Nusquam

by Chris Bellows

A kind... teasing?.. hand reaches forth and tweaks a nipple.

  “Sleep well.”

  Her words mock. For 128 never truly sleeps. Bound sitting upright, her nights are spent more hallucinating. So when her colleagues are similarly tethered and the lights extinguish, knowing another sleepless night approaches, 128 recalls the event of the day... placed in the daunting cunny harness... leashed to a dog... breasts toyed with while brusquely sodomized... undergoing the humiliating thorough physical examination... and observing another milking... the well utilized breasts of 79 forcibly sucked dry by a goat milking machine.

  It is ironic that the latter event most sticks in her mind. For that, should her organs be deemed acceptable, may be where it is decided she will serve at Nusquam. After watching 79 squirm, 128 surmising that within minutes the exhilaration of letting down transformed to a sense of having life suckled away... akin to bleeding to death... the discomfort became evident. The woman’s plaintive cries went unheeded. The machine pumped and pumped and pumped. It is no wonder hand milkings are coveted.

  128 mulls for how many years subjugant 79 has been milked... twice per day. In her bald nakedness, age is difficult to determine. But as Nurse Traite explained, the tagged right ears of the human cows demark much information, menstrual cycle and number of offspring brought to term included.

  128 counted ten notches down one side of the tag. Impregnated ten times! A minimum of ten years lactating at the behest of Nusquam members!

  But then come thoughts of the relative merits of life as a lactating beast. No sjambok... no anal penetration... no forced labor... limited Mastiff supervision. In being constantly fed through a tube... deluged with hormones and high lactose nutrition... there is tranquility.... an eery tranquility... as always the rule of silence enforced. Yet will subordinating her glands to the harsh suction of a relentless machine mollify her deviant desires? No pain... no suffering... no fellatio... no anal penetration.

  What if she is found acceptable and declines the role? Can a subjugant of Nusquam refuse the milking parlor? Refuse anything?

  Thoughts of doom linger. Still there come recollections of Nurse Traite’s expert hand. In prompting a strong expression of lactate... ‘jump starting the flow’ as the nurse quipped... a vibrator was applied to the clitoris of 79. 128 was amazed when the milk ducts instantly opened and despite the age of the well worn glands, beige essence immediately drooled to the nipple tips of the inverted naked form.

  ‘Works every time. So eager for attention.’

  Cruelly, the vibrator clicked off and the extraordinarily long nipples where encased in teat cups, the long interval of pumping to begin.

  ‘There are smaller teat cups,’ 128 found herself commenting in curiosity.

  ‘Labia and clitoris... for girls who perform for me. A reward for special occasions.’

  Ah, perhaps the milking parlor is not pure hell, 128’s thoughts vacillating.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Your first visit as a member. Have a good flight?”

  “The cabin gets a little claustrophobic when the windows are covered.”

  “Security, Kelly. You know my concerns,” the Director reminds. “And it’s only for the last hour of the flight.”

  For the final leg of the long journey from Teterboro, mostly over ocean, the cabin windows are closed when land approaches. Not even visiting members have the slightest semblance of knowledge concerning Nusquam’s location. But for the hot breezes and exotic greenery, for all Kelly Devers knows the flight could have been circular, returning her to some airstrip in a desolate area of America.

  “Muskrat Mansfield arrive okay?” Kelly sipping her coffee.

  “Being worked in the pump house,” the Director nodding.”You should visit him. Apparently he feels betrayed.”

  Kelly laughs, smiling fiendishly. Betrayed indeed.

  “You should know that after a long career as a con artist, the Muskrat was conned. About one fourth of his gold bars were fakes.... gold plated lead.”

  “Do I owe you a rebate on my commission?”

  “No. We took it into account before we sent your check. Just thought it ironic.”

  “Well, I’ll get the name of his gold dealer. Perhaps another candidate for the pump house.”

  “Yes, more irony in that,” the Director offering a rare laugh. “I’ll have them chained together.”

  “Who is that hanging for you? He’s nicely erect,” Kelly turning her head, gazing with another sip.

  The naked form of a tall muscular male idly hangs upright from the office ceiling by taut vertical cables. Hairless, forehead tattooed with the numerals 156, probably branded, right buttock beyond her line of sight, his penis stands firmly. On occasion there comes the sound of a strained grunt.

