The Warden's Daughter - Chapter 3

THE WARDEN'S DAUGHTER - CHAPTER THREE

Copyright 2002

by Ivan Jeffords

After I was taken back to my cell, I realized that all I had endured in the infirmary had left me in a state of shock. Not the kind of shock people mean when they say, "Wow, what a shock!" I'm talking about the medical definition of the word. For some indeterminable time I simply sat on my bunk starting into space. Then it hit me. I started shaking, broke out in a sweat--it was like the onset of the flu, only without the fever. This lasted well into the evening. When the call for chow came, I was huddled under my ratty blanket and told the guard I was ill.

I believe this condition was not only caused by the physical abuse, the intense pain that Claudia brought to my genitals, but was also caused by the psychological impact of what had gone on behind locked doors of the infirmary. I felt utterly violated. Whatever shreds of humanity dignity I had managed to hold onto after spending 18 months in a foreign prison had been completely stripped away. Maybe it wouldn't have been as bad if the violator had been a bigger, stronger person around my own age, but the fact that it had been a young girl--little more than a child, really . . . well, it was almost unbearable.

I felt a little better the next morning, at least physically--my cock and balls weren't quite as sore, I could pee without groaning--but my mental state was worse. When I went to breakfast, I found that I could not look anyone in the eye. I stared at the floor as I held my bowl out for my ladle-full of tasteless gray slop, didn't look up at anyone while I was eating. That was one of the few times I was glad that inmates weren't allowed to talk to each other, because I don't think I could have uttered a word.

When we were taken back to our cells, I decided to try and get back into my daily routine. As there was absolutely nothing to do in the blasted place, my "routine" consisted of exercising as best I could in my tiny space, doing a few hundred pushups and situps, and then spending the rest of the day on my language studies. I had quite a few grammar books and self-learning tapes, and I played the tapes on a battered little cassette player the administration happily provided. The more introverted and withdrawn you were, the more they liked you. Introverts didn't cause trouble.

But I could not get into my routine that day, or even the next, or the next. I would pop in a tape and sometime later find myself staring into space, the cassette player making that click-click-click sound it always made when the tape finished, and realized I had not a heard a single word of the lesson. My mind kept drifting to grotesque images of the things Claudia had done to me. Certain of her phrases lingered:

"I'm going to break you, believe me . . ."

"I'll make the pain more intense each time . . ."

And, with her hand cupping my balls: "I want you to give these to me . . ."

I tried to push all this from my mind, the haunting images, Claudia's cruel, girlish voice, but they persisted. Every now and then I would feel the onset of another anxiety attack . . . usually brought on by the thought that THIS IS NOT OVER, that the nightmare had just begun. Claudia would send for me every Sunday, she had said so. She was determined to make the pain unbearable for me, until I offered to give her my . . .

This was the thought that always sent me over the edge.

On Thursday, just after we were all marched back from breakfast, I had an insight about what was going on inside me, why I couldn't look at anyone, why I was so withdrawn into myself. I felt ASHAMED. It didn't make any sense to me, logically--I knew what had happened to me wasn't my fault, that I hadn't brought it on--but, nevertheless, that's how I felt. I began to understand a few things about human nature that had puzzled me before. For example, I remembered reading several times that the vast majority of rape victims never tell anyone what happened to them, that they keep it a complete secret. I had never quite understood that, but boy, did I understand now. There was no way I would tell anybody what had happened to me that morning in the cold basement of Administration Building II, it was just too personal, too intimate, too damn perverse. Even though I had resisted as best I could, I had still been part of it. Unwilling, yes, but still a participant. The fact that I had two wrenching orgasms during the process only exacerbated these feelings.

Another thing I understood was how people managed get away with this kind of thing, and, more specifically, how Claudia was pulling it off. Back when I had first heard the rumors about her, about the warden's pretty young daughter who had men brought into the infirmary on Sundays in order to "do things" to them, I figured it must have all been bullshit. If it were true, I reasoned, the victims themselves would be talking about it, the guys she had gotten her talons into, so to speak. Yet no one had come forward. This is why I had assumed it was all just fantasy, nothing but vague talk which lacked anything concrete to back it up, no inmate stepping forward to say, "Yeah, it's true, the little bitch had me taken to the infirmary and then . . ."

I got up and peered out the hole in my door, at the window-hole of the cell across the hall from me. Yes, now I understood why my neighbor hadn't talked, either, after he had spent a fun-filled afternoon with Claudia. I remembered the blood I had seen, or thought I had seen, on the crotch of the guy's pants. I again wondered what she had done to him.

But what if he or I HAD talked? What if either one of us, or even both of us, had demanded to speak to the block supervisor, for example, and spilled our guts to him, complained, raised hell, told him all this little monster had done to us? Well, first of all, he might not have believed us, though I'm sure he had heard the rumors just like everyone else. Second, even if he had known that it was true, so what? What would he do with the information? Confront the warden with it? Ha! The poor schmuck wouldn't know what hit him--he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life for spreading such trash about the warden's innocent little daughter, then thrown into one of the sweat boxes for a week until he either died or his wounds healed on their own.

No, the way things were, Claudia could do whatever the hell she wanted on those Sundays her father was away, and there was nothing I or anybody else could do about it. She was firmly in control of the situation. The two guards she used to fetch her victims--I had never seen them before they had fetched the guy across the corridor--I was now sure they were higher up on the chain, probably worked over in A Block, where the serious political troublemakers were kept. Claudia had both of them in her pocket, giving them money, and threatening them with the wrath of her father as a backup.

There was absolutely nothing I could do but wait in dread for Sunday to come around.

I sat back down, rolled over on my side, shut my eyes. The images were coming at me again, and Claudia's voice.

"It could be to your advantage . . ."

"I want you to give them to me, as a gift . . ."

Then I felt myself getting hard again. This is what really upset me, that for the past two days I kept getting a boner when I thought about what she had done to me, especially when I thought about her soft young hands on my stiff, manly cock. Shit . . . I couldn't help myself.

I reached down and started feeling my rigid prick through my trousers . . . squeezing it . . . I pulled the blanket over myself and pulled it out, couldn't stand it anymore. The soreness was completely gone and I started masturbating furiously, unable to hold back, thinking about Claudia . . . about the long needle she shoved down my pee-hole and through my prostate, about the home made barbed wire she had wrapped around my balls and pulled up the crack of my ass, making me waddle across the floor like a puppet . . . about the wicked thing she had done to my balls with her index finger, moving it in bigger and bigger circles until the insides felt like bruised mush . . .

