'Madam, Me and It' - Part XI - Visiting It

Visiting It

I remain silent in thought as Madam ends her monologue, watching her move to the wall of torment. She selects a thick leather collar and cuffs.

“I assume you’ll enjoy being walked on a leash,” lifting my head to buckle on the neck collar.

Next my wrists are released from the straps of the table and matching cuffs are buckled in place. Then the waist strap is released, the forearm straps and I am directed to sit up.

“Some day I will walk you... outside. Public nudity can offer quite the degrading thrill,” spoken as my wrists are drawn behind me and secured together.

Her words indeed thrill. But it is different, a peculiar emotional reaction not felt during the many visits... when intact. There is no sexual rush, so to speak. Instead more like that of a neglected child being returned to the comforting arms of his/her mother.

A leash is retrieved, quickly snapping onto my neck collar. Lastly the thigh and ankle straps are released, freeing me from the straps.

“Come,” the simple command offered with a brief controlling tug.

I step from the jerking table and follow, gazing at Madam with adulation. Curious that over the many months I have had rare opportunity to visually indulge. As stated, quite athletically shaped, Madam is a handsome woman. She forgoes glamor, but is professionally attired... white silk blouse, a dark blue skirt which suggests but does not overly reveal. Hair neatly coiffed, she wears limited jewelry, expensive but not ostentatious.

Led outdoors, she would appear to be a successful attorney walking her pet... with the sole element of kink being the latter is naked and human.  

Down a set of stairs, as suggested It is kept caged in the basement.

“With It being wanted by the authorities, I am sure you understand the precautions. He is revealed to very few clients. And only to those with whom I have a long relationship.”

The basement is high ceilinged. We step past the pulley, that which I assume hoisted It by his nuts. In a distant alcove I spy the gleam of shining metal. Polished stainless steel, bars, vertical and thick. Such form cages, a little higher than the waist. In one kneels the shocking and hideous form of It.    

Madam directs to the front, wordlessly permitting me to visually partake.

I feel a degree of anger, facing the cannibalistic beast that so direly altered. But then comes a sense pity.

On all fours, the first thing that impresses is the stout tube emanating from Its mouth. The thick rubber ends in the shape of an upturned funnel. It suggests caprice... wicked feminine caprice... in that anything introduced to the funnel immediately flows downward into the mouth and, if I properly surmise Madam’s resolve, further into the stomach.

“A gastric tube?” I must inquire.

“It sometimes has trouble with his diet. The tube facilitates his feeding. Early on he resisted... foolishly resisted... when I decided to fatten him. Now the lard just glides into his stomach. Lots of lard... and anything else I decide he is to ingest.”  

It peers through the bars. The eyes beseech, the glow of the whites pierce the dimness as the face and bald head have been tattooed dark shades of red and blue. I note the ears are pierced, not only cheap little girl earrings dangle from the lobes, but the cartilage at the top, left and right, have thickly gauged loops. Slim chains are strung from the loops to the top bars constantly holding up Its head. The wrists are tethered to the side bars with nylon straps similar to those on the jerking table as are the ankles as well.

It is evident that though the restraints are simple, It and the cage are one, the ear chains mandating that he at all times kneel upright... never to rest prostrate or supine.

“He does not lie down... to sleep?”

“Sleep is a privilege to be meted by his owner. Makes him eager to see me. Isn’t that right It?” Madam extending a free hand through the bars.

She cups the right breast. The gland, as with the left, remains uncolored and diverts attention to a meaty globe topped by a puffy effeminate nipple. Madam playfully caresses, completing her manipulation with a gentle milking motion. A sigh of delight erupts from somewhere in Its altered and intubated throat.

“Amazing the hormonal transition. His mammary glands have the sensitivity of a young girl.”

I am chagrined to understand it is true, the doctor’s words concerning undesirable effects coming to mind.

Madam steps to the side pulling on my leash, permitting a profile view. The body art is crude and without form or substance. One may as well have painted the flesh with a broad brush to attain the results. There the buttocks are natural in color but with terrifying brands as noted... the letter ‘M’ emblazoned on keloided flesh at the apex of each hillock.

It is catheterized, the tube clamped shut. Madam heeds my stare.

“Yes, I control what goes into him... and when it comes out as well. It is best for him.” 

My heart sinks with the full cognition of Its plight, of the unfathomable level of control and governance ceded to a woman who not only has such incredible power... but utilizes it with such glee.

Permanently colored, appearing like a jungle bird, Its fate is sealed. Continued existence is either under Madam’s exacting tutelage or in jail.

Madam again thrusts her free hand through the bars, palming the perineum where the intact male proudly exhibits his virility.

“All gone,” she mocks, the digits apparently freely tantalizing.

Then she grasps the catheter and draws into view as best she can the penis of a toddler.

“I had him partially degloved after I read somewhere that castrated males can still achieve an element of pleasure by way of the penis tip. Simple to remove that oversensitive patch of flesh. Not much larger than a thumb nail. A couple weeks of daily acid baths for the remaining shaft sealed the transition. He no longer has any desire to play here... instead he’d rather play with the likes of yours, Mr. Grieves,” Madam’s chuckle particularly venomous.

Yes, the penis tip is deformed indeed and I note that It stirs, tugging in anguish against his bonds. When Madam releases the tiny organ, It resumes his pose of obedient supplication. The shrunken strip of flesh is sore to the touch.

“So there you have it, Mr. Grieves. We bond... castrated and castratrix. Everything It has... everything It needs... comes from me,” explaining as she steps to the adjacent cage.

It is identical. Empty, nylon straps at the four corners await some miscreant occupant. Madam’s free hand pats the top bars as if to invite.

“A rather benumbing existence... for the intact. But as I alluded, think of the capon. The once virile creature merely sits about, abundantly fed, awaiting slaughter. For some it’s appropriate. For the emasculated male, life’s needs are quite diminished.”

Madam looks me straight in the eye. Her stare disconcerts as much as her words.

“You will find the comfort of sleep to be greatly enhanced when it becomes a privilege... one granted by a superior woman. Yes, it will be one of life’s diminished needs which I will ration... closely.”

I shudder.