- Good boy ! Your wish is my command ! Her fingers let go of the steel grip of the clamp. It slammed shut, the spikes eating into the taut skin of his strapped testicle. A dizzying flame of pain shot through his abdomen and hit his stomach, causing him to vomit.

- AAAAAHHHRRRGghh!!!! he yelled, NONONOnonon please please take it off please please help me oh god help me please it hurts.....His cries turned into loud sobbing, a whining plea for mercy he knew wasn’t there.

His body shook uncontrollably, trying to break loose from the bonds that held him down. The hot lance kept piercing his belly, pain shooting again and again from the ball clamp as it squeezed its prey.

Softly laughing at his agony she picked up the second clamp, tauntingly snapping it open and shut before his eyes.

- I’m waiting.... she whispered.

-No, he moaned. Please, no , please, no , take it off, ....

- You’re weak, Paul. You signed an agreement, remember. It’s too late now, boy. You’ll only prolong your pain if you don’t say the words.

- No, mistress, I can’t take it, please....

- Oh well, perhaps I should cut the other ball then. having said that, the picked up a scalpel from the tool trolley, and put it on his left nipple.

- Watch, she hissed. One swift cut all but severed his nipple from his swollen breast. Her incredulous victim let out an uncontrolled howl as he watched his blood gush over his upper body.

- Stop, he yelled, stoooop, you’re mad.

She let out a short, sneering laugh and looked at her victim.

- No, she said, I’m not mad, I know exactly what I’m doing and I’m enjoying it. But you, you’re going to be mad in a little while, but before that moment comes you have one choice: castration of or the clamp. What is it to be ?

- I’m bleeding, please, help me, I beg , I’ll do anything you say.

- Ask for the clamp then, Paul. Or lose your nut !

His voice breaking, his mind losing what grip he thought he had on reality he heard himself begging her to put on the second ball clamp.

She picked up a spray can and sprayed his mutilated tit to stop the bleeding. Then, she picked up the idle scoop and clamped it on his free right testicle.

He had not thought he had any new pain left in him, put his body told him otherwise. The second clamp re-activated the terror of the first, and a column of nauseating hurt took hold of his entire upper body. But even then, to his never ending amazement, a small compartment of his mind he had kept safe from the assault on his integrity seemed to tell him that this, still, was only the beginning of what Amanda was going to do to him.

Tears washing down his face he watched her get of her stool and step aside, then position herself at the controls of the transformer.

Quietly she watched the impact of the torture spread through her victim’s body, then his brain, then, somehow, stabilise itself within his frame, his eyes bulging as she spoke.

- I’m fully inside you now, Paul. I’m in your tits, in you balls, inside your arse, inside your revolting dick, and I’m inside your head. You can’t hide from me anymore, even if you should want to. Do you understand ?

- Ye..yesss...., he sobbed, shaking with fear.

- It’s nothing personal, Paul. In fact , I think you’re cute in a rather pathetic sort of way. You’re eager to please, which is always sweet, and in fact you’ve been fairly co-operative. But I loathe all men, Paul, and I’ve chosen you to exercise my anger to the full extent of my will. It’s only now that I can say that there is no way out for you except through total slavery, and it’s only now that I am going to begin to torture you. Look at me !!

He looked, in utter terror, into the flaming green eyes of the woman who had chosen him to take a life’s earning of grief, rage and disgust out on, and he knew she was going to take him apart, and that, as it stood, death was becoming a reasonable alternative for what was she was going to do to him.

- Playtime’s over , Paul. Gloves are off, mama’s ready for your meat !

All the while, he had forgotten, it seemed, that in spite of everything that was going on, against all reason, he was still in a permanent state of arousal. His dick was still trying to right itself away from the galvanising loop that made his insides seem on fire, his balls, even though screaming with pain that went straight up to his skull, seemed aware of the gross obscenity of the situation and where causing his glans to ooze with precum, his nipples, bitten, cut, bleeding, were sensitive to every move that was made, the course copper clamps dangling and hurting the flesh as his breath caused them to move.

He was, in short, still waiting to be given, to receive what under other circumstances might have been a sexual dream come true.

Amanda knew it, and Amanda gave.

The first jolt hit him unaware, not to the maximum of the machine from which it originated, but in a medium range in the 6 V position. Had he known it he might have been interested in the route the current took, through the stainless steel butt plug, through his prostate, doing in fact some tissue damage before it found the urethral probe, all ten inches of it, then exploding out again through his throbbing glans into the transformer again. But time for knowledge was now over, and the dark realm of feeling was all around him.