Oh, man . . . now I was cumming, shooting hot goo all over my hands and blanket . . .

"No," I muttered allowed, and I rolled over on my back, my eyes still shut. I immediately felt ashamed, regretted losing control. Damn it, I didn't like myself jerking off to these images, to these decadent sexual acts. Why couldn't I stop myself from doing it?

Later, that same night, I had a vivid dream about Claudia. I was on my back, tied to the exam table, and she was slowly moving towards me, completely naked, kind of floating through the air . . . and then she was sitting backwards on my chest, her awesome young butt in my face . . . and she arched it backwards. Her tight little asshole was an inch from my nose . . . and then suddenly she was sitting on my face, pressing her anal rosebud over my mouth, partially smothering me.

"Stick your tongue inside me," I heard her say.

I hesitated, afraid of the taste of her smooth, brown anus, and of being completely smothered by her, but I finally did as she asked.

I woke up out of breath and with sticky come all over my stomach. It was the first wet dream I could remember having since I was a teenager.

Then, the next afternoon, the strangest thing of all happened.

I was sitting on my bunk, my headphones on, listening but not listening to one of my language tapes, when I became aware that I was hugging my chest with my forearm. During the past few minutes a pain had started somewhere around my heart, a deep, dull ache. It alarmed me a little bit, I thought it might have been purely physical. I didn't think it was a heart attack, but I wasn't sure. Soon, tears came to my eyes. I switched off the tape, sat there in silence.

All I could think about was Claudia. And when I thought about her, it felt like something inside me had shattered. I soon began to understand that I missed her terribly, that the truth of the matter was, I could hardly wait until Sunday, was dying to see her again, to be touched and tormented by her.

"Jesus . . . I think I'm in love her," I muttered, still clutching my chest.

I took my headphones off, laid down on my bunk and imagined her with me . . . imagined kissing her soft, chestnut hair, her angelic forehead, her temples, her cheeks . . . and then I imagined slipping that jumpsuit off of her, kissing her hips, her legs, her feet . . . I have always been a "leg" man, and it occurred to me that Claudia fit my ideal in this way, with her long, slim legs, her firm, stick-out ass . . . even though I hadn't actually seen her naked from the waist down, I knew she had the type of slightly pear-shaped body that would drive me wild. I thought it odd that I hadn't realized this before about her . . . but then, under the circumstances, I was hardly looking at her as a potential lover.

I sat up on my bunk, gave my head a vigorous shake. What the hell are you thinking? Man, are you ever screwed up! How in the world could you even THINK of loving that spoiled, heartless brat! Do you think she would ever let you--

My thoughts were interrupted by shouting from up and down the corridor. Something was happening out in the exercise yard.

I stacked a few of my language books against the far wall and stood on them, on my tiptoes, so I could see out the dirty, bar-covered window.

It was Claudia!

She was fencing with one of the inmates, the better of the two inmates who sometimes served as her sparring partners. Her father was standing in the corner of the yard, in his usual dark blue pinstripe suit, his arms crossed, watching with an expectant, hopeful look on his face.

Claudia was vigorously driving her opponent back, leaning into him, her sword whipping to and fro and occasionally jabbing, but the man was still holding his ground. She looked very tall in her snug outfit, white head-to-toe except for her feet--she had on those same black stacked sneakers she had worn in the infirmary. Her hair was braided and pulled out just behind the back of her mask.

Now her opponent had begun to gain control. He started driving her backwards. They were moving in my direction, feet slipping occasionally on the gravel. Those in my block began to cheer, now, rooting for their man, naturally.

I found myself becoming tense, grabbing hold of the bars, my face pressed in between two of them.

"Get him, Claudia," I said. I was immediately surprised by my own words, that I wanted her to win, and not him.

As though she had heard me, she jabbed hard and through the guy off balance--he slipped in the gravel, almost fell, and had to back off for a second to move his mask back into position so he could see.

The aggressive teenager seized this opportunity, really drove into him, forcing him backwards.

"Get him, Claudia!" I said again, my voice loud and clear this time. There was booing coming from up and down the corridor, some shouting "Don't let a girl beat you!" and similar comments.

The contest was heating to a fever pitch--Claudia was in her finest form, too, looking more like a ballet dancer than a fencer. She seemed to float across the gravel, reminding me of my recent dream, her right arm guiding the sword with an almost magical grace.

The guy was down!

There was a loud grumbling from my cellblock as Claudia leaped in for the "kill." Her legs on either side of him, she touched her sword to the poor guy's neck and he moved his head back a little, the protected tip dimpling the skin below his chin.

"Yes!" I said to myself.

She pulled the sword back and hesitated, her head tilting a little more downward. Even though I couldn't see her eyes through the mesh of the face mask, I was almost sure she was looking at the guy's crotch. If she hadn't had an audience, if her father hadn't been watching, I'm almost sure she would have taken a jab at his balls.

She pulled off her mask and glanced in my direction, made a face at all the men booing and hissing. I pushed my forehead harder against the bars and waved, hoping she might notice me, but of course she wouldn't be able to see anything from outside through the dirt-caked window. She turned and walked away, her face beet-red and sweaty.

I stood on my tiptoes watching her until she had put her sword back in its case and she and her father disappeared through the steel door on the far wall, his arm proudly around her shoulder.

Sunday finally came . . . and went.

After we were taken back from the shower to our cells, I quickly combed my hair and got dressed, sat down on my bunk. Waited. Got up, looked at myself in the mirror--feeling strange for worrying about my appearance before a torture session--sat back down. Fidgeted. I was so nervous I could barely hold a cigarette between my fingers. After half an hour passed, I could no longer sit still--I paced up and down the narrow space in my cell, three steps forward, three steps back, my heart racing.

Where were those guards?

I kept looking at my bandless watch, which lay on the battered wooden table beside my books and tapes. Fifteen minutes passed, a helf an hour . . .

By noon I was beside myself with anxiety. Wasn't the girl going to send for me? If not, why not?

I paced up and down the tiny cell like a caged animal. Around 12:30 I felt the first twinge of jealousy. I was only half-surprised by this, as I knew it had been lurking below the surface all along. She had chosen somebody else, that’s what had happened. I started peering through the hole in my door, now being very quiet so I could hear if the guards came in and took someone else. I alternated this vigil with anxious looks out the other window, the one that led to the exercise yard. Of course the guards would not come in through the yard or take anyone out that way. I guess I just hoped I might see Claudia--maybe instead of "working" in the infirmary, she would practice her fencing today.

But I saw nothing, I heard nothing. If the guards had come and taken someone else, it must have been an inmate in one of the other three cellblocks.

