By the time we were ready to leave, Bobbi was as hard as I had ever seen him and the anticipation of walking outside the apartment naked, tumefied and in heels seemed to excite him more than the use of my thigh. When we knocked on Lucretia’s door, she delayed answering so I opened the outside door to leave. As I did so, the morning light shown off the tip of Bobbi’s penis. His pre-ejaculatory fluid was streaming down his wet shaft to the shaven pink pouch below. I stood with the door open for a moment and let the outside air caress Bobbi’s exposed privates. Two passersby were on the sidewalk and looked Bobbi’s way as I released the door and it slowly swung closed behind me. Bobbi noticed their quick look and impatiently knocked again just as I heard Lucretia unlatch the door.
His impertinence would prove to upset her. He was going to have another long day.
When I returned from the clinic at day’s end, Bobbi greeted me with the usual chilled glass of wine, precisely centered on a decorative serving tray. He walked rather gingerly and when I asked him for a recap of his day he explained that Ms. Lucretia, as he called her, had caned him vigorously for his transgression upon arrival, then spent the morning measuring him while sitting, standing and lying in the most revealing of poses. The list of measurements included his male organ, both flaccid and erect.
“She also stuck something in me and in the afternoon applied cream...down there.”
Bobbi was still shy about discussing his intimate parts. I was about to extract more detail when the phone rang. It was Lucretia.
“Bobbi’s taking care of a toy for me, Eve. He’s been instructed to remove it in the morning and bring it downstairs with him. It’s an anal plug. He’s rather tight back there and we’ll need to change that. And by the way, I began to apply hair removal cream. When he’s belted, the fewer the reasons to unlock him the better. At his age the few mature follicles will die off with two or three weeks of daily applications. And new ones with cease to develop. I told Bobbi that shaving isn’t good for a girl’s skin. He agrees.” Lucretia laughed.
“His measurements were faxed to Germany this afternoon. I’ve requested some refinements over a normal belt. It will be ready in five or six weeks.”
I thanked Lucretia and she in turn thanked me. Little did she realize I wouldn’t know what to do with Bobbi without her, but she certainly seemed happy to care for him.
Later that evening I had Bobbi strip. Sure enough, each buttock was adorned with six evenly spaced and perfectly identical horizontal welts. Lucretia was quite the accomplished flagellatrix. And firmly implanted in Bobbi’s young sphincter was Lucretia’s plug, providing a constant reminder to Bobbi of her authority and control.
What a wonderful landlady.
My pleasant thoughts fade as the last of the arriving guests saunters toward me from the platform. She is a very large, well built black women, the wife of a powerful African despot experiencing her first visit to the Spa. My reservation sheet indicates she is to be referred to as ‘Princess’.
In her hand is a leash emanating from the thick neck collar of a young, blond, teenaged boy. His arms are pulled behind his back in an attractive but insufferable single white leather glove. His skin is pierced with countless gold ornaments, which provide him with his only covering. My eyes move to his groin. His penis has been ringed and pierced in so many places its only possible function is for excretion and I question whether that is feasible without assistance.
More ornaments have been attached to his scrotum. They appear to be layers of gold leaf apparently painstakingly attached to the thin scrotal tissue by way of hundreds of small sutures. Thoughts of the young blond enduring the pain of stitch after stitch as each small plate of precious metal is laid over the tender skin gives me goose bumps.
With the testicles so well covered, it is not possible to discern whether or not his reproductive organs are intact. Historically, slaves in Africa are known to be altered, and the country in which the Princess resides, although somewhat modern, has one set of laws...the whims of its ruler and most likely those of his physically imposing wife.
I shake her hand and introduce myself. She acknowledges me with a polite but regal reply and tugs firmly on the leash to bring her toy to my side.
“A gift from a wealthy Swedish businessman wishing to purchase our oil.”
She speaks with perfect English. With the slight accent suggesting a British education, I recall reading she is an Oxford graduate.
“He has the proper equipment to serve but needs training...open.”
I turn and look at him more closely. He is older than he appears from a distance and I conclude that indeed he probably has been fixed, the hormonal change freezing in time his development. I look into the eyes of a blond and wonderfully bejeweled Peter Pan.
With the Princess’s command the boy has opened his mouth and thrust out his tongue. It is frighteningly long and has been pierced with a spherical gold stud at the tip. He is a woman’s pleasure machine. With the stud designed for nothing other than clitoral stimulation, my mind wonders whether the Princess sampled different sizes and shapes before having the Royal jeweler permanently install the impressive nub of smooth shiny metal.
I smile and suggest that the Princess has brought him to the right place. Our professional staff includes trainers of accomplished skills. Peter Pan will soon find himself lying prostrate on a training table with his head and face dangling over the end. Below will be a basin of ice water. A rather strong female trainer, wearing a skirt with a wide opening at the front, will sit before him in a special chair. She will pull aside the folds covering her sex and he will be politely invited to orally partake. With a refusal she will firmly but slowly push his face and head down into the shockingly cold water. Then the trainer will lift his head, tenderly dry his face, and once again graciously extend an invitation for him to plunge his only useful appendage between her labia. Refusal will earn another dunk.
