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The Lady Sings The Blues By: Mme Lizanne The coffee seemed especially smooth this morning as I sat at the poolside patio table and savored the huge mug of savory liquid. The sun was just inching over the edge of the ivy covered wall that surrounded the pool area, and I enjoyed the sill quiet of the morning. Continuing to mull the possibilities as I sipped, my thoughts drift to last night and how excited a young mistress was as I presented her with her first slave. He was a particularly choice specimen, and had responded so well to his training. The young woman’s mother had made an excellent choice in choosing the powerfully built young man as her daughters first, and I was so pleased at the young woman’s reaction at receiving him. I was also pleased at how aroused she was at watching me complete her mothers final request, and I knew she was destined for a lifetime of denigrating men. As she lifted her brief skirt to masturbate as she watched, her moans of pleasure almost drowned out the gagged screams of the slave as I performed the slow and excruciating emasculation that would leave him with an overwhelming sense of loss; a perfect castration for a young ladies first slave. I carefully placed the severed testicles in the vial of preservative, intending to present them to the young mistress as a set of earrings when they were properly cured. She seemed particularly aroused as I removed most of the slave’s scrotum and stitched him tightly, assuring he would heal nicely into that fine smooth appearance that makes a gelded slave so attractive. The young mistress had that all-over-pleased look as she fastened her leash of braided leather to the large ring welded through the end of the slaves ample cock, and I couldn’t help but smile as she walked him to the door. Of course I noticed her jerk the chain harshly whenever the intense pain in the slaves groin caused him to slow. Now there was a young woman who was already establishing her place among the males of this world. Still thinking of that young girl waltzing along with her gelding in tow, I polished off the last dregs of the coffee and walked into the house to prepare for my next assignment. It’s a little custom diversion I’ve managed to squeeze in between slave training schedules, and this one will afford me the opportunity to simply enjoy myself. The stay at the resort was just what I needed, and of course being well paid for it was just an added bonus. The dawn was unusually crisp, and I shrugged the sweater tighter around my shoulders, The sun had just crested the horizon as the Miata rounded the last turn before the long stretch of straight as an arrow highway rolled out before me. I loved a top-down cross-country race, and this was perfect as I tramped the accelerator. Ratcheting up the CD’s volume to heart-pounding intensity, I reveled in the rush of wind and gravelly lyrics of Randy Bachman as he belted out the classic road-tune ‘Roll On Down The Highway’. I only let up on the accelerator after thinking a roadside execution would likely be my immediate fate should I pass through a county sheriff’s radar trap. One gas and three pee stops later, I pull onto the pine-bordered drive leading to the immense lodge. The narrow one-lane blacktop ends abruptly at a huge open vista, with the lodge in the forefront of a tree lined canyon. As I round the tiled drive at the entrance, I spot the ribbon of blue snaking along the canyon bottom. I can well imagine the rich and famous enjoying the views and pampered treatment the resort is noted for. It’s said money may not buy you happiness, but it sure as hell can rent some wonderful places to be miserable. A valet was at my door almost before the car had come to a stop, and I barely had time to pull down the short skirt that had hiked itself almost to my ass. I wasn’t about to advertise to everyone within eyeshot that I was traveling commando. A footman was quick to retrieve all my bags from the trunk before the valet sped off, and I’m gawking all over the place as we entered the enormous oak entry doors. The lodge reeked of cedar and old money, and I can’t help but think I’ve seen the magnificent foyer pictured in some travel brochure. The huge glass windows opposite the entry afford a spectacular view of the canyon and the river below. I am still craning to see everything when we arrive at the check-in desk that’s pigeon-holed into a side hallway, and well out of view of the main foyer. The check-in lasts all of two seconds when I tell the young woman manning the desk my alias. I am immediately presented two keys, and the doorman is already gathering my bags. My client has obvious influence. I am even more impressed as we arrive at my room following the ascent of the spiraled split log staircase that snakes along the far wall of the lodge foyer. I have never stayed in a room quite like this. The bed is absolutely enormous, and the patio doors open onto a large deck complete with a spa and loungers for taking in the breathtaking view down the canyon. I tip the footman as he leaves, and I immediately peel off my tee and skirt. A long hot shower is what I need right now. Wrapped in the oversized towel and carrying a soda, I walk onto the large deck. I note how deliciously private it is, and I imagine all manner of the rich and famous are out cavorting nude on the decks adjoining their