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* * * * * * * *The crowd proved disappointingly small, possibly because the morning was cold and my castratrix wasn’t a star of the show. The audience interpreted my confession as sarcastic rather than honest, so they urged Ms Takamitsu to exert maximum cruelty. Fortunately, Ms Curtis and her colleagues had believed me sincere so I’d received a shot of lignocaine, numbing the genitals. The cock had been injected with Alprostadil.Alone in my cell I’d practised taking small steps, so despite the shortness of the manacles my walk to the post wasn’t clumsy or stumbling. I suppose it looked feminine, but I remained upright and steady; the guards had no need to support me or suppress struggles. I wondered what Ms Takamitsu had in store, and then asked myself why I hadn’t considered the question earlier. I suppose my mind had shied away from it, though why would a castration fantasist not imagine its own neutering?Nevertheless, my curiosity was piqued when I saw around the post an electric. My pussy roared and throbbed with an incessant drumbeat as all of the fantasies that I'd written about, but never lived, came alive at once. I touched my hands to her feet once more, pushing my thumbs into her soft soles, massaging her, kneading her, every silky caress provoking new heights of desire in my body. My pussy felt hot and wet, slippery thighs brushing together as I squirmed on the couch.I turned to her, unable to believe what I was doing. When I glanced up, she parted her legs slightly, allowing me to see up her short, denim skirt. I gasped and my heart raced as I saw her young pussy beneath the pale material of her hose. She wasn't wearing any panties and her exquisite pink folds were frozen as though locked in ice."Your mother, she..." I began, my final, futile protest, my last effort to avoid calamity.Katie lifted her finger to her lips and whispered her reply. "Shh," she breathed and, with that, my resistance faded in an instant."I want you to use your mouth," she.
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