He was, in fact, surprised more than anything, by the nature of the pain. It was like she had entered his entrails with a blowtorch and was now scorching the lining of his guts. At the same time, and this is where the surprise stemmed from, a sensation of biting acid shot through his penis, hurting parts of his body he did not know existed, making him wonder how he had spent his life without knowing.

All this in a split second. His body reacted by vomiting, although his stomach had nothing to give, a rhythmic, steady retching took hold of his muscles as wave upon wave of hurt was shot through the wires. His eyes were swimming in tears, snot and slime left his nostrils from the cavities, drooling and puking, his lungs managed to get hold of enough air to build up a stone-splitting scream that filled up the entirety of the torture chamber.

Amanda and Bertha watched intently as he gulped for air for a second scream, then switched on the connection to his balls and his tits.

It was as if she had driven a red hot steel spike through his testicles. The pain shot straight into his belly, his stomach and out through his bleeding tits.

The transformer was so programmed that the two modes alternated continually, the arse-dick connection making room for the swathe of terror that would go through his balls a second later.

The pain was now so excruciating that his eyes had difficulty in focusing on his tormentor. Through the haze he thought he could see her lips move. A new, more intense jolt zipped through his bowels.

“Answer”’, she snapped

--I’m sorry, mistress. I didn’t hear, he moaned. His lips were dry with thirst and fear.

Another jolt. Her vibrant, intense voice:

-Describe your pain to me

He hesitated, puzzled. Her hand swerved towards the dial again.

He moaned:

-No, please. Err..I’m hurting...my stomach is hurting..

-Good. Continue. Describe everything you feel to me. Try and hold back and...

Another electric lance pierced his innards. He screamed.

-Who gave you permission to scream ?! This time the retribution was so intense that the pain blinded him. An eternity of flesh-ripping current cut through his entrails, stomach, throat and brain, seeking a way out in a splitting headache.

After a while it seemed like his screams had all left him. All he could produce were hoarse whispers and a guttural moaning, a she relentlessly kept on torturing him. His whole body seemed to be ablaze with pain, and within it certain sections intensified as others dulled out, as she changed the combination of wires, the intensity of the current or the voltage.

Unbelievably, even then there was time for information. She would announce that she would switch now to a higher voltage, that she was going to switch electrodes so as to change the sensation in his body. And even more unbelievable, his penis was still fully erect, almost a blackish blue now, his balls, had they been visible, also dark bluish black, now bleeding because of the spikes that had eaten their way through the scrotal skin.

Every once in while a particular jolt would cause him to vomit, the retching constrained by the heavy leather straps that tied him to the torture bench.

He was now crying in agony, like a grown-up baby, screaming for the mother he never had to come and rescue him.

But his substitute mother was right by his side, overseeing with intense, sick eyes the impact of her outrage, licking her lips as she continued his ordeal.

And even then, on the high plain of their madness, she would introduce a little pause, a lull in the agony, to let him know that she was there, that she loved seeing him like this, that she totally enjoyed destroying him, his manhood, his sanity, his health, his body and his mind.

She saw tears streaming down his cheeks, blood trickled down his breast and also his penis began to vomit a mixture of blood and semen in spite of the loop that went on galvanising his flesh. But it wasn’t the physical orgasm that she wanted to be the halcyon of their session.

In every man there is a breaking point, and most never even are confronted with it, as they luckily live their lives far away from violence, injustice or persecution.

But this man had voluntarily chosen to be shown the moment when he would break, uncontrollably, and irrevocably.

Like a musician she played him like a favourite instrument, using the pain itself as a whip to drive him further and further down the road of insanity. Her frenzy would quieten down every once in while, time for her to force him to describe his feelings, time for her to finger herself and hold out her cum- drenched fingers under his nose.

Finally she saw an uncontrollable shaking and shuddering take hold of his frame, and she cranked up the current immediately to help him on his way to total madness and slavery. The 24 volt jolt split through his prick, his balls, his bladder, his stomach, his colon, the copper clamps cutting his tits, the fillings in his teeth and finally transformed into a howling scream, his nails clawing the wood of the bench, tapering into a high-pitched wail that slowly, slowly came down in tone as she turned back the dials and helped him to come back from his descent into the hell she had created in him, around him, for him.