rooms, and I lean to peek in both directions to see if I can spot one. No luck. I meander over to the spa, crank the flow to maximum, and doff the towel as I step into it. The temperature is perfect, about three degrees shy of scalding, and I settle right over a discharge vent. There’s just something about bubbles and rushing water caressing my pussy, and I wish I had more than just one brief night to enjoy the amenities. This would be the perfect spot to watch a sunset as a prelude to lovemaking. Perhaps later. As I complete packing the two attaché cases, I note the time as I close the cases and walk to the bathroom for a final primp before meeting my client. I think she will be pleased with my look as I do a turn in the mirror. My make-up is impeccable, every strand of my saucy little do is in place, and the crisp business type blazer and skirt have that sharp professional air that I’m sure she will appreciate. The delicate ruffles on the arms and neckline of my white shirt lend the perfect feminine touch to the outfit. I’m satisfied. Not a soul has seen me walk down the hallway to the furthest room at the end of the lodge, and for that I’m grateful. Given the style of dress and the dark glasses, it’s unlikely anyone would have remembered me anyway, but there was no point in asking for difficulties. Besides, I was looking forward to at least one night in the lodge, and especially since the room was provided as part of the contract. The door of suite number one opens just a crack, and I recognize my client peeking at me from behind the door. I’m about to set down one of the attaché cases and remove my dark glasses, but she finally confirms my identity. The door opens just enough to allow me to slip inside. I like the cloak-and-dagger welcome. My client is a blues singer of notable renown, and despite her age she is still strikingly beautiful. Even without any outward appearance of applied make-up her skin has that eye-catching glow of good health, and even better genes. Well either that or her surgeon is extremely skilled. At any rate, she appears far younger than I know her age to be. She closes the door behind me and turns to extend her hand. “Thank you for being so punctual Ms. Parks,” she said, adding, “And you look so professional.” Setting down the attaché case I return her firm handshake and ask, “Is he ready?” “Yes. Yes I think so,” she replies, “He hasn’t move a muscle in about ten minutes.” “Perfect. We have plenty of time then.” I pick up the attaché case and follow my client into what proves to be the main room in the suite, a huge living-room area with a decidedly western décor. That’s when I spot the man slumped in the overstuffed leather chair adjacent to the patio doors. “It worked just as you said,” my client says in a soft voice. “He never even finished the whole drink.” “You took care of the glass just as I told you right?” “Oh yes,” she replied. “Exactly as you told me. I don’t want any trouble.” “Trust me, neither do I,” I reply, setting the cases down beside a large sofa. Immediately following checking out the subject in the chair, my client shows me to the bedroom and assists as I strip the bed. I leave the mattress cover and lower sheet, covering it with the heavy vinyl cover I have brought with me. Arranging my instruments on a cloth laid out on a bedside table, I place all the rope, cloth strips, and other necessary paraphernalia on the near side of the king-sized bed. Now for the hard part. The man slumped in the chair was limp as a rag, and again the medication had worked as advertised. Thinking of some additional torture I will bestow on him, I smile as I think of the doctor who serves his mistress so well. Who would have thought that his monthly stint at worshipping me, blended of course with a good ass-paddling and a few vicious slaps and kicks to his balls, would have his prescription pad almost a shopping list for me. Free prescriptions as well as being more than adequately compensated. Now that was a winning combination, and not to mention my own arousal factor. Lugging my clients lover from the chair to the bed was an ordeal. He is a young man, perhaps around my age, and powerfully built with thick beefy arms and a broad chest. My client and I are barely able to heave him from the chair, and half-walk and half-drag him to the bed. We both pant with exertion as we finally roll him onto his back on the bed. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I have a closer look at the subject lying sprawled across the bed. He is far younger man than my client, a boy-toy I suspect, and I can definitely see her attraction to him. He is ruggedly handsome, and I can only imagine the build under the clothing. His center-parted blonde locks hang to nearly his shoulders, and the thin moustache and barely-there goatee give him a certain intellectual appeal. He was a handsome rascal, and it was his rascal ways that had him in his current position. A position of being at the mercy of a scorned woman. “Help me get him undressed,” I say. My client works the shirt as I yank off the shoes and socks and move to his belted dockers. As I yank and jerk his pants downward, I also pull on the wide banded boxers underneath. I gasp audibly as the boxers clear his crotch, and my client laughs, “Impressive isn’t it. Too damn bad he can’t keep it in his pants.” The guy was hung like a stallion, and with balls to