he saw they were much more relaxed with him restrained. If only he could slip these ropes… Get to a gun…
“I want to milk him,” Audrey said, eying his penis. “Can I milk him now? He doesn’t look very excited, though.”
“Sometimes when they’re nervous,” explained the chef, “bulls don’t get excited right away.”
“Almost always,” the herdstress said, “visual stimulation helps.” She approached one of the guards, speaking a few words.
Michael heard the doors unlock and saw the guard leave. He squirmed and fought with his bonds, thinking me might have a chance with the door no longer secured and one guard gone. He hoped against hope, but nothing; he was stuck fast.
“Oh, I like how he struggles,” Audrey clapped.
How Michael was beginning to wish he could get his hands on her! She may be a beautiful 18 year old, but she had to be pure evil.
“Next up,” the chef told Audrey, “we insert the thermometer.”
Adrenaline hit Michael when he heard that word! He guessed where she planned on putting it, and already having one object up his rear that day had been enough. With all his strength, he flexed his muscles against the ropes; they didn’t give an inch. Why had he allowed himself to be tied up? he angrily thought.
“Yes, herdstress?” came a familiar voice from outside the door. Michael ceased his struggling when he heard it.
“You may enter, nurse,” called out the red-haired woman.
Michael’s humiliation reached a new high. He’d give anything for Lilly to not see him like this. But then he had another idea: maybe she’d help! If she saw what they were doing, she would have to come to her senses.
Lilly took a few steps into the kitchen before seeing the bound, naked man. Her eyes grew wide, and she couldn’t help but stare in momentary disbelief. Seeing a cooking in progress shed light on the harsh reality of what she was really part of.
“Come in, nurse,” her boss said. “No need to be shy.”
Michael and the nurse made brief eye contact as she walked past. What he saw most in her bespectacled eyes was shock.
“Yes, ma’am?” she asked, standing dutifully in her blue scrubs.
“We seem to be having a problem with this bull becoming aroused,” explained the herdstress. “Since I believe he’s taken a liking to you, I’d love to have you stay and observe. Perhaps it will ease his nervousness having you present.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she complied, unable to fully conceal her reluctance.
“Oh wow!” exclaimed Audrey. “Mother, look at this thing!”
“Oh my,” her mother said, “that certainly is quite a thermometer!”
Michael looked between his legs to see the chef holding what he could only describe as a steel butt plug topped with a dial. The chef drizzled oil on it before they approached him.
“N-no… Please!” he gasped, shuddering at how bulbous it looked. “Don’t. Don’t put that—”
“Bulls hate the thermometer,” smiled the chef. She pressed the cold metal to Michaels bottom, gently swirling it against him.
“Look,” the man began, yearning to
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