Saturday, December 12, 2009

Short Story X

Another day brings the unbearable heat of the desert sun. Kendra releases the wrist chain, hooked to the hobbling chain each and every night, forcing the beast to sleep in the most awkward position. With a simple command he urinates for her. Then with another command, ‘stand’, he struggles to his feet, oddly grateful for the ability to move after hours of complete immobility. The gratitude will quickly wear.


The beast knows to bend at the waist and spread to the maximum, humbly presenting his male jewels to the woman of supreme authority. Kendra very much enjoys the palpation of her testicles.

The beast looks upwards, his incredibly thick and heavy iron neck collar seeming to press his forehead into the soil. He watches as a knowing left hand palms the scrotum. The fingers of the right explore, isolating one gonad within the sac. He knows what comes next. Slowly mounting pressure, the Queen’s torturess has indeed castrated men with her bare hands... of that he has little doubt.

Within moments there comes a plaintive cry, almost childlike. Pitiful to most ears, the beast’s outburst musical to she who derives joy from debasing the male gender. The fingers then move to apply pressure to the opposing gonad bringing this time a whimper. Kendra laughs then begins to explore again, quickly finding the vas deferens, that which delivers the male seed of the unchaste. She pinches, bringing a sharper more direct pain than the throbbing ache of squeezing her balls.

“Right here, my pet. Pinch here long and tight and the vessel is permanently crushed to uselessness... the male rendered sterile. Ironically simple is it not? What the male so triumphantly spews with such false brawn can be so easily and quickly terminated... and by a woman’s fingers.”

Her message of authority and control delivered, Kendra releases, offering the buttocks a slap, more vicious than playful, and sending her pet into the long day’s cycle of exhaustion. The beast is no longer surprised when he feels a twinge in his loins.

Yes, he begins to harden for her. Is it the chastity? The sight of her supreme near nakedness? Her controlling hands, the fingers coming so close to ending once and for all his virility? The bondage seems to spur the reaction, there is not a limb which does not feel mightily encumbered.

“Gruel in an hour or two,” Kendra offers with a laugh, she also noting the slow rise of his manhood.

Knowing that Kendra is amused brings the beast to full engorgement. A right hand futilely tugs against its tight shackle, a spontaneous attempt to end the weeks of chastity. Given the opportunity, the beast would shamelessly stroke himself right before her.

Kendra notes the attempt and smiles. It is she who better understands the reaction, having toyed with so many tumescent males shortly before their castration. Could it be that the Princess’s consort subconsciously strayed with the palace maid in an odd plea for feminine attention? Yes, a quest to cede control... knowing that his lover’s recourse would be harsh... and permanent. Is that the underlying reason for his foolish dalliance?

The answer matters not. Kendra will merely torture for the rest of his life. That is the task assigned... and she so relishes fulfilling it.

As the beast rights himself at the waist, he knows to step. Despite the incredible weight, he must labor. Failure to work the capstan, however slowly, brings the quirt and possibly a return of the pole attached to his nostril tubing. And so he leans and pulls, his left ankle moving to quickly stress the hobbling chain, his stride very much limited. He is chagrined to find that the ponderous neck collar very much limits the motion of his head. The iron is not only thick but broad, encircling at the throat from his breast bone to just beneath his chin. Its shape is more akin a medical posture collar than a typical implement of bondage. Yes, as designed, its function is to torture and mentally frustrate more than restrain... and it is effective.

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