Miss Elizabeth's Captive
Yes she did.
She emptied her glass and before it returned to the surface of the table, Jamie popped from the kitchen with the remains of the bottle. He curtsied most obediently and poured. After my Saturday encounter I knew that talking before him was more than acceptable. As Liz herself had stated, he was part of the furniture.
“And Jamie. Was he a condemned prisoner?”
“Oh, no. Jamie was and is special.”
Liz patted his right buttock, affectionately, as one would pet a dog. Then her hand slipped down and between his thighs. By rote, Jamie’s feet parted to permit access.
“The perineum. It becomes more sensitive to the touch after alteration. And it’s good to check the prostate gland. Castrates have these special problems...”
Liz hesitated in her dialogue while examining Jamie. She looked closely at his locked upturned penis, particularly the tip, where the metal Prince’s Wand exited the urethra and the locking post was thrust through the underside of the frenulum. She diddled her finger about the flesh there and then played with his balls. Flicking them back and forth.
“You know, Sam, these ornate balls may seem to serve as a cruel reminder of Jamie’s castration, but if something is not added, the scrotum just withers to nothingness.”
Initial
ly Jamie just stood. But as it became apparent that Liz was performing a detailed inspection, manicured hands were obsequiously placed atop the perfectly coifed hair, again by rote. And the male ingenue turned to directly face his mistress, feet remaining well apart. It appeared to be a daily ritual. I detected a subtle childish smile as the soft warm hands toyed. Jamie liked her touch. And I was shocked to see the entrapped phallus engorge somewhat.
“Many of the nerve endings remain after castration, Sam. And just as with any part of the body they must be stimulated, otherwise sensitivity is permanently lost.
“We wouldn’t want that now would we, Jamie?”
Jamie beamed and Liz pointed to the kitchen. As Jamie turned to run off, a playful but loud swat left a large hand print on the alabaster flesh of his backside. Liz laughed at his reaction...a lurch and stumble in trying to maintain balance with hands on head.
Liz’s knowledge of the male anatomy...the altered male anatomy...was extensive. I was reminded of a mother and toddler where maternal care delves into every aspect of the child’s existence right down to the most minute blemish of the epidermis and the consistency of daily bowel movements.
“So Jamie was special...” I prodded Liz back to the subject at hand.
“A birthday gift, as you know. Mother knew I’d be going off to college to be alone in a strange country. She had also noticed how I reveled in the weekly floggings. When she found that I began witnessing the castrations, sneaking into the infirmary after the floggings and watching the removal of the testicles, she formulated the idea of a very exotic gift.
“It’s a disappointingly simple procedure, Sam, the castrations.”
Liz rose, stepped around the low coffee table and sat next to me. Whereas on Saturday her approach was that of a temptress closing on her erotic prey, this short journey was business. Though appearing even more alluring in the skin tight black leather, Liz had purpose in switching her seat.
“Most times there was little anesthesia. Floggings in my country are severe and often the condemned is in a mild state of shock.”
While she spoke Liz unzipped me. The temerity...the boldness...but what red-blooded man ever objected when feminine hands so artfully work a zipper and free that which constantly seeks companionship? Little Sam sprung out like a scared rabbit scrambling from a cage.
“Goodness, Sam. Your penis seems stimulated.”
Yes, Little Sam, with a mind of its own, was daydreaming. I told myself that it was Liz’s proximity and not the scene moments before of the authoritative hands having their way with the male anatomy...or former male anatomy.
Liz returned to business and I took a large sip of my margarita.
“Just a quick incision here...and another here.” She held Little Sam out of the way, pinching the head with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. Her right forefinger pointed out the ‘here and here’ as it sensually brushed the opposing sides of my scrotum, near the top, at the base of Little Sam.
“The skin is amazingly thin and in using a laser there is hardly any bleeding. It takes less than a minute.
“Then the little gland, the cause of so much misery and suffering, is pulled out. Nerves, blood vessels and the vas deferens are clamped... and snip, snip, snip. One down, one to go.”
Liz retained her simple grip on Little Sam as she spoke and the result was as expected. He stood for her...proudly...completely...in the well-lit living room where there was no place to hide...no way to feign bashfulness. Liz let go and sat back with a very naughty smile.
“It seems your penis likes my touch, Sam. Or perhaps my descriptive narrative.”
She paused to sip more wine leaving me to embarrassingly sit with a huge erection. I have been told that I am well hung. Liz seemed to enjoy the view and I just sat. There was no way Little Sam was going to fit back into my pants. I took a sip of my margarita and my shaking hand gave me away. It spilled. Not a lot but the salt left a white crust to highlight the wet spot on my dark suit pants.
Liz leaned over and unhooked my belt buckle. “There’s more to the story. And I would not want to see anything more get spilled.” She was smiling coyly. Then she bent down and removed my shoes. For some reason I just sat as my socks were next and she snapped her fingers. Jamie instantly appeared from the kitchen with a tray and a second margarita.