“The sharks eat well here, my little Coca blossom. In not too many places their food is cooked for them,” Escobar laughing boisterously. “If you ever betray me and inform anyone that you have a penis, I will burn it off... slowly... and you too will keep the sharks fed. Do you understand?”
Somehow I nod, otherwise frozen in trepidation.
“Fear, it is the only way to instill obeisance in the profession I have chosen. Word of my many barbecues is quite effective. But word of being a maricon... of being pleasured by a maricon... must never be heard.”
I nod again.
“Nurse Rita will take care of you. She has your key and is the only person who will ever know of the subterfuge over your gender. But meanwhile, I must protect myself. You will offer yourself to everyone... my guards... my visitors... my special guests... even those with whom I compete against and I occasionally need to consult with... everyone.
“And what words do you think they would like to hear from such a charming little prepubescent girl?”
“May I suck you penis, Sir?” my voice creaking, the words so meekly offered on cue.
“Exactly. You’re catching on fast. And as punishment for that peccadillo at the Waldorf, I have arranged a special diet for you. You will never again taste food. Nurse Rita will assure you are nourished, but you will not taste anything other than a man’s seed. You so much enjoy bringing forth sperm... it is the only taste you will ever again enjoy.”
***
My new life... sperm repository.
Nurse Rita prefers bondage. Is it a sexual proclivity? Or is there an overwhelming concern about possible escape... naked and showing my penis... thus incurring Senor Escobar’s wrath? I assume both... because it is overdone.
Every day ends with Nurse Rita escorting me to a special room... really more like a windowless cell. In the center is a bed, very similar to that in the basement where Senor Escobar demonstrated the horror of the acetylene torch. There I lie supine with thick comfortable straps and cuffs encircling wrists, forearms, biceps, chest, waist, thighs, calves and ankles all securing me to the bed. A broad posture collar completes the ensemble, its function nothing more than to emphasize my helplessness and Nurse Rita’s thorough dominion. Completely immobile, my Neosteel belt is then removed to expose the remnants of my sex to the only person associated with Senor Escobar who will ever know.
“Now a nice sponge bath for you, my pretty little girl.”
Nurse Rita’s hands are firm, examining every inch of my feminized form as a warm soapy cloth smoothes over my hairlessness. Many months of hormones, what muscle structure remains is visually undetectable, covered with a gelatinous layer of girlish fat. She playfully pinches to induce a squeal, my docile reaction bringing a smile.
As she washes, she pauses to graciously play with my three inches, seeming to revel in its diminutive softness. She mimics the motion of masturbation, driving home the impotence.
“I will make it hard for you some day. Would you like that, Renee?”
I can barely nod. But the question gives rise to thought, which I am sure is intentional... whatever would I do with a hard on?
My empty sac seems to bring glee as well, her fingers pulling and kneading to highlight my missing glands.
“All gone,” she mocks with a smile, pulling at the excess flesh... soft and hairless.
“How many did my little girl please today? Did the men feed you well?”
“Four,” I reply, my role to gratify each and every guard, lieutenant and drug mule who chooses to feel the pleasure of my tongue and lips.
“And did you bend over for any one?”
Yes, I am to offer myself anally as well. And with the Neosteel belt splaying my cheeks, there seems to be a propensity for many to finish deep oral penetration with manly thrusts to my backside as I kneel head down, knees spread on the carpet.
“Two.”
“Well I’ll let you sleep filled with gism... tummy and anus. Makes a girl like you feel fulfilled.”
I do in a strange way.
Bath completed there then comes the daily procedure to which I cannot become accustomed. A feeding tube, well lubricated, is slipped into either my right nostril or left, and then pushed through my sinuses to the back of my throat. There she knowingly jostles it, triggering the gag reflex. I forcibly swallow and the tube continues to my stomach. With a stanchion resting nearby, a bag of life sustaining thick liquid hangs in wait. When connected to my nostril tube, it slowly oozes directly into my stomach that which sustains me. And as promised, I never taste a thing.
Also dangling from the stanchion, my testicles, the plastic cubes which formerly adorned my ears. The gray spheres within remind... and they mock... giving rise to much thought. Free of cancer... what was the basis for the doctor’s diagnosis... other than a substantial payment from Miss Ramona Cortez?
Lights out, I lie in complete immobility for more hours than I need to sleep. It brings tedium, the level of boredom not to be described. And that makes me eager for morning release... each new day bringing more turgid phalluses to service and from which I am to coax and savor the male effluent... the only taste permitted.
Sometime midmorning, well after I have awakened, Nurse Rita returns. The nostril tube is slipped away, reversing the procedure as aggravating as the insertion.