Chapter Twelve - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twelve

Instinctively, Jay Blaine places his hands atop his head, the words of the mature nurse ingrained, as his bare feet tiptoe along the linoleum floors of the hospital’s hallways. Dr. Saunders walks with purpose and ignores the many tittering young nurses, amused to see the sizable naked form of Jay Blaine so adequately brought under a woman’s control.

Down a flight of stairs, the decor becomes more grimy as a basement is entered. The ambiance changes from hospital sterile to industrial grime as Jay Blaine is led into a machine shop.

“Time to be banded. A notable day in the life of every beast,” Dr. Saunders announces with little emotion.

“Sit. Be a good boy for me.”

The leash assures compliance and Jay Blaine indeed sits on a hard wooden chair. A woman of great brawn enters, tall, muscular, of girth but without abundant fat.

“One more for Chessu, Moira,” Dr. Saunders declares without fanfare.

Moira steps to a clipboard.

“Jay Blaine? Number 384322?”

“That would be he.”

“He stretched nicely,” the Moira woman smilingly observes, peering at the vast free swinging set of testicles.

It becomes apparent that Moira is a metal worker, the term blacksmith probably too archaic, as she holds up stainless steel rings, open and ready to be born.

“Got his measurements. Finished the bands days ago.”

Left wrist first, the open ring, termed a band, is slipped over Jay Blaine’s limb. Then right wrist, right ankle and left then finally the neck. Huge pliers are produced, the prongs grasping the diameter. Long handles pressed by powerful feminine hands and arms one by one crimp closed the open loops. At the neck, Moira is particularly attentive, slowly closing and assuring that breathing is not impeded. It is apparent she has banded many.

“Stand,” Dr. Saunders assisting in compliance by pulling upwards on the leash.

A much larger band is produced, same gauge as those adorning neck, wrists and ankles, but perfectly sized to Jay Blaine’s waist. Moira deftly slips the open end through the grommet at the right hip then feeds the ring around the back. Through the newly embedded grommet at the small of the back, left hip and then the grommet at the belly to encircle the waist. In pressing together the more pliable loop, it fits about the waist perfectly.

“Nothing but the best high carbon steel for the Empress,” Moira notes stepping to a welding machine.

“Now, number 384322, remain perfectly still and close your eyes.”

An asbestos pad is slipped under the band at the right wrist. Then comes the powerful whir of a generator, the ability to weld at Moira’s beck and call. At the closed opening, sparks fly as Moira applies the quick tack of a welding rod, forever sealing closed the band. Left wrist, left ankle, right ankle, neck and waist band follow. Jay Blaine gulps in understanding the permanency. At life’s end, he will probably be buried donning the expensive precision bondage restraints of the Empress of Chessu.

“Shall we test? It appears his balls hang low enough, but you never know,” Moira inquires.

Dr. Saunders nods.

“You know how much it thrills, Moira.”

From a nearby wall, Moira retrieves a curious length of soft leather.

“This sling should do for a test, 384322. You’ll have one in Chessu fabricated precisely to your measurements.”

With that, a clasp at one end of the length of leather is hooked onto the waist band at the belly. Then Moira slips her hand though a slit in the leather drawing the softness half way up her arm. That hand then grasps the penis, Jay Blaine shrieking in pain with his overly sensitive acid bathed organ.

“Steady, be a good boy,” Moira admonishes as she otherwise ignores his entreaties.

The sling is slipped between the thighs, up the gluteal cleft and then tucked under the waist band at the rear. She releases the penis then works beneath the sling, grasping the balls and pulling such into view through a second slit... well to the rear and beneath the anus.

“Yes, that should do.”

An amused Dr. Saunders, maintaining tension on the leash, moves to his side. A knowing hand gently grazes over the well exposed scrotal flesh... pink, hairless, thin, sensitive... the recent elongation presenting the package so embarrassingly.

“In Chessu, they enjoy exposing a man’s precious gonads. It greatly empowers, don’t you think?”

It is a strange sensation, standing as one’s newly stretched sac is so prominently displayed. But it is also strangely comfortable and Jay Blaine looks down to see his raw penis slowly come to a full stand.

Both Dr. Saunders and Moira laugh. Jay Blaine senses a curious combination of humiliation and shame... but a twinge of pride in pleasing.

“The psychological reports weren’t off one iota with this one, Moira. Look at that erection! And he’s not even plugged!”

“Wait until he’s fully harnessed,” Moira gushes.

A powerful hand grasps the free end of the sling, folded and hanging over the waist band, She pulls, offering a notable wedgie, adding great tension to the sling and further compressing the well exposed balls.

“That’s how you’ll be pulling the ox cart in Chessu, 384322. By your manly balls.”

The woman laughs uproariously. Jay Blaine feels himself further stiffen as Dr. Saunders pulls at his leash to the front and Moira remains gripping the end of the sling tightly nestling his scrotum. Jay Blaine must step forward to relieve tension on the leash, yet his balls further snuggle into the sling and his own action causes it to tighten. And he finds for some reason that the degree of comfort seems to increase, placing himself completely under the tutelage of controlling women.

After so many days of isolation and sensory deprivation Jay Blaine senses a bizarre eagerness... to serve... to have purpose.

“Yes this one is definitely ready. He’ll bond with ease. He needs to owned.”