Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Chapter Thirty Three - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty Three

322 idly kneels. He misses his master. In his lonely thoughts he realizes that other than sleeping or being stressed while tethered to the pole, he has not been out of Miss Midori’s presence since arriving in Chessu many, many days before. And while sleeping, the thought of her nearness has strangely comforted... being restrained by her hand has assuaged the feeling of desolation.

But now... where has she gone?.. when will she return?

Having watched the Emperor being milked, the cheering, well amused crowd thereafter slowly dissipated. A smiling Empress wordlessly took Midori by the hand and she joined the small parade of castrates and drained sperm donor in returning to the palace, leaving 322 kneeling before the ox cart with leash tethered to his ankle bands.

Though he cannot move, 322 can flex some muscles, staving off cramping. Also, with his anal impalement awakening his loins, he works to contract the small muscles there, watching in his lower vision as the tip of his firmed penis rises to flash his Prince Albert ring.

He reflects on the events of the late afternoon. In such a harsh barren land, a jeering crowd assembled for the mere purpose of observing as a male was harvested of his seed. Such diverting but seemingly trivial antics. But in thought, 322 realizes it is the only sperm flowing in the province... an event of significance. The ritual is the beginning of all procreation in Chessu, the custom of normal copulation long banned. And the result shall either be a daughter... to be trained to command the male beasts of Chessu... or a son... to be exchanged for cash... perhaps as valuable as Rhodium?

322 thinks of the ignominious extraction... the Emperor denied even the favor of a feminine hand. Instead the fingers and tongues of the genderless cherubs worked his prostrate suspended form like a lactating cow.

Milked indeed!

And the manner of suspension... widely parted ankles and wrists secured above, torso supported at the hips, the mammoth testicles dangling below, the royal penis stiffening, firming, engorging... 322 was amazed at the size... to have such an organ!

But did the Emperor really have it? Or was such the possession of the Empress and the women of Chessu?

No, it appeared that the Emperor was merely offered the burden of carrying it about.

322's thoughts are interrupted. A guard approaches, uniformed. He is reminded of the dour woman who led him from the hospital, so facilely guiding then restraining his nakedness. She bears a riding crop, an instrument of correction not deemed necessary by the handlers.

“Your first milking, 322?” the well marked buttocks introducing his identity to all.

322 nods as best as his leash and brank permit.

“Rather demeaning, is it not? The male normally so prideful in giving up the seed of life. Normally offered in such ecstatic triumph.”

She moves proximate, standing before his kneeling nakedness.

“Yes, it’s quite the event here in Chessu. A younger Emperor was milked weekly. Such a wonderful set of balls, the castrates are known to constantly stretch with zealousness, as you can imagine, their own organs a woman’s trophy... jarred. And he’s well over twelve inches. the Emperor. At one time his sperm was abundant, sometimes able to sire two or three with a single offering.”

Hands reach forth. Fingers graciously brush his cheeks then playfully tap a forcibly exposed tongue. She smiles, his well restrained nakedness evidently bringing subtle delight. A leg shuffles forth. 322 feels the warmth of human flesh on a most sensitive standing penis... where normally there is craved the feminine touch... but no longer.

322 grimaces as the guard presses her calve against his erection. The mere saltiness of her flesh brings a sting to the super sensitive acid bathed organ. Such irony... the abundance of hormones bring a craving for attention there, the raw skin of his altered manhood requests pleads for denial.

“You’d so much like to frottage, would you not? Such wondrous conflicting needs... your libido says rub... yet your penis denies you the simplest of male pleasures.”

Yes there is irony indeed. Despite the soreness, 322 feels the twinges which lead to even more stiffness... yet he suffers. That which once brought such joy instead brings pain and frustration. He shifts in his restraints, attempting to avoid the guard’s otherwise tender ministrations.

To think he can be so easily tormented!

The guard withdraws her leg, cackling.

“Yes, it’s useless to you, isn’t it? Drains your bladder and stands for your master. And that is all. But at least it stands. You’ve seen the alternative that is offered in Chessu. Castrates make such cute house servants, don’t you think?”

The guard steps back. The riding crop rises and taps the nipples.

“Male obedience... male degradation. Yes, complete subjugation... and yet you’re all so happy... rather telling is it not?”

The guard gratefully moves onward, laughing to herself. 322 quakes, his vulnerability so well demonstrated, he once again pines for the return of his protector... lord and master Miss Midori.

