Ryn & George
A - E F - J K - O P - V W - Z Newest Files
Warning: This is a work of fiction, and the scenes described within are fictional in nature and in no way advocate actual performance, and are not intended to be imitated in any way. Part Three: Lady of the Blade Lessons of a Goddess The house was exquisitely furnished in the modern style. Austere but grand. George bowed his head as she led him to a seat at her kitchen table. The floor was a parquet tile made of teak. Stainless steel appliances and pink granite countertops glowed in the low ambient lighting. "You must be hungry?" she asked him, gently. Her hand was on his shoulder, and he felt her fingers caress him briefly and compress his wrist. "Yes...thank you...anything you have is fine..." he said in a soft voice, swallowing his pride. He was starving and had not had a good meal in days. "I'm going to give you some hot chocolate - and I'll see what else I can fix up for you. You need to get some good food into you." Ryn glided away, throwing her coat over one of six leather seats around the circular table. George did not have a coat. "Sit tight- why don't you turn on the TV" she prodded him. A small color set was at the far end of the table. She still sensed him hovering at the edge of shock, but further away, safer than he was in the car. The edge of it was more remote now she noted with relief. His pupils where beginning to dilate, and she had secretly measured his pulse. It was slowing down, finally. Her two years in a Somalian refugee camp had shown her what shock alone could do to a human being. The mind could hurt the body worse than any merely physical injury. She threw a small blanket around his shoulders to keep him warm. Just the knowledge that he was being nurtured and cared for could pull him back from the brink. The evening news was on. It was 10 PM. She brought him hot cocoa in a cobalt blue mug and saucer, and he noticed with pleasure that she had filled it with whipped cream. His attention was coming back, and his eyes were opening wider. "Its going to spoil your appetite, but that's all right" Ryn said, and then began making pasta and ground beef at the stove. Corn on the cob was cooking in a steamer. Later, as she brought him his dinner, he felt a wave of humility wash over him, as the hand of the goddess placed a steaming plate before him. He knew it was not in his power to show the gratitude she deserved, but he mumbled again a few words of thanks that made Ryn smile silently and nod at him. She sat in the chair next to him and alternated between watching TV and him, as he ate his only meal of the day with poorly restrained appetite. He would have gulped it all down in a minute if he had not been so self-conscious of being in her presence. The dizziness and weakness he had felt earlier vanished as he ate his fill and relaxed in the big chair. He was warm now and his stomach felt full. A pleasant wave of relaxation engulfed him. "Thank you Dr. Nyr" he said, sitting back in his chair. "Call me Ryn." Their eyes locked briefly, and he again felt himself drown in her deep black orbs. "Why have you followed me every day George? Why do you come to my office every morning?" She asked him this with a ghost of a smile on her face. "I know what you do" he said. "Oh you do, do you?" she purred. "And what is it that I do?" "You know...you're a cutter. The very best, as far as I've heard." "And why would that interest you? Cutting is usually for bored, middle aged executives...and a certain type of dedicated fanatic. Most men merely toy with the idea. You can't possibly be a day over 16." "I am 16 - couple of months ago. But so what? Everybody can have fantasies-and I am not 'just a boy' you know," he said in tones of injured innocence. "A regular cosmopolitan then? Really!" Her eyes flashed over him appraisingly, as she observed his lithe body, and curly red-brown hair. Irish certainly. And some Czech or central European at least. She could judge ancestry from gait, complexion, and body type, along with a myriad other intangible clues. Here was a descendant of sturdy peasants. But she could not completely read this book by its tattered cover. "Can I look inside your book bag? What have you got in there...it seems full." "Sure, go ahead." It contained a few personal effects, but mostly textbooks. One on tensor calculus, Hegel's Philosophy of Right in German, Gray's Anatomy, and Feynman's Lectures on Physics. She scanned the titles in seconds, and noted their worn, well thumbed condition. Serious reading material for a graduate student perhaps, but not high school fare. Not at all. Internally she was impressed, but gave no sign of it to him. He plainly was no ordinary 16 year old. "So you keep up with school, even though you seemingly live on the streets?" "I don't go to school. I