'Podded', Segment VI

Director Vasiliki calls me into her office.

“Joan, kudos on your academic work. You’re progressing nicely in your studies.”

“Thank you, Vasiliki.”

“I always say a girl with few worries... and well satiated... can excel to great heights. You’re focused. And your work with the beneficiaries is exemplary as well. They like performing for you.”

“Thank you, Vasiliki.”

“After some three years, it may be time to expand your duties and experience as a handler. You’ve not worked with the stage five and six beneficiaries.”

“No Director, I have not.”

“We keep them separate as I’m sure you’ve come to realize. On the far side of the island. Don’t want to bring concern to the early stage boys, as you’ll come to understand. Stage five in our program involves denial. Draconian but necessary to assure dedication and devotion... that the many skills we imbue are put to good use. And stage six... well... such a treat for a governing woman.”

Vasiliki reaches into a drawer and places an object of shiny metal on her desk.

“It’s termed a ‘pod’. Specially crafted for a beneficiary named Bobbi. He completed his training in terms of household and sexual skills. It’s time for stage five... this.”

Vasiliki turns to silence pushing the object toward me, fingers gesturing to pick it up and examine. It’s smooth, shiny and elliptical in shape, very much like a protective cup warn about the genitals of athletes participating in various contact sports. As her finger gestures again, a turning motion, I flip it over. The opposing side is concave, rough, with many spikes and crags.

“Machine milled, using Bobbi’s body scan such that it will perfectly encapsulate his penis and scrotum.”        

I brush my finger on the scabrous inside surface, quickly retracting with the pain. It scrapes.

“A boy can’t wear this... it’s too small... too rough.. it will hurt!”

“All good things come to an end, Joan. The early stage boys have climaxed daily... if not more often... masturbating each other... sucking each other off... pegging. You yourself have offered prostate manipulation. They all have such fun in performing for their handlers. Well it ends... with stage five and the pod.”

“How does it stay on,” amazed with myself in quickly putting aside concerns about size and discomfort.

“That’s the ingenious part of the design. You see that tiny opening at the top?”

I nod.

“That’s where what we term ‘sauce’ will be injected while the pod is temporarily held in place by straps. The mixture of the initial injection contains enzymes which chemically chafe and irritate, making the skin nice and soft... like putty. The epidermis becomes receptive... more or less malleable. Thereafter penis and scrotum will heal and grow in those many micro openings milled into the metal... with the help of healing sauce. In time the beneficiary and the pod become one. Thereafter cleaning sauce is injected from time to time for hygiene. And of course there’s punishment sauce for bad little beneficiaries. That’s not an overly complicated mixture... for the most part akin to edible hot sauce,” Vasiliki offering a rare chuckle. “The boys learn quickly to avoid punishment sauce.”

“But... but... to urinate?”

“Ah, we do a urethral reroute. They squat to pee through an opening at the perineum. Stage five is involved, as you can imagine, from a medical standpoint. And there’s great opportunity for bonding... handler and beneficiary. Which leads to Stage six.”

“Stage six?”

“Transitioning from daily ejaculation to total chastity and denial is daunting for the male beast. The male appendage is no longer accessible... for masturbation, fellatio, copulation... any touching at all. In actuality it’s never to be seen again. Stage six addresses the mental and emotional side of the transformation. The beneficiary learns that pleasure... so abundantly meted through the years of stages one through four... is sparsely portioned... and not readily achieved. Through counseling and encouragement there comes an alternative to past ecstasy. Learning to obtain sexual pleasure through that of others. Initially that of his handler... later once placed, by way of pleasing a Master. You’ve attained substantial knowledge in your psychology courses, Joan. You’ll need to apply it.”

I have no words but one.

“Draconian,” finding myself agreeing with the director.

“The beneficiary’s oral skills need to be challenged and put to use, Joan... refined. Years have been spent strengthening and lengthening the tongue... including a lingual frenectomy. You must understand that stage six is also about perfecting such... applied to all genders which a beneficiary is to serve. We realize most of our handlers have no affinity for beings with a penis. But it’s part of your responsibilities. And in stages five and six you’ll not have to touch it... not even look at it. In stage six come the finishing touches of servitude. You’ll toilet him. I need not become scatological in detailing that task. Nor suggest you refrain from bonding with your beneficiary during your monthly cycle.

“Draconian,” not realizing I am repeating myself.    

*****

Rhodi looks silly with a spoon in her mouth, my story bringing stunned stillness... ice cream consumed but for a final spoonful remaining in the bowl.

“You’ve never told me about this,” her tone quiet and reserved.

“You chose not to hear, remember? That I tended to ‘things with a penis’ repulsed you. Details not to be forthcoming.”

“So ending his sex life. This beneficiary named ‘Bobbi’... how can he seek to speak with you again? Without attempting to choke you?”

 I cannot help laughing with the melodrama.

“Sorry, Rhodi. But you fail to fully perceive the relationship. His sex life did not end. It was a new beginning. Currently Bobbi is emotionally traumatized, being turned out, penniless other than limited cash, a cell phone about to be shut off, and his only shelter at a cheap hotel to be terminated. To whom do you think he would turn in a crisis?”

“To the woman who... what’s it called... podded him?”

“As I said... as director Vasiliki explained... stage six involves bonding.”

“He still has it... the pod?”   

“It’s permanent, Rhodi. The epidermis of his penis and balls... what’s left... have migrated into the interior surface of the pod... special metal... intricate design... diabolical in its fabrication. To attempt to remove would be to tear away that which is most sensitive... and most precious.”

Rhodi’s caring questions are unbelievable to me. Do I detect empathy? The spoon gathers up the final dollop of ice cream.

“So no penis, no balls, just a lump of steel?”

“Not steel. Actually a rather pretty, shiny covering of special alloy. Anatomically accepted by the endocrine system... like with artificial joints.”

“And he’s pretty?”

I have her!

“As stated, blonde hair well coifed, otherwise glabrous, made up like a child movie star. And in heels. Can’t walk without them. Very presentable.”

“Clothing? Dresses well?”

“I’m sure clothing chafes his skin. At times necessary... but otherwise annoying. So probably a very limited wardrobe.”

Rhodi pushes forth her empty bowl, expecting table service. I must chide.

“I’ll be the valet once again,” cleaning the table. “But there are alternatives.”

“You have a suggestion?” Rhodi being coy in knowing the answer.