Chapter Thirty Two - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty Two

Instantly reacting to slight but more frequent tugs, 322 endeavors to roll the cart to an open space adjacent a kneeling beast, number 226987. Midori, uttering the command ‘kneel’, dismounts.

“Feet together.”

Midori works behind, 322 feeling the leash jostle as her hands fidget about his ankle bands. Then comes the feel of constant tension.

“Stay,” another command as she moves to stand before him.

The command is superfluous. Miss Midori has looped the end of his leash through both ankles bands then tied it off tightly. His brank is held in place, immobilizing his head and his ankles held together in a fiendishly simple and quick tie. Though sight is limited, directly before him is the platform and 322 notes all the beasts are positioned facing it and a curious frame resting on top.

Two sturdy horizontal parallel planks are supported about six feet above the surface of the platform... really a small stage. Strung between in the middle is a broad cloth strap. Toward the ends, right and left, dangle straps with cuffs attached... comfortable, foam lined, thick and also broad. At one end there rests a nearby small table.

Having come to know the protocol and procedures of Chessu, 322 knows that the apparatus is for binding. Someone will find himself, definitely not herself, well secured and presented helpless to the assembled audience.

Midori takes the slim controlling rod of steel in her hands and steps close to position herself. 322 knows what is to come.

“You need to be watered.”

He does... and in keeping with the protocol of the province... watered in a most humiliating manner. 322 knows to open as widely as possible as he sees thumb and forefinger work to lift the clitoral hood and splay the labia.

He takes the flow without hesitation... without a drop of spillage. With brank in place, he is disappointed not to be able to humbly cleanse and tidy where he so much enjoys serving. Instead Midori quickly smooths her quim against his exposed tongue and hurriedly steps away. The Empress has exited the palace to greet the visiting entourage. As seems to be de rigeur, she is regally attired in white silk.

Empress Claudia mingles. Words of greeting for the women, occasional tantalizing tweaks of a male nipple, her eyes move to the many standing phalli in a quick inspection, satisfied that her property is presented in the required condition.... thoroughly erect. Oddly, 322 senses gratitude for the very special anal plug which Miss Midori astutely selected. She indeed knows the male anatomy and that the No. 10 plug would adequately stimulate stiffness. A glance and smile from the Empress suggests he passes muster.

“Midori, I have reviewed the records. For this milking, it is your turn. The other nubile girls are either ill or not ovulating. And the Emperor’s seed is not to be wasted.”

Midori nods, her manner uncharacteristically humble in the presence of royalty.

“So it shall be, Empress.”

The attention of the crowd shifts, the decibel level of the many voices rises. A small parade has exited the nearby palace. Unseen until some women step aside, into the open area surrounding the platform steps one of the blonde cherubic castrates, he traveling with the Empress. Stripped naked, not an iota of covering, the tiny penis flops about, the only evidence of gender... one time gender... even the mammary glands appearing to be those of a prepubescent girl.

“It’s Eric’s turn to lead,” 322 hears the Empress comment. “But Derek is just as happy to have the hind leash.”

In his hand is a length of white leather trailing behind and moments later there follows into the open area another naked form. Hooded in a manner very similar to the Empress’s beasts, the form is emaciated, aged. But at the thighs dangles an amazingly long penis... and dangling well below the tip are testicles of outlandish size. 322 notes the scrotum swings about heavily, and well below the knees! But above at the base the sac is encircled with a matching strap of white leather.

The gait is strained, the motion hesitant, and the length of white leather, actually a leash connected to a gold neck band, tightens to demand more steps. The form is obviously reluctant and the slight resistance brings collective laughter from the crowd of observing women.

“He’s been milked so often... why does he not more willingly offer us the only thing we need from him?” 322 hears a voice in the audience.

“It’s male thing... seemingly inbred. They think the release of sperm is for their pleasure.”

The observation brings titters as the second castrate follows, stepping into view walking behind the Emperor. Also in his hands is a length of white leather. 322 is amazed to see it stretch forth to the thighs of the hooded figure. It is attached to the encircling strap at the ball sac. From the front the Emperor is led by the neck collar. To assure proper deportment he is also leashed by his balls!

Stairs at the far end of the platform are ascended, Eric leading. The blinded Emperor awkwardly follows. He meekly responds to directing hands and tugs and 322 learns of the utility of the many straps. The Emperor’s stomach is pressed to the strap in the center. Hands push to have him bend at the waist. He is placed lying tummy down, the broad nylon supporting his waist at the hips. Next the castrates, in a well practiced ritual, begin to secure the wrists and ankles, assuring the feet and hands are widely parted in a spread eagle position. The leashes are removed and 322 is amazed to see, now freely hanging, two huge male eggs almost touch the wooden surface of the platform. The gonads heavily swinging about bring amusement, the well stretched male sac is seemingly a fond diversion for the imposing women of Chessu.

Next, time is taken to encircle the Emperor’s neck with a posture collar. Large and thick it encumbers the chin, its lower edge pressing heavily against the breast bone. 322 notes that it is inflatable, and as castrate Eric squeezes an attached rubber ball the posture collar expands, completely immobilizing the head, obviously stretching neck muscles, ligaments and tendons as well.

With that, the crowd offers a mocking cheer. Yes, the regal penis twitches, despite its relative age and hint of infirmity, as the second castrate tightens the straps attached to the wrists and ankle cuffs, drawing the limbs well over head and forcing the Emperor to uncomfortably arch his back.

Incredibly, the uncomfortable position seems to spur more twitching... and more mocking cheers.

“Eric and Derek take such pride, do they not? Note the look on their faces. There is an interesting vicarious joy experienced in extracting sperm... that ability robbed from them by a woman’s quick fingers...”

322 cannot see the woman who makes the observation, but it is likely accurate. The effeminate duo, despite their nakedness... despite having to display their emasculation to all... labor before a gathering of women and cheerily bind a male... one owning the only fully functioning penis in the Province.

“A precise diet, lots of protein, he is kept well bound at all times to preclude exercise, all energy to be expended on the milking platform. We even keep his scrotum at the optimal temperature, his balls constantly immersed in water at 94 degrees... perfect temperature for the production of sperm. This is all he is permitted to live for... right here... right now... to be presented and made to perform on the milking platform. The many years of sensory deprivation, seclusion and constant restraint have turned his mind into pudding. He cannot even formulate words any more. But he still produces semen for me... whenever I want.”

The Empress’s overheard words chill, bringing horripilation... that a being could be so wickedly kept and commanded to perform.

But it is Chessu!