Miss Elizabeth's Captive

by Chris Bellows

  Liz was correct. Jamie had shorn himself of the garb. No red silk blouse. No short satin slacks. And as he gracefully tiptoed toward us, the absence of the odd sandals became evident. The suspected nipple piercings were confirmed, each pink nub was speared by a oversized gold bar, some three inches in length. Diamonds on each end prohibited the decorative shards from slipping from his pink flesh. The gems highlighted a hairless chest and appeared to match the flashes of glitter emanating from his pierced ears.

  Jamie wore expensive jewelry. And shifting my eyes to a prideful Liz, I knew from whence the opulence came.

  I looked back to the lad’s mid section, seeking to confirm his maleness. After all, the penetrating gold bars caused his nipples to be puffed, presenting feminine attributes which would require a young girl to don a training bra. My visual examination was impeded by small patch of cloth, later identified as a folded napkin, draped over his pubes and hanging from a decorative golden chain encircling his waist. With each approaching step the clicking sound, barely heard during dinner, became more discernible, no longer muffled by the covering layer of black satin.

  “Put the tray here, Jamie.”

  Liz pointed with her left hand, her right embarrassingly gripped about an engorged Little Sam and seeming to wave it about enticingly before Jamie. And our servant, my hermaphroditic new acquaintance, seemed mesmerized by the display of the fully erect phallus.

  Yes, Jamie smiled with a coyness which could only be described as effeminate, seeming to be as bashful as a school girl, yet never taking his eyes from the purple head of Little Sam.

  And I was startled by Liz’s reaction when she shook my phallus, seeming to offer its hardened girth as one would offer a scrap of meat to a hungry dog.

  “You’re not getting anything until Mr. Sam inspects, Jamie. You know how I feel about your misplaced shyness.”

  Liz seemed to be referring to the folded napkin, the only covering the hairless figure wore. It was easy for Liz to make the demand. She remained fully clothed while I sat with Little Sam pointing toward the ceiling watching the near naked form of a boy with a shape which could only be compared to that of a ballerina.

  Jamie’s smile remained but turned to a forced pleasantness as he placed the serving tray on the low table before us. As his right hand gripped the piping hot silver pitcher of coffee and his left held a priceless china cup, Liz reached out and slowly pulled away the napkin, the only covering which cloaked the evidence of Jamie’s gender and slyly inhibited final identification as boy or girl.

  The sight beneath caused me to sit upright, bringing an uncharacteristic giggle from Liz and newly found bashfulness from Jamie.

  There in the glow of the firelight was revealed why Liz had teasingly returned my question, ‘What is it about Jamie that I like.’ Liz preempted my words of awe.

  “Yes, Jamie’s been fixed...just like a puppy.”

  I stared, the soft light repressing immediate close examination. But the source of the clicking was finally revealed. Jamie was indeed ‘fixed’ but still had balls. Dangling from piercings in his tiny empty scrotum, hairless as I came to expect from surveying his legs, were two diamond studded golden globes, ironically sized similarly to the gonads of a young boy.

  As I gawked, Liz laughed heartily and Jamie bent his head in shame.

  “Care to ask the question again, Sam? How could you not like Jamie? He’s closer to being one of us than one of you.”

  Liz’s calloused observation was obviously in reference to the fact that with all the accouterments, the jewelry, the coif, the effeminate clothing, the hairless body, the puffed tactile nipples, the girlish buttocks. Jamie was closer to appearing as a young girl than a male.

  “I assure you, his testosterone level is lower than mine, Sam. I’m even thinking of having him develop breasts.”

  With that, Liz outright cackled and gave up her grasp on my penis in order to better display Jamie’s.

  “So you see why I refer to Jamie as a gift. I had an eighteenth birthday present that no American girl could imagine.”

  I barely heard the words, for Liz’s dexterous hand produced a tiny key from her necklace and quickly worked a small padlock, which heretofore had escaped my visual examination. Jamie’s penis had been locked in place in an upright position to the thin gold chain around his waist. As her soft warm hands held Jamie’s remaining maleness, he smiled so girlishly. I imagined it to be comparable to the reaction of a shy teen visiting the gynecologist for the first time.

  “Oh, yes, Jamie. You are leaking a bit.”

