Miss Elizabeth's Captive

A full page of information explained that at the clinic, there was no actual threat to survival. What was substituted was a constant threat to gratification, which for the pubescent male could be most traumatic.

‘Forced chastity at an impressionable age, and/or the threat thereof, can be a very effective alternative in achieving the effect of the Stockholm Syndrome’, the clinic’s packet cited.

How curious!

After a wonderful breakfast the following morning, the entourage was taken to the deep subterranean basement where the candidates were kept. We passed through numerous thick and heavy iron doors guarded by huge, powerful women with potent stun guns and cattle prods.

We changed from one elevator to another at a level well below the ground and then kept descending. When the second elevator stopped and we finally arrived at the most formidable door of the lot, I certainly perceived there could be no escape.

And we were certainly isolated. The staff, all female, wore starched white uniforms. The packet requested that we as clients dress simply with no revealing attire. ‘Plain business suits seem to instill the desired ambiance,’ the information in the packet suggested. ‘Be plainly attired but appear to be professional and neat in order to establish a hierarchy above the staff.’

Easily enough done. I had, after all, assembled a wardrobe conducive to attaining an Ivy League education. And a prim gray flannel jacket and skirt with white cotton blouse met the requirement.

And so, the candidates were isolated from all except the perceived captors... which were the clients and the staff, of course.

And as for the remaining two attributes required for inducing the Stockholm Syndrome, well that was where the staff earned their keep, and we as clients learned to use the strange key.

Chapter Six

“Another sip of your drink, Sam?”

Liz interrupted her story, arising from the chair opposite me. Though naked and meekly sitting with wrists cuffed behind my back, I was mesmerized by her dialogue. And Little Sam seemed equally enthralled with Liz’s fine body. He remained standing throughout the telling, and the throbbing was becoming uncomfortable.

I nodded in response to her question, thinking that it would be her exquisite hand holding my goblet. Instead she snapped her fingers and the male ingenue instantly appeared from the kitchen. Jamie entered dashing on toes in a most girlish fashion. It occurred to me that the only time I had seen him walk was in the awkward sandals last Saturday. On less formal occasions, quick moving feet seemed to be mandated. Jamie approached with balls clicking.

“Help Mr. Sam with his drink, Jamie.”

Two tiny hands lifted my margarita from the low table. Though I leaned forward to accept the offering, Jamie stepped between my knees to better hold the edge of the glass to my lips. For a brief moment it was his naked hairless skin brushing against mine. My homophobia flared and, though I reminded myself of his status as an altered male, I quivered with his proximity and drew back. Still the lad took advantage and Liz was soon giggling as he pressed closer and closer and my aversion to naked male flesh caused me to return my shoulders to the back of the couch.

“Oh, Sam. So phobic. Why Jamie has not bitten any one in weeks.”

She laughed at her own joke as Jamie persevered, of course. For after leaning back as far as possible I found that he just approached to the point where his dangling balls of gold pressed against my scrotum.

Such a perverse scene, amusing a fully clad beautiful woman: a naked man cuffed at her behest and an effeminate eunuch, dashing about at the snap of her fingers, castrated as a birthday gift, psychologically forced into a lifetime of servitude.

“You doth protest too much, Sam. Perhaps with another margarita you’ll find Jamie as appealing as you did on Saturday night.”

Liz cackled, reminding me of my somewhat inebriated dalliance with the lithe ingenue. I cringed with the recollection.

“Well, Sam. Jamie’s just trying to provide the best hospitality.”

My goblet was returned to the table.

“Why not keep him nice and hard for me, Jamie? Dinner can wait. I don’t often enough have a stiff penis here, at least not one that can be used for anything.”

More laughter as Jamie, upon Liz’s simple suggestion, again fell to his knees. For him I presumed it was a command. I suppose I should have protested...arisen in a huff and... and what? Cuffed and without clothing, what were my options? And there was Liz...

The soft hands took first cradled my scrotum, gently kneading my balls. Then his forehead tipped forward and the pretty face disappeared from view. I closed my eyes as Jamie lowered his head and began to lick. With hot ton

gue on the most sensitive flesh encapsulating my testicles, I jumped with the unexpected delight. It was exquisite.

“He’ll just lick and suck a little. Just your testicles. His way of expressing envy for what he had to sacrifice. And have no concern, he knows enough not to let you climax. He can be quite he tease.”

While Jamie worked every tactile inch of my sac, a giggling Liz returned to her seat, sipped her wine and then resumed, leaving Jamie’s tongue to lick and his fingers to massage. I had never experienced anything like it...mentally or physically.

Chapter Seven

The facilities under the clinic building were enormous. As stated the space was designed during the war to accommodate hundreds of people for what were predicted to be extended bombing attacks.