Low in height, not overwhelming the skyline, the white stucco walls spread to the right and left, seeming to visually blend with the pearl white sandy soil.
We enter. Senor Escobar leads, his guards disperse, I suppose to preassigned stations. I am surprised when we descend a set of stairs and enter a subterranean room cut out of the coral... lots of digging and blasting.
“Leave us,” Senor Escobar commands the nurse as I visually examine.
The contents of the room are both industrial and medical. In the center is a hospital bed with sturdy metal rails and dozens of straps to firmly hold in place a patient in need. But in the corner are large canisters, rugged with paint chipped and scratched. Gauges offer the level of content within. Tubes emanate ending at a nozzle obviously tempered by intense heat.
“Men who cross me come here to die,” Senor Escobar lectures.
“To rule over what I rule over, many dozens of devious, deceitful, lying, greedy cutthroat thieves, I must do so by fear.”
As he speaks he steps to the nozzle hanging atop one of the canisters. He turns a valve. There comes a hiss. Then he grasps a metal object and squeezes. There comes a spark and a blue flame erupts. There is a low roar and the heat is instantaneous.
“An acetylene torch. Hot enough to cut through metal. It does wonders for those who betray me. If one is patient and knows how to properly apply the flame... not too close... for not too long... a man can be tortured for lengthy intervals before life ends. Killing is easy... doing so in a manner which imbues fear in all who find temptation in betraying me... that requires some skill. The first ‘lesson’ I taught was too brief. Yet with so many traitors needing a visit, I can now slowly sear almost every inch of flesh before death overcomes. It requires hours, much patience and smelling salts.”
I shudder, quaking in feeling the intensity of the heat, the insouciance of the voice, envisioning the burnt flesh, hearing the screams for mercy. Senor Escobar laughs in noting my reaction.
“So word gets out. Pablo Escobar is to be respected... to be obeyed... to be feared. If not, one is invited here for a barbecue. I do all the grilling.”
He turns off the torch.
“The sharks eat well here, my little Coca blossom. In not too many places their food is cooked for them,” Escobar laughing boisterously. “If you ever betray me and inform anyone that you have a penis, I will burn it off... slowly... and you too will keep the sharks fed. Do you understand?”
Somehow I nod, otherwise frozen in trepidation.
“Fear, it is the only way to instill obeisance in the profession I have chosen. Word of my many barbecues is quite effective. But word of being a maricon... of being pleasured by a maricon... must never be heard.”
I nod again.
“Nurse Rita will take care of you. She has your key and is the only person who will ever know of the subterfuge over your gender. But meanwhile, I must protect myself. You will offer yourself to everyone... my guards... my visitors... my special guests... even those with whom I compete against and I occasionally need to consult with... everyone.
“And what words do you think they would like to hear from such a charming little prepubescent girl?”
“May I suck you penis, Sir?” my voice creaking, the words so meekly offered on cue.
“Exactly. You’re catching on fast. And as punishment for that peccadillo at the Waldorf, I have arranged a special diet for you. You will never again taste food. Nurse Rita will assure you are nourished, but you will not taste anything other than a man’s seed. You so much enjoy bringing forth sperm... it is the only taste you will ever again enjoy.”
***
My new life... sperm repository.
Nurse Rita prefers bondage. Is it a sexual proclivity? Or is there an overwhelming concern about possible escape... naked and showing my penis... thus incurring Senor Escobar’s wrath? I assume both... because it is overdone.
Every day ends with Nurse Rita escorting me to a special room... really more like a windowless cell. In the center is a bed, very similar to that in the basement where Senor Escobar demonstrated the horror of the acetylene torch. There I lie supine with thick comfortable straps and cuffs encircling wrists, forearms, biceps, chest, waist, thighs, calves and ankles all securing me to the bed. A broad posture collar completes the ensemble, its function nothing more than to emphasize my helplessness and Nurse Rita’s thorough dominion. Completely immobile, my Neosteel belt is then removed to expose the remnants of my sex to the only person associated with Senor Escobar who will ever know.
