blistered lips

You’re alone now. Here in the dark.

The smooth surface of the stainless steel tray beside your bed reflects a pinpoint of silverish light: caught from a street light somewhere outside and twisted into a lone north star, the only star here in your very small universe.

Despite the morphine drip, the dull ache between your legs is a relentless throb. The chill from the ice pack —to help control the swelling, she’d told you as she tucked it around your pereneum– has spread across your pelvis and thighs, but the numbness it provides seems to exacerbate rather than relieve. Oh, Miss Kimberly, I love you so much, you think to yourself.

And you do love her. But now you are alone. Kimberly has left and you are lying here in the quiet of this dark room with a body that is changed, altered–deformed forever at Kimberly’s bequest. She’d told you that it would be the ulitimate proof of your unmitigated devotion. Proof that you belonged only to her and would always do whatever she required of you.

From the beginning you’d told her that you would do anything for her–anything to prove your love, your adoration, your complete capitulation to her superiority over you. And your precocious blonde Goddess –after having taken control of your money, cuckolded you relentlessly and insisted upon so many smaller and daily humiliations– had eventually asked of you the ultimate sacrifice.

Drifting and floating in your opiate haze, you hear her voice.

You, sweet man, are incapable–absolutely unable in anyway–of having normal sexual relations with a woman. You know it and I know it. If fact, anybody who knows you knows it. You’re “unfuckable.”

It’s lucky for you I came along  and  gave you some direction in your life.  In the manhood department you are a big fucking zero.  But as a slave, well, I’ve done an excellent job of training you.   And you need to prove you are grateful.   There’s only one way to really show me you are sincere:  Give up those useless little snot-balls of yours.  

Of course, she was right.  You knew even as she spoke that you would give Kimberly what she wanted.

“Take it out.”

He had to obey. She was his owner after all. Disobedience was not an option. She’d made that perfectly clear when he’d signed the slave papers.

“You like that thing way too much. It makes you stupid. Do you know that?”

“Yes, Miss Danielle.”

“When was the last time I let you relieve yourself?”

“Three months, Miss Danielle.”

“Go ahead and play with it, for goodness sake. I know you want to. It’s already dripping.”

She watched, bemused, as he tried not to squirm or groan, as he tried to refrain from stroking too quickly. “How badly,” she purred, “do you want that orgasm?”

“Oh, Miss Danielle, I want it so badly. I would do anything, Miss Danielle.”

“Be careful with your words, beloved slave,” she ran her long nails down his arm, then over across his left nipple. He shivered. There was something about her today, something calculating and sinister. It both excited and frightened him.

“I’m considering castration.”

“Oh, please, Miss Danielle”

“Please, what? See what I mean? That it makes you stupid? Speak clearly. Please castrate you or please do not castrate you? What are you trying to say?.”

But he was in the throws of orgasm, his fluid gushing, his member jerking, tears pouring down his face.

“Never mind. You just told me.”