Saturday, December 29, 2012

The Extraction Nurse III

Have a Happy New Year everyone.


The Cleansing Nurse

Robert stirs. How long has he been asleep? He knows not.

Eyes focus on a pretty young nurse. She stoops about his midsection, fingers working at a loincloth encircling his waist.

“Oh. You’ve come to a little early. I’ll put that in the chart. Everyone reacts a little different when the nitrous oxide is turned off and we switch to oxygen.”

Nimble fingers continue to labor as the nurse speaks. Within a moment the thick, soft white expanse of cloth is slipped from under Robert’s supine form. It is soiled. It smells. It is a diaper.

The nurse quickly disposes.

“And what position are you to assume when conscious?” the pleasant nurse becoming stern.

Robert recalls the instructions of the extraction nurse... decubitus... knees to chest... ankles pressed to the above horizontal bar. He understands but hesitates. He can feel his moist skin, sense the odorous sludge. Raising his legs will further evidence his befouled condition.

“Come now, Robert. It’s almost time for your extraction and you need to be cleaned up. Don’t be embarrassed. I diaper boys, it’s my job. I also clean. And after you’ve been masturbated, I’ll have a nice clean diaper to put back on you.”

It is not embarrassment, it’s outright humiliation, Robert thinks, finally lifting his legs and feeling the room air waft about wet soiled buttocks and scrotum.

“Good boy.”    

Quick and dextrous, Robert is cleansed. Though much chagrined, he finds it comforting. It feels good to be rid of the traces waste.

“May I speak?” the voice soft and humble, the words garbled by the breathing mask.

“Quickly. It’s against the rules,” the nurse reaching to slip aside the mask

“How long have I....”

“Been out? We don’t divulge that. Sensing time offers a degree of empowerment. You are not to have that. You are to passively lie and offer sperm out our behest. It’s the protocol. That is all you are to think about.”

Robert peers downward as best he can. He notes his pubes is shorn! Then his eyes rove. His thighs are equally hairless. A glance right and left suggests the same for his arms. Not hirsute, youthful patches of body hair had been forming. Now it appears all is gone.

“Someone shaved me!”

“Shush. Be silent. Hair is an unnecessary distraction and can be unsanitary. I have been depilating you. More of the protocol.”

The nurse proclaims her task, strong chemicals applied daily, with a degree of pride. Transforming the appearance of the naked and bound male empowers. At a very young age she is offered governance. It is apparent such enthuses.

“And to answer your next question before you again break the rules and inquire... yes your head is being depilated as well. Shampooing a boy is too time consuming.”

Robert is stunned. Bound in unconsciousness, there have been so many changes... diapered... brought to complete glabrousness... shearing his head must have been an awkward task requiring considerable effort. All while he slept.

A warm cloth swaths about his scrotum. The feeling is intense... but good. There is no doubt all protective and insulating pubic hair has been removed. The soiled cloth is disposed. A fresh cloth is drawn, moistened in a basin of soapy water and Robert’s entire form receives a thorough sponge bath. The nurse is tender and caring... yet there is no doubt she is in charge. Just as with his pubes area, Robert is shocked when the warm wetness swipes over his head. Yes, he is bald. And he notes the degree of alacrity... his head cleansed in moments versus a cumbersome and time consuming shampoo.

“There. Feel good? Ready to perform for us? Your scrotum feels full of juiciness... though I am told that has no bearing on the specimen to be extracted.”

Robert finds himself nodding, then chiding himself for agreeing.


With that, the pretty nurse tweaks a left nipple then departs. It is then that Robert notes the scent. He has been bathed with sweet smelling effeminate soap. Then, for the first time Robert notes that he is somewhat firm. Yes, the nurse is correct. Apparently, despite the humiliation of being bathed like a child, his penis indeed found that it felt good.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

The Extraction Nurse II

Have a good Christmas everyone.


The Nutrition Nurse

Robert senses the ennui of post coitus ecstatic release... yet there has been no ecstasy... only the agony of electrical shock. He lies immobile, hands and arms tethered, collared neck holding rigid his head. He attempts to assess the modest room... institutionally ascetic, tiled floor, cabinets, medical paraphernalia hanging from white walls, the electro ejaculation machine with other unknown devices resting at the far wall. 

Within minutes of the departure of the extraction nurse, the room door abruptly opens, no knock.

Another nurse enters, dour, middle aged, white uniform, wheeling a cart.

She wordlessly moves to the side of the masturbation table and picks up a chart from the cart.

