After I deplaned in LA from my short Phoenix flight, I was finally able to relax for a moment. I have gone through airport security with the brass mail box lock several times without getting beeped. Either their equipment is more sensitive than before or I was just unlucky this time. The very tiny nonferrous lock secures the CB 2000 male chastity device. You can get plastic seals with serial numbers, but Mistress Cynthia demands I wear the lock probably hoping I will get caught and strip searched by some queer. Fortunately, the female TSA officer was content with the wand.
I must point out that I am not a man in any real definition of the word. Three years ago when I was the 31 year old divorced father who could not pay child support I entered into an arrangement. Mistress Cynthia became my owner and pays my ex-wife not just $300 each month but $500. I am her slave and never see one dime of the money I make. I get a small allowance of $25 per week, but that is nothing compared to the twenty thousand a month she makes from my services. I can not tell you what those services entail and they have nothing to do with this story anyway. I might mention that they are not exactly legal, no drugs or sex, just some under the table things.
I do travel a lot being out of state and sometimes the country three to four times a month for two to three days at a stretch. I am currently allowed the privilege of wearing men’s clothing when doing business out of the city. I am required by my Mistress to change into proper dress prior to leaving the airport or when departing into men’s clothes before going through security. This is no simple task. One can use a restroom, but which? A man going into a women’s restroom is not something most observers ignore. A woman leaving a men’s room brings a similar response. Don’t tell Mistress that I have found a woman’s room in one of the terminals that is not usually busy with few people around the area. I bring my case quickly into the restroom find an empty handicapped stall and make the change.
It takes about five minutes to strip off, pull on panties and thigh highs, hook the well padded bra in back, slip a loose fitting knee length dress over my head, and put on oversized short heeled sandals. The wig goes on and the men’s apparel is stuffed into the case. I finish straightening the wig and apply my makeup at the mirror with little or no regard for another female entering or leaving. Departures are even simpler.
I was anxious about more than the TSA check point problem. It was her text message I received as I left the rental car area. She said, “Good news! We are going to take off that nasty device for a few hours. I have a new toy!” I have not had the damn thing off for three months and that was for what she calls “cleaning.” When it gets washed, I have to masturbate in front of her. It was off for the few minutes those activities demand. I did not want to think about what her new toy was! The penalty for noncompliance with her whims, of course, is castration. Going to the police is totally out of the question. She pays my ex under the table, thus, I haven’t paid child support for five years, as far as the authorities are concerned. I have no money to run on and no place to go.
You might think it is easier to get a taxi dressed as a woman. Screw that! Try it sometime. I am only 5 feet 8 inches and of slender build, so with makeup and a wig from a distance, I pass as female. Besides, it’s LA, there are hundreds of them! I try to speak as a woman to the driver, but I still get looks or at least the odd jerk of the head. It helps to tip well.
“To the room and off with the dress and panties, bitch!”
This greeting at the door is the kindest I ever receive. She allows me to service her with my tongue on clit and rectum when her regular partners are not available. With her other partners male or female sometimes both, I am required to watch and often finish the clean up on the men. The cross dressing and the sexual contact with my own gender is forced upon me, I hope that makes you think better of me. The room, as you probably guessed, is where she does whatever she finds lustful to me and then dismisses me without out regard for my health or happiness.
She pointed to the table (I call it the slaughter station, but not to her face), and I climbed on with care not to rip my hide on the protruding metal eye bolts used to secure the helpless sacrifice (meaning me) in place. My wrists were cuffed and locked to the table at about waist level. Ankles were cuffed and locked in a way that forced my knees apart in a very open and vulnerable manner to say the least. Pieces of nylon cord were wrapped several times around various places on my limbs, pulled tight, and threaded through the eyebolts securing my helpless body to the alter. Then she slapped me hard across the face, not with her hand as she rarely uses her hand on me preferring a small flat but stiff paddle. Turning my head to the right I saw the new toy.
She had spoken of buying the Medical Sounds from S(A)X for a number of weeks, but I hoped she would go on to something else. These are smooth rods used medically for dilating small openings in the body. Sometimes used on women to enlarge their cervix when disease or natural development has made the introduction of sperm difficult or impossible. They were used on male organs (the penis) when STDs made pissing painful. Looking at them standing there in ice water after being boiled to sterility with the empty case open and the tube of personal lubricate lying beside the needless syringe I almost passed out from fear.