  Liz picked up the napkin and with mocked daintiness dabbed clear viscous fluid from the area of Jamie’s urethra.

  “The testicles are gone but the prostate works on,” she casually explained.

  And when the napkin was put aside, I could finally see how Jamie’s penis came to so easily be locked away. The tip was pierced on the underside, a common Prince Albert opening, but there was no ring. Instead a post with an eyelet was thrust through which accommodated the tiny lock.

  As I stared, my attention became riveted on the strange stiffness of Jamie’s small organ. It was not engorged as mine was...and, dear reader, I must confess that Little Sam’s reaction to the unfolding scene was curiously lustful…his organ thin yet rigid. Liz noticed my inquisitive stare.

  “A device known as a Prince’s wand. A rather common form of chastity in my country. In the days of slavery, most of the unaltered males wore one. It rather constrains penetration.”

  Liz was lecturing now. Here I was in mid town Manhattan envisioning forcibly chaste males serving near naked women superiors. Yes, my reader, Little Sam further stiffened with that fantasy.

  “It’s a metal tube inserted into the urethra and held in place by the post. When locked to the waist chain it cannot be removed...and, of course, it is only unlocked on my whim.

  “You see, Sam, since Jamie can not ejaculate, the prostate needs stimulation. The inserted end of the wand has a bulbous tip which has been precisely measured to abrade the prostate gland. As a result, Jamie’s gland is constantly massaged internally and leaks quite often...particularly when excited.”

  The insouciance with which Liz described what must have been constant torment for the male gland and the entrapped phallus was strangely shocking yet arousing. Yet I reminded myself...women of authority I had always found attractive. And with panache. Yes, Liz had panache...turning what most would describe as a scene of debauchery into a casual modeling session...as if Jamie was there for no other purpose than to display his fine jewelry and amuse with his nakedness.

  Such was Liz.

  Well, coffee was served. My hostess took her cup and leaned back on the couch, sanguine with the scene of turpitude. I did the same, chagrined that my raging erection did not subside. Instead, viewing the girlish altered form of Jamie seemed to bring further tumescence.

  I was confused...I suppose hysterical, but disguised my perplexed state well, except for my shaking hand trying to hold the full cup of java.

  Then Liz took action which suggested a conspiracy.

  “A cannoli? I had Jamie spend a week in training with a superb Italian pastry chef. I think you’ll enjoy even if you don’t have a sweet tooth.”

  My free hand soon held the described pastry. The coffee was hot with the cup brimming. The cannoli was sloppy. I was occupied trying to effectuate neatness when Liz nodded to Jamie and the sweet boy knelt between my knees.

  “Jamie’s very skilled, Sam. And I’m sure he’ll like your taste.”

  A split second after Little Sam felt a warm breath, soft wetness took the standing tip of my penis into the most exquisite portal. My homophobia at first raged. I tried to put down the coffee but could not lean forward to reach the tray without bringing forth further penetration of Jamie’s throat and mouth. But within seconds it did not matter. Jamie’s gullet opened and to the sound of a laughing Liz, Little Sam disappeared entirely.

  The ingenue Jamie was an accomplished fella
tor. The sensation was intensely pleasurable...perfect pressure, a swirling tongue, and a rounded piercing on the tip of his tongue was soon exploring without compunction. It was no wonder that Jamie’s speech was slurred and limited. As with the alteration of his genitals, his tongue was also transformed. This change made him uniquely adorned to give oral pleasure. His ability to receive had been taken.

  “Relax and overcome your disgust, Sam, and Jamie will take you where you’ve never before been. Just remember hormone-wise he’s more female than male. And for men, I am told the oral skills of the castrated male cannot be surpassed. He knows the phallus better than any woman and he lives vicariously for the pleasure he cannot have by providing such to others.”

  With the ecstatic pleasure, Liz knew to take from my hands the cannoli and coffee before it spilled. Since Little Sam was so deeply impaled into Jamie’s throat I was trapped. I had little choice but to demurely sit and be fellated...or so it seemed.

