Miss Elizabeth's Captive

“The gift, Liz. I am so curious about the gift,” prompting her to detail Jamie’s acquisition.

“Well, it’s not like there was a party and upon opening a large decorative box a naked and castrated blond boy popped out. It’s a process, as suggested, and an expensive one. There are choices to be made and many steps to be taken. It took much time... basically occupying most of the summer before leaving for Brown. But the clinic was en route and escaping the desert heat in July and August can be refreshing.”

“The clinic?”

“Yes, the ‘Clinic for Orphaned Boys’, is the sign at the entrance... in Swedish. Better known in many parts of the world as the ‘Clinic for Boys Better Living in Subjugation’. There’s an awkwardness in the translation to English,” Liz chuckled.

“So... Sweden. The blonde hair... the blue eyes,” I urged.

“The obedience, the training, the attention to detail, the inextinguishable desire to please,” Liz completed my sentence.

“Not necessarily Scandinavian traits, but ones which can be instilled in a disciplined, organized and well educated society. Whereas in my home country one would use the whip and constantly threaten unrelenting pain, the Clinic has developed much more humane procedures.”

“Like removing the testicles?” I chided.

“Yes,” Liz laughed, “Like removing the burden of having testicles... the adjusting of the hormones to more genteel levels, replacing the penchant for aggression and instilling instead a desire to serve.”

Liz extended her hand to toy with Little Sam, dutifully remaining standing for her.

“Substituting the demand for receiving pleasure with the desire for giving it,” she whispered as her digits explored. Her fingers brushed the sensitive underside of the shaft then wrapped around its pink girth. I pictured her doing so with a man condemned to sacrifice his balls. Does he squirm in resistance, or perhaps he accedes to his teenaged tormentress and accepts in surrender the last feminine offering of pleasure before a surgeon snips away? Or maybe he just closes his eyes and pretends it’s not happening, mentally ignoring the offering by idly letting the Dominant young female have her way, cursing as his penis betrays him by responding to the knowing touch by slowly engorging. He has always proudly fostered its firmness in the past. The ignominy in feeling it defy his control and stand for the last time must be sickening. And how does he react to the ridiculing laughter?

The castrating vixen...a girl of 16 years.

I shuddered with an odd combination of ecstasy and fear.

“I can tell you the story of the clinic, Sam. But there is a price for the privilege. Your curiosity isn’t going to kill a cat, but it will have a cost.”

Liz arose and strolled to an armoire. Rather ornate for my tastes, but my eyes did not care to deviate for long from the amazing figure. Liz’s outfit was skintight and revealed every curve. I wondered where she wore such attire outside of her apartment, if in fact she ever did.

She gracefully opened the double doors and standing between afforded me very little view of the cabinet contents. She selected something, turned her head and smiled.

“Let’s term it a surprise, Sam. Close you eyes.”

I complied. I wanted to hear the story. I wanted to learn about Jamie, the castrated, servile, fellator of renown. And despite the subsequent sounds...clinks really...I kept my eyes closed even when Liz asked me to extend my arms.

“Straight out in front; be a good boy.”

She spoke in the firm collected tone that she used for Jamie. When I felt softness encircling my wrists I suppose I should have opened and ascertained the surprise. I didn’t.

She cuffed me. Strong but firm bands of fur lined leather. She was quick.

I opened as she laughingly lowered herself onto the leather couch, kneeling facing me and then lifting a leg to straddle my thighs. The smooth and soft leather of her pants suit felt good and Little Sam found himself thrusting forth in attempting to again frottage, this time against her lower belly.

“You see how easy it is to make boys obey, Sam? Offer a simple reward then begin to take them down a path... then offer another,” she proclaimed while looking down into my face and holding a cuffed wrist in each hand out to the side.

Then she lowered her face as if to kiss me. Sweet... warm... so inviting. I lifted my face in return and leaned forward to greet her lips. I thought she was guiding my hands and wrists back for better balance.

It was a subterfuge. I heard a click. She had pushed firmly and quickly and my wrists were coupled together behind my back. It was so simple, so alacritous. How many men had she shackled?

She stood and I was denied the kiss, but was able to brush my face against the thin leather forming the halter. Her breasts firmed the leather covering and felt good. I wanted more.

“So let’s see...the path...” And her story began.

Chapter Five

Though a rather mature 18, I still faced the trip to America with trepidation. I had not traveled much outside of my small desert country. And when I did so, it was on a private jet and surrounded by family members and my father’s body guards.

So being on a commercial flight with peasants and what the family referred to as infidels was a new experience. I remained quiet and just observed.