Short Story XXXII

“Would you like to grow breasts?”

The Queen graciously inquires. Before final release she enjoys interviewing her castrates. The meekness, brought by her edict, brings elation.

“I have not thought about it, your majesty,” the words slurred.

Edwina stands before the Queen donning his pink skirt. Dangling at mid thigh is the bronze disk bearing his name, crime and date of castration. It tugs at the pink flesh, sensitivity slowly returning after bearing the weight of the Queen’s booted foot.

“Show me your empty sac.”

Edwina knows to instantly reach to the hem of the short skirt. He sheepishly lifts to display the mass of flesh which once held the symbols of his masculinity, now jarred and augmenting Kendra’s collection.

“The weight of the disk will assist in assuring that your scrotum does not entirely wither. But you are aware, Edwin, that your penis will atrophy. The hormonal imbalance has that effect. But then again, its size is no longer of significance for you.”

The Queen smiles in noting the mournful look.

“Your branding took well. A very nice shade of pink. But you seem to have trouble speaking.”

“Miss Kendra pierced my tongue, your majesty.”

“Well, I trust that you thanked her for that. Good cunnilingus will keep you fed. And you may learn to offer proper analingus as well. There will be no limits to the depths of your servitude, Edwin. That tongue will keep you alive.”

The castrate nods. There can be no disagreement.

“Stroke yourself for me, Edwin. Let me see it stand one last time. You certainly enjoyed showing off for me in my dungeon.”

The left hand continues to hold the skirt, the right hand grasps the limp appendage. Edwin knows of the futility. He lamely tried to masturbate after Kendra removed his shackles and with a playful but firm smack to his buttocks sent him from the castration chamber.

It was a curious reaction. Succumbing, offering all to the powerful torturess, brought this strange need. Had the bonding already begun? He stroked most energetically to the image of her smiling face, recalled as she pressed the searing hot branding iron to his forehead. The results were dismal. The once viral organ barely firmed.

“Look at your Queen while you stroke, Edwin.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

There comes again a most disconcerting result. The Queen’s smile broadens as the castrate fails to achieve erection.

“Enough. You’ll wear away the skin,” the Queen admonishes with a snicker.

With that, the Queen snaps her fingers. Her naked cherub prances forth with a package.

“A gift for you, Edwin. A blouse. The finest silk. Very shortly your nipples will enjoy the feel of such finery. And if you indeed choose to grow breasts, let us know. Some special hormones will assist, though that useless penis will shrink even more.”

“Thank you your majesty.”

“Now before you leave, I have a task for you. There is a certain maiden who pleases the royal hounds. I believe it would be apt for you to practice some analingus. The coupling with my dogs makes her rather sore there and she would be appreciative of your tongue, I am sure."