Taming the Virile Male

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

After being inspected by the dark, large but effeminate hands and having my backside marked, I was lined up in the barn with the others. Remaining hooded, my hands were placed on the shoulders of another captive. Presumably a column was formed and we shuffled out of the barn in what I pictured as a single file, slowly walking without sight and each pair of hands guided by the shoulders of the soldier in front.

A truck ride was next. We were pushed and pulled into the open back and made to sit. The vehicle seemed to lumber for hours. Then we disembarked and were again lined up and led into a large building. There was no determining where we were taken. Stepping from the truck without pants was the last time I felt the coolness of the outdoor air.

Thus comes my reluctance to bear the suffering of attempting to slip from my securing rings. If successfully freed of the only restraint holding me in my cell, I could not even find my way about the structure in which I am held captive much less cavort through the surrounding countryside in an attempt at achieving freedom.

And of course there is the problem of the twenty pounds of steel encasing my neck and wrists.

With hoods remaining we were ordered to completely strip then place our hands on top of our heads. There was much shuffling about, many voices, all bantering the incomprehensible gibberish, and some laughter. And as the movement diminished the mix of voices became more and more feminine. Finally, no male voices were heard at all and accented English commands were directed to me and my cohorts by women.

Then came the feel of feminine hands. Soft skin but strong fingers. The gibberish was directed at me, close by but not comprehensible. Hands pushed and I did not respond quickly enough. I felt cold metal on the small of my back and then an indescribable zap. I fell to my knees, momentarily losing control of my legs.

An accented voice with an irritatingly confident tone admonished me.

“We don’t expect you to learn our language, Captain. But we do expect you to learn to obey. Always follow the hand signals and gestures. We’ve become rather practiced in utilizing cattle prods to control men. You’ll find yourself complying, one way or the other. And immediate obedience will save you the agony and shame of being tormented by a woman.”

Smooth and flippant, the rebuke was delivered sotto voce, seeming to suggest that for this woman, obviously in charge, vocal amplitude was superfluous in making her point. Indeed the entire room seemed to go silent while she spoke.

I remained kneeling. One jolt from the prod, expertly applied to the spinal region, had quickly and simply incapacitated my legs. As my nerves regained composure, I physically recuperated but mentally cringed with the realization that a second application of the excruciating jolt of electricity could be instantaneously applied and in my complete nakedness the strength and location was subject only to the judgment, however questionable, and whim of my captor.

To emphasize the point, I felt the cold metal tip of the prod brush against my ball sac. I flinched and heard laughter, but gratefully no voltage was applied.

“Raisa does not like men, Captain. And you’ll find that to be true of most of the guards here. It is best that you be a good boy.”

Yes, flippant indeed.

What followed I judged to be a measuring of various parts of my anatomy. Someone was working with a tape and reading numbers while another woman read the numbers back, all enunciated in the foreign tongue, presumably before being transcribed.

Done quickly and with practiced precision, I was embarrassed when fingers held up my p***s and the tape was pressed against my scrotum. I again began to tumefy and the voices reacted with sardonic glee.

A wait followed. Numbers were being called out throughout the room, I dared not move despite the darkness of the hood and the boredom. Then the hands returned and I was introduced to the twenty pounds of steel, which I would mentally learn to bear throughout my ordeal.

I was yoked.

A steel collar closed about my neck. Hinged in the back, a simple pin was slipped through conjoining holes where the semi circular metal pieces closed together under my chin. Then the firm but soft hands gripped my right arm and pulled it well out beyond my shoulder where my wrist was slipped into a similar but smaller opening. My left wrist summarily followed. My hands have rarely been freed since.

As I squirmed a bit, testing my new bonds, I was surprised by the relative comfort. The interior diameter of each enclosure was lined with an absorbent material. It was pliant and giving. I likened it to a spongy material coated with smooth rubber. The level of comfort frightened me. It quickly became obvious that the device was designed for long term wear.