I was brought back to life when the warm soapy water and sponge touched my groin. A lot of soapy water and a little rubbing followed by the opening of the brass lock and the impatient ripping away of the device that for over three months had prevent any real sexual pleasure with my cock. The device as some of you know and most of you understand not only prevents sex with a woman (or a man) but prevents personal enjoyment and even full erections. At least once or twice during most nights, I wake up in the worst agony you can imagine. Maybe it is just my cock, what about yours?
A quick drying with a clean towel after my “friend” was thrown into a soapy hot bath and the rubbing alcohol was pour over my tender skin. A gag was presented to my lips which I accepted without debate since I would lose anyway. I understood that the following activity was expected to be disagreeable probably painful. She did not want any argument from me and she certainly did not want any screaming to take away her focus. I wanted her focus to be as clear as possible! I watched as she filled the syringe with lube and lifted my penis in her hand. It was like I was looking at this happening to someone else. Her gleeful grin made the whole episode seem like a TV show completely unreal! The tip of the syringe slipped into the slit of my cock with a feeling I can only describe as invasion. The lube being forced through my urethra felt curiously comforting. Holding my cock up to prevent the lube from running out and all over, she reached across my body and selected a sound at random.
The sounds are made of heavy metal because it is the weight of the sound that provides for the entry into the urethra. The proper technique is not to push, but simply allow the sound to drop down the hole from force of gravity. Mistress knew this and I knew this, but I could not help but scream from the feeling of humiliation and a fear of pain that overwhelmed me. I think that it is the helplessness, the giving over of your body, mind, and soul to another human with her or his flaws that makes such degrading things as this horrifying.
I lifted my head in a very uncomfortable manner compelled to watch as she gently molested the helmet of my penis until the opening pleased her. The beginning of the insertion looked and felt crude and I turned away terrified of what might happen. She pressed the helmet of my cock uncomfortably against the tip of the rod. I jerk my head to watch and saw her fiendish smile. Being the slave of someone who has no concern for your wellbeing let alone feelings is the closest thing to hell on earth I can imagine.
She slowly opened my hole with light but continuous pressure allowing a half inch in then withdrawing almost completely. This process was repeated until about half of the rod disappeared into my pee pee hole. My invaded and molested cock began to pulse and came to a half hard semi-erection. A few drops of urine bubbled their way to the surface and drizzled down the top of my penis, which was embarrassing even though controllable. Can you imagine being fucked by a bitch whose only enjoyment in life is hearing you scream and beg for release?
At this point she did the unthinkable, squeezing my cock with the rod in place. The sensation was more playful then painful although she smiled and giggled while I cried and sobbed uncontrollably. Crying while being tormented in Mistress Cynthia’s merciless hands has become a regular occurrence for me. She then allowed the rod to slide down my urethra enjoying the feel of it through my cock with an almost sexual orgasmic response. I could no longer see through my tears or notice what was happening because of my trembling. I would have jumped from the table when the rod hit bottom were it not for the cords that bound my limbs. How thoughtful of, Mistress!
I have to tell you that I had a terrible fear of my cock being ripped wide open from the inside out. Yet, there was really no pain let alone agony and except for the intimacy of the contact with her hands and the feel of the rod I found very little arousal. There was one other thing. When the sound is placed in the urethra (let’s face it, it is the hole in the penis) it can only enter when there is no erection. If an erection happens, as mine did and is not unusual, the sound can not be removed until it is over. Ejaculation after insertion would not generally take place either. If ejaculation should occur, it is agony as I can personally testify.
Sweat poured off my body and I shook from the agony of the unreleased semen trying to force its way out at all cost. Finally, the pressure and pain subsided and Mistress Cynthia gently removed the sound. I found no sexual enjoyment in the ejaculation whatsoever as my cock flopped against my scrotum and the semen flow out on the table. After a few minutes, I began to recover, my breathing slowing to normal, and the pain in my groin departing.
“Let’s try the next size up, shall we? This one should be fun, its ice cold!”
Ever done this? Tell me about it. E-mail: b_d_s_m@ hotmail.com
11.12.08