A slight change made 10/31/10 at 12:45 p.m. EDT
Chapter Seventeen
322 finds the empty cart inordinately ponderous. The planks forming the storage box are thick, quite adequate for the transport of heavy ore. And so as Midori stands to the front facing her beast and slowly takes in the slack, the well bound naked form digs in his feet and pulls. Incredibly, his own action tightens the sling, further tensioning his scrotum. It seems he will be pulling the cart by his balls! But then, in continuing to pull, the slack in the short chains securing his waist band to the prongs is taken in and the force transfers to his lower torso.
“Come my beast, pull,” a smiling Midori encourages, offering a slight jostle, knowing a full out tug can bring agony.
The wheels finally turn. Momentum becomes an ally and 322 surprises himself as the cart rolls. And though there is stress on the sling, it is strangely acceptable with the pulling motion seeming to cause his penis to jut forth even further... and bring more stiffness!
“Good boy!” a gushing Midori exclaims, swishing the nasty swamp grass through the air as a reminder.
Step, step, step, Midori moves backwards and 322 follows, knowing to keep his leash slack. His eyes roam... to Midori’s uncovered thighs. Her mons, hairless, flashes hints of pink labia. As stated, age is difficult to ascertain, but 322 concludes the girl, his Master, she who controls all, cannot be much past puberty.
How was it explained... the girls of Chessu are gifted with a beast upon achieving womanhood?
His glance becomes a notable stare, pulling as his eyes remain glued to her thighs, hoping for more flashes of pink, the many weeks of forced chastity mandating the diversion.
Midori smiles, noting the brash behavior. Having controlled beasts since childhood, she very much understands. The lust that fosters the need for eidetic satisfaction will be transformed... to labor... sweat... endless toil... to moving a mountain of craggy ore to a distant airstrip.
“You can look all you desire, 322,” her beast feeling his heart skip a beat with her offering of visual gratification.
With that, Midori stops, lowering her leash hand and tendering slack. Her smile transforms, becoming devilish, as she parts her feet to better display the thick meaty flesh of her outer labia. Thumb and index finger quickly splay, flashing the deeper pink of the opening of her love pouch.
“And you will taste as well. Chessu is a very arid province. You will come to crave moisture even from the most unsettling of sources.”
Midori chuckles watching the eyes of her beast widen in desire. Then she releases her lips, turns and resumes her slow walk, the feet of 322 scrambling to assure he timely follows.
She walks him in circles around and around the hut, renewing the atrophied muscle tone of her kept beast, freely offering her well rounded globes for more visual stimulation.
******************************************************************************
Exhausted, drenched with sweat, 322 cannot imagine toiling for an entire day... and with a loaded cart. As dusk approaches, Midori finally returns the cart to the starting point and releases the short chains of the waist band and then unbuckles the sling. 322 is then led to the rear of the hut where a simple pole awaits. 322 notes there are three horizontal boards attached... just above the neck, just above the waist, just above the ankles.
“Can you feel your sling tighten as it wets. As you labor in harness, your own perspiration will cause it to slowly shrink. Wonderfully ironic, don’t you think?”
Yes, the testicles do feel more entrapped, 332 thinks to himself.
“Down,” Midori instructs with a slight tug.
322 instantly falls to his knees, the pole to his rear.
“This is where you will sleep... when I want you to sleep.”
The ankle bands are clipped, right then left, to the lower horizontal board attached to the pole some one foot above the ground. Midori then loops the leash to a hook on the pole above, forcing 322 to maintain a kneeling position, all weight borne by his knees.
It is an awkward and frustrating position, 322's wrists remaining clipped together at the shoulder blades. He balances precariously, keeping slack on the leash and not daring to topple as Midori works to remove the sling. Reversing the earlier steps, the length of leather is slipped away from the waist band at the back. Then the balls are pressed through the slit and dangle freely between parted thighs as the excoriated penis is likewise pressed through its slit... much more carefully.
Then Mdiori disappears into the hut. She returns with a container, a cylinder appearing as a canister of caulking material. Protruding from one end is a broad, soft rubber tube.
“Feeding time my beast. It is quicker if the brank remains in place.”
With that, Midori pinches closed the nostrils. When 322 parts his lips to breathe, she inserts the soft rubber tube, pressing with her fingers and feeding the length of rubber to the back of the throat. With tongue encumbered, 322 cannot reject the offering, and the fingers continually press inward. She cruelly feeds in the tube, ignoring his gagging. 322 recalls the gastric tube inserted before being shipped. It is a horrible sensation, but he is helpless to resist.
Satisfied, Midori works a flat disk at the opposing end of the canister, pressing toward his mouth. 322 feels sludge being directly introduced to his stomach.
“Highly nutritious, but it is just as well that you cannot taste it. Chessu’s special mush for the beasts. Every table scrap in the province is collected, allowed to putrefy and then blended into a glop. Vitamins are added and then it’s placed in these special containers. It is all you will ever eat 322. Enjoy. Effectively its our garbage... edible garbage... but garbage.”
Midori laughs at the reaction of horror as the sludge slithers inward directly to his stomach. He has no choice but to partake. The brank inhibits resisting anything introduced to the throat.
Coming to the end, Midori slips out the tube.
“And now you will simply kneel. In time I will let you lie. But not right now. It’s part of the training... tolerating the caprice of your handler. You will never know when you will sleep and for how long. It’s the way we do things here.”
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Chapter Sixteen - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Sixteen
Midori leads in silence. One mile, two. It is difficult to measure in the nothingness of the desert. No trees. Certainly no water. Instead there are stones, coarse sandy soil, with larger rocks pushed aside to form the outline of a crude trail. But there are the comely bare hillocks of she with leash hand and 322 can feel his resulting erection bob with every step.
He notes there are wheel marks in some softer segments of road. Nothing to denote the tires of a modern vehicle, just the smooth continuous lines formed by wooden wheels. In some areas the wheel marks are many, the path well traversed.
Finally there comes into sight a set of one story buildings. Mud and stone, in erecting the hovels 322 pictures the many tons of material conveyed by the sweat of well bound naked males. The crude horizontal log beams supporting the roofs suggest long trips to the forests of the far off mountains. Nothing grows within eyesight.
Midori stops before an unassuming structure, really just a hut. Nearby is a heavy cart... more aptly described as an ox cart. A large pair of wooden wheels, the likes of such evidently making the marks in the dusty path, support a wooden box of thick planks. It is sturdy and 322 envisions the vehicle overloaded with building materials, harvested farm goods or perhaps more recently the valuable ore of the Rhodium mine.
Hanging on an outside wall of the hut are a series of familiar leashes, the split ends offering loops for snaring a brank, long strands of some type of marsh grass, lumps of cylindrical black rubber and a length of leather. The clasp used to attach the latter garment to a wrought iron hook evidences to 322 that it is a sling, similar to that which Moira used to demonstrate the harnessing of a Chessu beast days before.
Midori carefully ties off the leash to an extending overhead beam, truncating any thoughts of resistance. She removes the sling from the wall hook.
“There are a few hours of daylight. It will be easier for you to learn to pull the cart while empty. Tomorrow I must work you. There is much ore to be taken to the airstrip.”
Just as with Moira, Midori clips the one end of the sling to the steel waist band at the belly. Then she slips her right hand through a small slit and, in place of grasping his penis as did Moira, she instead hooks a finger through 322's new Prince Albert ring. After the demonstration of his manhood’s new sensitivity, 322 is grateful. Dr. Saunders’ final alteration is indeed found to be an appreciated gift as the finger draws the super sensitive acid bathed shaft through the slit with limited touching required.
More deft then Moira, obviously having many times harnessed the beast of her mother, the sling is quickly drawn up between the thighs and slipped under the waist band at the back. Midori then rummages about to pull the balls of 322 through a larger slit at the rear. As she tugs at the loose segment of sling folded over the back of the waist band, the well stretched scrotal sac of 322 is pulled back and up to rest just below the buttocks. A teasing hand gently pats the sizable reproductive organs, so ignominiously displayed.
“You’ve been well stretched, 322. Your balls present very well.”
322 blushes with the tender touch of the youthful girl, once again experiencing the odd sense of comfort in having his low hanging gonads so tolerably supported. And as Midori tightens, the firming of the sling seems to augment the sensation.
Next 322 hears a click and feels his wrist bands released. Then the small tender hands of his handler draw the right wrist upwards, pressing at the elbow to signal the arm to bend. With his hand at the shoulder blades, 322 hears another click and feels his wrist band reattached, now to the back of his neck collar.
The left hand and wrist follow.
Midori steps to the outer wall of the hut and slips a strand of marsh grass from a hook. Her arm extends to swing the length through the air creating a modest ‘swishing’ sound. 322 notes the wispy blossom end of the strand is well frayed, splitting into dozens of very fine strands.
“You’ll not want to hear that sound often 322.”
Midori smiles, returns to her tethered charge and raises her arm to swing once more. Again comes the ‘swish’ ending when the frayed strands come to rest on the pink flesh of the well exposed scrotal sac. 322 howls into his gagging brank, shocked that the burning pain is so out of proportion to the modest stroke and gentle thwack.
“A rather effective instrument of encouragement, would you not agree 322? This marsh grass grows at Chessu’s only source of water... the lowest point in the valley where the underground aquifer fed by the mountain snows nears the surface. More of a small swamp than lake or pond, the grass blossoms to offer wondrous stinging types of nettles. We have lots of testicles to excoriate here in Chessu... so we grow lots of grass,” the girl chuckling for the first time.
Midori releases the leash as she lectures, keeping her instrument of ‘encouragement’ in her right hand as she jostles the leash with the left in suggesting that motion begin.
322 quickly learns that with a good handler, so little is required to spur exertion. Just watching the slack being taken in is enough of a signal to begin his footwork. For in addition to tension on the brank, his well exposed testicles offer themselves to Chessu’s nastiest vegetation. Quickly dissipating is any thought of a tardy response to his handler’s desires.
And so 322 follows quickly and quietly to the ox cart. There he is positioned between two prongs, designed for the absent ox. His steel waist band is loosely attached to short chains, connected left and right to the prongs. But then Midori works to his rear, unraveling the loose end of his sling and buckling such to the front edge of the cart. This restraint she tightens and for 322 that comfortable sensation of support increases. The tightened sling also serves to better thrust forth his penis, jutting through the smaller slit to the front.
When finished, Midori releases the leash, steps back and surveys, exuding a sense of pride. Her beast, the Empress’s gift, stands so well secured, erection stiff and growing stiffer, sizable stretched testicles forcibly displayed just below the buttocks.
But what is of most consolation... her beast, deep within, enjoys the intense humiliation... she knows it... she has handled so many... from the time she was a little girl. Bondage... a firm, governing woman excites. It spurs the virility, musters the hormonal response which will in turn spur the desire to serve his handler... she with directing leash hand and encouraging swishes of devilish vegetation.
Yes, the psyche of the subservient male is telling, as her mother so often explained... and can be put to such good use.
“Your penis tells me why you are here, 322. Chessu is a special place for males of your predilection. I will make you happy. But more importantly... you will be worked very hard and make me happy.”
Midori leads in silence. One mile, two. It is difficult to measure in the nothingness of the desert. No trees. Certainly no water. Instead there are stones, coarse sandy soil, with larger rocks pushed aside to form the outline of a crude trail. But there are the comely bare hillocks of she with leash hand and 322 can feel his resulting erection bob with every step.
He notes there are wheel marks in some softer segments of road. Nothing to denote the tires of a modern vehicle, just the smooth continuous lines formed by wooden wheels. In some areas the wheel marks are many, the path well traversed.
Finally there comes into sight a set of one story buildings. Mud and stone, in erecting the hovels 322 pictures the many tons of material conveyed by the sweat of well bound naked males. The crude horizontal log beams supporting the roofs suggest long trips to the forests of the far off mountains. Nothing grows within eyesight.
Midori stops before an unassuming structure, really just a hut. Nearby is a heavy cart... more aptly described as an ox cart. A large pair of wooden wheels, the likes of such evidently making the marks in the dusty path, support a wooden box of thick planks. It is sturdy and 322 envisions the vehicle overloaded with building materials, harvested farm goods or perhaps more recently the valuable ore of the Rhodium mine.
Hanging on an outside wall of the hut are a series of familiar leashes, the split ends offering loops for snaring a brank, long strands of some type of marsh grass, lumps of cylindrical black rubber and a length of leather. The clasp used to attach the latter garment to a wrought iron hook evidences to 322 that it is a sling, similar to that which Moira used to demonstrate the harnessing of a Chessu beast days before.
Midori carefully ties off the leash to an extending overhead beam, truncating any thoughts of resistance. She removes the sling from the wall hook.
“There are a few hours of daylight. It will be easier for you to learn to pull the cart while empty. Tomorrow I must work you. There is much ore to be taken to the airstrip.”
Just as with Moira, Midori clips the one end of the sling to the steel waist band at the belly. Then she slips her right hand through a small slit and, in place of grasping his penis as did Moira, she instead hooks a finger through 322's new Prince Albert ring. After the demonstration of his manhood’s new sensitivity, 322 is grateful. Dr. Saunders’ final alteration is indeed found to be an appreciated gift as the finger draws the super sensitive acid bathed shaft through the slit with limited touching required.
More deft then Moira, obviously having many times harnessed the beast of her mother, the sling is quickly drawn up between the thighs and slipped under the waist band at the back. Midori then rummages about to pull the balls of 322 through a larger slit at the rear. As she tugs at the loose segment of sling folded over the back of the waist band, the well stretched scrotal sac of 322 is pulled back and up to rest just below the buttocks. A teasing hand gently pats the sizable reproductive organs, so ignominiously displayed.
“You’ve been well stretched, 322. Your balls present very well.”
322 blushes with the tender touch of the youthful girl, once again experiencing the odd sense of comfort in having his low hanging gonads so tolerably supported. And as Midori tightens, the firming of the sling seems to augment the sensation.
Next 322 hears a click and feels his wrist bands released. Then the small tender hands of his handler draw the right wrist upwards, pressing at the elbow to signal the arm to bend. With his hand at the shoulder blades, 322 hears another click and feels his wrist band reattached, now to the back of his neck collar.
The left hand and wrist follow.
Midori steps to the outer wall of the hut and slips a strand of marsh grass from a hook. Her arm extends to swing the length through the air creating a modest ‘swishing’ sound. 322 notes the wispy blossom end of the strand is well frayed, splitting into dozens of very fine strands.
“You’ll not want to hear that sound often 322.”
Midori smiles, returns to her tethered charge and raises her arm to swing once more. Again comes the ‘swish’ ending when the frayed strands come to rest on the pink flesh of the well exposed scrotal sac. 322 howls into his gagging brank, shocked that the burning pain is so out of proportion to the modest stroke and gentle thwack.
“A rather effective instrument of encouragement, would you not agree 322? This marsh grass grows at Chessu’s only source of water... the lowest point in the valley where the underground aquifer fed by the mountain snows nears the surface. More of a small swamp than lake or pond, the grass blossoms to offer wondrous stinging types of nettles. We have lots of testicles to excoriate here in Chessu... so we grow lots of grass,” the girl chuckling for the first time.
Midori releases the leash as she lectures, keeping her instrument of ‘encouragement’ in her right hand as she jostles the leash with the left in suggesting that motion begin.
322 quickly learns that with a good handler, so little is required to spur exertion. Just watching the slack being taken in is enough of a signal to begin his footwork. For in addition to tension on the brank, his well exposed testicles offer themselves to Chessu’s nastiest vegetation. Quickly dissipating is any thought of a tardy response to his handler’s desires.
And so 322 follows quickly and quietly to the ox cart. There he is positioned between two prongs, designed for the absent ox. His steel waist band is loosely attached to short chains, connected left and right to the prongs. But then Midori works to his rear, unraveling the loose end of his sling and buckling such to the front edge of the cart. This restraint she tightens and for 322 that comfortable sensation of support increases. The tightened sling also serves to better thrust forth his penis, jutting through the smaller slit to the front.
When finished, Midori releases the leash, steps back and surveys, exuding a sense of pride. Her beast, the Empress’s gift, stands so well secured, erection stiff and growing stiffer, sizable stretched testicles forcibly displayed just below the buttocks.
But what is of most consolation... her beast, deep within, enjoys the intense humiliation... she knows it... she has handled so many... from the time she was a little girl. Bondage... a firm, governing woman excites. It spurs the virility, musters the hormonal response which will in turn spur the desire to serve his handler... she with directing leash hand and encouraging swishes of devilish vegetation.
Yes, the psyche of the subservient male is telling, as her mother so often explained... and can be put to such good use.
“Your penis tells me why you are here, 322. Chessu is a special place for males of your predilection. I will make you happy. But more importantly... you will be worked very hard and make me happy.”
Friday, October 29, 2010
Chapter Fifteen - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Fifteen
“Come, 322."
Jay Blaine is no longer Jay Blaine. Anything that would identify him as such was left behind in Los Angeles. There are no papers. No tags. Not even something connected to his toe as one would find in the morgue. Only the set of digits gruffly inscribed on his buttocks by a most calloused woman of authority. And his handler comes to quickly use the diminutive last three digits.
After all, he must be referenced in some manner. 384322 is precise but unwieldy on the tongue. He is thus immediately anointed with the sobriquet ‘322'.
He cannot talk. He cannot proclaim himself as a person... ‘Jay Blaine... human being’. No the brank silences... and does so with thorough effectiveness.
