Nusquam Beckons

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“Stop whining, you know you need it.”

Linda guides the slim wrists, encircled in Posey cuffs, below and clips together, making Chrissy Boy one with the f*****g table. The otherwise mundane piece of furniture is really a small kitchen table, narrow, its length that of Chrissy’s head and torso. Thus, with legs folded, knees to his chest, the buttocks are perfectly aligned at the edge for anal penetration.

As commanded, the girlish castrate has lain in wait for hours, mouth stuffed with the bulbous female end of the well-designed Feeldoe double dildo. Linda steps to the refrigerator, fingers scooping a dollop of butter. Returning, she gently works her fingers, lubricating the gluteal cleft.

“Something’s missing here, Chrissy Boy,” she taunts, fingers kneading the fleshiness of an empty pouch which once held male tidbits.

Smiling, enthralled with feminine power, she unhooks her skirt, tosses aside then lowers and removes her panties. As always, Chrissy Boy strains to gawk and adore. Regular workouts have brought a level of puissance uncharacteristic for women, but not detracting from her shape. At six foot, her 180 pounds are more muscle than fat, yet the woman allures, particularly her feminized servant. He is envious and his look of adoration tells.

Linda reaches, pulling the Feeldoe from Chrissy Boy’s lips with a plop. She smiles, parting her thighs to slip the perfectly shaped female end into her quim. In abrading her urethral sponge, she sighs, the feeling delightful... and there is more to come.

Stepping forth, she grasps Chrissy Boy’s ankles. He knows to go limp, surrendering to her powerful grip as the feet are brought high to rest on her shoulders.

Before deciding on the decubitus position, Linda formerly sodomized her charge doggie style, positioning him on all fours. But she found the intimacy to be lacking, not able to see the look of capitulation on his face while entering and thrusting, and not able to teasingly play with a p***s forever limp, never again to function with male virility.

So, at a rummage sale, she found the so termed f*****g table... size and height perfect for the endeavor... putting her girly boy under the p***s.

Feet pointed to the ceiling, Linda looks down, aligns the male end of the double dildo with a well-greased rectum and slowly enters, watching with glee that look... surrender... Chrissy having lost his balls now nightly gives up all vestiges of male pride as well.

With the initial thrust, the right hand toys with the useless male appendage, sensitivity remaining, the impotency tending to amuse. The left hand reaches higher to tweak the n*****s, puffy and pubescent with hormonal imbalance.

Chrissy squeals with delight, succumbing, his idol entering, his prostate reveling.

“I had a most interesting day, Chrissy Boy,” Linda muses in slowly withdrawing.

As she thrusts again, Linda recalls her meeting with counselor Wendy Valance, learning that they had a mutual friend, Kelly Devers, former Nusquam nurse, caretaker of masochists, now retired and Nusquam member. And Wendy’s knowledge of Nusquam? The imposing defense counselor is a member.

Over Scotch, Linda learned more of Nusquam, things that her friend Kelly Devers either neglected to tell her... or was too busy to inform during the quick and event filled weekend visit. Mostly minor details, but importantly, that Kelly and others can earn commissions when a subjugant is rendered... placed willingly... or on occasion unwillingly... under the auspices of the sadist members... to live a life of physical, mental and emotional subservience.

Thrust, thrust, thrust... the flow of endorphins relaxes, countering the exhilaration of f*****g, of having a neutered male completely under her control... living... existing for no other purpose than to please. Linda Rankin thrills, but there comes gloom in the realization that these moments are fleeting... that after a night’s rest with Chrissy Boy’s mouth and tongue bringing orgasm after orgasm, the dreary mundane work of the Marshal’s Service, the need to make a living, the boring reality of the vanilla world greets in the morning.

Nusquam intrigues. She is authorized to visit. But the notion of membership attracts, working a brawny well tethered male in the hot equatorial sun... as witnessed with Penny Osborne and her steed 88... taking delight in watching the cruelty of the pump house. Envisioning the enormous breasts of subjugant 128 letting down, lactate squirting with the squeeze of nimble fingers. Yes membership is tempting... yet on government wages infeasible.

Linda’s thoughts are interrupted. The fingers of her right hand, frottaging the emaciated p***s to heighten Chrissy Boy’s sense of submission, feel a slight degree of firmness. Linda looks down to see the ooze of clear viscous prostatic fluid. This is as close to orgasm as the castrate can be... the pending sneeze that never comes.

Ah, the power...