An autumn Sunday offering/from the sequel

Comments please.

******************************************************************************************************

“In case you’re wondering, the mask never comes off... ever.”

Yes, Roger is curious. Who wouldn’t be?

Warden Harper sits regally posed in a comfortable chair. Roger sits at her feet on the tiled floor of the large washroom where each and every morning he is bathed and fed by the likes of Matron Rose. Before them a bizarre scene plays out. Whereas Roger is normally closeted in darkness after office hours, Warden Harper for the first time has ‘suggested’ he join her for... ‘some after hours entertainment’.

Matron Morgan, a huge woman of inordinate strength, leads a naked figure on a leash. A slim chain, it connects to a ghastly large loop of metal emanating from the form’s nose. A floppy penis suggests the form is male. Or a one time male... for just as with Roger, beneath the limp appendage is a tuft of pink flesh, its emptiness apparent.

As noted, the only covering is a full leather mask concealing the entire cranium and ending at the neck line. There is a sole opening for the mouth and nose. Yes, both eyes and ears are covered in continuous leather... no openings to enable sight or sound. As Matron Morgan offers instructions, such are loud and enunciated with precision, the hearing obviously impaired.

Roger notes there are tattooed letters on the form’s buttocks. ‘Property of Miss Evelyn’, in bold black. He is amazed at the precise, almost frantic level of obedience, the form instantly reacting to light tugs on the chain and the crisp verbal commands.

“What do you think of Nurse Von Steppel’s nostril binding? Not a piercing. It’s a long elliptical loop which has been threaded into one nostril, hooks through the sinus cavity then exits the other nostril. Quite the effort inserting it then welding the exposed ends together. High quality stainless steel. Strong, rigid. Makes a man feel like something is attached to his brain. And, in fact, it does reside well into his skull. Directing tugs on his leash are quite imposing. There is pain... there is the sense of permanency. Most importantly, there is communicated a sense of consummate governance with the slightest jostle of the leash. A little girl of ninety pounds could offer complete control.”

“Hands up,” Matron Morgan commands in a near shout.

Having positioned the form under the trapeze where Roger is bathed, Matron Morgan secures the uplifted wrists to the bar. She removes the leash then moves to the wall and tugs on a thick rope, raising the bar and the form until such struggles to find the floor with its toes.

Roger notes the form is silenced, the mouth bearing a ball gag or some other sizable insertion, a large hole offering access to air.

Blinded, partially deafened, muted, Roger looks up to note the wry smile on the face of Warden Harper... one of confidence but also serving to cloak a giddy eagerness.

“One of our transgendered inmates, Roger. You’ve noticed, I’m sure, the price he paid for entry here at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women. I am sure also that you’re further wondering whether or not the removal of his balls was voluntary.”

Warden Harper cackles in noting Roger’s shudder.

Matron Morgan ties off the rope leading to the trapeze bar and steps to a cabinet, heretofore closed and locked during Roger’s morning ablutions.

“What do you think my play toy would say if he was able to talk, Roger?”

“I don’t know ma’am. Perhaps beg for release?”

“I’m not sure myself. These canings can be quite cathartic for the sensory deprived. When not dangling for my amusement they’re all kept well bound, always blinded. Nothing to hear. No words to be offered. This is the only thing that they feel... they experience. Rather gracious of me is it not?”

Roger nods, not daring to contradict.

“I will say, if offered the opportunity, it would probably make some minor administrative point. That its sentence for refusing to pay alimony was served out years ago and it is entitled to release. Probably something like that.”

“You’re still keeping him here?”

Warden Harper smiles.

“The paperwork authorizing his release must be somewhere. In time it will be found I am sure. And meanwhile, his ex wife Evelyn so much enjoys the videotapes of these sessions that we send from time to time. Humble offerings of regret from her formerly obstinate ex.”

Warden Harper laughs.

“Yes, she’s one of us. He should not have challenged her resolve.

“Lift your skirt and play with yourself while Morgan plies her craft, Roger. You’ll find her to be most talented with a whippy length a rattan.”

Roger meekly hikes his uniform knowing to fully expose himself to Warden Harper’s amused glance, the plundered scrotum always bringing a look of serene confidence. As Matron Morgan positions herself behind the two hundred pounds of naked vulnerable flesh, Roger toys, learning that there is ironic joy to be found in caressing his empty scrotum.

“I term this song and dance. Hope you enjoy.”

With a nod from Warden Harper, Matron Morgan raises her hand to waist level, draws back her arm and swings, her wrist snapping to apply a most vicious stroke to the left buttock of the helpless form. Firm and crisp, Roger notes that the graceful, casual arm motion was nowhere near the full capability of the stern woman of size and strength.

Yet such an enlivened response! The feet kick in intense agony and air rushes past the gag hole to fill the chamber with a horrifying guttural sound.

Yes... a song... a dance... of agony... of intense suffering. Warden Harper’s smile broadens as she contentedly nestles in her chair.

“After a few strokes, our masochistic toy will lift his feet to expose the soles... welcoming some bastinado. As I said, the suffering can be quite cathartic... somewhat redemptive. In time, it comes to be craved. After all, there is only this... or the unending nothingness of being held in a tight, well secured cage, nostril binding most taut. Which would you choose, Roger?”