1.

The massive oak door swung open. A heavy set woman dressed in a leather skirt, high heeled pumps and a leather top looked at him with strange, intense yet dead eyes. Her shaven head was manly, she was wearing a tight leather collar around the neck. She wore heavy make-up, as if to redress the masculinity of her features, but they only seemed to be emphasised by it. Her head was shaven bald, at the base of the neck a long plait hung, all the way down her massive back right to her buttocks.

- Yes, she asked in a low voice.

- Err...I’ve come about the advertisement, he stammered.

- Yes, she said, looking at him intensely. -You’re being expected.

She summoned him in, then closed the door behind him with an ominous thud.

She pointed at a low stool .- Sit there, she said. -I’ll fetch my Mistress.

He noticed that, although she was heavily made up and even perfumed, her gait was stiff and somehow unfeminine. Her pumps creaked on the old handlaid parquet floor as she walked out into the corridor. He sat on the low stool, and looked around . The hall was empty, except for a small cabinet in the corner. Over it, a photograph of a young, handsome man in his late twenties. He heard doors open and close, a few words spoken, then a quick tic-tac of high heels on wood. A woman in her early forties appeared in the doorstep, followed by the one who had shown him in.

He fumbled with a slip of paper in his pocket. It was an ad clipping from a conservative newspaper.

Submissive male servant wanted by busy female professional. Must be eager to serve, to belong and to endure. Willingness to discover and exercise true self more important than experience.

He had reacted, and he had received a note that he had been shortlisted for an interview.

- Hello there, she said in a pleasant tone, you must be Paul. Welcome to my house.

She had dark, half long hair, parted in the middle, and remarkable sparkly green eyes. She appeared to be slender, yet closer inspection revealed firm hips and a muscular tone all over her body. She could have been an athlete in her younger years.

- Would you like a cup of tea ? she asked.

- Yes please, he said automatically.

She gestured to her companion, who left, then the hostess came closer.

- Paul. What a pert, innocent name for someone who is eager to lose his innocence.?

- Yes , madam, he stammered.

- Nervous, but excited, I’m sure.

He was given a cup of tea, which he drank.His hands were shaking.

- Are you nervous, Paul ? Wondering about things to come ?

- He nodded. Let’s go into the parlour, shall we?

She led the way across the corridor into a large oak-panelled room with high windows and heavy curtains.

Bertha, who had served the tea, closed the door behind them.

- Sit, she said, pointing to a low stool next to a comfortable drawing chair.

- What attracted you in the ad ? Anything in particular ?

- Eerrr.. I was taken by the serving aspect, I guess. I feel like I want to serve, like I want to belong.

- Good, she cooed. Serving is good. So is belonging. When you serve me, you will certainly belong to me. Would you describe yourself as a masochist, Paul ?

- Ehrr, I guess I would, he stammered, blushing.

- How about pain, then ?, she asked.

- I’m sorry ? he asked.

- The question is plain enough. How do you feel about me inflicting pain on you. What is your capacity for suffering ?

- I’m afraid I haven’t had much experience, he answered.

- Do you do things to yourself ?

- Well, I err..

- Paul, if you want to stand a remote chance of becoming my servant it is imperative that you answer all my questions without fail.

Now, what have you done to yourself so far, painwise ?

- I err... put clothespins on my nipples, he stuttered.He was deeply aware he was blushing a deep red in front of this stranger.

- Go on.

- I err.. put clamps on my testicles, or tried to, and I experimented a little with electricity.

- Yes? What did you do. Be precise, will you.

- I err... put a metal rod in my anus, and a wire in my err... penis.

- Inside the urethra ?

- Yes.

- How deep ?

- Rather deep. I guess towards the bladder.

- And what voltage did you use ?

- Six. I tried 12, but I couldn’t take it.

- How long was the longest jolt you gave yourself, would you say.

- I don’t know. Just a few seconds, I guess. It felt like burning.

- I know. Was there anything else you’d like to share with me ? Homosexual contacts perhaps ?

- In my early teens. I friend and I masturbated. But nothing more.

- Did you ever visit a professional domme ?

- No. I didn’t have the guts.

- Ashamed, were you ?

- Yes.

- Are you ashamed now, telling me all these things ?

- A little, I guess. He felt he was blushing again.

- You’re the typical wanker, aren’t you, Paul ? Too frightened to make a pass at the girls, beating the meat in you little room, blushing, afraid to look at me even now, worrying what I might think of you.

- He had turned a deep colour purple now. He felt tears coming to his eyes.

- It’s perfectly all right, Paul. If you want to apply for this position, the first thing you must learn is to confront your shame. You will tell me everything there is to know about you, right down to the last disgusting detail. I will help you put that behind you, so you can be open and frank with me. Do you want to be frank with me ?

