The Sash

The Sash

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

“You said you’d like some covering... and I think it will make you look very pretty for us.”

The naked lad follows the doctor’s gaze, humbly turning his head to view the simple garment held by the white uniformed nurse. There is reluctant coyness, but the smoothness and bright coloring brings attraction... and a smile. The doctor’s transformation has brought odd reactions. Things frilly and feminine now attract... and seem to attract more and more each day.

“Must I wear it?” the high pitched voice timidly pleads, remnants of masculinity spontaneously objecting.

The woman’s brow furrows, the look of scorn bringing instant regret for the brief utterance suggesting unwillingness.

“You’ll wear what we want you to wear... or we’ll take away your shoes.”

The boy looks down in regret, peering at his sole attire... curious footwear which permits ambulation... plain high heels... yet extremely high heels... with supporting straps entwined about his smooth girlish calves. Since the doctor altered his feet, a medical procedure similar to the ancient Chinese custom of foot binding, the lad cannot stand, bones broken then reset to greatly curve the arches, toes permanently pointed. Without the special shoes, feet gnarled, he cannot even stand upright much less walk.

Thus he has learned he must either crawl about or beseech to wear his heels, the extremeness of such demanding much practice and careful balance. The denial of footwear has become simple punishment for simple misdeeds.

Crawling in nakedness can be cumbersome.

“Show Markie how he’s to don it, Nurse Benson.”

“Yes, doctor.”

The handsome but strict nurse, she who feeds, bathes and soothes... but is to be obeyed at all times... steps forth with the length of pink silk-like cloth. It is somewhat thick, six inches broad and several feet in length. At each end, the cloth is doubled over with decorative grommet holes, the ruggedness there belying the otherwise dainty appearance of the cloth.

“Part your feet for me, arms straight out to your sides,” the words pleasant but known to be a command.

Markie complies as the firm hands which so often palpate... everywhere... drape the middle of the garment over the lad’s head, encircling at the neck. She adjusts and there comes a brisance of delight as the smoothness is pulled over the shoulders to the front and drawn down to brush the extremely sensitive once male nipples.

Markie giggles. Goose bumps form with the sensuousness. This girlish response is new of late... since the doctor excised his testicles and the injections began.

Hands lower, slipping the two ends between the thighs, fingers pausing to teasingly diddle a tiny penis and empty scrotum. Over the many weeks Markie has come to thrill being touched there. The mocking gesture, reminding of his castration, no longer brings forlornness.

‘All gone,’ the nurse first whimsically announced when initially exploring there, pretending to search for that plucked away, kneading the thin sensitive flesh between thumb and forefinger. Now he merely needs to be touched to be reminded of the doctor’s plundering handiwork.

And the loss of male organs has become acceptable... somewhat.

“Hold still,” the nurse further commands as she steps to the lad’s rear.

There comes chagrin as the doubled length is bunched, pulled between the thighs then upwards, parting the buttocks, firmly occupying the gluteal cleft. The cheeks are left totally bare. A playful pinch to the right brings a girlish squeal.

The hands then move to the neck and push aside the long golden locks. Fingers work at the back of the head, pulling to slip the grommeted ends under the middle of the length at the back of the neck. Firm tugs remove all slack. When released, the lad feels compression, his naked form effectively entwined in a large knot. With some two feet of cloth freely dangling at the shoulder blades, the grommets hang nearly at the waist.   

The nurse steps forth to again tug and tug, adjusting to apply more snugness, indeed knotting the length about the lad’s torso. She then returns to the front to assess. The pink silk forms a ‘V’, joining at the pubes, the budding nipples cloaked yet saucily outlined. At the rear the parallel lengths cleave the buttocks and run upwards along the spine, to be securely slipped under at the neck. Overall, the smooth bright pink serves to highlight the nakedness rather than veil.  

“Comfy?”

Markie must nod. There is indeed strange comfort in being so delicately restrained. Though taut, the smoothness abrades the nipples, anus, penis and most convincingly the plundered scrotal sac.

