'Podded', Segment VII

My shift ends. Before leaving the hospital I call Bobbi’s number on my cell phone. He answers.

“Bobbi where are you?”

“Tenth avenue and forty seventh,” recognizing my voice.

It makes sense. The street walkers have migrated toward the river over the years, the City administration pressuring the girls in trying to clean up the Times Square area. But the fact that Bobbi is working alongside hookers makes getting him off the streets even more imminent. He’ll make a few bucks offering quick blow jobs... well trained for that... but if a john wants more he’ll be in trouble.

Hopefully he’s not been working the streets for long and is free of disease.

“Walk over to eighth avenue. I’ll meet you at the fiftieth street subway stop.”

“What’s this about Miss Joan?”

“A place to live... for a while. See if you can earn your keep,” explaining succinctly, knowing there’s plenty of time to talk later concerning details. 

Yes, Rhodi has agreed to house Bobbi... temporarily... on an experimental basis. I have therefore purloined some medical supplies from the hospital. Hypodermic needles won’t be missed. But I had to be very cautious in stuffing my oversized handbag with Posey restraints and straps. Indeed I grabbed wrist and ankle cuffs. Auxiliary stuff like neck collar, thigh, arm bands and waist belt will need to wait for another foray into the supply room tomorrow.

Bobbi is docile and obedient, really not in need of restraint. It’s for Rhodi’s peace of mind.

Yes, the tipping point in last night’s long discussion... disclosing details of my sojourn on St. Sappho island... was when I pointed out that the second bedroom in our spacious apartment goes unused. Rhodi and I sleep together, typically tightly entwined. Thus should Bobbi’s presence become intolerable for Rhodi... a ‘thing with a penis’ prancing about the abode... the spare bedroom can become a makeshift jail cell. With the Posey restraint system at the ready, Rhodi will feel more comfortable.

And it will make Bobbi feel welcomed. Much time spent in bondage on St. Sappho. Beneficiaries were to always know their place. 

Bobbi and I meet, he’s there waiting. I take his hand and guide down the subway stairs, his high heels ungainly. With his short baby doll dress, page boy hair style, we appear to be mother and daughter. Not that I am ancient at age twenty eight. It’s that Bobbi has been trained, laboring cosmetically to look pubescent. Masters like that.  

“You suck any cock today, Bobbi?”

“No Miss Joan... the other girls. They’re nasty and either chase away a client or tell them they’ll do it for free... just to spite me.”

“Just as well. You’ve not been trained for that. You’re more special, Bobbi,” going through the subway turnstile.

“Where are you taking me, Miss Joan?”

“Well, I’m not kidnaping you. Home. A coop apartment. Probably not as grand as that of your rich Master... but it’s shelter.”

“Your friend, she’ll understand that...”

“That you have special needs,” interrupting, “yes. It’s an experiment. Bobbi. Back to being a house girl.”

“I’ll take care of you, Miss Joan. Just like...”

“You’ll not need to concern yourself with pleasing me. It’s Rhodi... friend, companion, lover. You have a penis, Bobbi. She finds things with a penis to be useful in the workplace... otherwise a source of annoyance. Understand?” stepping onto an arriving ‘C’ train. 

“Then I will please her.”

With that, in a comical gesture, Bobbi extends his tongue. With the frenectomy, special exercises and many months of St. Sappho training, the length of wet pink licks much of his nose... nearly up to the eyebrows.

“We’ll see,” looking about to ascertain if any fellow passengers noticed what may be considered an obscene gesture. “Cooking, cleaning, laundry for now Bobbi.”

“Clothing? This is all Master permitted me when he pushed me out,” Bobbi’s free hand brushing over the folds of his short flimsy dress, jonesing for better apparel.

The observation gives rise to thought. During the many stages of training, transformation and indoctrination on St. Sappho beneficiaries went naked... at all times. In the tropics, such 24/7 exposure mandated meticulous applications of sun block. It brings pleasant memories, my hands and fingers working every inch of my beneficiary’s body. It empowered... and I enjoyed being so empowered at a young age. And now... well... here we are.

“You’ll not need any,” my voice firm.