- Yes, he stammered. Very much.

- Look at me, Paul. Look me in the eye, boy.

I looked into her beautiful green eyes, and I saw her gentle smile.

- It’s all right, you know. Nothing you tell me will ever get beyond this room, and besides, there are millions of men like you. It depends on your frankness whether I’ll consider you as my slave. Do you wish to be my slave, Paul ?

- Yes, very much, he whispered.

- Good. Now, whatever else is involved, you must understand that the relationship you and I are going to have is based on trust and understanding.

Trust that I will do as I promise, and you as you’re told, and understanding of what we both are, and are not . Clear so far ?

- Yes, he said.

- Most relationships between female dominants and male subs are based on play and exploitation. The more a domme says she isn’t a whore, the more can you trust her to be one. And the sub to be but a perverted customer.

I am not like that. With me, the central theme is pain. Let me show you.

She rang a bell and Bertha entered the room.

- Bertha has been with me for twelve years now. Get your skirt off, dear. Bertha obliged, and revealed a shaven crotch that was unusual in appearance. The labia protruded like fat swollen lips, almost as if they had been treated with saline ; over them a stump-like extremity stuck out, like an oversized clitoris, covered in a stainless steel cap with what looked like a valve in the middle. Looking closer he noticed that the steel cap was kept in place by tens of skin tags, wired through little holes in the rim of the cap, then grown back onto the skin of the stump. A wild assumption took hold of his brain and he looked at his host.

She smiled and nodded.

. Show him. Bertha opened the cabinet. In it was a flask containing what looked like a pale asparagus floating in colourless liquid.

- Yes, Bertha was once a man like you, and technically still is. Those cunt lips you see are testicles, sown tight in a reduced scrotal sack that was split in two. Ten years ago, when she had passed her trial period, I cut off her dick and topped it with the lid you see before you. What you see there is her penis in alcohol. Bertha now lives for torture and degradation. Let me show you.

- Get the box, will you, dear.

Bertha went over to the table and brought a black box with cables and vice-like grips at the end. She knelt by the wall and plugged in the contraption to the mains, then attached the wires to the valve on her stump, and a ring I now noticed was attached to a butt plug she was wearing. She then handed the box to the mistress.

- Watch closely, Paul.

She turned a dial on the box and a low humming noise filled the room. Bertha stood immovable, her eyes fixed in the distance, panting heavily and then moaning slightly. The scene lasted several minutes. There was a vague smell of burnt flesh.

- I just gave Bertha a 24 volt shot of 1,5 amps. It is enough to burn a mouse alive, and had I given it to you you would probably have ended up with a scorched penis. He looked at her in utter disbelief.

- I guess it must be a much to digest all in one gulp. Perhaps you wonder why I chose to not castrate Bertha, but leave her in the possession of her testicles. As a gender surgeon, I castrate and rebuild transsexual men almost as a matter of routine. But the essence of their maleness is also the source of their sex drive. Take that away and you end up with neutered, fluffy human beings who have not much of an appetite for anything. Sex to them is just a boring interlude in their day. Leaving her testicles intact ensures me of Bertha’s absolute devotion. She hungers for sexual release, yet can only have it when I so decide.

I either have to fist her and massage her prostate, which is the more pleasurable method, or I may choose to electro-orgasm her, which is no fun at all and can even become quite painful when done repeatedly. Milking her dry electrically can be a form of punishment, even.

However, the sex-hunger is there, resulting in phantom erections which she is still experiencing after ten years. Hers is a life of permanent sexual excitement, without the possibility of release, unless I oblige. Which I do once every half year, when I’m in a good mood. Other than that, she is miserable, frustrated and hooked, which is precisely what I want her to be. In addition, I should point out that she is extremely sadistic in nature. She loves taking out on other men what has been done to her.

Unfortunately, Bertha does not have much longer to live. In Bertha, the years of electrotorture have caused a cancer to develop which is progressively consuming her intestines. She nor I would have it any other way, but the fact remains that soon I shall be without a personal servant.

I have decided to fill that position again. Over time, you will become a second Bertha if I deem you worthy of that honour. With your help and even support I will destroy your manhood, and rebuild you into a mock-woman, a freak creature like Bertha. And deep, deep down you crave to be like her, and you will learn to embrace your own undoing.

He felt a strange, sickening sinking feeling grab hold of his stomach. What this woman was proposing was nothing less than his undoing as a man, the ruining of a healthy human being. He looked at her seemingly kind green eyes, that seemed to mock him.

You don’t have to decide this minute, she said reassuringly. You have a week to think over what I’ve just told you. If you decide that you want the job, then you’ll be on a three months’ probation period.

