A Platonic Massage

A month later, the Sheikh and Carrie returned. Carrie invited you to give her a massage. Not a stitch of clothing between you. It almost felt intimate, except she had zero use for you in that regards anymore, and between the castration and Abdul, you felt zero urge yourself. You generously applied the cream to your hands, first rubbing her neck. She lay on her belly, the crescent moon and star especially vivid on her skin this day.

"That feels good," she said dreamily as your hands slid down your back. "Do be a dear and get those knots out. Travelling from the Middle East really took it out of me." You complied, working your elbow against them since your dainty hands weren't strong enough for the job.

"How was the honeymoon, my Lady?" you asked politely.

"Mmm, decadent, extravagant. Like all things with Ibrahim are," she said. You noticed that she used his name for the first time, now that she was his spouse.

"He is quite the man," you admitted.

"That he is," she agreed. You went to her lower back, and you saw her asshole winking at you. It was marred with a thick glob of the Sheikh's cum. She looked over her shoulder at you.

"Yes, he uses me there. All of me is his, by right. How does it feel, seeing your ex conquered so completely?" she stared at you now, her eyes big and soft and brown.

"I feel nothing," you said, your face flushing.

"And why is that?"

"Because ..." you said, struggling for the right words. "Because I'm a eunuch, I don't feel those urges anymore. Because I'm a cuckold, I always wanted this, even if it wasn't exactly this. Because I'm with Abdul now, and my brain is right with my sexuality again. Because I serve the house of Al-Assaf, and his word is above all others."

She rolled over, her asshole hidden once more, and her slick cunt and breasts now revealed. Something seemed ... different, however.

"Are you... are you pregnant, perhaps?" you asked hesitantly. Her eyes flared wide, not in alarm or anger ... but in hope.

"Fetch the test, please. And quickly."