By two o'clock I was slumped on my bunk, consumed with anguish. The girl had abused me to her heart's content and then had discarded me like an old toy. I remembered the way she had dropped my shredded jockey shorts into the trash can, that wry grin on her face.

What hurt the worst was that she had said I was "strong," and not like the other guys she had tormented. Had she changed her mind about that?

I told myself I was being foolish, acting like some silly high school sophomore who sat by the telephone wringing her hands, waiting for the phone to ring. Be logical, I told myself. Get a grip on yourself, man! Don't jump to the conclusion that Claudia had selected someone else--anything could have happened. Maybe her father wasn't out of town this weekend, maybe she had a big test tomorrow, hell, maybe she just wasn't in the mood today.

Yeah, and maybe she's just lost interest, another voice countered. You know how fickle girls are her age, flitting from one curiousity to the next like nervous little birds.

By evening, I was curled up on my bunk, under the blanket, and was masturbating every little while, thinking about Claudia's soft young hands on my rigid cock, thinking about what she might look like under that jumpsuit, thinking about her firm young ass.

The next Sunday also came and went uneventfully. It wasn't so bad, as I was prepared this time. When I got back from the shower I simply got dressed, combed my hair, then sat down and began to do my language exercises. I was determined not to let my emotions run away with me again, not like I had the last Sunday. If the girl didn’t call for me, well, so be it. Anyway, it didn't even make any sense, my being disappointed that I wouldn't spend the afternoon bound up and sexually tortured by a sadistic teenager! Still, it wasn't easy keeping control of myself--my thoughts kept drifting back to Claudia as I conjugated verbs and looked up obscure foreign words. That annoying jealous feeling kept rearing its head, but I managed to get through the day, somehow. At one point, I almost panicked--some guards I knew came for a guy three cells down--but it was only because he had a visitor, as Sundays were designated Visitor Days.

The third Sunday was pure hell. Again, after being brought back from the shower, I dressed, combed my hair, and sat down to work. Five minutes later I heard noise in the corridor, went to the window, and saw the two guards who had come and gotten me. I tucked in my shirt and waited . . . and they passed right by my cell. I heard one of the doors open down the corridor. A moment later the two guards walked passed again, pushing along a big blond guy in his fifties, some "fish" who was new to the place.

Shit!

I almost screamed out, "Not him! Me! Take ME!" but of course I didn't.

I spent the rest of the day--and most of the next few days--in a deep depression. The only consolation had been that the guards had brought the guy back after a little over an hour, so Claudia must not have liked him very much. He was cowed, too, just like the guy across the hall had been, and I had been myself. He looked like he was having trouble walking. He passed by too quickly for me to catch a glimpse of his crotch.

As you might guess, I took a keen interest in this guy, wondering what Claudia had done to him and wondering, in general, what he was like, why she might have chosen him. But for security purposes, inmates on his side of the corridor were taken for showers and meals separately, and I hardly glimpsed him again.

Then, on the fourth Sunday, it finally happened. Naturally, this was after I had given up all hope of ever seeing Claudia again face-to-face. When the two guards showed up, I was shirtless, just like the first time they had come for me, and I hadn't even bothered with my hair. As they unlocked the door, I was already madly buttoning up my shirt and trying to comb my hair at the same time.

The smaller guard snickered and jabbed me in the stomach with his billy club. "What do you think, fuckwad, this is a date?" Another rough jab, this one knocking the comb knocked from my hand. "Get your skinny ass out in the corridor."

After we went out through the security checkpoint, the little guard shoved me forward and I nearly fell in the gravel.

"Don’t do that," the big guard told him. "She doesn't like damaged goods."

"Screw her," the smaller guard said, giving me another shove.

"You wish you could."

"I wouldn't touch that twisted little cunt, not even if you paid me. Fucking psycho."

"She is paying you, so shut the hell up."

We reached Administration Building II and the big guard unlocked the outside door.

"You must be her favorite," the small guard muttered to me. His billy club popped me in the left kidney as he spoke the last word. The big guard didn't appear to notice, or if he did, he ignored it. However, what the smaller guard had said took the edge off the pain--it sounded like I might have been the first guy Claudia had "invited" back for a second round.

As we descended the stairs and the medicinal smell of the infirmary filled my nostrils, whatever excitement I had felt about seeing Claudia again vanished. The reality of the situation hit me with the freshness of one of the girl's hard slaps across my face. Claudia hadn't called me back because she liked ME--she was calling me back because she liked the way my body reacted when she tortured it, that my cock continued to get hard when she wanted it to no matter how bad she was hurting me.

The big guard knocked on the infirmary door. The lock clicked and Claudia opened it.

My God . . . today she looked like a dirty old man's wet dream! She stood before us in a frilly white blouse and flimsy skirt made of some black crepe material. Her lean, shapely legs sported black hose, and she was wearing black high heels with thin ankle straps, showing off her pretty feet. Through the sheer nylon I could see that her toenails were painting a juvenile shade of pink. Her hair was braided and elegantly piled on her head, accentuating her high cheekbones, her slender neck. Little hearts of silver dangled tantalizingly from her earlobes. I could smell perfume mixed in the medicinal smell of the room, some vanilla scent.

She stood with her arms crossed, her feet together, one youthful knee slightly bent--man, those legs looked like they went on forever.

I expected the guards to shove me over to the girder to my left, as had they had the first time, but the big guard was putting something around my neck, something made of rough leather--I only glimpsed it for a split second, it looked like a dog collar. There was something heavy and cold on the back that I could feel against my skin as he buckled it. "New technology," he snickered, when he saw the trepidation on my face. Then I noticed that Claudia held something in her left hand--it looked like the remote control for a TV.

The two guards stood aside. Claudia uncrossed her arms and aimed the little box at me.

Before I could even brace myself for whatever was coming, I felt like I had been struck across the back of my neck with a heavy riding crop. There was a loud popping sound that seemed to come from inside my own ears. The next thing I knew I had collapsed to one knee, dizzy, nauseated. I fought the impulse to vomit as Claudia led the guards over to the door. As I struggled back to my feet, partially dazed, I saw her hand the big guard a roll of bills. Both of them left without saying another word.

Claudia locked the door and came back to me, her heels clicking across the concrete. "I don't want to have to use this thing again," she said, raising the remote control. "It's not my style."

"You won't have to . . . Miss Claudia." My voice was hoarse. I was cringing so much in anticipation of another shock I had almost forgotten to add that the proper form of address.

She watched me for a moment, a safe distance away. Her gaze dropped down to my crotch. "Take off your pants."

