Females of Vulvar Page 6

  “Very well,” my mistress said.

  “Assuming the sample is determined acceptable, at your next appointment, we will schedule regular collections. We will ask that you bring your male here to the clinic for collections at least once each week, ideally for between 6 and 10 collections per month.”

  “That will be satisfactory,” my mistress said.

  “May I?” Kiall said.

  “Of course,” my mistress said, removing the chain from her neck that held the silver disk she had used the previous evening to unlock the tube.

  After my mistress had handed over the disk, Kiall turned to me. “Remove your clothing and stand there beside the examination couch.”

  Reluctantly, I stood and unbelted the tunic. After pulling the garment off over my head, I stood fully exposed before the women wearing only the tube and my sandals. Kiall took my tunic and belt and hung them on a hook on the wall. She then went to a cabinet and returned with a set of soft wrist restraints with straps and buckles and connected with a short length of metal chain.

  Walking behind me, she told me to put my wrists behind my back. When I complied, I felt her putting on and securing the wrist cuffs. It seemed the tube was never to be removed until I was first bound to ensure my cooperation. Satisfied she had bound me securely, Kiall told me to sit on the examination table. After donning a pair of blue disposable medical gloves, she retrieved a high metal stool from the corner.

  She sat down before me, pressing on the inside of my knees to force my legs apart. Then using the silver disk, she unlocked the tube. After disconnecting the small ring inserted through my piercing from the tube, she removed the tube and set it beside me on the table. She then grasped my penis and examined it from every angle. After completing her visual inspection, she prodded, probed, and squeezed my testicles.

  As it had the previous evening, my manhood responded to the stimulation from the touch of an attractive female by swelling into an erection. Unlike my mistress' reaction while cleaning me, Kiall seemed undaunted.

  “Do males exercise control of that?” my mistress said to Kiall. “Does he will his disgusting appendage to grow rigid like that?”

  “No,” Kiall said. “He has no control over it. He can neither will it to become erect nor will it to return to the flaccid state. The penis responds in this way to stimulation, which the male finds pleasurable or when he becomes sexually aroused. It is the nature of males.”

  Evidently, I hadn’t totally convinced my mistress of the truth of my explanation during the cleaning episode, and she had sought a second opinion on the matter from a medical professional.

  Once she had finished with the exam, Kiall went to a cabinet and returned with a long glass cylinder, which had a wide metal band at the top about the opening. After removing a cap atop the metal band, she slid the cylinder over my penis, encasing it within. The opening with the metal band looked similar in size and design to the opening of the tube. Once Kiall pressed it against the ring, the cylinder locked in place in the same fashion as the tube.

  With what appeared to be the collection tube in place, Kiall pressed an adhesive patch with two lengths of electrical wire attached to it to one side of my scrotum. She then attached an identical one to my perineum. Because of the wiring, I assumed they were electrodes. It occurred to me that perhaps she intended to use something like a transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation device to draw the sample rather than getting it in the manual fashion Chad had described to me years ago. My mother had told me Vulvarians possessed quite advanced medical technology.

  With the electrodes and collection tube in place, Kiall told me to get off the table and then walked me over to the ergonomic kneeling stool looking contraption. When I attempted to sit on the wider part, which I took to be the seat, Kiall took hold of my arm and stopped me.

  “No,” she said patiently. “Face the appliance, then kneel there on the narrower padded surface at the bottom. Then lean forward until your chest rests against the padded surface you attempted to sit on.”

  Clumsily I mounted the stool with Kiall holding tightly to my arm to assist me since my hands were bound behind my back. Finally, I was on the stool in the position she intended. I was facing down with my chest pressed against the surface I’d thought was the seat with my knees on the lower padded surface. My waist was positioned over the gap between the two padded surfaces. Thanks to gravity, the collection bottle now dangled through the gap.