“And we can still toy when we want to toy... a woman needs to have her way,” the doctor proclaims with a gesture to the nurse.

With that Nurse Benson steps forth, lowers her hand, fingers working to part the dual garment at the pubes. She draws into view the emaciated once male organ, the vestigial folds of scrotal flesh dangling below. She gently pinches the emptiness, pulling downward to prominently assure awareness... that despite the long coifed hair, manicured crimson nails, lipstick, rouge and mascara, the effeminate appearance of the lithe nakedness clad in pink results from the whim of a woman’s altering hand.     

“See, you can be displayed quite facilely... whenever I want visitors to understand that you’re a castrated and feminized male.”

With the daunting words, Markie’s smile of delight slowly turns to glumness. Though there have been many weeks of psychological counseling, the mental transformation lags the physical transformation brought by the doctor’s exacting scalpel and quick snips.

The nurse notes the pending gloom, reaches behind and gently smooths her hand over rounded hairless buttocks. Her touch consoles and brings another giggle of delight, evidencing relief that her attention does not result in the sharp prick of the hypodermic needle that brings his daily hormone injection.

“Show Markie how practical is the sash, Nurse Benson. There are times when I’ll want you to perform for me, Markie... and my guests.”

The nurse reaches to take a dainty hand and directs to a corner of the doctor’s office den. The naked lad steps with aplomb, the doctor smiling in viewing the roll of effeminate cheeks, the gams of a pubescent girl. He has acclimated nicely, she proudly thinks, placing one foot before the other to pertly sway the hips... the fleshy buttocks so saucily quavering. 

Not before noticed are a pair of thick but decorative cords from which hangs a large potted plant. The powerful nurse releases, lowers the plant to the floor and pushes forth a small stool.

“Step up, Markie. Be a good girl for me,” more pleasant words of command.

The lad cautiously complies, balancing on heels demands careful attention. He then learns of the grommet’s function, the nurse turning up the free ends of the sash and hooking such to the cords.

“I like to suspend girly boys from time to time,” the doctor notes. “It amuses.”

With that the nurse slips away the stool. Markie’s nakedness dips as the cords tighten and indeed his entire form becomes suspended in the room air. The sensation is bizarre yet comfortable, gravity further tightening the smooth silk-like sash, the sensitive nipples now more firmly pressured, as are perineum and anus. The clever length, so decorative yet so wickedly functional, envelops his torso, convincingly transmitting a message of feminine control  The tiny penis flops about freely between the taut strips of silk, the empty scrotal sac well exhibited. But then, as the nurse stoops to unravel and remove the high heels, Markie feels something which has been deprived of him since the doctor altered.

He begins to stiffen!

Nurse Benson notes, smiling broadly, reaching up to again diddle the fleshy nest which once cradled tiny balls. The penis waggles with the pleasurable touch.

“Ha, ha, ha. You see Markie, there remains some anatomical maleness... and we know how to control it. It’s now for our pleasure... not for yours.” 

Feet freed of the footwear... that which humiliates yet empowers with movement... Markie squirms about, curled toes searching for the floor. As his actions bring increased tension, he senses more tumescence.

“Yes, enjoy your hard on, Markie. After I reroute your urethral opening, forcing you to squat to pee, having it harden for me will be its only function.”

Though hands are free, Markie quickly realizes he cannot extricate himself. The loss of testosterone, the nurse’s sizable hormone injections, have depleted much strength. Gone is the ability to engage in the simple pull up which would offer relief and possible release. Still he tests, reaching behind and upwards to where the tight sash connects to the cords. He tugs. It is futile, his attempt fostering laughter as his efforts cause his nakedness to meekly swing about.

“Ha, ha, ha, our neutered plaything so much enjoys the humiliation does he not Nurse Benson?

“Why not play with your erection, Markie? You’ll not spurt and soil anything. I’ve ended that. And you’ll not be freed until I tire of the show. Go ahead. Give that little thing some strokes for me.”