Saturday, April 28, 2012

'To Serve Intact' IX

The cord offers little slack but it is just enough so that when the sound of the machine stirs there is a brief opportunity for me move in the mandated direction before there comes overbearing tension and pain on my nose ring.

I find the numerous positions to be fiendishly precise, at times drawn upwards, forced to my toes. There the machine stops, holding me firmly in place, my well muscled 270 pounds completely subordinated to a wicked ring of steel and attached cord. It stresses, as intended I am sure. To lower, rest my straining calves, requires enduring unbearable pain in the myriad of nerve endings in my nose. Then after a time the machine moves me lower. I rest... perhaps for a moment... perhaps longer. I never know for what interval.

Then the machine will randomly lower to the floor where, whether desired or not, I must lie prostrate. Of equal stress is when the machine directs my nose ring to waist level. There I must either stand bent at the waist or perhaps kneel. But in kneeling I must remain alert, prepared to move at the instant the randomly programmed machine directs me higher or lower.

Overall, day after day, I am trained... trained to most meekly respond to the caprice of a mechanical device. Hour after hour, there never seems to be any allotment of time to enable recuperative sleep. Though I cannot accurately judge for sure, I am never permitted to lie prostrate for more than what seems like minutes, though in sleeping, perhaps more aptly described as passing out in exhaustion, the respite could be longer.

Augmenting the physical torment, sightless isolation, the hood never removed. Sound comes from the machine. Brandi feeds and supervises my excretions in silence, never responding to my entreaties.

Day after day. I am brained washed. I learn to subjugate myself, never thinking, merely responding. Up when the machine wants me on my toes... down when the machine offers moments of rest... to bend at the waist... perhaps kneeling if I dare... when the machine so dictates.

I must assume I am being observed, but I have no way of confirming.

Furthering the sense of helplessness, I must turn control over my penis to the Colonel’s neutered servant, Brandi, idly standing, lying, kneeling as the infibulating twisted wire is carefully removed, feeling the effeminate fingers gently draw back my pierced foreskin and performing for he/she in a beaker or some other collection vessel.

Finally, days... weeks... a month?.. I once again hear the voice of the Colonel.

"You’re acclimating well. The puppet of a machine," her voice is nearby and lively, taking glee in my plight.

I am. I have no basis for disagreement.

"I am going to have you serve me... in harness. There’s a reason I spared your balls. You’re intact only because males labor better under the influence of testosterone. Otherwise I would have added to the feed supply of the Emperor’s hogs. Yet should you fail to please, the swine may still one day feast."

The machine has me standing on my toes. Then I hear the grind and know it is repositioning me. I lower, knowing to follow the cord but not knowing how much lower. I concentrate, striving to avoid painful tension on the nose ring. It stops at waist height. I bend.

"Kneel for me."

I obey of course, then I feel Brandi’s fingers work about my penis tip, the infibulating wire slipped from the Colonel’s pierced openings.

"Bring yourself to a full stand. A nice big erection for your Master," the tone most authoritative.

Held in chastity, I recall the strange reaction weeks ago in facing death, watching bound and naked as this incredible woman dealt death and castration, my penis engorging. And now I kneel before her, remaining naked, well bound, the meek cog of a machine.

I hear her move, sense her closeness. Then I feel the nostril cord firm, despite the machine remaining silent. She has gripped it and modestly tugs upwards, the pain of my nose ring slight but slowly increasing as she demonstrates her complete control.

"Come, make it stiff for me," the tone softening, changing to that of mother to child.

I feel myself respond as desired, grimacing as the foreskin retracts, causing the sharp inner studs of my diamonds to painfully graze my glans penis.

"Yes that’s a good boy. Master likes a nice big phallus that stiffens at her behest. You must feel very proud standing for me like that."

I cannot nod. Instead a slurred ‘yesh’ passes through my filed teeth. Gratefully, when fully erect the shards settle and the irritation ceases. Yet I know when flaccidness returns, the suffering will repeat as the foreskin returns to again ensheath my penis tip.

"The rebellion has been crushed. The Emperor is pleased. And with his many subjects watching the hogs being fed and learning of the effects of my elastrator, it is unlikely more treachery is to be endured. Henceforth, few will consider treason knowing of the Emperor’s swift justice. I am thus retiring, the Emperor quite generous in rewarding my loyalty."