just....read on my own." "Ah - no parents, as you told me in the alley, no guardians? Yes, that would make attending school very complicated...DHS would be very interested in your case though." Her own adolescence had been eerily similar. "It's easier for me to just educate myself." "Of course. You are an autodidact then. I admire your discipline, and ambition. We are not so different, you and I. So you're on your own then George?" she asked sadly. "Yeah. Life is tough," he said bleakly. "I know it is. Ever read a book by Laird Koenig called The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane?" "Little girl......wasn't there a movie...Jodie Foster I think." George was guessing. He had been on the streets for two years. "Yes. A very young Jodie Foster starred in it. La Petite Fille au Bout du Chemin, with Chopin." Ryn fell silent, as if confronting something in her past that she disliked. He broke the silence that had descended. "If I remember right, it's about a girl who lives on her own, and she hides the fact that her father and mother are dead...She was a.....survivor. I remember it now. A sad story." George was intrigued. He felt a window open up on the secret life of this mysterious lady before him. He sensed that her personal history was profoundly different from that of most people, and perhaps as depressing as his was. "Very sad" Ryn admitted. "So why did those tramps attack you George?" she asked, changing the subject. He felt as well as heard his name pronounced by her lips, and the sensuality of her deep voice charmed him. "They wanted my coat, and my stuff. They wouldn't leave me alone." "They will now" she said grimly. "Have you had enough to eat, do you want any more?" "No thanks. Thank you very much.....for everything. I should go now.....I don't want to impose any more on you" he said, faltering. His eyes were on the floor. "Of course not! I won't hear of it. You need to get cleaned up now and have a good night's rest. We can talk tomorrow about what we should do. Doctors' orders!" Her smile was overpowering. And the "we" surprised and delighted him. Already they shared a certain intimacy, almost a conspiracy against the world and the famed 'right order of things' which said that all 16 year olds must attend high school and avoid femme fatales. "Lets get you a hot bath. I want you to give me all your clothes so I can wash them. Come on." She gripped his shoulder again and led him to a huge bathroom with snow white marble floors and bathtub. The fixtures were gold. She stopped the tub and poured a fragrant blue liquid soap into it, and turned on the faucets. Steam rose and bubbles formed in the tub. The sight of her trim figure bending over excited him. "Wash your hair too - I want you scrubbed pink. Get the street off your poor body. Here's a robe and towels. Hand me your clothes when you're undressed." She winked at him alluringly and left, leaving the bathroom door half ajar. He undressed, felt the water in the tub and adjusted the temperature slightly, then approached the door. He was completely nude. "Dr....uh....Ryn...here." Standing behind the door so she couldn't see him he handed the clothes to her with his left hand. Her fingers brushed his wrist, and again he felt the slightest caress as she withdrew her hand. "Come downstairs when you're done" she said in a low voice. He saw her shadow against the wall of the bathroom, and knew that she could see the shadow of his bare body. The two shadows stood together upon the wall for a moment, uncertainly. "Ok...thanks Ryn." The hot, soapy water further revived him, and he felt that he was almost in heaven. Surely this is the same tub she used for herself he thought. The fact that her divine body had been kissed by the same marble he was now using left him dizzy with pleasure. He relaxed within the tub, and kept a trickle of hot water flowing. He fell into a state of deep relaxation. An hour passed and he dreamed that he was in the arms of a goddess, and she was caressing his whole body. Her lips were on his throat and her hands stroked him everywhere. He was erect, and his penis was bathed by some warm fluid that lapped at it teasingly. He moved his hips as if making love to a woman, but at the apex of each thrust his erection was enveloped in cold air, and he withdrew, only to thrust upwards again convulsively. Suddenly he felt a shadow over him, and blinked his eyes open. Ryn was standing over him, wearing a white cotton robe. His startled glance went first to her bemused face, and then to the pink tip of his cock poking above the water. Both of them saw it bobbing above the surface. "Why don't you dry off and put a robe on" she asked him quietly. "It's getting late." "Sure.....Uh, now?" "Don't be bashful" she said. Her tone was professional. The pink tip was still poking above