I did as she asked, slipping my feet out of my sandals, then slowly stepping out of my prison-issues trousers one leg at a time, afraid that she might misinterpret a sudden move. She seemed a bit uneasy, her thumb poised on the remote as if she didn't quite trust the new method of control. When I finished, I stood uncertainly in only my shirt and jockey shorts, the concrete cold under my feet. Behind her and across the room, I noticed the instrument tray--there was a cloth draped over it, as before, but was positioned to the left of the exam table today, as if prepared for use in some kind of operation. I also noticed that her green sword case was sitting on the floor next to it.

"Come here."

I cautiously approached her and stopped just within her reach. She looked into my eyes for a moment, then reached out with her free hand and slipped her index finger underneath the waistband of my shorts. Her finger felt warm against my abdomen. My hands fidgeted at my sides, not knowing what to do with themselves.

"Put your hands together, behind your back."

She waited for me to do this. She pulled my underwear away from my body and down, down, down, very slowly, until my heavily-hanging cock and balls spilled out, fully exposed.

"Mmm," she murmured. "I almost forgot how big you are."

Her other hand moved closer, the one with the remote control. Using one the end of the little box, she lifted my nuts, the cool plastic making the sack draw up. "Mmm." She looked up at me. "Did you know I saw you on video?"

"No," I said So that rumor was true as well.

Claudia gave a knowing smile. "I watch the tapes from the showers. Those are the best."

I wondered if this is how had she selected Mr. Blondie down the corridor from me. I glanced over at the exam table, fear gripping my insides.

Claudia let go of my underwear and stood up, leaving my genitals hanging awkwardly. "Take off the rest of your clothes and then lie down on the examination table."

I reluctantly did as I was told, leaving my shirt and underwear in a heap on the floor. As I approached the table, trembling and covered with goose bumps, I glanced down at the lumpy cloth covering the instrument tray. I wondered what was under there, and I felt a strong urge to ask her what she was going to do. But I had learned my lesson about asking that question the last time.

My heart beat faster and faster as she bound my hands behind me and secured each calf into the stirrups. She went to a cabinet and donned a crisp white lab coat that came down to her knees. Yes, this was going to be some kind of involved medical procedure. Despite my fear, I felt my cock getting hard.

She glanced at it as she snapped a latex glove onto her left hand. "You know," she said, as she put on the other glove, "I've been reading your file." She began speaking in her native tongue. "It says says you've been studying our language, that you're pretty good at speaking it and writing it now. It says you're almost fluent. Is that true?"

It took me a second to mentally switch gears, as I tend to think in English. "I don't know," I answered in her dialect, trying to use good pronunciation. "I guess I can speak okay."

She looked surprised. "Not bad. You hardly have any accent."

"I have some tapes that help," I explained. I hesitated, then said, "By the way, you speak excellent English." I wasn't sure how she would take a compliment, as my last attempted hadn't worked out so well.

Claudia nodded absently, now pouring alcohol on a cotton ball. "I had a private teacher, but he wasn't so good." The girl gave a grin and said, "I learned a lot more from watching MTV." She raised my penis, which was half hard now and bobbing with my pulse. "Now I can speak a lot better than he can. Sometimes I work as an interpreter for my father when he interrogates foreigners, if they only speak English." She gently lay my throbbing back across my stomach. She began to swab my testicles, the dry, tingly smell of alcohol drifting up in my face. "Anyway, I think it's good that you don't just waste your time drinking and taking drugs like the other stupid guys in this place."

I glanced nervously at the instrument table as she withdrew the cloth from it. My eyes widened when I saw what had created all the lumps under the material--there were a half dozen syringes in a neat row, all of them full of some clear liquid. They didn't look like the type made for humans. They looked more like the kind veterinarians use, with a very large volume, for horses and cows.

The girl picked up the hypodermic closest to her, pointed the long needle upwards, flicked the plastic body a few times with her finger, then squirted out a little bit of whatever was inside. Then, with her other hand, she pinched a piece of my scrotum between her thumb and index finger. She moved the syringe closer with medical precision. The needle soon punched through the thick skin.

I grunted, but the pain was secondary to the panic I was feeling. What the bejesus was she doing? Now it took all my resolve not to ask her.

She put her thumb on the plunger of the syringe and began to push. I watched as the plunger's black outline steadily moved down the translucent white cylinder. A cool, almost soothing feeling crept into my balls. I felt the sack begin to sag as it filled with the fluid, whatever it was. Man, I was scared. I caught sight of a large box on the lower shelf of the instrument table. It was labeled STERILE SALINE SOLUTION.

Claudia dropped the spent syringe in the trash can and picked up the second one, tilted it up, flicked it, squirted a little water out as before. "I think it's good that you take an interest in our culture," Claudia said, now speaking in English again. I winced as the needle went into my scrotum, in a slightly different place. "Most of the foreigners in here hate everything about our country." She steadily emptied the contents of the cylinder into my ballsack. Now I could felt my scrotum spreading out at the bottom, hanging lower. Claudia tossed the second syringe in the trash and then cupped her right hand under my widened ball bag, feeling it, tapping a few times on the bottom. Looking pleased, she picked up the third syringe. "Anyway, it's good that you're not like the other guys here."

"Well," I said, looking down at my swelling balls, my voice quavering, "there's really nothing else to do here. Besides, I've always--" The third had needle gone in. "--I've always wanted to learn a foreign language, and this seemed like a good opportunity." I watched as she again forced all the water out of the cylinder and into my scrotum. Now, balls were as big and round as a good-sized orange. Claudia put her hand underneath them, bounced them a few times on her palm, picked up the fourth syringe. My God--what was she trying to do? Make my nuts explode?

I flinched so hard the exam table rattled as the fourth needle broke through the sack. She no longer needed to pinch the skin together to perform an injection--my balls were blown up like a balloon now, she could simply poke the needle into the stretched skin freehandedly wherever she wanted.

She emptied the fourth syringe into me more quickly than she had before, taking less than five seconds. Pulled it out, dropped it into the trash, picked up the fifth syringe. My balls were starting to ache now, and they looked frightening large--I remembered once seeing a black and white photo of some guy in Africa who suffered from elephantiasis, and his balls looked just like mine: downright shocking. I winced as she popped the fifth needle in. I began to breath heavily, in increasing discomfort, as she injected more water. She tossed the fifth syringe into the trash and performed another manual check.

"Jesus," I gasped, as her hand toyed with my immense nuts, bounced them, traced the bloated contour of the sack with her fingers. She giggled, then pushed her thumb deeply into the bloated orb. When I squirmed, she giggled again.

