A very painful way to lose one's package. (implied castration)
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There is little light in the old pony shed, but a few slashes of midday sun still managed to cut across my body from above where the joists were all that remained of a naked roof. i can not speak for the penis gag and tape across my mouth. The shed is well back, so nobody hears as my chains rattle against the naked steel of the cage. The cage was the largest my Mistress could find, big enough for a St. Bernard, but barely room for me to stoop without pain. Both feet were bound by rags, and my hands handcuffed through several of the cell's steel ribs. For good measure, my Mistress had found it amusing to tie each of my knees to opposing walls. Stooping indeed! my back ached from the minute she'd tied off the last knot, padlocked the door (as if that was necessary) and stepped out of the rectangle of light at the shed's wide doors. The door, having caught a breeze, is partially opened, just to tease i imagine. I can taste my lipstick on the penis gag, and imagine Her saying, "Suck it boy!" And, Her laughter; yes She found such things most amusing, knowing how much I'd begged for my emasculatory abuse when we first met. I'd begged to be feminized, and Her eyes lit, knowing how hetro i am outside of my fantasies. Hetro? Here i am dressed in stocking. The toes are worn, and my pink toenails were chipped. Usually this was enough for punishment, but this has already been a long day. Her temper was already past boiling, and i have no brush for my long hair, nor do i have a bottle of polish. my Mistress had even stripped me of my bra, garter, skirt and panties; they lay discarded in the straw by the window. i could see a colony of ants playing across the white tops of my bra cups. Remembering back, it was not so long ago, i recall how she'd first dressed me, one thing at a time, snapping Her photographs, laughing at each Polaroid as it emerged, and me, the fool, stepping into panty and stockings. It was the bra that made me aware. It was so awkward, the straps twisting, the cups backward, but when it was snapped in place with it's unique little bar clasps, i knew I'd crossed from one thing to Her thing. I've not seen those photographs since, but I've seen others in the scrapbook She makes me maintain. The light brightens, and my Mistress is here. i can barely see in the glare after a morning in the shed's light, but i can see enough to know my Mistress's walk. She's wearing jeans, white tennis shoes and a T-shirt. Her bra is a B, but barely visible even in the back-light. my Mistress is not inclined to dress for my pleasure, but for Her Saturday. A short, almost frail lady, She rules by Her insurance and Her persuasion, and Her knowledge of my weakness for domination; i guess that's the same as by my cock. Yet, as its mindless submission pleases Her, so too does She not find a minute of rest in decrying its inadequacies. By the second or third date She knew me, and we had not had sex. Of course, She has had it since, but not with Her servant. my cock dangles six inches from the floor, twice its flaccid size. "And how is the slave? Has it learned to keep my kitchen clean?" She begins immediately. She does not stop in front where i can marvel at Her magnificence, but precedes to the rear of my cage, where there is no hope from of cringing from Her devilish devises. i want to answer, "Please, my Mistress, forgive me. i cleaned and cleaned, and even sprayed once a week, but the house is old, and out here in the west, there are ant hills every fifty feet. One gram of sugar in the disposal, and it is enough." It had been horrible, me in the bathroom, licking the seat of Her toilet, as commanded, and Her scream from the kitchen. "One, two, three! They're everywhere. slave! Get in here NOW!" What a way to start a morning. i wasn't even in the mood for domination this morning, but this, or course, is not the slave to ask. Domination is the domain of the Mistress, and i know i have no hope without complying to it's demanding flow. i fell down the steps, and greeted the kicking feet of my Mistress. Those kicks bore little pain, as She has such control, but they did direct me to this punishing prison where i have been for hours. What i would give to have the freedom to labor over every crack and grain of sugar in that kitchen now. Paper ripped behind me. A can was jiggled. my Mistress was doing something at the table. Then, like ice, Her hands touched my balls. They slipped, and then felt sticky, coating a space between the testicles from front to rear with some kind of sugary goo. Chancing a look down, i caught Her fingers pasting twenty inch strips of wet newsprint that dangled down and lay across the cage floor. She went over to the ants at my clothing, and scooped half a jar of anthill into the glass. Then She covered the jar with some of Her panties, and closed it with a ring of mason lid. i could see Her smirk in the half light at the she'd corner. Then She walked slowly to me, and behind again. The jar was shuffled under the dangling strips. my feet were cramped out of the way, as were my knees. i tried to lift, but the strips dangled weakly below to the floor regardless of my efforts. "There now. All set." She came around, and sat on the dirty floor in front of me. Her mind seemed to play with the words She chose. "Bill got me those edible panties. You like panties, don't you slave. I've made you such a panty lover, and intend to keep you in them. But, you are sloven. You spend far too much time thinking about what you are missing." i groaned, as if to plea. She got up, and headed out the door. On the way, She laughed, and said, "In a few minutes those ants are going to be through those strawberry panties. Wouldn't you love to be eating those panties instead? Then they're going to want something else to eat, something less watery to take home for their queen. They'll take a nice slice of skin back there and tell everyone where they got it." Her wonderful ass whisked from view. i heard Her screaming back at the shed, "Don't wait up. I'm going to spend the afternoon and night with Bill. See you in the morning. And sweetheart, don't let the bed bugs bite."