Short Story XXI

“What is your name?”

“Virgillio, your majesty,” the voice firm but the element of fear is evident.

“Well Virgillio, you’re standing very nicely for your Queen.”

"Thank you, your majesty. I live for the day to perform for you. It is every day that I awake to please.”

The Queen smiles. Most would consider such to be a gracious smile. In the dungeon it is only seen when tormenting... or worse.

“Yes, of course you do. Very obedient. And you certainly seem to enjoy degrading yourself before a woman... showing off your erection like that.”

“Yes, your majesty. I so very much enjoy being with a governing woman... to entertain.”

“And that you shall.”

The Queen nods to her guards.

"This one will ride today. Make it slow but very deep... to start.”

The two burly women instantly step forth. Their grins are more obvious in wickedness. As the leg irons are released, the Queen steps to the next cell, brushes a standing penis tip with her crop then in satisfaction with its firmness steps onward to another cell.

“And you. What is your name?”

“Mustafo, your majesty,” the voice quaking.

“Well Mustafo, your penis is of limited size. It should therefore be more able to stand in tribute.”

Mustafo squirms, turning his hips in an attempt to brazenly rub his organ against the smooth bars. Though it amuses, it is a futile gesture. The organ remains partially limp.

“I am trying to become hard for you, your majesty. Each day I worship your image... thinking of your beauty while stiffening... for you. I am so privileged to be ruled by such a gracious ruler.”

“But it is small and flaccid, Mustafo,” the Queen’s declamation intoned not to be disputed.

The voice begins to panic.

“I am sorry, your majesty. Perhaps if I could use my hands. I would masturbate for you. I would make it stand and please.”

The Queen looks to her guards. Virgillio, removed from his tiny cell, is placed kneeling on the special bench. Broad strap about the spine, thighs and calves strapped as well. His cuffed wrists are raised behind his back, one guard pulling on an overhead cable. The other guard, having greased the anus, aligns the fucking machine.

“You see how erections are rewarded, Mustafo. Would you not like to ride my machine sometime?”

“If it pleases you, your majesty. I exist to please."

“Well, a man of your ilk will please in a different manner.”

“Please your majesty. I can make it harder for you.”

“It is too late, Mustafo. I want spontaneous erections here. Look at the others. Except for my castrate, there are dozens of fully standing penises... then there is yours.”

Mustafo’s quaking turns to notable shuddering. The Queen’s free hand reaches and tussles the hair in an otherwise gesture of affection. Mustafo shivers in fear with her touch.

“It will earn you release. Then you can walk the Kingdom, show your alteration and explain to my subjects what a gracious ruler they have, deigning your release. By edict, every castrate will show himself to any woman upon her command... a plundered scrotum. With such a policy, I suspect my jails will soon be empty of miscreants such as you.”

The Queen’s eyes return to the center of the dungeon. A guard flips a switch and the piston of the fucking machine inexorably glides into Virgillio’s anus. The motion is mechanical, without pause... and obviously without concern for the soft tissue of the recipient. Virgillio yelps, spasmodically lurches, yet has no choice but to accept the marauding cylinder of rubber coated steel.

The reaction of the already stiff penis brings a broad smile to the Queen. With the strict chastity of her dungeon, the kneaded prostate gland celebrates the penetration by sending a message of further arousal. Virgillio’s manhood rises even further to press against his belly.

“I am afraid Virgillio has the advantage of youth... for now. Yet his time will come. You didn’t think you were going to keep your balls forever, did you Mustafo? In my dungeon such are the property of the Queen. Just as with the dates of my palm trees, there comes a time to harvest.”

The Queen’s crop hand lowers to jostle the scrotum as she turns her head to the guards.

“Have this one boarded. I will crush. Kendra will snip at a later time.”

The Queen laughs, noting that the penis now firms... but too late.

“Just think, Mustafo. You will finally be leaving here... but these won’t.”