"No more, please," I whispered. The teenager ignored me and picked up the sixth syringe, slipped the needle into the tightly stretched sack. I was sure it would explode if she forced any more water into it--my scrotum was now as big as a grapefruit.

"Just one more," Claudia said softly, now pushing the plunger slowly and carefully, occasionally stopping to test the pressure on the sack with a finger, then continuing. I cried out as she forced the last few milliliters into me. Christ, my nuts were HUGE. Now the bloated ballbag looked more like a cantaloupe than a grapefruit.

Claudia dropped the last syringe into the trash, then took off her gloves and dropped them in, too. She ran her soft hand around and around the gigantic sphere, bounced it, smirked, pushed her fingers in. Sweat had begun to form on my forehead.

She glanced up at my shriveled penis, which, in proportion to my immense scrotum, looked like the tie of a balloon, sitting on top the mass, benign and insignificant. She took hold of the small prick between her thumb and forefinger. It was so flaccid it was almost numb.

"Did he miss me?" Claudia asked. She twisted it from side to side. It immediately began to respond, to swell.

"Yes, Miss Claudia" I answered, my voice small and boyish. I couldn't lie to her.

She abruptly let go of it and turned her attention back to my oversized balls. "Yeah," she said with a sigh, "I really think it's great that you don't waste your time like the other guys in here, that you take such an interest in our culture."

I nodded nervously. She began to untie my left leg.

"Which is why I'm going to teach you folk dancing."

"What?"

She continued to untie knots. "Folk dancing. Don't you think you'd like that? It's a very important part of our heritage." She pulled the remaining bungi cord from around my left calf and dropped it on the floor. "Now sit up." I struggled to lean forward, my balls feeling as if lead weight were hanging from them. "Turn towards me . . . that's right." I awkwardly twisted on the table, letting my legs dangle over one side. My engorged nuts slid off the edge and sunk downwards--my hands instinctively flew down and cradled them. I groaned in pain. Claudia giggled.

"Now stand up."

"Oh God . . .please . . ."

"Come on, you can do it."

Grunting, I rose unsteadily to my feet, my hands cradling my balls as if the distended sack contained volatile explosives. I leaned back against the table, breathing hard, my tensed buttocks resting on its edge. I stood there for a moment, bow-legged and wavering, my hands clasped under my inflated glandular sack--it felt like the package weighed at least 20 pounds.

Claudia watched me a moment, her green eyes seeming to smile, then walked over to the cabinet and dropped a tape into a cassette. She punched a button. The room was soon filled with the plucky sound of mandolins. Then, a rich, rural voice chimed in:

"From the village, he came,

On a stallion strong and fine . . ."

Claudia took off her lab coat and hung it up, then came back and stood before me. There was look of childish delight on her face as she gazed at my huge, distended balls. She put her hands on her hips and began to bounce up and down with the rhythm of the music, kicking out one foot, then the other, with quick stamps on each high heel, something similar to what I knew as "clogging."

"Just do what I do," Claudia said.

"I . . . I can't."

"Yes you can. Do it."

With tears in my eyes, I began an awkward attempt to move with the folk beat, gingerly shifting my weight from one leg to the other, trying to keep my aching balls as motionless as possible to minimize the pain.

"Kick your feet out."

"I can't," I moaned.

"Yes you CAN! Do it!"

"God . . ." I finally managed to stand on one foot and shove the other outward, half bent over, grimacing in agony.

"That's it," she giggled, watching my enormous balls shifting about in my sweaty hands. "You're getting it."

Since she seemed pleased, I repeated this half-assed kick with the other foot.

"Good! But you have to bounce up and down and stamp your heel, like this . . ." She demonstrated, exaggerating her stamping, the sharp sounds reverberating off the walls.

"Jesus, no," I wailed.

"Yes!"

Sobbing, I made another clumsy attempt to mimic her, struggling to keep my bloated balls as still as possible. I felt totally humiliated, like a freak forced to perform at a circus.

"Good, very good!" As she continued to clog, she extended her arms to me. "Now take my hands!"

"What?"

"You've learned the basic step, now we have to dance as partners!"

I looked down at poor, stretched scrotum cradled in my palms-- it now seemed to be the size of a watermelon.

"Take my HANDS!" Claudia shouted.

Letting out a low, guttural wail, I slowly released the sack. The heavy package of meat slid through my fingers and tugged painfully downwards, stretching the relatively small area of flesh that connected it to my body like a worn-out rubber band. Claudia watched this with a fascinated grin affixed to her face. She clasped my hands in hers and forced me to start moving in sync with her. One foot shot out and clipped me on the ankle.

"You're not kicking."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

I finally kicked out my right leg, letting out a scream at the same time. The pain was so intense I finally ripped my hands from Claudia's and rescued my bouncing scrotal load.

She stopped dancing and glared at me.

I just stood there, cradling my poor nuts in trembling hands.

"You're a bad student," Claudia said. She looked down at the flesh of sack in my grip, then put her hands on her hips. "Spread your legs apart."

I felt parlayed, unable to move an inch.

"Do it!"

With my legs shaking, I moved my right foot out a little . . . then my left.

"Farther apart."

I repeated the movement. My legs were now as far apart as they would go without me falling over--the odd weight below my crotch made me feel top heavy.

"Put your hands behind your back."

"Please, Miss Claud--"

"Do it!"

Closing my eyes, I slowly let the mass slip through my fingers again, and it seemed to bounce beneath my crotch a few times, almost in slow motion, like a monkey on a stick. Groaning, I put my hands behind my back and clasped them together, then opened my burning eyes and looked at her. She gazed steadily at me, standing perfectly erect, her feet now together, her hands on her hips. A terribly long moment passed, her gaze locked on mine.

Her right leg whipped up so fast it was only a blur of black nylon. Her toes struck the underside of my bloated scrotum smack in the center. I cried out, went down like a sack of potatoes. I landed on my side and drew up into a fetal position, groaning. The pain was unlike anything I had experienced before, water-filled sack somewhat cushioning the blow to the testes themselves, yet the impact stretching the already unbearably taught skin even tighter, creating a torn, burning sensation over the entire surface of the inflated globes. I half-wondered if her kick had ruptured my nuts, if warm, bloody saline solution was running out onto the floor.

I was dimly aware that Claudia had turned off the music and was occupied with something else, her heels clicking as she walked back and forth across the concrete. I heard a zipper open. A few seconds later I looked up with a start--she was standing over me, the sword in her hand. She touched the tip to the bottom of my chin just as she had done to her opponent in the exercise yard. Only there was no plastic protection on the tip, and it was sharp. Very sharp.

