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They came to my cell before dawn to prepare me. Actually the preparations had begun early last night when I was forced to drink the foul tasting purgative. After it tore through my stomach and colon, they began the enemas.

They started with five, each one a full two quarts. The first four were very hot water. The next was slightly less-hot oil. The oil enemas continued once each hour throughout the night. By morning, I was throughly clean inside. Now it was time for the outside.

First, an electric trimmer was used to reduce the hair on my head to nothing more than a slight stubble. Next, the same trimmers were used to remove the hair from my genitals. Then a liberal amount of some sort of depilatory was applied all over my body. Even my eyebrows were coated with the foul smelling white cream.

Ten minutes later they rinsed me off with cold water and applied a second, not quite so foul smelling blue cream that both burned and froze my skin at the same time. This they left on for nearly a half hour and then scraped it off gently with what appeared to be plastic knives or razors. The result was that, except for my eyelashes, there was no hair anywhere on my body.

The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon when four guards formed a square around me and marched me to the center of the village square where the milking wheel had been set up.

A judge in formal robes stood awaiting us. “Do you understand why you are here?” she asked.

My lawyer was supposed to answer for me. She was supposed to say, “The accused has been convicted of man crimes against Womyn and has been sentenced to the humiliation of public milking. He understands that his actions caused embarrassment and discomfort to a member of the superior gender and that this public humiliation can only partially make up for that. If the offended is not satisfied at the end of the four cycles of humiliation and torment, the accused will be eunuchized.”

My lawyer didn’t say that, however, because I had represented myself. And since at this point in the proceedings, the accused was not allowed to speak, I merely nodded my head.

I had acted as my own attorney partly because I was, after all, a lawyer myself, but mostly because not even the best lawyer available would have made one shred of difference in the outcome of my trial. I was very familiar with the Protection of Womyn Act and the laws which had been passed in the past many decades leading up to it.

The first laws had been simple enough– women were to be treated equally in all regards. But as more and more women began taking positions of power, additional laws soon followed. Those laws became less and less about equality and more and more about superiority. The Protection of Womyn Act, usually referred to as POWA, was the final move to place women, now spelled Womyn, securely in power.

Men were still allowed in the workplace, but primarily for manual labor or menial jobs. Because of my aptitude and skills, I was one of those special few males who were able to go to an academic high school rather than a trade school. Then, because of my extremely high placement in the College Acceptance Tests, I was allowed into college and then law school.

I knew that I was basically the token male on campus. There were only a couple dozen of us at college level and I was alone in the law school, but I was determined to make the best of it and perhaps make it as a male in a female-dominated world. But I had not counted on Marlina.

Marlina Williams was one of the legal aides working in the office. She was a law student in her final year and had been hired first as an intern and then as a legal aide. There was no doubt that upon the completion of her studies she would eventually become a partner in the firm.

Since my position as a male attorney in the office meant I was relegated to the menial cases and grunt workups along with the interns and aides, Marlina and I often worked together. Recently, she began teasing me– flirting with me– even as we worked. Or at least that is what I thought was happening.

She would sit with her dress slightly hiked up so that I could see the top of her thighs. Or she would lean over the table across from me so that I could see her beautiful breasts beneath her silk blouses. Once, she even put her hands on my shoulders and leaned over me from the back. Her hair was brushing against my neck and I could feel the heat of her breath as she asked me to recheck some insignificant point in the article I was studying.

I knew that by law, I could not return her teasing. The very actions which were acceptable for her, were forbidden to me. I could not tease. I could not flirt. I could not even call her by her first name, but had to address her as Miss Williams.

I knew the law, but I was still a male and what my mind knows and what my body knows are two different things. We were reviewing a case together. It was a divorce matter and the grounds were failure to satisfy a female properly in a sexual manner.

The evidence was primarily depositions that described the sexual activity where the lesser spouse– another change in the POWA laws, husbands were now, “the lesser spouse”– the lesser spouse was not able to fully satisfy his lawful partner as required by the new Healthy Marriage Act. Such failure under the HMA was grounds for divorce.

The depositions were page after page of descriptions of the lesser spouse massaging, eating, sucking, and otherwise attempting to bring the Womyn to climax. After over an hour of reviewing these depositions, Marlina stood up and walked over behind me. She put her hands on my shoulders and rubbed slightly. Then she bent over and whispered in my ear, “You would be able to do a much better job for me, wouldn’t you?” Then she slid her tongue into my ear.

