Miss Elizabeth's Captive

by Chris Bellows

  What was it Liz said? ...For some it would stand for the last time? The comment was on my mental list of things to clarify.

  Chapter Four

  I heard the kitchen door swing open. Jamie approached and this time I observed his motion from the front. His cute faux testicles swung and glittered in the bright room light. No limited firelight to cloak any part of his altered anatomy on this visit. The living room lights were bright.

  He carried a silver tray with a margarita. Presented in a crystal goblet, chilled to perfection and well salted. Though made to my liking, I let Jamie stand before me in his state of complete dishabille. I stared down at his penis... so small yet so rigid with the metal tube permanently inserted. It was locked upright as Liz demands and it occurred to me that any bathroom visits required the use of the key to the tiny padlock.

  Yes, Jamie was not only altered, he was totally controlled. And I could not believe I was examining the hairless form of a twenty-year-old. He looked and acted like a boy of 13. An age which I suddenly realized was about when he was presented to Liz as a birthday gift.

  I finally took the drink and nodded. And again Jamie wordlessly scampered off like a child in a playground. I turned back to the photos and sipped.

  “He’ll be forever young,” the voice of my authoritative Middle Eastern friend exclaimed, stealing into my thoughts.

  I turned again to view the magnificent woman whose boldness so occupied my mind for the past week.

  “When they’re cut at the proper age, much physical development ceases. And I assured that the timing of Jamie’s alteration was optimized.”

  Liz was dressed in leather...black leather. The finely tailored covering hugged every curve, perfectly outlining a body Little Sam had so much enjoyed momentarily frottaging against weeks before.

  “Tell me about it, Liz. To change a life in celebration of one’s birthday...a present. Is it that insignificant, the male reproductive organs...that they should be modified at a whim...merely for the amusement of a teenaged girl?”

  Liz held in her hand a glass of wine. She smiled...her confident smile. She stepped forward and clinked my glass.

  “In short, the answer is yes. My amusement is important.” She laughed with her pithy reply and sipped.

  “And I think you’ve somewhat benefited, Sam. You took Jamie quite deeply. Luckily he’s been very well trained.”

  Liz laughed again, and I could not help joining her with a smile. And Little Sam remained pressing the front of my trousers. He truly has a mind of his own and I had trouble discerning whether it was the presence of the beautiful Liz or the lithe naked body of Jamie that stirred his interest.

  “Tell me about the floggings, Liz. The pictures of the Palace Square seem to occupy a place of prominence amongst your mementos.”

  “If you’re suggesting those were halcyon days, Sam, you may be correct. Remember, only common criminals were flogged. And though it took time, I became as appreciative as Mother of a brisk application of leather to the naked buttocks of an obstreperous thief. And then there were those special times...a rapist, an adulterer. Sometimes the wetness still flows thinking about it.”

  She paused and sipped.

  “Shall we sit, Sam?”

  I followed the leather-clad form, marveling at her shapely posterior so nicely outlined in tight and shiny cowhide. We returned to the scene of Saturday night’s dalliance. This time Liz sat opposite me in a large chair.

  “The special times, Liz?” I prompted her to resume.

  “Yes. Islamic law is rather harsh concerning sexual crimes, Sam. A flogging is just the beginning and knowing that a prisoner was going to pay the ultimate price for his indiscretions so much added to the enjoyment for me. Those were the ones sent to the Square in full tumescence. There was a very skilled woman who could assure such an ignominious display and when I was deemed of age, Mother let me assist her.”

  “I’m not sure of the punishment, Liz. More than a flogging?”

  She giggled at my naivete.

  “Castration, Sam. Most times quick and painless... unless there were extenuating circumstances, such as a charge involving the Royal family. In those cases a slow and painful alteration was mandated.

  “But the irony was so enticing to a girl of my age. First a humiliating display, then a simple operation, then a life of chastity. Under Islamic law, forced purity.”

