The Entrapped

Maria nods. The boss is certainly the boss for good reason.

“Do have some sharp instruments ready, Maria. And do keep Baldur nearby. Escobar is certain to become irrational and violent when the full nature of our trap dawns.”

***

New York, New York

Renee/Robert Warren

I Google the name ‘Escobar’. I am horrified to read of the accusations, the general acknowledgment that he is the most powerful purveyor of drugs in the world. The rumors are frightening... so many killed... so many disappeared... and the stories of mayhem inflicted on alleged traitors and informants bring one to shudder.

And I fellated him! Though perhaps not the proper term. The words ‘skull fuck’ are indeed apropos, using my mouth and throat as a receptacle for gobs of spunk.

I quiver again just thinking about it.

My cell phone rings. When I answer it is Miss Maria. Though I never gave her the number, information about me seems easy to attain.

“2:00 p.m. Your new friend wants a matinee before leaving the country. Come in heels. Wear the earrings.”

No wait for a reply, the call ends. Since it is Saturday, the rendezvous is easy to comply with, just prink, preen and walk across town. No question that I can be there... yet dare I be there?

Thoughts of the cage, the mesh protecting me from all but gunshot, bring some semblance of comfort. Baldur will presumably be present also along with the divinely vigorous Miss Maria nearby. So as I shower... hands smoothing over my hairless form, lowering to toy with that portion of my scrotum remaining accessible, tweaking my nipples to spur a sigh of delight... I calm myself. The power of drug lord Escobar will be mitigated by equally powerful women. At least in the Waldorf apartment, I convince myself.

In knowing they will protect me there comes a bizarre sense of gratitude... like being dangled out the window of a twenty story building then thanking the person holding my ankles for reeling me back to safety.

Knowing how I will be presented, I do not expend much time selecting clothing. I will need little for the task. But heels, yes. There is something tawdry about a naked girl... near naked girl... in heels. Silk panties... pink of course... and makeup to the hilt... appearing as effeminate as possible.

The subterfuge of being presented as a girl... a young girl... seems key to whatever the goals are. I do not want to disappoint.

Walking across town, there come thoughts of my world, my new world. Where is all this taking me? Without friends, not able to present myself to my limited family, will all social contact and diversion come by way of seducing strangers in the park?

Yet in feeling sorry for myself, I think of April. I can impel some level of physical joy... as I did while showering... my scrotum newly sensitized as are my puffy nipples. But April? Miss Ramona denies him/her just about all, the one remaining erogenous zone cruelly sutured to his/her tummy.

How does he/she even urinate?

Arriving early again, I move to the elevator wary of some glances from an officious looking character who is most assuredly a member of the Waldorf security staff. He appears somewhat relieved when I do not attempt to enter the hotel segment of the structure. A prepubescent girl in makeup and heels certainly turns heads. But what occurs in the privately owned apartments is beyond his purview and concern.

I ascend to the 22nd floor. April wordlessly opens the apartment door. I follow within listening to the penis bell. Miss Ramona is in the sitting room, seemingly comforted in hearing her servant move about.

Every step sounds of his/her subjugation.

“Strip. Remain in heels, then bend.”

I obey. Once again something is handed to April and the dainty fingers rummage about to unlock my penis. It feels good to have it freed.

“As I am sure you have surmised, your new friend Pablo Escobar wants to meet again. He will once again bring money and a load of sperm. This time he’ll leave only the money behind. You’ll be locked in the cage. Safe. Do nothing unless commanded. Things will get a little intemperate. Stay away from the hatch and you’ll not

be harmed.”

She summons me to approach and I step forth folding my hands on my head. An arm reaches, the hand turning upward to palm what remains of my maleness... all three inches. Miss Ramona inspects and snickers.

“For now don’t play. But if you can get this little thing hard for our Mr. Escobar it would greatly add to the fun and games.”

I shake my head, the only stiffness experienced since my castration coming as a result of nocturnal penile tumescence and that was well before the deluge of estrogen.

“Tsk. Tsk. Well perhaps you should consider a more permanent modification to keep your thoughts off becoming turgid... as with April here,” Miss Ramona taunts.

I shake my head... forcefully... to convey my disinterest.