Big Trouble on International Boulevard

"Oh Mistress," I sobbed as I spread my legs wide apart. "Please tighten the garotte. Please cut into my penis and scrotum. I beg you to hurt me. I want you to know that I will willingly submit to castration at your hands. Please Mistress Jamella! You can slice my boy parts off right now if you wish. I am your property."

With that jamella pulled hard on the encircling wire, cutting into my tortured flesh. I cried out in agony and fainted as the wire dug deeply into my maleness.

When I woke up, the garotte was no longer encircling my organs, which felt deeply bruised, a thin line of white hot fire circling them where the wire had bit deeply into my sensitive flesh. She was sitting on my chest, grinning like a cat that had a mouse cornered. "Let's go home slave. Tomorrow we'll go into the city and pick out your collar."

I spent the rest of my life in service to her. My penis was never allowed into her vagina, but my tongue was used to bring her to multiple orgasms every day and I was trained to service her nether opening to perfection as well. Jamella loved to whip me and fucked me in the ass with a huge strap-on dildo at least once a week. She also usually beat my balls severely one or more times every week. I did all of the housework, cooked and cleaned for her, and worshipped her like a goddess. You may not understand this, but for the first time in my life, I was content.