Saturday, June 16, 2012

'To Serve Intact' XIX

Master sent a message in having Brandi ice my penis and return the infibulating wire. That is... her steed is only permitted erection in her presence... and certainly only when she chooses.

So after enduring the jolt of coldness, my organ obediently shrinks and Brandi instantly returns me to forced flaccidity. Then my yoke is finally freed from the floor brackets and I hear the click of a leather leash attached to my nose ring. Hood remaining in place, I am dismayed to find that Miss Genevieve intends to walk me blinded.

“I’ll want a hobbling chain,” the authoritative directive obviously for Brandi.

To the sound of two more clicks a length of chain connects my ankle bands. Then I feel feminine fingers playfully pinch my right cheek.

“Bad boys sometimes kick... and though I very much enjoy punishing bad boys it’s too warm and sunny to work myself into a fury. Plus, when I flog a boy, I like to do so in the nude. It’s a rather singular scene of power exchange... but requires privacy.”

Such plants a curious thought, visions of the ravishing blonde meting excoriating strokes of leather as a priapic male endures both pain and lust. The woman, though hated, is alluring. That point I must concede. Yet further reflection is curtailed as the leash tensions and there comes a stab of pain, the myriad of nerve endings in my nose strongly suggesting instant obedience.

“Come... up,” her tone pleasant but firm.

Sightless, I must concentrate... and I must offer total trust to this woman of deceit, the catalyst of slaughter and castration.

I arise. Responding to slight tension, I step. Brandi has hobbled me well, my stride quite abbreviated.

“On your toes for me. Be a good boy,” feeling the tap of a riding crop on my buttocks.

My thoughts of vehement hate suggest resistance, yet I must obey, sensing more tension as Miss Genevieve apparently begins walking. Instinctively, on toes indeed, I follow recalling the lessons from the machine... the many, many weeks of standing, bending, sitting, lying in response to a mechanical device.  

My mind seethes, forced to so meekly follow the woman I loathe. Yet there is nothing, no resistance to be offered. She has handled men before, prescient in obviating my ability to kick. Plus yoked as always and blinded there is nothing to be done other than to minimize the painful tugs of the leash and avoid her crop bearing hand. And then come the twinges... down there.

What is it? Months of forced chastity. Yes. But my hatred for this woman, however beautiful, overwhelms. Yet my reaction is one of arousal. The firm voice. The directing hand. The ‘tap’ of leather... what brings forth this need to display myself?

The encased penis tip fights the tight wire and brings agony. Strangely it is welcomed, for that will encourage softness. Yet it comes not. Step after step, my addled mind tries to concentrate on flaccidity as I prance, the hobbling chain rattling notably.

Where she guides me I know not. But after many minutes the warming radiance of the sun terminates. Shade. I suspect she has strolled to a copse of trees, the uphill path hinting we are on a small hill overlooking Master’s abode.


I do, the ground soft, covered in moss.

“So you only stand for the Colonel... your Master.”

“Yesh, Miss Genevieve. It is the rule. I am to be erect only in her presence and when she desires.”

“So your penis has capitulated... to a woman’s whim. It’s no longer yours, for the most part.”

I nod.

“Lie back.”

The leash slackens. I lie supine and hear the rustle of clothing.  

“Castrates have nimble tongues. Well trained, humble and eager to please. Still on occasion I enjoy oral servitude from the less eager... perhaps a male with reluctance... one in need of encouragement.”

I cannot imagine any level of reluctance until I sense Miss Genevieve straddling my face and lowering herself, pulling the leash over my head. I sense her feet at my ears. She sits facing my feet and the pungent aroma of her crevice fills my nostrils.

Her fingers begin to play about my entrapped penis, deliberately bringing more arousal. Such wickedness!

“Analingus, Captain. Knowing how much you despise me, there’s no reason for decorum. You’re going to service me where the castrated male finds reserve. And you’re going to learn to enjoy it.”        

Physical pain as Miss Genevieve encourages tumescence, mental trauma as her rectum greets my lips... such an urge for revenge... to bite! But with what?

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