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The Best of Cuckold Stories - CUCKOLD JOURNEY

  

  

Chapter Eight

 

By the end of that day I was exhausted and also I have to admit, a little confused. Was I to be allowed home after the ceremony. Should I go by Susan’s and pick up my clothes. I guess it wouldn’t matter much one way or the other, for I had few pieces of clothing: two aprons, seven pairs of panties, one set of “acceptable street clothes” and no other possessions really, unless you count a few legal pads, in which Margarite would sometimes insist that I write pledges of my devotion to her, and some pencils. It amused her to read what I had written to her friends and lovers; she liked to see the enthusiasm with which I accepted my slavery to her.

 

As it happened I ran out of time anyway and just barely was able to make the required final drops of cum to complete the requirements of “sperm day” before it was time to shower and put on my street clothes. I arrived at Dr. Pam’s office exactly on time. Actually I was three minutes early, but stood outside of her door waiting until the appointed time. I had learned to do this in order to avoid being scolded for being too early. I felt a little uncertain, when I realized that no one else was there. I knew for a fact that Margarite and all of my new family would be present this evening, as well as many of Margarite’s friends. I had even seen a contract laying on Margarite’s night stand that outlined the terms and conditions for photographing the event, signed by a local photographer, who is known for his fetish compositions.

 

I sat quietly by myself until Dr. Pam came into the room, dressed in a black evening dress that clung to her body, revealing a remarkably youthful sexuality that was further encouraged by high heals, seamed stockings and impeccable makeup.

 

“You’re wondering why no one is here.” I looked up at her uncertainly, not knowing what to say. “The ceremony doesn’t start for two hours. It will take that long to prepare you according to Margarite’s specifications. Follow me into the theater, but first lose the clothes, everything, except the panties.”

 

As she said this to me her voice was growing heavy with anticipation, a tone which I was intimately familiar with. The final word was invested with an energy that instantly changed the calm and socially light feeling that had been the mood up until that point. Handing my clothes to Dr. Pam, who let them drop to my feet, I humbly followed her into the surgery theater and found my self surrounded by tiers of observation seats, like those in a movie theater, enough to hold a least one hundred spectators. In the center was a medical chair of some sort that was articulated into several parts and connected by small, hydraulic rams. The upholstery was black and polished to a dull finish. A scent of freshly oiled leather hung in the air. In the dimly lit room I could hardly distinguish between parts of the apparatus or determine any purpose for the stainless steel and chrome joints and patent leather straps that seemed to festoon from the device. So this was where Dr. Pam performed her magic.

 

I had heard about the theater. It was a place where at one time noted surgeons from all over the world, would assemble to see the newest procedures. That had been in London, from which she had the theater removed and then refurbished and reassembled in her offices. Its more recent history was more interesting to me since I had heard stories about it from many of Margarite’s friends. The sophisticated appearance of the oak paneled walls and the richly treated drapery created a contrast to me, between such comfortable austerity and lingering imagery of debauched sex fiends performing unimaginable acts that I had constructed out of the bits of conversation that spilled from the lips of my female superiors. Once, and I am still not sure whether or not they may have been teasing me, I heard them talking about the castration of several men that was performed on Valentines day in order to evoke the old Roman ritual of Lupercalia. The men were beaten for several hours with two-inch wide strips of goat leather that had been dipped in milk until they were covered in pink traces from head to toe, like striped apes (I thought they said) and then given wine and some narcotic that made them rather forgetful about things. Each of these men had been athletes in their teens and successful business men by thirty. By the following week they were mincing around in printed dresses serving tea to their wives. Telling the story, I think it was one of Joan’s friends, turned and looking directly at me, pulled an imaginary knife across her lower belling, laughing suggestively.

 

These sorts of thoughts were piling up in my mind as I continued to follow Dr. Pam’s orders dutifully. After climbing into the “chair” I settled back and relaxed, though I briefly glanced at her with a look that must have seemed frightened to her. Looking at me softly, she moved her face closer to mine and spoke to me in that hypnotic, vaguely German manner of hers and her voice was velvet and smooth and very certain. “They’re all true, you know.......the stories.” It was as though she had been reading my mind. I instantly raced through the past, sorting out the fragments of a dozen conversations, and remembering finally, the contract that I had signed with Margarite almost eight years ago. It had been an experiment that she suggested, in which I would put in writing all of my little pledges, made to her verbally from time to time in order to display my devotion to her. things like, “I love your powerful aura and will worship your monarchy until I die.” I even remembered a phrase: “I would give you my manhood on your whim”. There were hundreds of these statements, some awkwardly romantic, others just stupid, but some were more focused and I realized that they could constitute a contract. Margarite agreed with me and declared that she would write one using all of my pledges and would I sign it? There was no way that I could refuse her at this point. What had been a gradual reshaping of our relationship, putting her more and more in charge became, that day, a fate accomplished.

 

The realization that I might be the victim of ritual castration during the upcoming ceremony made my muscles begin to swell under the leather straps that had just been secured around my arms, neck, chest, thighs and legs. Adrenaline coursed through me in a fleeting bid for safety and I lunged forward with a force that was alien to me. The leather straps held firmly, but I could tell by the mock look of surprise on Dr. Pam that I had startled her. “You’re being very manly, Bobby. At least for a sissy, who signed away his family jewels a long time ago. Or have you forgotten? No, I suppose you’ve just remembered. At any rate, you may continue to struggle or you can relax. The end result will be the same and I assure you that you will enjoy most everything that occurs here tonight.”

