Miss Elizabeth's Captive
I turned again to view the magnificent woman whose boldness so occupied my mind for the past week.
“When they’re cut at the proper age, much physical development ceases. And I assured that the timing of Jamie’s alteration was optimized.”
Liz was dressed in leather...black leather. The finely tailored covering hugged every curve, perfectly outlining a body Little Sam had so much enjoyed momentarily frottaging against weeks before.
“Tell me about it, Liz. To change a life in celebration of one’s birthday...a present. Is it that insignificant, the male reproductive organs...that they should be modified at a whim...merely for the amusement of a teenaged girl?”
Liz held in her hand a glass of wine. She smiled...her confident smile. She stepped forward and clinked my glass.
“In short, the answer is yes. My amusement is important.” She laughed with her pithy reply and sipped.
“And I think you’ve somewhat benefited, Sam. You took Jamie quite deeply. Luckily he’s been very well trained.”
Liz laughed again, and I could not help joining her with a smile. And Little Sam remained pressing the front of my trousers. He truly has a mind of his own and I had trouble discerning whether it was the presence of the beautiful Liz or the lithe naked body of Jamie that stirred his interest.
“Tell me about the floggings, Liz. The pictures of the Palace Square seem to occupy a place of prominence amongst your mementos.”
“If you’re suggesting those were halcyon days, Sam, you may be correct. Remember, only common criminals were flogged. And though it took time, I became as appreciative as Mother of a brisk application of leather to the naked buttocks of an obstreperous thief. And then there were those special times...a rapist, an adulterer. Sometimes the wetness still flows thinking about it.”
She paused and sipped.
“Shall we sit, Sam?”
I followed the leather-clad form, marveling at her shapely posterior so nicely outlined in tight and shiny cowhide. We returned to the scene of Saturday night’s dalliance. This time Liz sat opposite me in a large chair.
“The special times, Liz?” I prompted her to resume.
“Yes. Islamic law is rather harsh concerning sexual crimes, Sam. A flogging is just the beginning and knowing that a prisoner was going to pay the ultimate price for his indiscretions so much added to the enjoyment for me. Those were the ones sent to the Square in full tumescence. There was a very skilled woman who could assure such an ignominious display and when I was deemed of age, Mother let me assist her.”
“I’m not sure of the punishment, Liz. More than a flogging?”
She giggled at my naivete.
“Castration, Sam. Most times quick and painless... unless there were extenuating circumstances, such as a charge involving the Royal family. In those cases a slow and painful alteration was mandated.
“But the irony was so enticing to a girl of my age. First a humiliating display, then a simple operation, then a life of chastity. Under Islamic law, forced purity.”
“Is that how you view Jamie, forcibly pure?”
Liz laughed. It was her evil laugh. “Well, most is forced on him yes...he’s very well controlled as a castrate should be. But as to purity... well that’s relative. Judge for yourself. He certainly has good intentions. Very eager to please, as you have experienced.”
“Why so controlled? He cannot live without guidance?”
“I won’t let him live without. I enjoy it. The male phallus under my domain. Utterly subjugated. Responding to the simple snap of my fingers. There is derived an emotional high that I need... I crave.
“And besides, the absence of testosterone affects the male judgment. It’s a scientific fact. A simple patch or weekly injection could change that... but I like Jamie being dependent on me. It’s comforting for me.”
“Returning to the Palace...you later assisted in the floggings?’
“Yes, Sam, I assisted,” Liz replied in a lugubrious tone.
“Such a typically male concern. That somehow the vaunted male organ should never fall victim to the whim of the female. Well it did, Sam. Time after time. And sometimes I excitedly lie awake at night thinking of the faces. How the woman executioner would taunt while stroking the condemned to full erection.
“‘Make it a good one...it’s your last,’ was her typical ridicule. A simple inflatable butt plug and the high level of emotion did the trick. She brought them to full erection, just short of climax and sent them to their doom. With the plug remaining in place, the tumescence remained not only for the walk to the platform but well into the flogging. The crowd loved it. A slow 50 lashes and then off to the infirmary. And so many begged and cried, Sam. Grown men. Hardened rapists. So comically trying to keep what nature chose to make so easy to harvest. But in the end it was snip, snip, snip and an opprobrious conclusion to a life of sexual crime.”
Liz paused to sip more wine. For some reason the casual tone of her narrative aroused me.
“And yes,” she added with a sardonic snort “I too stroked away. At age 16 I was known in the prison as the castrating vixen. Young and pretty, I stroked like there was no tomorrow and in the minds of the male beast perhaps there was none. Looking into the eyes of a thoroughly bound male and bringing him to full stand against his will is power, Sam. And I enjoyed power...and still do.”