“Robert. Well, Robert, I’m about to become one of your best friends. I’m going to feed you.”

Robert begins to utter words and catches himself, heeding the advice of the extraction nurse concerning silence... and obedience.

“You new boys always have trouble with the feeding tube. But keep in mind it is what will keep you going. Entering your system, at all times, will be a special formula of nutrients, carbohydrates, hydration, vitamins... and hormones...  which will have you spurting like a whale,” the latter words coming with a boisterous laugh.

A long thin tube is retrieved from the cart. Large meaty hands coat it with unguent.

“Once the tube is in place, it will require a few days for you to acclimate, but you’ll soon learn the joys of never being hungry... never being thirsty. I will control everything that goes into you. You’ll not get fat... you’ll not get thin,” more laughter as the nurse steps forth with the tube.

“Be a good boy for me,” a sizable left hand entwines in the cranial hair, firmly holding in place the head. “Easy now, relax. And when you feel something pressing at the back of your throat just swallow. It will make it so much easier for you.”

The fingers of the right hand aline the tube with the left nostril. The nurse instantly presses, slipping the long tube inwards. Robert senses his head being invaded, his sinus cavity pressured. Then there comes the feeling of something pushing into the depths of his throat. He gags. The nurse laughs.

“Swallow. You will take the tube. They all do. I have much time and suspect you have limited resistance.”

Robert obeys. The tube slithers to his stomach. The left hand releases its formidable grip and pats his head, owner to compliant dog.

“Very good.”  

The opposing end of the tube is unraveled and connected to a waiting spigot on the wall to Robert’s left.

“Have that pecker of yours standing in a heartbeat,” the nurse crassly proclaims as a valve is turned.

Robert is horrified to see the clear tube slowly fill with whiteness. Sludge glides forth to his nose. A moment later he feels his stomach forcibly accept whatever it is the nurse decides he should ingest. 

“Rather scary isn’t it? Could be slow poison. That’s something for you to think about. But then again, if we wanted you dead... didn’t want your seed... you’d be dead.”

Another boisterous laugh as the nurse steps to the right wall and unhooks a breathing mask.

“We like our boys to be nice a calm when not being jerked off,” the words crass and notably unprofessional. “You’ll be sleeping most of your time here. If your dick isn’t performing for us, there’s no point in having you conscious.”

With that, a breathing mask is slipped over Robert’s head, a pouch of rubber covering nose and mouth. Hands secured, he has no choice but accept... and eventually inhale. The sweet fragrance of nitrous oxide enters his uncluttered nostril. He begins to feel drowsy. His last vision is that of his nutrition nurse, standing arms akimbo, smiling, reveling in her governance. His last thought is precisely as she promulgated... ‘what is it she is forcing into my system?’.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

The Extraction Nurse

 OK. Something new. Perhaps a little soft. It will run few weeks then, just as with 'Madam, Me & It' I will post a sequel for sale on Smashwords.

If you like this theme, try 'Milking Male Essence' a full length story I wrote a while back for the Erotic Book Network




The Extraction Nurse

Copyright 2012

by Chris Bellows

The First Extraction

“I’m your extraction nurse. You are here to perform for me. And in time I think you’ll learn to enjoy it... just like all my boys.”

The lad blushes, the nurse amused by the pink hue brought by rushing circulation. He lies supine on the special masturbation table. Naked, neck encircled with a rigid yet comfortable foam lined collar, the wrists and biceps are restrained in matching foam lined cuffs. All are secured to the table. From the waist upwards, the youth and the table are one.

“Now, we have rules. Very simple rules. When you are conscious, feel yourself returning to consciousness, that means it is time for your extraction. I’ll want you in what we term the decubitus position, knees to your chest, lifting your feet to the horizontal bar above. You’ll find it quite comfortable to rest your ankles against the bar while I do my thing. No talking. Maintain eye contact with me at all times. That will help us bond. I like bonding with my boys, it is best in obtaining a nice healthy sample.”

The lad nods in bewilderment, indeed maintaining eye contact with the handsome nurse, the bright white uniform contrasting notably with the deep mocha of her face and hands.

“What’s your name. You may speak.”

“Robert, ma’am.”

“Very good Robert. And so polite,” the compliment bringing a meek smile.

“There are two ways I can obtain my extraction, Robert. One is by way of electro ejaculation. It will give me the maximum sample in the shortest amount of time. Yet I do not think you will like having your male tidbits shocked with 40 volts.”