the water, and she saw how it throbbed in a beat that betrayed his rapid pulse. Braving himself he arose from the tub and stood naked, as a man before a beautiful woman, for the first time in his life. She kept her eyes on his face and extended her right hand towards him. Her nails were painted a glossy black and contrasted sharply with her pure white skin. He took her hand and stepped out of the tub and onto the mat on the floor. With one swift motion she covered him with a huge blue towel, then stood behind him and used another towel to dry his hair. "You don't want a wet head on a cold night like this" she said. She was drying his scalp harshly while he dried himself with the beach towel. "All dry now?" she asked, stepping out in front of him. "Yes, thanks." She plucked his towel away with a single jerk of her wrist, and turned and threw it into a laundry hamper. He was nude again. She faced him, and took a single step towards him. One more step would place her within his arms. She grabbed a cotton robe off the towel rack and swept it around his shoulders. It was too big for him and the sleeves overhung his arms. She spent a minute fitting him in the robe, and he savored the gentle proddings and pullings as she tucked the robe around him. It was almost a massage. His continuing erection poked the front of the robe out, until she drew the cloth belt of the robe around his waist and tightened it. His cock was trapped underneath the belt as she knotted it quickly, while smirking at him. "Its almost time for bed George - lets relax in the TV room for a while and then I'll tuck you in." He could find no words at present, and allowed himself to be led outside the bathroom. She gripped one dangling end of his robe belt and seemingly pulled him after her. He followed willingly. They settled on a large, well padded leather sofa in a darkened TV room with a cathedral ceiling, facing a 96 inch digital TV. The late show was on. She placed her feet on an ottoman and invited him to do the same. Her long legs were bare and he realized she was only wearing the robe. Each of her toenails was painted a glossy black, but as he looked closer he saw that a pale white flower was painted in the center of every toenail. Her body relaxed only inches from his as they pretended to watch TV. Her fragrant perfume excited his nostrils. After only a few moments of this her intoxicating proximity to him became intolerable. He was compelled to turn towards her and look into her eyes. She invited his glance, and held it firmly. "Have you been with a girl yet George?" she asked him softly. He paused, and told her the truth. "No, never." "You're so sweet....." she lisped and ran her hand through his hair playfully. Some uncontrollable muscle in his back made him lurch himself into her arms. She embraced him and allowed him to kiss her neck feverishly. Her skin tasted of honey. But after a few minutes of heavy petting she pushed him away and confronted him. He felt the muscles of her body tighten in opposition to his advances. She would never let a man penetrate her. He felt a case of blue balls coming. "Why do you want a penectomy" she asked. "So you guessed it. I fantasize about it all the time." "Many men fantasize about having their cock cut off by a woman. Usually it's older, experienced men who actually do it. But it's especially sweet if it is a virgin cock" she said, staring at him with her deep black eyes. "You realize that if it is cut off you will never be able to come again? You will have no more sexual pleasure?" "Yes...thats part of the fascination...I guess." " I don't think you really understand George. Its just a vague fantasy with you..." "No.. I'm serious - I mean it" he said firmly. "You should know what its like before you do it. You need to understand." "But that's impossible. It's an irrevocable act. Cocked one moment, cockless the next." "Oh, a lot of things are possible. You would be surprised...." "What do you mean...how?" She paused and looked at him for a moment, assessing him. "Yes, I think a little lesson is in order, if you want..." "What do you mean?" "Follow me - I'll give you a sample of what it's like." She gripped the tip of his robe belt again, and led him to the room with the machine. Along the way she grabbed a medical kit and some cotton balls. He was surprised to see the things she had picked up. "Here George, this is where I usually do it." He stared at the machine, the guillotine she used to slice away the male organ of pleasure. The blades were sheathed inside two pennant shaped panes. At the center was an adjustable ring that would firmly grip any size penis and hold it steady for cutting. He noted the red lever that operated the blades. His breathing was jagged with excitement. She passed in front of him and patted the front of his robe. "So, still