Miss Elizabeth's Captive

I sat dumbfounded. Miss Elizabeth bought my building, hired away Winston, and manipulated MacDonald Bear stock to dry away any potential I had for denying her control and maintaining a safety net of independence.

I finally recovered enough to make the bottom line inquiry. “What is it you want?”

She sat back in the large swivel chair and confidently turned her head to Ms. Grace Hobson, sitting and quietly relishing my groveling state of shock.

“What does Mr. Winthrop owe MacDonald, Bear on his stock loans, Grace?”

“With interest to date, $617,953.”

“And the value of the stock held as security?”

Ms. Hobson snorted with that question. “At today’s opening, $235,500.”

Miss Elizabeth turned back to me. “Well I wanted to assure your financial ruin, but you were well on your way to doing that on your own,” she snickered. “I’ll take the stock and pay the loan. Consider it another kindness, Sam. You’ll joyfully sign the papers and be happily rid of the monetary millstone. I have a short position to cover. Believe it or not Sam, ensuring that your financial position would disintegrate has been quite lucrative. MacDonald Bear stock has done nothing but plummet since I began selling short.

“Grace, I trust MacDonald Bear can accommodate a minor request for relieving the firm of such a questionable loan.”

Ms. Grace Hobson, unbearable termagant, nodded and smiled like a child being handed a treat.

“I’ll want to ensure that his licenses are revoked. Can’t have a person with such dubious financial prowess and unsettling morality consulting with the unsuspecting public.”

“The requesting letters to the SEC, NASD and various securities exchanges have all ready been drafted, Liz. Given the circumstances, it will be a pleasure to dispose of this matter for nothing more than the cost of postage.”

Well, the career was ended. Glad I did not spend much time on the resume. There is no job market for barred investment bankers. But to think that Miss Elizabeth went through all the time and effort to ensure that my personal net worth, or rather negative worth, would erode, boggled the mind.

“Excellent. You may consider the eviction notices as remaining in force, Sam. Therefore, I think you’ll be needing a place to live.”

She paused. Obviously waiting for a response. Perhaps a plea. But what would that do? The colorfully narrated scenes of Miss Elizabeth as a little girl zealously watching the floggings and later gleefully assisting with the castrations flashed into my mind. What beseeching statement could I make that a prisoner, condemned to lose his masculinity, had not before uttered?

And that thought spurred my question.

“Do you want my balls too?” I sarcastically blurted.

Miss Elizabeth smiled warmly, contemplatively, then her face shifted to a demonic look of wickedness. “No, Sam. That’s too easy. I wouldn’t want to be so quick to relieve you of the encumbrance of constantly seeking to rid yourself of your male seed.

“No, I want your penis. Not the whole penis, Sam, just enough to leave you with continence but at the same time to constantly remind you of your misdeeds. I will arrange the procedure be without burden for you, taking care of the cost and the details. And afterwards you’ll forever have a place to live and have employment, working for me and Jamie. And I offer this in contrast to jail time, poverty and very dismal prospects for future employment. Consider it as one last kindness.

“Are you aware of all these new sex offender laws, Sam? Suzanne Regal can be a very formidable jurist and I doubt you’ll escape her clutches. Your alternative to my proposition will involve facing a lifetime of very restrictive regulations even after parole and your release....”

Chapter Twenty Seven

“The auction went well, Sam. Netted over $16,000. We’ll put it toward what you owe me.”

Miss Elizabeth stands arms akimbo informing me of the results of disposing of my personal effects. I nod as best I can. I cannot speak as my pierced tongue is extended well beyond my lips and held there by what appears to be a simple pair of parallel chopsticks.

Miss Elizabeth wants my tongue lengthened and I have learned over the past months that Miss Elizabeth always gets what Miss Elizabeth wants.

Meanwhile the glorious Jamie is positioned beneath me, dutifully holding a beaker under my penis and patiently waiting for me to empty myself. I have over the past few weeks become accustomed to performing for Jamie. The little darling is very attentive, feeding me, bathing me, occasionally releasing an arm or leg for stretching. Such kindness.

Since signing the papers, I have been held in my suspension harness and hung from the pulley in the examination room. Miss Elizabeth needs to freshen her mind concerning my long term usefulness, the depraved ‘assault’ on little Jamie’s backside and having to watch it in high definition color being deemed very distressful.

It’s been two weeks since that fateful meeting at MacDonald Bear and I can say with great fortune that my penis remains. Unfortunately its fate will come. Jamie and Miss Elizabeth are constantly discussing what type of penectomy will best modify my behavior, with Jamie’s adoration pressing for a minor alteration and Miss Elizabeth insisting on a ‘meaningful shortening’.

“He’ll need to constantly be reminded,” Miss Elizabeth argues.

“You can always take more later,” rejoins little Jamie. “You said he was for me. And I like watching it stand.”

The decision was finally made in consultation with Nurse Stenson, purveyor of special care to altered males.