“Is April tucked away?”
“Cabled in the closet of the video surveillance room.”
“Good.”
Slightly before 3:00 p.m. the early arrival symbolizing the intensity of the testosterone laden male sex drive, the apartment buzzer sounds with the extended press of an enthusiastic finger.
Maria responds, opening the door to Pablo Escobar. He carries a package, square, wrapped in brown paper. Stepping into the sitting room, once again an alert Maria pats down for weapons.
“The funds, I assume?” Ramona nodding to what is cradled in Escobar’s hands.
“$50,000. I want her naked... I want her alone.”
“Of course. But there is something you should see first.”
Maria steps back, positioning behind Escobar, right hand on the knife handle, as Ramona hands Escobar a folder.
“Thought you’d like some pictures of your date,” giving the word mocking emphasis.
A perplexed Escobar takes the folder and opens. He is aghast. His jaw clenches. His face reddens with rushing circulation.
“I lied about the age. Actually twenty four years old. And you can see why she hasn’t grown bigger breasts, Pablo.... hope you don’t mind if I call you Pablo. Something about organs descending to become testicles instead of remaining within to become ovaries. I had such removed, and you can understand the resulting confusion.”
Maria steps forth and takes the brown package from a stunned Escobar.
“You bitch!” the voice raspy and threatening as he quickly rifles the many pages, finally coming to the extreme close up of Maria’s bronzed hand palming the tiny male organ.
“So, taking Renee anally will not be a problem. But I hope you don’t desire vaginal penetration as well, nothing there I’m afraid.”
“Give me my money!” the voice loud and demanding as Maria briefly steps away to lock the funds in a drawer.
“Calm yourself, Pablo. You need to think about some things. This is not a drug deal you can walk away from and just forget. There’s more.”
Another folder is offered, still shots of the skull fuck... amazingly clear, the identity of Escobar not in doubt, the blonde head of Renee most apparent.
“You photographed me!”
“And videotaped as well. Every thrust, every word recorded. Makes for great recreation. Who do you think should be entertained by this?”
Pablo Escobar indeed calms. One does not control 50% of the world’s supply of cocaine through irrational acts and thoughts.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve posted all this, what you see... plus the full color high definition video of you performing a rather indecent sex act on a boy... on the internet. A secret IP address. No one knows it’s there... for now... no one knows how to access except Maria and me. It will remain in cyberspace, unknown, and unviewed if certain remuneration is made.”
“Boy? You said he’s 24.”
“You know that now. I know that also, but will any viewer come to that conclusion? You were certainly convinced.
“I have not posted his age. So let’s give that some thought... the most notorious drug dealer in the world... forced from his secret closet of homosexuality by a rather explicit video... and some provocative photos. What would that do for you in the testosterone laden world of narcotics, Pablo? Escobar, the ruthless fag? Doesn’t instill much fear and intimidation, now does it?”
A fuming Escobar remains silent, indeed excogitating all the ramifications of disclosure. Ramona pauses then continues. “And all that esteem you’ve nurtured with the poor coca growers in the mountains... not much fealty to be offered to a maricon,” Ramona sneering in using the despicable Spanish profanity for homosexual.
“It’s nothing more than computer editing, you can do anything with software,” Escobar counters.
Ramona arises, Maria staying most proximate.
“Come. Renee sometimes likes to lounge about without her panties... the naughty little girl.”
Ramona leads to the bedroom. There, an apprehensive Renee lays caged in nakedness. A prevenient Baldur senses potential aggression and stirs. Maria follows, knife at the ready.
“Your date,” Ramona sardonically offers with a sweeping motion of her hand.
Renee goes to all fours and crawls forth near the hatch opening.
“May I suck your penis, Sir?” the offer so humble, the words seeming to beseech the attention which all males delight in giving.
Then Renee rises to kneel, displaying in full his/her remaining maleness.
