A treat today. Two parts.
A Walk Home
Knowing of the potential for inordinate weight gain, for exercise I walked to Madam’s house of torment. So in returning to my apartment I have twenty minutes to think and revel in the renewed capacity of moving arms and legs.
Madam kept the pills. Her desire to have control impresses, equaling... exceeding... my quirky penchant for ceding it.
But in two or three days time, doctor’s paperwork completed, I shall have a fresh supply, I console myself. Yet meanwhile, I shall not only be physically leashed, but emotionally as well.
I try to assuage my concern, convincing myself that going one or two days without the medication cannot be too disastrous. But then the image of It comes to mind, and that tiny vestige of maleness so meekly dangling... useless other than to amuse and accept Madam’s catheter.
Degloving... how insidious! The organ modified to the point that it cannot even be touched!
Like the tide, Madam’s words, her monologue, ebb and flow about my cerebrum. My spirits rise in having this thing of mine satiated, my need for the tutelage of a commanding woman. But then my pluck subsides with the realization that what was formerly recreation is transforming to reality. It is a pet!
Is that what I want? To be kept... in a cage?
But do I have a choice? Dare I defy Madam, refuse to return to her and go days without hormones? And if so will any effects be reversed when I resume the medication?
I do not know... and cannot take the chance.
Then comes to mind Madam’s final directive... ‘I want to put you on display’. Will I indeed deep within enjoy that as well?
I make a note to call the doctor’s office, see if I can get word of the effect of skipping the dosage. But then I look at the time. Madam kept me caged for a good part of the day. It’s well after office hours and I shall not have opportunity to contact the doctor before the demanded appointment tomorrow morning.
So, I shall be obedient and inveigle one more pill, then make the determination as to whether I will need to grovel for more.
As I turn the last corner, I think of a toothless It. And I have no doubt that with a nod of my head Madam will indeed make him edentulous. Why stop with just castration, degloving, tattooing and branding?
A 9:00 a.m. Appointment
“Very prompt. Very obedient,” Madam compliments as she closes the door behind me.
To the dining room and I know to strip under her watchful gleeful eye.
“Cuffs, collar and leash today, Mr. Grieves. A little redundant but I think in time you’ll have your excitement.”
I am so adorned, expecting another dull stay caged on hands and knees. Instead the firm hand of Madam leads me back to the entry hall where a set of stair leads to the second floor.
“As you are now aware, I entertain a variety of clients... many tastes... many needs... many proclivities,” explaining as we ascend.
The old Victorian homestead is sizable, built in days when families of 6, 7, 8 were more prevalent than rare. I thus surmise many bedrooms... more likely bedrooms turned dungeons.
It was thoroughly caned somewhere in the house and I heard neither a thwack nor a whimper. The structure is vast, the walls thick.
“I term this the viewing and inspection room,” Madam leading past two closed doors to open a third.
We enter a room, probably at one time the master bedroom. The ceiling is high, the space considerable. Sparsely furnished, there is a knee high platform in the center, perhaps large enough to accommodate a vase of flowers... nothing more. To the right and left are comfortable couches. On the walls above are huge mirrors. The windows straight ahead are heavily draped, the material dark and thick. There is a horizontal wooden bar propped at waist height by posts left and right. Above the tiny platform there is a strong ominous steel hook attached to a heavy rope leading to a pulley at the ceiling.
Madam pulls me to the platform.
“Up,” she commands.
I so step, the surface just large enough for my feet. She loops the leash onto the steel hook. She then clips together my ankle cuffs, checks to assure my wrists cuffs are firmly secured behind my back and moves to the wall. There she tugs, the opposing end of the heavy rope moving downward. I feel my leash tighten, more, more and find I must rise to my toes.
“I’ll want you tired and nice and humble in greeting Miss Pletcher. So enjoy for now. And a good boy may get a nice pill later.”
May?
“You will be silent when displayed and inspected. A pill will be your reward for obedience.”
Madam departs, leaving me well bound and on toes. In shutting the door behind her I note the wall to the right of the doorway is littered with an array of implements, appearing to be medical. A dispensing box of latex gloves further evidences this assumption.
So once again I am to endure feminine caprice. I do not know when I will be lowered much less released. There is little mobility afforded to counter cramping muscles... and I know such will soon cramp.
But I can turn, carefully tapping my toes on the platform surface. Should I slip off the edge, I shall hang by my neck. When I face one of the large mirrors my nakedness seems to fill the room. I am disheartened to see that my scrotum remains discolored and Madam’s stretching, not noticeable when lying in the bathtub or doing my daily inspection, has resulted in my dormant testicles, once the envy of It, dangling at mid thigh.
But I am heartened to note that my form remains male. Though not athletic, I have monitored well my weight over the years, and I cannot help envisioning with concern the possible plumping effects of hormone deprivation... a la It.
And once again the dual torments of tedium and the unknown begin to wear... mentally and physically. How long? For what purpose? Will I indeed obtain the desperately needed medication?.. and who is Miss Pletcher?
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