"Get up," she said.

I rolled over onto my back, my ball sack shifting and sliding down between my legs.

"Get up!" she repeated, brushing the sharp sword tip across my balls.

I struggled to my feet while cradling my aching ball sack in my hands.

She walked around me, like a lieutenant inspecting a foot soldier, tapping her sword against the back of my thighs, my calves, buttocks. I flinched each time she did this. She faced me again and tilted her head, gazed down at my huge gonads. "You know, I like you this way. I might just leave you like this. Send you back to your cell like this."

"Please don't, Miss Claudia." I started crying.

"Why not? Might be a little awkward for you in the shower? With all the other guys?"

"Please, Miss Claudia," I sobbed. "Don't do that."

"Come on, it won't be that bad. Your body will absorb the water in a few days." She sighed and cocked her head again, looking me up and down. "You know, I think all men should have this done to them regularly. The world would be a better place."

"Please don't send me back like this," I blubbered. Her mention of the shower had me scared shitless.

She shrugged. "I guess you could try and let the water out yourself." She smiled wickedly. "But you aren't allowed to have anything sharp in your cell, are you?"

Of course the little bitch knew that very well.

"Might be kind of tough trying to do it with your fingernails."

I glared at her. I hated this monster, every fiber of her being. She had transformed me into some kind of sexual oddity. Why I had ever been foolish to think I cared anything about her was beyond my . . .

She had raised the sword, was touching the tip to the inside of my thigh. "You really want me to make you normal again?"

"Yes, Miss Claudia. Please."

She nodded but seemed disappointed. "Okay, spread your legs apart."

I didn't move--that sword was scaring me. "But Miss Claudia--"

"Do what I say! If you want to be normal again."

I finally did as she told me.

"Put your hands behind your back."

"But--"

"Do it!"

With great reluctance, I let go of my nuts, wondering if I was about to lose them. My massive sack drooped downward like a bag of jello as I clasped my hands behind my back.

Still maintaining her distance, Claudia raised the sword again. The cold, sharp steel tip came to rest flat against underside of my inflated scrotum.

"Oh, no--"

She pulled the sword back just slightly, then moved it forward again, slowly and carefully. I felt the tip catch a fold of the stretched skin. She looked back up into my eyes; she held the sword was perfectly still.

"Noooo!"

In the middle of my cry, she gave the weapon a quick, precise jab forward. A glittering shard of pain leaped up into my abdomen, then I heard the sound of water pattering onto the floor.

"Oh God!" I cried, grabbing my ruptured nuts. I mustered up my courage and looked down, afraid of what I would see. The wound wasn't visible, as it was on the bottom side of my nuts, but I could feel the warm water dribbling out and running down my fingers.

"Don't move," Claudia said, and she set the sword down on its case. She calmly donned her white smock again, tied it in the back. Then she slowly put on a new pair of latex gloves, as if she had all the time in the world. Finally, she pulled a stainless steel bowl from beneath the exam table and came back over to me, being careful not to step in well clear of the muddy-looking puddle on the floor. "You're making a mess," she said, as she pushed my hands out of the way and held the bowl under my punctured nuts. She let me drip into the it for a moment, then reached out with her other hand and began squeezing the sack as if milking a cow. I looked down--pinkish water was shooting out in little gushes, steadily filling the bowl. To my relief, I could see that the incision she had made was only a tiny slit, no bigger than the tip of the sword.

When my ballsack was rid of all the fluid, she set the bowl aside and swabbed the small incision with alcohol. It stung like hell, but at least the bleeding had stopped.

"Now I have to sew up that hole," she said, throwing the blood-soaked cotton ball in the trash can. "Get back up on the exam table."

While I did this, she emptied the bloody water from the tray into the sink, then began her preparations, moving quickly now. I could tell she was excited about sewing me up, playing the role of doctor. It was also clear that she had planned everything out--already on the instrument table were hemostats and other implements for suturing.

Claudia sat down on the stool, picked up the hemostat. I put my head back and looked up at the fluorescent light at the ceiling.

"That's right, better not look. Some people faint when they see this. Men, especially." I winced as I felt the prick of a needle, then a burning sensation. In my peripheral vision I could see her gloved hand pulling a thread. "It would be a shame for you to miss out on the fun." She chuckled and I felt another sharp prick. This time I closed my eyes to help resist the temptation to peek, but they were soon open again, and I couldn't help stealing glances. "Sorry we don't have any local anesthetic . . . not that I would give you any if we did."

Despite how much pain she was causing me, I was amazed at how smoothly and confidently she worked--I had once cut my foot on a piece of coral in Hawaii, and the doctor who had sewn it up did not work nearly as efficiently as Claudia did. She seemed to be totally in her element.

"There," Claudia said, at last setting the hemostat down. She poured something out of a bottle onto some gauze, doused the stitches with it, wiped them dry, and finally covered the wounded with a small square band-aid. "Good as new." She snapped off her gloves, threw them away, then took my sore balls in her hand and turned them bottoms-up, admiring her work. "I used self-dissolving sutures--they don't have to be taken out."

I wondered if I was supposed to say "thank you." She rose, opened a drawer and pulled out some packages, sample pharmaceuticals of some kind. "If your balls start to feel infected--you know, if they get red and start swelling, you get a fever, something like this--start taking these tablets, one every four hours." She tossed the packages on top of my trousers. "Don't forget them."

"I won't, Miss Claudia." She came back over to me and stood between my legs. Now what? The girl tilted her head, looked at my shriveled penis. She reached down and took hold of the flaccid organ. She began rubbing me very gently, cupped my abused nuts in her other hand. "So, have you thought about what I said last time?" I found myself slipping into a dreamy, aroused state.

"Hm?" She stopped moving her hand. "Remember what happens if you don't answer me when I ask you questions."

My cock was expanding fast. "Uh, I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Claudia."

"You know what I'm talking about." Moving her hand again, she glanced back down at my balls, squeezed them with her other hand. "Giving these two things to me." I winced as she gave my nuts a tug. "You know, if you let me take them off, I couldn't do these awful things to them."

"I know," I gasped, now almost fully erect. Lord, her hand felt good! And the most terrible thing that she was suggesting didn't seem quite so abominable . . . the ultimate testicular torture . . .

And, vaguely, I thought: but what would I be like after?

She stopped moving her hand again, my hard-on against her palm. I stared at her through glassy eyes that begged for more.