The leash tightens. Though his training has been abridged, he knows to follow. And though he is inclined to take in the sights, it is best to focus... undertake complete focus... on she with leash in hand. A misstep can bring intense agony. Besides the view is not in any manner objectionable.
Still in being led from the cargo plane, during the flight standing with brank secured above just as in the truck, he was able to briefly view his surroundings before his leash was again secured overhead... to a curiously long hitching post where he stood in wait with his eight naked compatriots.
Chessu is arid. A desert in the shape of a vast bowl, encircled completely by the breathtakingly high mountains of the Himalaya range. Such a contrast standing in the desert heat and peering in the distance at snow capped mountains. But that is what makes Chessu Chessu. Complete inaccessibility to the outside world. Ancient mountain passes have long fallen into disuse. An airstrip offers access to rudimentary goods and equipment... the Empress insists on just the basics. But more importantly of late, the crude length of runway offers an egress for the priceless ore that has been discovered.
So the aging cargo plane brings in provisions... and naked servants... and flies out loaded with Rhodium ore, per ounce more valuable than gold or platinum. It has become the lifeblood of the Province. A once agrarian society has transformed. Able to purchase fertilizer and equipment, dig deeper the wells, less effort is needed to supply food. The many male beasts, naked and laboring in their slings, no longer need to spend inordinate time ploughing the rocky desert soil. Instead, they labor in the mine, the Empress eschewing too great a societal leap to modernity.
322 quickly concluded with a glimpse at what had been adequately described to him. Chessu is barren. Yet, as noted, in carefully following his handler, the viewing is acceptable.
“I am Midori, your handler. You are a gift from the Empress. Upon achieving womanhood, every girl in Chessu receives such a gift. Being of the common class, I am entitled to a beast. The girls of privilege, those not destined to work, are entitled to a castrate as well.”
The English is more than passable, the communication certainly better than the limited, halting words of the soldier. And 322 listens intently, his eyes affixed.
Midori wears a loose silk blouse. White with floral designs in crimson, such highlights her raven hair, parted in the middle, boyishly cut at the jaw line. She is young, pretty, her Asian heritage making it impossible to determine her age.
But for 322 it is not the blouse, the hair, the secret of her age that distracts. It is... the blouse is the limit of her attire. Handler Midori is otherwise naked, the white and crimson silk her only garment.
Transfixed, 322 steps carefully watching the shapely uncovered buttocks ripple and roll with each step. Her near nakedness, his weeks of chastity, the abundance of hormones, bring the expected male reaction. Despite the irritation and frustration of the brank, 322 feels himself stiffen.
“I will need to exercise you. I will work you hard. I earn my living by the pound. The more ore transported the more I make. Life is simple here in Chessu. But still there is more than labor and money for ore. You are also here to please.”
The voice is effeminate but the words stern. Midori pauses in her oration and turns to peer at her leashed beast. Her eyes glance downward. The sight brings a smile. 322 has offered his handler his first erection... deemed in Chessu to be most respectful.
The former Jay Blaine notes the girl’s reaction and the irony brings curious rumination, thoughts of a certain prison guard reacting so differently to a very similar display.
“You are aroused. That is good. The virile male works best. You may harden for me any time, 322. But as I am sure you are aware, you will never touch. It is not only forbidden, it will bring you pain.”
Midori steps forth, her free hand lowers and a single digit gently grazes the underside of the upturned erection. 322 grimaces with what feels like searing hotness. Midori diddles for another moment, transmitting her message, than her hand withdraws. She knows exactly where the male normally experiences pleasure and she also is very much aware of Dr. Saunders’ quick altering surgery and Nurse Wendy’s desensitizing acid baths.
“We are trained at a very young age to handle male beasts, 322. I used to have fun riding that which belonged to my mother. He was big and strong... and ultimately submitted completely to the culture of Chessu... as will you.”
Midori turns, 322 is pleased when she continues, the demonstration of the sensitivity of his penis... his altered sensitivity... trauma enough. Instead the buttocks roll again and 322 reenters his lustful revelry as her lecture resumes.
“It is best that you forever put aside thoughts of escape and resistance, 322. Other than the cargo plane, exit from Chessu is through the frigid mountains. Absent covering you would freeze in mere hours. And those caught are caned for the first attempt, neutered for the second and then relegated to the water pumping facility. Instead it is best that you just serve me... day after day after day.”
“Come, 322."
Jay Blaine is no longer Jay Blaine. Anything that would identify him as such was left behind in Los Angeles. There are no papers. No tags. Not even something connected to his toe as one would find in the morgue. Only the set of digits gruffly inscribed on his buttocks by a most calloused woman of authority. And his handler comes to quickly use the diminutive last three digits.
After all, he must be referenced in some manner. 384322 is precise but unwieldy on the tongue. He is thus immediately anointed with the sobriquet ‘322'.
He cannot talk. He cannot proclaim himself as a person... ‘Jay Blaine... human being’. No the brank silences... and does so with thorough effectiveness.
The leash tightens. Though his training has been abridged, he knows to follow. And though he is inclined to take in the sights, it is best to focus... undertake complete focus... on she with leash in hand. A misstep can bring intense agony. Besides the view is not in any manner objectionable.
Still in being led from the cargo plane, during the flight standing with brank secured above just as in the truck, he was able to briefly view his surroundings before his leash was again secured overhead... to a curiously long hitching post where he stood in wait with his eight naked compatriots.
Chessu is arid. A desert in the shape of a vast bowl, encircled completely by the breathtakingly high mountains of the Himalaya range. Such a contrast standing in the desert heat and peering in the distance at snow capped mountains. But that is what makes Chessu Chessu. Complete inaccessibility to the outside world. Ancient mountain passes have long fallen into disuse. An airstrip offers access to rudimentary goods and equipment... the Empress insists on just the basics. But more importantly of late, the crude length of runway offers an egress for the priceless ore that has been discovered.
So the aging cargo plane brings in provisions... and naked servants... and flies out loaded with Rhodium ore, per ounce more valuable than gold or platinum. It has become the lifeblood of the Province. A once agrarian society has transformed. Able to purchase fertilizer and equipment, dig deeper the wells, less effort is needed to supply food. The many male beasts, naked and laboring in their slings, no longer need to spend inordinate time ploughing the rocky desert soil. Instead, they labor in the mine, the Empress eschewing too great a societal leap to modernity.
322 quickly concluded with a glimpse at what had been adequately described to him. Chessu is barren. Yet, as noted, in carefully following his handler, the viewing is acceptable.
“I am Midori, your handler. You are a gift from the Empress. Upon achieving womanhood, every girl in Chessu receives such a gift. Being of the common class, I am entitled to a beast. The girls of privilege, those not destined to work, are entitled to a castrate as well.”
The English is more than passable, the communication certainly better than the limited, halting words of the soldier. And 322 listens intently, his eyes affixed.
Midori wears a loose silk blouse. White with floral designs in crimson, such highlights her raven hair, parted in the middle, boyishly cut at the jaw line. She is young, pretty, her Asian heritage making it impossible to determine her age.
But for 322 it is not the blouse, the hair, the secret of her age that distracts. It is... the blouse is the limit of her attire. Handler Midori is otherwise naked, the white and crimson silk her only garment.
Transfixed, 322 steps carefully watching the shapely uncovered buttocks ripple and roll with each step. Her near nakedness, his weeks of chastity, the abundance of hormones, bring the expected male reaction. Despite the irritation and frustration of the brank, 322 feels himself stiffen.
“I will need to exercise you. I will work you hard. I earn my living by the pound. The more ore transported the more I make. Life is simple here in Chessu. But still there is more than labor and money for ore. You are also here to please.”
The voice is effeminate but the words stern. Midori pauses in her oration and turns to peer at her leashed beast. Her eyes glance downward. The sight brings a smile. 322 has offered his handler his first erection... deemed in Chessu to be most respectful.
The former Jay Blaine notes the girl’s reaction and the irony brings curious rumination, thoughts of a certain prison guard reacting so differently to a very similar display.
“You are aroused. That is good. The virile male works best. You may harden for me any time, 322. But as I am sure you are aware, you will never touch. It is not only forbidden, it will bring you pain.”
Midori steps forth, her free hand lowers and a single digit gently grazes the underside of the upturned erection. 322 grimaces with what feels like searing hotness. Midori diddles for another moment, transmitting her message, than her hand withdraws. She knows exactly where the male normally experiences pleasure and she also is very much aware of Dr. Saunders’ quick altering surgery and Nurse Wendy’s desensitizing acid baths.
“We are trained at a very young age to handle male beasts, 322. I used to have fun riding that which belonged to my mother. He was big and strong... and ultimately submitted completely to the culture of Chessu... as will you.”
Midori turns, 322 is pleased when she continues, the demonstration of the sensitivity of his penis... his altered sensitivity... trauma enough. Instead the buttocks roll again and 322 reenters his lustful revelry as her lecture resumes.
“It is best that you forever put aside thoughts of escape and resistance, 322. Other than the cargo plane, exit from Chessu is through the frigid mountains. Absent covering you would freeze in mere hours. And those caught are caned for the first attempt, neutered for the second and then relegated to the water pumping facility. Instead it is best that you just serve me... day after day after day.”
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Chapter Fourteen - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Fourteen
“384322!"
A uniformed woman enters Jay Blaine’s room, barking a number with which he is becoming familiar.
“Yes ma’am,” Jay Blaine instantly responds, his voice seeming woefully meek.
She is somewhat diminutive, Asian. With her reading of the digits there is a hint of an accent and she steps forth, marches really, to where Jay Blaine lies well secured to his bed.
“Tongue.”
Lying on a nearby table, in plain sight for more mental ‘acclimatization’ is the shiny steel brank. Jay has been forced to look at it and contemplate his fate. When the woman picks up the horrid, simple yet effective implement, Jay Blaine knows to comply, parting his lips and indeed thrusting forth his wet pink appendage.
The woman quickly inserts the brank into the grommet of his left cheek, gruffly pinches the tip of his extended tongue with the fingers of her left hand and pulls to expertly manipulate and find the deep pierced opening in the back of the tongue. It cannot be more than five seconds before the brank exits the grommet of the right cheek. The woman is even more experienced than the doctor.
“You are owned by the Empress of Chessu. You will now serve.”
Yes, a thick accent, the words are almost rehearsed. From the woman’s pocket comes a length of cord. Jay Blaine notes that one end splits in a ‘Y’, and as opposed to the more rudimentary leashes of the hospital, the split ends have been sewn at the end to form loops. He imagines a vast industry in the Province of Chessu... many seamstresses dutifully working to fabricate that used to control the well labored male beast... a length of rope designed and prefabricated to instantly connect to a brank.
Slipped onto the shaft of steel, left then right, as the leash is pulled the loops slide toward the cheek bones and press against the grommet openings, assuring such will not unintentionally slip off.
Right hand holding taut the leash, the left hand releases the simple clasp holding the neck collar, forcing Jay Blaine to lie supine.
“You sit up. Put wrists together behind your back,” spoken as the wrist restraints are similarly released.
Jay Blaine complies. Again quick... the effort minor... with one hand the woman uses a double clasp to connect together the wrist bands as she deftly applies tension on the leash and the brank, the application of pain and control diverting any thoughts of resistance. She has handled males before... naked and well bound males. Her limited size is not a detriment.
Deemed well tamed, the fingers of the left hand unclip the waist band and ankle bands.
“You come. Time to be worked.”
Her initial pull is curt, establishing control... sending her message that Jay Blaine is under the auspices of a no nonsense woman of authority... and he is.
He scrambles from the bed, the brank making him quite eager to follow. Out the door of his hospital room, into the linoleum floored hallway, and then for the first time in weeks, to the exit door.
The woman marches, leading without compunction, fully aware that every slight jostle of the leash brings agony. She looks back, peers downward to where Jay Blaine’s massive, well stretched scrotal sac bounces about just above the knees, and for the first time smiles, her glee not to be veiled. He feels himself begin to stiffen. Accustomed to being naked and led about amongst the many young nurses, the scenario, the novelty, perhaps the uniform similar to that worn by those for whom he masturbated, all bring slow arousal. His reaction amuses, but the woman shows no surprise, only a look of understanding.
Out to a parking lot, a large van awaits, its rear cargo door wide open, a ramp leading to the hold. Jay Blaine is lead upwards and despite the continuing encouragement of the brank, in shock finds the need to pause. Standing within, facing the outer panels with leashes tied overhead, wrists secured behind, are four similarly attired males... that is... attired in nothing.
A painful yank returns Jay Blaine to compliance. The woman leads him to the right side, the other four forms secured to the left. She reaches high, drapes the leash over a hook, pulls to force her charge up onto his toes than ties off the leash.
Efficiency of an amazing level, a woman just over five feet in stature has not only totally controlled every motion of the six foot four, two hundred plus pounds of Jay Blaine, but four other brawny and naked males as well.
The woman reaches to her pocket. A marking pen. Jay Blaine feels the wet tip inscribe on his buttocks. The woman reads the digits as she marks... 3... 8... 4... 3... 2... 2.
Then she departs, leaving Jay Blaine to his thoughts.
While Dr. Saunders altered his form... stretching his scrotum... inserting grommets... impaling his tongue... so wickedly desensitizing his penis... many others have been subjected to her diabolical care as well. With so many subjected to the ratchet wheel, the tending nurse must have had time for little other activity, strolling from room to room and slowly turning, forever transforming the presentation of so many pairs of testicles such that the women of Chessu vent approval. Upon completion of her rounds, the allotted thirty minutes would expire, mandating that she return... to turn some more.
And Moira must be a busy woman, he also concludes. His compatriots all bear the same stainless steel bands, are all secured overhead by the wicked brank, and are all young and well muscled.
Jay Blaine’s thoughts are interrupted as the woman brings in a sixth naked form. The gagging strip of metal obviates any greeting. Besides, he can barely see the form by way of his peripheral vision, his leash most constricting.
Within minutes a seventh and then an eightth naked form joins the entourage. The van door rolls down. The engine starts. Jay Blaine’s thoughts are distracted as the tightness of his leash forces him to concentrate, remaining on toes to offer as much slack as possible.
Still, such a brusque end to his stay. With the many weeks of alteration and intimate contact, a strange mental/emotional bond formed with Dr. Mary Saunders... a woman not to be forgotten. He will never see her again, but always display her fine handiwork.
“384322!"
A uniformed woman enters Jay Blaine’s room, barking a number with which he is becoming familiar.
“Yes ma’am,” Jay Blaine instantly responds, his voice seeming woefully meek.
She is somewhat diminutive, Asian. With her reading of the digits there is a hint of an accent and she steps forth, marches really, to where Jay Blaine lies well secured to his bed.
“Tongue.”
Lying on a nearby table, in plain sight for more mental ‘acclimatization’ is the shiny steel brank. Jay has been forced to look at it and contemplate his fate. When the woman picks up the horrid, simple yet effective implement, Jay Blaine knows to comply, parting his lips and indeed thrusting forth his wet pink appendage.
The woman quickly inserts the brank into the grommet of his left cheek, gruffly pinches the tip of his extended tongue with the fingers of her left hand and pulls to expertly manipulate and find the deep pierced opening in the back of the tongue. It cannot be more than five seconds before the brank exits the grommet of the right cheek. The woman is even more experienced than the doctor.
“You are owned by the Empress of Chessu. You will now serve.”
Yes, a thick accent, the words are almost rehearsed. From the woman’s pocket comes a length of cord. Jay Blaine notes that one end splits in a ‘Y’, and as opposed to the more rudimentary leashes of the hospital, the split ends have been sewn at the end to form loops. He imagines a vast industry in the Province of Chessu... many seamstresses dutifully working to fabricate that used to control the well labored male beast... a length of rope designed and prefabricated to instantly connect to a brank.
Slipped onto the shaft of steel, left then right, as the leash is pulled the loops slide toward the cheek bones and press against the grommet openings, assuring such will not unintentionally slip off.
Right hand holding taut the leash, the left hand releases the simple clasp holding the neck collar, forcing Jay Blaine to lie supine.
“You sit up. Put wrists together behind your back,” spoken as the wrist restraints are similarly released.
Jay Blaine complies. Again quick... the effort minor... with one hand the woman uses a double clasp to connect together the wrist bands as she deftly applies tension on the leash and the brank, the application of pain and control diverting any thoughts of resistance. She has handled males before... naked and well bound males. Her limited size is not a detriment.
Deemed well tamed, the fingers of the left hand unclip the waist band and ankle bands.
“You come. Time to be worked.”
Her initial pull is curt, establishing control... sending her message that Jay Blaine is under the auspices of a no nonsense woman of authority... and he is.
He scrambles from the bed, the brank making him quite eager to follow. Out the door of his hospital room, into the linoleum floored hallway, and then for the first time in weeks, to the exit door.
The woman marches, leading without compunction, fully aware that every slight jostle of the leash brings agony. She looks back, peers downward to where Jay Blaine’s massive, well stretched scrotal sac bounces about just above the knees, and for the first time smiles, her glee not to be veiled. He feels himself begin to stiffen. Accustomed to being naked and led about amongst the many young nurses, the scenario, the novelty, perhaps the uniform similar to that worn by those for whom he masturbated, all bring slow arousal. His reaction amuses, but the woman shows no surprise, only a look of understanding.
Out to a parking lot, a large van awaits, its rear cargo door wide open, a ramp leading to the hold. Jay Blaine is lead upwards and despite the continuing encouragement of the brank, in shock finds the need to pause. Standing within, facing the outer panels with leashes tied overhead, wrists secured behind, are four similarly attired males... that is... attired in nothing.