  “Another mob rendition. I don’t like doing business with them, but it’s a quick and easy pay off, and none of the miscreants are ever missed, no questions from the authorities. This one ran up some gambling debts... I suppose lots of gambling debts since he’s here and now unlikely to pay. So the boys make an example of him... those who may consider reneging think twice in learning of his fate. Which reminds me...” the Director retrieving a cell phone. “They want photos... to be shown to those who have not yet paid. A provocative warning.”

  The Director swivels, snaps then smiles.

  “Such wondrously slow suffering. Some enjoy hanging potted plants. I have my own office decorations.”

  “Any anesthesia when you had him spiked?”

  “The mob boys specified ‘no’. Wanted to send a message.”

  Kelly marvels at the relative stillness. Despite the aggravation of having long thin spikes thrust vertically through the pectoral muscles of the chest and gluteus maximus muscles of the buttocks... cables attached to suspend the nude male some six inches above the office floor... the mob’s miscreant moves not. Curious how quickly they learn that, Kelly thinks to herself. Despite the anguish, struggling against the horrific bonds only brings mind boggling muscle reaction... severe cramping. Thus those spiked and hung just idly dangle in suspension... and dangle and dangle... awaiting the mercy of a nearby foot stool.

  Augmenting the mental torment... the hands, feet and limbs are free to move about... not tethered. Thus if the suspended form so chooses, he can kick and flail... to no avail other than to turn the otherwise slow barely tolerable torture into instant excruciating pain.

  The spikes of stainless steel are in the shape of an inverted ‘T’, not to pull away despite supporting the entire body weight. With eyelets welded to the top and cables attached, such are threaded up and under the steel neck collar to offer balance, the form not to topple. And then there is the somatic reaction, the so termed dead man’s dance, tension in the spinal column spurring the male propensity to harden... erection most prominently displayed for the amusement of the Director, Kelly Devers and the form’s former creditors... his mob friends... soon to receive a texted photo.

  “I always found the protocol to be... so wickedly appealing... the buttocks and male breasts remaining nicely presented for the sjambok. How long?” Kelly inquires placing her coffee cup on the Director’s desk to arise.

  “He’ll take two to three hours per day before he faints.”

  “No, I mean for how long will he be your potted plant?” Kelly stepping to stand before the impressively helpless male nakedness.

  “Oh. I suppose I’ll tire of him in a few weeks. Then I’ll have him worked in the pump house.”

  “Good morning 156. You’re nicely erect for me,” Kelly soothingly teases, a knowing hand extending to palm the hanging testicles.

  There comes a menacing growl. An arm moves in an attempt to strike. The clenched fist harmlessly drops as the motion, though slight, quickly begins the cascade of agonizing muscle cramps. Feet kick... arms thrash, bringing more spasms. Hurting himself, the growl quickly transforms to pitiful grunts of pain as the dangling form strains to calm itself.

  Though near, Kelly smiles, fearl
essly standing her ground, the attempted blow futile and amusing.

  “Feisty. I’d like to have time with him before he’s relegated to the pump house. He’s to be neutered or labor intact?”

  “The girls can work him harder, get more production, if he’s intact.”

  “Then I’ll deglove him for you. It’s been a while and altering permanently always brings a thrill. Can he speak?”

  “No. I had his vocal cords sutured. I want to watch him suffer... not listen to him beg.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “You got a little hard last night, Robert. I’m going to suggest that the Director increase your estrogen.”

  Kelly Devers lounges, sitting upright, back resting on the plush pillows of the sizable double bed of cabin 10, the light covering sheets strewn aside, pushed away in the throes of lusty copulation... if taking a boy anally can be so termed.

  An effeminate Robert approaches, the words bringing gloom. Handing Miss Kelly morning coffee, he meekly protests.

  “Please don’t do that Miss Kelly.”

  The plea brings a smile. Basking in the exhilaration of sodomizing a boy she castrated, the sense of power enthuses.