The Colonel, anointing herself as Master, jostles the nostril cord. I wince in pain.

"I have been appointed Governess of an island province, given free reign, with a house and servants. You will learn to serve me there. And you will enjoy it. A man such as you has certain needs... needs that are fulfilled by a woman such as me."


My dream... hallucinations?.. end as I feel Brandi’s softness return. Master has kindly suggested he/she sleep with me. Thus once again I must stifle my revulsion as I feel the warm once male now effeminately gelatinous flesh cover mine. She likes lying atop. And in thorough restraint I cannot resist her.

I feel her lips at my nipples She licks then envelops to suck. I feel twinges, my male organs defying me, my infibulated penis stirring. It hurts, the entrapped head engorging to challenge the entrapping wire and the sharp embedded studs. Then I feel Brandi shuffle, turning, her head at my pubes, dainty feet resting on my yoke. Fingers lift a penis I am desperately attempting to keep flaccid. I know what is to come, the adulation of the intact, the kneading and caressing of testicles he/she so meekly gave up to Master’s elastrator.

The warmth of her fingers transforms to warm wetness. The lips are soft, knowing, the small mouth engulfing first the left testicle then right. The tongue swishes and swirls. I grimace, a rush of air whooshing past altered teeth. There is delight... there is torture.

I concentrate. Just as achieving erection at Master’s behest is well instilled... I am forced to maintain flaccidity... or endure agony. I try to calm.

It does not work... I will have a long night. Brandi is arduous in offering her rapt oral attention to organs long excised from her. Hopefully she will soon rest.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

'To Serve Intact' VIII

The Colonel finally finished her painful modifications. She departs leaving me yoked and strapped in the gynecological chair. Brandi enters and for the ensuing hour or two my body is methodically defoliated of all hair. Powerful chemicals bring me to the preferred glabrous presentation, augmenting my sense of nakedness.

Finally I am returned to a set of ankle shackles and again leashed. Released from the chair, I know to remain obedient and follow the soft effeminate hand of Brandi. With wrists well restrained, I am defenseless. I keep in mind that a mere child is able to inject me with the Emperor’s painless yet effective cocktail of death.

He/she leads into a special room. It is barren but for items hanging on a far wall and one piece of machinery. A metal vertical track runs from floor to ceiling. There is a hook emanating at shoulder height. I note it is attached to a chain within the rails of the track.

Brandi positions me standing adjacent to the rails and the hook.

"Stay," the soft, high pitched voice commands.

She then retrieves a short cable from the wall, some two feet in length and returns. One end of the cable hooks to my nose ring, the other is attached to the hook on the curious device. Then the leash is removed and Brandi returns to the wall where a thick cloth hood hangs in wait.

I am shocked when, to the sound of machinery, the hook begins to slide downward. I of course must follow, bending at the knees. As the hook and the opposing end of the cable lowers to the floor I must kneel, my head and face lower as well, heedful of any stress on my newly implanted nose ring.

Brandi wordlessly places the hood over my head, blinding me, an opening at the mouth and nose. She adjusts and finally connects snaps below my chin to hold it in place. Then I hear her bare feet pad to the door and she exits, leaving me forced to kneel in darkness.

"The start of obedience training," the now familiar voice of the Colonel booming over speakers from above.

"You will move when the control device moves. It is completely random and will have you stand, have you kneel, and at times permit you to lie down. But you will never know when and for how long you will be held in any one position. You will just obey, letting your mind go blank... your only task to move in response to tension on the cable."

And for days, other then urinating, defecating and eating... all under Brandi’s tutelage... that is indeed what I do.


And so I am trained by a deviantly designed piece of machinery to subordinate myself, mentally and physically. Thus I am grateful to be able to lie even in bondage, grateful for the padding beneath me. When I transgress, minor transgressions, the mat is removed and I sleep on the hard wood. I thus revel in having a simple layer of softness beneath.

With the intense milking of my prostate I soon slumber, my hormones adjusted. I do not know, never know, when I will again be released. At some point I will be fed. At some point exercised. But it is never within my purview to know when or how. My will is depleted, only the well instilled need to please and serve remaining.

