The Entrapped

by Chris Bellows

  Finally I hear a click and Sergeant Kelly gestures for me to approach.

  “Boys like Waddy here need a little extra support in walking the straight and narrow,” Sergeant explains, her hands parting the many strands of the grass skirt.

  I look to see Waddy’s male package encumbered in plastic, his member caged, attached by way of a lock to a large ring encircling his penis and scrotum.

  “A CB-3000. Not the most thorough of chastity devices, but good enough for our little excursion about the Caribbean. And Renee, feel free to lick his scrotum any time. It will deliciously build his frustration.”

  Waddy appears distraught. I assume he was inveigled into this ocean jaunt with visions of sun filled days of debauchery... my reputation amongst Sergeant Kelly’s band of sexual deviants spreading rapidly. Instead he is placed in chastity... with the intractable Sergeant Kelly Rogers holding the key.

  “Come, little girl. I have something for you as well.”

  Down into the cabin, Sergeant Kelly opens her luggage. Amongst guns and ammunition there is an odd contraption of shiny stainless steel and rugged looking curved rods... rubber coated metal.

  She stoops, reaches between my thighs and releases my penis clasp, the chiming sounding for what I would learn to be the last time.

  “Your little penis is going to be nicely tucked away. Very safe... very secure... covered in this thick shield of stainless steel.”

  A set of curved rods go around my waist. Snug but surprisingly comfortable. Then her fingers work to align my penis into a little tube attached to this shiny crotch piece. That done, the shield attaches to the waist rods, covering my entire pubes... penis and puffy folds of my empty scrotum. Finally, I watch with concern as a duel set of rods are attached to the bottom of the shield and then pushed up to attach to the waist band at the small of my back. Once again snug, the smooth rods press into my gluteal cleft, the curvature such that my cheeks are well parted at my anus, thus holding me open... presumably to defecate... but permitting penetration as well.

  Sergeant Kelly holds up a key, smiles then works a lock at the front, the contraption tightening slightly more to the sound of a most ominous click.

  She then pats my head and toys with my nipples. Despite the concern, I join in her smile and giggle like the little girl I have become.

  “All safe now. No one will ever determine girl or boy while you’re wearing the Neosteel belt. And no one will ever get it off... unless you’re dead... or they have the key. Tempered steel, Renee. Very hard... very expensive. But this key is worth $300,000. A good return on my investment.”

  I am once again befuddled. Neutered... yet locked in a chastity device... and one of considerable ineluctability. Why?

  “Now Waddy needs to be entertained. Go lick his balls like a good little girl.”

  ***

  The weather outstanding, I begin to better understand the CB 3000 adorning Waddy’s male package. Sergeant Kelly strips to a bikini bottom. More like a thong... a postage stamp covers her mons... barely... some strings about the waist and between her cheeks. She is otherwise naked. Poor Waddy beseeches for release, his penis challenging the plastic cage. And that is when I am instructed to lick his balls.

  “Discipline, Waddy, you cannot have everything you see.”

  And so we sail the Caribbean. I serve, Waddy navigates, and Sergeant Kelly occasionally mans the sails... otherwise offering maddening temptation.

  Evenings we anchor and moor, the Caribbean offering hundreds of islands with protective coves. I cook, Waddy rests... tries to rest. After some wine there comes a curious ménage a trois as Sergeant Kelly stuffs my ears, slips my cunnilingus hood over my head and my tongue and lips are put to work... bringing delight to my protector... and frustration to Waddy and his entrapped package.

  Yes we sleep together, a naked Sergeant Kelly seeming to revel in her sexual power... only she attaining orgasms... too many to count.

  I am chagrined to conclude that the Neosteel contraption is disconcertingly comfortable. There is no reason to remove it... no chafing... no pinching. The stainless and rubber coated bars are cleaned by way of a quick dip in the ocean. My penis stuffed into a tube, it drains into the toilet as I squat to pee. And so I must wonder... will I ever again see the vestiges of my maleness?