“This is sick!” Escobar blurts, the contrasting morality most ironic... orally sodomizing a young girl versus an adult male.
Becoming physical, he steps forth and violently shakes the cage door, testing its ineluctability. Baldur growls in warning. Maria’s right hand moves to her left hip. Renee timidly shrinks in fear.
Noting the combined threats, just as quickly Escobar steps back. Resigning himself to being ensnared, he composes himself.
“Take the $50,000.”
“I will. Jet fuel is expensive. But you’ll offer more. Much more,” the voice of Ramona quite cool as the catch is reeled in.
“You women have cojones. How much more?”
“One million dollars. I can give you a couple of days. Even provide wire instructions if you like.”
Escobar shakes his head.
“If there’s to be a deal... it will be cash. Leave you with the problem of laundering.”
Ramona nods... a reasonable concession.
“How can I trust you? If I arrange the funds, how do I know you’ll not disclose the web address any way?” Escobar reasons, stalling for time to think.
“In a way, Pablo, you’ll never know. All you can do is offer the money and hope I’m a good business person,” Ramona replies with a quick laugh. “But think about it, once paid I’m done playing here. This feline is going to move on to the next mouse. Though I normally shy from politicians, I understand there are some high ranking Chinese officials hitting the casinos in Macao with large sums of purloined government funds. Ideal customers, don’t you think?”
Escobar understands he is dealing with a professional... and that he has no choice but to pay and hope.
“You’ll get your money, bitch... but I want him,” Escobar fervently pointing to the cage.
“So you do find interest... in men,” Ramona laughs.
“Yes, every man that has betrayed me...”
***
Finally calming, a more composed Escobar is led out of the bedroom, guardia Maria close behind.
“Renee is no longer of use to me,” Ramona offers, out of hearing range. “I prefer fresh bait. There’s a young male in Singapore visiting the doctor tomorrow. I am predicting another diagnosis of testicular cancer. Thereafter it’s on to Macao... another trap... another payday. But more importantly, I so much enjoy games. Do you like games, Pablo?”
“Like guessing how long before death overcomes that I can torment and torture those who betray me?” he sneers.
Ramona laughs... such emphatic vitriol.
“No, I was thinking of engaging in a little detective game. For another $200,000 I will offer a clue... where to find Renee. When the funds are received, I can email you.”
Escobar moves to the door and turns.
“When I find him, I’ll have what little remains of his machismo removed with a blowtorch... slowly,” he hisses.
Ramona laughs, Maria smiles.
“I believe Pablo, that if you put your own machismo aside, Renee can probably benefit your cause. Quite obedient, as you are aware... eager to please. The gender thing could be used to your advantage.”
Maria steps forth to unlock and open the door as Ramona returns to the sitting room.
“I prefer the hot knife,” she in turn hisses into Escobar’s ear. “Much more close and personal,” her hand lowering, a powerful grasp brazenly closing over the pubes area of the merciless drug lord.
Escobar
shows not any pain, instead stepping out to release himself.
“We’ll meet again,” he sneers.
“You won’t enjoy the experience,” Maria counters.
Part Three
New York, New York
Renee/Robert Warren
I am cut off. I am rebuffed by my counselor’s secretary, every call suggesting the appointment book is filled.
Other calls to the doctor’s office to make an appointment there end with a reminder that the last bill remains unpaid and I will need to bring a check if I am to visit again. The balance, over $1,000, is considerable for me. Numbers oriented, it quickly dawns that even should I pay and bring myself even, I cannot possibly afford future visits.
So Nurse Sueann... her gloved hand... her penetrating fingers... become a thing of the past.
I am disheartened to report that after the departure of Pablo Escobar, Miss Maria plucked away the diamond earrings, those I planned to have appraised. I was then told to dress, leave the Waldorf apartment and that I would be best served by forgetting the address and all that occurred there.