"I wouldn't take HIM," she said, giving my cock a hard squeeze. Her other hand kneaded my sore nuts. "Just these."

I closed my eyes, my head swimming . . . to my horror, I was actually considering her crazy suggestion . . . if it could make this pleasure continue . . . somehow . . .

Then I remembered what she said last time, about it being to my advantage.

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She seemed perfectly calm, serene, and in control. Her hand was slowly moving up and down my shaft, fingering me gently, keeping me on the edge, sending ripples of ecstasy through my body.

"To my advantage," I mumbled weakly.

She looked up at me.

"Miss Claudia, what did you mean when you said that?"

She smiled, but then she looked away. She let go of my cock and stood up.

God, don't stop, I wanted to shout. Please don't stop!

She gazed past me, at the wall, as if deep in thought. I thought she looked a little pale.

"In September I have to move to New York."

"New York?" I said vaguely.

"To attend university."

The rumor was that she had been admitted to a school in her own country, the very best one. I decided to leave this alone--I was afraid mentioning rumors circulating about her wasn't a good idea, might make her mad.

Claudia went on, "It's kind of dangerous there . . ." but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

I gave a slight, noncommittal nod. Where was this going? I felt excited, and looked down at my cock, which had lost some of its tumescence. It bobbed up and down uncertainly.

"My father wants to send one of his bodyguards with me--to cook for me, drive me to class . . . and to protect me, of course." She shrugged and added, "I'm young," as if she wasn't afraid herself, that this plan was all her father's doing. But I could tell the thought of going all the way to the United States to live, to New York City--which all foreigners seemed to think was teeming with murderers--made her uneasy.

She said, "Do you think it's dangerous?"

This was an opportunity all right, I was sure of it. Exactly what kind of opportunity, I wasn't sure. I tried to decide how to play it, whether to be honest or try to manipulate her. It took me only a split second to decide against the second course of action--she had proven far too crafty for that. Besides, I was hardly in a position of power.

I said, "It can be dangerous until you learn your way around, Miss Claudia, just like any big city. You have to learn what you can do and not do, where you can go and not go . . ."

She nodded slowly. Her expression told me that she sensed I was being straight with her. It was odd to see the girl showing vulnerability after all she had done to me, after displaying such youthful, unbounded confidence. But I reminded myself that the Claudia I had witnessed here--in her daddy's prison, surrounded by beefy armed guards who did whatever she told them--was a different Claudia than I would see in an alien environment. In New York City, she would be a nobody, little more than another foreigner trying to get by.

So the little monster had a human side after all.

She was watching me, her appraising stare matching my own. She didn't say anything else for a long time.

Then: "You could come with me."

I tried to hide my astonishment. Somewhere deep down inside I was hoping this is what she was driving at, but I hadn't allowed myself to consciously think about it, let alone become carried away by the idea.

Claudia reached out and touched my thigh. "You're strong. You could protect me."

I looked down at her girlish hand, emotionally moved by what she had said. I could have melted.

"But you can't take these," she said, firmly gripping my balls again. "These stay behind."

I grimaced. I kept forgetting about that small catch.

She kneaded my nuts a moment, making me wince a few times.

Between gasps, I said, "Why, Miss Claudia?"

"Because I could never trust you. If you had these, you'd want to fuck me." She let go of my nuts and let her words sink in for a moment. "No one will ever fuck me except the boy I end up marrying."

My mind was reeling at this.

"And I’m going to stay a virgin until I get married. I’m not one of those loose type of girls." I could have laughed out loud at this, considering how she behaved around here, but of course I wouldn't have dared.

Claudia again lifted my sore nut-cluster in the air. "These things cause a man nothing but problems. My mother told me all about it before she died." I had heard that her mother, the warden's wife, had died of a massive stroke not long before I was brought here. Claudia let my balls drop and picked up my penis again. She peered at a moment. "I'll let you keep this so you can give yourself pleasure." She gently squeezed it, and I moaned. "I'd give him pleasure, too." Another squeeze, another moan. "He likes this treatment, doesn't he?"

"Oh, God . . . yes, yes . . ." My head was spinning again.

She tugged hard on it, twisted it, bent it. "And he likes the rough treatment, too. Doesn't he?"

"Oh, yes," I gasped. I felt myself humping against Claudia's tender palm. I was so goddam horny!

Claudia let out a sigh. "My father wants to send one of his bodyguards with me. They're all idiots--they can't even speak English." She pumped my cock a few times. I whimpered with delight. "Have you ever been to New York?"

"Yes, Miss Claudia," I whispered. I couldn't take my eyes off her girlish fingers, her pretty pink fingernail polish. God, did I ever want to come!

She stopped stroking me. My body shuddered with the abrupt absence of her touch.

"You're perfect for the job, don't you see?" She waited for me to say something. My throat was so barren with lust I couldn't answer. "Speak up."

"Yes, you're right, Miss Claudia," I said quickly. Man, why was she torturing me like this? My poor dick was so engorged the veins on the shaft looked like they were chiseled in marble. The girl let go of my hard on and it slapped against my stomach.

"So, what do you think?"

"Think?" I wasn't doing much thinking at that moment. "I don't know . . ."

"You want to get out of this place, don't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"Four more years you have to stay here. Four long years."

"Yes, I know, Miss Claudia, but . . ."

"But what?"

"It's--it's such a big . . . price to pay."

She raised her eyebrows at this. Glancing down at her own body, she said, "Don't you like the way I look?"

"Of course I do, Miss Claudia."

She tilted her head, then reached down and raised her skirt a bit, showing her creamy thighs, then the top of her black stockings--they were thigh-highs with frilly support bands. Jesus Christ! My heart thudded so hard I really thought I might have a heart attack now. "I know you like my ass . . ."

She turned her back to me, hiking her skirt up even more. I stared bug-eyed, blood rushing unchecked into my aching prick. Keeping her legs perfectly straight and her heels together, she slowly bent over, peeked at me from around her shoulder . . . revealing white cotton panties with pink hearts on them. A fireworks display began somewhere behind my eyeballs; I felt faint. Then--to my amazement--she ran her hands up her thighs, caressing herself. With her left hand, she grabbed hold of those panties . . . and slowly pulled them down. As she did this, she slipped her right hand down the front and covered her pussy so that as the panties slid down, I could not see the coveted little prize from behind, just her slender fingers. Oh my God! Before me I beheld the most perfect, most beautiful firm young ass I had ever seen! A tormented cry escaped my lips, and I heard Claudia giggle. Still watching me, she fondled both her milky ass cheeks with her left hand, and then, using her thumb and middle finger, began to spread them apart.

