'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."

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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.