  “Even a partial erection can bring vestiges of male pride, Robert. You know that’s not best for you. You need complete transformation, your psyche as well. And I think you enjoyed the penetration as much as me. Ceding to a woman somewhat excites a girly boy like you. And your prostate needed attention. You oozed like a fountain. Before going to the office, wash both the Feeldoe and the sheets.”

  Her words are a command. He nods, looking with admiration into the face of she who snipped, his envy for her determination and resolve apparent.

  The subjugant Robert, granted status akin to a prison trusty, has been absolved of most of Nusquam’s drudgery. Thus he has privileges... freedom of movement when not serving as the Director’s assistant most appreciated.

  Coffee cup in one hand, Kelly reaches to her right, fingers tweaking the puffy left nipple of the feminized castrate. Robert has the breasts of a pubescent girl, testosterone depleted, estrogen working to trigger male production of prolactin.

  “You’re cute, Robert. Nice and plump.”

  The hand moves upwards, fingers hooking the steel neck collar. She pulls drawing the nakedness onto the bed, her strength easily overpowering he who is given to succumb.

  “Let’s see if that tongue work of yours has improved,” guiding the bald head between thighs and upturned knees.

  Robert knows his place... his duty. Noted for fellating the office guests of the Director, he deems performing cunnilingus on the woman who mastered him to be an honored privilege.

  Kelly’s afterglow transcends to more lustiness as the gentle tongue and lips lick and lave.

  “I’m curious about Patricia Lamange, Robert. Are you aware of her status?”

  The hairless cranium bobs, silently acknowledging, lips glued to her engorging labia. Kelly rebukes herself for distracting, the oral servitude amazingly proficient. She thus puts aside more questions, soaking up both the physical joy and the emotional gratification. Her quick orchidectomy has resulted in magical transformation, a male... former male... whose life role is now to serve... women of authority considered omnipotent... and she who plucked away his maleness deemed a Goddess.

  The first orgasm comes, thighs squeezing in climactic ecstasy. Robert knows to lie immobile, awaiting the command for more or to retreat. Quim well frictioned by the Feeldoe double dildo, Kelly decides on moderation. She taps at Robert’s tattooed forehead, signaling withdrawal.

  “Has her evaluation been completed?” resuming her query.

  “No Ma’am. She’s number 128... tattooed, branded, sensory deprivation and brainwashing successfully completed. She’s being face fucked and sodomized often of course. Otherwise been working the stables as a groom for Miss Penny Osborne. But that’s not to last. Miss Penny has arranged for a permanent replacement groom, the wife of her steed. She was rendered here two weeks ago, now completing her sensory deprivation and brain washing. So a few days ago Nurse Traite had 128 at the milking parlor.”

  Kelly nods. The vast mammary glands of heiress Patricia Lamange always objects of sadistic delight, she envisions the ample breast meat encapsulated, squeezed and sucked by the teat cups of Nurse Traite. She’ll dress and visit the girl, her status as a Nusquam member to be enjoyed.

  “Prepare the shower, Robert. You will bathe me.”

  The command brings a squeal of delight as Robert scrambles from the bed. Kelly notes the well rounded fattened buttocks, the branded letter ‘N’ forever delineating Robert’s status.

  ‘It’s a shame they only have one set of balls to surrender,’ Kelly humorously thinks to herself. ‘The subservient male alters so wondrously.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Kelly Devers dresses. No longer required is the white uniform denoting her former profession, her years of Nusquam employment behind her. Instead, frolicking amongst libertines, her attire can better address the tropical heat and humidity of the jungle enclave... plus be practical. A strapless halter of diaphanous white silk offers coolness yet highlights breasts of enticing proportion, nipples invitingly silhouetted. A short pleated cotton skirt, sans undergarments, yields to the occasional refreshing breeze. And will yield as well to the obeisant head and face of an oral subjugant.

  Robert calls out his good bye, the voice pleasingly soft and high pitched, an exacting day serving the Director of Nusquam to begin.

  Kelly in turn bids adieu, reflecting on the morning shower. Yes, Robert bathed her with glee, his adoration apparent. And Kelly requited the favor, soapy fingers returning to where years ago she callously... but professionally... incised the scrotum, snipped nerves, vessels and vas deferens and plundered. Ah those pings... greyish pink plums dropping to steel surgical dish... the sound so slight yet so significant.