In time he will relent and make initial contact. Then she will began to instruct him on the finer points of servicing the female organs and insure that his tongue and lips respond timely to commands.
In my first year at the Spa, the trainer explained the utility of the procedure to me.
“The repeated trauma of the incredible cold breaks the will. Once accomplished, over time the water temperature is raised and the dunking becomes a mechanism for breath control, a very important element in performing proper cunnilingus.”
Within days, Peter Pan’s tongue will be artfully darting over the female genitalia, attentively licking and tenderly sucking the most sensitive of places, skillfully bringing orgasm after orgasm and gleefully lapping up the female essence of his superior.
I feel my own moisture thinking about it.
As the Princess leads him away, a glint of the bright winter sun causes my eyes to gaze downward. Reflecting the light are a pair of golden rings deeply imbedded into the muscles of his buttocks. They are large and heavily gauged. I have before seen such piercings. Implanting them into the muscles is a complicated procedure and I quickly conclude that someone has decided that Peter Pan’s young tight backside will be used as a receptacle for the strap on. Much deeper than ornamental piercings, the implantations require investment in much medical talent and thus many dollars. Whether it was done at the behest of the Princess or the Swedish businessman, there has been expended a considerable effort to assure that the sphincter of this young blond can be used against his will. To open him for proper penetration, the gentlest of tugs on the rings will cause his gluteus maximus muscles to helplessly spasm, thus eliminating the last bastion against an ignominious assault on his anus.
Chapter Six
Having greeted the arriving guests, it is time for lunch. Since I mingle with our patrons every evening in the dining room, eating fabulously prepared meals, I keep lunch simple.
Lotus, my maid, will have a light sandwich and tea waiting for me in my apartment. Peter Pan and the Princess have aroused me and as I stroll into the lobby my pace q
uickens. Although Nickie’s legs are delightfully tired, causing her pudendum to sink precariously close to the plank and the newly arrived find her struggles to be most entertaining, I decide not to linger.
My thoughts return to Bobbi and my landlady.
Lucretia’s cream was working wonders. Shaving Bobbi evolved into quick strokes of the razor to remove the fuzz of undeveloped follicles. Bobbi even asked Lucretia to use the cream on his face, a request to which she graciously and affirmatively responded.
At Lucretia’s suggestion, I had forbidden Bobbi any further masturbation and although he begged and moaned, I did notice a much more compliant attitude and with wonderful attention to the day to day details of serving as maid.
The maid’s uniform became superfluous, although Bobbi carried it down to Lucretia’s apartment every morning in case she was expecting visitors or the doorbell needed attention. But otherwise she too preferred him naked and she glowingly reported that his little penis was constantly engorging itself, a situation with which Lucretia found amusing and took the time to deal with it.
“Most pretty maids don’t have such protrusions, Bobbi. Whatever are we going to do with it?”
With Bobbi’s abundant hormones, he became more and more fidgety. Dropped items became a chronic problem and Lucretia used every single mishap to ‘invite’ Bobbi into her study. There after a moderate caning, with Bobbi choking back sobs, Lucretia would pointedly ask, “Now, don’t you feel better, Bobbi...easier to concentrate and control your movements? And your little penis is still standing so it couldn’t have been too bad.”
Yes, Lucretia taught me about the curious psychological connection between pain and pleasure, which the truly subordinate secretly relish. For on some days I would arrive home from work to find that Lucretia had Bobbi in her study for a late afternoon behavior modification session. She would invite me to watch. Observing Bobbi’s initial struggles and pleas, before application of the cane, change to passive sobs and calm politeness afterwards was an interesting transition. And for the remainder of the afternoon and evening he would focus intently on his duties. No muffs, no oversights, just textbook maid service, sans uniform, of course.
And Bobbi recognized the transition also. For within a few weeks, Lucretia would question him after each transgression.
“Do you need to visit the study, Bobbi? I’ve purchased a particularly thin strand of bamboo.”
Surprisingly, Bobbi would nod, somewhat reluctantly, realizing that despite the apprehension of the amazingly sharp pain, Lucretia’s crisp applications were improving his efforts. He was very eager to serve and wished to do so properly.
At the Spa, sometimes a guest desires to watch a thorough and professionally performed flogging. (Sometimes a certain set of buttocks draws the attention of a guest and she cannot help but request that such be well spread, secured and excoriated.) Mona, the discipline supervisor, is summoned. She is a very experienced flagellatrix and I’ve often had occasion to watch her ply her skills upon the selected staff member.
I remember questioning some of the more masochistic members of the serving staff after Mona had given them a good working over. They were calm, evidencing a heightened level of awareness. All their senses seemed to have been enhanced, more sensitive to light, sound, touch and smell. They reported a feeling of release, as if they had experienced a most satisfying orgasm. Also a sense of relief, realizing that despite having a powerful and relentless woman apply all her strength and stamina to the application of pain, they had survived.
And so it was not surprising to me that Bobbi had also learned of the catharsis of the cane. With masturbation being forbidden, his hormonal imbalance needed attention. Thus, he sought that most irregular form of relief so colorfully described to me at the Spa, the intense, searing strokes of what flagellants describe as the most persuasive instrument of correction known.