I didn’t know what to say. Almost anything I said– even outrage at her actions– would be in violation of POWA. My mind was in total turmoil. So was my body. I could feel my prick tenting against my pants like a solid pole. As she stood back up, she blew on the back of my neck and whispered, “later.”

Just as she returned to the other side of the table, Abigail Roberts walked into the room. Mistress Abigail was one of the senior partners of Roberts, Roberts and Smithfield.

“Have you forgotten that a subordinate is supposed to stand when a superior enters the room?” she said icily.

I sat frozen to my chair. If I stood my erection would be obvious, and that erection would be proof of unlawful thoughts concerning Miss Williams. I tried to mumble something about the content of the depositions on the table in front of me, but she yelled “Stand!” and I automatically rose to my feet.

Her gasping intake of breath told me that I was in deep trouble. “So,” she said angrily, “I see that you cannot be trusted to be alone in the room with a decent young Womyn without having lustful and illegal thoughts about her.”

There was a bright flash and I realized that she had taken a picture with her comlink. That was last Friday. I was immediately arrested and remanded without bail. The trial Monday was very perfunctory. It was a textbook open and shut case. All the panel of judges needed to see was the image of me standing there with an obvious erection and Miss Williams standing demurely across the table from me. The three Womyn immediately adjudged me guilty as charged.

Now, exactly a week after the crime, I was going to be publicly milked… and perhaps lose my manhood forever. I would be milked four times– at nine, at noon, at three, and finally at six. Between milkings, I would be subjected to electro-shock that would range from sexually stimulating to physically painful. But first I had to be mounted on the milking wheel.

The milking wheel looked like a small, narrow Ferris wheel. I was forced to stand with my back against the narrow wheel while my arms were pulled back straight from my body and bound to the center of the wheel. Then the wheel was rotated slightly.

There was a small seat mounted on the wheel almost like a step sticking out from its outer circle. It was more like a very short saddle than a seat and my legs draped on either side of it. It could be moved along the outside of the wheel and had a large metal rod sticking straight up from the center. The rod– actually an anal probe– was lubricated and positioned so that it was lined up with my asshole and the seat was adjusted upward until it was firm against my bottom. The wheel was again rotated slightly.

My legs were now pulled backward and bound to the center of the wheel with my knees bent so that my feet were almost touching my hands. The wheel was rotated once more so that I was laying on my back on the top of the wheel with my erect prick sticking straight up in the air.

I guess I should have mentioned that those multiple oil enemas also contained a drug that would insure that I would be erect with minimal stimulation and would produce copious amounts of cum. The insertion of the anal probe as the saddle seat was brought into position was sufficient to give me a raging hard on.

The last thing that was done was the attachment of the electrodes and the placing of the milking collar. The electrodes were patches that attached to multiple places on my thighs, my asscheeks, my biceps, and my abdomen. There were also nipple electrodes which were like small suction cups that clamped over each of my nipples and pulled them into full erection while at the same time making electrical contact with the engorged flesh.

The milking collar was a metal ring about five inches long. The inside of the ring was a series of air bladders that not only acted as electrodes, but also could be filled and deflated in sequence by the control computer. The effect was the same as a milking machine for a cow, except there was nothing to catch what spurted from the end of my prick.

As soon as everything was in place, the electo-stimulation began. The current was barely noticeable, but it was enough to force me into a high state of sexual arousal. My already stiff prick grew at least another half inch as I thrashed and groaned on the wheel. I heard myself yelling out, “Please let me cum!” but at the same time I dreaded that moment because I knew that as soon as I ejaculated, the voltage would change from stimulation to punishment.

A few moments before nine, the milking collar began to move. A crowd of Womyn had gathered around and were waiting expectantly. Just as the clock on the court house chimed the hour, I erupted. There was a cheer and applause from the crowd that grew even louder as I began screaming in agony.

The shocks were now tearing through my body. I was arching and vibrating on the wheel as much as I could with my ass impaled on the metal saddle. The milking collar itself was also connected to the shocking system and my prick received jolt after jolt of high voltage. They had also evidently attached a ring electrode around my scrotum while they were putting the milking collar in place and the base of my balls also received shock after shock.

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only five or ten minutes, the severe shocks stopped and the gentle stimulation began again. My cock, which had gone totally soft after my climax and the painful shocks, began to stir. Soon it was standing upright and stiff pointing toward the sky. Then the milking collar began to pulse.