A painful yank returns Jay Blaine to compliance. The woman leads him to the right side, the other four forms secured to the left. She reaches high, drapes the leash over a hook, pulls to force her charge up onto his toes than ties off the leash.
Efficiency of an amazing level, a woman just over five feet in stature has not only totally controlled every motion of the six foot four, two hundred plus pounds of Jay Blaine, but four other brawny and naked males as well.
The woman reaches to her pocket. A marking pen. Jay Blaine feels the wet tip inscribe on his buttocks. The woman reads the digits as she marks... 3... 8... 4... 3... 2... 2.
Then she departs, leaving Jay Blaine to his thoughts.
While Dr. Saunders altered his form... stretching his scrotum... inserting grommets... impaling his tongue... so wickedly desensitizing his penis... many others have been subjected to her diabolical care as well. With so many subjected to the ratchet wheel, the tending nurse must have had time for little other activity, strolling from room to room and slowly turning, forever transforming the presentation of so many pairs of testicles such that the women of Chessu vent approval. Upon completion of her rounds, the allotted thirty minutes would expire, mandating that she return... to turn some more.
And Moira must be a busy woman, he also concludes. His compatriots all bear the same stainless steel bands, are all secured overhead by the wicked brank, and are all young and well muscled.
Jay Blaine’s thoughts are interrupted as the woman brings in a sixth naked form. The gagging strip of metal obviates any greeting. Besides, he can barely see the form by way of his peripheral vision, his leash most constricting.
Within minutes a seventh and then an eightth naked form joins the entourage. The van door rolls down. The engine starts. Jay Blaine’s thoughts are distracted as the tightness of his leash forces him to concentrate, remaining on toes to offer as much slack as possible.
Still, such a brusque end to his stay. With the many weeks of alteration and intimate contact, a strange mental/emotional bond formed with Dr. Mary Saunders... a woman not to be forgotten. He will never see her again, but always display her fine handiwork.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Chapter Thirteen - Whisked to Chessu
Tomorrow it's to Chessu. Really.
Chapter Thirteen
“A light breakfast, 384322. Today you’re going to Chessu... and full stomachs are not good.”
For the first and only time, Jay Blaine is sighted as a tending nurse assures sustenance. With holes in his cheeks, grommets left and right, food must be carefully ingested lest it ooze out during mastication. And so as he lies well bound, his new bands utilized, the nurse spoons a very moderate helping of mush and pushes it the very back of his mouth. There she pauses, holding the spoon in place as she offers the command to swallow, the porridge or whatever barely touching the tip of the tongue and avoiding most taste buds... but also not pressing through his new openings.
“I am told in Chessu they have a special feeding method for the beasts... faster... less assistance required,” the young nurse muses in passing the inordinate time required for each offering.
The demented mind of Jay Blaine marvels over the callousness of she trained in care and medicine. He lies completely naked, of course, his many stainless steel bands summarily clipped to sturdy rails attached to his hospital bed, essentially making him one with his place of rest. Binding requires mere moments, and the daintiest of fingers, and the young nurses do so without compunction... and with knowledge and experience which belies their few years. They have handled so many... and so dispassionately...
Dr. Saunders enters and Jay Blaine fidgets, her mere presence bringing trepidation.
“Ready for a little trip?” referring so flippantly to the final leg of Jay Blaine’s life transforming journey.
She holds up the brank, that which the day before penetrated Jay Blaine’s mouth and tongue and was used so convincingly to lead him about.
Jay Blaine stares, better able to assess the evilest yet simplest of bondage devices. Yes, it is nothing more than a strip of thin steel, not more than a foot in length, and gauged as that of a wire coat hanger. In slipping the knotted ends of a rope over each end, the thin bar becomes an amazingly effective bridle, forcing forth the tongue, which extends beyond the lips, and affording the bearer of the rope the most efficient leverage over the branked.
The doctor, in some psychological process of acclimatizing, holds forth the object and allows continuing inspection.
“Want to wear it for me?”
Jay Blaine shakes his head.
“No please.”
“Oh, but you did so well with it yesterday. Your penis got nice a firm for me. I think you enjoyed being directed by a woman.”
Deep within, Jay Blaine, having contemplated his reaction, must agree... and he curses himself. He does not want to be transformed to an obedient beast forced to do a woman’s bidding. But there is a side that does.
“Tongue.”
Uttered in firmness, by rote Jay Blaine obeys. Knowing hands work the brank into the left grommet, somewhat fidget to find the opening in his tongue, then press to slide the bar out the right grommet. Quicker than the evening before, Jay Blaine fends off a slight gagging reaction as his tongue is forcibly thrust well past his lips.
“Good. Gets quicker and easier every time. You’ll very soon learn to precisely position your tongue to accept the brank. They all do...”
Dr. Saunders steps away leaving the brank in place. Jay Blaine hears the snap of latex gloves.
“And I promised you a little gift. Something you will remember me by... but also practical.”
Dr. Saunders returns with a small stainless steel bowl. The fingers of a gloved hand hold up an open ring, one inch in diameter, well gauged, it matches the many bands restraining him to his bed.
“Your Prince Albert ring.”
Presented with such sang froid, that which will adorn a boy’s most prideful anatomy, Jay Blaine lurches, testing his many bonds as Dr. Saunders approaches. Having endured so many of her wicked procedures, he knows she will open his manhood without a moment of thought.
“No anesthesia. I want you to remember.”
Dr. Saunders sits on the side of the bed, reaches and casually grasps Jay Blaine’s sizable organ as if selecting a cucumber at a produce market. Her touch burns, the acid baths making the flesh continuously raw... a well cooked hot dog. He grimaces with the most modest of contact.
“Upon landing in Chessu you’ll be assigned a handler. She will get you in shape and train you. Then you’ll be worked... for the rest of your life.’
Tears form as the left hand encircles the shaft just below the tip, thumb and index finger pressing to better present the urethral opening. Dr. Saunders works as she speaks, opening the male organ as commonplace and challenging as making a cup of coffee.
“She’ll be young. The Empress presents the gift of a beast upon attaining womanhood.”
Another curved needle appears, this one shorter, and Jay Blaine helplessly watches as the doctor inserts it into the urethra then aloofly presses as he emits a muffled howl, the brank seconding as an effective gag.
“Yes, she’ll be young but experienced. The girls in Chessu grow up in a very strict female dominant culture. As you know, at birth they put all male children up for adoption, a very lucrative market in China for male babies.”
The needle exits the underside of the penis tip just about where Dr. Saunders excised the sensitive flesh many days before.
“So be respectful... and obedient... and work hard. Your handler will know exactly how to extract your best efforts. And you will become very eager to offer such.”
The open ring is slipped into the opening, Jay Blaine’s suppressed cries for mercy completely ignored. But there does come a sense of relief as she releases her grip, the excoriated penile flesh abraded no longer.
“No need to solder this close, it will be about the last thing you will want to remove. You’ll see.”
With that, pliers similar to those used by Moira, smaller, grip the newly inserted ring. Firmly pressing, the tongs slowly close the loop, adorning Jay Blaine with his Prince Albert offering... his gift.
“Yes, the last thing you’ll want is someone touching your penis. Now the ring can be used instead.”
Chapter Thirteen
“A light breakfast, 384322. Today you’re going to Chessu... and full stomachs are not good.”
For the first and only time, Jay Blaine is sighted as a tending nurse assures sustenance. With holes in his cheeks, grommets left and right, food must be carefully ingested lest it ooze out during mastication. And so as he lies well bound, his new bands utilized, the nurse spoons a very moderate helping of mush and pushes it the very back of his mouth. There she pauses, holding the spoon in place as she offers the command to swallow, the porridge or whatever barely touching the tip of the tongue and avoiding most taste buds... but also not pressing through his new openings.
“I am told in Chessu they have a special feeding method for the beasts... faster... less assistance required,” the young nurse muses in passing the inordinate time required for each offering.
The demented mind of Jay Blaine marvels over the callousness of she trained in care and medicine. He lies completely naked, of course, his many stainless steel bands summarily clipped to sturdy rails attached to his hospital bed, essentially making him one with his place of rest. Binding requires mere moments, and the daintiest of fingers, and the young nurses do so without compunction... and with knowledge and experience which belies their few years. They have handled so many... and so dispassionately...
Dr. Saunders enters and Jay Blaine fidgets, her mere presence bringing trepidation.
“Ready for a little trip?” referring so flippantly to the final leg of Jay Blaine’s life transforming journey.
She holds up the brank, that which the day before penetrated Jay Blaine’s mouth and tongue and was used so convincingly to lead him about.
Jay Blaine stares, better able to assess the evilest yet simplest of bondage devices. Yes, it is nothing more than a strip of thin steel, not more than a foot in length, and gauged as that of a wire coat hanger. In slipping the knotted ends of a rope over each end, the thin bar becomes an amazingly effective bridle, forcing forth the tongue, which extends beyond the lips, and affording the bearer of the rope the most efficient leverage over the branked.
The doctor, in some psychological process of acclimatizing, holds forth the object and allows continuing inspection.
“Want to wear it for me?”
Jay Blaine shakes his head.
“No please.”
“Oh, but you did so well with it yesterday. Your penis got nice a firm for me. I think you enjoyed being directed by a woman.”
Deep within, Jay Blaine, having contemplated his reaction, must agree... and he curses himself. He does not want to be transformed to an obedient beast forced to do a woman’s bidding. But there is a side that does.
“Tongue.”
Uttered in firmness, by rote Jay Blaine obeys. Knowing hands work the brank into the left grommet, somewhat fidget to find the opening in his tongue, then press to slide the bar out the right grommet. Quicker than the evening before, Jay Blaine fends off a slight gagging reaction as his tongue is forcibly thrust well past his lips.
“Good. Gets quicker and easier every time. You’ll very soon learn to precisely position your tongue to accept the brank. They all do...”
Dr. Saunders steps away leaving the brank in place. Jay Blaine hears the snap of latex gloves.
“And I promised you a little gift. Something you will remember me by... but also practical.”
Dr. Saunders returns with a small stainless steel bowl. The fingers of a gloved hand hold up an open ring, one inch in diameter, well gauged, it matches the many bands restraining him to his bed.
“Your Prince Albert ring.”
Presented with such sang froid, that which will adorn a boy’s most prideful anatomy, Jay Blaine lurches, testing his many bonds as Dr. Saunders approaches. Having endured so many of her wicked procedures, he knows she will open his manhood without a moment of thought.
“No anesthesia. I want you to remember.”
Dr. Saunders sits on the side of the bed, reaches and casually grasps Jay Blaine’s sizable organ as if selecting a cucumber at a produce market. Her touch burns, the acid baths making the flesh continuously raw... a well cooked hot dog. He grimaces with the most modest of contact.
“Upon landing in Chessu you’ll be assigned a handler. She will get you in shape and train you. Then you’ll be worked... for the rest of your life.’
Tears form as the left hand encircles the shaft just below the tip, thumb and index finger pressing to better present the urethral opening. Dr. Saunders works as she speaks, opening the male organ as commonplace and challenging as making a cup of coffee.
“She’ll be young. The Empress presents the gift of a beast upon attaining womanhood.”
Another curved needle appears, this one shorter, and Jay Blaine helplessly watches as the doctor inserts it into the urethra then aloofly presses as he emits a muffled howl, the brank seconding as an effective gag.
“Yes, she’ll be young but experienced. The girls in Chessu grow up in a very strict female dominant culture. As you know, at birth they put all male children up for adoption, a very lucrative market in China for male babies.”
The needle exits the underside of the penis tip just about where Dr. Saunders excised the sensitive flesh many days before.
“So be respectful... and obedient... and work hard. Your handler will know exactly how to extract your best efforts. And you will become very eager to offer such.”
The open ring is slipped into the opening, Jay Blaine’s suppressed cries for mercy completely ignored. But there does come a sense of relief as she releases her grip, the excoriated penile flesh abraded no longer.
“No need to solder this close, it will be about the last thing you will want to remove. You’ll see.”
With that, pliers similar to those used by Moira, smaller, grip the newly inserted ring. Firmly pressing, the tongs slowly close the loop, adorning Jay Blaine with his Prince Albert offering... his gift.
“Yes, the last thing you’ll want is someone touching your penis. Now the ring can be used instead.”
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
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.”
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.”
Monday, October 25, 2010
Chapter Eleven - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Eleven
Stirring from a nap, Jay Blaine hears the ratchet wheel. Somehow he sleeps in the awkward position, calves and ankles restrained well over head, scrotum constantly tensioned and pulled towards the foot of the hospital bed. But really his slumber is comprised of a series of brief naps, the ratchet wheel always to be turned to awaken, his scrotum always to feel stress.
But with these turns the tension slackens!
“Yes, such a nice long scrotum. You’re going to be quite the proud beast, Mr. Blaine.”
It is the voice of Dr. Saunders. Her fingers work about the hood, a nurse evidently turning the wheel.
“Now close your eyes. It will take some time to acclimate to the light. We have the blinds closed and the room light off.”
Jay Blaine is overjoyed in feeling the tender fingers of the nurse continue her ministrations, completely freeing his scrotum of its bindings. And Dr. Saunders works as well, the hood, seeming so ubiquitous over the many days, rolled completely off. He must close his eyes with the stab of light, clenching without the slightest glimpse of his surroundings.
The ankle restraints are next, the nurse gently lowering his legs to the mattress.
“Now lie still while I align the brank. Open your mouth for me. Thrust your tongue.”
Jay Blaine feels fidgeting about the grommet on his left cheek. Something is inserted. A hand grasps his chin and maneuvers his head, his tongue thrusts forth as demanded. He feels something slip into his mouth, well back, through the new opening in his cheek. There is more fidgeting and whatever has been introduced finds the opening in his tongue! Jay Blaine can feel it slowly slip through! Then, incredibly, what penetrates left grommet and tongue, exits the right grommet!
“Yes, not bad alignment. You and your handler will work together... and she’ll have you branked in seconds once the alignment is practiced a few times.”
The doctor’s hand moves. Jay Blaine grimaces in pain and finds he must instantly move his head in response. Something penetrates his mouth and tongue... and extends well outside his face to the right and left.
The wrist cuffs are released as Jay Blaine feels oscillations on that which penetrates his head.
“A leash. Just a length of rope. Nothing fancy. Your end terminates in a ‘Y’. One leg of the ‘Y’ to connect to the right side of the brank, the other to the left.”
Jay Blaine, eyes remaining clenched, feels the rope being connected, the slightest tremor of the brank felt inside his head.
“Come, stand for me. Slowly, be careful.”
Yes the muscles are shaky, Jay Blaine permitted almost no exercise since being packed away in a shipping container. But he manages to slide off the bed and as his legs acclimate, he feels Dr. Saunders gather a tuft of skin at the small of his back. There follows the familiar click, and the last grommet instantly penetrates.
“Done, ready for your waist band. And there we have it...a leashed beast ready to respond to the slightest tug of a woman’s hand.”
Dr. Saunders’ attention returns to the leash and demonstrates, slowly moving her leash hand right then left. Jay Blaine whimpers with the stab of pain, mandating that his head instantly follow.
“So Mr. Blaine, you asked me... why? Well what headier feeling for a woman of my ilk than to have boys like you leashed. And have you noticed your own reaction? You’re stiffening for me.”
With all the sensual input, Jay Blaine has not processed the reaction of that part of his anatomy. He cannot see, but his hand slowly moves to that which he has not touched in many days, his male organ strictly under the province of women.
“Careful, Mr. Blaine. You’ve been altered. Nurse Wendy has been working there.”
He touches. And he cries out in agony... learning two things. He is indeed engorged, Dr. Saunders’ controlling hand bringing forth odd arousal. And the lightest touch causes his once proud manhood to burn as if set afire.
“Your acid baths. That and my degloving has changed the level of sensitivity. Hence it will always feel like its been sun burned... essentially a deep first degree burn. Nurse Wendy tends to all the fully functioning penises in Chessu every week. Many feet of phallus, much muriatic acid.
“No, you’ll not be stroking yourself in Chessu. Even given the opportunity, which will rarely come, you’ll just hurt yourself. Before you leave I will offer some relief by piercing your penis and inserting a Prince Albert ring. That way your phallus can be maneuvered about without touching the ultra sensitive skin.
“But open your eyes. It’s time.”
Sighted for the first time, Jay Blaine relaxes, the limited illumination of the darkened room acceptable, the late afternoon sun bringing a glow to the window shade. His eyes open. He blinks. Extending straight before him is a rope. Peripherally he notes it splits, the two ends tied right and left to his brank. He notes it is really nothing more than a slim length of stainless steel, probably the diameter of a wire coathanger.
Strangely, he marvels, a woman can control his every move with something so simple... yet something which penetrates his head.
But then his eyes further adjust and his attention shifts to she who so imperiously, but pleasantly, holds the leash.
Dr. Mary Saunders is of the age expected.... mid forties. But not expected is the handsomeness of such a knowledgeable and authoritative woman. She smiles... not that of a beauty queen, but one of calm confidence. She wears a white smock, medical devices fill a breast pocket, a stethoscope drapes about the neck. Dark hair is bunched and unceremoniously propped atop her head, functionally styled. Dark eyes, but filled with mirth. It is evident, in holding the leash, that she very much enjoys the fruits of her alterations.
Dr. Saunders steps more proximate, dips at the knees and lowers her free left hand.
“Recognize these?’ she quips, palming what the young nurses have so meticulously worked to stretch over the many, many days.