Then I am stirred to wakefulness by the feeding hands of Brandi. My hands never to be fully mobile, she spoons soft highly nourishing mush into my mouth. I am also well watered, control over my bladder deemed important to the constant subjugation. Thus it is to be kept filled. With the tight infibulating bag tie forcing closed my foreskin, I cannot urinate without assistance, without the fingers which keep me in chastity offering momentary freedom.

Yes, just as my Master proclaimed many months ago... ‘your penis has two functions. I will control both,’ I will lie for hours aching in need, learning to patiently await the caring hands of Master’s servant to release my penis tip from its sheath.

Finished masticating, sleep returns, yet I know within an hour or two functioning kidneys will bring the expected dire urge. Then I will awaken and hope that Brandi is merciful.

Meanwhile I dream... dreams of torment and being dropped into a pit of feminine control...

Saturday, April 14, 2012

'To Serve Intact' VII

Deemed numb, Brandi lubricates my anus. A collection dish is placed beneath my comically shrunken penis. Then the fingers work inward, one, then two, then three.

A free hand caresses my balls, more adulation from he/she without. I know to try to relax. Brandi will fist me, her hand gratefully small. Though degrading, I need her... need her deft penetration.

After a pause, letting me become accustomed to the invading fingers, she resumes and in time my rectum swallows her entire hand. I groan.

The free hand leaves my scrotum and moves to my penis. I feel very little but know she begins a milking motion, my flaccid organ becoming a defacto udder. What I can feel is the odd pain/ pleasure of her of penetrating fingers as such expertly find my swollen and neglected prostate gland and begin to knead. Steady, mechanical but offering such welcomed distant joy.

"Yes, those nice big balls of yours produce marvelously."

I am startled by the voice of my Master. She has returned. Watching male on male interaction brings a thrill. She cannot resist observing as I so ignominiously give up what I would prefer to spurt with virility, to ecstatically ejaculate into a tight, warm and wet vagina.

That will never ever again happen.

She pauses at my right side looking to the table top between my knees. I cannot see it, but I know she gleefully watches as my penis, iced to tininess, is being drained of pre ejaculatory fluid.

"Pay dirt, Brandi, it’s turning cloudy," she announces with enthusiasm.

She moves to my front. With meek adoration, I look to my Master, she who saved me from death. She is beautiful, smiling, reveling in her governance.

Casually attired, clothing is limited in the equatorial climate. I thus gawk in admiration, so well formed, so well sculpted, what nature bestowed at birth Master has perfected with diligent exercise. She sips a glass of white wine, the fogged glass suggesting it is will chilled.

"You so much enjoy Brandi’s touch," Master suggests, knowing of my deep revulsion... revulsion pragmatically not so much cast aside but needfully stuffed away deeply in the bowels of my psyche.
I need Brandi... and Master is well aware.

Her free hand extends and hooks my nose ring. For Master, it is being girlishly playful. She has no conception of the agony caused as she casually jostles it about, my face forced to follow the simplest motions of her finger. Yet, perhaps she does.

"You’re quiet tonight, my beast, perhaps I should have cropped you more."

With teeth filed to the gums, I lisp and thus speak rarely. Besides, what is it I need to say?

"I’m going to the mainland for a few days. Be a good boy for Brandi. She’s in charge."

"Yesh, Mashter," my response spurring a smile of realization as I struggle in pronouncing the simplest of words.

"Infibulate him tightly, Brandi. And you can sleep with him in the stable tonight if you want. Jackie will be servicing me."

Master sleeps nightly with the head of a naked castrate wedged between her thighs. She is insatiable and well trained, altered tongues are known to endlessly offer oral gratification well into the morning hours.

Neutered Jackie is trained as a maid, modified to an incredible level of femininity, mandatory makeup and bejeweled as well.

Brandi’s hand retracts. Apparently I am deemed drained and the neutered youth steps forth to proudly display what she has forcefully extracted from me. A clear ice cream dish is half filled with a mass of gooey white and Master smiles.

"See how well fed we keep you. Very virile. Such prodigious output."

