'Compassion' Snippet Two

“I want clothing and I want out of here!”

With the turmoil of arrest and incarceration, standing naked in a jail cell, being gazed upon by a fully clothed handsome woman brings not the expected inkling of sexual expectations.

“I am Dr. Rebecca Winton, Mr. Henderson,” my demands ignored. “Mr. Thomas Henderson. And in this tropical climate, we’ve found that covering can be both stifling and septic. As to getting out of here, I remind you that you have been charged with crimes.”

“So get these cuffs off me, get me a lawyer... and let’s go before the judge and jury,” my tone contentious.

As an American on vacation, it has become evident that the likes of relatively wealthy visitors such as me to this economically deprived island nation, euphemistically called Euphorium, are the life bread of an impoverished population. I am thus impertinent, fully realizing that the local tourist board wants not to be harassing those who are essentially paying the bills.

“You’re in a sovereign country... with sovereign laws and a sovereign ruler, Mr. Henderson. The Queen... effectively she is the judge and jury. And you won’t be needing a lawyer. You’ve been sentenced.”

The words alarm.

“Tell the bitch this is a mistake. And as an American, the mistake will be costly!”

I cannot help pausing in what I plan to be a continuous diatribe to assess she who is assessing me. This Dr. Rebecca Winton, despite institutionally attired in the starched white cotton of the medical field, is attractive. There is something about her calm, assertive demeanor which enhances feminine shapeliness not entirely cloaked by prosaic folds of linen.

There come twinges, diverting thoughts of aggressive resistance... verbal resistance since my wrists are cuffed high to the front bars of my cell.

Then I realize how helpless and vulnerable is my presentation, standing on toes with my male package pressing forth. It’s as if my manliness is being offered. And sure enough, putting aside further verbal communication, the woman steps forth, arms extend, and right hand and left cup my dangling scrotum.

Such brazenness!   

In shock, I lose my next train of thought... a demand to contact the American consulate.

“These bring such strong words and get so many in trouble, Mr. Henderson. Tsk, tsk, such untoward behavior.”

“I thought she was a girl... and I thought she was of age!” I again protest, just as I explained to the arresting officers.

“He...” offered with emphasis... “was neither.”

Fingers move to my penis. More brazenness in pulling it straight out, the facial expression indicating clinical evaluation.

“In view of you referring to her Highness as a bitch I’m going to recommend to her that we dispense with the usual orchidectomy, Mr. Henderson...”

Castration!

“It’s quick and simple... but does it really serve to modify behavior?.. or just mutilate and terminate such perverse desires. There’s a better way to send the Queen’s message... so to speak.”

With that my shock and anger turns to outright stupefaction. For in peering over the doctor’s shoulder there comes a slight form pushing a cart, draped in a white cloth and laden with medical instruments. Long blonde hair, otherwise hairless, the garb is brief and salacious... I suppose functional in addressing the concerns over stifling heat and hygiene.

Tightly circling the chest is a garment of white leather resembling a halter... strapless. Squeezing slits at the breasts reveal pink nubs of underdeveloped breasts, securely encasing the nipples and forcing such to protrude. Below there is more white leather at the waist... again tight... resembling the jock strap of an athlete. Yet again there are slits. One some three to four inches below the navel holds in place the very tip of a tiny pink and purple penis. And lower, pushed through a second slit, is a puff of loose pink flesh. Such resembles the extended labia of a pubescent girl... but the exposed penis tip suggests otherwise. And the testicles? Where?    

“Thank you, Sammy,” Dr. Winton smiling with my reaction.

In nearing there comes a sheepish smile. The girl... the boy... is young... dare I conclude pretty with the gender so obfuscated?

“I’ll ring him first, Sammy. Then you can shave, leash and release.”

With that, the arms rise, hands pressing forth, fingers examining my nose.

“Just a little pin prick and you’ll become much more compliant, Mr. Henderson. We don’t have brawny guards here in the Queen’s special jail... nor do we ever need any. And in view of your crass words... no anesthesia.”