Saturday, September 15, 2012

'Madam, Me and It' - Part VII - A Need for Counseling

A Need for Counseling

The heat of the bath meliorates the dull ache. I arise from the tub and towel myself. The soaking has not changed the discoloration of my scrotum for better or for worse. And I must wonder when will I know... will the circulation return to normal or not?

Hormones pills are taken. Though my testicles no longer function I notice no change... no physical change. But as the doctor suggested weeks ago, I am no longer a rampaging bull when it comes to drive. I have not made an appointment to see Madam and have little desire to do so... for climactic relief. But another need arises.

The doctor, in surmising that my condition has been self induced, suggested a need for counseling... almost concluding that such would result in total gender modification.

Well, I indeed feel a need, but such is for discussion. A need to know and understand.

Why did this happen?

So I move to the phone. A call to Madam. She has probably already charged a credit card for the visit I failed to arrange last week. At the very least I must put a stop to her financial shenanigans. I make a note to report my cards as lost and obtain new ones.
In searching for the cell phone, the final moments of the encounter which has changed my life rolls from my hippocampus.

After the intense ejaculation, It withdrew from the jerking table, righting at the waist in having been stooped over to suck on my balls. Quickly departing, I noted more tattoos covering a cherubic nakedness. The forms and shapes of the body art were indistinguishable. If there is a thought or message to be conveyed by Its tattoos, I do not know what it could be... other than that someone doodled on his flesh.   

Yes, just as with me, It was completely denuded. The lack of muscle structure suggested femininity... and without the athleticism of Madam. The breasts were limited and the doctor’s comments about puffy and sensitive nipples flashed into memory. The pubes area revealed little but a tiny penis flopped about... very tiny... with nothing noted below. When It turned and pranced to the kitchen, plump, uncolored soft and rounded buttocks yielded brands... a sizable letter ‘M’ prominently displayed, the flesh incarnadine from searing heat, upon the apex of each globe. And such jiggled saucily.

At that point Madam unbuckled a wrist strap and then silently strolled out, leaving me to release myself from my remaining bonds. There was no subsequent discussion and there has not been subsequent discussion since then.

Thus the need to talk. 

“Hello,” the accented cultured voice of Madam comes on line after the second ring.

“It’s Grieves.”

“I did not hear from you last week. More naughtiness.”

“I was at the doctors. A certain injury needed to be assessed.”

“Well I charged your card. If you’d like to visit, tomorrow or Friday, you’ve already funded my time.”

Just as I suspected. Madam is a woman of purpose, doing what she says and saying what she does.

“I’d like to stop by and just talk... to you and It.”

It does not talk. A little adjustment I thought appropriate. The ability to communicate can embolden. My pet has nothing about which to be bold.”

“What is It? Who is It? Why is It?” I blurt in exasperation.

Madam responds with her wicked chuckle.

“Yes, Mr. Grieves, perhaps you should stop by... and listen... not talk. But I will want you naked and in a subservient position. It is best that we communicate in such a manner. I am your superior.

“How did your doctor’s visit go? A positive assessment of your injury I hope.”

Her tone seems mocking... sarcastic. At least I interpret such as mocking and sarcastic. Yes, my proclivity inures such deviance.

“I... I... I’m taking some pills and awaiting further evaluation.”

“Yes, it was rather nasty of It. I wanted just a little nip. Such can add spice to a good orgasm. Its envy must have spurred an overreaction,” Madam chuckling again. 

“I’d like to drop by Friday,” finding the need to change the subject.

“If it’s just to talk, morning is best. It will still be caged. Say 10:00 a.m.”

I agree and hang up, somewhat perplexed. But why shouldn’t It be caged? It is Madam’s pet.

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