  ‘What happened here Robert? Something’s missing,’ she could not avert chiding, his look of glumness bringing to her a girlish giggle.

  She also worked his penis, decimated with the deluge of feminine hormones, not able to stifle offending laughter as the organ struggled to firm. Her touch... deft, known to bring joy to the intact male... brought frustration, ultimate masculine pleasure forever denied.

  Newly rich, newly empowered, Kelly assesses in a mirror, her raven hair simply groomed, limited make up not detracting from handsomeness, smooth blemishless skin gleaming with sun tan oil. Pleased, she steps from cabin 10... to the stables. On this visit there will be no need for a medical kit, no twisted ankle to bandage, no excoriated flesh in need of ointment, no rectums to be sutured... torn asunder in torrid anal penetration. .

  It is Nusquam... and now it is to be enjoyed.

  Kelly Devers strolls with swagger. Taking a boy anally offers such a sense of power... control... authority. Though tropical birds squawk and sing in the high corona of the jungle forest, she... instead hears in her mind the effeminate squeals of castrate Robert as she plunged, hips thrusting to friction the tight little sphincter. As a Nusquam trusty, he’s not subjected to the whimsy of the sodomite members. Anal penetration rare, Kelly had to work him open. And work she did, her end of the well designed Feeldoe bringing wave after wave of carnal delight.

  Entering the long stable structure, stalls familiar but stocked with tattooed foreheads unknown, she slows to survey. Naked, well muscled forms... in equine parlance fillies, geldings, a rare stallion... are tethered in stalls, patiently awaiting a morning run, their masochistic souls no doubt pining for the sting of the sjambok, the feel of taut reins, the

  pinch of a directing snaffle bit. At the end she spies Miss Patricia Lamange, now Nusquam subjugant number 128, the letter ‘N’ of her branded right buttock seeming to hail attention, her cheeks swaying invitingly as she cleanses a tall stallion. But for knowing her Nusquam number, the girl is barely recognized, the baldness eerily unbecoming.

  Stepping past an attentive Mastiff, Kelly Devers gr
eets her former client.

  “Good morning, Pattie.”

  Visit unexpected, a stunned 128 pauses, turning to confirm the source of the greeting.

  “Miss Kelly! I...”

  “I know... it’s unexpected. But I’m now a member. A little vacation long overdue.”

  Kelly enters the stall, her attention immediately diverted to steed 88, the enlarged testicles not to be ignored.

  “Goodness. Stallions are few here. And these!”

  Conduct otherwise considered rude and abrasive, at Nusquam members rule. Thus her hands lower and after many years of medical training, handling testicles large and small, Kelly inquisitively palms the outsized gonads, the objects of Penny Osborne’s scorn.

  “Miss Penny. She considers them fruit. Enjoys having them grow for her,” 128 offers in explanation.

  “And no doubt to be one day picked,” Kelly adds with a laugh. “So Penny works him and his balls,” Kelly glancing at the spatula hanging in wait.

  Kelly squeezes. Though gentle, 88 lurches, the daily ball spanking bringing heightened sensitivity. She smiles, her fingers moving to the penis tube.

  “Intact but permanently chastised. Must be quite randy.”

  “Yes Ma’am. Miss Penny runs him stiff. Likes displaying his erection.”

  “I imagine it amuses. Over your months here, I’m sure you’ve encountered many forms and levels of mastery. It’s what Nusquam is about... satiating needs.”

  “Yes Ma’am. It’s time for his exercise,” 128 moving to retrieve a leash.

  Kelly watches the naked subjugant clip a leash to the testicle rings, smiling as a finger ever so gently brushes the underside of the steel encased penis, diddling the small exposed portion of penile flesh. As the cylinder rises, Kelly smiles.

  Ah, the frustration, Kelly ponders, noting that 88 lustfully stares at the enormous breasts. When 128 pushes in place a stool, stepping up to release the nostril chain, she presses her mammoth glands against his chest. Penis now upturned, a warm thigh also grazes the open patch of skin. The touch brings a brisance of delight, 88 thrusting forth his hips to frottage. An observing Mastiff warns. A deep woof, rarely heard, instantly terminates conduct deemed forbidden.