With the sting of his penis subsiding, 322 thinks of the Emperor’s impressive appendage. If it too has been acid bathed it was not apparent, the thoroughly restrained body showing no signs of pain as the seed was slowly extracted. Instead there was frustration. A curious reaction considering the apparent number of times the Emperor has been strung up naked before a large gathering of women and made to give up in public that which is normally offered in intimacy.

Long, broad, wet and warm... 322 thinks to himself of the tongues of the castrates. Such were prodigious, andtheir soft effeminate hands so knowing.

How many times have they forced the seed of life from the Emperor’s loins?

322 closes his eyes and relives the milking...

Having the Emperor well secured, the castrates, offering no shame in fully exposing their nakedness, the emptied scrotal sacs well displayed. One chubby blonde responded to mocking catcalls by lifting his tiny penis with one hand, parting his feet, and fully presenting the puffy flesh of his empty scrotum... bringing a wave of effeminate yet raucous laughter.

Then they began their efforts in earnest. The nearby table yielded the implements for the well practice procedure. Derek made a show of first greasing his right hand then, in stepping to the hanging Emperor, reached to apply lubricant to the gluteal cleft of the well parted thighs. A kneeling Eric worked the penis, his nimble fingers slipped what appeared to be a condom over the tip of the Emperor’s firming manhood. A closer look suggested it was in fact more like a Texas catheter, collection vessel attached. Then the duo began, the amazing tongues first extending to waggle about in the air and amuse the crowd. Derek, kneeling at the rear begin long sensuous laps of the hanging scrotum. And Erik, kneeling beneath the belly, applied equally long and sensuous laps to the incredibly sized semi stiff shaft.

322 noted that the Emperor squirmed in his bonds, the intense pleasure notwithstanding. Obviously, despite the sensory deprivation, the attention was not welcomed. All the years, so often milked, siring an entire Province with his essence, and the homophobia remains. Such ignominy... to be masturbated, if that is the proper term, by genderless one time males. 322 contemplates the Emperor’s fate... never to have carnal relations... yet made to produce... all care offered... the perfect diet, the temperature of his organs controlled at all times, so attentive, everything... solely to maximize the production of sperm.

As the guard suggested... male obedience... male degradation... complete subjugation

Age an obvious impediment, the earnest efforts of the castrates still brought full tumescence, the reluctant Emperor made to display a firm stand to the amused crowd.

Then as Derek continued lapping away, Erik arose and stepped to the table. A bowl of crushed ice awaited and in gathering a fistful, he returned to meticulously apply the freezing slush to the perineum. The process seemed well practiced, apparently part of the standard procedure, and 322 quickly realized the Emperor was to be numbed. Yes, the ejaculatory muscles were not to contract and offer any manly spurts of ejaculate. Instead, this was a milking, the sought after seed to be meekly harvested, not a scintilla of ejaculatory pleasure to be imparted.

Satisfied with the numbness, Derek reached upwards with his greased hand and began working the gluteal cleft. Erik returned to kneel and resume lapping away at the shaft. 322 noted that his oral efforts avoided the underside of the penis tip, where Dr. Saunders first explained the erogenous significance before excising such from his own organ. No, Erik’s efforts were teasing, obviously offering a very distant and tantalizing pleasure, if any could be felt.

Within minutes, 322 noticed that Derek’s greased hand had disappeared, impaling the Emperor’s rectum up to his wrist.

He heard the Empress comment...

“Fisted again, the Emperor’s been well opened over the years. The fingers of Derek’s small hand can actually grasp the prostate gland. In being well iced, the Emperor won’t ejaculate... can’t ejaculate... so Derek will slowly play and squeeze while Erik assures all the oozing essence is well collected. It so empowers the neutered... don’t you think? Offered governance over the intact male, the envy is quite telling...”

Erik began a milking motion, withdrawing his tongue. A pudgy little hand was barely able to encircle the massive swollen shaft. But it did and with a long, slow drawing motion... down... never up... the penis of the Emperor became an udder and thus encouraged... not to spurt... but to meekly drool... the collection bag slowly filling.

The only thing the Emperor felt was the intensity of the humiliation.

Can one ever become accustomed to the cheers and jeers of the imposing women of Chessu?

The ceremony ending, a proud Eric slipped off the Texas catheter and quickly sealed the collection vessel, holding it up for all to see... a goodly offering of sperm.

With his gratified look... it appeared that he had been the male to climax... the closest the castrate will ever come...

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