Master dips her finger into the cloudy mass then presses it past my lips to coat my defenseless tongue with my own essence.

"You make Brandi very envious."

Master smiles seeing me ingest my own semen. She then sips and tousles the page boy locks of the naked Brandi.

"Bed him down. And remember... tight."

Brandi will need no further counsel. She will infibulate me with glee, rendering my penis as useless as hers.

Master turns and my eyes feast on her flimsy skirt and the wonderfully rounded, well muscled globes beneath as she strolls to depart. Meanwhile Brandi retrieves an infibulation clasp, really nothing more then a paperclip unraveled and twisted into the shape of a ‘U’. She holds it up smiling broadly to gloat. Such irony! Six foot four, 280 pounds and I will be effectively neutered by childlike hands bearing a paper clip.

She steps to my rear. With numbness wearing I feel knowing fingers brusquely and firmly pinch my foreskin then draw it down and away from the base. The slim length of steel is slipped through the openings, first at the three o’clock position and then across to the nine o’clock. I wince feeling the wicked piercings as the diamond studs abrade my glans penis. Then I feel tightness where a man feels the most. Like a bag tie, Brandi cruelly twists the ends, assuring the tip of my penis will remain ensheathed in the foreskin.
Erection is now painfully impossible. I am indeed as effectively neutered as Brandi.

My ankle bands are released. Brandi steps forth to open the brackets holding in place the ends of my yoke. Her finger returns to the nose ring and I gingerly dismount the grooming table and follow as she leads me to my sleeping mat. There the yoke is once again bracketed in mountings on the floor and my ankle bands secured to rings embedded in the concrete.

Yes, my few hours of relative freedom end. I am either constantly bound or serving in harness... bitted, bridled and cropped. Yet there is odd comfort... a befuddling sanguineness. Life boiled to the simplest of existences.

Lastly, a hood is slipped over my head, bringing darkness which beckons slumber. Having been drained, no ecstatic eruption of sperm permitted, I indeed feel as though I have copulated with abandon. Well accustomed to tight bindings, I doze, hoping my penis will be as obedient as me. Nocturnal penile tumescence can bring incredible agony to the infibulated male.

Sleeping in bondage, the frustration can be stifling but in time one acclimates... and more recollections roll forth.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

'To Serve Intact' VI

Happy Easter everyone!


"You be a good boy. Open wide and stay still for me."

Of course I am a good boy. I am sure there is a hypodermic needle waiting for bad boys, the supply of fentanyl seeming endless and I am sure the Emperor’s swine never deemed overfed.

I open. The Colonel holds up a horizontal bar and presses it to my lips, forcing it well past my front teeth. She then makes marks on the exposed enamel with some indelible writing implement, the incisors... the bicuspids. My dentation is to be altered. I am to later learn it is so that a bit can be inserted and that no resistance, the gritting of teeth, is to be offered.

Yes, the bar is the shape and size of the hard rubber bit which is pressed between my lips with every excursion.

For the next hour, the Colonel files away with a scabrous tool of steel, cruelly smoothing my teeth to the gums. The molars remain untouched, but as stated the marked incisors and bicuspids, top and bottom, slowly and methodically disappear.

"You won’t need to smile. I will know you’re happy," she glibly informs.

At last she finishes.


I obey.

I am shocked when a gloved finger is introduced to my lips and effortlessly slips past into my mouth. No barrier, no resistance to be offered by my lips, my filed teeth are no longer a defense for whatever anyone, anytime wishes to press into my oral cavity. She playfully wriggles her finger within to demonstrate the results of her vigorous filing. Despite clamping with my jaw, the molars prevent me from even gumming her digit!

Next she again presses the bar to my lips. I stay closed yet it presses well toward the back of my throat. I will never ever be able to challenge being bitted and bridled. One of the strongest sets of muscles in the body, the jaw muscles, has been rendered useless in defending my oral cavity from invasion.

The Colonel assesses, grasping the bar at the left and right, using it to turn my head.

"Just a little more to the left bicuspid."

The filing resumes.

I also realize one of the last remaining offensive capabilities of the well bound... the well restrained... has been abrogated. I will never again be able to bite in aggression or otherwise.

