'To Serve Intact' XX

Servicing a woman there... in the dark odoriferous crevice... smell and taste revolting... brings such mental conflict... particularly with a woman of Miss Genevieve’s beauty and shapeliness. Any place else, at another time, given freedom, given restored masculinity, I would be seducing... romancing... bringing her to ecstasy... under my auspices... my proud member frictioning the fleshy folds of her quim. Instead I lie hooded under her buttocks, licking in deference.

She is a stunning woman. Yet in disrobing, perhaps merely hiking up her pleated skirt, my eyes were not to feast, my hands not to touch. She just used me... for odious pleasure.

Returned to Master’s abode, the capstan turns. I prance, my nose ring tethered high to force me to my toes. Master and Miss Genevieve watch from the porch, wiling away a hot afternoon with a cold beverage as I am worked... and worked... and worked.

Master enjoys bringing me to a sweat while she relaxes. And as I circle, completing another lap to face the porch, it appears Miss Genevieve enjoys as well. Yet, perhaps it is the thought of the morning’s long session of analingus. She climaxed strongly, flooding my mouth with her juices.

I drank from her.

Despite being in Master’s presence, I am infibulated. She has chosen to have me worked while struggling to remain flaccid. And it is a struggle, my penis desperately wanting to display itself with a good stiff stand. It is psychologically ingrained. And should Master’s nod come, Brandi will step forth, remove the slim wire and I will harden. Such obedience... so firmly instilled.  

The hobbling chain has been removed. Yet with overhead tether taut, I must take small quick steps to minimize the stress. As a result my balls flop about, bringing mirthful looks. Brandi, in attendance as always, is particularly amused... the balls of the intact attract... her little plums succumbing to Master’s elastrator years ago.

Gratefully, the hood has been removed, any misstep bringing immediate agony and tearing of nostril flesh. Thus I step with deliberation, the controlling hand of a woman replaced by the crueler unrelenting armature of an unyielding machine.

I cannot hear the exchange of words. Is there a bargain being set... negotiation for my nakedness... my 270 lbs. of well muscled yet servile flesh?

I complete another turn. Master and Miss Genevieve arise and step from the porch. She wants, Miss Genevieve does, to own me... for the simple reason that she knows I despise her. And that she will take particular pleasure in assuring my despisement is for good reason. She will nurture it... make my loathing grow... like a well cultivated weed.

“Does he whip well?” Miss Genevieve inquires, the voices now within hearing range.

“I have not needed to be thorough in that respect. He’s quite obedient,” Master smiling in reply, the notion bringing fascination. “We have a protocol for indoctrinating subservient males... he took to it well.”

“They all need thoroughness, men like this. They come to appreciate it. And that’s when I enjoy bringing the ultimate capitulation... slow castration. It sends a message... one never to be forgotten.”

“He serves me best intact... for now,” Master’s ending words bringing horripilation.

She gives the expected nod to Brandi, standing at the ready near the machine’s control box. A knowing hand brings the rotation device to a pause. Then the cute naked castrate scampers forth, my infibulation wire to be removed.

The fingers deft and quick, the wire is slipped away. I can feel my foreskin begin to recede as an eager penis wants to show itself. I rejoice... normally. But to perform before the hated Miss Genevieve? It brings distress.

Still, Master’s presence serves as adequate catalyst. Plus she has Brandi kneel and lick my scrotum.

“Sweaty balls, Brandi. I know you cannot resist,” Master laughs as the tongue eagerly laves.

She does not. Yes, the tongue laps. My penis swells and rises, the diamonds scraping the tender glans as the foreskin retracts to expose a purple untouched tip, steadily swelling. Within seconds I stand for them... Master smiling in a curious maternal pride... Miss Genevieve with wickedness.

“I want to whip him. The islanders would benefit... a virile Caucasian reduced further by a woman... to be her pin cushion. It would augment the perception of your authority... and the dynamics of the female led regimen.”

Master steps forth. For some reason my erection waggles. She smiles again, noting the humble greeting, then pinches my cheek.    

“Would you enjoy that my beast? Being whipped a woman... one who so facilely outwitted you? All the ferocity, training and muscles... and you’re now naked, yoked and worked by a woman. Genevieve bested you. Should I grant her the trophy of your flesh?”

“Pwease no, Master,” my voice quavering in fear.

Master merely pats my cheek then nods to Brandi, a silent signal to return to the control box. The capstan resumes. With my first step I feel the burgeoning tip of my penis dip. But then come more twinges and it rises to press against my lower belly. I again curse myself, my psyche finding such odd arousal in the nakedness, bondage and threat of intense pain.

Perhaps, deep within, I would enjoy being whipped... the physical pain, the emotional trauma... the irony... such ignominious closure with the woman who duped all. Perhaps Miss Genevieve would do so in furs.

“No bastinado, Genevieve. I will need use of his feet,” the words fading as the capstan directs me away and the women return to the porch.