hard...and throbbing by the feel of it" she said smiling at him. "Sit here. And take that robe off. I'm going to take mine off too. I always do this work in the nude. It arouses my clients beyond belief." He loosened his belt, and threw the robe to the floor. She turned halfway away from him, and he saw her in profile. In one single fluid gesture her robe fell to the floor. Michaelangelo in an epiphany, Raphael in a moment of supreme lucidity, might feebly carve or dimly paint the Venus he saw standing before him now. Her beauty arose not merely from perfection of form, but from an inner unity of grace and poise, strength of will and character, that illuminated her body from within with the tense sharp light of perfection. The power of it smote him where he stood, and his body felt called, summoned. Strong as love, deep as Hell, graceful as a poem, charming as a spring butterfly, dark as Death, her beauty encompassed him. He was smitten and subdued, and his flesh would yield to her utterly. Her ass was perfectly rounded, with full, rich hips and sharply defined shoulder blades. Her mane of dense black hair fell nearly to her waist, falling around her graceful, rounded breasts. She pivoted towards him like a ballerina on her slender ankles. He saw the dense patch of white pubic hair below her flat belly. He was astounded. Not the white of old age, not an albino white, and too natural looking to be artificial. It was a dense, snow white triangular patch of rabbit fur that made the pink meat of her vulva stand out in delicious contrast. What curious atavism or mutation had given her this bounty he could not imagine. He ached to probe it with his erection, to feel the soft white hairs tickle the head of his penis. "I want you to know how much pleasure your cock can give you....before we take it away" she said. She seated him directly in front of the machine and began stroking his shaft. After a minute of exciting him this way, she kneeled on the floor and took his cock into her mouth. It was the first time for him, and he groaned in pleasure as she trailed her wet tongue over the cockhead and corona. Knowing it was his first time, she made it as good as possible. No courtesan or inamorata of king or emperor in ages past could do better. She brought him to the brink of orgasm, then bit sharply on the base of his short shaft, biting off the waves of pleasure beginning to crest. He winced at the pain and felt an internal spasm of regret as his nascent climax was swallowed by her mouth. She drew away. "Now....lets start to take away some of that overwhelming pleasure" she said in a soft whisper. She placed his organ inside the ring between the blades of the guillotine. He didn't know what she intended to do, and he didn't care. He felt the power of her will upon him, like having a magnetic compass buried in his brain and being able to feel the call of the north, as migrating birds do. Blinded, he could have told just exactly where she stood in a darkened room. Her presence assaulted, encompassed all of his senses, and more. He kept his hands underneath his thighs and leaned against the back of his chair. He knew without words that this is what she wished. Now, one flick of her wrist would take his penis away from him. After inserting his cock through the ring and tightening it against the utter base of his shaft, she resumed giving him head, and began swirling her tongue all over the tip, while reaching into her medical bag. She withdrew her mouth and faced him, holding a tube of toothache pain reliever. He still wasn't sure what she was going to do, and watched impassively as she began stroking his cock with her fingers, using his precome and her saliva as lubricants. "I want you to focus on the pleasure your cock is giving you, because I am going to start taking away that pleasure, one piece at a time." His eyes were slitted as he peered into the abyss of hers. "Let's start with the back of your cock head." She was stroking his entire shaft in her fist now, caressing his organ with her fingers in smooth, tight, satisfying strokes. She trailed the metal of her diamond ring over his shaft, as if showing him the sensations his cock could still offer. "How does it feel there right now- the back of your cock head?" "Ohhh.....good...don't stop" he said jerkily. She squeezed a small amount of the benzocaine- laced gel onto the index finger of her other hand, and moved it towards the back of his cock head. "Ummm....here we go, notice how the sensation changes." She rubbed the pink gel only onto the back of the head of his penis. It spread easily and coated the skin quickly. After a moment she dried it off with cotton balls, and resumed stroking his shaft. "How does it feel?" "I can't feel anything there...it's just ..numb." He wasn't disturbed by this