Electrical shock! The nurse notes the lad shudders in concern. He should.

“Fortunately I can also obtain it manually. For that you’ll need to be obedient. So keep that in mind. Disobedient boys get electro ejaculation. Obedient boys, a manual release. But Robert, I always get my sample. That you must understand.”

A hand reaches forth, thumb and forefinger gently tweaking a nipple. It is a gesture of affection but also one of control and governance. Robert is helpless to resist her touch.

“You’ll be well cared for here. You just have to lie and let the nurses take care of you. Most times you’ll not see them. But you’ll know of their attendance. Massage nurse, cleansing nurse, nutrition nurse. Everything your body needs. You just need to ejaculate for me and everything will be fine.”  

The nurse steps away to wheel in place a small cart. Wires and tubing drape from an electrical box on the top surface.

“I will need to begin with electro ejaculation. That will give me a basis for what you can produce and what I’ll need to extract manually. Painful, but it will abet my verbal message... concerning obedience. Now assume the position... decubitus.”

The discomfort of lying completely naked and exposed rises as Robert lifts his legs. As his thighs press his chest and his ankles find the perfectly positioned horizontal bar above, he feels his testicles shift to hang at his crevice. For some reason, his sense of exposure heightened, he feels himself begin to firm. The nurse notices and smiles.

“You all have the same reaction You all so much enjoy showing off for me.”

The nurse steps to the side of the table and Robert is surprised when she presses a lever and the bottom portion, once serving to support thighs, calves and feet, folds downward. There comes another shudder as the vulnerability of his precious gonads becomes evident.

“A very nice set of balls, Robert, though we tend to call them testicles here. But all my boys are well equipped... otherwise they would not be here. Now just relax. Pain is all in the mind. There will be no damage. We tend to pamper well endowed boys here. You’ll soon feel like an Olympic athlete... a star performer... and eager to perform... eager to show off for me.”

The words intend to comfort, but do not. Latex gloves are donned. Robert emits a comical squeak as one hand cups and lifts the weighty scrotal sac and two fingers of the other gruffly penetrate to lubricate his anus. Then a firming penis is capped with a specimen collect vessel. It resembles a condom with a tube at the tip.  

“Nice of you to get hard for me. Speeds thing along,” the nurse quips with a chuckle.

A switch clicks. There comes a hum from the electrical box.

“The male organ erupts in a series of three, Robert. So we replicate that in electro ejaculation. It may seem like I am torturing you, but really it’s what nature dictates in extracting the maximum yield.”

A nurse calloused through the extraction of countless specimens, cloaks her insouciance with a smile as she inserts a sizable probe into a well greased rectum.

“You’re tight. We’ll be changing that.”

The fingers of a deft right hand begin to manipulate the lad’s stiffness. It feels good. Robert is chagrined. It even feels better than when he has toyed there with his own digits. 

“Nice and stiff. My goodness you are a big one,” the stroking marvelously exact, the underside of the penis worked with crisp precision.

“Here we go now,” the words bringing disappointment as the fingers cease.

Though Robert’s humiliation is intense, the physical pleasure cannot be denied. But then he sees the left hand move to the electrical box and press a button. There follows an uncontrollable cry of pain, Robert’s entire body lurches. It feels as if his viscera is instantaneously exploding.

Then comes a pause and the finger presses again. Another cry. Another massive spasm.

The smile of the nurse broadens.

“And just one more.” 

The finger presses again... as promised three jolts. Robert is barely conscious as the nurse reverses the hook up, carefully sliding away the collection vessel and tube, slipping out the probe and stowing the electrical device.

“So Robert, a very nice yield,” the nurse holding up the clear plastic bag of semen. “And that is why you are here. Keep in mind you can be brought to ejaculation electrically any time you wish... and every time you are disobedient.”

The nurse returns to the side of the table and rights the bottom half.

“Legs down,” the words offered as a command... and one quickly obeyed.

“Your nutrition nurse will stop in to insert your feeding tube and induce a nice comfortable stupor, a little nitrous oxide... continuously administered.  The cleansing nurse will shave and diaper you. You will probably not meet your massage nurse. Most times we are going to keep you comatose. Lots of rest... lots of sperm production.”

The nurse snickers noting the return to bewilderment. This ‘Robert’ has no clue concerning his new existence... if sleeping and being masturbated can be so termed. For many years, he’ll be doing nothing else.   