match. His huge cock arched over the enormous balls and hung almost to the bed. I’d cut and fucked some awesome guys in my time, but none as impressive as this. I simply gawked, thinking that under different circumstances I’d be a total wanton whore screaming out my orgasms as I rode that magnificent cock. I couldn’t blame other women for eagerly parting their legs to experience the same. That was a woman’s prerogative though, and not a choice for a male to make. At least not in my world. “I actually thought he was my knight in shining armor,” my client mused, “And now if I was his princess I’d behead the bastard.” “Well we can still have a beheading,” I reply as I lift the huge cock up and make a scissor action right at the circumcision scar. “I’m thinking right about here.” We both laugh, and my client replies, “I think I’d prefer to keep that part intact.” Still laughing, I work off the trousers and begin to prep the subject. My client watches intently as I carefully blindfold the guy and run tape across both eyes so the blindfold will not come off no matter how hard he shakes his head. I place the gag carefully, and double loop and tie it securely. Working quickly, I have his arms shackled and tied securely. I begin to screw the chrome metal spreaders together, and I tape the rod securely between his spread legs at the back of his knees. My client assists in positioning and she watches the proceedings with much interest. The subject moves ever so little as I run the ropes from the headboard posts of the bed, and I know we have to work fast. Three loops of rope are quickly tossed beneath the bed, up across his hard muscled belly and back down around the bed, securing him tightly to the mattress as I use all my weight to tighten the rope. A loop around the rod at each knee and a sharp pull, and his legs are pulled up almost to his chest. I secure the rope and tape his legs further, trussing him into a totally immobile package. “There. Now all we have to do is wait a little while and we can begin.” “I almost hate to have to do this,” my client whispers wistfully as she reaches to touch the huge testicles bulging the loose scrotum. “It’s just that he left me no choice.” “We can quit right now if you like,” I reply, “I can be cleared out of here in minutes.” “No. No he deserves this.” “Of course he deserves it,” I reply comfortingly. “But are you sure everything is going to be ok for you afterward?” “Oh yes,” my client replies. “That’s one of the advantages of being well off you know. People seem to like to help. I stay at this lodge more than anyone I know, and I’m known as a superb tipper. No one here will say anything to discredit me, and of course there will be no proof I had anything to do with poor Robert’s condition.” We are both giggling as a low moan comes from the bed. The subject is awakening. The effects of the drug wear off very quickly, and I know from experience that total consciousness and awareness return within a couple minutes the first movements. I press a finger to my lips, telling my client to be very quiet. I don’t want it known my client is even in the room. As the subject begins to struggle, I remove my jacket and slowly roll up my sleeves in preparation, tucking in the lace sleeves above the elbows. Rolling the velvet case of instruments out across the nightstand beside the bed, I note the subject struggling hard and snapping his head back and forth as he tries to shout through the gag. I let him rant and fight, and I know it won’t be long before he realizes he’s totally helpless to do anything. He suddenly stops moving as he hears the buzz of the razor. He struggles as I begin to shave the huge bag, pushing the huge penis toward his belly for better access. His testicles are even more impressive as they roll in my hand, and I feel the heft of them. “The cheating bastard is going to really miss these,” I think to myself as I remove every strand of hair. Snapping on the rubber gloves as loudly as possible, I run my instruments through the small container of sterilizing solution. I double check that everything is laid out properly, and seeing everything is in order, I swab the subjects scrotum with disinfectant. My client silently moves in closer to observe the proceedings. The subject tries to buck his hips as he feels the sudden cooling of the antiseptic. Does he know his castration is about to begin? I pick up the scalpel. “There’s no point in struggling you know,” I say. “You’re a cheating fuck that’s going to get his nuts cut off and that’s really all there is to it. You deserve it, and I’m going to make you endure every minute of it.” The subject tries to thrash, and I can hear the screamed response from behind the gag as the terrifying thought sinks in. Men always scream and beg during an enforced and unexpected castration, and especially when bound as helplessly as this one. In my dungeon I never gag them as the screams arouse me so. The head thrashing screams only increase as I make a small flicking cut down the left side of his scrotum, with the scalpel easily parting the soft skin in it’s wake. I let him savor the burn of the small gash, and slowly begin manipulating the large testicle from the protective sheath, pulling and working the thick cord to expose his nut fully. I let it dangle from the cord, and the size and weight of it stretches it to below his ass. I glance at my client as I dab