  I felt Kiall pull a strap taught over my back. She then secured it to the contraption. It pinned my chest to the padded surface. Next, I felt her pulling each of my feet to opposite sides, where she secured them with ankle restraints. I was then fully immobilized.

  Glancing at my mistress, I saw that she was observing everything intently, enthralled by all she was watching take place. I could hear Kiall rummaging through a cabinet behind me. Because of my position, I couldn’t see her. In a moment, she came back into my view as she positioned some kind of an electrical device on a small cart beside me. I watched as she connected the other ends of the electrical leads from the adhesive patches to the device. She turned a switch. I immediately felt small electrical impulses surging through my groin. The stimulation encouraged my manhood to grow even harder.

  Kiall disappeared from my view again, but after hearing a drawer open and shut, she returned a few moments later with a long cylindrical object of solid, shiny metal in her hand. It had a rounded tip at one end and two electrical wires extending from the other. It looked to be about an inch in diameter. Kiall removed a plastic container from the pocket of her lab coat, uncapped it, and then squeezed the contents onto the metal object. She then used a finger to spread the clear thick substance on the item until the surface was evenly coated.

  Despite myself, I said anxiously, “What’s that for?”

  “You should use the whip on him,” said Kiall to my mistress. “He speaks without permission.”

  But she responded to my question, anyway. “This is a prostate stimulator. The electrodes I attached earlier only produce an effective erection. When inserted, this stimulator will prompt your body to expel the seminal fluid in the amount desired.”

  Having some idea of where the prostate was and seeing the shape of the item before me, I did not need to ask where Kiall intended to insert it. I struggled against the bonds, but it was useless.

  “Don’t worry,” Kiall said. “You may feel slight discomfort when I insert it, but it will not be too painful.”

  Kiall then disappeared behind me, and as I looked about frantically, I saw my mistress get up off the chair and walk in the same direction. I felt the tip of the stimulator as Kiall positioned it for insertion, causing me to squirm. I heard my mistress laughing.

  “Perhaps I could use one of those to punish him when he displeases me,” my mistress said from behind me.

  “No,” Kiall said. “Once he becomes accustomed to it, he will find it pleasurable. It would not be useful for discipline.”

  Then a yelp escaped my throat as I felt the thing penetrating me. My mistress laughed aloud once more, this time joined by Kiall. Again, my humiliation was complete.

  At a certain point during the insertion, it wasn’t only discomfort I felt. But real pain. Tears formed in my eyes. Finally, the stimulator reached the depth that satisfied Kiall, and she stopped thrusting it deeper. She came back into my view and attached two more wires to the electrical device and then turned another dial. Immediately I felt stronger electrical impulses surging through my body where the stimulator was inserted. Moments later, I felt as though I were urinating into the cylinder, encasing my manhood.

  Kiall squatted beside me, peering at the glass cylinder beneath. She then switched off the electrical device and reached beneath me with the silver disk. I felt the glass cylinder disengage. Kiall held it up, and I saw it contained a goodly amount of milky white fluid, which I knew was not urine.

  After checking the level by the graduation marks printed on the glass, Kiall said
, “Good, the collection is complete.”

  She then disappeared from view again. I felt the stimulator being withdrawn, which at least wasn’t as painful as it had felt going in. Then I felt the adhesive pads being pulled loose from my skin. Next, Kiall removed the strap across my back and ankle restraints. She then appeared by my side, grabbed an arm, and helped me off the contraption.

  “You may sit on the table,” she said.

  Gingerly, I moved to the table and sat down on the paper-covered padded surface. Kiall cleaned my now flaccid member with wipes that smelled of disinfectant. She then used more of the wipes to swab the inside of the tube. Sitting on the stool between my legs, she positioned the tube, reattached the small metal ring to the connection inside it, and then slid it into place. The tube locked against the large ring that secured the device to my body.

  “All done,” Kiall said, handing me a handful of tissues. “Stand up and wipe yourself, then you may get dressed.”

