(From: “The Inferior”)
Naked, back against the smooth painted plaster of the living-room wall, legs sprawled out before him on the chill parquet flooring; he looked on as she entered from the dining room carrying a chair.
Panic provoking hysteria, he watched her position it over and to either side of his feet before taking the single step required to bestride his body. Powerful legs, clad in the sheerest black hose, towering above his shivering frame as her eyes bore down into his own to intensify his terror. Levels of empathy and warmth remarkable only for their complete absence.
Unlike him, she was fully dressed. Outfitted in a somber, severely cut, two-piece suit in charcoal grey – crisp white shirt and matching accessories completing the ensemble. A uniform, of sorts, imparting an impression more redolent of authority than service; out of keeping with the position she held in his household yet apposite at one and the same time.
“Authority”, he thought, loss matching terror, that had once been his; certain, as he watched hands rest on hips and an insolent tongue slither across somewhat inflated lips, it would never be gifted to him again.
As she stared down upon him, brown features implacable; yet unable to quite disguise their delight at the depths to which she had reduced him; his whole body became a film of perspiration. The subconscious divining her intention and reacting accordingly. Fear -along with levels of humiliation even he as a writer would be hard-pressed to describe– adding a perverse urgency to the throbbing at his groin.
A reaction to his situation, and another source of shame, he found difficult to reconcile with the man he had once believed himself to be.
Though not restrained in any way, movement was impossible -as was intelligible speech. All he could do was watch as she seated herself and slipped her feet from the spiked black court shoes that had pecked their way across the parquet towards him a few seconds earlier. The smell of moist nylon assailing his nostrils heightening a disgrace already functioning at high altitudes.
The position, gender and race, of his tormentor an unholy trinity in the mind of the man on the receiving end of her intentions.
To allow this woman… this… girl… this… flunkey, to manipulate him in such a fashion was unthinkable and had to be… had to be…
So what, the above being true, he asked; self-castigation truncated by silent interrogation; explained the way his breath caught in his throat as she slowly slid her skirt over powerful young thighs to bunch it at her hips?
Why did the expanse of shiny black pantyhose, clinging to her legs so tightly, command his attention with more urgency than a nearby oasis dominated the thoughts of a thirsty nomad?
Why, as she undid the buttons of her shirt to reveal even more of the full breasts he had only recently noticed and developed such an infatuation for, was he unable to look away?
And why, finally; when the soles of her nylon-encased feet came to rest on his bare thighs; did his restricted breathing suddenly find release with a sigh that sounded, for the entire world, like a swoon?
“You want them?” she asked; the English in which she had an advanced degree of fluency unable to prevent the linguistic corruption resulting from the accent of her mother tongue. The cold implacability of her tone breaking the silence and belying her youth in a way he found utterly terrifying – even as his masculinity berated him for reacting in so spineless a way to someone so many years his junior.
With a supreme effort, he managed to nod, eyes halted on their unavoidable upward swing by a glimpse of her cleavage and remaining there. Astounded two such beauteous things could co-exist with the less than stunning visage above them.
And then, suddenly, his attention was elsewhere. Eyes lowering as the friction of her pantyhose against his manhood diverted his gaze to her feet. His tormentor’s surprisingly dainty peds sliding along his penis, sole of each turned inwards, as the column betraying him found itself trapped between the high arches of her instep.
“Look at me,” she demanded; the unfamiliar frisson of nylon against foreskin and the undeniable submissiveness inspired by the situation overwhelming him.
Her command, however, jolted him from his preoccupation just long enough for a modicum of spine to assert itself. It was one thing, after all, to debase himself in front of her in such a way. Quite another, he knew, to actually look into her eyes and see his disgrace and humiliation mirrored back at…
His body jack-knifed with agony as both his thoughts and his “Spine” vanished.
Suddenly; before his mini-rebellion had any chance to morph into full-scale revolt; he was screaming.
Silently – unable to give voice to his pain.
His very life force sucked from him as his body spasmed involuntarily and he voiced soundless anguish towards the heavens; the same foot that had seconds ago been bestowing such intense and perverse pleasure upon him stamping down on his testicles; intent, it appeared, upon mashing the cylinders defining his masculinity into the wood of the parquet flooring itself.
“I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed,” she said, eyes mocking as his agony increased and threatened to void his stomach of its contents.
Had it held any.
“Perhaps,” she suggested with much relish; “you will find it easier to obey as a eunuch.”
He could only watch with terror; eyes bugging from his head as she increased the downward pressure of her foot; soundless entreaties rising in intensity and going unheeded as she stood to gain more leverage in order to neuter him. Malevolent brown eyes finally displaying warmth as the pleasure she took in his unmanning went into overdrive prior to taking orbit as his masculinity and the testicles symbolising it, was crushed beneath her pretty young feet.
Any second now, he knew he would hear that inevitable “Squish!” sound as those same testicles burst outwards and flattened themselves to the floor; reducing him to something less than a man and something no more useful than a… than a…
Uncharted territory, pain levels soaring off the graph, that finally allowed him to give voice to his agony as he screamed and screamed and screamed and…
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