  “Is that how you view Jamie, forcibly pure?”

  Liz laughed. It was her evil laugh. “Well, most is forced on him yes...he’s very well controlled as a castrate should be. But as to purity... well that’s relative. Judge for yourself. He certainly has good intentions. Very eager to please, as you have experienced.”

  “Why so controlled? He cannot live without guidance?”

  “I won’t let him live without. I enjoy it. The male phallus under my domain. Utterly subjugated. Responding to the simple snap of my fingers. There is derived an emotional high that I need... I crave.

  “And besides, the absence of testosterone affects the male judgment. It’s a scientific fact. A simple patch or weekly injection could change that... but I like Jamie being dependent on me. It’s comforting for me.”

  “Returning to the Palace...you later assisted in the floggings?’

  “Yes, Sam, I assisted,” Liz replied in a lugubrious tone.

  “Such a typically male concern. That somehow the vaunted male organ should never fall victim to the whim of the female. Well it did, Sam. Time after time. And sometimes I excitedly lie awake at night thinking of the faces. How the woman executioner would taunt while stroking the condemned to full erection.

  “‘Make it a good one...it’s your last,’ was her typical ridicule. A simple inflatable butt plug and the high level of emotion did the trick. She brought them to full erection, just short of climax and sent them to their doom. With the plug remaining in place, the tumescence remained not only for the walk to the platform but well into the flogging. The crowd loved it. A slow 50 lashes and then off to the infirmary. And so many begged and cried, Sam. Grown men. Hardened rapists. So comically trying to keep what nature chose to make so easy to harvest. But in the end it was snip, snip, snip and an opprobrious conclusion to a life of sexual crime.”

  Liz paused to sip more wine. For some reason the casual tone of her narrative aroused me.

  “And yes,” she added with a sardonic snort “I too stroked away. At age 16 I was known in the prison as the castrating vixen. Young and pretty, I stroked like there was no tomorrow and in the minds of the male beast perhaps there was none. Looking into the eyes of a thoroughly bound male and bringing him to full stand against his will is power, Sam. And I enjoyed power...and still do.”

  Yes she did.

  She emptied her glass and before it returned to the surface of the table, Jamie popped from the kitchen with the remains of the bottle. He curtsied most obediently and poured. After my Saturday encounter I knew that talking before him was more than acceptable. As Liz herself had stated, he was part of the furniture.

  “And Jamie. Was he a condemned prisoner?”

  “Oh, no. Jamie was and is special.”

  Liz patted his right buttock, affectionately, as one would pet a dog. Then her hand slipped down and between his thighs. By rote, Jamie’s feet parted to permit access.

  “The perineum. It becomes more sensitive to the touch after alteration. And it’s good to check the prostate gland. Castrates have these special problems...”

  Liz hesitated in her dialogue while examining Jamie. She looked closely at his locked upturned penis, particularly the tip, where the metal Prince’s Wand exited the urethra and the locking post was thrust through the underside of the frenulum. She diddled her finger about the flesh there and then played with his balls. Flicking them back and forth.

  “You know, Sam, these ornate balls may seem to serve as a cruel reminder of Jamie’s castration, but if something is not added, the scrotum just withers to nothingness.”

  Initial
ly Jamie just stood. But as it became apparent that Liz was performing a detailed inspection, manicured hands were obsequiously placed atop the perfectly coifed hair, again by rote. And the male ingenue turned to directly face his mistress, feet remaining well apart. It appeared to be a daily ritual. I detected a subtle childish smile as the soft warm hands toyed. Jamie liked her touch. And I was shocked to see the entrapped phallus engorge somewhat.

  “Many of the nerve endings remain after castration, Sam. And just as with any part of the body they must be stimulated, otherwise sensitivity is permanently lost.

  “We wouldn’t want that now would we, Jamie?”

  Jamie beamed and Liz pointed to the kitchen. As Jamie turned to run off, a playful but loud swat left a large hand print on the alabaster flesh of his backside. Liz laughed at his reaction...a lurch and stumble in trying to maintain balance with hands on head.