  I did as instructed, tossed the used tissues into a refuse bin, and hurriedly put on the tunic and belt. My mistress watched me the entire time with an amused look on her face.

  A few minutes later, we were back on the sidewalk, walking toward the streetcar stop.

  “Did you find the experience pleasurable, slave?” my mistress asked.

  “No, mistress,” I said as evenly as my wounded pride allowed.

  She laughed raucously.

  “You told me Earth females received pleasure from being penetrated by the male appendage,” she said. “I assumed Earth males might find pleasure in penetration as well.”

  “Perhaps some do, not all, mistress,” I said.

  She was still laughing when we arrived at the streetcar stop. After waiting less than five minutes, the coach arrived at the stop, and we boarded for the ride home. By the time I had knelt beside the bench, my mistress had sat down on, even I was beginning to see a little humor in my embarrassing experience. I smiled at how I had allowed myself to believe the collection process would be as quick and easy as that described by my former roommate. But like all things on Vulvar it seemed, what I had endured had turned out not even close. At least after the collection, I found I felt much calmer and less frustrated. Perhaps there was some good to be found in the experience after all.

  Chapter 7

  A Little Death

  In the kitchen of my mistress' house, I scrubbed the tiled floor on my hands and knees. My mistress allowed me to wear only the tube and the steel collar of a slave about my neck to do the task because she knew it shamed me. I’d scrubbed the floor earlier as a part of my usual chores, but when she had inspected the kitchen, my mistress had found my work lacking. She now stood leaning against a countertop with her arms crossed, overseeing my work as I repeated the task.

  Instead of the floor-length white tunic she wore in public, as was her habit at home, she wore a more informal garment. It was a loose-fitting, off the shoulders shift that revealed the swell of her full, magnificent breasts. The garment also rode high about her thighs. I was terribly conscious of her standing over me. While I dared not look up at her, I could not resist stealing a glance from time to time at her smooth, lovely legs, and her shapely hips outlined conspicuously against the diaphanous cloth of the frock. Her presence tormented me as I worked to scrub the floor to her satisfaction.

  “Slave,” my mistress said. “Do you still dare to look upon your mistress? I see you again need to be punished.”

  Quickly I averted my gaze from her muscular, supple calves and renewed my focus on the floor before me.

  “You look pretty in your collar, slave,” she said. “Say I am your collared slave.”

  My fists clenched. I knew she was only tormenting me because I’d dared to look at her.

  “I am your collared slave,” I said.

  “Mistress,” she said tauntingly.

  “I am your collared slave, mistress,” I said.

  “I see you find me beautiful and desire me,” she taunted.

  It was true. Despite the cruelty with which she treated me, I desired her. I wanted to hate her, but I could not. She excited me in ways no woman ever had.

  Suddenly, she kicked me savagely in the ribs, and I yelped in pain.

  “Dare you to desire your mistress?” she hissed. “I am a free woman of Vulvar of the highest kohtuhree. You are a pathetic male slave.”

  “Yes, mistress,” I said. “I’m sorry for offending you.”

  She walked over and stood before me, blocking my progress along the floor. I looked at her exquisite feet, the nails perfectly manicured and painted.

  “Kiss my feet, slave,” she sneered.

  I lowered my lips to her feet and did so as she laughed at me.

  “Now concentrate on your task, so you do the work properly this time, worthless slave.”

  “Yes, mistress,” I said, bending to the task.

  When the woman moved aside to let me pass, I scuttled forward along the floor on hands and knees, scrubbing vigorously with the stiff brush and wiping with the rag in my other hand.

  “Tell me pretty slave, how did you pleasure females on Earth when not impaling them with your disgusting appendage.”

  I bristled with fury and scrubbed the floor ferociously. I knew she was trying to provoke me so that I’d give her an excuse to punish me. She well knew how her feminine beauty affected me and made me burn with desire. Now she humiliated me further with the talk of sex. I did not answer but focused on my task.

  “Do you not answer your mistress, pretty slave? Yes, it seems you again require punishment.”

