Short story XXX

He to be emasculated rides the poles again. Despite Kendra’s words of counsel, the shackled feet squirm, flopping about in futile efforts to find the floor. Tears streams. Heartfelt pleas, muffled by a well stuffed throat, are greeted with a knowing smile. Kendra is in her element... supervising the slow torture of the once virile male.

“Quiet. Calm yourself and I will castrate you soon.”

The words are oddly welcomed as knowing fingers toy with male nipples which she expects will soon be puffing and gaining new found sensitivity. Her touch soothes. And yes, castration will be welcomed indeed. Two simple cuts, some snips, the intense but brief pain of the branding. The emasculated envisions such with great hope. His anus... his mouth no longer to bear his weight. The slow suffering of strappado to end.

The inmate finally manages to control his involuntary lurches. Realizing that his indiscernible entreaties bring more joy than sympathy, he quiets. Kendra’s hands move to the face, her thumbs brushing away an abundance of tears.

“We do it this way so you will remember. Complete capitulation to the superior female. It is the law of the Kingdom. And since you have had problems in the past obeying the law, this will greatly assist.”

Yes, Kendra has tortured so many for so long, she recognizes the non gesture of surrender... telltale quiet... symbolic of new found meekness... awe of her callousness. Yes, there always comes the docility of the subjugated. Physical resistance ends... it always does. There are no further pleas. Her soon to be castrated inmate is broken, accepting of her dominion and whatever fate she chooses to mete.

Kendra smiles then leans. She whispers into his right ear, the warmth of her breath feels oddly good.

“No more shackles. An instant of pain. A nice pink skirt. You’ll be free to roam the Kingdom. In your humility you will soon find a curious degree of hubris in displaying your alteration... an empty scrotum bearing the Royal seal... a symbol of the mastery of the Queen.”

Underscoring her power, Kendra steps back, smiling in admiration of her handiwork. The clear message well received... complete capitulation indeed. The timing is hers. There is no rush.

Broken, beleaguered, ironically eager to face her scalpel, a once petty thief is to become a beggar, to rely on the graciousness of women in the struggle for survival.

Finally Kendra moves to the side.

“Now let’s get those squashed little lumps out of the Queen’s scrotum.”

Gratefully the stool returns. The feet find the surface to relieve the burden, ease the slow suffering of the arms held in strappado, the stress on throat and rectum. Next the forward pole again retreats to slide away the oral dildo.

“Please! Castrate me!”

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“Doggie style. I always insist. The results are the same, but it’s so nicely subjugating. Come crawl to me.”

The inmate no longer rides the poles. Though wrist restraints remain, his ankle shackles have been removed in the first step toward his ignominious emancipation. Fully clothed Kendra, donning a white uniform in deference to the medical procedure to be undertaken, sits and snaps her fingers. The inmate obediently responds, shuffling his knees to approach.

“Turn. Over the bowl. Knees wide apart. Forehead to the floor.”

He complies. Fingers of a gloved left hand slide into a lubricated and well opened rectum. The fingers of the right, ungloved, reach under and between the thighs to find the penis. Kendra smiles to herself in noting it is semi stiff... and rapidly firming.

Yes, the psychologically broken male so much enjoys showing off for the governing woman.

“Now, I’m going to masturbate you. One final ejaculation before life as a functioning male ends. I want you to perform for me. Put on a little show. It will be memorable for both of us.”

Kendra talks as she strokes. The inmate bristles with the pangs of pleasure. Goose bumps form. Her hand is most sensuous and knowing. It grips tightly, communicating a message of control, but also expertly rubs the most sensitive of erogenous zones with deft skill.

The penetrating fingers of the left hand find the prostate and knead. Within seconds there comes full erection and Kendra slowly pulls the organ downward and back toward her, knowing such an awkward angle will forestall the ultimate male pleasure. Meanwhile her hand continues to stroke and twist to bring ecstasy long denied in the Queen’s stark dungeon.

“I can keep a man on the edge until he exhausts himself, my emasculated friend. I usually stroke until I become bored, then I have him spend. Then comes the little cuts and the snips.”

The daunting words no longer stun. Pleasure is being had, and the inmate fully understands it is his last. He also understands the mental nature of the protocol... ‘we do it this way to make it memorable’.

He will remember indeed.

Hips begin to rock, accentuating the motion of Kendra’s hand, desperately trying to bring the ultimate. But the angle is Kendra’s to control. And she knows there will be no final release until she decides.

Meanwhile there is great amusement. Kendra revels in the moment. A male she will soon permanently alter is physically beseeching her for one last instant of male pleasure. And it is hers to bestow... not his to take.

The hand slows as the hips rock more exaggeratedly. Kendra softly laughs as the motion of copulation is emulated. Finally she stops stroking and merely grips, rolling her hand such that the underside of the penis tip is no longer frottaged. The inmate moans in disappointment, the joy quite diminished. Yet the hips work with renewed fervor.

“I think you’d like to fuck my hand. Yes, let’s have that as your final climax. Pretend my hand is like the aperture your anus will soon become... a nice warm and tight place to pleasure the intact male.”

With that, Kendra slightly shifts the angle of the penis and renews kneading the penis tip. The inmate thrusts forcefully with his hips. Kendra knows to twist. There comes a muffled groan. Another thrust. Kendra rights the penis. She twists with resolve. The organ explodes, spurting to hit the bowl as it is Kendra’s prerogative to direct.

More thrusts. The organ spurts again. Again. Again. She drains.

Finally the inmate labors with his bent knees, pulling himself from her hands. His legs collapse and he rolls in exhaustion to his side.

Kendra chortles with the demonstration of male drive... under thorough feminine control... soon to be forever curtailed. A foot pushes a fluid splattered bowl toward the inmate’s face.

“Note that your effluent is perfectly clear. There is no sperm, just prostatic fluid. Your balls no longer function.”

With that, Kendra arises to gather her castration implements... nothing more than a laser scalpel, a small set of shears and some sutures.

“It is time. Come... lean over my castration bench. And be sure to spread nice and wide for me.”