  Liz’s knowledge of the male anatomy...the altered male anatomy...was extensive. I was reminded of a mother and toddler where maternal care delves into every aspect of the child’s existence right down to the most minute blemish of the epidermis and the consistency of daily bowel movements.

  “So Jamie was special...” I prodded Liz back to the subject at hand.

  “A birthday gift, as you know. Mother knew I’d be going off to college to be alone in a strange country. She had also noticed how I reveled in the weekly floggings. When she found that I began witnessing the castrations, sneaking into the infirmary after the floggings and watching the removal of the testicles, she formulated the idea of a very exotic gift.

  “It’s a disappointingly simple procedure, Sam, the castrations.”

  Liz rose, stepped around the low coffee table and sat next to me. Whereas on Saturday her approach was that of a temptress closing on her erotic prey, this short journey was business. Though appearing even more alluring in the skin tight black leather, Liz had purpose in switching her seat.

  “Most times there was little anesthesia. Floggings in my country are severe and often the condemned is in a mild state of shock.”

  While she spoke Liz unzipped me. The temerity...the boldness...but what red-blooded man ever objected when feminine hands so artfully work a zipper and free that which constantly seeks companionship? Little Sam sprung out like a scared rabbit scrambling from a cage.

  “Goodness, Sam. Your penis seems stimulated.”

  Yes, Little Sam, with a mind of its own, was daydreaming. I told myself that it was Liz’s proximity and not the scene moments before of the authoritative hands having their way with the male anatomy...or former male anatomy.

  Liz returned to business and I took a large sip of my margarita.

  “Just a quick incision here...and another here.” She held Little Sam out of the way, pinching the head with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. Her right forefinger pointed out the ‘here and here’ as it sensually brushed the opposing sides of my scrotum, near the top, at the base of Little Sam.

  “The skin is amazingly thin and in using a laser there is hardly any bleeding. It takes less than a minute.

  “Then the little gland, the cause of so much misery and suffering, is pulled out. Nerves, blood vessels and the vas deferens are clamped... and snip, snip, snip. One down, one to go.”

  Liz retained her simple grip on Little Sam as she spoke and the result was as expected. He stood for her...proudly...completely...in the well-lit living room where there was no place to hide...no way to feign bashfulness. Liz let go and sat back with a very naughty smile.

  “It seems your penis likes my touch, Sam. Or perhaps my descriptive narrative.”

  She paused to sip more wine leaving me to embarrassingly sit with a huge erection. I have been told that I am well hung. Liz seemed to enjoy the view and I just sat. There was no way Little Sam was going to fit back into my pants. I took a sip of my margarita and my shaking hand gave me away. It spilled. Not a lot but the salt left a white crust to highlight the wet spot on my dark suit pants.

  Liz leaned over and unhooked my belt buckle. “There’s more to the story. And I would not want to see anything more get spilled.” She was smiling coyly. Then she bent down and removed my shoes. For some reason I just sat as my socks were next and she snapped her fingers. Jamie instantly appeared from the kitchen with a tray and a second margarita.

  “Clean this and have it ready for when he leaves, Jamie.”

  I guess sitting before the naked girlish figure with a raging erection would have been uncomfortable before the Saturday escapades. And adding to the stimulation there was the leather-clad Liz. So commanding... so authoritative. Some form of exposure seemed de rigueur for visits to Liz’s penthouse.

  I stood, peeled off my suit jacket then let my soiled slacks fall to the floor. Jamie stared at my mammoth erection... a look of both envy and awe... as if in disbelief that a week before the entire organ had deeply plunged into his oral cavity.

  As Jamie picked up the slacks and neatly folded them on the serving tray, I began to sit back down in tie, shirt and with erection poking through my underwear. Liz giggled.

  “You look ridiculous.”