Bobbi’s glum reaction is telling. Apparently, though being penniless and homeless has been stressful, being permitted clothing for the few days of his emancipation has been enlivening. That will change.

We arrive at our stop and I remain with Bobbi’s hand in mine. 

“You’re my niece, Bobbi. The building has a doorman and the apartments are owned by very upscale people. Naked sex slaves would not be considered appropriate,” I lecture in exiting the subway station.

Reaching the lobby of my building, Bobbi plays along, calling me Aunt Joan. Into the elevator we resume speaking... explicitly.

“Your pod, keeping it clean?”

As I described to Rhodi, the metal piece encapsulating Bobbi’s genitals is not to be removed. Thus at the top is a pin hole opening where all types of liquids can be introduced, immersing penis and scrotum in whatever.

“No Ma’am. I can’t... well nothing fits the opening.”

“We’ll get you cleaned. I have hypodermic needles. Vinegar and water should suffice for now. Rhodi may be amused in watching. I will have to get some sauce though.”

Exiting the elevator on our floor, I note the hallway is empty in the middle of the afternoon, no neighbors. I become brazen as the garbage chute is right there, the entrance to our apartment three doors down. I release Bobbi’s hand and grasp the straps to his baby doll dress at the shoulders, yanking the garment over his head. I turn and toss his only covering down the garbage chute. Yes, as suspected, he is without undergarments. He will enter his new world sans covering.

Bobbi looks at me wide eyed. I smile and point. He prances, following my finger. I take my time joining him at my door, key in hand. 

“Welcome, Bobbi. Hopefully this will be home for you,” reaching to pinch an inviting nipple.

He squeals... like a little girl. I can read his thoughts. A new Master.

Into our apartment I point to the kitchen and follow Bobbi, his cute hairless little girl buttocks rolling about. 

“Inspection time, Bobbi. Up on a chair.”

The bright florescent lighting reveals all, making every inch of Bobbi’s hairless skin seem to glow. I take the bag from my shoulder, step back and simply gaze. Despite the many years of exposure to governing women, Bobbi blushes, his entire nakedness turning pink. I must suppose it’s something to which even the most submissive and masochistic boy has trouble acclimating. In being perched on the chair, his shiny pod is nearly at eye level. 

“Still trying to harden? Twinges?” extending my hand.

Fingers press the pod. I then begin a gentle circular motion. Such stimulates the male organs beneath... what remains.

“Please, Miss Joan,” Bobbi closing his eyes and gasping with the sensuous finger work.

“Please stop... or please more?”

Silence.

“Did Master milk you... have you milked?”

Bobbi shakes his head.

“Not good for your prostate, Bobbi, And you certainly can’t do it yourself. Did he take you anally? Make you come?”

“After Master married, well, I was only to serve his bride.”

“So no fellatio, no pegging. And an unknowing woman would certainly not lend attention to your needs. Well, I’ll add that to your pod cleaning. I’d not want you drooling about the apartment. Rhodi would not understand. You’d be out the door before dinner.”

My hand retracts from the pod, fingers slipping between smooth girlishly plumped thighs. Bobbi knows to part his feet, offering access. My index finger knowingly finds his altered urethral opening at the perineum. There is  moisture.

“Yes, you need milking. Rhodi may find it amusing to watch. But it also means you need more sauce... enzymes... despite the many years.”

“Please no. Miss Joan.”

“Yes, the male testicles don’t surrender quickly... nor easily. Your Master has been negligent. We’ll have to make up for that.”

I withdraw, my hand going to his to assist in stepping down from the chair.

“Must you Miss Joan? I... I...”

“Yes, you’d like to keep what’s left, I know. But it’s useless to you, Bobbi. You can’t play with it... can’t even see it. And you’ll be more comfortable making it smaller and smaller. Erections are painful for you.”

The sauce... the enzyme sauce... slowly shrinks what’s beneath the pod. Thoughts of such slow emasculation bring twinges. I am becoming wet.

“Dinner. Rhodi will be home sometime before six. Check the refrigerator. Make something nice for us. Your welcome here depends on it.”