up the few drops of blood. I notice the glassy-eyed excitement of a woman observing her first castration. I know how extreme that arousal is, and I know it’s something she will never forget. I let the subject gasp the hard snorted breaths and recover from some of the shock before slicing into the right side of his scrotum. He’s keening as I work his last ball free of his scrotum and let it hang with its twin for a minute. He needs a moment. The worst is yet to come. As the subjects breathing become urgent but steady, I slip the jaws of the delicate looking triple-crush emasculator around the cord of the left testicle, pressing the curve of stainless into the slit in his scrotum to crush him high. I prefer to use an emasculator for these types of castrations, as it produces the truly profound effect of a man feeling his cords crushed and pulverized to complete his castration. He truly knows and understands his masculinity is removed, lost, and robbed at the hand of a woman. It’s a very primal transfer of power, and very exciting for a woman to perform or observe. “You are about to be castrated. This is punishment for cheating, and you will never be with a woman other than your mistress again. You will be in her control. Your manhood will be in her control,” I say harshly. His every muscle quivers and tightens as the jaws of the emasculator bear down on the thick cord, and he shudders as the I hear the crunch of tearing cord, and his testicle drops to the bed. I let his keening muffled screams subside before positioning the emasculator around the cord of the last testicle. I want him conscious. I want him to experience his last moment as an intact male. He didn’t struggle as I held his last testicle, squeezing slightly so he was fully aware I was in control, and also that he knew he was about to lose his last ball. I positioned the emasculator in readiness waiting for the struggling to stop as he resigns himself to what is about to happen. To resign himself to allowing a woman to complete his castration. He suddenly becomes perfectly still. I squeeze his testicle between three fingers while slowly beginning the crush of his testicular cord. I want him to feel a woman toying with his ball before its oblivion. Low crooning moans accompany the crunch of his final testicle being severed from his body. His castration is complete, and every muscle of the new eunuch was quivering in the aftermath. Noting the growing dark spot of dampness at my clients crotch, I collect both testicles and place them in the vial of preservative. The stain on her light tan slacks betrays her extreme arousal. I quickly suture the small scrotal incisions and clean the area with disinfectant. I then prep the cocktail of painkilling sedatives and inject the subject intravenously. He slumps into a deep sleep within a minute. Motioning my client to begin removing the subjects bonds, I began cleaning up the instruments and all signs of the surgery. My client finally speaks. “I’m so grateful for letting me watch. I feel so much better…and so excited,” She says quietly, her face flushed and shining with a light sweat. “Trust me,” I laugh, “Every woman gets excited and aroused by watching a man’s castration. It’s a very natural reaction to something like that.” “Will he be…you know…not a man?” she asks. “As I told you before. I will supply you with the necessary drugs to assure he is able to satisfy your needs at any time you choose. Once you stop the meds he will revert to being a eunuch. That’s not to say he can’t still perform, so I am going to ring him with a lock. That way you have total control.” “Ok” I spread a layer of absorbent gauze across the subjects thighs, and positioning the thick piercing rod in the middle of the huge flared cock-head, I shove it through to pierce it fully. I then work the hasp of the stainless padlock through the puncture, lock it, and dust both cock and empty scrotum with a cauterizing powder to staunch any bleeding. “There, you can keep him locked whenever you are not around, and you can tell him I’ll be back to take his cock should you ever notice any tampering with that lock,” I grin. My client gives a nervous laugh, and we work the vinyl sheet from beneath the subject. “He’ll be asleep for hours, and here’s some spray to apply to his bag and cock every six hours. He’ll heal very quickly, but of course he will be very sore for a while. Just let him rest,” I say as I close up the last of the attaché cases and slip on my jacket. I take a quick and close look around the room, assuring myself there is no remaining evidence of the castration. “Thank you so much,” My client says as she hands me a thickly stuffed envelope. “I owe you so much this barely touches the surface.” “This is fine,” I reply, “Now you can relax on the road and concentrate on your career instead of worrying about what your lover is up to.” A moment before closing the door behind me, I look back and see my client sitting on the bed beside her lover, her hand on his chest as she sings the soothing strains of a bluesy tune. I can’t help wondering how loudly her lover will be singing the blues when he wakes up. Tucking the money into a blazer pocket, I wonder just where I can muster up the attentions of a very stimulated, and very intact male. I’m feeling particularly needy right now, and neither my own fingers nor a eunuch’s tongue is what I crave after a cutting. |