“Now a nice sponge bath for you, my pretty little girl.”
Nurse Rita’s hands are firm, examining every inch of my feminized form as a warm soapy cloth smoothes over my hairlessness. Many months of hormones, what muscle structure remains is visually undetectable, covered with a gelatinous layer of girlish fat. She playfully pinches to induce a squeal, my docile reaction bringing a smile.
As she washes, she pauses to graciously play with my three inches, seeming to revel in its diminutive softness. She mimics the motion of masturbation, driving home the impotence.
“I will make it hard for you some day. Would you like that, Renee?”
I can barely nod. But the question gives rise to thought, which I am sure is intentional... whatever would I do with a hard on?
My empty sac seems to bring glee as well, her fingers pulling and kneading to highlight my missing glands.
“All gone,” she mocks with a smile, pulling at the excess flesh... soft and hairless.
“How many did my little girl please today? Did the men feed you well?”
“Four,” I reply, my role to gratify each and every guard, lieutenant and drug mule who chooses to feel the pleasure of my tongue and lips.
“And did you bend over for any one?”
Yes, I am to offer myself anally as well. And with the Neosteel belt splaying my cheeks, there seems to be a propensity for many to finish deep oral penetration with manly thrusts to my backside as I kneel head down, knees spread on the carpet.
“Two.”
“Well I’ll let you sleep filled with gism... tummy and anus. Makes a girl like you feel fulfilled.”
I do in a strange way.
Bath completed there then comes the daily procedure to which I cannot become accustomed. A feeding tube, well lubricated, is slipped into either my right nostril or left, and then pushed through my sinuses to the back of my throat. There she knowingly jostles it, triggering the gag reflex. I forcibly swallow and the tube continues to my stomach. With a stanchion resting nearby, a bag of life sustaining thick liquid hangs in wait. When connected to my nostril tube, it slowly oozes directly into my stomach that which sustains me. And as promised, I never taste a thing.
Also dangling from the stanchion, my testicles, the plastic cubes which formerly adorned my ears. The gray spheres within remind... and they mock... giving rise to much thought. Free of cancer... what was the basis for the doctor’s diagnosis... other than a substantial payment from Miss Ramona Cortez?
Lights out, I lie in complete immobility for more hours than I need to sleep. It brings tedium, the level of boredom not to be described. And that makes me eager for morning release... each new day bringing more turgid phalluses to service and from which I am to coax and savor the male effluent... the only taste permitted.
Sometime midmorning, well after I have awakened, Nurse Rita returns. The nostril tube is slipped away, reversing the procedure as aggravating as the insertion.
“To the enema table,” she announces with irritating enthusiasm as the myriad of cuffs and straps are loosened.
Specially designed for one function, the metal top is beveled and has a modest lip at the edges to assure all sloppiness is directed to a drain in the center. I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time lying as Nurse Rita plies her expertise. Resistance is futile and just as the bondage makes me eager for release... to roam the isla and offer myself... the massive high colonics provide incentive as well.
I hop up. Lie back and bring my knees to my chest. The table is short and when so positioned my buttocks are fully exposed at the very edge, offering Nurse Rita easy access. Straps at the front legs await my wrists. Ankle cuffs dangle from above and when attached hold me spread and well open.
With my liquid diet, there is little firm fecal matter to be expunged. Still Nurse Rita is thorough.
In preparation for the day I am to be ‘squeaky clean’ and my rectum is lubricated and stuffed with an inflatable nozzle which cannot be expelled. Then comes the deep cleansing enema, slow... seemingly as slow as the sludge offered by my feeding tube.
“No hurry. I’m going to fill you until it comes out your nose,” words offered in whimsy, but there are times when the humorous threat feels real.
And indeed, since not much stirs at the villa of Senor Escobar until noon.... demands for fellatio and anal sodomy mostly delayed into the afternoon... Nurse Rita has her way with me most of the morning. She fills with leisure.
