Chapter Fourteen - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Fourteen

“384322!"

A uniformed woman enters Jay Blaine’s room, barking a number with which he is becoming familiar.

“Yes ma’am,” Jay Blaine instantly responds, his voice seeming woefully meek.

She is somewhat diminutive, Asian. With her reading of the digits there is a hint of an accent and she steps forth, marches really, to where Jay Blaine lies well secured to his bed.

“Tongue.”

Lying on a nearby table, in plain sight for more mental ‘acclimatization’ is the shiny steel brank. Jay has been forced to look at it and contemplate his fate. When the woman picks up the horrid, simple yet effective implement, Jay Blaine knows to comply, parting his lips and indeed thrusting forth his wet pink appendage.

The woman quickly inserts the brank into the grommet of his left cheek, gruffly pinches the tip of his extended tongue with the fingers of her left hand and pulls to expertly manipulate and find the deep pierced opening in the back of the tongue. It cannot be more than five seconds before the brank exits the grommet of the right cheek. The woman is even more experienced than the doctor.

“You are owned by the Empress of Chessu. You will now serve.”

Yes, a thick accent, the words are almost rehearsed. From the woman’s pocket comes a length of cord. Jay Blaine notes that one end splits in a ‘Y’, and as opposed to the more rudimentary leashes of the hospital, the split ends have been sewn at the end to form loops. He imagines a vast industry in the Province of Chessu... many seamstresses dutifully working to fabricate that used to control the well labored male beast... a length of rope designed and prefabricated to instantly connect to a brank.

Slipped onto the shaft of steel, left then right, as the leash is pulled the loops slide toward the cheek bones and press against the grommet openings, assuring such will not unintentionally slip off.

Right hand holding taut the leash, the left hand releases the simple clasp holding the neck collar, forcing Jay Blaine to lie supine.

“You sit up. Put wrists together behind your back,” spoken as the wrist restraints are similarly released.

Jay Blaine complies. Again quick... the effort minor... with one hand the woman uses a double clasp to connect together the wrist bands as she deftly applies tension on the leash and the brank, the application of pain and control diverting any thoughts of resistance. She has handled males before... naked and well bound males. Her limited size is not a detriment.

Deemed well tamed, the fingers of the left hand unclip the waist band and ankle bands.

“You come. Time to be worked.”

Her initial pull is curt, establishing control... sending her message that Jay Blaine is under the auspices of a no nonsense woman of authority... and he is.

He scrambles from the bed, the brank making him quite eager to follow. Out the door of his hospital room, into the linoleum floored hallway, and then for the first time in weeks, to the exit door.

The woman marches, leading without compunction, fully aware that every slight jostle of the leash brings agony. She looks back, peers downward to where Jay Blaine’s massive, well stretched scrotal sac bounces about just above the knees, and for the first time smiles, her glee not to be veiled. He feels himself begin to stiffen. Accustomed to being naked and led about amongst the many young nurses, the scenario, the novelty, perhaps the uniform similar to that worn by those for whom he masturbated, all bring slow arousal. His reaction amuses, but the woman shows no surprise, only a look of understanding.

Out to a parking lot, a large van awaits, its rear cargo door wide open, a ramp leading to the hold. Jay Blaine is lead upwards and despite the continuing encouragement of the brank, in shock finds the need to pause. Standing within, facing the outer panels with leashes tied overhead, wrists secured behind, are four similarly attired males... that is... attired in nothing.

A painful yank returns Jay Blaine to compliance. The woman leads him to the right side, the other four forms secured to the left. She reaches high, drapes the leash over a hook, pulls to force her charge up onto his toes than ties off the leash.

Efficiency of an amazing level, a woman just over five feet in stature has not only totally controlled every motion of the six foot four, two hundred plus pounds of Jay Blaine, but four other brawny and naked males as well.

The woman reaches to her pocket. A marking pen. Jay Blaine feels the wet tip inscribe on his buttocks. The woman reads the digits as she marks... 3... 8... 4... 3... 2... 2.

Then she departs, leaving Jay Blaine to his thoughts.

While Dr. Saunders altered his form... stretching his scrotum... inserting grommets... impaling his tongue... so wickedly desensitizing his penis... many others have been subjected to her diabolical care as well. With so many subjected to the ratchet wheel, the tending nurse must have had time for little other activity, strolling from room to room and slowly turning, forever transforming the presentation of so many pairs of testicles such that the women of Chessu vent approval. Upon completion of her rounds, the allotted thirty minutes would expire, mandating that she return... to turn some more.

And Moira must be a busy woman, he also concludes. His compatriots all bear the same stainless steel bands, are all secured overhead by the wicked brank, and are all young and well muscled.

Jay Blaine’s thoughts are interrupted as the woman brings in a sixth naked form. The gagging strip of metal obviates any greeting. Besides, he can barely see the form by way of his peripheral vision, his leash most constricting.

Within minutes a seventh and then an eightth naked form joins the entourage. The van door rolls down. The engine starts. Jay Blaine’s thoughts are distracted as the tightness of his leash forces him to concentrate, remaining on toes to offer as much slack as possible.

Still, such a brusque end to his stay. With the many weeks of alteration and intimate contact, a strange mental/emotional bond formed with Dr. Mary Saunders... a woman not to be forgotten. He will never see her again, but always display her fine handiwork.