Her cupped hand rises, presenting to the bearer his own balls. And Jay Blaine finds the question to be apropos. The viscous ‘stretching cream’, the constant tension, the attentive nurses, all have worked to enlarge the scrotal sac such that the testicles of Jay Blaine most prodigiously hang below mid thigh.
“You’ll now take to the sling quite easily, Mr. Blaine. Some nice steel bands and you’re ready for Chessu. Come.”
The hand releases his balls and such swing heavily between his thighs as Dr. Saunders turns.
Jay Blaine feels instant admiration... affection?.. as the woman who masterminded his alteration turns and gently pulls on his leash. The pain cannot be described, and Jay Blaine has no time to think... only to react... obediently stepping forth to follow and bring slack to the leash.
Yes, he comes indeed.
Stirring from a nap, Jay Blaine hears the ratchet wheel. Somehow he sleeps in the awkward position, calves and ankles restrained well over head, scrotum constantly tensioned and pulled towards the foot of the hospital bed. But really his slumber is comprised of a series of brief naps, the ratchet wheel always to be turned to awaken, his scrotum always to feel stress.
But with these turns the tension slackens!
“Yes, such a nice long scrotum. You’re going to be quite the proud beast, Mr. Blaine.”
It is the voice of Dr. Saunders. Her fingers work about the hood, a nurse evidently turning the wheel.
“Now close your eyes. It will take some time to acclimate to the light. We have the blinds closed and the room light off.”
Jay Blaine is overjoyed in feeling the tender fingers of the nurse continue her ministrations, completely freeing his scrotum of its bindings. And Dr. Saunders works as well, the hood, seeming so ubiquitous over the many days, rolled completely off. He must close his eyes with the stab of light, clenching without the slightest glimpse of his surroundings.
The ankle restraints are next, the nurse gently lowering his legs to the mattress.
“Now lie still while I align the brank. Open your mouth for me. Thrust your tongue.”
Jay Blaine feels fidgeting about the grommet on his left cheek. Something is inserted. A hand grasps his chin and maneuvers his head, his tongue thrusts forth as demanded. He feels something slip into his mouth, well back, through the new opening in his cheek. There is more fidgeting and whatever has been introduced finds the opening in his tongue! Jay Blaine can feel it slowly slip through! Then, incredibly, what penetrates left grommet and tongue, exits the right grommet!
“Yes, not bad alignment. You and your handler will work together... and she’ll have you branked in seconds once the alignment is practiced a few times.”
The doctor’s hand moves. Jay Blaine grimaces in pain and finds he must instantly move his head in response. Something penetrates his mouth and tongue... and extends well outside his face to the right and left.
The wrist cuffs are released as Jay Blaine feels oscillations on that which penetrates his head.
“A leash. Just a length of rope. Nothing fancy. Your end terminates in a ‘Y’. One leg of the ‘Y’ to connect to the right side of the brank, the other to the left.”
Jay Blaine, eyes remaining clenched, feels the rope being connected, the slightest tremor of the brank felt inside his head.
“Come, stand for me. Slowly, be careful.”
Yes the muscles are shaky, Jay Blaine permitted almost no exercise since being packed away in a shipping container. But he manages to slide off the bed and as his legs acclimate, he feels Dr. Saunders gather a tuft of skin at the small of his back. There follows the familiar click, and the last grommet instantly penetrates.
“Done, ready for your waist band. And there we have it...a leashed beast ready to respond to the slightest tug of a woman’s hand.”
Dr. Saunders’ attention returns to the leash and demonstrates, slowly moving her leash hand right then left. Jay Blaine whimpers with the stab of pain, mandating that his head instantly follow.
“So Mr. Blaine, you asked me... why? Well what headier feeling for a woman of my ilk than to have boys like you leashed. And have you noticed your own reaction? You’re stiffening for me.”
With all the sensual input, Jay Blaine has not processed the reaction of that part of his anatomy. He cannot see, but his hand slowly moves to that which he has not touched in many days, his male organ strictly under the province of women.
“Careful, Mr. Blaine. You’ve been altered. Nurse Wendy has been working there.”
He touches. And he cries out in agony... learning two things. He is indeed engorged, Dr. Saunders’ controlling hand bringing forth odd arousal. And the lightest touch causes his once proud manhood to burn as if set afire.
“Your acid baths. That and my degloving has changed the level of sensitivity. Hence it will always feel like its been sun burned... essentially a deep first degree burn. Nurse Wendy tends to all the fully functioning penises in Chessu every week. Many feet of phallus, much muriatic acid.
“No, you’ll not be stroking yourself in Chessu. Even given the opportunity, which will rarely come, you’ll just hurt yourself. Before you leave I will offer some relief by piercing your penis and inserting a Prince Albert ring. That way your phallus can be maneuvered about without touching the ultra sensitive skin.
“But open your eyes. It’s time.”
Sighted for the first time, Jay Blaine relaxes, the limited illumination of the darkened room acceptable, the late afternoon sun bringing a glow to the window shade. His eyes open. He blinks. Extending straight before him is a rope. Peripherally he notes it splits, the two ends tied right and left to his brank. He notes it is really nothing more than a slim length of stainless steel, probably the diameter of a wire coathanger.
Strangely, he marvels, a woman can control his every move with something so simple... yet something which penetrates his head.
But then his eyes further adjust and his attention shifts to she who so imperiously, but pleasantly, holds the leash.
Dr. Mary Saunders is of the age expected.... mid forties. But not expected is the handsomeness of such a knowledgeable and authoritative woman. She smiles... not that of a beauty queen, but one of calm confidence. She wears a white smock, medical devices fill a breast pocket, a stethoscope drapes about the neck. Dark hair is bunched and unceremoniously propped atop her head, functionally styled. Dark eyes, but filled with mirth. It is evident, in holding the leash, that she very much enjoys the fruits of her alterations.
Dr. Saunders steps more proximate, dips at the knees and lowers her free left hand.
“Recognize these?’ she quips, palming what the young nurses have so meticulously worked to stretch over the many, many days.
Her cupped hand rises, presenting to the bearer his own balls. And Jay Blaine finds the question to be apropos. The viscous ‘stretching cream’, the constant tension, the attentive nurses, all have worked to enlarge the scrotal sac such that the testicles of Jay Blaine most prodigiously hang below mid thigh.
“You’ll now take to the sling quite easily, Mr. Blaine. Some nice steel bands and you’re ready for Chessu. Come.”
The hand releases his balls and such swing heavily between his thighs as Dr. Saunders turns.
Jay Blaine feels instant admiration... affection?.. as the woman who masterminded his alteration turns and gently pulls on his leash. The pain cannot be described, and Jay Blaine has no time to think... only to react... obediently stepping forth to follow and bring slack to the leash.
Yes, he comes indeed.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Editorial clarification
By the way, I should explain, though it is probably self evident... the use of asterisks '********************' within a chapter signifies the passage of time. When encountering, think 'fast forward'.
Hope all are enjoying. I am.
Hope all are enjoying. I am.
Chapter Ten - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Ten
With the temporary insertion, ensuring the tongue will heal with opening in place, there are no longer any thoughts concerning the constant tension on the scrotum, tightened twice per hour, day and night. Instead Jay Blaine constantly fights the sense of choking, a nurse at his side around the clock to assure proper breathing.
And yes it does require time to become accustomed. He learns it is best to just lie quietly and accept the cruel insertion, that thrust completely through his tongue and inhibiting speech and normal swallowing
He is hydrated and fed utilizing a special bottle, a long attachment at the nozzle inserted well past the lips, pushed to the back of the throat past the penetrating bar and squeezed to begin flow.
“Good boy... just a little more.”
Jay Blaine soon learns another aspect of the brank piercing. Whatever is introduced to the back of his throat is swallowed... must be swallowed... any words of encouragement superfluous. His tongue has lost the nimbleness required to reject whatever it is a woman wishes to have ingested. She presses inward, he swallows. Instant acquiescence.
Dr. Saunders enters, the sound of her voice now causing the boy to quake in fear.
“Some more grommets... simply done... just a couple more... be a good boy for Dr. Saunders.”
Without anesthesia, a thick roll of epidermis is pinched at the right hip and grommeted with a click of the imposing device. Then the left hip and then at the belly just below the navel, the device clicks twice more.
The quick sharp pain contrasts that of the slowly stretching scrotum and the constant aggravation of the tongue piercing. But it is just that... quick... and Jay feels odd gratitude.
“There’ll be a fourth above your buttocks. But as you can see, it can be done any time when you're not lying. Simple enough.
Five holes, quickly but cruelly penetrating his body... a sixth to come... plus the bar holding open his healing tongue. How calloused! But performed so routinely, with the tending nurses knowing exactly how to counter the constant choking sensation.
The penis is checked. Deemed healed, the doctor removes the sutures.
“Not too deformed. It will return to normal shape as the skin stretches a bit. An acid bath tomorrow, Mr. Blaine. You’ll soon rue that day in your mothers womb when this became a penis instead of a clitoris.”
******************************************************************************
“Muriatic acid. A mere five percent solution for good boys.”
She introduced herself as Nurse Wendy. Mature, vibrant, terming herself a specialist, she inspects the penis, enthralled with Dr. Saunders’ work.
“A good clean partial degloving. Excellent work.”
Jay Blaine... an apprehensive Jay Blaine... feels little where is formerly felt so much. Supersensitive skin removed, other penile flesh, much less sensitive was pulled together and sutured. Normally a woman’s ministrations there would have him standing in pride. Instead Jay Blaine just whimpers in disappointment.
“Now, Mr. Blaine, I am one of the few westerners permitted in Chessu, flying in once per week to do the baths. So you’ll see more of me. Initially often. Then less frequently as this pecker of yours is turned to leather.”
Jay Blaine hears a vessel open and liquid poured.
“Now you just lie and let Nurse Wendy do all the work. And if you need to scream, you go right ahead. Your penis may feel like its on fire, but we don’t do any harm here.... not to the property of the Empress.”
Again spoken as if comforting a child, the words horripilate. There is felt a brush, yes a very soft paint brush, as wetness coats Jay Blaine’s entire shaft. Slowly Jay Blaine feels himself stiffen, attaining some degree of satisfaction that the organ functions still. But then begins what can only be described as a slow roast.... warm... warmer... hot... hotter... searing... Nurse Wendy stands back, arms akimbo, her look of Schadenfreude well practiced.
“I so much enjoy the reaction of you new boys...
“And oh, Mr. Blaine, for some reason you’re softening. Imagine that. Your file indicates you like standing for a woman...”
******************************************************************************
Three days, by Jay Blaine’s approximation... ratchet turned and turned... penis bathed once more... Dr. Saunders checks on the penetrating tongue bar, deems the opening healed and announces.
“Tomorrow. I will walk you... sort of a ritual here... then grommet your back and have welded in place your waist band, ankle and wrist bands. You’re almost ready for your plane ride... to begin your lifetime of servitude.”
The words, spoken with enthusiasm, seem to gush. Dr. Saunders has altered so many... yet the zeal fades not.
“Would you like to speak for me?”
Jay Blaine nods, the deep penetrating tongue bar inhibiting all discernible speech. The fingers thus work about the mouth. Rubber tipped forceps slip within, grasping one end of the short bar thrust through the body of the tongue. A firm tug. Another. It finally slips out.
Jay Blaine feels tears of joy begin to soak his hood.
“Why?” the simple word so beseechingly uttered.
“Why what, Mr. Blaine?”
“Why do you do this? These horrible things.”
“Oh come now, Mr. Blaine. There are so many boys like you destined to be under a woman’s tutelage. I am just here to help you best serve. You’ll find yourself without a scintilla of resistance... eager each and every morning to be harnessed and worked... each and every evening to serve as your handler chooses. The Empress takes good care of her beasts. You’re going to live a very long and healthy life. With the new mine, Chessu is a land of plenty. You’ll be spared nothing... except the ecstasy of sexual climax of course. That is best denied you... forever. And in Chessu forever is indeed forever.”
Dr. Saunders reaches forth and pinches a grommeted cheek.
“You’ll still stand for women, Mr. Blaine. But in time, you’ll have trouble remembering why.”
She laughs... an innocent childish laugh, not her normal snicker.
“I have only seen films and listened to Nurse Wendy’s tales. But it is a province of warmth and understanding... everyone having a role... everyone understanding his/her place. And yours will be the simplest. Obey your handler...”
With the temporary insertion, ensuring the tongue will heal with opening in place, there are no longer any thoughts concerning the constant tension on the scrotum, tightened twice per hour, day and night. Instead Jay Blaine constantly fights the sense of choking, a nurse at his side around the clock to assure proper breathing.
And yes it does require time to become accustomed. He learns it is best to just lie quietly and accept the cruel insertion, that thrust completely through his tongue and inhibiting speech and normal swallowing
He is hydrated and fed utilizing a special bottle, a long attachment at the nozzle inserted well past the lips, pushed to the back of the throat past the penetrating bar and squeezed to begin flow.
“Good boy... just a little more.”
Jay Blaine soon learns another aspect of the brank piercing. Whatever is introduced to the back of his throat is swallowed... must be swallowed... any words of encouragement superfluous. His tongue has lost the nimbleness required to reject whatever it is a woman wishes to have ingested. She presses inward, he swallows. Instant acquiescence.
Dr. Saunders enters, the sound of her voice now causing the boy to quake in fear.
“Some more grommets... simply done... just a couple more... be a good boy for Dr. Saunders.”
Without anesthesia, a thick roll of epidermis is pinched at the right hip and grommeted with a click of the imposing device. Then the left hip and then at the belly just below the navel, the device clicks twice more.
The quick sharp pain contrasts that of the slowly stretching scrotum and the constant aggravation of the tongue piercing. But it is just that... quick... and Jay feels odd gratitude.
“There’ll be a fourth above your buttocks. But as you can see, it can be done any time when you're not lying. Simple enough.
Five holes, quickly but cruelly penetrating his body... a sixth to come... plus the bar holding open his healing tongue. How calloused! But performed so routinely, with the tending nurses knowing exactly how to counter the constant choking sensation.
The penis is checked. Deemed healed, the doctor removes the sutures.
“Not too deformed. It will return to normal shape as the skin stretches a bit. An acid bath tomorrow, Mr. Blaine. You’ll soon rue that day in your mothers womb when this became a penis instead of a clitoris.”
******************************************************************************
“Muriatic acid. A mere five percent solution for good boys.”
She introduced herself as Nurse Wendy. Mature, vibrant, terming herself a specialist, she inspects the penis, enthralled with Dr. Saunders’ work.
“A good clean partial degloving. Excellent work.”
Jay Blaine... an apprehensive Jay Blaine... feels little where is formerly felt so much. Supersensitive skin removed, other penile flesh, much less sensitive was pulled together and sutured. Normally a woman’s ministrations there would have him standing in pride. Instead Jay Blaine just whimpers in disappointment.
“Now, Mr. Blaine, I am one of the few westerners permitted in Chessu, flying in once per week to do the baths. So you’ll see more of me. Initially often. Then less frequently as this pecker of yours is turned to leather.”
Jay Blaine hears a vessel open and liquid poured.
“Now you just lie and let Nurse Wendy do all the work. And if you need to scream, you go right ahead. Your penis may feel like its on fire, but we don’t do any harm here.... not to the property of the Empress.”
Again spoken as if comforting a child, the words horripilate. There is felt a brush, yes a very soft paint brush, as wetness coats Jay Blaine’s entire shaft. Slowly Jay Blaine feels himself stiffen, attaining some degree of satisfaction that the organ functions still. But then begins what can only be described as a slow roast.... warm... warmer... hot... hotter... searing... Nurse Wendy stands back, arms akimbo, her look of Schadenfreude well practiced.
“I so much enjoy the reaction of you new boys...
“And oh, Mr. Blaine, for some reason you’re softening. Imagine that. Your file indicates you like standing for a woman...”
******************************************************************************
Three days, by Jay Blaine’s approximation... ratchet turned and turned... penis bathed once more... Dr. Saunders checks on the penetrating tongue bar, deems the opening healed and announces.
“Tomorrow. I will walk you... sort of a ritual here... then grommet your back and have welded in place your waist band, ankle and wrist bands. You’re almost ready for your plane ride... to begin your lifetime of servitude.”
The words, spoken with enthusiasm, seem to gush. Dr. Saunders has altered so many... yet the zeal fades not.
“Would you like to speak for me?”
Jay Blaine nods, the deep penetrating tongue bar inhibiting all discernible speech. The fingers thus work about the mouth. Rubber tipped forceps slip within, grasping one end of the short bar thrust through the body of the tongue. A firm tug. Another. It finally slips out.
Jay Blaine feels tears of joy begin to soak his hood.
“Why?” the simple word so beseechingly uttered.
“Why what, Mr. Blaine?”
“Why do you do this? These horrible things.”
“Oh come now, Mr. Blaine. There are so many boys like you destined to be under a woman’s tutelage. I am just here to help you best serve. You’ll find yourself without a scintilla of resistance... eager each and every morning to be harnessed and worked... each and every evening to serve as your handler chooses. The Empress takes good care of her beasts. You’re going to live a very long and healthy life. With the new mine, Chessu is a land of plenty. You’ll be spared nothing... except the ecstasy of sexual climax of course. That is best denied you... forever. And in Chessu forever is indeed forever.”
Dr. Saunders reaches forth and pinches a grommeted cheek.
“You’ll still stand for women, Mr. Blaine. But in time, you’ll have trouble remembering why.”