  But, dear reader, what was I to do? After a sumptuous dinner with such a gracious Liz, could I physically fight and insult my hostess? I looked down at the blonde hair bobbing about. My hands entwined in the beautiful locks. I pulled such aside to see the pierced ears and the sizable gems. Then my gaze moved to see the effeminate buttocks, perfect roundness...without hair...the posterior of a girl, and a young one. I groaned with pleasure. Liz was most correct...in all my years of lustful encounters, Jamie was the best. No woman ever touched the small penile erogenous zones, sucked and applied pressure in the precise places and the exact levels as did the genderless ingenue.

  I was enraptured, and my innate male macho disgust faded as the longest tongue I had ever received escaped from its confinement and began licking my scrotum while my shaft remained ensconced and the penis tip felt as if it had entered Jamie’s stomach.

  Meanwhile an amused Liz just watched my contorted face and I fought the pending climax. She reached to toy with Jamie’s right nipple, appearing to gently twist the gold bar with her right hand. Her left smoothed its way down flawless flesh and grasped a handful of Jamie’s left cheek. He parted his thighs in greeting, seeming to welcome the soft warm hands that had minutes before worked Little Sam.

  “Let yourself go, Sam. Jamie’s been trained since he was a lad. He’s fellated more phalli than the cheapest trollop in New York, the dear boy. And there’s no messy spitting with my little oral slave. That results in punishment. Jamie’s trained to swallow everything you can offer. And I think you’ll find the challenge amusing. Can you ejaculate hard enough to make him choke?”

  Her soothing sultry voice combined with the peculiar scene...a most blemishless flesh scene. Overwhelmed. I indeed ejaculated...deeply...spasmodically grabbing Jamie’s ears and pulling firmly to ensure maximum penetration. Jamie seemed to sense the urgency, swirling aggressively with tongue, pressing firmly with lips and somehow, never before experienced despite my worldly sexual encounters, utilizing the back of his throat to create a strong vacuum like sensation.

  And Liz was indeed correct. There was no choking, not even a gurgle; the ‘dear boy’ took everything.

  Chapter Two

  Monday, in the office, in the sexually austere working environment where daring to compliment anyone or anything wearing a skirt could erode to a charge of sexual harassment, I daydreamed about that Saturday night. It was eerie thinking about me, ‘Mister Macho’, being fellated by something once male. And to have Liz watching with such mirth...

  The encounter left so many impressions. My curiosity was not satiated...it was instead raging. As I thought over the weeks of our casual dating, I realized had not even peeled the first layer of the bewildering onion that was Liz. Now for sure, when she suggested there was something ‘intriguing’ to be experienced or viewed my ears perked.

  I needed to talk to someone, to exchange thoughts. But it’s not like you can take an old friend to lunch and suggest that over the weekend you had the best blowjob ever... and from an altered male.

  After exploding in Jamie’s gullet, I swilled my coffee and looked at my watch. Homophobia made me excuse myself. It became my turn to announce an early departure, despite a latent desire to further explore Jamie’s girlish body. During the cab ride home I thought about Liz’s warm hands soothing the boy’s nakedness, like a mother comforting a child. Later that night in a dream, my hands took the place of hers.

  “It’s his only pleasure,” she had explained with a demure smile as she waited with me at the elevator. “We can take you to new places if you care to come again.”

  I was so flushed that I did not immediately perceive the pun.

  Just as I was planning to call it a day, the phone rang. I almost ignored the call, picturing that a chilled and well-salted margarita in a tall goblet would extinguish my invasive thoughts of out and out debauchery.

  The feminine voice was smooth, accented, sultry. It was Liz. “You seemed to be in a hurry Saturday night. Another date?” She was kidding of course.

  I apologized for my hasty withdrawal. “The scene was rather overwhelming, Liz. I have never before met a castrated boy much less engaged in such...activity.”

  “Jamie is twenty, Sam. Been with me for many years. He’s very much of age, now. He was quite a relief for me in my college years. I lived off campus, of course.”

  I was relieved to hear that Jamie was an adult but could not honestly recall whether New York has gotten around to updating its sodomy laws. And then my chronological mind worked backwards. Liz must have attended college some six or seven years ago. Then the comment came to mind about Jamie’s being an eighteenth birthday present. Jamie was altered so young!

  The wine had indeed clouded my mind and judgment on Saturday night. Why had I not realized before that the blonde ingenue, the hairless hermaphrodite dutifully sucking my appendage, had been castrated at or near puberty!