Saturday, December 8, 2012

'Madam, Me and It' - Part XIX - Sold

As noted, this ends the beginning. The remainder of the story, term it sequel number one, 'Miss Pletcher's Farm', is available on Smashwords and now Lulu. The entire 'Madam Me and It' is also available for free at both sites.

Next week, 'The Extraction Nurse'  softer Female Domination of the male. There will be five parts then the remainder will be for sale.




I am returned to the pedestal. Drained, mentally depleted, physically exhausted, Madam connects my leash and lifts the rope... as high as ever. She moves to a wall and presses a button. Miss Pletcher strips off her gloves and sits on one couch, not so much adoring the naked subjugated male form as further assessing.

Madam joins her as I struggle once again on toes. 

“Yes, I think he’ll fuck wonderfully. Practically a virgin. You have the name of his doctor?”

“It’s on the pill bottle. She’s one of us,” Madam informs.

“Good. That keeps the discussion short. I assume she’ll take the going rate.”

“She’ll provide a legitimate medical diagnosis to justify an orchiectomy I am sure. No reason to think otherwise. Besides, look at the sac. It wasn’t biting for long, but it doesn’t take much... does it?”

“Not much at all,” Miss Pletcher smiling wickedly.

The door opens. It enters with a tray. Refreshments... a bottle of Champagne... a bowl of strawberries. He serves. Then when Madam kicks off her shoes he kneels and begins licking her feet.

The women partake, speaking about me as if not present.

“No family... no one to trace him?”

“I’ll give you all his information and I have already done some checking. Cousins out west, not much contact. By the time anyone begins to look for him, you’ll have him well indoctrinated.”

Miss Pletcher nods in agreement.

“Yes, it does not take long before they enjoy sucking cock. And in neutering, they know there is no going back... though some of them look at me like I can grow another set of balls for them...”

The women laugh with the thought. The discussion brings consternation... Madam looking into my private situation... and accurately gauging my limited family contacts.

“He’s homophobic, by the way... not that that matters.”

Miss Pletcher smiles.

“No. Matter of fact it makes the transition all the more enjoyable.”

“Really bristled with the thought of It sucking him off.”

“Well, it seems he passed up his last chance. Your fee?”

“$10,000. He’s older than most, but will resist more.”

“Yes, the challenge will be worth that.”

 “Feminized? Work him in the lodge or the preserve?”

“I’ll have him serve me first. Then make a decision when I tire of him. There’s only so much tightness that alum can bring before the rectum gets stretched to the point of becoming the cunt of an aging whore. That’s when they either put out or get put to work.”

Saturday, December 1, 2012

'Madam, Me and It' Part XVIII - Miss Pletcher

Miss Pletcher

More demented thrill... greeting a fully clothed woman while naked, erect and perched.

Miss Pletcher is amused yet clucks her tongue in the rebuke of a school mistress.

Meanwhile a truckling It falls to his knees, bends at the waist and begins licking Madam’s shoes.

“Leave us, It. Go to your cage.”

He arises and prances out, Miss Pletcher unfazed. Remembering to be obediently silent, needing that pill, I merely balance on the pedestal in ignominy. 

“He stiffens nicely,” Miss Pletcher notes. “But the discoloration of the scrotum indeed suggests damage.”

“An unfortunate accident, as I said.”

“He’s blushing.”

I am indeed.

Miss Pletcher is large, tall with broad shoulders. Short black hair, strands of silver suggest mid forties. Her demeanor is stern, indeed an exacting school mistress and one envisions many knuckles rapped without compunction.

She moves to the wall where It assembled the cleansing paraphernalia. I hear the squeaks of rubber. Latex gloves are donned. She returns. My inspection begins.

Miss Pletcher palms my scrotum. 

“I see you’ve done some of your signature work... not to the knees but the balls present nicely. Still stretching him?”

“No. There’s no point until his condition stabilizes. It could be that there will be nothing to stretch.”

Miss Pletcher nods and squeezes... firm... firmer. She smiles approvingly again nodding to Madam. My heart sinks. I feel so little. She teasingly bends my erection downward. I grimace, an angle not to be achieved without anguish. Her smile broadens with my reaction.

“Enjoy. This could be one of your last,” she ominously forewarns.

Then my flesh, every inch, is kneaded... palpated with discerning exactness. My nipples are afforded particular attention, my oiled flesh making it possible to squeeze and roll about each areola, comically popping the pink nubs from between thumb and forefinger.

There is a degree of pain but more... I am humiliated... a side of beef to be inspected and bid upon. 

