Snippet from 'More Tale of Castration'

Carson joins Nurse Greta Donhoffer in the African village where she annually carries out his Excellency's directive, emasculating those males who have achieved adolescence.

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“You will be calm, more obedient, respectful, eager to please those you find to be superior... both women and men,” the latter word bringing a brisance of concern.

Miss Greta lectures as we laggardly stroll to the village square, my bare feet obviating haste.

“And most importantly, this perverse lust which drives you will be tempered,” Miss Greta continuing to expound on the probity of submitting to her skills.

“Drives me?” I have the temerity to query.

“Well... you’re here, are you not?” the retort coming with a rare snort of laughter.

Reaching the square I note a large man, kneeling on all fours before a wooden post. His head is tilted back, face pointing skyward, apparently strained. As we near, the cause of his distress becomes evident. A slim chain runs from a ring above his head on the post and is locked onto a prominent nose ring. The tautness of the chain indicates it prevents him from lying down. But the ring is positioned such that he cannot fully stand either. Thus he is held restrained on all fours.

Knees well parted, I assume in a position to be assumed by all the subordinate males of the village, there are of course no testicles and the tip of an extremely long flaccid appendage nearly abrades the soil. As with the field worker spied yesterday, there is a glint of metal. 

“Good morning, Chief. It seems you’ve had a long night,” Miss Greta greets.

“Yes Miss Greta. Please can you release me? I have transgressed and one of the young daughters chose to punish.”

It is disturbing to think the man has been so secured for the entire night. Yet with the nostril ring so deeply set into the cartilage, he has had no choice but to endure the slow unending duress.

“This is the Chief, Carson. The first I castrated on his Excellency’s orders. He was once a vicious rapist and killer... not to mention theft and other inhumane crimes. As the leader... former leader... his Excellency decreed special treatment. He decided that working the fields would not set a good enough symbol of retribution. Instead the Chief is to crawl about the village, offering a lesson to young males of potential belligerence... and emboldening the young women,” Miss Greta explains as a small key mercifully unlocks the nose ring and an exhausted Chief tumbles to the clay.

Miss Greta shuffles forth her right foot. The Chief twists. Struggling on the ground he manages to most humbly kiss her shoe.

“Thank you, thank you, Miss Greta.”

“You’ll not be orally pleasing when locked up like that Chief. No fellatio, no treats. And do you have other words for me?”

I visually assess as Miss Greta awaits a reply, the Chief busy licking her shoes in gratitude. He is a huge man, I wager well over six foot. At one time no doubt muscled and powerful. One can extrapolate and assume before emasculation, with hormones raging, he indeed raped, killed and plundered in leading the truculent village males.

“And thank you for castrating me, Miss Greta,” the gratitude seemingly sincere.

“You’re welcome. Falaka of late?”

“Yes. It is why the young girl so locked me to the post. Last evening I moved my foot when she applied the final stroke of the sjambok. It angered her.”

“See Chief, lesson learned. You must be obedient. You’ve been well disciplined and will more readily cooperate when it’s next time to tenderize your feet.”
     
With that, Miss Greta extracts something from her pocket and tosses it to the soil. The Chief scrambles to right himself, returning to all fours, pressing his head down to take the offering in his mouth. As he ravenously chews, I note he again parts his knees, explicitly displaying a penis of great length and a perineum devoid of male bits.

“A dog biscuit. That’s all the Chief eats... other than sperm of course. Isn’t that right Chief?”

“Oh yes, Miss Greta... lots of sperm. I so much love to lick and suck.”

For the first time, I note the hands. The fingers are not free to work. The Chief is unable to grasp anything.

“I sutured together his fingers,” Miss Greta responding to my queried look. “As you can see the thumb is also sutured... inoperable as well. It assures his humility... and that he eats from the ground or a bowl.”

The commanding woman in white moves behind the once virile village leader. She leans, extending a hand to rub and palpate a circular patch of flesh where once hung balls I am sure of massive size. Her manipulation brings a pleasing sigh, the touch appreciated.

“Something missing here Chief. What happened?”

“You castrated me, Miss Greta.”

“Ah yes. Testicles. They’re gone. Where are they now?” the mind games evident.

“Vultures, Miss Greta. Eaten.”

“Yes, food for scavengers. A Hyena may have feasted as well, Chief, ha, ha, ha.”

The hand moves lower palming the long penis and drawing back between the thighs. For the first time I can better inspect the gleaming metal adorning the tip. It is a tiny lock similar to that securing my thumb rings. Miss Greta summons me to draw closer. When I step forth she turns me and tucks the elastrator under my hands behind my back.

“Hold onto it,“ she commands turning her attention back to the kneeling nakedness.

“I’m sure you need to go Chief, “ Miss Greta’s now free hand producing the key which likewise frees me.

“Oh, yes Ma’am. Thank you, Miss Greta,” the words so humble.

“In addition to castration, I have infibulated the village males as well,” Miss Greta explains. “In being uncircumcised, it’s a simple matter of piercing the foreskin and tightly threading a little lock through the openings. Achieving erection is thus painfully impossible... and urination only comes at the behest of a keyholding woman.”

With that, Miss Greta skins back the foreskin, pauses in a demonstration of feminine control and after several moments finally grants permission.

“You may urinate for me, Chief. Quickly please.”

There comes a torrent, the Chief undoubtedly accustomed to so performing for governing women.    

In completing the task, a degree of comfort restored, the Chief finally looks at me, a naked Caucasian male, a rare sight I am sure.

“My servant, Chief. His name is Carson,” Miss Greta explains.

“He’s... he’s... intact. May I suck his penis?”

“Ha, ha, ha... no Chief. You’ll need to beg one of his Excellency’s soldiers for another biscuit... and your morning spurt. Carson is... well... kept chaste. But if you’d like to lick his balls for me I’m sure Carson would be appreciative.”

I would not. The notion disturbs. I have not before been... I guess the term pleased is most apropos... by a man. I so state.

“Please no, Miss Greta. Not by a guy.”

“I’ll decide who tends to you and in what manner, Carson. The Chief is no longer a man, if it’s silly homophobia that disturbs you. Step closer. And do not dare bring him off, Chief. Just make him a little harder for me. It’s... ah... amusing.”

I am indeed semi erect. Is it the anal insertion? Or is it witnessing the ultimate in feminine governance... a castrator of men reasserting her superiority with those she neutered.

Still I obey, shocked when a long oddly shaped tongue juts forth adoringly lapping away, the warm wetness disgustingly pleasing.

“Another little alteration, Carson. To assure the efficacy of the Chief’s oral efforts, I split his tongue. He so much enjoys using it. Is that not right Chief?”

“Oh yes Ma’am. Much tongue work, many biscuits.”

Long laps of the misshapen tongue... slurps... the Chief indeed avoids my penis. It stands freely for Miss Greta’s entertainment. Finally comes the command to stop.

“I need to prepare for another castration, Chief. A lad named Mihigo. Seems the effluent he’s been discharging of late is white with spermatozoa. It’s time.”

Miss Greta takes the elastrator from behind my back then tugs at my elbow to lead me away. The Chief seems genuinely disappointed, the sustenance of male effluent savored.