Short Story XVII

“Please, Miss Kendra I am ill.”

“You need to relieve your bladder, my pet. But your penis no longer can drain it. Neither will you ever again ejaculate.”

Kendra has fired her coking oven. The beast remains in the pillory, his ankles secured, lying supine on the soil. Words are exchanged as she heats a surgically sharp knife. The beast has not urinated in more than a day. She understands his plight and it is only she that can offer relief.

“You’ll going to be a very obedient ox for me. Pump water, service my quim, lick my backside. Such a simple life. Yet you will also need to better understand the consequences for complicating it.”

The knife blade glows. Kendra inspects then approaches. The beast observes in shock. He recalls the quick but painful incising of his sublingual frenulum, that which has enabled masterful cunnilingus.

“Just relax. Miss Kendra will make it all better.”

The words are those comforting a frightened child. But a wicked laugh follows, that of a debaucherous executioner.

“Just a tiny nick.”

Kendra kneels. Her left hand palms and lifts the scrotal sac. She notes its plumpness, envisioning within a mass of unspent semen, the beast never again to spurt the seed of life. The thoughts of forced chastity bring an inner glow. But she puts aside the satisfying notions of the frustration and torment and aligns the hot blade with the perineum.

“Here we go. A quick incision... resulting in a urethral reroute. Henceforth you’ll be squatting to pee.”

A quick motion of Kendra’s hand, a ghastly bellow which empties the beast’s lungs, all muscles tighten in a futile effort to forestall the pain. But most meaningfully, the simple cut between the anus and the scrotum opens the urethra, forever blocked at the penis tip.

Kendra arises and steps away avoiding the torrent of the emptying bladder.

“I trust you will remember this kindness, my beast. I will introduce a catheter to assure you properly heal. Then you’ll need to be trained... to squat and pee on command. I’ll not want you sullying your circle of existence.”

“Thank you Miss Kendra. Thank you.”

“But also remember, I can light the stove and heat my knife any time. Just as it has offered relief to your bladder, the blade can also become the tool of a sculptress. Disobedience will earn you marks. I will treat your nakedness like a large lump of clay... to be molded... to be carved. And the Princess will find it most amusing... a human carving board. You’ll bear a message... that of power... control... of the Princess’s supreme governance. I’ll carve the letters slowly and keep the knife searing hot for you. Think of this when you next choose to walk off into the desert.”

Kendra laughs, noting the beast’s attentiveness. She then steps to her shack, the referenced catheter awaiting.

Her thoughts return to her assigned tasks... the unending torment of the Princess’s deceitful lover.

For his recent transgression, Kendra will demand analingus... every morning... every evening. The Princess has mandated that the fruit of the beast’s labors not be offered, water to be denied. Thus all life sustaining liquids, craved with the many hours of toiling in the desert sun, will come only from Kendra’s body. There will be times when the beast will beg to lick her sweat.

In addition, weights are to be added... to the hobbling chain... to the nipple badges. In time, such will be lightened, for he is not to be tortured to death. No, he is to be kept most alive and healthy... to labor... to offer liquid refreshment in which he will never partake... but most importantly to amuse and entertain... day after day after day.