She seems to enjoy feeling my tummy as it slowly bloats, ostensibly judging my fullness. But I believe for Nurse Rita it emblemizes her power, for no matter my pleas and protestations, squirming with the intensity of the cramping, it is she who decides on eventual release. She knows I am filled yet the flow continues.
Finally, there comes the cheering hiss of air, the deflated nozzle is slipped away and the soapiness gushes to the drain, along with remnants of the prior days anal coupling. Then come rinsing enemas of course... Nurse Rita not to be denied more delight.
There follows an application of alum, an astringent to keep my sphincter tight. Clever stuff, it offers tension, that which most pleases. And without such tendance, the daily penetration by some of Senor Escobar’s well endowed underlings would stretch me, rendering me incapable of offering the pleasure sought.
It works, I feel myself involuntarily tighten back there, my sphincter actually offering a modest level of resistance to Nurse Rita’s lubricating fingers. The abundance makes the inside of my cheeks glisten in the tropical sun and beckons the penis... as desired.
Then it’s a return to the Neosteel belt, a playful pat to my buttocks and I am released.
I don my makeup to pretty myself, and am then free to roam the house... somewhat like a pet cat. Senor Escobar has offered me to all. And when a guard does so much as wriggle a finger, I approach, kneel and utter the six words. The smiles are wicked. And the subsequent fellatio results in the only thing I am permitted to taste. Hot ejaculate jetting down my throat, my tongue and lips dutifully cleansing as trained.
I note that Senor Escobar never partakes. Yet all around him are encouraged to use me... and they do. And then the explanation dawns. Should light of the video from the Waldorf ever come to pass, he is day by day buying a degree of protection. All around him have engaged this maricon as well.
Who is it that will dare condemn the boss?
The rigorous Neosteel belt is passed off as Senor Escobar assuring himself that only he... the boss... will ever take me vaginally. And after experiencing the heat of the acetylene, envisioning some miscreant strapped down and being scorched... inch by inch... it will never be within my purview to divulge the absence of a tight female passage.
There are many who tire of my mouth and throat and chose to use me anally. The clever steel bars at my gluteal cleft do not inhibit penetration and actually serve to abet such... separating my cheeks most invitingly... beckoning he who prefers the style of the Greeks.
And thereafter come the ten words taught by Miss Candace... ‘Thank you, Sir, may I clean your penis for you?’
Such a debasing deed.
***
“Just a little pin prick,” a pleasant Nurse Rita apprizes.
She is correct, but the prick is to my penis! But for the many straps of my sleeping table my tensing muscles would thrust me into the air.
“Give you a nice big hard on... well... a hard on any way,” she adds with a giggle.
I feel something... down there... that I have not felt in over a year. The skin on my penis is stretching!
Nurse Rita moves to the top of my sleeping table where my head rests, held almost completely immobile by the restrictive posture collar. Her hands work to lift, straining against the thick layer of foam. She slips a pillow beneath. In my lower peripheral vision I can see what I have not seen since being locked in Neosteel and being exiled to Islas Rosario... my penis!
“Nitric oxide, Renee. It relaxes certain blood vessels and fosters what you can no longer achieve... an erection.”
Yes, it is firming, the tip rising, deepening in color from pink to crimson to purple. But it is distressingly small.
Nurse Rita glides her hand to my chest and begins toying with right nipple then left. She is surprisingly sensuous, her touch normally quite clinical. The brisance of joy seems to enhance the celebration of my penis, the organ seeming to be no longer attached.
“Wouldn’t you like to stroke it? How long has it been?”
“Long,” my meek voice conveying distress, my right hand involuntarily tugging against its restraining cuff and strap.
I know the date of my castration... that is not to be forgotten. But I have not the slightest inkling of the current date. Time is now measured in blow jobs and anal penetration. Lost in memory is normal male gratification... self gratification. That is now something I only offer to others... at their demand.
So Nurse Rita adds a layer of mental stress to the physical... forcefully cultivating an erection I neither desire nor can enjoy. I merely look.
“May I touch it please, Nurse Rita?” my quest so humbly posed.
