Miss Elizabeth's Captive

“Effective little thing isn’t it?

“Plan to spend weekends here, Sam. There may be some times when we must travel, but I think you’ll find that you’ll need release at least weekly. Other times you’ll have to talk to Jamie.

“And don’t fret, you’ll be permitted to entertain from time to time. You were quite the hit last night. Abject humiliation seems to add a degree of lust to your appetite. It will be well fed.”

Liz strolled out. Jamie patted me dry with a large fluffy towel as my hands remained atop my head. It felt good to be pampered after the many hours of bondage. It did not feel good to have Little Sam remaining caged.

Apparently having been deemed finished, Jamie pressed himself against me and kissed my cheek. There was no revulsion and the puffy nipples felt hot.

“Clothes in closet,” he reminded me.

It had been so long that I had forgotten. He followed me to the front door and quickly closed it behind me as I stepped into the foyer naked. I hurriedly opened the small closet, found my clothes and dressed.

I decided to walk home. I had much to ponder.

Chapter Nineteen

Well, dear reader, despite the walk home, there was more to think about than my mind could assimilate in ten blocks.

I arose early Monday morning with Little Sam trying to escape his bonds. Plastic can so easily be cut, I thought to myself. But such action would end my employment at MacDonald Bear. And employment on Wall Street is not easy to find. And the videotape was so precariously close to being mailed, threatening to begin the process of termination by reason of moral turpitude, that I dared not snip away.

Stories I had heard of the old Wall Street came to mind. Twenty years ago, had the recording been of me frolicking with a young female, I would be the hero of the trading desk. My fellow bankers would frown, perhaps assigning me to the more liberal minded clients for a time, but for sure it would not be cause for termination.

Wrong era, wrong gender, I admonished myself with an all too casual mental shrug. Jamie’s tiny penis for sure would be highlighted in any recording intended for blackmail.

My personal balance sheet sucked; a banker’s euphemism for poverty. Untimely purchases of MacDonald Bear stock in good times, utilizing borrowed funds, left me with high debt service, low stock value, and limited cash flow with which to pay the loans in bad times. And worse, much of the borrowing was from MacDonald Bear. Thus I needed my job.

I did things personally that I would not advise a client to do, using presumptive current cash flow, which diminished, to wager that future cash flow would be better. Not a good hedge.

For two days, work drew my attention away from my predicament...for a while. But the CB-2000 did not allow me to use a urinal. And so with every bathroom visit I had to squat. Time consuming and thought provoking, it reminded me on every trip that a rather dominant female and her altered major domo held the key to Little Sam’s emancipation.

By Wednesday, my libido had built to the point that an early morning visit to the bathroom was needed to cool Little Sam and convince him that continued attempts to escape would be painful. And the skin about my scrotum where the large ring held the cock cage felt as if it was afire.

Thus, on late Wednesday morning, I called Liz’s home...‘Miss Elizabeth’, I cautiously reminded myself.

“Stop over after office hours, Sam. I’ll be attending a matinee and having cocktails with friends. Dinner will be served late, so Jamie will have some time for you. You know where the closet is in the foyer. I will instruct Jamie to have the cuffs waiting there. It will be quicker if you put them on yourself.”

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” I dutifully concluded.

And so the first of many interim visits was arranged. I arrived in the foyer, stripped, wrapped wrists and ankles in the firm fur lined strips of leather and rang the doorbell. The first midweek visit was typical of the many subsequent encounters.

A smiling Jamie opened the door, fully clothed and denying me the obligatory curtsy. For these informal occasions his selection of clothing, or Miss Elizabeth’s selection for him, was simple and once again left the viewer questioning his true gender. Loose sweater, sweat pants, minimal make up but on the initial visit there was fading toe nail polish hinting at the weekend escapade.

Since Jamie had other duties, he would immediately clip my wrist cuffs together behind my back and we did not dally. He showed me right to the examination room.

There the CB-2000 was removed and those moments of kindness cannot be adequately described or forgotten. Jamie would slowly shave me, seeming to extend the range of the blade with every visit. More and mo

re of my leg hair, back, and chest was shaven. He spared me the humiliation of denuding my arms, realizing that hair there, or the lack thereof, can be quite noticeable for men.

But in later visits he humorously applied the blade down to my wrist cuffs. No short sleeve shirts for me.

He showered me, and in my extreme chastity, with my libido in a state of frenzy, his soft soothing hands felt so comforting. Then I was toweled with a large fluffy towel warmed to perfect temperature.

It felt so good and Little Sam responded with noteworthy tumescence. Standing from the minute Jamie unlocked the pad lock and the cage was slipped away. During later visits my penis oozed prostatic fluid like a leaky faucet.

The blond ingenue giggled in watching it rise. The fact that it was somewhat under his control seemed to ease his envy, particularly knowing that at the end of the visit, Jamie the lion tamer would somehow bring Little Sam to flaccidity and return the beast to its cage. Ice did the trick.

Other than stuffing Little Sam back into the CB-2000, Jamie never touched my penis. That apparently was off limits. But he knew that in the early weeks the entrapping ring inflamed my scrotum, and just alleviating the irritation was worth the time spent for the entire visit. As I sat on a stool, knees parted, the nimble tongue of a kneeling Jamie would lick my scrotal flesh, and lick, and lick. Then his knowing fingers massaged my sac and my testicles, gently, thoroughly, making Little Sam waggle as if to say ‘me next’. Those were the times when I would lean forward and place an affectionate kiss on the forehead of my gracious benefactor. My homophobia concerning Jamie’s one time gender dissipated with each visit.