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 nipple 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 nipples 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 nipples, 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 penis 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 penis 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 penis 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.”