The Colonel has worked for hours, though time is immeasurable. But there is one last modification... a nose ring. Large, deeply set in the cartilage, it comes last and I quickly realize why.

The pain is unbearable, and the tears flow with abandon despite the quickness of the penetrating device. The prongs inserted well into the nostrils, just like a common stapler, with a squeeze of her hand and the sound of a snap, an opening is made in my septum. The introduction and closing of a heavily gauged ring of steel is a mere afterthought.

The Colonel applies astringent. The bleeding, however slight, curtails. She slips her index finger into the ring and hooks, her hand slowly drawing left then right then left. My face must follow and my head turns within the yoke. Any hesitation brings agony.

"There, that should offer you quite the sense of feminine control... that which excites you... which arouses you... that for which you crave..."

It does.


Brandi finishes washing, his/her tiny tender hands palpating everywhere. Feeling well developed muscles, the elastrator long denying her normal masculine development, seems to bring a thrill. Initially ingrained homophobia suggested I resist her touch. But how? And to what end? I must urinate. Long excursions harnessed to Master’s cart, laboring under her crop, demand some form of ablutions. So Brandi has her way. There is no resisting... there is no benefit to resisting.

So I kneel, letting whatever happens happen. I control nothing.... so I try to think about nothing.

Brandi steps away. She returns with ice, prancing excitedly, her little penis flopping about, seemingly lonely without adjoining scrotum and testicles. She loves milking the intact, a chore to be relished. She thus steps behind and a small ice laden hand begins the long process of draining me of pent up male essence.

The procedure is most demeaning as intended, but offers lassitude, righting hormone levels forced out of sync by way of long term chastity.

I will feel very little, mainly Brandi’s penetrating hand... but I will sleep as though I had copulated for hours.

As the initial shock of extreme coldness wanes, my normally massive penis shriveling comically, I know to let my mind wander... letting whatever happens happen.


Appointed as potentate for the small secluded island, Master quickly proclaimed simple dictates the effects of which are quite telling.

Inhabited by a few dozen of the Emperor’s subjects, the island economy is agrarian and for the most part self sustaining. But what is needed from the mainland comes by way of the Emperor... and through the Emperor’s potentate. Thus Master has control and the people of the island... for the most part the women of the island... know where their bread is buttered.

These simple dictates have over time turned the island into a modest gynecocracy, engendering a female led relationship in every household.

Dictate number one. Males are not to wear covering. Ever!

Such a simple and subtle form of power exchange. All males, young and old, are naked at all times. Growing up constantly exposed while the opposite gender benefits from clothing instills a sense of vulnerability and curiously effects the will, if the male psyche ever truly develops such.

Dictate number two. Males are not to masturbate.

Alas, what male specimen can exist without satisfying the basic need of sexual gratification? Yet with this rule in place such must always come at the behest of a woman, or in a gracious gesture of condescension, Master permits male on male fellatio. Few willingly choose the latter. And the women take glee in enforcing the rule, spying, laying traps and quickly informing Master of offenders, those furtively stroking in frustrated defiance.

The punishment... for the first offense, the public performance of fellatio in the village square. For the second offense, an appointment with Master’s elastrator. Thus there are no third offenses

And so as the women of the island begin to better understand their empowerment, over time this gynecocracy slowly grows stronger. Sexual denial is commonplace. Without any outlet other than coercing fellatio from another male, desire smolders and very obedient naked males jump to the snap of feminine fingers, beseeching for carnal embrace but most often settling for an exchange... long interludes of cunnilingus for quick demeaning hand jobs. Control the male libido... control the male.

Overall, a fascinating social experiment plays out. The males of the island are commendably polite and docile, particularly with me on display, a massive well muscled Caucasian completely under Master’s tutelage, physically... mentally... emotionally.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Hand Jobs by Klixen revisited

The blog was just offered a belated comment regarding the sublime talents of Ms. Klixen (May 23, 2011 posting).

At the time of posting, I sent Ms. Klixen an email expressing my concern over possible copyright violation and never received a reply. So I assume the  linked videos were either intentionally posted or found to be acceptable after the fact.

Over all, as I age, I find her 'handiwork', the depicted form of Feminine Governance, to be more my brand of D/s interaction.