During that time you will live here with us and do the chores that Bertha will explain to you. I will also start to break you in as a slave, by means of torture, feminisation, humiliation and chastity. If you fail to pass those three months well, you’re out on the street again with no one the wiser.

If you pass the test you have the option of staying on. You will be chastised permanently in a very painful and humiliating manner. An erection, leave alone an orgasm will become an impossibility. You will actively seek to avoid any sexual excitement or arousal, as it will prove too painful to even consider. When you are accustomed to your chaste status, I will then ‘break’ you permanently.

‘Breaking’ involves a very intense, painful session of torture and psychological pressure which will change you for good. After it, you will only want to serve, suffer and, eventually, physically lose your manhood. There is no longer a choice after you’ve been broken - you will have lost your spirit and your free will.

You will, effectively, have ceased to be a man.

Now, if I were to decide to take you on as a live-in slave, I must be certain that you are in good health and carry no diseases. Have you anything to do this afternoon ?

- No, Paul answered, surprised.

- Good. Then we can do your check-up right away. Bertha will prepare you; when you’re ready I’ll examine you and run some tests.

Bertha summoned him to get up and follow her.

- Let’s go to the surgery, shall we. She led the was to a back section of the vast house, a double door with a sign that said ‘KEEP OUT” , a marble corridor, then a glass door leading to a white room with a gynaecologist’s chair in the middle. A bright, adjustable lamp hung over it; on the wall were all manner of cabinets with instruments, a few trolleys with drawers for instruments to the side.

Bertha took a vial full of dark red blood for analysis.

Amanda then spoke.

- Take off your clothes , Paul .

He was led by Bertha to a large shower room cum toilet. On a stand he noticed a large white bag with a hose attached, ending in a nozzle. She put on some latex gloves.

-Bend over, she hissed.

Blushing, he did as he was ordered.

- Spread your cheeks. I’m going to give you an enema.

He grabbed hold of his buttocks and held them apart. He looking in the mirror he realised that his face looked a deep purple from the embarrassment and the humiliation.

He felt Bertha’s finger probe his anus, and a cold, slithery substance was applied to his rosebud. She allowed her finger to slip in and out a couple times, then she inserted the large nozzle. He noticed he was having a hard-on.

- Stay like this and don’t move, she snapped. I’m going to give you one quart.

All of a sudden he felt a strange, cool liquid enter his bowels from behind, as his rectum swelled inside him. He moaned.

- Shut up, will you. He heard her rummage behind his back, then he felt more liquid entering his body.

- Two quarts. Hold this position for ten minutes.

She left the bathroom, leaving him to watch himself in the large mirror opposite.

He saw his swollen belly hanging down like a pregnant woman’s; his erect penis making the scene grotesque, together with the hose running down from the enema bag into his intestines.

Bertha came back, and unceremoniously ripped the nozzle out of his anus.

- Now walk backwards towards me and sit on the loo.

He shuffled towards the pot and sat down. He felt cramps seize his gut, then farting and splurting he relieved himself of the enema liquid and the faecal matter inside. He was totally ashamed, as Bertha watched with a big grin on her face.

- Now stand under the shower and wash up, she snapped.

Amanda entered the surgery again. She came towards him and looked at his breast.

- I see you already have the beginning of breasts. Good. That’ll save us some effort.

Then she began to feel his balls. She fondled his penis, pulling back the foreskin and inspecting the gland. Then she ordered him to bend over, and with a latex glove on began to feel inside his rectum. Apparently she was pleased with what she encountered.

- You’re clean and healthy, by the feel of it, which is good.

She started fondling his balls, which gave him an immediate erection. Then he felt her grip around his testicles tighten, and pain was beginning to gulf through his lower abdomen. He groaned.

- Hurting, are you, Paul ?

- Y-yes, he panted.

- Good. Lets squeeze some more and see how much you can take.

She now had his balls in a vicelike grip, slowly increasing the pressure.

Her victim grunted, then screamed to please stop. Amanda did nothing of the kind but kept her stranglehold on his testicles, telling him to shut up and endure.

Tears sprang to Paul’s eyes. As she kept on squeezing his nuts, she began with her right hand to slowly stroke his dick, then rhythmically jerking him off.

It took only ten or fifteen strokes before he came, howling with pain and relief at the same time. As she let go of her victim, Paul collapsed into a shivering, shuddering bundle of misery, tears running down his face. She lifted his chin with her hand and looked him in the eye.

- Do you want this, Paul ?

- Y-yeah, yes, he stammered. He managed a wry smile, which endeared him to his tormentor. She planted a fleeting kiss on his forehead.

- All right, you’ll do, I guess. I’m giving you a chance - I hope you’re worth it.

He frantically kissed her hand and thanked her.