  She reached over and removed my tie, then unbuttoned my shirt.

  “Jamie rarely sees real men these days. He needs inspiration and you need to be comfortable.”

  I took the hint as to what ‘comfortable’ meant. As I drew my arms out of the shirt, Liz carefully pulled the waist band of my underwear out and extricated Little Sam so that he stood outside the garment. She then slid it down, and just as with my slacks, I stepped out for Jamie to gather and add my shorts to the tray.

  I sat. The leather was cool and the depravity of the scene settled in as Liz remained fully clothed with two entirely naked men... or at least one man and a...a what? I guess a eunuch.

  Little Sam betrayed the perverse enjoyment I experienced by continuing to stand firmly. Jamie looked on with admiration and Liz...confident, authoritative Liz...stood over me, hands on hips.

  “You’re nicely toned, Sam. Keep that gym membership.”

  She was inspecting me like a cattle buyer at a stockyard...and truth be known...I guess I was for sale. I wanted to be with her, and my desire trumped all normal decorum.

  Thus, I could think of nothing else than reach for my fresh margarita. I recalled reading on the Internet about some form of subtle D/s play...‘clothed female/naked male’ and tried to remember how the suggested scenes played out.

  Then Liz resumed and Jamie ran on toes to the kitchen. The CFNM thought was lost.

  “The psychological aspects of castration provide the most poignant thoughts. One day a male is fornicating with impunity... or rather perceived impunity... in manifesting nature’s dominance over the female... and the next day... well that’s the question. What does a man do without his precious gonads?”

  She completed her question with a mocking intonation while sitting down next to me. She reached over and palmed my heavy sac as a way of illustrating her point.

  “What would Sam do without these? Be like a little lost doggie who can’t find his way home...alone...confused...in need of guidance and direction?”

  She let go... graphically making her point.

  “Think Jamie could live without me? The male loses a lot of drive when the testosterone level plummets. Becomes lazy. If he can’t ball....then he can’t function. There’s no perceived purpose in life.”

  Liz leaned, picked up her glass, sipped and swallowed. Her voice remained pleasant but ominous in completing her point. “Unless a good, firm woman provides such. And Jamie has much purpose. I see to that.”

  She paused and I let the silence continue hoping that Little Sam would calm himself. But Liz was too ravishing, too commanding, to be ignored by my engorged little friend. His homage remained. I decided it was best to resume.

  “But where does one acquire a Jamie, Liz? The yellow pages? Run a classified ad?”

  She laughed.

  “Do you really think the entire world is
comprised of Bible-thumping Christians? That there is a uniformity of morality and justice? Before last week you were not aware that castration was still used as a form of punishment, not to mention floggings. Why would you portend to suggest that a facility for transforming indigent boys into truckling servants would not exist?

  “It’s not a question of supply, Sam. It’s a question of developing standards, procedures and a regimen to properly meet the demand.”

  Liz stopped and reached for a cocktail napkin.

  “You’re leaking,” she casually suggested.

  Her left hand encircled the base of Little Sam and the right, napkin in hand, dabbed away prostatic fluid oozing from my penis. She wiped and cleaned so matter-of-factly, as if primping an infant while changing a diaper.

  She released Little Sam and crumpled the napkin with a matronly smile.

  “The gift, Liz. I am so curious about the gift,” prompting her to detail Jamie’s acquisition.

  “Well, it’s not like there was a party and upon opening a large decorative box a naked and castrated blond boy popped out. It’s a process, as suggested, and an expensive one. There are choices to be made and many steps to be taken. It took much time... basically occupying most of the summer before leaving for Brown. But the clinic was en route and escaping the desert heat in July and August can be refreshing.”

  “The clinic?”

  “Yes, the ‘Clinic for Orphaned Boys’, is the sign at the entrance... in Swedish. Better known in many parts of the world as the ‘Clinic for Boys Better Living in Subjugation’. There’s an awkwardness in the translation to English,” Liz chuckled.