Drenched in sweat, soaking the canvas cover of the torture bench his body was shaking uncontrollably, and a wailing, screaming howling went of in spite of whatever bit of awareness he had left inside him. The crying went on for at least twenty minutes, then slowly , bit by bit, turned to sobbing, then sniffing. All the time, Amanda was stroking his forehead, Bertha wiping his brow, stroking his body with loving, tender gestures, cleaning the bloody mess his final orgasm had left on his abdomen and thighs.

- It’s allright, now, we’re here with you. It’s allright. You’re extremely brave. You belong to me now. She kissed him on the forehead and on his cheeks.

Strangely, he didn’t feel a thing anymore. He felt like he was drifting in the air, and looking down on his own body as Amanda kept caressing him.

And, to his total amazement, his body responded, once again, with a full blown erection. He began sobbing again.

“ No more , please, mistress, no more, please - I’ll do anything for you. “

He heard her whisper in his ear: It does not have to be like this. Do you want me to relieve you ? No more suffering in your dick? No more pain, Paul ?

- Yes please, he whispered. No more pain. He smiled.

Amanda nodded to Bertha, who rode in a trolley covered with a white cloth, laden with scalpels and other surgical instruments. She licked his ear, reached between her own thighs and held her fingers to his nose.

- I’m wet, she whispered. You made me wet, big boy. Wanna get hard one last time for your mama.

Paul smiled again, then almost laughed. Yes, he said, as he felt his tortured penis swell up again , but this time Amanda swiped the basis of his organ with betadine, then picked up a scalpel from the trolley and began cutting at the base of his penis.

To his surprise, Paul felt very little. He felt the metal cut one or two nerves, but then she had already hit the metal of the wire inside. Quickly she cut round his member. With a cry of triumph the flesh gave way, and she pulled the severed member off its base. Blood was now gushing from the amputated flesh as well as the mutilated stump. The wire was still grotesquely sticking out from the stump, free from the leftover dick, its blood smeared all over it. Quickly she pulled off the flesh from the wire and gave it to Bertha. Then she pushed a strange looking device over the wire towards his stump. A press of a button, and a sizzling sound, then a smell of burnt flesh and smoke came up from his crotch. The bleeding had stopped, his penis had been reduced to a shrivelled stunted piece of flesh.

He screamed. Tears filled his eyes, then he begged: no more, please, mistress, no more, no more suffering, please. Bertha gave him a shot of morphine to ease the pain, and Paul slid into a dreamless sleep.

They had made him a woman. When he had passed out, like Bertha’s, his testicles had been sewn taut to his crotch, appearing to be swollen labia. At the top of this mock vagina stood a swollen stump like a giant clitoris, the loop still in place to facilitate electropunishment. On the plus side, the terrible torture of the morning erections was gone; the loop had become a meaningless ornament.

His breasts felt tender after the abuse. There was still a dull pain where is penis had once been, but it was nothing compared to what he had felt on the torture table, when the had driven him to his final climax.

In fact, Paul felt relieved and confident that whatever was to follow could never match the screaming pain of the ordeal they had put him through.

As he sat in the bed, looking at his breasts and crotch, Bertha entered with a tray full of goodies. Hello there, pretty girl, she said. Feeling OK ?

She sat by his bedside and kissed him on the head. She handed him a mug of cocoa, with ‘Paula’ in playful childish letters on the side.

- A little attention, she giggled. Paul-Paula smirked. Thanks, he said. he drank the cocoa, ate half a croissant and even began to think he was a human being after all when Amanda came in. How wrong he was.

- Hello there, scorcher, she joked. Sleep well , did you ? And like what we did, do you ?

- They’re beautiful, Paul said, fondling his breasts.

- And a pain-pussy to match, said Bertha. Did you know we sowed metal coils inside your testicles ?

- What for, asked Paul.

- For more effective ball torture, said Amanda. All I have to do is put two clamps on those lovely lucky lips and you go through the roof. Even without electro.

Paul felt a frozen hand of fear grip his stomach. Tears came to his eyes.

- Cheer up, said Bertha. You’ll get used to it. I did.

With his dick gone, Bertha taught him how to act, dress and speak like a woman in earnest. He had to shave his bodyhair, shave his face twice a day, put on make-up as a matter of routine and learn how to walk on narrow, high-heeled shoes permanently. He was dressed in fishnet stockings, even given a modest set of clothes for outdoors, and they put him in a corset to make him look more feminine.

The butt plug staid, as did the whipping, the scolding and the humiliation he had known before.

