Miss Elizabeth's Captive

or the Application of the Stockholm Syndrome-3

“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 p***s 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 n****e, 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 s****l 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.

***

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 s****l 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.

***

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 s*x 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 p***s 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.

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.

***

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.”