She laughs... an innocent childish laugh, not her normal snicker.
“I have only seen films and listened to Nurse Wendy’s tales. But it is a province of warmth and understanding... everyone having a role... everyone understanding his/her place. And yours will be the simplest. Obey your handler...”
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Chapter Nine - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Nine
Degloving! Acid bath? Brank?
Adding to the slow physical torment of stretching is the mental torment of contemplating Dr. Saunders' described prospective procedures.
Jay Blaine begins to count the turns of the rachet wheel, apprehensive concerning what the next day will bring. One for every thirty minutes, he loses track at 19 or 20. To occupy his mind he beseeches a young nurse as she dutifully holds a rectal thermometer in place.
“Degloving?” he prompts.
The nurse titters. She is young and the thought amuses.
“Oh you boys are so sensitive... it’s only a little piece skin. Not much larger than that covering your thumb. Dr. Saunders has a marvelous collection... displayed in her office in jars of formaldehyde. Think of it as an extreme circumcision."
“But it’s where... it’s where... “
“Where your hands will no longer need to play,” the nurse lectures in sliding the instrument from his rectum.
“Calm yourself, Mr. Blaine. There is nothing you can do. You are under our governance... and we will alter you as the Empress sees fit. I think the brank should be of more concern. It imbues such intense physical control... total... you’ll soon be eagerly responding to the gentlest of directing tugs.
“Someday I will visit Chessu and have a boy like you under leash. The brank is delicious!”
With such enthusiasm for female superiority, Jay Blaine finds no comfort in the conversation, his thoughts segueing to the marks left on his cheeks.... and then to acid baths.
******************************************************************************
Sleep finally overcame, and Jay Blaine, now somehow able to slumber despite the frequent turns of the ratchet wheel, stirs as he again feels a latex glove palpating his penis. When he feels a stab of pain he shrieks, surprising himself.
“Just a little novocaine... then some little incisions... then some sutures. It will be all over in a few minutes,” Dr. Saunders advises, as one would comfort a child
The tone of voice soothes, the choice of words do not.
“You’re a good boy so I won’t make you watch. Very obedient. Some need a lesson, so I make them observe while a woman reshapes the vaunted male organ. It is something they won’t forget...”
Jay Blaine can feel some manipulation despite the desensitizing injection. The woman cruelly cuts as she orates. Such brazenness!
Then he feels the flesh about his penis tighten. She sutures and he finds it is true. The procedure removing his most sensitive flesh requires mere moments.
“A couple of days to heal, and the acid baths will begin. We’ll have this joystick of yours never again offering joy... at least not for you.”
Jay Blaine hears the disposal of scalpel, hypodermic needle and sutures, implements plunked into a metal dish.
“And another little trophy for my collection.”
He pictures the doctor pridefully holding up her prize, that which spurred such lustful stroking, that frictioned so fervently... the catalyst for such wasteful, sordid displays of virility.
And now it is over.
“And tomorrow your brank, Mr. Blaine. Enjoy your last meal. Thereafter it is mush for you.”
******************************************************************************
“We’ll not put you under... just a little something to calm you. But I will keep you blindfolded. I’ll want the first thing you see to be my smiling face as I test your leash.”
Dr. Saunders’ normally knowing confident voice is tinged with wickedness as she injects the buttocks. Then the hands tie a blindfold over the hood, for good measure, as it needs to be rolled up... access required to where she left her marks two days before.
Dr. Saunders’ pen left symmetrical dots in the left cheek and right, in the meatus just under the cheek bone.
“Grommets, Mr. Blaine. Permanent openings here and here. A little unorthodox, but you’ll soon learn of the advantage. Particularly after I impale your tongue with a transverse opening. The brank will enter the right grommet, be thrust through your tongue and exit the left grommet. Inserted every morning when you are worked... removed every evening while your are rested... you’re going to be one obedient beast.”
No longer does Jay Blaine shudder in contemplating a superior woman’s authority. Instead there come outright convulsions, not only fully understanding the planned alteration but the woman's resolve as well.
"Calm yourself. There’s nothing you can do... easy... easy.... that’s it just relax."
The drug works quickly. Jay Blaine feels his mouth pried open. A strange device is inserted, pinching the left cheek. It clicks. There comes an instant stab of pain. A smiling doctor withdraws, the grommet gun instantly piercing to leave a circle of metal not quite a centimeter in diameter.
“Good boy. Your going to look very pretty. Just like all my other Chessu boys.”
The mouth is pried open again. Jay Blaine cannot resist. The drug... it almost brings paralysis.
Then the device pinches the right cheek and clicks again, a second grommet joining the left.
“Ok. Now that the relaxant is fully circulated, let’s have that nice long tongue of yours... a boy’s most admired sex organ,” Dr. Saunders quips.
Jay Blaine is amazed as he feels his tongue almost exit his mouth. The relaxant obviates the natural reaction to pull back. Instead the pink appendage seems to unravel, a fishing line facilely dispensed from its reel.
“When you’re branked, I’ll want as much tongue exposed as possible... it makes for such demeaning presentation, don’t you think?”
Dr. Saunders retrieves an extremely long curved needle. It is now that her surgical skills are tested, piercing the tongue well back on the right side and slowly... most painfully... working the needle through and across... penetrating the strong muscling. Jay Blaine gives out another shriek, this one well muffled, the doctor relentlessly working. It is evident she has branked many a Chessu beast.
“Yes... just relax... let Dr. Saunders make her alterations. Make you a nice strong obedient beast for the Empress. When I am done you’ll need to bear a nasty little bar while the opening heals and becomes permanent, but I think a well bound boy will just lie and heal for the good doctor.”
Her words, meant to distract, adequately describe the process. Jay Blaine’s tongue will forever bear an opening... and await the controlling brank of a woman.
Degloving! Acid bath? Brank?
Adding to the slow physical torment of stretching is the mental torment of contemplating Dr. Saunders' described prospective procedures.
Jay Blaine begins to count the turns of the rachet wheel, apprehensive concerning what the next day will bring. One for every thirty minutes, he loses track at 19 or 20. To occupy his mind he beseeches a young nurse as she dutifully holds a rectal thermometer in place.
“Degloving?” he prompts.
The nurse titters. She is young and the thought amuses.
“Oh you boys are so sensitive... it’s only a little piece skin. Not much larger than that covering your thumb. Dr. Saunders has a marvelous collection... displayed in her office in jars of formaldehyde. Think of it as an extreme circumcision."
“But it’s where... it’s where... “
“Where your hands will no longer need to play,” the nurse lectures in sliding the instrument from his rectum.
“Calm yourself, Mr. Blaine. There is nothing you can do. You are under our governance... and we will alter you as the Empress sees fit. I think the brank should be of more concern. It imbues such intense physical control... total... you’ll soon be eagerly responding to the gentlest of directing tugs.
“Someday I will visit Chessu and have a boy like you under leash. The brank is delicious!”
With such enthusiasm for female superiority, Jay Blaine finds no comfort in the conversation, his thoughts segueing to the marks left on his cheeks.... and then to acid baths.
******************************************************************************
Sleep finally overcame, and Jay Blaine, now somehow able to slumber despite the frequent turns of the ratchet wheel, stirs as he again feels a latex glove palpating his penis. When he feels a stab of pain he shrieks, surprising himself.
“Just a little novocaine... then some little incisions... then some sutures. It will be all over in a few minutes,” Dr. Saunders advises, as one would comfort a child
The tone of voice soothes, the choice of words do not.
“You’re a good boy so I won’t make you watch. Very obedient. Some need a lesson, so I make them observe while a woman reshapes the vaunted male organ. It is something they won’t forget...”
Jay Blaine can feel some manipulation despite the desensitizing injection. The woman cruelly cuts as she orates. Such brazenness!
Then he feels the flesh about his penis tighten. She sutures and he finds it is true. The procedure removing his most sensitive flesh requires mere moments.
“A couple of days to heal, and the acid baths will begin. We’ll have this joystick of yours never again offering joy... at least not for you.”
Jay Blaine hears the disposal of scalpel, hypodermic needle and sutures, implements plunked into a metal dish.
“And another little trophy for my collection.”
He pictures the doctor pridefully holding up her prize, that which spurred such lustful stroking, that frictioned so fervently... the catalyst for such wasteful, sordid displays of virility.
And now it is over.
“And tomorrow your brank, Mr. Blaine. Enjoy your last meal. Thereafter it is mush for you.”
******************************************************************************
“We’ll not put you under... just a little something to calm you. But I will keep you blindfolded. I’ll want the first thing you see to be my smiling face as I test your leash.”
Dr. Saunders’ normally knowing confident voice is tinged with wickedness as she injects the buttocks. Then the hands tie a blindfold over the hood, for good measure, as it needs to be rolled up... access required to where she left her marks two days before.
Dr. Saunders’ pen left symmetrical dots in the left cheek and right, in the meatus just under the cheek bone.
“Grommets, Mr. Blaine. Permanent openings here and here. A little unorthodox, but you’ll soon learn of the advantage. Particularly after I impale your tongue with a transverse opening. The brank will enter the right grommet, be thrust through your tongue and exit the left grommet. Inserted every morning when you are worked... removed every evening while your are rested... you’re going to be one obedient beast.”
No longer does Jay Blaine shudder in contemplating a superior woman’s authority. Instead there come outright convulsions, not only fully understanding the planned alteration but the woman's resolve as well.
"Calm yourself. There’s nothing you can do... easy... easy.... that’s it just relax."
The drug works quickly. Jay Blaine feels his mouth pried open. A strange device is inserted, pinching the left cheek. It clicks. There comes an instant stab of pain. A smiling doctor withdraws, the grommet gun instantly piercing to leave a circle of metal not quite a centimeter in diameter.
“Good boy. Your going to look very pretty. Just like all my other Chessu boys.”
The mouth is pried open again. Jay Blaine cannot resist. The drug... it almost brings paralysis.
Then the device pinches the right cheek and clicks again, a second grommet joining the left.
“Ok. Now that the relaxant is fully circulated, let’s have that nice long tongue of yours... a boy’s most admired sex organ,” Dr. Saunders quips.
Jay Blaine is amazed as he feels his tongue almost exit his mouth. The relaxant obviates the natural reaction to pull back. Instead the pink appendage seems to unravel, a fishing line facilely dispensed from its reel.
“When you’re branked, I’ll want as much tongue exposed as possible... it makes for such demeaning presentation, don’t you think?”
Dr. Saunders retrieves an extremely long curved needle. It is now that her surgical skills are tested, piercing the tongue well back on the right side and slowly... most painfully... working the needle through and across... penetrating the strong muscling. Jay Blaine gives out another shriek, this one well muffled, the doctor relentlessly working. It is evident she has branked many a Chessu beast.
“Yes... just relax... let Dr. Saunders make her alterations. Make you a nice strong obedient beast for the Empress. When I am done you’ll need to bear a nasty little bar while the opening heals and becomes permanent, but I think a well bound boy will just lie and heal for the good doctor.”
Her words, meant to distract, adequately describe the process. Jay Blaine’s tongue will forever bear an opening... and await the controlling brank of a woman.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Chapter Eight - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Eight
Jay Blaine felt great relief, not only with the departure of the overbearing Dr. Saunders, but in finally being released from the stretcher. So many days tethered in one position, the knowing nurses kindly had to assist, his muscles so cramped that there was not a spark of thought concerning resistance when the simple velcro restraints of wrists, neck, waist, thighs and ankles were ripped open.
Besides, in remaining hooded, the many tubes remained in place to truncate any brash motions or undertakings. The nurses worked to slowly withdraw the penetrating plumbing.
“Hands on head, Mr Blaine. It is a rule here for the naked males,” a more mature nurse barked.
And the hands indeed found his hooded cranium, the brief description of orchiectomy quite the incentive for obedience.
“You are to lie supine. I want your knees to your chest. You are going to endure some discomfort for us. But keep in mind there will be no harm. You are the property of the Empress Claudia and will be so treated.”
The property of a woman! As numerous hands push and prod, directing Jay Blaine to a comfortable hospital bed, his lecherous imagination envisions himself masturbating for an enthroned woman, again performing the squalid deed which entertained the prison guards... most of the prison guards.
How would it feel to ejaculate for royalty?
Pushed to the bed, he draws up his legs, knees to chest. Restraints encircle his ankles, others his wrists. But of most concern, tender hands work to unfurl his scrotal sac. He is chagrined to feel encirclement there as well.
“We know the male anatomy here, Mr. Blaine. There will be no damage, so just lie back and enjoy the sense of being under the control of women. We’ve read Dr. Simpson’s report and I think time spent having a governing nurse stretch your balls will be quite psychologically beneficial for you. You do have interesting propensities...”
The encirclement completed, Jay Blaine feels tautness about his testicles. Simultaneously, his wrist restraints are secured to the side of the bed... and most disconcertingly... his ankle restraints well above.
The nurse speaks as his ankles continue to rise, forcing him to straighten his legs while bent at the waist. The action detracts from the continuous tightening of his testicle restraint!
“The standard position, Mr. Blaine. You’ll become accustomed to it... in a few days.”
Fateful words spoken as a tender young hand anoints his entire scrotum with some viscous fluid.
‘Stretching cream’ comes the succinct explanation, followed by the word ‘depilatory’ as a foul smelling lotion is applied everywhere else.
“A nurse will check on you every thirty minutes... and tighten. The rachet wheel is quite finely geared. Two millimeters to a full turn.”
With that, Jay Blaine is returned to well bound isolation, hood remaining, grateful not to be intubated, catheterized, gastrically impaled and anally stuffed.
******************************************************************************
“How are you feeling Mr. Blaine?”
The voice is young, curiously meek, seeming to care. But just as Jay Blaine’s words of complaint are uttered, he hears the grinding of the rachet wheel and feels the additional tautness... two millimeters of additional tautness... on his scrotum.
“It’s too tight,” his pleas ignored.
“And now it’s tighter,” the nurse flippantly responds.
The implacable young hands next liberally smooth the so termed ‘stretching cream’ over the thin pink flesh. Jay Blaine finds the attentive devotion to torment to be amazingly ironic. The nurse is knowledgeable, seems to empathize... and is unyielding... seeming to revel is his discomfort.
A receptacle is held for his excretions, the emptying of the bladder not to forestall scrotal stretching. Then his heart rate is checked, temperature taken rectally, his aperture well presented.
But for the strange procedure... and awkward position of restraint, Jay Blaine would consider himself under standard hospital care.
The passage of time can be measured by the noisy turns of the rachet wheel. But with the duress, who is it to count the turns and divide? So in hooded darkness, Jay Blaine once again loses track. One day... two... three?
But in time Dr. Saunders returns, assessing the progress of the slow stretching, but also paying particular interest to his penis. As a gloved hand rolls it about, Jay Blaine receives a brief lecture on the male anatomy.
“80% of male sexual pleasure is experienced here,” a latex covered finger aloofly grazing over the underside of the very tip. “Some mental stimulation, some friction, some smooth warmth and the male is so facilely brought to ultimate climax... by tending to this tiny spot.”
Dr. Saunders withdraws her hand as her manipulation and the words... though institutional, are perceived as authoritative and thus stimulating... bring arousal.
“In Chessu such male pleasure is to be denied. Yet, since castration deprives the male of vigor, that needed for labor, other methods of denial are implemented.”
Dr. Saunders retrieves from her pocket a marking pen. Her hands return to a now somewhat engorged phallus.
“Partial degloving, Mr. Blaine. That and some acid baths, and we’ll very soon have you cured of the nasty male habit... and that which impelled your sojourn to Chessu.”
The marking pen circles that segment of penile flesh where moments ago her finger grazed.
“When I am done, not only won’t you desire to touch, but you will beg to have this forever neglected. It’s a rather specialized procedure I have developed. It is good for a boy like you. We’ll not have you sapping your strength... that which belongs to the Empress... by wayward fondling.”
Leaving Jay Blaine to his thoughts, the hands move to the hood and carefully roll it upwards, leaving the eyes covered but exposing the cheeks and jaw.
“And after that we’ll do the brank and your waist restraint. May as well get those procedures underway while you’re being stretched.”
A gloved hand grasps the jaw and directs the head up... then down... then right... then left. The pen leaves more marks.
“Yes, Mr. Blaine, total feminine control. I trust you will enjoy serving a demanding woman... many demanding women. Even the youngest girl in Chessu, trained since birth, knows to reign over the male.”
Dr. Saunders rolls down the hood.
"Tomorrow. It won’t be too painful. And boys like you so much enjoy bearing a little pain for a woman.”
Jay Blaine felt great relief, not only with the departure of the overbearing Dr. Saunders, but in finally being released from the stretcher. So many days tethered in one position, the knowing nurses kindly had to assist, his muscles so cramped that there was not a spark of thought concerning resistance when the simple velcro restraints of wrists, neck, waist, thighs and ankles were ripped open.
Besides, in remaining hooded, the many tubes remained in place to truncate any brash motions or undertakings. The nurses worked to slowly withdraw the penetrating plumbing.
“Hands on head, Mr Blaine. It is a rule here for the naked males,” a more mature nurse barked.
And the hands indeed found his hooded cranium, the brief description of orchiectomy quite the incentive for obedience.
“You are to lie supine. I want your knees to your chest. You are going to endure some discomfort for us. But keep in mind there will be no harm. You are the property of the Empress Claudia and will be so treated.”