I had not expected that. A sentence of milking was supposed to be four cycles of ejaculation and torment. It was barely past nine forty-five. The next milking cycle shouldn’t begin until noon, and yet the milking collar was taking me closer and closer to climax.

I was almost there when all of the stimulation rings of the collar suddenly inflated fully. It was like my cock was in a vise. I screamed out in pain and then began to yell incoherently as painful shocks once again tore through my body. This time I know it lasted for almost fifteen minutes because as I was recovering my senses I could hear the quarter-hour chime of the village clock.

The gentle stimulation returned and despite the lingering pain throughout my body, my prick began once again to rise. I tried to ignore the small group of Womyn who remained standing around the milking wheel giggling at each other’s rude and obnoxious comments about my body, my prick, and my sissy-like screams.

I now knew what the day would be like. As the clock approached eleven, the collar once again began to pulse. I knew that I would not be allowed to climax. I knew that this would end only in pain and humiliation, but my prick didn’t care. It strained against the collar and pulsed in rhythm with the intense stimulation.

I don’t know how the Womyn who operate the milking wheel are able to time things so exactly, but I was almost there. I could feel my balls tighten and the muscles deep at the base of my prick begin to squeeze. But before I could shoot, the collar once again turned into a vise and the shocks tore through me. The most painful was when the intense shock went directly from the metal probe in my ass to the electrode pads on my thighs. That would cause me to throw my body totally off the wheel with my body arched high in the air so that I was resting on my head and the anal probe.

If you listened to the Womyn in the crowd, you would think that they were watching a fireworks display. “Oh, that was a good one,” one of them cooed. After a particularly intense shock, another said, “I really love it when they explode like that.”

Finally things settled back into the gentle stimulation that held my cock high and stiff. As noon approached, the crowd on the square swelled. Maybe it was just that it was the lunch hour, or more likely, the Womyn had gathered to see how much spunk I would spew this time.

Again the timing was exact and I began spurting just as the clock began to strike twelve. I don’t know how much cum came out of me, but I was still spurting after the clock had again become silent. There was a soft, “Oooo” from the crowd for the few seconds before the pain hit. Then the crowd erupted into shouts and applause that almost drowned out the noise of my screams.

The crowd thinned out greatly in the afternoon. I was practically alone by the time of the three o’clock milking. In fact, just before three, all of the Womyn still gathered on the square walked away so that there was no one there except me and the female technician who monitored the wheel’s controls.

Somehow, being ignored and left totally alone was almost more humiliating that having the crowd of Womyn clap and cheer at my shame. I found out later that the “mid-afternoon abandonment” was a tradition kept by the Womyn of the town when a man was milked.

I wasn’t quite so lonely at four o’clock. The crowd was almost as great as it had been at noon. That worried me because it meant that they were expecting something, and whatever it was that they were expecting didn’t bode well for me.

I was right. There was also a four o’clock tradition. The gentle stimulation took me to the very edge just as it had done in previous hours. The milking collar squeezed like a vice, just as it had done in previous hours. But when the pain shocks hit, they were on only two of the electrodes– the dildo-shaped rod in my ass and the ring which encircled the base of my balls.

With the energy concentrated on just those two points, each pulse felt like I was being hit with a baseball bat between my legs while at the same time a thousand angry hornets stung me. I screamed with the first shock. By the time the shocks finally faded away, I had no voice left with which to scream. I must have passed out because a pail of cold water was suddenly thrown across my face and upper body.

I lay there whimpering as the stimulation cycle began. I was truly dreading five o’clock, but as the top of the hour approached, the collar did not begin to pulse. Instead, five o’clock came and went with no change in the stimulation except that the nipple electrodes seemed to be pulsing the level of suction which held them to my body. It was almost as if the electrodes were trying to nurse at my breasts. I kept waiting for the pain cycle to kick in, but the stimulation continued uninterrupted all the way up to that final milking time at six o’clock.

Shortly before six, the wheel began to rotate slightly. I was moved so that I was effectively upright, sitting on the dildo saddle. This was when I was supposed to face the one whom I had offended. If she forgave me, then the final cycle of the collar would end my ordeal. If she walked away, then immediately following my last– my absolutely last– ejaculation, my balls and penis would be surgically removed and I would be turned into a eunuch.