  ***

  Somewhere in the Caribbean

  Sergeant Kelly Roberts

  Such great scenery... such great oral satiation. Tormenting Waddy while feeling Renee’s nimble tongue dance then thrust can bring a woman frothy multiple orgasms. Hearing Waddy beg for the key... amazing exchange of sexual power.

  Somewhere east of Aruba my cell phone comes back into range. I have a text message. I click... a Miss Ramona Cortez... politely responding to my note left at the Waldorf apartments.

  ‘Good to know Pablo Escobar has not escaped the concern of the NYPD. I prefer to remain above any raucous, but I believe if you log into www.esco1345681345, you will find something of interest. Something my friend Pablo paid much money to see. You may find it useful in protecting yourself. The source not to be divulged, please.’

  Interesting.

  It’s difficult to use the satellite dish while sailing, but Aruba is in sight. The calm waters, a stilled yacht and I can visit www.esco1345681345.

  Meanwhile, though there is a steady trade wind, I still somewhat perspire. So I have Renee lick away... every drop from my entire body.

  I will miss her.

  ***

  We moor, I angle the satellite dish. The clever device picks up a signal and locks on, gyros moving the dish with the slight rolling of The Crosser D.

  To the internet, I type with fervor, hopefully to learn of the intense craving for Renee’s presence... $300,000 plus dollars worth of craving.

  And it all unfolds... bondage... a meek and humble Renee in her ‘little girl’ near nakedness, pink silk panties her only covering... crawling in a formidable cage... the barbaric Escobar beckoning... then comes the meek voice and the six beseeching words... sodomy... a turgid manhood ramming into the face of what appears to be a prepubescent ingénue.

  I know of the true gender... and the true age... but not any other viewer. Then comes even more... a montage of Renee. Completely naked... penis somewhat visible... but there come close ups. One after another rolls forth and the tiny thing is finally, and conclusively, shown in the palm of a governing woman.

  The feared and mighty Escobar has had homosexual relations... with what appears to be a boy! In even the most rancorous and vile of environments... prisons... amongst the inmates such conduct is considered verboten. I am sure it is the same in the world of illicit narcotics.

  Is he seeking revenge? Will he torture then kill my little oral dumpling?

  But what will that do? The evidence is posted... no one can retract video and the photos except the mysterious Ramona Cortez. And that is what is protecting her... the coded website not to be found without knowing the complicated address.

  So for a sum of money offered to Miss Ramona Cortez, a good and obedient Escobar will have his secret kept... except now I know of it.

  In thought, I review the text message... ‘You may find it useful in protecting yourself.’

  Yes, protection... and for Renee as well.

  Tonight I will celebrate finally unraveling the mystery. I’ll let Waddy perform cunnilingus in place of Renee. She instead can work that tongue between my cheeks.

  But there comes another mystery... what plans has Pablo Escobar for Robert ‘Renee’ Warren?

  ***

  West of Aruba

  Sergeant Kelly Rogers

  Knowing of Escobar's deepest and most dreaded secret is a source of danger... but can be a shield as well. Those who know of the web address are... will be... targets. I am sure given the opportunity to silence this Ramona Cortez, Escobar would not hesitate to do so. So the acuminous Ramona has taken precautions I am sure... purchased some life insurance so to speak. There is no question in my mind that
in the event of her untimely demise the web address will be disclosed... some how... some way.

  And I must do the same.

  I split the coded address in two parts. The second, 5681345 I will offer to Waddy. Instructions for him to keep until contacted by a police officer friend.

  The first part.www.esco134, I will mail to an old friend on the squad, Lieutenant Roy Duncan. Instructions to him to be more specific... in the event of my suspicious demise or disappearance, visit the trust offices of Wadsworth Danforth McBride. He will have the second part of this vital web address. Such will offer clues as to any foul play involved in my death or disappearance.

  So I am protected and so is Escobar, since neither Roy Duncan nor Waddy can access the site... unless something nasty happens.

  Very fortuitous of this Ramona woman to send the address. It appears all the guns and ammo are for naught.

  "Waddy," I call out, "I'll need to mail a letter before we reach Cartagena."

  "We can dock in Aruba."