Seemingly satisfied, the huge woman kicks away the pedestal, leaving me to hang by my neck collar. She laughs at my reaction of panic... gagging... eyes bulging in fear... entrapped feet attempting to kick into the air. Then mercifully she embraces my nakedness and laughs, thrusting her hands under my arms to lift. In an impressive display of strength, she relieves the tension as a smiling Madam moves to the tied off rope and releases the knot.

Miss Pletcher lowers me, a child in mother’s arms. With feet on the floor I better gauge the woman’s size. Though five foot eight, Miss Pletcher towers over me. She is well over six foot tall, not lean... certainly not fat... and strong.

“I’ll want to spread him.”

“Of course,” Madam replies, expecting the request.

Miss Pletcher returns to the wall of medical implements. Madam bends and unclips my ankle cuffs. I can move! And do so most humbly as the leash is released from the ceiling hook and a firm hand guides me to the horizontal bar.

There Madam pulls then presses, tummy to the smooth bar of wood. Then she lowers the leash steps on it to take in the slack and I know to bend... low... lower... forehead almost to the floor.

My ankle cuffs are again secured, now to the supporting posts. I am well spread... as Miss Pletcher desires.

“He’s well lubricated?” Miss Pletcher inquires.

“I think you can depend on It in that regard,” Madam quips.

“And you say he has not been used anally.”

“Not by me. But as discussed, he’s well into kink. Lord only knows what levels of abuse he’s put himself through.”

“Into pain? Or is his masochism more cerebral?”

“Other than the scrotal stretching I have not induced pain.”

“That is good. Once they begin to enjoy it the exchange of power blurs.”

Fingers splay my cheeks. Something cold and metallic is introduced. Whereas I have indeed experimented with anal play... experimented with almost everything for that matter... I have long since cast such aside from my portfolio of activities.

It appears it will return... at least for this afternoon.

Madam continues standing to my front tensioning the leash. I stare at her shoes as whatever has been slipped within my anus slowly expands.

“A speculum, Mr. Grieves. Miss Pletcher is going to work you open... wide open.”    

There is discomfort... yet I can only wish that is all, for hands I know to be most powerful are also unyielding. The device slowly expands and expands. Muscles contract in reaction, defying the need to relax. A moan turns to a bit of an outright cry of pain. I hear Madam laugh... a dour Miss Pletcher merely slows her efforts.

Mercy? Or a sadist’s desire to maximize the interval of agony?

“Yes, nice and tight here. This boy will fuck well... at least for a while. And most importantly, there is no enjoyment. Quite disappointing when they look forward to it. That’s when I toss them aside... find fresh meat.”

I cannot imagine how far open is my rectum. There is aching... there is the burning sensation of skin stretched too far. I try to remain silent, but it is impossible. The woman is splitting me into two.

“Yes the male affinity for prostate manipulation,” Miss Pletcher proclaims as her efforts finally stop. “Forced into chastity it becomes quite the source of sexual pleasure.”

Something enters me. It feels that I am open enough to accommodate a whole hand... perhaps a forearm? But instead it is a gloved finger. It teases, my portal a spacious tunnel, her digit grazing the walls of my colon in a demonstration of my helplessness.

A free hand grasps my penis. I am amazed to feel that it remains stiff through all the pain and discomfort. Miss Pletcher snickers.

“They all moan, groan and yelp... but they always get hard,” the words sardonic.

The digit begins to knead at the lower wall. The woman has found my prostate with aplomb... a bull’s eye.

“Move his face back toward his feet a little more. Have him look up and watch.”

Madam offers slack on the leash then presses my head with her shoe to so position. I look up to see the speculum plunging deeply, its tongs parted to bring disbelief that my opening can be made to yield in a such a manner.  

“Let’s see what these glands give up. I don’t often milk a boy... I let my dildo do that.”

The prostate manipulation continues. She is expert and the strange pain pleasure distracts my thoughts. Then there comes a droplet... then a steady ooze... and holding my erect penis at the base, Miss Pletcher directs the flow... to my face.

Prostatic fluid splashes onto my chin. The goo is clear and viscous... devoid of sperm and confirming the doctor’s diagnosis of days ago. 

“Yes this one’s nuts are in fact dysfunctional. And in being numbed, not even useful for torture.”

The single digit kneads and wriggles, kneads and wriggles. Yes, I am milked... drained. It feels good... it feels cathartic... but most of all... it is most humiliating.

“May as well have them excised and plastinated. Better used as paperweights.”