Marlina stood before me in the white robe of the Offended Innocent. If she said, “I forgive you,” it was over. If she turned away, I would be eunuchized. She stood quietly and waited as silence descended on the entire crowd. Then she spoke.

“I claim the right,” she said loudly.

There was a collective gasp from the entire crowd. No one in our village had claimed the right of ordeal in anyone’s memory. For some reason known only to politicians who work in strange and secret ways, one of the minor sub-clauses of the POWA law was the right of the Offended Innocent to claim the offender as her slave. That was a dangerous thing to do because it required a trial by ordeal which could be done only at the point of the final cycle of a milking punishment.

The ordeal was simple. The Offended Innocent took the place of the milking collar. The electrodes would be set to a designated pain level. If she could make the offender cum in the designated time, despite the pain, he was legally her slave from that point on.

If she could not make the offender cum, however, she would be declared “falsely innocent,” and relegated to the classification of woMAN. Being designated as a woMAN would strip her of all previous rights as a Womyn. Most of those relegated to the woMAN class ended up in low-end brothels or raunchy lesbian strip clubs.

Malina reached to the collar of her robe and loosened a string tie of some sort. The robe slid to the ground leaving her standing nude before me.

One of the technicians came forward and removed the milking collar and the electrode ring around my testicles. The wheel was again rotated so that my prick was pointing skyward and a set of ramps was placed on either side of the wheel.

Marlina climbed the ramp on one side. Before she straddled me, she removed the nipple electrodes and tossed them to the ground. The judge presiding over the milking said, “You have eight minutes beginning… NOW!”

Pain shot through my body from the electrodes as at the same time Marlina impaled herself on me in one push. It surprised me how wet she was. She leaned forward so that her nipples were brushing mine. She swayed her tits slightly so that I could feel the hardness of her nipples against my flesh. Then she leaned in close and nibbled at my neck and said, “Remember all those things I said that you could do better than that lesser spouse? This is your chance to have that opportunity for the rest of your life. When you cum, you will become my Ordeal Slave, not my lesser spouse.”

That comment may have meant nothing to most men, but I was a lawyer. I knew the laws. I knew that Womyn acquired male slaves all the time. I knew that a woman could buy a male slave, and sell a male slave. I knew that, in special circumstances, a woman could also claim a man as a slave through the right of ordeal. But as a lawyer, I also knew that an ordeal slave was permanent and absolute. Ordeal slavery was irrevocable. The man could never be freed, nor could he be sold, bartered, or traded. He was hers forever.

She reached and massaged my aching nipples. “Besides,” she said, “if I can’t have you, I would rather be a woMAN in a brothel. My future is in your hands.”

She laughed softly as she stroked my chest lightly with her fingertips, “Actually,” she added slyly, “it’s in your balls, but you get the idea.”

With that she sat upright and began riding me. I didn’t think it was possible for a cunt to mimic the action of the milking collar, but Marlina’s did. As she slowly bounced on me, her inner muscles squeezed and teased my stiff rod. The pain of the shocks faded into the distance as the pleasure began to overwhelm me. It wasn’t long before I heard a loud buzzer and the judge’s voice saying, “Three minutes and twelve seconds. The accused is now legally your slave.”

Marlina sat still on my prick, calming herself. The judge addressed me. “You have escaped being made into a eunuch, but you are nevertheless no longer a man. From this point on, in the eyes of the law, you are merely the property of this Womyn. You shall call her Mistress Marlina or whatever appropriate title she decrees.”

After a technician helped my Mistress to the ground, she once again pulled the white robe around herself. The judge addressed her, “You may take your property with you,” then asked, “Do you need a leash and restraining collar?”

“No,” she answered firmly, “he… it will come willingly.”

She was right.

***

That was two years ago. None of my hair has even slightly grown back. The law office is now know as Roberts, Roberts, Smithfield and Williams. I act as Mistress Marlina’s legal clerk. I have a small desk in a closet-like room just off to the side of her corner office. She likes to leave the door open so that when her clients first enter her office, the Womyn can see me, nude except for my black leather collar, working quietly at my small desk.

Just last week, I heard one client say to her as Marlina was closing the door to my cubicle, “I heard that you owned an ordeal slave. I figured that any Womyn that had the ovaries to pull off something like that was the lawyer I needed.”

I smiled that I had once again pleased my Mistress and continued with my daily work.

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END OF STORY
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