For the first time since capture I thought of Mary, the girl I left behind. The orders for deployment had come quickly and there was no time for anything more than a quick hug and kiss. I so much wanted to remove her skirt and pull her ankles to her ears one last time before departing to answer my country’s fateful call to duty.

So sweet. So tender. I regretted the many months of procrastination about the big decision, popping the question. But Mary was understanding. Since her father was in the diplomatic corp, constantly called away from her mother with the percolation of every world crisis, Mary knew of my divided loyalties... love of country... love of her beauty and her quiet pride in loving me. Though never discussed, she knew I was waiting for a time in my life when I had more control over my circumstances. When I could choose to be with her and indeed reliably fulfill such a commitment.

As a captain in the special forces, I could choose nothing. All was beyond my control. Orders were to be followed and Mary sensed the agitation such caused in my social affairs and my relationship with her. Still, we had promised to forever make each other happy, and she seemed to be willing to wait until the end of my commission for serious discussion on life’s biggest decision.

As I found myself yoked and threatened with indescribable shock by a woman wielding a cattle prod, I was remorseful in being deployed and finding myself captured with Mary being left in the lurch.

What would she learn of my circumstances... if anything?

With the restraint of the yoke came the superfluousness of my hood. The woman bearing the cattle prod whisked it away and for the first time in many hours, probably over a day, I could see. I blinked and while my eyes adjusted to the light, a large smiling woman clipped a leather leash to the yoke. A strong foreboding tug followed and I arose. A quick glance suggested that dozens of others were naked and yoked, some from my company, some recognized from other outfits, some not familiar at all.

I glanced about, wary of the cattle prod and the cost of disobedience. We were in a warehouse or old manufacturing facility. High ceilings but with extremely bright lights, the structure had been converted from its original purpose to one of... of what?

I tempered my curiosity and followed my leash. Sudden outbursts of agony indicated that others were being introduced to the swift persuasion of the cattle prod. Thus I carefully followed the beige uniformed harridan. One burst of electricity was enough.

We hurriedly proceeded through a doorway into another high ceiling room. Long and narrow, my eyes glued to an open pit full of liquid. It seemed deep and ran the length of the room. The dark reflecting hue of its contents suggested some substance other than water and the intricate machinery above, producing an erratically squeaking but otherwise monotonous sound, seemed menacing.

Something was going to be done to me, for me, or with me. And the yoke and numerous female guards with cattle prods suggested it would not be something for which I would volunteer.

I was led to the edge of the pit.

“Do not dawdle, Captain. Allow the chains to guide you. You’ll feel some discomfort. But over time you will become accustomed to it.”

A pair of dangling chains were clipped to each end of my steel yoke. The leash was removed. I tried to still my racing heart and calm my nerves... futilely telling myself that if I was to be killed, my execution would not be proceeded by all the preceding formalities, including a fitting for the rather elaborate restraint device resting on my shoulders.

Bullets are cheap and had been abundant at the landing zone. Why drown me?

The woman guard pulled a lever and the chains moved, pulling me into the pit. I had no choice but to follow and stepped into the liquid. My left foot found a step and then my right found a second. The chains were guided by the machinery above and drew me further and further into the depths. I felt stinging... my nipples... the tip of my p***s. My feet left the last step. I found myself kicking. Suspended by the chains, my feet moved about as if I was swimming. The pit was deep and I had to work to keep my face from submerging. The liquid was warm and other than the tingling about my pink parts, and the initial concern about drowning, it was tolerable.

The dousing became the first of dozens of depilatory baths. For when the chains finally brought me to a second set of steps at the opposite end, I stepped up to greet another beige uniformed guard waiting with a spray hose.

I glanced downward as she applied a brisk rinsing spray of water. My body was devoid of a hair. My legs and what I could see of my chest were smooth. The pit was filled with some type of acid, strong enough for the follicles to release all whiskers from the yoke on down, mild enough not to cause permanent damage to the skin.

Many trips through the pit followed over the ensuing days. After a dozen or more my follicles finally surrendered. My body hair would not return.

But that initial unexpected loss of hair quickly became inconsequential... for next came the testicle rings.