She laughs.
“No. That’s for me. It amuses. So I’ll get you hard again... when I decide. When I want you to entertain me.”
Of course. I am to amuse the female... and pleasure the male... my only roles. Why would I ever think otherwise?
***
Within three weeks, the days really not counted; there is added commotion at Islas Rosario. As I stroll the beach, wary of being beckoned by a guard for quick fellatio, I look out to see a large yacht with a patrol boat nearby. The Coast Guard, on Senor Escobar’s payroll, has interceded. Over the open water, nothing can come within ten miles without notice... Senor Escobar’s first line of defense to send the Coast Guard to ascertain friend or foe.
Something passes muster, for a skiff is lowered, and a party from the yacht disembarks. With the faint roar of a motor they approach, weaving amongst the many reefs.
I take cover in the shade of the palm trees, the steel of my belt heating rapidly in the direct sun.
As the skiff nears I note a boatman, a rather well groomed gentleman in his forties and two girls, young just as Senor Escobar likes them... and without covering... not a shred of cloth. Bronzed skin, raven hair, they just smile sheepishly, their state of complete nakedness apparently not of comfort.
From a nearby path, a guard approaches me.
“Senor Escobar, he want you on dock,” hands gesturing in support of the accented broken English.
“Yes sir,” more than aware that in my lowly status, provider of oral satiation to all, I am to offer courtesy to even the lowest animal on the isla.
I skip and prance on my toes, emulating the little girl Senor Escobar so much enjoys. There at the dock is my owner and protector awaiting the skiff, a burly guard with an Uzi at the ready.
“An old acquaintance, and now my fiercest competitor. You will offer yourself to him... as you do to everyone, my little Coca blossom,” Senor Escobar commanding more than suggesting.
The skiff docks, Senor Escobar maintaining his distance. The well groomed gentleman lifts himself from the small boat extending his arms, hands palm up in both a gesture of welcome and being unarmed. Senor Escobar smiles and beckons him to come forth. The man leans and helps the two naked girls from the boat.
They are charming... so young, the smooth bronze flesh seems to gleam in the Caribbean sun. Not twins but so
similar in stature, the ethnicity is the same.
“I have brought gifts, Pablo,” the man calls out arranging the shy girls to his right and left to fully display the frontal nudity.
Limited breasts, if there is pubic hair it is not abundant. For a man with Senor Escobar’s proclivity... gifts indeed. My protector smiles lasciviously.
“Come, Ramon. Let’s share some Sangria. And I have something else to share with you as well,” Senor Escobar reaching to tousle my golden blonde locks.
The trio approach. There is an air of caution. But there also seems to be a need to talk... a friendship somewhat strained but required. Senor Escobar reaches to place his left hand on the arm of the guard bearing the Uzi, symbolically pushing it lower, diminishing the perceived threat.
“They are from your favorite mountain village, Pablo. On loan... the families so willing to please a man of distinctive tastes. When they become of age, you merely send them home.”
Yes, the girls are of Indian, most likely Incan, ancestry. Young firm breasts high on the chest, nipples pointing skyward, the cooling trade winds bring an alluring crinkle to the pink brownish nubs.
Senor Escobar’s right hand moves to pinch my left cheek prompting the expected six words.
“May I suck your penis, Sir?” curtsying with the question I have been instilled to pose to all beings male.
This Ramon smiles, his teeth white and perfectly aligned.
“Such a warm welcome, Pablo. How can I not concede to your simple demands?”
The men embrace. Then Ramon turns his attention to me.
“So this one needs to be kept under lock and key. In denying her vaginal penetration she must suck very well indeed. Much practice.”
“She craves the male essence... it is all she is permitted to taste,” Senor Escobar proudly explains.
Ramon appears to shrug off the information as an exaggeration. If only he knew how true... my lifetime punishment. I will never again taste anything else, other than the equivalent saltiness of the sweaty flesh of the aroused male.
“There is so much territory. I began to realize on the cruise to your isla... why disagree on such petty matters, Pablo?”
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