Miss Elizabeth's Captive

Thus the clever staff had installed a large dormitory area, training facilities, an infirmary, and many classrooms. Education was important, Sam. But not in the standard sense which one might expect.

No, the classes ranged from the somewhat basic, in acquiring the skills required to pamper the Dominant woman, to the more exotic, in learning to cook with high skill and serve with appropriate élan. There was cosmetology, hair care...and yes, massage, as you are becoming aware.

But how does one instill the need, the abject desire to serve? That is where the clinic so excels and where the Stockholm Syndrome comes into play.

I toured the underground chambers and found a number of things which strike the first time visitor.

The boys don’t wear a stitch of clothing, access to all anatomical areas being required for disciplinary purposes. And they are forced to wear the most medieval contraptions... clamp like devices on the nipples and ankles and even more elaborate gadgetry around the neck and wrists.

And that’s where the strange little key came into use. One could use it to adjust the clamps. The ones pressuring the Achilles tendon almost hobbled some of the boys. The smaller nipple clamps were self evident in the ability to discharge torment. But it was the neck and wrist restraints that were most sui generis to the clinic.

A strong but comfortable steel collar encircled the neck with adjustable bars jutting upwards and out to the right and left. At the end of the bars were wrist restraints. Thus every boy had his hands held up and well away from his body. And most fascinating was that the peculiar key could be used to adjust the angle and the span. Thus, tension could be applied to the muscles, ligaments and tendons for inordinate periods, bringing some boys to slow tears over the course of the day.

And so if you can picture the scene that greets us. Dressed in conservative but moderately elegant attire, we clients stroll about with naked boys, all in some degree of torment from the various clamps, and all being closely supervised by staff members if not attentively listening and observing in a group training session. For the Dominant woman, Sam it’s divine. And as you sit on my couch with your phallus proudly seeking to reach the ceiling, you’d be very interested to know how many of the boys achieved similar tumescence and with hands immobilized could do nothing other than parade about and put on a rather cute show for their ‘captors’.

Was it the humiliation which caused such a reaction? Forcibly being presented completely nude before dozens of demanding women? Or was it the pain, the constant aggravation of having the nipples pinched, the ankles clamped to the point of near hobbling? And as stated, depending on the severity of the angle and the adjusted length of the wrist restraints, the muscles in the arms will eventually reach a limit of tolerance and begin a slow, retching pain.

I was reminded of the reaction to so many floggings where many condemned became uncontrollably aroused for some reason. And it was gratifying to see that it happened every day to almost every boy at the clinic. Their penises stood in humble tribute to the Dominant woman and in respect for the anguish to be borne. The counselors had developed a program to be savored.

So getting back to the Stockholm Syndrome... Obviously with wrists constantly secured and close daily supervision, there was no furtive masturbation or other gratification permitted. For boys approaching that time of life when anatomical exploration and the discovery of self satisfaction can divert much time and attention, being kept chaste was equivalent to ‘threatening their survival’ and seemed to meet the criteria outlined by the various psychologists who had nobly studied the phenomenon. And added to the perceived threat was the rubber slapper carried and frequently used by the strict counselors. Good firm swats to the testicles were doled out without compunction for even the most trivial infraction. Since most boys were already experiencing the dull agony of the clamps and wrist bindings, sharp pain had to be dispensed in order to obtain results. And it was.

That first day I just strolled about getting the lay of the land so to speak. With our special keys we could take a boy aside and tighten clamps and bindings to increase the slow agony. I could hardly resist so doing. But the purpose of being supplied with the little device was really to implement the last principle...known to be the most critical...that the captive perceived small kindnesses from the captor.

Can you imagine such a simple process? First you place a boy in ineluctable and painful bondage...and then in relieving his agony...in the most modest amount and for the most limited period of time, you can demand his devotion. Not earn it mind you...demand it!

And so, as our packet of information suggested, after selection of a candidate, the client should visit with him once or twice per day and graciously loosen a clamp, moderate the wrist bindings, and as the process of obtaining devotion proceeded, perhaps even remove the neck collar for a time!

That could only be achieved through well displayed and most humble groveling mind you, but at such an impressionable age, the results attained were both rapid and noteworthy.

That evening there was a little introductory cocktail party, with service provided by some of the more experienced boys who worked hard to be relieved of their neck bindings. There I was able to converse with my colleagues, the other clients. I was the youngest in attendance, most having lived in female supremacy, at least in their own homes, for many years. I learned that the methods employed for control over the male were quite varied as was the proposed uses for the planned acquisitions. For some it was as if another beast was to be added to a barn full of domesticated animals. Some of the candidates favored constant heavy bondage in utilizing the boy for manual labor. Others desired domestic help, preferring a program of feminization. I had spied some very cute maids being trained. And as stated, some just truly wanted beasts, treating the acquisition as a pony or ox. For those women an older boy with developed muscling was sought.

But there was one theme underlying each envisioned relationship, the continuing of the forced chastity.

No boy exiting the clinic was ever allowed to achieve self gratification without proper feminine tutelage.

“Allowing a boy to masturbate is like allowing him to defecate in the rose garden, for in so doing, there is little decorum and certainly no control,” one middle aged woman solemnly explained to me.

And so I began to understand why the packet contained page after page of information concerning chastity devices. Dozens...some more severe than others, but all utilized toward the same end...a lifetime of control over the male libido.

“Keeps them frisky and eager to please,” another woman explained. “And they’ll never give up trying to stroke themselves. It adds such a delightful dimension to the frustration.”

Later that evening I returned to my room and learned much about the various commercially made male chastity devices. Well designed, inescapable, some wonderfully tormenting when combined with an implement to abrade or prickle the aroused penis. But alas, nothing compared to my childhood experiences in observing the condemned male on the Palace platform and later assisting in the infirmary. Despite my youth as compared to the other clients of the clinic, I seemed to desire the most drastic form of chastity.

Chapter Eight

“I think you’d better tend to dinner now Jamie. Mr. Sam is squirming rather animatedly.”

I was indeed squirming.

The amazing tongue finally stopped and the pretty coifed head retreated. Little Sam, barely touched, stood like a flagpole while Jamie’s fingers massaged and his tongue swathed my entire scrotal sac. He was most accomplished in using to incredible effect the knob piercing his tongue tip. And yes, I was writhing with the teasing ecstasy. I so much needed to climax and Jamie expertly held me off.

The boy rose and though I was nowhere near finished with the second margarita, a nod from Liz made it disappear into the kitchen, borne by effeminate hands and expressed by the quick and humble naked feet. It was like watching a ballerina dart across a stage, seeing Jamie move. Only the clicking of his golden balls distracted from thoughts of the temptress Salome dancing for King Herod.

My eyes moved to the divine Miss Liz. She appeared so regal sipping a rare wine, holding court over two naked males, or rather one male, one androgynous plaything. So young yet so comfortable with her need for and ability to manifest control. She smiled at me.

“It appears you’re becoming more comfortable with Jamie, Sam. Just remember to judge by the hormone level and his tender touch, not by his chromosomes. And he does like you; extensive training and my commands can mandate only so much contrived affection.”

The thought reviled me despite the intense pleasure I had undergone and my fomenting need for gratification.