It was ironic that when the special package from Germany arrived, Bobbi was dutifully working in Lucretia’s kitchen making watercress sandwiches. As Lucretia related the story to me, the doorbell rang and Bobbi stepped into the living to don his uniform, forgetting that Lucretia had taken it to be cleaned.
Lucretia was lounging on the couch reading a magazine and looked up to see Bobbi’s predicament. The bell rang again.
“Well Bobbi, the door needs answering. It’s a parcel delivery. I can see the truck through the window. You’ll need to sign for a package.”
As written, Lucretia preferred to be served naked and there stood Bobbi in his ridiculously high heels and maid’s cap. Nothing else. Lucretia watched as his penis slowly engorged. Bobbi became aroused contemplating exposure to the unknown driver.
“I can ask the driver to wait and cane you first. Would that help? One way or the other you’re going to fulfill your duties.”
Bobbi stepped toward the door.
“A nice curtsy for the driver now...”
As Lucretia described it, Bobbi’s face was crimson with embarrassment when he pulled open the door. There in the foyer stood tall, well-built black woman in the traditional brown uniform of the parcel service holding a clipboard and a box. Bobbi pulled his hands to the small of his back and curtsied as trained. The purple penis stood at attention and the driver just paused and stared. Bobbi waited for her to speak, Lucretia insisting that Bobbi never initiate a verbal exchange. She also remained silent.
Finally, with Bobbi’s hairless male organs providing a most unusual contrast to his effeminate make up, heels and long blond hair, Lucretia broke the ice.
“Good morning, Lucy. A package from Germany perhaps?”
With a look more of amusement than shock, the driver moved her gaze from Bobbi’s privates to Lucretia.
“Yes, Lucretia. Need a signature. Glad to see things are going well for you. Haven’t been greeted like this since you lost your husband.”
More small talk was exchanged while Bobbi signed for his own implement of restraint. The irony!
Bobbi took the package, curtsied again then retired to the kitchen with it. The driver bid good bye.
“Stop in for a foot massage sometime, Lucy. Bobbi’s hands are softer than my husband’s and he’s getting quite good.”
The driver left and Lucretia resumed reading. Within minutes, the silence in the kitchen became suspicious. No rattling plates. No clink of glassware. No sounds of the knife popping against the cutting board.
Lucretia put aside her magazine to investigate. When she silently swung open the kitchen door, there stood Bobbi over the sink stroking himself. The excitement of exposing himself erect and feminized was too much. Despite the weeks of discipline and instruction, he craved relief.
He would not obtain it.
“Well, it seems the arrival of our package is rather timely,” was Lucretia’s understated observation. Bobbi jumped with the sound of her authoritative voice.
When I arrived home from work there was another note from Lucretia suggesting that Bobbi would be delayed and that I should knock on her door.
I did.
Bobbi answered. He properly curtsied and when he bowed his head, tears dripped to the floor. Lucretia had him wearing various clamps again, nose, nipples and I later learned the tongue also.
But what caught my eye was the shining strip of stainless steel around Bobbi’s waist with a wider piece covering his groin.
Lucretia approached from behind and informed me of the day’s events.
“It seems our little maid gets aroused showing himself off to people. A very cute exhibitionist, in heels and cap.
“Well future arousal will be uncomfortable...very uncomfortable.”
I stepped inside and Lucretia suggested we retire to the bathroom.
“You’ll need to know how this belt works. It cannot be removed without the key, of which there are only two copies, yours and mine.”
She handed one to me then slipped the other into a keyhole on Bobbi’s right hip. The belt clicked and opened.
“As you can see,
it’s very tight but the neoprene lining allows for very extended wear. And I had it specially designed to allow unfettered access to his anus. Prostrate health is important and he’ll need massaging.”
The belt appeared to be incredibly strong. The polished steel gave the impression that nothing could penetrate it, a fact that the manufacturer indeed suggested in his brochures. The crouch piece was almost flat, forcing Bobbi’s little penis and testicles downwards between his legs. This feature made it very easy for Bobbi to slip into tight girl’s panties, but obviously he’d have to learn to walk differently with his reproductive organs so restrained.
Lucretia slipped the device from Bobbi’s waist. As she did so, his flaccid penis popped into view, It had been encased in a tube attached to the inside of the crouch piece. The penis had a ring encircling the end of the shaft, right at the sensitive tip.
“The tube has a hole for drainage between his thighs. Henceforth, our pretty maid will be squatting to urinate. And as you can see, I had the manufacturer throw a teeth bracelet in with the order. It fits snugly when Bobbi is flaccid. But upon arousal the sharp little teeth on the inside bite if he becomes engorged.
“Tomorrow, as an added precaution, I’m going to have him pierced just at the tip under the urethra. As you can see, the penis tube has holes in it. A thin bar can be inserted through the tube and the penal piercing, making it impossible to slide off or for the penis to slip out. I also have a urethral insert. Our pretty maid is going to be quite obedient and will learn to control his urges...or suffer. Going forward, erections, or the attempt to achieve such, will be incredibly painful.
About Eve, Page 5