The property of a woman! As numerous hands push and prod, directing Jay Blaine to a comfortable hospital bed, his lecherous imagination envisions himself masturbating for an enthroned woman, again performing the squalid deed which entertained the prison guards... most of the prison guards.
How would it feel to ejaculate for royalty?
Pushed to the bed, he draws up his legs, knees to chest. Restraints encircle his ankles, others his wrists. But of most concern, tender hands work to unfurl his scrotal sac. He is chagrined to feel encirclement there as well.
“We know the male anatomy here, Mr. Blaine. There will be no damage, so just lie back and enjoy the sense of being under the control of women. We’ve read Dr. Simpson’s report and I think time spent having a governing nurse stretch your balls will be quite psychologically beneficial for you. You do have interesting propensities...”
The encirclement completed, Jay Blaine feels tautness about his testicles. Simultaneously, his wrist restraints are secured to the side of the bed... and most disconcertingly... his ankle restraints well above.
The nurse speaks as his ankles continue to rise, forcing him to straighten his legs while bent at the waist. The action detracts from the continuous tightening of his testicle restraint!
“The standard position, Mr. Blaine. You’ll become accustomed to it... in a few days.”
Fateful words spoken as a tender young hand anoints his entire scrotum with some viscous fluid.
‘Stretching cream’ comes the succinct explanation, followed by the word ‘depilatory’ as a foul smelling lotion is applied everywhere else.
“A nurse will check on you every thirty minutes... and tighten. The rachet wheel is quite finely geared. Two millimeters to a full turn.”
With that, Jay Blaine is returned to well bound isolation, hood remaining, grateful not to be intubated, catheterized, gastrically impaled and anally stuffed.
******************************************************************************
“How are you feeling Mr. Blaine?”
The voice is young, curiously meek, seeming to care. But just as Jay Blaine’s words of complaint are uttered, he hears the grinding of the rachet wheel and feels the additional tautness... two millimeters of additional tautness... on his scrotum.
“It’s too tight,” his pleas ignored.
“And now it’s tighter,” the nurse flippantly responds.
The implacable young hands next liberally smooth the so termed ‘stretching cream’ over the thin pink flesh. Jay Blaine finds the attentive devotion to torment to be amazingly ironic. The nurse is knowledgeable, seems to empathize... and is unyielding... seeming to revel is his discomfort.
A receptacle is held for his excretions, the emptying of the bladder not to forestall scrotal stretching. Then his heart rate is checked, temperature taken rectally, his aperture well presented.
But for the strange procedure... and awkward position of restraint, Jay Blaine would consider himself under standard hospital care.
The passage of time can be measured by the noisy turns of the rachet wheel. But with the duress, who is it to count the turns and divide? So in hooded darkness, Jay Blaine once again loses track. One day... two... three?
But in time Dr. Saunders returns, assessing the progress of the slow stretching, but also paying particular interest to his penis. As a gloved hand rolls it about, Jay Blaine receives a brief lecture on the male anatomy.
“80% of male sexual pleasure is experienced here,” a latex covered finger aloofly grazing over the underside of the very tip. “Some mental stimulation, some friction, some smooth warmth and the male is so facilely brought to ultimate climax... by tending to this tiny spot.”
Dr. Saunders withdraws her hand as her manipulation and the words... though institutional, are perceived as authoritative and thus stimulating... bring arousal.
“In Chessu such male pleasure is to be denied. Yet, since castration deprives the male of vigor, that needed for labor, other methods of denial are implemented.”
Dr. Saunders retrieves from her pocket a marking pen. Her hands return to a now somewhat engorged phallus.
“Partial degloving, Mr. Blaine. That and some acid baths, and we’ll very soon have you cured of the nasty male habit... and that which impelled your sojourn to Chessu.”
The marking pen circles that segment of penile flesh where moments ago her finger grazed.
“When I am done, not only won’t you desire to touch, but you will beg to have this forever neglected. It’s a rather specialized procedure I have developed. It is good for a boy like you. We’ll not have you sapping your strength... that which belongs to the Empress... by wayward fondling.”
Leaving Jay Blaine to his thoughts, the hands move to the hood and carefully roll it upwards, leaving the eyes covered but exposing the cheeks and jaw.
“And after that we’ll do the brank and your waist restraint. May as well get those procedures underway while you’re being stretched.”
A gloved hand grasps the jaw and directs the head up... then down... then right... then left. The pen leaves more marks.
“Yes, Mr. Blaine, total feminine control. I trust you will enjoy serving a demanding woman... many demanding women. Even the youngest girl in Chessu, trained since birth, knows to reign over the male.”
Dr. Saunders rolls down the hood.
"Tomorrow. It won’t be too painful. And boys like you so much enjoy bearing a little pain for a woman.”
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Chapter Seven - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Seven
For how many hours... how many days... must Jay Blaine meekly lie, wondering if the machine, the device filling and emptying his colon, has expunged the sailor’s seed from his viscera?
Oddly he wishes for more flow, putting aside the discomfort, desiring to have one massive cleansing. Yes, a enormous enema, filling his system, bloating his belly to distension. Then to expel in one purifying release... to for sure be rid of what the debaucherous scoundrel implanted so deeply.
But his sense of pureness comes not. Instead the draining cycle ends well before he has the sense that the hot slippery wad has been flushed. Instead it feels as if the return of the slow filling cycle, introducing whatever to his bowels, pushes the filth further into his body.
Perhaps, with all that is constantly flowing, the spunk will ebb to his stomach... his throat!
Yes, delusions of delirium, as Madam Soong prognosticated. His is worse than sensory deprivation, he must lie in wonder as to what the wicked Madam Soong has chosen to infuse into him!
Still, he suffers not from lack of that which is needed to live... other than cognitive input.
And so he concentrates on Madam Soong’s final words... ‘you should concentrate on obedience and focus on the desire to be of service in your new role. For boys like you, Chessu offers quite a welcome. It is a land of women... governing women. Males serve.’
How will he serve?
The deep throb of the ships engines suddenly stops. Many minutes of nothing. Then there come thumps, not to be heard but felt. Then a sense of motion. Jay Blaine’s prostrate form jostles about. Then the wheeled stretcher, well secured within the container, lurches. The motion becomes exaggerated. It is apparent that the ship has arrived in port and the secretive ‘refrigerated’ enclosure is being unloaded.
Jay Blaine has crossed the ocean. Now he must cross China.
******************************************************************************
Many cycles later, the vibrations of the ship changing to the vibrations of a rail car... or truck... all sense of motion stops again.
Chessu!
Jay Blaine feels his heart race as there comes the thud of the container doors followed by strong wafts of warm air. Then the machinery stops... momentarily... and restarts. Reversing the procedure from when entombed many days ago, his life support system, whatever it is to be termed, is disconnected from the ‘refrigeration unit’ and hooked to something more mobile.
Sure enough the stretcher moves and once again Jay Blaine envisions the daintiest of young women pushing him about as would the proud young mother of a baby in a carriage.
He feels the hot sun on skin brought to hypersensitivity by days of isolation. Despite his thick cloth hood, there leaks through the illumination of bright daylight. Strangely, there comes concern, wheeled about naked and bound... to whom is he to be displayed?
But it matters not. His presentation is not his to control. Still, for a boy reveling in masturbating for governing women, he feels a degree of awkwardness.
Fingers work beneath his hood, slipping out the deafening ear plugs.
“Blaine, yes. Well, Mr. Blaine, did you have a good trip?”
The voice is female, matronly, brimming with in charge confidence. Jay Blaine once again feels a bevy of hands as he moves his head as best as his many restraints allows, nodding in reply.
He is inspected, every inch of skin once again palpated. Each limb is momentarily released as he is shaved, not a follicle to escape the blade.
“You’ll be chemically depilated in time, Mr. Blaine. Meanwhile the girls are very handy with the straight edge.”
Handy indeed, in moments Jay Blaine feels his scrotum denuded of stubble. The manipulating fingers bring joy, having been denied everything for so many days. He hears the tittering of young females as he stiffens, his penis defying its catheterized state.
“A very nice erection for us, Mr. Blaine. Makes it easy to measure a very important attribute which needs to be checked. In many respects, Madam Soong gets paid by the inch.”
The hands retreat, the woman Jay Blaine pictures as old enough to be his mother, lectures as the inspecting nurses seem to depart.
“Just a short diversion, Mr. Blaine. You’re not yet in Chessu. You’ll be under my care for a few days while I alter you for better service... some would say for better subservience.”
She snickers.
“From here the last leg of the journey is by cargo plane. Just a small hop over 20,000 foot peaks. The province is completely surrounded by high mountains. Picture the arid desert of Chessu, a valley, to be a huge bowl. No roads in or out. Certainly no railroads. Nomads know of some high rugged passes but the uninitiated require oxygen at that altitude. So the outside world flies in and out. And Empress Claudia is quite specific concerning who lands... arrivals and departures are arranged by royal decree.”
Jay Blaine feels the stretcher rolling as the woman explains, apparently walking to the side.
“I am Dr. Mary Saunders, your surgeon... and in a way your coach. I am going to assure that you will be able to physically perform well for the women of Chessu. They are quite demanding and once you’re altered for service you’ll not want to see me again. I also handle those deemed inadequate... those who on occasion cannot mentally bring themselves to the proper mindset. For those I snip, as my many orchidectomies are so whimsically referenced.”
Despite the warmth, Jay Blaine feels a chill. His brief shiver is noted.
“Yes, Mr. Blaine, I can neuter a boy in seven and one half minutes. So quickly that I no longer use general anesthesia. A little novocaine, two small incisions, and yes there are indeed snips. Nerves, vas defens, blood vessels, over the years I have developed the same compunction as a veterinarian... I make happy little puppies.”
The doctor snickers in noting that the shiver has transformed to an entertaining shudder of fear.
“We’ll start by stretching your scrotum so you can be properly harnessed. That shouldn’t be too bad. All young males like a big sets of balls...”
The snicker comes again. The woman very much enjoys watching the male squirm.
For how many hours... how many days... must Jay Blaine meekly lie, wondering if the machine, the device filling and emptying his colon, has expunged the sailor’s seed from his viscera?
Oddly he wishes for more flow, putting aside the discomfort, desiring to have one massive cleansing. Yes, a enormous enema, filling his system, bloating his belly to distension. Then to expel in one purifying release... to for sure be rid of what the debaucherous scoundrel implanted so deeply.
But his sense of pureness comes not. Instead the draining cycle ends well before he has the sense that the hot slippery wad has been flushed. Instead it feels as if the return of the slow filling cycle, introducing whatever to his bowels, pushes the filth further into his body.
Perhaps, with all that is constantly flowing, the spunk will ebb to his stomach... his throat!
Yes, delusions of delirium, as Madam Soong prognosticated. His is worse than sensory deprivation, he must lie in wonder as to what the wicked Madam Soong has chosen to infuse into him!
Still, he suffers not from lack of that which is needed to live... other than cognitive input.
And so he concentrates on Madam Soong’s final words... ‘you should concentrate on obedience and focus on the desire to be of service in your new role. For boys like you, Chessu offers quite a welcome. It is a land of women... governing women. Males serve.’
How will he serve?
The deep throb of the ships engines suddenly stops. Many minutes of nothing. Then there come thumps, not to be heard but felt. Then a sense of motion. Jay Blaine’s prostrate form jostles about. Then the wheeled stretcher, well secured within the container, lurches. The motion becomes exaggerated. It is apparent that the ship has arrived in port and the secretive ‘refrigerated’ enclosure is being unloaded.
Jay Blaine has crossed the ocean. Now he must cross China.
******************************************************************************
Many cycles later, the vibrations of the ship changing to the vibrations of a rail car... or truck... all sense of motion stops again.
Chessu!
Jay Blaine feels his heart race as there comes the thud of the container doors followed by strong wafts of warm air. Then the machinery stops... momentarily... and restarts. Reversing the procedure from when entombed many days ago, his life support system, whatever it is to be termed, is disconnected from the ‘refrigeration unit’ and hooked to something more mobile.
Sure enough the stretcher moves and once again Jay Blaine envisions the daintiest of young women pushing him about as would the proud young mother of a baby in a carriage.
He feels the hot sun on skin brought to hypersensitivity by days of isolation. Despite his thick cloth hood, there leaks through the illumination of bright daylight. Strangely, there comes concern, wheeled about naked and bound... to whom is he to be displayed?
But it matters not. His presentation is not his to control. Still, for a boy reveling in masturbating for governing women, he feels a degree of awkwardness.
Fingers work beneath his hood, slipping out the deafening ear plugs.
“Blaine, yes. Well, Mr. Blaine, did you have a good trip?”
The voice is female, matronly, brimming with in charge confidence. Jay Blaine once again feels a bevy of hands as he moves his head as best as his many restraints allows, nodding in reply.
He is inspected, every inch of skin once again palpated. Each limb is momentarily released as he is shaved, not a follicle to escape the blade.
“You’ll be chemically depilated in time, Mr. Blaine. Meanwhile the girls are very handy with the straight edge.”
Handy indeed, in moments Jay Blaine feels his scrotum denuded of stubble. The manipulating fingers bring joy, having been denied everything for so many days. He hears the tittering of young females as he stiffens, his penis defying its catheterized state.
“A very nice erection for us, Mr. Blaine. Makes it easy to measure a very important attribute which needs to be checked. In many respects, Madam Soong gets paid by the inch.”
The hands retreat, the woman Jay Blaine pictures as old enough to be his mother, lectures as the inspecting nurses seem to depart.
“Just a short diversion, Mr. Blaine. You’re not yet in Chessu. You’ll be under my care for a few days while I alter you for better service... some would say for better subservience.”
She snickers.
“From here the last leg of the journey is by cargo plane. Just a small hop over 20,000 foot peaks. The province is completely surrounded by high mountains. Picture the arid desert of Chessu, a valley, to be a huge bowl. No roads in or out. Certainly no railroads. Nomads know of some high rugged passes but the uninitiated require oxygen at that altitude. So the outside world flies in and out. And Empress Claudia is quite specific concerning who lands... arrivals and departures are arranged by royal decree.”
Jay Blaine feels the stretcher rolling as the woman explains, apparently walking to the side.
“I am Dr. Mary Saunders, your surgeon... and in a way your coach. I am going to assure that you will be able to physically perform well for the women of Chessu. They are quite demanding and once you’re altered for service you’ll not want to see me again. I also handle those deemed inadequate... those who on occasion cannot mentally bring themselves to the proper mindset. For those I snip, as my many orchidectomies are so whimsically referenced.”
Despite the warmth, Jay Blaine feels a chill. His brief shiver is noted.
“Yes, Mr. Blaine, I can neuter a boy in seven and one half minutes. So quickly that I no longer use general anesthesia. A little novocaine, two small incisions, and yes there are indeed snips. Nerves, vas defens, blood vessels, over the years I have developed the same compunction as a veterinarian... I make happy little puppies.”
The doctor snickers in noting that the shiver has transformed to an entertaining shudder of fear.
“We’ll start by stretching your scrotum so you can be properly harnessed. That shouldn’t be too bad. All young males like a big sets of balls...”
The snicker comes again. The woman very much enjoys watching the male squirm.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Chapter Six - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Six
Yes, with the only sensory input being feel, and that which is felt monotonous and mechanical, the sudden human touch horripilates but also brings a sense of comfort. Comfort until the kneading fingers leave the buttocks and Jay Blaine feels the inflated nozzle of his anal tube being maneuvered. He feels it shift about, someone examining. Then comes a slight pull... then firm... then firmer. Extraction is attempted and his anus yields not to the well inflated insertion. He feels the connecting tube oscillate, someone continuing to inspect. Then the nozzle deflates.
Jubilation... but not for long.
The nozzle slithers outward. In place of the rectal tube Jay Blaine feels a finger... large, rough, far from the smooth well manicured digits which have so often explored there. Cavity searches in jail were frequent and brusk... but always female fingers and always quick. This ‘search’ lingers.
When a second digit works within, Jay’s heart sinks, wishing to be returned to his imaginary world of nothingness and dreams of women of authority. Instead, his imagination hears a sardonic chortle... a male chortle. The chortle of a lonely seaman, frustrated by forced chastity, bored by his only sexual release, his right hand. He has found entertainment... he has found joy... he has found pleasure... he has found Madam Soong’s secret cargo, somehow deciphering, decoding, unmasking the disguise... that the ‘refrigerated’ container is not in fact refrigerated.
As the digits withdraw, Jay Blaine’s gloom sinks his psyche. Lying stomach down, bent at the waist, thighs, calves and feet lowered, legs parted for the catheter and rectal tube, his rear aperture beckons. The tightness of his bonds make resistance impossible. He can only lie and take what is to be offered... and he has not long to wait.
Yes, the gruff fingers are soon replaced by a smoother but larger ‘digit’. It easily works past a rectum made pliable by lubrication and the many days of forced anal feeding and evacuation. Jay Blaine moans into nothingness as what feels like a log continuously works its way into his viscera.
Finally the slow motion stops as Jay is chagrined to feel warmth and tickling hairiness about his well shaven scrotum. The sailor is all in, balls greeting balls as he pauses, most likely to momentarily revel in his conquest. Such serendipity, being able to sodomize at sea, and to so facilely penetrate a tight sphincter which not only cannot resist... but cannot later complain, report, describe or identify the assailant.
But is he even being assailed? Jay Blaine lies naked, well trussed, his forced posture seeming to beckon. He is a gift.
The inevitable begins. The turgid phallus withdraws, then as the bulbous tip stretches the purse string muscle of the rectum, it exits not but returns inward... with force. The assailant is comfortable... and his lust broils.