  “Mistress, please do not speak to me in this manner,” I said.

  “I shall speak to you as I wish, pretty slave. I am your mistress. Now answer your mistress, or you will again taste the whip.”

  My body trembled in humiliation under the weight of her withering scorn.

  “I do not understand the question, mistress,” I said. “Pleasure in what way?”

  “You well know the pleasure of which I speak, pretty slave. How else did you sexually pleasure females on Earth?”

  I sighed. “Sometimes with fingers,” I said.

  “You used only fingers?” my mistress said in mock surprise. “You used no other body part?”

  “Sometimes the mouth and the tongue,” I said, now unable to keep the anger out of my speech.

  “Do you speak of applying your fingers, your mouth, and your tongue between the soft thighs of the females?” she said teasingly.

  “Mistress, please.”

  Violently, she kicked me in the behind, causing me to bump against the bucket and slosh water on the floor.

  “You will answer your mistress, pretty slave.”

  “Yes, mistress,” I sighed. “Between their thighs.”

  “Does the use of your mouth and tongue pleasure Earth females to the moment of ecstasy, pretty slave?”

  The “moment of ecstasy” was a Vulvarian euphemism, much like the French one on Earth, “la petit mort,” meaning “a little death” that referred to the female orgasm since some women seemed to faint when climaxing. It made them appear dead for a short time.

  “Often it did, mistress.”

  “And this you have done on Earth, pretty slave?”

  “Mistress, please,” I pleaded.

  I heard her laughter behind me.

  “Then surely you must be far better with your tongue and mouth than you are at cleaning floors, pretty slave.”

  I tried to ignore her taunting.

  “Is pretty slave hungry?” she said with feigned kindness.

  I was hungry. I had only a thin piece of fish and a crust of bread for the seventh-hour meal. I had since been scrubbing the floor, and it was well past the time for the evening meal. She had withheld the food as part of my punishment. My knees and shoulders also ached. But, given the character of the conversation, I wasn’t about to respond to her question, which I expected would lead only to further taunts.

  “That’s suffici
ent, pretty slave,” she said. “Somehow, you cleaned the floor properly this time. Put away your supplies, then go wash. When you return, I shall feed you a morsel for your dinner.”

  “Yes, mistress,” I said, getting up from the floor. I emptied the pail of water into the sink and put away the cleaning supplies. Then I went to my quarters to bathe and dress.

  ◆◆◆

  As I washed, I felt miserable and sick at heart. I had an image of myself before my captors brought me to the barbaric world of Vulvar. A proud image. Little by little, with her constant torments and cruelties, my mistress had stripped it all away. Losing the image had crushed me.

  I had started to think about death. As I dried myself with the towel, my eyes kept returning to the razor on the edge of the sink. Would not death be preferable to my miserable existence as a slave? What I had become so sickened me, I no longer cared to live. I knew I could not spend the rest of my life in abject slavery, the constant target of a woman’s scorn.

  ◆◆◆

  When I returned to the kitchen, I was beyond surprised when my mistress served me a thick piece of savory roasted meat between two slices of freshly baked brown bread. I ate ravenously while she watched. We did not speak for a time. When I finished the meal, I drained the last of the water from the chalice she had given me with the food. I cleaned the dish and the chalice and put them away, expecting she would dismiss me to return to my quarters for the evening.

  Instead, she said, “Come, pretty slave.”

  She then turned and started walking away. I followed reluctantly, in dread that she had imagined some new cruelty to visit upon me. It shocked me when she ascended the stairway to the upper floor. The upper floor was her private apartment. Since the day I had arrived in her house, she had repeatedly warned me to never set foot on the stairs, much less the upper floor. It was off-limits to me, her private domain. Yet she had bid me come, and I plodded up the stairs behind her. Was it some trick? Would she lead me to the upper floor only to punish me for disobeying her earlier commands? I followed, the sense of dread growing within me.