Friday, October 22, 2010

Chapter Eight - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Eight

Jay Blaine felt great relief, not only with the departure of the overbearing Dr. Saunders, but in finally being released from the stretcher. So many days tethered in one position, the knowing nurses kindly had to assist, his muscles so cramped that there was not a spark of thought concerning resistance when the simple velcro restraints of wrists, neck, waist, thighs and ankles were ripped open.

Besides, in remaining hooded, the many tubes remained in place to truncate any brash motions or undertakings. The nurses worked to slowly withdraw the penetrating plumbing.

“Hands on head, Mr Blaine. It is a rule here for the naked males,” a more mature nurse barked.

And the hands indeed found his hooded cranium, the brief description of orchiectomy quite the incentive for obedience.

“You are to lie supine. I want your knees to your chest. You are going to endure some discomfort for us. But keep in mind there will be no harm. You are the property of the Empress Claudia and will be so treated.”

The property of a woman! As numerous hands push and prod, directing Jay Blaine to a comfortable hospital bed, his lecherous imagination envisions himself masturbating for an enthroned woman, again performing the squalid deed which entertained the prison guards... most of the prison guards.

How would it feel to ejaculate for royalty?

Pushed to the bed, he draws up his legs, knees to chest. Restraints encircle his ankles, others his wrists. But of most concern, tender hands work to unfurl his scrotal sac. He is chagrined to feel encirclement there as well.

“We know the male anatomy here, Mr. Blaine. There will be no damage, so just lie back and enjoy the sense of being under the control of women. We’ve read Dr. Simpson’s report and I think time spent having a governing nurse stretch your balls will be quite psychologically beneficial for you. You do have interesting propensities...”

The encirclement completed, Jay Blaine feels tautness about his testicles. Simultaneously, his wrist restraints are secured to the side of the bed... and most disconcertingly... his ankle restraints well above.

The nurse speaks as his ankles continue to rise, forcing him to straighten his legs while bent at the waist. The action detracts from the continuous tightening of his testicle restraint!

“The standard position, Mr. Blaine. You’ll become accustomed to it... in a few days.”

Fateful words spoken as a tender young hand anoints his entire scrotum with some viscous fluid.

‘Stretching cream’ comes the succinct explanation, followed by the word ‘depilatory’ as a foul smelling lotion is applied everywhere else.

“A nurse will check on you every thirty minutes... and tighten. The rachet wheel is quite finely geared. Two millimeters to a full turn.”

With that, Jay Blaine is returned to well bound isolation, hood remaining, grateful not to be intubated, catheterized, gastrically impaled and anally stuffed.


“How are you feeling Mr. Blaine?”

The voice is young, curiously meek, seeming to care. But just as Jay Blaine’s words of complaint are uttered, he hears the grinding of the rachet wheel and feels the additional tautness... two millimeters of additional tautness... on his scrotum.

“It’s too tight,” his pleas ignored.

“And now it’s tighter,” the nurse flippantly responds.

The implacable young hands next liberally smooth the so termed ‘stretching cream’ over the thin pink flesh. Jay Blaine finds the attentive devotion to torment to be amazingly ironic. The nurse is knowledgeable, seems to empathize... and is unyielding... seeming to revel is his discomfort.

A receptacle is held for his excretions, the emptying of the bladder not to forestall scrotal stretching. Then his heart rate is checked, temperature taken rectally, his aperture well presented.

But for the strange procedure... and awkward position of restraint, Jay Blaine would consider himself under standard hospital care.

The passage of time can be measured by the noisy turns of the rachet wheel. But with the duress, who is it to count the turns and divide? So in hooded darkness, Jay Blaine once again loses track. One day... two... three?

But in time Dr. Saunders returns, assessing the progress of the slow stretching, but also paying particular interest to his penis. As a gloved hand rolls it about, Jay Blaine receives a brief lecture on the male anatomy.

“80% of male sexual pleasure is experienced here,” a latex covered finger aloofly grazing over the underside of the very tip. “Some mental stimulation, some friction, some smooth warmth and the male is so facilely brought to ultimate climax... by tending to this tiny spot.”

Dr. Saunders withdraws her hand as her manipulation and the words... though institutional, are perceived as authoritative and thus stimulating... bring arousal.

“In Chessu such male pleasure is to be denied. Yet, since castration deprives the male of vigor, that needed for labor, other methods of denial are implemented.”

Dr. Saunders retrieves from her pocket a marking pen. Her hands return to a now somewhat engorged phallus.

“Partial degloving, Mr. Blaine. That and some acid baths, and we’ll very soon have you cured of the nasty male habit... and that which impelled your sojourn to Chessu.”

The marking pen circles that segment of penile flesh where moments ago her finger grazed.

“When I am done, not only won’t you desire to touch, but you will beg to have this forever neglected. It’s a rather specialized procedure I have developed. It is good for a boy like you. We’ll not have you sapping your strength... that which belongs to the Empress... by wayward fondling.”

Leaving Jay Blaine to his thoughts, the hands move to the hood and carefully roll it upwards, leaving the eyes covered but exposing the cheeks and jaw.

“And after that we’ll do the brank and your waist restraint. May as well get those procedures underway while you’re being stretched.”

A gloved hand grasps the jaw and directs the head up... then down... then right... then left. The pen leaves more marks.

“Yes, Mr. Blaine, total feminine control. I trust you will enjoy serving a demanding woman... many demanding women. Even the youngest girl in Chessu, trained since birth, knows to reign over the male.”

Dr. Saunders rolls down the hood.

"Tomorrow. It won’t be too painful. And boys like you so much enjoy bearing a little pain for a woman.”


JHoltgym said...

thrilling....eager to read on....
will comment in detail Tues/Weds

JHoltgym said...

just an additional brief comment...while understood that a writer must follow his own muse and not necessarily countenance the prattlings of his readership, i do hope that you will envision a Chessu similar to mine...that of a pre-industrial state...sans doctors, nurses, and many of the amenities of seems to me that this gynochracy at least would thrive with women eager to subjugate the male by extracting maximum male effort and labor under threat and enthusiastic application of physical punishment, most archetipically administered by use of the whip.
Also, i can't of course speak for all your readers, but i''d speculate that for most of your male readers at least, the story line of the "King", and the themes of eunichs and castration do not particularly resonate.....
personally, think that keeping J intact and vital allows much more excruciating distress when confronted with the Female in all Her manifestations including intimate service.....
a couple thoughts from the road....

Chris Bellows said...

We'll try to accommodate, but it's my imagination and as the story progresses the line becomes more and more focussed.