Oct 17, 2012


There are times that Mistress robs me of my manhood.

She doesn't want me to have a penis so she denies me of it. She's done this in various ways throughout the years that I've served her but she's gotten it down to a science.

Tied up so I don't thrash, Mistress snaps her purple rubber gloves. She bears a gleefully evil look in her eyes. Her smile borders on a leer when she smears the unguent on her palms. She grips my erection. This kind of manipulation would feel good if only the gelatinous liquid on her palms was something else other than the numbing agent. As soon as her hands touch my dick, I begin to lose all feeling there. Like a deflating balloon, I wither, ending up limp and tiny within moments. For good measure she slaps my lifeless penis. I don't feel a thing.

Between changing gloves she brings her needles close. She holds aloft a rather high gauge needle that catches the light just before it pierces my foreskin. I watch, fascinated, seeing it pass easily through my skin. She passes a silver hoop through the two tiny punctures she's made. Into the hoop she threads a strip of leather. She pulls it, hesitantly at first. Everything holds firm. She pulls tighter until she's stretching out my foreskin until it looks something like an elephant's trunk.

She has me stand and secures another leather strip around my waist. I watch in the wall mirror as she pulls my cock back through my legs and ties the two leather strips together. Having me face forward, I see that my cock is gone. What remains is a shaven patch where Mistress occasionally allows my pubic hair to grow. It's smooth, now, and without a trace of manhood. There's nothing there for me -- nothing visual and no feeling. When she makes me like this, I usually feel a bit detached from myself since my body has become so alien.

I'm Mistress's eunuch. And, deprived of my main source of physical pleasure, Mistress works to make me experience pleasure -- and pain -- via other means. Not distracted by my cock, she finds that her manipulations are more pure.

Sometimes she continues to deny me of sensations. She blindfolds me. She plugs my nose. She seals my mouth with safety tape. She sits close to me and uses her vibrator on herself. The intensity of the sound -- of the vibrator and the sounds of her body -- is incredible.

Sometimes she picks one area on my body and overstimulates it. She knows that my nipples are normally sensitive. Once she played so much with them that I orgasmed despite the lack of feeling below my waist. I still bucked my hips as if I was ejaculating. The emotional and physical satisfaction were present but the physical evidence was not.

Today temporarily castrates me before robbing me of my sight and hearing. I can still smell and taste. She pushes me down to the floor and mounts my face. I feel her thighs on either side of my head, pushing the earplugs deeper. She overwhelms me with the scent and taste of her pussy. There is nothing else in the world except for this. I live for nothing else.

My tongue works hard, rubbing up against her clitoris before diving down deep into her valley, tasting her. Drinking from her. She is my desert oasis. She feeds me with her need. Her taste is like a drug to me. It drives me. It takes me to new heights. It makes me hungrier for her.

My tongue nestles against her, licking slowly, luxuriously. I feel her push down harder onto me. I lick and flick, harder and faster. I can feel her shudder and taste her unleash.

As she cums atop me, I feel stirrings in my numbed sex. I know that she could slap me there and I wouldn't feel a thing but the arousal I feel runs so deep that it awakens the phantom between my legs. My sexuality is so bound to this place that, even numbed, I ache for her.

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