"Leave." Anna ordered me to deliver myself up to her subcontractor for male demolition. She used me for her morning rituals, gave me my marching orders, and dismissed me with an ironic smile and a mocking kiss directly on the appalling bruise stamped on my cheek by the slash her crop. Tossed out, I carried bit of cash for the cab, presents for Corinna, and a crushing foreboding.
I took the elevator to the lobby, approached the uniformed woman manning the desk, and asked her to call a cab. She stared at Anna's mark upon my face. This service woman, who had routinely observed the comings and goings of Anna's, was repulsed. "Wait over there." Obediently I backed away, sat on a chair across the room, and studied the tiling pattern in the floor.
A sudden gasp started a hissing of rumors. A couple entering the elevator huddled at each other's ear and stared at the shameful blot on my face. The woman peeked around the closing door and whispered something to her man. All I heard was, "Anna...." The door closed.
"Get out. Your cab's here." The doorwoman wanted me gone. I felt like the lowest thing on earth.
The cabbie turned suspicious when I gave him Corinna's address. He was afraid of Corinna's neighborhood. He did a double take in the mirror. The clear outline of Anna's riding crop in the purple bruise embossed on my cheek shocked him. His regret over picking up this ride imprinted itself just as clearly in his face. It was a silent ride; the cabbie said nothing even when I handed him an overly generous tip. Tires squealed as he left me on the empty sidewalk.
Corinna's neighborhood had been stylish and affluent in the nineteenth century, it corroded to a dangerous slum in the twentieth century, and now it was a slowly gentrifying haunt of trendy urban pioneers hiding from their neighbors behind security bars. Decline still gnawed. Some of the grand old mansions rising precariously between weedy vacant lots were boarded up, propped up against collapse by the fond dreams of real estate speculators.
Clumps of guys drank their morning party from paper bags in front of corner liquor stores or huddled around burning garbage cans down alleys just past the reach of prudent cops. A fence of iron spears enclosed Corinna's imposing, three story, meticulously rehabbed mansion and the two adjacent lots cloaked in closely cut, chemically green grass. The austere gray stones rose in memoriam to a long dead robber baron. The city had installed a brass landmark plaque in front.
At the iron gate, I rang begging entry. The bars opened with a metallic rattle, and I crossed into Corinna's world. The passage swung shut behind and locked with a dull clank. I climbed the wide stone stairs to an ostentatiously carved mahogany entry door. The dark door opened on a dim foyer. Within a youthful African-American woman twisted a finger commanding that I enter.
"Hello. I'm Eric. You must be Corinna."
"No. Miss Corinna isn't home just now, but you've been expected. I've got instructions to prepare you. Give me the change from the cab fare and follow me." I gave her my last bit of money. She smirked, "Miss Corinna said you had something else." Her voice was childlike, but authoritative; her face girlish, but confident, and though she was a black street girl just a bit older than a teenager, she ruled me. I handed over the keys to my cock cage and testicle shackle.
"Everything." I surrendered the vial of semen I had spewed while chained and flogged on Anna's whipping table. Anna had carefully collected my seed for Corinna to use as a vaginal cream. The girl admired the vial and smiled. "All one shot? My, my, what a boy can do when he is properly cocked and loaded. Miss Corinna will be pleased. Come."
This young woman had the kind of body unique to rare women of African descent. She was slim, but curvaceous, long limbed, but muscular. She appeared tall only because she was so very slender. Yet, heavy breasts contradicted her sinuous frame, and her powerful ass defied gravity, just as its bulbous allure defied the bias of my lust. Her waist was long and lean. The girl's blue-black, velvet skin was smooth as a child's, her hair was buzz cut, and her African lips were full and succulent. Large, heavily made up eyes shined over high cheekbones.
The girl wore an ankle length, almost shear, white cotton shift that clung to her extravagant curves. A scarlet sash cinched her tiny waist tightly. On another woman, this dress would have been unremarkable, casual, even utilitarian, but on this unusual girl, it was a sexual provocation. The bright white cotton made her black skin gleam and the limp fabric less covered than embellished her high protruding buttocks. The thin, gauzy weave clung to her massive breasts revealing puckered nipples thick as sweet cherries.
The girl led me into a gloomy parlor decorated in dark, yet gaudy colors. "Stand." I stood motionless while she looked me up and down as if she were examining livestock. I tried to be discreet, polite, and yet catch glimpses of this sexy, exotic thing. I had never seen such black skin. Her giant tits seemed impossible on such a thin frame, and she appeared so very young. The girl's breasts were dense enough that she needed no bra. Their weight slung low but firm in a heavy, swaying bulge against the light cotton of her dress. Her luscious nipples jutted out, pointing slightly too each side.
"What are you looking at? Keep your eyes down. It's not proper for a boy to look at a woman's breasts like that. I'll tell Miss Corinna about your insolence. Strip."
I obeyed. Of course, but why? I was torn between the erotic thrill of submitting to the whim of all women, and my self-persevering instinct. I removed my shirt, shoes, and socks. I opened my belt, dropped my pants, and stepped out naked before the alluring stranger. I lowered my eyes as if ashamed of my nakedness, but in fact, I reveled in perverse pride at what Gina had made of me. My cock strapped tightly in its steely cage and my balls hanging in a heavy iron shackle announced my calling—abject servant to any female. The odd sensual tug of the contraptions hanging from my crotch confirmed my new standing in the world of women.
Was the girl impressed? Was this neophyte surprised or disgusted? No, nothing special, apparently a disgraced male was exactly what she expected. She simply attached a leash to my scrotum shackle and yanked to assure it was fixed firmly. I stood naked in the cool, unfamiliar room, eyes cast down, eager to please. The air was faintly musty like an antique shop, with hints of old-fashion perfumes. I silently implored the girl, "Do you like it? Is my body pleasing to you? Am I sufficiently obedient? Do you like the cage and shackle? You are a beautiful woman; please use me."