When serving at the dinner table, he had now to show his newly acquired sexual organ, which Amanda’s friends would oooh and aaah over, and finger.

One night after one particularly nasty round of humiliating inspection by the company he had to serve, the lights were dimmed and Amanda asked everybody’s attention. As you all know, Bertha will leave us soon, and Paula here will take her place. It is time for her to acquire proper female functions, which means that tonight all of you will abuse here as they see fit. But before you do, let’s watch a little video I have compiled for you for your amusement.

It turned out to be the entire torture scene Paul had been the subject of, with hardly any editing. As he sat watching in amazement, tears welling up in his eyes, he noticed how the people in the room got excited, men and women alike.

Several women shouted ýesss!’as they watched his penis being amputated, their eyes shining with animal delight.

As they watched, they were being served an old port and tiny crackers with pate.

- Mmmmm. gorgeous, the exclaimed. What is it?/ This is really good.

- It’s the spoils of my victory over male arrogance and dominance. Slave meat ! It’s Paul’s dick.

- Slave meat, slave meat, they began chanting.

- Fuck meat, someone yelled. ‘Lets get her right here on the table, they shouted.

- He’s yours, yelled Amanda.

One early spring morning Paul was ordered to pack the Range Rover for a weekend in the country, up north.

- Will any of your friends be joining you ? she asked.

- No, just the three of us: you, me and Bertha.

It was an unusual outing, but Paul thought nothing of it and started packing the Rover. He enjoyed the outings into the rough northern country, even though at the end of them invariably the misery of beating and mistreatment loomed. As Amanda’s cottage was so isolated - cars without a four wheel drive could not make the last part of the journey - hikers or tourists hardly ever ventured out there, and Amanda treated the place like her own paradise. This resulted in him and Bertha having to walk around naked, exposed to the sun, the rain and insect bites. Also, whenever she brought along her partner, she and Bertha would be forced to perform sometimes horrendous sexual services, varying from cleaning smelly vaginas filled with menstruational blood to being used as human dildoes: Bertha and Paul were fitted with rubber masks with a penis for a nose.

Amanda and her lesbian comrade would then ride their victims for hours on end, preferably out in the open.

All the same, Paul couldn’t help but wonder why it was that this time there was no fourth or fifth person accounted for. He had also noticed that Amanda had made triple sure that they bring their video camera, a rather copious dinner, an unusual amount of wine and spirits and surprisingly few clothes for Bertha, in spite of the relatively cold weather.

As they drove north, Paul noticed that the atmosphere in the car was different from normal. Amanda seemed on edge, and unusually nervous, and Bertha was sitting in the back like a Buddha, immobile, staring at a fixed point inside the car for most of the ride.

Finally the traffic began to thin out, and the four wheel vehicle began to negotiate the rough mountain track that would lead them to their final destination.

As they reached the cottage, Paul was ordered to light a log fire and prepare drinks. As he served drinks, he learned to his surprise that Bertha was allowed a glass of whisky.

Amanda then got up, took him outside and walked him to the far end of the muddy grounds, under thick foliage. She handed him a small ladder, a machete and a shovel, then ordered him to cut a swathe through the brambles, then start digging.

- How deep shall I dig? asked Paul.

- Six feet long, three wide and six deep. When you’re done, return to the cottage and make us dinner. She walked away, leaving him to his task.

The soil was heavy and rocky, and soon Paul was sweating and aching from the unusual task he was given. A very macabre thought had begun to form at the back of his mind. After an hour he found himself standing hip-deep in the hole he had dug. Finally, his head was level with the ground, and he realised he had completed his job. Quickly he climbed out of the hole and returned to the cottage.

To his surprise, he found Amanda and Bertha sitting on the sofa, the latter crying uncontrollably in the arms of her mistress.

Paul was ordered to make a light dinner, and Amanda produced a bottle of champagne.

- Well then Paul, this is our last supper as we have known it; soon it will be just you and me.

- What about Bertha, Paul asked naively.

- Bertha is about to leave us for good, Paul. This is her farewell party. Come on, serve us and have a drink, too.

They sat, and to his surprise Bertha was both crying and elated at the same time.

She giggled like a little girl as she drank her champagne.

Finally, over coffee, with Amanda smoking a cigar, she explained what was about to happen.

- Bertha has asked that, rather than coming to a painful and unworthy end in a hospital as a terminal cancer patient, we help her out of her misery. I have decided to do that, and you are going to assist.