though. The rest of his penis felt fine as she continued to stroke. "Now lets take away the rest of the back side" she said unctuously. She rubbed more gel into the back of his shaft, all along it, from base to tip, smoothing it into the skin with deft fingers. Then she dried it with cotton balls. Once she had removed the gel she started to stroke his cock again. "Now tell me- what do you feel?" "Ohhhh, its dead, except for the front. It feels soooo good in the front." He was starting to pant. She had complete control over his remaining pleasure. "Of course it still feels good in the front. The remaining sensation is concentrated there. Your penis is trying to compensate for the numbness in the back. It thinks it's dying." She gave him another minute of pleasure, and sensed he was going to come. She removed her hand and he groaned. "Now lets take it all away and see how you like it Mr. Penectomy." "I want you to feel how thin the edge is between pleasure and death. I want you to know how fragile pleasure is" she warned him. She took his cock back into her mouth, teasing the front of it that was still sensitive. She clutched the tube of benzocaine in her other hand. She gave him a dozen more slow strokes with her tongue and lips, then withdrew, and stuck her pink tongue out at him for a moment. "Anything that gives pleasure can also give death." She held the tube up to her mouth and squeezed a large wad of gel onto the pink tip of her moist tongue. Then she extended her tongue to his throbbing corona, twisting his shaft around so he could see what she was doing to him. With one teasing flick she coated in with a thick paste of gel. Then she took his shaft back into her mouth and began stroking. She spread the gel all over his cock, numbing her own tongue and lips as well as his penis. For an instant he continued to feel the pleasure of her tongue against his shaft. But the pleasure was snuffed out quickly as the benzocaine kicked in, and after a few seconds he felt nothing. He perceived the thin edge between pleasure and death. The satisfaction of each stroke had ended. His entire penis was numb. She withdrew. As her mouth withdrew from contact his cock spurted semen in a panicky, mechanical orgasm. He felt his penile muscles contract, but without pleasure. It was the worst orgasm of his life. The bitter pang of denied pleasure made him writhe and shudder with dis-ecstasy. "A reflexive orgasm. Your penis thinks it is dying so it gave us one last spurt." Ryn was smiling at the now limp organ. "Now you know what it's like, vaguely" she told him. Sensing the deadness in his cock, he nodded. This was more than he had bargained for. "Do you still want me to cut it off? Its not too late." Her hand played with the control lever. "No...please...no" he said, dreading it, sensing what it would mean for him. It would be hours before the benzocaine would wear off. She released him, and placed the robe around his shoulders. "You need to have a better orgasm than that" she told him. "Later, maybe. Now go and wash your genitals off, and let's get to bed. That stuff will wear off in a little while. Don't worry." After washing himself, he continued to feel the complete numbness of his cock. He was glum about it. Coming out of the bathroom, she approached him, and stared into his intelligent brown eyes. "Come to my bed. But I will tell you that I do not have sex the way most people do. I want you to understand that." Her tone was firm. He nodded silently. His balls ached from not being truly satisfied. She led him to her bedroom on the third floor of the mansion and muted the lights, leaving a blue neon nightlight on. She threw her robe on the floor and climbed under the covers, completely nude. He stood by the side of the bed, not sure what to do. She saw his confusion and smiled. "You can sleep at my feet George. Down here" and she pointed to her toes poking up below the comforter. He removed his robe too and crawled under the blankets, grateful to be allowed so near to her. But before he placed himself at her feet she embraced him for a moment in a warm hug, and he breathed in the perfume of her hair and felt himself wrapped up tightly in its black coils, as he sensed her nude nubile body flow like quicksilver against his skin. He was completely enclosed within her warmth. The sensation overwhelmed him and he swooned and passed out. Each morning he awoke at 4 am, leaving the library in which he slept before the security patrol could catch him. It was now 1 am. He had been awake 21 hours. Smiling at his unconscious face, she caressed his head with her hand and laid him beside her in the bed, covering him with her body, and locking her legs in his. She slid her right arm under his shoulder. Together, thus, they slept. The deep watches of the night passed in timeless silence.