The humdrum of work drums onward. There is sort of a standoff. I detect that Mr. Thompson and management are constantly conspiring in an effort to have me terminated without triggering one or more of the several laws which protect the likes of me from discrimination. Fortunately with doctor’s and counselor’s appointments a thing of the past, absenteeism and unreliability are off the table. And in my solitude, my productivity seems enhanced.
My penis, freed from the guiche piercing for that final encounter with Escobar, was not returned to the locked position. Strangely, I could not become re-accustomed to having the little thing flop about. Seeing it there... well, it seemed to irritate and confuse my feminine psyche. Plus in tight panties it bulged... however slightly... but it bulged. So unsightly...
So within days I laid knees high and spread, mirror in hand and reconnected the small Prince Albert ring with the guiche using a thin cable tie. I pulled, tightening to return the tip to its hiding place, then snipped away the loose end.
Unlike the tiny padlock, I can free myself with scissors or wire cutters, but to what end?
I continue taking the estrogen, not wishing to incur the unknown effect of stopping. And something very curious occurred when weeks after the Escobar encounter, a small package arrived in the mail, return address a post office box. I opened and discovered a fresh supply of pills.
Someone was being very thoughtful. But whom?
I have no desire to restock my wardrobe, replacing that which Miss Lalique sent down the garbage chute. I think about it... but it does not happen... the thought of trying on clothes in a men’s store is incongruous. Instead I indulge in about the only thing I have left from the strange affair, the extensive collection of fine apparel bestowed by my benefactress.
I become more than adequate doing my nails.... attention to my manicure and pedicure persistent. The application of makeup continues to improve. And I visit Molly at the beauty salon every two weeks, finding her prognostication correct about the need for maintaining the luster of my blond locks. She has me remove my clothing in the back room, panties remaining in place. Near naked with Molly fully attired, it is one of the two remaining thrills after the many months of indoctrination... acclimatization.
I try my best to refrain from taking those walks in the park. As promised, Miss Ramona gave up the photos she used to inveigle me into the Escobar affair... and indeed I keep them in a special drawer that zoom photo of me offering good head... the in flagrante delicto shot. But the memory of being unveiled brings horripilation.
And so I deny myself that only other thrill... the offering of myself to men when I once again touch, feel, sense virility... and know that stimulating the male organ is about the only thing left for me to control.
So I am a good girl.
***
It is Saturday. I am making breakfast. As usual I am nude. With the many mirrors I have assembled about the apartment, catching glimpses of my plumping effeminate form brings a quirky joy.
The buzzer for the building entrance sounds.
Who can it be?
“Yes,” pushing the intercom button.
“It is Miss Lalique, Renee. I have something for you.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“Does it matter?”
I suppose not, recalling the long evening of being trained while naked to walk in heels.
I press the button for the electric lock. Within minutes there comes a knock on my door. I consider grabbing a robe... but decide not to deny myself one of the two remaining thrills, instead pulling the latch to offer entry.
The large woman enters and smiles. Once again I am naked in the company of a fully clothed woman. I sense the power exchange and inwardly smile.
“You so much enjoy showing off, no?” the French accent bringing memories, her hand extending to tenderly tweak my right nipple.
“Coffee?” I inquire, feeling myself blush, feeling the twinge below.
I become apprehensive when it dawns that, sans Nurse Sueann’s prostate manipulation, I am given to ooze... down there. Very unladylike. I sometimes find my panties to be moist, particularly after visiting Molly to have my hair done. Without a stitch of covering, such a reaction will bring drool to my inner thighs.
“Yes, thank you.”
I prance on toes to the kitchen. Catching my reflection in a dining room mirror, I pause to straighten my hair.
“Miss Ramona has sent a gift,” Miss Lalique calls out. “She knows you miss those diamond earrings.”
The mention of her name brings distress... but I do indeed regret the loss. I have purchased cheap replacements. A girl needs something to occupy the unsightly holes, but such are disappointingly dull. When I passed Tiffany’s one afternoon I spotted pendants similar to those worn for Miss Ramona and the price astounded. I will be wearing fake for a long time.