- Thanks for digging my grave, Paula, Bertha giggled and embraced him.

She then began to undress quietly, neatly folding her clothes over a chair. She once more embraced Paul, then quietly lay down on the massive oak table that Amanda had ordered Paul to clear. She began to strap Bertha to the massive legs of the table, her head resting on a small plank jutting out from the head.

A strap over Berthas throat immobilised her head.

Then Amanda tied Paul to one of the support beams.

Finally it dawned on Paul what was about to happen. She was going to choke Bertha to death, then bury her in the grave he had just dug.

Amanda looked up.

- Yes I can , Paul, and I’m going to. Now be quiet or I’ll have to do both you and Bertha

Shaking and trembling she began to ride Bertha’s face, rhythmically moving back and forth. Paul noticed how Bertha’s body began to respond in kind, and a strange kind of mating ritual began to emerge.

Then Paul saw Bertha sucking Amanda’s crotch, causing her to climax, and so did Bertha, for Paul saw big blobs of semen spurt from her penis stump, which was now clearly erect.

At that moment Amanda let her frame down full force on Bertha’s face, then began to strangle the buried head with his inner thighs.

Paul saw Bertha’s body convulse, trembling, jerking, legs and arms desperately trying to get hold of the table and free themselves of the assault.

To no avail. Paul saw the final clawing of Bertha’s nails deep into the weathered wood of the table, then just giving up their struggle and flopping lifelessly to the side. At the same moment, all life seemed to disappear from the head that he was squeezing between his thighs.

Amanda, sweating like an otter, finally climbed off the table.

Bertha’s face was blue and purple, and Bertha’s head rolled over to one side.

- Phew, said Amanda, that was hard work.

She walked over to Paul, paused for a moment, then slapped him hard across the face.

- Wake up, dumb cunt, or you’re next !

- But - but... she’s dead.

- So will you be if you don’t do as I tell you. Get her off the table, into the body bag and into the grave. All the while, as Paul set about his grizzly task.

He found himself dragging the heavy body bag across the grounds, in the pitch dark, then finally, at the edge of the wood he found the grave he had dug earlier, and he was ordered to open the bag.

Amanda took a picture of Bertha’s dead, convulsed face in one frame, then she ordered him to zip up the bag and drop it in the grave.

Sullenly, Paul began to shovel the earth back into the pit from the mound he had shovelled that afternoon.

Amanda went on ordering him, until finally he was done. Surplus soil was dispersed in the thick wood. Finally he straggled back to the house, followed by Amanda.

Inside, they both had a drink. Then she ordered him to strip again, and stand naked to the support at the centre of the cottage.

- I’m going to give you a good whipping, so that you won’t forget what we did and what will happen to you if you ever speak a word about this to anyone. If you do, I have video footage to prove that you killed Bertha and buried her.

She began rhythmically lashing him across the body until she drew blood, then forced him to turn around and did the same to his back. Finally, she released him.

He collapse in her arms, uncontrollably weeping and shaking.

She sat him on the bed.

- Paul, listen to me, you’ll get over it, I promise. Right now you feel terrible, but it won’t last. You did what Bertha wanted, and what I wanted, and you are now my true and only slave. No, get into the bed with me and sleep.

With that, she covered his shaking body, and he quietly cried himself to sleep.

The alarm went. He woke with a shudder and a shock. His room was still dark. He pushed the button on the bedside lamp. He realised he was in his own flat, in his bedroom, in his bed, his mattress soaked with perspiration.

He sat up in disbelief, felt he had an erection and pushed down the blankets. He stared at his dick, fully erect, with no trace of a loop, which appeared to be smiling at him. He jumped out of bed, looked in the mirror, and saw yesterday’s face, a bit sleepy, and unshaven. He opened the curtains, and saw his familiar street in the cold grey November morning. He made himself a light breakfast, drank some tea, and brushed his teeth.

Then he saw Amanda’s letter, lying on the antique table. He thought of her eyes, and her touch when she had handled him. Then everything he had lived through came back to him. Trembling, he put on his jeans, his shirt and his jumper, then a light windbreaker and sneakers.

He left a note for the tenant, plus the keys he knew he was not going to need anymore, then shut the door of the flat behind him.

As his neighbour watched him walk down the street for the last time , an anonymous guy, dressed modestly, carrying a small weekend bag with the necessities of light travel, she saw an unusual smile on his face.

c 2005 Angela Nyman NYC.