A Castration Tale IV

Nurse Donhoffer steps away and as best I can I look about. There are tubes, rubber bags, and finally I spy an enema nozzle. And there comes more concern as Nurse Donhoffer retrieves it from the wall hook.

“Ah... this... ah... was not...”

“Standard procedure, Mr. Carson. You’d not want me examining you there and soiling anything. And it’s good for you... a thorough purging for you.”

Is it the $300 investment that inhibits me from stronger protest? Enemas were not discussed. Still I remain kneeling... I suppose acquiescing. I must. I cannot free myself.  Though apprehensive, I try to calm, telling myself the woman is experienced... highly trained.

Gloves are donned, the right index finger well lubricated. I close my eyes in shame as a left hand grasps my scrotum, I suppose to mandate stillness, and the greased finger first smooths up and down my cleft then finds my rectum and slips inward. The digit then swirls about, the action more then what is required to lubricate. 

“You have nice testicles, Mr. Carson. A nice ripe scrotal sac. And you’re nicely tight here. That will change.”

The compliment comes as I look to my left, trying to distract myself from the ignominy of having a woman freely penetrate and explore there. Then comes irony. As the left hand maintains its grip on my balls and I feel the enema nozzle introducing itself to my sphincter, I see on the wall a curious device. There is familiarity, my hyperactive prurient mind exploring so many kinky websites.

It is an elastrator... a device resembling a set of pliers used for neutering farm animals... goats..... sheep... cattle. But it is a replica, fully bronzed, not operable. And the handle is encrusted with jewels. It hangs prominently, like a trophy or some commemorative artifact. As I feel the enema nozzle slowly slip inward... such unexpected care and tenderness... Nurse Donhoffer notes my stare of curiosity.

“It’s a gift, Mr. Carson, from his Excellency, expressing his gratitude for my service,” the explanation a proud proclamation. “My real elastrator is packed away.”    
 
Yes, as stated, irony... for the recipient of this prized neutering device now has in the grasp of her left hand that which the bronzed artifice is designed to plunder.

The enema nozzle is inflated and I feel deep within the graceful flow of warm liquid. It soothes. In contrast, though not operable, the bejeweled implement disturbs... yet it also intrigues. With my predisposition... attraction for authoritative women... I cannot help imaging her utilizing the device to encircle my scrotum and with a snap of a tight rubber band ending my masculinity. 

Dare I ask for more? The scintillating stones of the handle suggest something of true value, diamonds, emeralds and rubies. Should I start by inquiring of his Excellency and his generosity? 

“You’ve used it? An elastrator?”

My query prompts the woman in charge to reminisce, continuing to gently yet firmly hold my balls as my colon fills.

Her story... unfolding in her ascendant Teutonic accent...