  "Good and I have something for you. The key to the CB 3000... to be offered if you're a good boy and listen very carefully. I have a piece of information that will mean nothing to you, but must be turned over to a Lieutenant Roy Duncan if anything suspicious happens to me. Deem it to be another element of your trust company's functions."

  He listens indeed as I wave about the key. His penis has been fighting the plastic cock cage harder and harder over the last two days. Renee can certainly frustrate a man, licking away at the scrotum... the nimble tongue slowly laving every inch of exposed pink... soothing the irritation brought by the constant abrasion of the cock cage and the tight scrotal ring. The squirming, the pleas, the grunts, the moans... all quite entertaining. And it certainly puts a girl in the mood for cunnilingus.

  To date, I have been the only person enjoying orgasms on our voyage. Maybe it's time for Waddy to shoot... his wad of course.

  "Easily done," Waddy offers in a businesslike manner. "We handle many similar requests... stuff people want to pass on without probate."

  I nod. He gets it. And he'll get his reward.

  "Hands in back," I instruct in my most charming voice.

  His look instantly turns to dejection as I secure his wrists together utilizing a belt. Then I remove the silly grass skirt and call for Renee.

  "Unlock him. Bring him up... don't bring him off."

  Renee, well acclimated in orally pleasuring the male, offers an impish smile, takes the key and goes to work as Waddy sputters protestations.

  Yes to date, I have been the only person enjoying orgasms. And on second thought, we'll keep it that way. Enforcing Waddy's chastity, the equivalent of having a man on a leash, is too much fun. So I will have Waddy shoot later.

  ***

  Off Islas Rosario

  Sergeant Kelly Rogers

  Only a man of Pablo Escobar's immense wealth and power... plus his penchant for corruption and complete disdain for the law... could build an immense home in what is otherwise a national preserve.

  Islas Rosario are a string of coral islands... some quite small... all magnificent in lush vegetation, white powdery beaches, and the teal blue crystal clear waters of the Gulf of Mexico... just a few miles from Cartagena.

  The larger islas to the northwest are visited daily by boaters and beach goers. Smaller islas to the southeast, some not larger than a city block, remain isolated. The string ends with this isla of size, well away from frolicking vacationers, where Escobar has somehow built an abode.

  As we approach, a sleek frigate begins to converge with our intended path. There comes a radio message taken by Waddy. It is the Colombian Coast Guard... protecting the country? Protecting Escobar? Waddy offers the number of souls on board. When I tell him to stress the name Kelly Rogers, I note the frigate slows. I am expected. After a pause the ship moves off, but remains within sight.

  We moor The Crosser D about three miles offshore. Binoculars reveal a sprawling compound, well designed... certainly not visually disruptive.... unobtrusive and most likely not noticed by the unwary. There is a well disguised cell phone tower. With Cartagena just miles away, nothing to impede the relay of communications. Two satellite dishes suggest that the world of technology has not been left behind. No question that Escobar can reign over his drug empire from the seclusion of an otherwise little noticed island. There is a dock, but one must navigate numerous coral reefs, weaving about in shallow waters.

  Escobar will never be surprised by visitors.

  Renee pretties herself with enthusiasm. She knows not the details of this rendezvous. I have simply explained that she has a date with an extremely wealthy reprobate.

  'He'll want me naked,' Renee suggests, the minx coaxing me to be released from the Neosteel belt.

  I shake my head, offering a 'nice try' look, and encourage her to doll up to the max. I also offer heels... Escobar's instructions. Renee has been otherwise barefoot for the entire cruise.

  The Crosser D has a small row boat. I want Waddy to remain on board, well away from Escobar's henchmen, second half of the web address well in hand, the first half mailed to Lieutenant Roy Duncan days ago.

  Then with everything prepared, I send a text to the cell number offered in Escobar's instructions.

  'One hour. I have a pretty package of pink for you. Have one of green for me.'

  Waters calm, rowing will be easy, the scenery quite pleasant. My last task, writing the web address... www.esco1345681345, on a small sheet to be slipped to Escobar. It will bring focus. He'll be enraged to know I have arranged an unusual form of life insurance.

