Saturday, June 9, 2012
'To Serve Intact' XVII
I kneel on the low wash table. My yoke is secured as always to brackets left and right, my ankle bands to rings forcing apart my knees and thighs. Sweat and caked mud vanish as Brandi douses with a warm comforting spray. This begins the ending part of the day which I both love and hate... placed in soothing, kneading, massaging hands... but those of an effeminate castrate.
I have apparently piqued the curiosity of this ‘Genevieve’ woman. As I am lathered, closing my eyes, pretending I am under the auspices of a pretty girl and not a male, the tall blonde returns to the stable building. She is radiant. Having changed she is casually attired in a silk blouse which does little to cloak abundant breasts, glass of wine in hand. But for the ghastly memory of useless clicking rifles and later the executions and neuterings, she is a woman I would attempt to seduce... in another life. Yes, I would conquer her, despite her size, apparent strength and brusk demeanor.
And now I kneel in thorough bondage, my well muscled 270 pounds instantly responding to the whim of a hermaphrodite, a directing finger curled into my nostril ring all that is required to demand instant obedience.
As Brandi soaps my shoulders, fingers slipping beneath to toy with nipples she some how knows are hypersensitive in strict chastity, Genevieve steps to my rear. A free hand cups my swinging scrotum. A thumb abrades, feeling the testicles within. There comes a squeeze... not painful... but sending a message of authority... of control.
It is well received.
“I watched the Emperor’s hogs being fed, Captain. Most of your brigand cohorts ended life loyally serving by fattening swine for a palace feast... others ended life as a male, loyally serving by sacrificing their masculinity.”
Her tone is matter-of-fact, such chilling sang froid in describing the humble demise of so many.
She releases my sac, offering a chuckle in seeing my pardoned masculinity swing about between well parted thighs. Next she reaches to inspect my penis, now infibulated of course, quite the contrast from the upstanding pole which greeted her at the dock. She snickers and casually handles my organ as if inspecting fruit for purchase, apparently fascinated that something which stood so proudly can succumb so forthrightly to Brandi’s fingers and a thin strip of wire. Then as Brandi dutifully continues to clean, the woman steps to my front, left arm across her midsection, left hand casually grasping her right elbow as she raises the wine glass in her right.
“I am Miss Genevieve... as you’ve most likely perceived. The Emperor has rewarded my loyalty by gifting me with a vacation home here on the island. In my business, it’s not easy to find a location safe from the cutthroats with whom I must deal. So though it’s rather quiet and secluded here, there are certain attributes in which a woman such as me can find attraction.”
She sips. Then the wine glass lowers and the left hand extends, the index finger hooking into my nose ring. She slowly pulls to the left... smirking as her digit mandates that my face must follow. Then she amuses herself directing my face back to the right... then again to the left. Noting my immediate compliance, her smirk broadens to a smile... the term Schadenfreude quite apropos with the likes of a ‘Miss Genevieve’.
Yes, avoidance of pain dictates that I instantly follow the directing finger. Such frustration, ceding to this woman of repugnance. My heart pounds. My circulation rushes, the loathing coming to a boil. Yet I have no choice but to react with complete obeisance.
“Why?” in tempering what I would like to say, forced to put aside what I would like to do, the question raspily passes through altered teeth. I rarely speak.
“Why what? Why spend my idle time on an tropical island where estrogen rules and testosterone merely serves to frustrate?”
“Why the bad ammunition?”
Miss Genevieve cackles, finally settling herself and sipping more wine. Then she snaps her fingers, pointing toward the exit to direct Brandi from the stable.
“Give us a few minutes,” her voice most stentorian.
I hear the patter of bare feet, a most truckling Brandi departing.
“Is that how you spend your time in unending bondage, wondering why a woman would so effectively emasculate with disarmament? Goodness Captain, putting myself into a position in which I could feed the hogs some boyish testicles certainly brought me a thrill, but the Emperor’s money offered much more stimulation. You overpaid for the ammo... but the Emperor paid me five times that to ensure most was without powder charge.”
She cackles again, straining to repress her annoying expression of mirth.
“You were had... you and your employers. A complete set up. Your rebellion never had a chance.”
She pauses, the index finger tapping my nose just as Master does in offering affection.
“And you are now the only person who knows the truth... other than me and a few of the Emperor’s subjects. And that, Captain, puts me in a precarious position. Even arms dealers have a reputation to protect. So you and I are going to become very close. I have to assure our secret stays a secret. You will never leave this island... of that I can assure you.”
A warm hand smooths along my cheek. I curse myself... not only having to accept her touch, however gracious... but finding that it feels good.
“I know your type, Captain... quite evident in seeing you so proudly standing erect, in harness, reveling in your capitulation to a superior woman. You’re quite responsive to a woman’s caprice. Quite easily directed.
“You see, I know these things. You need to be with women such as me and the Colonel. After a career of bravado you found it was all an act... contrived. It was a role you were playing, feigning the macho soldier of fortune. But the Colonel has offered a more attractive role... and one you have come to cherish.”
There is a pause in her soliloquy as she sips.
“So for one simple act of kindness, sparing both your life and your balls, you have allowed yourself to succumb to a woman... mentally... physically... emotionally. I think the mental bondage exceeds the physical, Captain. Bringing such simplicity. Not a care in the world. Just obey... respond to the crop... and harden of course.”
Such wicked truths! The presence of Miss Genevieve, memories of her duplicity... costly duplicity... have burst the bubble of fantasy. That of being owned... cared for... leaving behind the contrived role of jousting with danger and displaying inordinate courage. Once dauntlessly fighting for the freedom of others... I am now kept. And it oddly appeals.
A hand smooths over my head bringing more frustration as I cannot repudiate her touch... and it serves to sooth. Then her index finger plunges into my mouth, my filed incisors seeming to welcome penetration. She momentarily diddles about, demonstrating my oral helplessness, then with two fingers begins a fucking motion...in ... out... in... out.
“When your Master tires of you... you’re to become mine. Another aspect of the Emperor’s appreciation. As a gracious gift, I will own you.”
I shudder... quite noticeably... and in sensing my trepidation, Miss Genevieve laughs again.
“Yes, I’ll also raise some hogs... here on the island. Whatever shall I feed them?..”