 

I felt the sultry gaze of her erotically powerful eyes resting on me and turned to look directly at her. Finger nails and then finger tips were grazing the tops of my nipples as I looked helplessly at her serenely confident face. Twisting the nipples between her thumb and forefinger she slanted her head slightly to the side as if asking for a response to the pain that she was inflicting on me. My nipples were much more tender than before the pills and her fingers were closing on them like vices, wrenching them down with greater and greater force.

 

I could feel the blood pumping into my penis and the its modest head poking a tent in my pink nylon panties. Producing a pair of scissors she began cutting off the panties, starting very close to my penis. I froze at the sight of the sharp blades cutting away so near my genitals.

 

“That’s right, it will be a lot safer for you if you don’t struggle. We wouldn’t want to present you at the ceremony in a coat of fresh blood.”

 

Sweat was forming on my forehead and a tiny bead of it dropped into my eye causing a stinging sensation that distracted me from my more immediate worry. Dr. Pam had my genitals gathered into her left hand in a fist and was pulling them upwards. She appeared to be sizing them up for something, turning them to the left and looking, then to the right and looking. Next she removed a small black strap from a drawer somewhere beneath the chair and tightened it around the base. Grabbing my balls, she repeated the procedure, squeezing them mercilessly. Tying a one inch strap around the base of my balls, which left them standing straight up like a bicycle seat, she continued by attaching a leather shoestring on to the strap, passing it between the balls and cinching it down to the other side of the strap.

 

This left me looking at two purple, aching gonads, displayed like table fruit. My helplessness was turning to embarrassment and humiliation and I had almost forgotten about the pain when she slapped the bobbing pair squarely with the flat of her hand, sending a shock of incredible pain up through my body, which reverberated in a dull pulsing way. WHAP!. Again she rang the fleshy bell and the pain returned with a vengeance. I cried out loudly, but I was already far away from reality and now I could realize it. My groans sounded slightly provocative and even a little feminine and I could see how they might encourage more abuse. WHAP! another slap on the balls and another distant girlish cry. While I was still vibrating she began again on my nipples, twisting and twisting them as though they were ends of a dish cloth. The pain and humiliation were intense now and my cock was filling with cum. I didn’t think it would be possible since I had milked myself three times as ordered. But still I found myself closer and closer to orgasm with each twist.

 

Sensing my dilemma she stopped stimulating and almost as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening, she reached into her purse and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Placing a lighter in my right hand, she bent down with a cigarette in her mouth and without the slightest hesitation, I lit it for her. After slowly taking a long drag, she removed it from her lips and blew an impressive plumb of gray smoke into my face. “You may be the best-trained slave I have ever seen. I’m not sure whether you’re a good student or just a very bent young man. Either way, it’s encouraging to see how humble you have become.”

 

I felt her clasp the middle of my penis, bending it harshly. She let a large dollop of clear liquid dangle on to her fingers, and placed the fingers in front of my face.

 

“Open,” she said. I opened my mouth just before the jism reached it, catching the splash on my tongue. Meanwhile the smoke from her cigarette was curling around my nose and irritating my eyes. “Keep it open!” She said, sternly. A much larger drop of saliva fell from her mouth into the mixture of secretions overflowing my tongue. My mouth closed automatically and I lurched forward to the extent that my straps would permit, trying to hold the load. “Swallow,” she said softly, and “enjoy.” You may think her words were absurd or possibly sarcastic. But my will did not exist. I obeyed her gladly. First I swallowed the mass she had deposited into my mouth. Then after considering her command, I felt a tide of submission and a wonderful falling sensation as I succumbed to it. Savoring the slightly smoky blend that lingered in my mouth, I inhaled deeply (I had been so carried away with our activities that I had forgotten to keep breathing regularly). I settled into a flood of contentment as I realized that I had completed the task with perfection, and pleased this very special friend of my Mistress.

 

At this point I felt the chair moving very slightly, bringing my knees up toward my face. A tiny electro-mechanical sound accompanied the motion. The twisting of my nipples began again. As she twisted them, the pain, turning to pleasure, was mounting again. “This time Bobby, you won’t have to worry about accidentally squirting your little wad. When I see you getting close, or if you sense that you might have to orgasm, and say......please, I will put your nipples into enough pain to erase any erotic feeling that may have urged you to disappoint me.

 

“Please,” I said slowly. Her fingers became a vice and clamping down tightly, created a wave of sharply building pain that magically turned my hormones into adrenalin.

 

Overtaking the pain in my emotional turmoil was a feeling of astonishment that continued to build as the pain faded away leaving no trace of the imminent orgasm that had nearly pulled me into its chasm. This woman, this gorgeous, sexy genius was reading the back of my mind like a cereal box and controlling my body, my mind and each of my emotions with the power and precision of a goddess.

 

Twisting my nipples again almost immediately, she handled them with such smooth authority, that I relaxed into pure sexual pleasure, hardly feeling the pain. The pleasure continued as she kneaded and rolled them between her fingers. No orgasm threatened to end my endless ecstasy as pleasure and pain did their ecstatic dance in the theater of my soul. I was in awe of my captor, who had changed from a mere dominatrix to an impresaria. What ever was to happen tonight, would be a beautiful thing and neither I nor any of my superiors could break the spell.

 

Dr. Pam was in charge and the ceremony would be realized in every detail of Margarite’s plan.

  

  

  

  

  

continue to  Cuckold Journey, part 9

  

  

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