Jay Blaine worked hard to avoid such ignominious encounters during his brief tenure in the Los Angeles County jail. He avoided eye contact, asked no favors, granted no favors, stayed to himself, conforming to the recommended conduct to elude any homoerotic encounters, perceived as consensual or otherwise.
And now, as the property of Madam Soong and the Province of Chessu, he is being fucked.
The assailant’s rhythm slowly increases. The penetration somehow seems deeper. The level of lust rises. Jay Blaine can feel the sodomizer’s warmth transition to steamy hotness, the man’s balls slapping his with every powerful thrust.
Meanwhile, what is the reaction of Jay Blaine’s neglected and catheterized joystick?
He hopes he is not firming. What more humiliation then to offer a signal of arousal, to send a message of acceptance? More than acceptance, really. A message of desire!
Well muscled thrusts inward... more leisurely withdrawals... the assault continues with the benefit of complete isolation and timelessness. A vast ocean. An indistinguishable cargo ship. A ubiquitous shipping container... one of hundreds... perhaps thousands, it is invisible amongst the mass of normal cargo... auto parts... clothing... canned goods... the merchandise of the world.
How is it that this man struck relative gold? Finding something he could take but that would never be missed.
A slow thrust... deep. Then comes a more notable pause before withdrawal. Jay Blaine feels fingers working about his hood. Such slink beneath. Ear plugs right and left are slipped away. There follows the sound of a human voice, seeming to blare with the many days of silence and hushed machinery.
“You’re a good fuck. Nice and tight.”
The voice is deep, masculine... and accented. Slavic? Middle Eastern? It matters not.
The anal assault resumes... thrust... thrust... thrust. Then Jay feels the culmination as a jet of hot seed spurts well into his colon... then another thrust and another spurt... then another.
The man rests and Jay feels a hand glide beneath to grasp his catheterized penis. To add to the intensity of the degradation, Jay for the first time feels his own hardness. Despite catheterization Jay’s penis signals desire and in a parody of accommodation the hand briefly manipulates in a momentary teasing masturbatory stroke.
“Yes, Dr. Ann speculated that you would enjoy.”
Jay would like to protest, deny his perceived homoerotic reaction... that instead his neglected organ is reacting to the manipulation of his prostate. But he is gagged... and bound... and well presented for sodomy really.
Thoughts run uncontrollably as the fingers replace the ear plugs. A now flaccid penetrating organ withdraws in satiation. The hairy balls slip away. The anal nozzle returns, replacing the marauding phallus and inflating... tight... tighter... well stuffed.
Jay Blaine feels awkwardly grateful that the machine which induces whatever to his bowels... sustenance, cleansing, hydration... will also rid him of male seed so deeply implanted with the final lustful thrusts.
Lastly, he feels the fingers slip once again beneath his hood. He is embarrassed to have his left cheek tenderly pinched in a mocking gesture of thanks and affection.
Then comes the thud of the container doors and Jay Blaine is relieved in finding himself entombed and returned to the tedium of dark silence... to confront nothing other than the monotony of the mechanical apparatus offering oxygen, sustenance, water and the evacuation of bladder and bowels... when the machine so decides.
The cloth hood absorbs his tears. Then he feels his bladder, the sensation of being overfilled masked by the trauma of sodomy, empty, his machinery gratefully permitting long over due relief.
Oddly, he hums words of thanks to the apparatus which offers such attentive care.
Yes, with the only sensory input being feel, and that which is felt monotonous and mechanical, the sudden human touch horripilates but also brings a sense of comfort. Comfort until the kneading fingers leave the buttocks and Jay Blaine feels the inflated nozzle of his anal tube being maneuvered. He feels it shift about, someone examining. Then comes a slight pull... then firm... then firmer. Extraction is attempted and his anus yields not to the well inflated insertion. He feels the connecting tube oscillate, someone continuing to inspect. Then the nozzle deflates.
Jubilation... but not for long.
The nozzle slithers outward. In place of the rectal tube Jay Blaine feels a finger... large, rough, far from the smooth well manicured digits which have so often explored there. Cavity searches in jail were frequent and brusk... but always female fingers and always quick. This ‘search’ lingers.
When a second digit works within, Jay’s heart sinks, wishing to be returned to his imaginary world of nothingness and dreams of women of authority. Instead, his imagination hears a sardonic chortle... a male chortle. The chortle of a lonely seaman, frustrated by forced chastity, bored by his only sexual release, his right hand. He has found entertainment... he has found joy... he has found pleasure... he has found Madam Soong’s secret cargo, somehow deciphering, decoding, unmasking the disguise... that the ‘refrigerated’ container is not in fact refrigerated.
As the digits withdraw, Jay Blaine’s gloom sinks his psyche. Lying stomach down, bent at the waist, thighs, calves and feet lowered, legs parted for the catheter and rectal tube, his rear aperture beckons. The tightness of his bonds make resistance impossible. He can only lie and take what is to be offered... and he has not long to wait.
Yes, the gruff fingers are soon replaced by a smoother but larger ‘digit’. It easily works past a rectum made pliable by lubrication and the many days of forced anal feeding and evacuation. Jay Blaine moans into nothingness as what feels like a log continuously works its way into his viscera.
Finally the slow motion stops as Jay is chagrined to feel warmth and tickling hairiness about his well shaven scrotum. The sailor is all in, balls greeting balls as he pauses, most likely to momentarily revel in his conquest. Such serendipity, being able to sodomize at sea, and to so facilely penetrate a tight sphincter which not only cannot resist... but cannot later complain, report, describe or identify the assailant.
But is he even being assailed? Jay Blaine lies naked, well trussed, his forced posture seeming to beckon. He is a gift.
The inevitable begins. The turgid phallus withdraws, then as the bulbous tip stretches the purse string muscle of the rectum, it exits not but returns inward... with force. The assailant is comfortable... and his lust broils.
Jay Blaine worked hard to avoid such ignominious encounters during his brief tenure in the Los Angeles County jail. He avoided eye contact, asked no favors, granted no favors, stayed to himself, conforming to the recommended conduct to elude any homoerotic encounters, perceived as consensual or otherwise.
And now, as the property of Madam Soong and the Province of Chessu, he is being fucked.
The assailant’s rhythm slowly increases. The penetration somehow seems deeper. The level of lust rises. Jay Blaine can feel the sodomizer’s warmth transition to steamy hotness, the man’s balls slapping his with every powerful thrust.
Meanwhile, what is the reaction of Jay Blaine’s neglected and catheterized joystick?
He hopes he is not firming. What more humiliation then to offer a signal of arousal, to send a message of acceptance? More than acceptance, really. A message of desire!
Well muscled thrusts inward... more leisurely withdrawals... the assault continues with the benefit of complete isolation and timelessness. A vast ocean. An indistinguishable cargo ship. A ubiquitous shipping container... one of hundreds... perhaps thousands, it is invisible amongst the mass of normal cargo... auto parts... clothing... canned goods... the merchandise of the world.
How is it that this man struck relative gold? Finding something he could take but that would never be missed.
A slow thrust... deep. Then comes a more notable pause before withdrawal. Jay Blaine feels fingers working about his hood. Such slink beneath. Ear plugs right and left are slipped away. There follows the sound of a human voice, seeming to blare with the many days of silence and hushed machinery.
“You’re a good fuck. Nice and tight.”
The voice is deep, masculine... and accented. Slavic? Middle Eastern? It matters not.
The anal assault resumes... thrust... thrust... thrust. Then Jay feels the culmination as a jet of hot seed spurts well into his colon... then another thrust and another spurt... then another.
The man rests and Jay feels a hand glide beneath to grasp his catheterized penis. To add to the intensity of the degradation, Jay for the first time feels his own hardness. Despite catheterization Jay’s penis signals desire and in a parody of accommodation the hand briefly manipulates in a momentary teasing masturbatory stroke.
“Yes, Dr. Ann speculated that you would enjoy.”
Jay would like to protest, deny his perceived homoerotic reaction... that instead his neglected organ is reacting to the manipulation of his prostate. But he is gagged... and bound... and well presented for sodomy really.
Thoughts run uncontrollably as the fingers replace the ear plugs. A now flaccid penetrating organ withdraws in satiation. The hairy balls slip away. The anal nozzle returns, replacing the marauding phallus and inflating... tight... tighter... well stuffed.
Jay Blaine feels awkwardly grateful that the machine which induces whatever to his bowels... sustenance, cleansing, hydration... will also rid him of male seed so deeply implanted with the final lustful thrusts.
Lastly, he feels the fingers slip once again beneath his hood. He is embarrassed to have his left cheek tenderly pinched in a mocking gesture of thanks and affection.
Then comes the thud of the container doors and Jay Blaine is relieved in finding himself entombed and returned to the tedium of dark silence... to confront nothing other than the monotony of the mechanical apparatus offering oxygen, sustenance, water and the evacuation of bladder and bowels... when the machine so decides.
The cloth hood absorbs his tears. Then he feels his bladder, the sensation of being overfilled masked by the trauma of sodomy, empty, his machinery gratefully permitting long over due relief.
Oddly, he hums words of thanks to the apparatus which offers such attentive care.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Chapter Five - Whisked to Chessu
OK. So the trip does not conform the the definition of the term 'whisked'. Writers trope. It happens.
*********************************************************************************
Chapter Five
Ears plugged then hooded, the intensive sensory input... so much felt, so many erogenous zones subjected to the whim of his female keepers, so many apertures invaded and stuffed, so much flesh palpated... begins to dissipate as the required preparations are completed. With a final scythe of a straight edged razor, the senses are left to their own to confront a not before experienced cosmos of isolation.
Jay Blaine sees not, hears not, tastes not, smells not. He feels what his keepers and handlers want him to feel. And that is a slowly bloating colon, something slithering into his stomach, a bladder filling.
He feels the stretcher being adjusted and is grateful to no longer be in the prostrate position. Less stressful to the spine, the lower end is lowered, his waist bending, his feet and calves declining.
Strapped to the stretcher at the wrists and biceps, arms thrust straight downwards and attached to the vertical supports, there is also a confining neck support, a broad waist belt, thigh bands and ankle restraints... each systematically loosened for shaving then reattached... and quite firmly.
The slow expansion of his colon ends. Many minutes later it begins to reverse. Apparently some mechanical device deciding for him that the pressure, barely tolerable, has been born long enough.
Offered mercy by a machine, Jay Blaine contemplates. And if the pressure had been more than tolerable?
He senses the flow into his stomach is also regimented. He will not decide what and when to consume, it will be done for him... and without the need for the taste buds and olfactory nerves to offer approval. Whatever it is that enters, it is not by his choosing. It is the domain of a device.
He feels the wheeled stretcher move. He envisions his six foot plus, 245 pound frame being facilely pushed about by the slightest of feminine handlers, probably one of the young nurses... and one mentally absorbed with her empowerment... that the once potent male figure has been tamed to the point where the daintiest of female fingers could alter all... that flowing through the life sustaining nasal tube... yes, less oxygen, more... more what? The possibilities boggle... and horrify. Equally... perhaps something noxious for the tummy?.. maybe there is playful mischief to be had in adjusting the rate of flow in and out of the colon. Ah, the catheter tube... also to be subjected to a woman’s whim... one young and flexing her dominant traits... the bladder need not always drain. Instead a slow and filling irrigation?
Horrified, yes, by life sustaining apparatus, Jay Blaine slowly assesses his circumstance... and concludes it may be best. He need not become the toyed with mouse.
The rolling motion stops. The air stills. He senses motion about him. His machinery momentarily stops then restarts... first the breathing tube... then the gastric tube... then the rectal tube. His bladder momentarily begins to drain... relief quickly curtailed.... that is for another time... when the machine decides.
Then over and above the whirring of the various devices keeping him alive, Jay Blaine feels the vibration of a thud. He concludes he has been wheeled into the faux shipping container in which he will be transported to Chessu. His life support systems have been connected to the container’s generator, disguised as a refrigeration unit, and the thud is the heavy metal doors being closed and sealed.
And now?
Across the Pacific Ocean, destination some port in China. Then by land to the western province of Chessu... secluded... a gynecocracy. There to serve.
And to think he beseeched a judge, groveling on his knees, and providing the most degrading pleasure a heterosexual male could offer...
******************************************************************************
How many days pass? Initially he counted the number of gracious reversals offered by the rectal tube, permitting whatever flowed inward to drain away. On each occasion, with the relief of the constant pressure, he found himself mumbling... humming really... words of thanks... his gastric tube obviating speech.
But such silliness... attempting to talk to a machine.
Had the delirium begun?
There also comes the conclusion that, in not being cognizant of the machine programming, the cycles can not but translated to units of time. Three reversals equals... half a day?.. a full day? He knows not... will never know.
He must just lie and accept the machines generous offerings... and give thanks it neither offers nor takes joy in evil.
Besides the hum and vibration of his life support, there is a deeper vibration, a full throbbing of his stretcher. It is the ship’s engines he concludes. Everything on board reverberates with its power, thrusting millions of tons into the unrelenting waves of the Pacific.
The thought fosters the beginning of dreams. A mind racked with sensory deprivation pictures a mystical Madam Soong driving back a stormy sea, her body no longer compact and powerful but instead mythically vast and omnipotent. A huge hand bears a length of rattan the size of a telephone pole. She lashes at the waves which attempt to thwart the ship’s forward thrusts. Stroke, stroke, stroke... calm... determined... methodical... Jay Blaine’s naked flesh does not endure the resolve but instead it is nature. Her gargantuan form sits astride the entire bow of the ship, making it appear as a toy. And Jay must admire her power as in his delirious fantasy, the ocean yields to the woman of extreme governance. Yes, in the ship's hold is precious cargo which even the mighty Pacific shall not delay. A male beast... for the women of Chessu. Young, strong... and soon to be abjectly subservient to a woman’s slightest whim.
Jay Blaine’s mind is jarred from its delusions. He feels a familiar thud, an instant of change from the hum drum of the ship’s engine and the life support. The container doors! But it cannot be arrival, a moving ship cannot have docked!
Then he lurches within his bonds in feeling a gruff hand kneading his buttocks. There remains a degree of sting, a trace of the intensity of Madam Soong’s caning remaining despite the many days of healing at sea.
Who is it? Who knows of Madam Soong’s most secretive mode of transportation for naked, bound and soon to be indentured Caucasian males?
*********************************************************************************
Chapter Five
Ears plugged then hooded, the intensive sensory input... so much felt, so many erogenous zones subjected to the whim of his female keepers, so many apertures invaded and stuffed, so much flesh palpated... begins to dissipate as the required preparations are completed. With a final scythe of a straight edged razor, the senses are left to their own to confront a not before experienced cosmos of isolation.
Jay Blaine sees not, hears not, tastes not, smells not. He feels what his keepers and handlers want him to feel. And that is a slowly bloating colon, something slithering into his stomach, a bladder filling.
He feels the stretcher being adjusted and is grateful to no longer be in the prostrate position. Less stressful to the spine, the lower end is lowered, his waist bending, his feet and calves declining.
Strapped to the stretcher at the wrists and biceps, arms thrust straight downwards and attached to the vertical supports, there is also a confining neck support, a broad waist belt, thigh bands and ankle restraints... each systematically loosened for shaving then reattached... and quite firmly.
The slow expansion of his colon ends. Many minutes later it begins to reverse. Apparently some mechanical device deciding for him that the pressure, barely tolerable, has been born long enough.
Offered mercy by a machine, Jay Blaine contemplates. And if the pressure had been more than tolerable?
He senses the flow into his stomach is also regimented. He will not decide what and when to consume, it will be done for him... and without the need for the taste buds and olfactory nerves to offer approval. Whatever it is that enters, it is not by his choosing. It is the domain of a device.
He feels the wheeled stretcher move. He envisions his six foot plus, 245 pound frame being facilely pushed about by the slightest of feminine handlers, probably one of the young nurses... and one mentally absorbed with her empowerment... that the once potent male figure has been tamed to the point where the daintiest of female fingers could alter all... that flowing through the life sustaining nasal tube... yes, less oxygen, more... more what? The possibilities boggle... and horrify. Equally... perhaps something noxious for the tummy?.. maybe there is playful mischief to be had in adjusting the rate of flow in and out of the colon. Ah, the catheter tube... also to be subjected to a woman’s whim... one young and flexing her dominant traits... the bladder need not always drain. Instead a slow and filling irrigation?
Horrified, yes, by life sustaining apparatus, Jay Blaine slowly assesses his circumstance... and concludes it may be best. He need not become the toyed with mouse.
The rolling motion stops. The air stills. He senses motion about him. His machinery momentarily stops then restarts... first the breathing tube... then the gastric tube... then the rectal tube. His bladder momentarily begins to drain... relief quickly curtailed.... that is for another time... when the machine decides.
Then over and above the whirring of the various devices keeping him alive, Jay Blaine feels the vibration of a thud. He concludes he has been wheeled into the faux shipping container in which he will be transported to Chessu. His life support systems have been connected to the container’s generator, disguised as a refrigeration unit, and the thud is the heavy metal doors being closed and sealed.
And now?
Across the Pacific Ocean, destination some port in China. Then by land to the western province of Chessu... secluded... a gynecocracy. There to serve.
And to think he beseeched a judge, groveling on his knees, and providing the most degrading pleasure a heterosexual male could offer...
******************************************************************************
How many days pass? Initially he counted the number of gracious reversals offered by the rectal tube, permitting whatever flowed inward to drain away. On each occasion, with the relief of the constant pressure, he found himself mumbling... humming really... words of thanks... his gastric tube obviating speech.
