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“Your silence will not get you to the next slide,” Miss Denise gently chided.
“The girl cannot be of age, Bobby. Still wish to look? Perhaps you shouldn’t. But then again, the next slide is only a click away and who will ever know? It takes a simple press of my thumb. If you want to see it, just ask.”
How true. There was a pause in thought. But I shamelessly suggested I’d like the next slide. In my mind my words were enunciated as a command, but I am sure resting secured to the chair, having suffered so intolerably at her hands, naked, erect, the uttered phrase seemed more of a plea.
A click, another image. My eyes quickly scanned. The young naked form flashed onto the ceiling, as expected. What was unexpected was the prominent display of the undeveloped organs of a boy! The form’s gender had been deliberately obfuscated in feminine attire. It was a lewd pose, quite suggestive.
There came laughter.
“A pleasant surprise Bobby? So eager to see the charms of a young girl and what did you find?”
Miss Denise strolled to the case, softly cackling. She looked down, monitoring all as if looking into my soul. She returned. She sat. Her hand reached for the air bulb. There came a hiss. My prostate was pressured. There came another hiss. The penis cuff expanded and my erection was squeezed.
Miss Denise was sending her message. She was in total control. I only saw what she wanted me to see.
Chapter Eighteen
“What are you thinking about?”
Miss Denise politely asks again, drawing my mind to the present.
“Bangkok.”
“Yes, so I intended. The room brings back pleasant memories, I trust? The tribulations there must have answered many questions for you about yourself. Duress can do that.”
“No.”
“No?.. What a curious reply. You’re here, strapped down again without a word of protest or a single gesture of resistance. And you have so patiently waited for me. I had you hooded to induce reveries. No self analysis? No conclusions?”
Her tone of voice mocks as her hand reaches to my cheek and gently pinches. Her touch is meant to deride, heighten my sense of vulnerability. It instead feels good. The return of the controlling voice... the manipulating hand.
“I think you like i
t. And I have long since guessed why you were in Bangkok three years ago. Sometimes a spider draws more than flies into its web, Bobby. Sometimes a lowly moth seeking to mate with a beautiful butterfly becomes entangled.”
Miss Denise laughs, reaches to my erect penis and again gathers on her finger tip more of the continuously oozing prostatic fluid.
“I would suppose that a man in your condition has not engaged in intercourse for quite some time. When is the last time you masturbated... or were masturbated by a woman? Brought to climax?”
The question strikes home. She is indeed prescient.
“Years, I suppose,” I humbly suggest.
“Let me guess... perhaps some three years ago after signing some papers for the Bangkok police?”
My silence serves to answer. We both know the referenced papers set forth the terms under which I was ultimately released from my subterranean cell.
“Yes. Yet the ability to achieve erection indicates there are no physical problems. So our interrogation methods didn’t make you completely impotent.”
She casually laughs, seeming to make jest of the male drive, so inconsequential, so insignificant to a woman of her ilk, with her level of understanding. That the inner torment of my mental chastity cruelly denies my physical needs matters not.
“What do you do for gratification, Bobby? Sexual gratification? You must at least try something. You were denied such under my tutelage in Bangkok. You see, I like my men nice and chaste when wearing the penis cuff. Such condition provides the best readings. But once released you were free to stroke that penis until it fell off.”
She smiles with the thought and sips her wine, casually awaiting a reply.
“I take hot baths. Drink some wine.”
“Tsk. Tsk So boring, Bobby. Nowhere near as exciting as visiting a certain plantation. Owned by a certain woman of royalty. An Empress Suhan?”