  “Liz,” I blurted into the phone. “There are things I don’t understand. This is the United States. Things like that don’t happen....”

  “Things like what, Sam? An orphaned boy making a minor sacrifice in order to live a lifetime in comfort? The value of the jewelry he wears exceeds that which most people earn during their entire dreary existence, Sam. He’s educated, cared for, has a skill and receives constant training and discipline. Isn’t that all for which a naughty boy could wish?”

  The training and discipline struck something within my psyche. I thought about how servile and obsequious Jamie had been. How in fact he had no cares, other than to obey. How he so gleefully freed Little Sam of every drop of essence.

  “Not everyone would see it that way, Liz. The minor sacrifice was the boy’s testicles, for heaven’s sake. And not every boy is naughty!”

  “No? Well, you certainly were not on your best behavior.”

  Her voice was calm, collected. Mine reflected the frustration of not totally understanding what had happened to me on Saturday, how Jamie became Jamie, how a beautiful, well educated, intelligent woman could be so diabolically insouciant about a male’s gender identification.

  Though coming across as angry, I really needed to understand more and my frustration showed though it seemed to roll off Liz like water on a duck’s back. And, I had yet to make love to one of the most beautiful women I had met.

  She sensed that I needed to talk. And the phone was not the appropriate medium. Had any of our conversation been overhead, there would be too many questions to even begin to answer to my employer.

  “Friday night, Sam. Come directly from work. No need to change. You can freshen up here. We’ll talk. Jamie likes you, Sam. And so do I, of course. And you can ask any question you wish to help you understand. But I will have requests of you. Term it a quid pro quo, Sam.

  “And not to be contentious, but a very naughty male left my penthouse on Saturday completely satiated with no offer of equivalent gratification. Very impolite...”

  I had not before thought of that. A relaxed yet aroused Liz, stimulated by the sordid scene of perversion, was
left to her own...feeling somewhat jilted I supposed.

  For that reason alone, I agreed to a 6:00 p.m. Friday rendezvous. Liz’s penthouse was within walking distance of my office.

  Chapter Three

  Fortunately some busy days in the office and a quick trip to Chicago brought Friday with dispatch.

  I had somewhat mulled over Liz and her ‘birthday gift’, but when the return flight to New York became delayed, I had much time to sort things out...to organize my thoughts and questions. And notably, the more I cogitated the more the shock effect wore down. I convinced myself, I could not be the first heterosexual man to enjoy oral sex with a male, if Jamie was indeed still technically a male.

  My perplexed machismo calmed and I resolved to learn more, despite the potential erosion of my heterosexual psyche. And there was Liz. My male ego could not let that luscious fruit go unplucked.

  Friday evening the elevator whisked me to Liz’s penthouse. Hers was the only apartment at that level. I stepped into the small foyer. Jamie answered my ring. On this visit all pretension was cast aside. He pulled open the door and curtsied like a seven year old girl. And he wore... nothing, except a mirthful smile...his gold waist chain which appeared seamless, and of course his clicking diamond-studded golden balls.

  “Miss Elizabeth dressing,” was his laconic, labored greeting. And after closing the door behind me, he scampered off toward the kitchen. This time I was determined to stare...to watch the deliciously effeminate buttocks roll and jounce with each quick step. And after a week of self examination and determination to remain in control, Little Sam betrayed me.

  Yes, within a minute he was pressing the front of my trousers. He seemed to want to escape for his own view of the pretty altered boy... perhaps even more than a view.

  I leisurely surveyed the living room for the first time. Obviously Saturday night’s visit did not give rise to casual perusal of the enlightening displays and artifacts of a world traveler such as Liz. I focused on a collection of framed photos from her home country, particularly of the Palace Square where an ominous platform was prominently displayed and my imagination placed upon it a yoked, naked and virile thief with a very young Liz staring up at his exposed genitals. She smiles...it is her confident smile...but her youth makes it devilish, turning her look of innocence to one of diabolism. My mind sees the thief’s penis slowly rise as he begins to fully comprehend his predicament. He will be flogged until flaccidity returns and he soils himself... and it will serve to greatly amuse a young girl.