I return with a tray and two steaming cups. Miss Lalique sits, having placed a small box on the living room coffee table. As I sit opposite she unwraps.
“Very unique, very rare,” heightening the anticipation as a wad of cotton is removed.
She extracts a set of baubles, the size considerable, the shape rather ungainly. Two lumps of clear Lucite. In holding them in the room light, gray spheres within occupy the center of the cubes, the edges rounded presumably for comfort in wearing.
Miss Lalique smiles... a pleasant smile... perhaps tinged with Schadenfreude... and she beckons me to lean forward.
“Large... but precious.”
The left hand pushes back the locks of hair about my right ear. My cheap paste earring is removed. In its place a stud is thrust through my earlobe... and another penetrates the second opening in the body of the cartilage... offering added support for the bulky lump.
It is comparatively heavy.
Miss Lalique does my left ear as well then turns her attention to her coffee. I arise, anxious to model my gift for myself, heading for one of my many mirrors.
The Lucite somewhat shimmers, calling attention, but certainly not that garnered by diamonds. And the spheres residing within foster inquisitiveness... mainly because of the unsightly grayness.
“What is it? What are they?” I can’t help inquiring.
“Something you’ve been missing. Your balls!” Miss Lalique laughing huskily.
“The gift comes with a note... from Miss Ramona.”
Not overly impressed with my ‘gift’, I am in fact sickened. I dash back to the coffee table and retrieve the note.
Renee,
Thank you so much for your valued assistance with our latest contributor. I have asked Miss Lalique to offer a token of my appreciation, returning to you something lost a few months back at the doctor’s office. Had them preserved and plastinated. And I think where you now have to wear them they’ll look good on you... certainly be more useful to you now.
By the way, I took the time to have a second biopsy pe
rformed before preservation. Not a speck of cancer to be detected. So wear them in good health...
Regards,
Ramona
The note falls from my hand. The emotions roil. Disbelief... denial... anger... then self pity. Miss Lalique smiles as I begin to cry.
“There, there, Renee, whatever would you have done... where would you be... had they remained attached,” the words console, but her devilish smile suggests wicked delight.
Then her hand reaches between my thighs, the fingers quite knowing in kneading the scrotal flesh to the right and left of my penis shaft.
She touches almost precisely where months ago my testicles exited my scrotum.
The hand retreats. The calloused woman sits back and continues sipping, seeming to find delectation in my grief. Then she finally stands to excuse herself.
“Calm yourself, Renee. It’s a nice day. Why not take a walk in the park?”
Yes, having denied myself for several weeks... it is time.
***
In a fog of depression, for some reason I leave in place the ghastly baubles the taunting Miss Ramona chose to bestow on my ears.
Did the follow up biopsy really show nothing? Have I really been castrated unnecessarily?
And such cruelty from Miss Lalique...
I am upset.
Frilly diaphanous blouse, the shortest flimsiest skirt I can find. No panties. Not the ‘fuck me heels’, but the most feminine footwear I can use to traverse the slopes and craggy paths of the park.
Mid Spring, the weather is warming. There will be many celebrating the return of photosynthesis. The libido of the ‘hibernating’ male will be piquing. A quick application of makeup... gaudy red lipstick, a quick comb and I am ready... returning to my role of prepubescent harlot. Ready to once again touch, feel, sense virility... that so callously ripped from me. Once again in stimulating the male organ, the only thing left for me to control, I seek the unexplained thrill of spurring ejaculation... that of which a woman has deprived me.
To the park, by now I know where to attract... and where the clandestine rendezvous points permit follow up. My skirt flips a bit. I know my stride reveals the bottom most crease and curvature of my amazingly effeminate backside. Heads turn, women offer looks of disgust yet tinged with envy. And once again I seek that one male head that does not sheepishly turn away when I return the gaze with a coquettish smile.
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