  But it is also insurance for little Renee... as I will explain to Pablo Escobar. The most wanted and dangerous man on earth has assured Renee's well being. I will assure it as well.

  ***

  Islas Rosario

  Sergeant Kelly Rogers

  Pablo Escobar takes the time to greet us on the dock.

  Eagerness? Or does he not want me surveying his curious hideaway?

  In caution, he maintains his distance, standing some fifty feet away where the dock greets the coral of the isla. To his right and left are two henchmen, not those in the back of the limousine in New York. One carries a satchel. I assume it is well stuffed with greenery. The other keeps an Uzi at the ready. I must assume the precaution is not concern over the 5 foot 2 inch 118 pound little Renee... stunning in full make up... most provocative in her Neosteel belt.

  To Escobar’s rear is a dour looking woman, middle aged, wearing a nurse’s uniform which seems to radiate in the Caribbean sub.

  I step onto the dock reach down and extend my hand to assist. Renee is quite unwieldy in her four inch Stiletto heels. Appearing rather incongruous in the tropics... but Escobar insisted.

  “Welcome. Thought it would be best to exchange our gifts right here,” Escobar advises, pointing to the satchel.

  I nod, fully aware that with a short burst from that Uzi I could rapidly become shark bait. I therefore hold up an envelope to focus attention on something he wants, needing to set the rules of engagement as soon as possible.

  “Is that the key?” he inquires, his eagerness apparent.

  I nod waving my hand and the envelope in reply. Inside is indeed the key to Renee’s inescapable chastity device. But also is my note.

  Escobar signals the henchman with the satchel. He drops it, steps forth, lumbering the fifty feet to retrieve the key along with a few written words and coded website which will save lives.

  “For Mr. Escobar’s eyes only,” spoken in my authoritative ‘you’re under arrest’ voice as I hand it over.

  The henchman takes the envelope and returns. The walk seems interminable with the Uzi, loaded and pointing, wielded by someone with the empathy of a reptile.

  Escobar opens the envelope, turns and hands something to the nurse, presumably the key. Then he reads...

  ‘www.esco1345681345. I too know the secret. And it will remain most closely kept as long as both Renee and I are unharmed.’ />
  I watch as the face of Pablo Escobar reddens. It is not within his plans to have knowledge of the website spread about. But it is what it is. I know the secret behind the intense quest for Robert Renee Warren.

  He turns to the Uzi henchman. Unheard words of Spanish are uttered. The barrel of the weapon is lowered. He cannot afford to suffer the ramifications of having it accidentally discharge.

  More words to the henchman delivering the note and key. He picks up the satchel and steps forth to return. I accept the comfortingly bloated bag and toss it into the rowboat.

  “Renee will live a long and happy life here. I have a nurse to tend to all her needs... keep her healthy and eager to offer pleasure. And I have so much planned for her... so many interesting men for her to... entertain,” pausing to sneer with emphasis.

  Time to leave. I turn to my pretty little bucket of cash and kneel. Tears are coming to Renee’s eyes. In recognizing Escobar, she is apoplectic in fear and concern. She cannot talk... instead just sobbing. And I suppose the realization of my duplicity is also somewhat painful.

  “Do be a good girl,” I admonish in reaching to the expensive diamond pendants.

  Next comes my final message to Escobar. Removing the expensive ‘gifts’, I replace them with the lumps of Lucite... Renee’s plastinated balls. Escobar will know what they are. Perhaps some of his more astute cohorts will as well. It is appropriate that the person owning and controlling Renee should also own and control what at one time defined his/her gender.

  But I suspect such will be removed quite quickly and locked away out of sight.

  Yes, the secret of Renee’s birth gender will be well guarded on Islas Rosario.

  ***

  Islas Rosario

  Robert Renee Warren

  Nurse Rita takes my hand. It is impossible to walk on sandy soil in pointy heels and in constantly stumbling, I need to rely on her for assistance. She is strong, her grip oddly comforting as I tremble in fear.

  “I want to show you something, my little Coca flower,” Senor Escobar announces as we approach a sprawling structure.