Her succulent, perfectly hairless asshole opened its eye at me.

I yelled out something, I don't remember what, and futilely struggled against the restraints.

Claudia laughed again and began to make little circles around the soft, pink opening.

"Wouldn't you like to kiss me here?"

"Oh, Jesus God, Miss Claudia . . ." I think this torture was far worse than anything else she had done to me.

"If you come with me to New York," she said, "I'll let you lick me here sometimes."

I could only whimper.

She abruptly pulled up her panties, lowered her skirt over them and turned back around to me, her face flushed. For a second I thought she was embarrassed by her own lewdness, but then I realized it was only because she had bent over for so long.

I continued to stare at her hips, still having trouble believing what I had just seen. She straightened her blouse and skirt and looked straight at me. "You can help me in the bathroom. I don't like toilets. They're nasty. I don't ever let my bottom touch one if I can help it, even at home."

I nodded understandingly, but I was a bit thrown by this. Toilets? What was she talking about?

"I'm a very special girl," she went on, noticing my puzzled look. "Don't you agree?"

"Uh, yes, Miss Claudia."

"No, I'm serious. I'm beautiful, I'm smart, I'm talented, I know a lot more than the other kids at school. I'm very mature for my age."

"Yes, you are, Miss Claudia." What was with the sudden flood of vanity?

"And I come from very good genes, my great-great grandmother was a queen. That makes me a princess."

I could only nod.

"Which is why I don't think I should ever have to sit on a toilet seat. It's beneath me."

I nodded again. So this was it--a gushing explanation of why she didn't like toilet seats.

"Did you know in some ancient cultures, the queen's . . . waste . . . was never allowed to touch the ground?"

She seemed to be waiting for an answer. I hesitated, not sure what to say. "No, I didn't know that, Miss Claudia."

"Well, it's true. And the men in the tribe--they had to assist her, to make sure whatever came out of her never touched the earth . . . in some tribes the men were supposed to EAT it."

She eyed me as she expected this last part to shock me, which it did, I suppose. I merely nodded again, distracted. I was trying to figure out exactly what all this was about. I swallowed hard, the sight of her vulgar, winking sphincter still burning on my retina . . . and I remembered the dream, where she had sat backwards on my face. This was getting eerie. As if she had somehow picked up my special interest in her ass, and I had picked up this . . . well, unusual way she thought about herself.

My face must have betrayed some of my thoughts, because she said, "That's how I've always felt. Like I'm a princess and should be treated like one. Like in those ancient times."

I nodded again. "I understand, Miss Claudia."

"You do?"

"Yes, definitely. Miss Claudia."

She peered me a moment as if she wasn't quite sure I was telling the truth, as if she had expected an adverse reaction to what she had just told me. I suppose I did understand what she meant, mostly. What I failed to grasp was how she had become like this at such a young age, and where she got the courage to go out and find herself a . . . well, a toilet slave. That's what she seemed to be wanting.

She raised an eyebrow and said, "So . . . do you want to go with me?" She glanced down at my balls. I had almost forgotten the price she was demanding, and I felt them drawing up under her eager gaze.

"Miss Claudia . . . I really need to think about this."

"Think about it?" Her face suddenly grew dark. "You've already had plenty of time to think about it. That's why I let three Sundays pass, so you could think about it!"

I shifted uneasily on the exam table. "Please Miss Claudia, don't get angry."

"I'm not angry," she said, beginning to breathe harder.

"I just didn't understand the whole . . . situation. I had no idea you wanted me to go to New York with you."

"Maybe I don't," she said, gazing back down at my cock, her eyelids lowered dangerously.

"No, please, don't be like this, Miss Claudia. Give me a chance to think about it, I really would like to go with you. I want to be your . . . assistant, just like you said."

"Then just say yes."

I looked down at my dick, which had softened considerably. "It's just . . . Miss Claudia, it's a lot to ask . . . to give up my . . ."

Watching my reaction carefully, Claudia continued. "Think about it . . . you won't ever have to worry about working again. My Dad's rich. And when I'm twenty-one I'll be rich, too. He made a tr . . . put money in the bank for me, what do you call it in English? I forgot."

"A trust fund?"

"Yeah, a trust fund." She repeated the phrase once silently, as if trying to memorize it. "But that doesn't even matter, because I'm going to be rich on my own. I'm going to be a doctor. A surgeon. I'll make a lot of money if we stay in the USA. Doctors make a lot of money there, right?"

I could only nod; this entire presentation had left me speechless. I didn't know what to think. Claudia was watching me. I remained quiet, noncommittal.

The girl gazed at me another long moment, then looked down at my cock, which was still half-hard. It--he--seemed as undecided as I was . . . not that I was actually considering this bizarre proposition, mind you. I had trouble believing I was awake, that this wasn't some kind of nightmare. No, the word "nightmare" wasn't quite right. More like some nutty dream where you wake up puzzled and a bit stunned, thinking, "What the hell was THAT?"

Claudia took hold of my penis and lifted it gently. I trembled, my present thoughts forgotten. She stroked it lightly a few times. It immediately began to take up where it had left off, the head swelling in anticipation. She started pumping it, her hand clamped around the shaft, firmly, just below the glans, the pee hole seeming to grin with newfound glee. I closed my eyes. The pumping continued for some time and I began to drift down that delicious stream that leads to ecstasy . . . and then my engorged manhood plopped back down on my stomach.

"I think I'll let you go back to your cell now and think about it."

"What?"

Claudia began untying my left leg, a bit roughly. "And you better think carefully this time. You're not the only guy who can do what I want, you know."

I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to come back to reality. "Of course not, Miss Claudia."

"A LOT of guys could do it . . . and most of them would jump off the chance." I noticed her error in English, and it almost made me laugh. But I suddenly felt sorry for her. Hard to believe, I know, that I could feel any compassion for this vain, sadistic teenager. But now she was acting very much her age, and it touched something inside me, something familiar. Fragile. As she finished untying my legs, her mouth was drawn and she avoided my eyes--she was obviously upset, yet it was so damn ludicrous when I thought about it. She was mad because I hadn't immediately agreed to dedicate my life to taking care of her, worshipping her, to keeping her genetically-superior ass from ever coming into contact with something so lowly as a toilet seat!

And all for such a small price: my balls.

It was just plain ludicrous!

I mean . . . wasn't it?

Claudia picked up the remote control for the gadget around my neck, slipped it into the waist of her skirt, and sullenly began to untie my wrists.

The girl said nothing more to me. She called the guards and they came and took me away.

(to be continued in Chapter 4)

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