Both Bertha and Amanda smiled.

So, she said, after having sent Bertha away an handing him a sealed envelope, here is the proposition I am putting to you: consider it for a week, then report back to me if you want to try. If not, I’ll simply put in another ad and find someone who has the balls to submit.

Then she ordered him to dress, and showed him to the door which Bertha held already open. As he stood outside, on the pavement, in the chilly winter’s evening air, the whole episode appeared unreal. The pain in his testicles and bowels was real enough , though.

He could hardly believe he had just witnessed a mutilated man being tortured of his own free will, a man who had once consented to his own permanent mutilation and was now going to die because of it. He recalled with disbelief the torture scene he himself had undergone and the pain and relief she had caused him.

He recalled the cool, piercing eyes of the woman who had just told him Bertha’s outrageous story, and who had coolly proposed that he follow the same path: submission, slavery, torture, mutilation, more slavery and finally death.

He felt his stomach turn, and suppressed an urge to vomit on the pavement. Then, at the same time, he noticed he had the most tremendous hard-on he had ever experienced. He panted, his heart racing, his mind overloading with conflicting emotions he did not even know existed. Then a sickening pang gripped his groin, his stomach, his gut, his heart and brain at the same time: he knew he would give in to the proposition because deep down he knew that this was what he had wanted his entire life: to be utterly undone at the hands of a woman, with no holds barred, to be literally taken apart by a female sadist who enjoyed her handiwork and who would free the grovelling slave dormant inside him.

When he got home, he opened the enveloped with trembling fingers. After a hand-written ‘Dear Paul’ the typed letter went on:

‘You’re about to make an important decision, which will change your life for good. I would ask no one to give up his life lightly, but yet if you want to serve me as I have set out to you, you must give up everything you know or hold dear until now. Once you are with me - after the trial period, that is - there will be no turning back. I will ask you to cut off all you social contacts, financial ties and obligations that have made you into what you are now, before I will let you serve me. Once I have broken you, you will have no will of your own and I will take any major decision for you. In return, you will know the blissful freedom that only a real slave knows: to be fully a part of his mistress, to be complete in the fulfilment of her need, and to gladly accept the terror and the deprivation that comes with it. In fact, you will find to your own surprise, you will actually be hungry to be taken apart and remodelled as a human being. I will do that for you once you have submitted to me. But first, in the interim, I want you to do the following before report back to me, if that is what you have decided.

1. you must give notice at your work.

2. you must either sublet your flat, saying that you’re going away for 3 months, or leave it empty for that period.

3. should you decide to stay with me after that - if I have chosen you, that is - then that will be the last independent decision you ever take in your life.

As there will then be little time to get rid of your earthly possessions - which Bertha will take care of - I advise you to already throw away as much rubbish and clutter as you can.

4. I shall want a complete list of everybody you ever contacted, and every diary and address book in your possession.

5. You must come to me lightly dressed - once with me you won’t need your clothes - only carrying your ID, driver’s licence and medication, should you need any.

Hoping to see you soon , Amanda.

That week, he was more decisive in manner than he had even been in his entire life. He gave his employer notice, sublet his apartment, sold or discarded an amazing amount of clutter he knew he wouldn’t need anymore, got a haircut,

burned all his letters and personal effects, collected old diaries and lists as instructed, then waited for the Day.

At home, his last evening, he put his jeans, shirt and jumper neatly over the chair by the antique table in his living room.

Then he took a long, hot bath, lathering his soft body, noticing his beginning tits, fingering his limp dick, wondering what it would be like watching it being cut off, to feel Amanda’s surgeon’s scalpel entering the taut flesh (he did not for one moment doubt that he would have a massive erection when his member was about to be severed for good). He instinctively felt that the whole operation would be a ritual as much as an act; that Bertha, and possibly others, would be watching, and that anaesthesia would not be an option.

He wondered if one would faint because of the pain; if the curtailing of the scrotal sack would be felt, and finally how, his crippled body finally healed from the wounds, he would take to his knew life of submission, servitude and humiliation.

He had read stories of electrostimulation of the prostate, and of the painful, joyless ejaculations following the final pulse.

He recalled Bertha’s full grown breasts, and wondered, watching himself in the foggy mirror, if he would have similar mock-feminine attributes.

With slow, sensual strokes he jerked himself off until he came, squirting into the basin, kissing himself on the damp mirror as he finally broke into uncontrollable tears. All reason, common sense and brain power urged him to run away, to not take this road to perdition. But longer, stronger, deeper than any rational consideration Amanda’s dark, commanding figure summoned him to go that road, to embrace his destiny once and for all.

Finally, exhausted, he fell into a deep, deep sleep.

© 2005 Angela Nyman, NYC To be continued.