Miss Elizabeth's Captive

or the Application of the Stockholm Syndrome-2

For whatever reason I changed the subject, chagrined to realize that the woman with whom I had been cuddling was perhaps more worldly and had experienced more carnal interaction than I could mentally fathom. I let the reference to ‘standing for the last time’ pass. It did not register.

Perhaps in prodding her memory, images better kept within precipitated her early withdrawal.

And now the subject seemed to arise again. This time with regard to Jamie. And of course the floggings came to mind. Though I had timidly changed the subject weeks before, continuous visions of a little girl watching grown men being whipped flashed into my imagination. Such were s****l fantasies really and I suppose it was the lurid shock which prohibited the thought from fading.

And now the ‘compassionate hand’, as Liz so warmly described what the condemned male organs sought, was tenderly stroking Little Sam. As stated, she had a marvelous, knowing touch for a woman several years shy of 30. In my experience, though being stroked by an ingenue as a randy teen can bring ephemeral pleasure, but in the long run the phallus requires a combined skill of pressure, timing and knowledge of the erogenous zones. Such are acquired over time and with experience. And as I watched Liz’s lotioned hand glide up and down my fully erect shaft, I reminded myself that the best ‘hand job’ I had ever experienced was from a woman in her sixties who had spent a lifetime as a masseuse.

I always prided myself on self control and knew that Liz did not want me to explode. Thus I needed to avert both her attention and mine, lest the ‘cream’ for the coffee be served prematurely.

“The floggings, Liz. Tell me about the floggings.”

As with my questions weeks ago about her knowledge of circumcision, once again she paused, encircling the base of my shaft and kneading my testicles with the aplomb I came to expect.

“Weekly events in the Palace Square. Crime in my country is limited and there is very little recidivism. Once a man has had a taste of the whip there is rarely a return to transgression. But there is enough first time thievery to make for an entertaining afternoon. And whereas most times the men are poor, old and unsightly, on occasion there would be a young male worthy of special consideration. At first Mother only had me watch the actual flogging. But when I got older, she took me to the preparation room where the prisoner was stripped and put into a yoke. Heavy wood planks about the neck and wrists.”

Her left hand moved from my scrotum to my shoulder and smoothed across to my throat to demonstrate her point.

“I had not before realized that one element considered meaningful to the procedure was the humiliation. So after being yoked, the prisoner is forced to drink much water. I suppose there are medical reasons for such in encountering the possibility of shock, but Mother explained that with the searing pain, the prisoner’s bladder would eventually open. And that of course so much added to the trauma…urinating uncontrollably in the Square before the watching throng.”

“How old were you Liz? It would seem to be rather shocking for a young girl to watch such events.”

“Yes, I suppose it was. But Mother so much enjoyed herself. She assumed I would also.”

Liz’s right hand remained steady, seeming to know that Little Sam needed a respite. She stared at the far wall in reflection.

“My first viewing was when I was 8 or 9.”

“And did you, Liz? Did you enjoy it?”

Another pause. There was a bump against the swinging door leading to the kitchen. The soft glow of the fire momentarily yielded to the harsh florescent lights of the kitchen.

Jamie entered with a tray of coffee. As I moved to right my clothing, Liz held firmly to my erection inhibiting any effort to zipper myself. She smiled.

“There is no need for modesty, Sam.”

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 n****e 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 n*****s 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 n*****s, 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 p***s 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 p***s 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 p***s 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 p***s 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 fellator. 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.