But such silliness... attempting to talk to a machine.
Had the delirium begun?
There also comes the conclusion that, in not being cognizant of the machine programming, the cycles can not but translated to units of time. Three reversals equals... half a day?.. a full day? He knows not... will never know.
He must just lie and accept the machines generous offerings... and give thanks it neither offers nor takes joy in evil.
Besides the hum and vibration of his life support, there is a deeper vibration, a full throbbing of his stretcher. It is the ship’s engines he concludes. Everything on board reverberates with its power, thrusting millions of tons into the unrelenting waves of the Pacific.
The thought fosters the beginning of dreams. A mind racked with sensory deprivation pictures a mystical Madam Soong driving back a stormy sea, her body no longer compact and powerful but instead mythically vast and omnipotent. A huge hand bears a length of rattan the size of a telephone pole. She lashes at the waves which attempt to thwart the ship’s forward thrusts. Stroke, stroke, stroke... calm... determined... methodical... Jay Blaine’s naked flesh does not endure the resolve but instead it is nature. Her gargantuan form sits astride the entire bow of the ship, making it appear as a toy. And Jay must admire her power as in his delirious fantasy, the ocean yields to the woman of extreme governance. Yes, in the ship's hold is precious cargo which even the mighty Pacific shall not delay. A male beast... for the women of Chessu. Young, strong... and soon to be abjectly subservient to a woman’s slightest whim.
Jay Blaine’s mind is jarred from its delusions. He feels a familiar thud, an instant of change from the hum drum of the ship’s engine and the life support. The container doors! But it cannot be arrival, a moving ship cannot have docked!
Then he lurches within his bonds in feeling a gruff hand kneading his buttocks. There remains a degree of sting, a trace of the intensity of Madam Soong’s caning remaining despite the many days of healing at sea.
Who is it? Who knows of Madam Soong’s most secretive mode of transportation for naked, bound and soon to be indentured Caucasian males?
Friday, October 15, 2010
Output
Not feeling too well. I suspect my output will be limited over the next few days.
Meanwhile... any comments?
Meanwhile... any comments?
Whisked to Chessu - Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Jay Blaine does not recall his entire ordeal. But he will never forget Madam Soong.
The abject display of his nakedness, tied up by his thumbs, well stretched and struggling to find the floor with his toes all served to foster the tumescence which he formerly found entertaining. And despite the physical stress, the notion of three women casually observing as his penis tip slowly worked toward the ceiling, offered mental stimulation to augment the physical.
Initially Madam Soong just watched, standing before him, arms akimbo, that nasty length of rattan at the ready. When his stiffness was deemed complete, she stepped forth for better viewing and once again palmed his scrotum, mentally measuring the prodigious organ. Yes, she enjoyed handling the subjugated male, the wry smile most telling.
But then began the caning... slow... methodical... deliberate... the searing pain never before encountered.
For the initial strokes Madam’s left hand rested on his neck, at the cerebral cortex. Jay was incredulous that she would so meticulously pause after each stroke to ascertain the response of his nervous system and muscling. She made comparative comments, apparently having caned the naked male on many occasions.
Then, seeming to have learned what was desired, the caning began in earnest. She stepped back... full swings of her arm ensued... applied left... right... up... down... the buttocks were adorned with precise rows of notable welts.
And Madam’s description of her entertainment was found to be apropos. Jay Blaine danced indeed. His feet kicked, leaving the floor in reaction to the burning flesh, despite knowing that this reaction greatly stressed his thumbs... his only binding. And he sang... beseeching lyrics turning to outright child like screams... and tears... and blubbering.
When the mercy of unconsciousness approached, Jay Blaine learned of Nurse Annika’s role. Smelling salts were offered... a quick diagnosis as to whether he could withstand more offered. And in his near swooning state, Jay was chagrined to learn he could indeed take more. And he did.
The caning ended with Dr. Anne and Madam Soong discussing terms while Nurse Annika applied the most irritating unguent to the crimson and purple mass which once served as a perch for sitting.
He would need to remain prostrate for many days.
“Salted fat. Promotes healing and the slow irritation offers a very nice contrast to the intense and quick burn of the cane... don’t you think?”
In Jay Blaine’s semi conscious state he could not reply. But he could feel the seemingly slower ‘roasting’ of his flesh. Bound to a wheeled stretcher there could be no resistance... not even verbal protest.
Madam Soong speaks as a bevy of nurses work his naked form.
“I am told you will enter a state of delirium and that is probably best. The trip will take a few days and while dreaming... fantasizing... you should concentrate on obedience and focus on the desire to be of service in your new role. For boys like you, Chessu offers quite a welcome. It is a land of women... governing women. Males serve, most are beasts of burden. Those that serve in a more intimate capacity... well... they should probably not be described as males. It is a gynecocracy and we are quick to discipline those who disobey... and alter the incorrigible.”
Madam Soong lectures, Jay Blaine limply lies, his naked form vulnerable to all as many young female hands work. An anal plug is worked past his tight rectum. It is inflated. Then he feels slow bloating as an enema adds to his ignominy. Another set of hands reaches beneath and draws his penis, finally flaccid, back between his parted thighs. He is catheterized, the irritation of the salt fat, the bloating of his colon masking the usual discomfort. Then a most stern woman steps to his front and pinches closed his nose. She waits patiently... knowingly... and when Jay Blaine gasps for breath, a gastric tube is gruffly thrust into his mouth and callously pressed to the back of his throat. The gag reflex is triggered and the woman expertly presses further, the bulbous tip pushed into his gullet.
Finally a slim nostril tube, gratefully well lubricated, penetrates the right nostril, assuring a supply of air. But also, Jay Blaine’s fogged mind eventually realizes, assuring anything else the women of governance care to introduce to his lungs. And the same for his stomach, bladder and colon.
Well restrained to the wheeled stretcher, Jay Blaine must lie and accept whatever the women care to infuse into his body. As three sets of hands work to shave his entire nakedness, Madam Soong speaks. Jay Blaine now finds himself very attentive.
“Once in Chessu, you’ll have more freedom of movement, as directed by your handler of course. But in traveling there, we must be wary of customs and immigration. Thus you’ll be sealed in what will appear to be a standard shipping container. The generator for the life support system will appear as a refrigeration unit to inspectors and the ship’s crew. And in a few days, after traversing China, you will enter the mostly independent province of Chessu. You take well to the cane. I suspect you will appreciate the testicle whip as well. And you’ll be worked hard. After centuries of living in an agrarian society and economy, there has been discovered a vast supply of a very rare element. A very high priced element. Male brawn, always found contemptible, is needed for mining. The influx of hard currency makes it very easy to procure labor... subservient males. The male children of Chessu have been sold in adoption for many decades. Thus you’re needed, Mr. Jay Blaine. But not your ability to procreate... just your obedience and hormone laden muscling. Always keep in mind, it will be your ability to labor which will provide sanctuary for these.”
Madam Soong tenderly smooths her fingers on the scrotal sac, gently pinching a testicle.
“The only reason you will be allowed these is to be worked. Fail to labor... we snip.”
Jay Blaine shudders anew. With the endless excruciating caning, he knows the woman is in earnest.
“Yes, our doctors have the procedure down to mere minutes.”
Jay Blaine does not recall his entire ordeal. But he will never forget Madam Soong.
The abject display of his nakedness, tied up by his thumbs, well stretched and struggling to find the floor with his toes all served to foster the tumescence which he formerly found entertaining. And despite the physical stress, the notion of three women casually observing as his penis tip slowly worked toward the ceiling, offered mental stimulation to augment the physical.
Initially Madam Soong just watched, standing before him, arms akimbo, that nasty length of rattan at the ready. When his stiffness was deemed complete, she stepped forth for better viewing and once again palmed his scrotum, mentally measuring the prodigious organ. Yes, she enjoyed handling the subjugated male, the wry smile most telling.
But then began the caning... slow... methodical... deliberate... the searing pain never before encountered.
For the initial strokes Madam’s left hand rested on his neck, at the cerebral cortex. Jay was incredulous that she would so meticulously pause after each stroke to ascertain the response of his nervous system and muscling. She made comparative comments, apparently having caned the naked male on many occasions.
Then, seeming to have learned what was desired, the caning began in earnest. She stepped back... full swings of her arm ensued... applied left... right... up... down... the buttocks were adorned with precise rows of notable welts.
And Madam’s description of her entertainment was found to be apropos. Jay Blaine danced indeed. His feet kicked, leaving the floor in reaction to the burning flesh, despite knowing that this reaction greatly stressed his thumbs... his only binding. And he sang... beseeching lyrics turning to outright child like screams... and tears... and blubbering.
When the mercy of unconsciousness approached, Jay Blaine learned of Nurse Annika’s role. Smelling salts were offered... a quick diagnosis as to whether he could withstand more offered. And in his near swooning state, Jay was chagrined to learn he could indeed take more. And he did.
The caning ended with Dr. Anne and Madam Soong discussing terms while Nurse Annika applied the most irritating unguent to the crimson and purple mass which once served as a perch for sitting.
He would need to remain prostrate for many days.
“Salted fat. Promotes healing and the slow irritation offers a very nice contrast to the intense and quick burn of the cane... don’t you think?”
In Jay Blaine’s semi conscious state he could not reply. But he could feel the seemingly slower ‘roasting’ of his flesh. Bound to a wheeled stretcher there could be no resistance... not even verbal protest.
Madam Soong speaks as a bevy of nurses work his naked form.
“I am told you will enter a state of delirium and that is probably best. The trip will take a few days and while dreaming... fantasizing... you should concentrate on obedience and focus on the desire to be of service in your new role. For boys like you, Chessu offers quite a welcome. It is a land of women... governing women. Males serve, most are beasts of burden. Those that serve in a more intimate capacity... well... they should probably not be described as males. It is a gynecocracy and we are quick to discipline those who disobey... and alter the incorrigible.”
Madam Soong lectures, Jay Blaine limply lies, his naked form vulnerable to all as many young female hands work. An anal plug is worked past his tight rectum. It is inflated. Then he feels slow bloating as an enema adds to his ignominy. Another set of hands reaches beneath and draws his penis, finally flaccid, back between his parted thighs. He is catheterized, the irritation of the salt fat, the bloating of his colon masking the usual discomfort. Then a most stern woman steps to his front and pinches closed his nose. She waits patiently... knowingly... and when Jay Blaine gasps for breath, a gastric tube is gruffly thrust into his mouth and callously pressed to the back of his throat. The gag reflex is triggered and the woman expertly presses further, the bulbous tip pushed into his gullet.
Finally a slim nostril tube, gratefully well lubricated, penetrates the right nostril, assuring a supply of air. But also, Jay Blaine’s fogged mind eventually realizes, assuring anything else the women of governance care to introduce to his lungs. And the same for his stomach, bladder and colon.
Well restrained to the wheeled stretcher, Jay Blaine must lie and accept whatever the women care to infuse into his body. As three sets of hands work to shave his entire nakedness, Madam Soong speaks. Jay Blaine now finds himself very attentive.
“Once in Chessu, you’ll have more freedom of movement, as directed by your handler of course. But in traveling there, we must be wary of customs and immigration. Thus you’ll be sealed in what will appear to be a standard shipping container. The generator for the life support system will appear as a refrigeration unit to inspectors and the ship’s crew. And in a few days, after traversing China, you will enter the mostly independent province of Chessu. You take well to the cane. I suspect you will appreciate the testicle whip as well. And you’ll be worked hard. After centuries of living in an agrarian society and economy, there has been discovered a vast supply of a very rare element. A very high priced element. Male brawn, always found contemptible, is needed for mining. The influx of hard currency makes it very easy to procure labor... subservient males. The male children of Chessu have been sold in adoption for many decades. Thus you’re needed, Mr. Jay Blaine. But not your ability to procreate... just your obedience and hormone laden muscling. Always keep in mind, it will be your ability to labor which will provide sanctuary for these.”
Madam Soong tenderly smooths her fingers on the scrotal sac, gently pinching a testicle.
“The only reason you will be allowed these is to be worked. Fail to labor... we snip.”
Jay Blaine shudders anew. With the endless excruciating caning, he knows the woman is in earnest.
“Yes, our doctors have the procedure down to mere minutes.”
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Chapter Three - Whisked to Chessu
Chapter Three
Jay Blaine learns there is a limit to his penis’s ability to stay hard. The position of strappado, though not overly tight, certainly not about to bring dislocation, wears... physically and mentally.
Alone, in near darkness, barely able to move an inch without aggravating his circumstances, the guard’s ominous departing cackle echoes in his mind.
Yes, perhaps they will just let him starve, the life insurance an ample reward for intentional neglect.
Carefully, he shuffles about his feet to relieve cramping muscles, fully aware that to topple could bring the most agonizing pain imaginable.
Would he be able to right himself?
Minutes... hours... the time is immeasurable. His penis seems to continuously shrink. He notes that the organ no longer weeps fluid. But instead his eyes now do, the slowly growing pain not to be countered... certainly not to end... tears not to be stopped.
Then finally there comes the distant sound of footsteps. Boots forcefully greeting concrete. The sound of lesser footwear suggests a small entourage.
Suddenly the room is immersed in light... bright... beaming... seeming to place Jay Blaine on a stage, powerful spotlights trained on his stooped nakedness. Then opens the door and the sound of boots is no longer distant.
“Where I come from the naked male not only greets with a humble bow but also spreads his feet to properly display his balls.”
The voice is monotone and firm with a hint of an Asian accent. Jay Blaine meekly parts his feet. Greeting his nose is the scent of an aromatic cigar. A hand lowers and gently palms his testicles, the tender warmth feels good. There comes a slight squeeze and a soft laugh. Handling a man’s organs is deemed joyful.
“A wonderful stress position is it not Mr. Blaine? Makes a man quite happy to greet a woman of governance who can offer mercy... a degree of mercy.”
“Jay this is Madam Soong. She is here to inspect you,” Dr. Ann Simpson explains, the voice afar, apparently finding an unseen chair in a previously darkened corner.
The woman moves to his front, strolling casually, visually taking in every inch of well lit and exposed flesh. Then the small cigar greets the concrete floor and a booted foot extinguishes with an ardent and unfeminine crushing motion.
“He’s big... and strong... but we’ll make him stronger.”
“Six foot, three inches, 245 pounds,” the voice of Nurse Annika proclaims.
“Excellent,” the accented voice responds in a noted monotone.
Fingers of the left hand entwine in cranial hair and slowly lift. Jay grunts, the action further stressing his arms at the shoulders. He also notes in her right hand there is a length of rattan.
“Not a bad face, though it is of little matter. Has he been worked before? Exercised under the cane or whip?”
Jay looks upwards. The woman has short black hair, appears to be Chinese, and is very athletic. Loose, white blouse, tight black skirt, black leather boots, not effeminately pretty though far from plain, the face is instead more aptly described as handsome, hinting of a certain masculinity.
“No. A life of sexual profligacy is the only notable accomplishment. Has a thing for girl’s underwear. And though a prolific secretive masturbator, has recently found pleasure in exhibiting himself before women. The deviancy of most males transcends over time. Who knows, without proper feminine guidance, what lowly level this character’s perversion would reach.”
Madam Soong nods in understanding.
“Eight inches?”
“When fully erect,” Nurse Annika advises.
“Very nice. We have good surgeons. We have perfected a procedure which keeps a boy sizable but eliminates the... well let’s term it certain desires. The full penectomies became time consuming and expensive. And viewing and handling a good stiff penis gives the girls a certain sense of empowerment...”
Through her grip, Madam Soong feels Jay Blaine shudder in fear.
“Don’t be so apprehensive. I have not yet agreed to your procurement. I’ll want to see you erect. Then I will need to cane you. I purchase very expensive pieces of property... and I have not short changed myself yet.”
Madam Soong returns to his rear.
“I am going to release your thumbs. You will remain bent at the waist and lift your hands to place them on the back of your neck. As stated, there can be offered a modest degree of mercy.”
She taps his buttocks with the cane. Though a most moderate stroke, the instant searing pain, so different from the hours of strappado, sends a message. The woman is to be obeyed.
Jay Blaine’s heart leaps with joy as he feels fingers working about the small clasps which so effectively connect the encircling hose clamps and hold him in place. When freed he draws his hands to his head, knowing the cane awaits any mischief.
“Yes, I’ll want you erect. Then I’ll have you dance for me. I enjoy watching a boy dance. Perhaps you will sing for me as well.”
Jay Blaine shudders anew as the clasps are reconnected to his thumb rings.
“You cannot dance for me stooped over,” a dour Madam Soong decrees as she moves to the wall and the opposing end of the rope. She draws upwards.
Helplessly, Jay Blaine’s hands rise... and rise... the rope is tied off as he finds himself struggling onto his toes. Fear, vulnerability... yet there is the presence of an authoritative woman... he is displayed naked... before an entire audience of authoritative women... that which is known to excite... yes, there comes the brisance.
Jay Blaine stiffens.
Jay Blaine learns there is a limit to his penis’s ability to stay hard. The position of strappado, though not overly tight, certainly not about to bring dislocation, wears... physically and mentally.
Alone, in near darkness, barely able to move an inch without aggravating his circumstances, the guard’s ominous departing cackle echoes in his mind.
Yes, perhaps they will just let him starve, the life insurance an ample reward for intentional neglect.
Carefully, he shuffles about his feet to relieve cramping muscles, fully aware that to topple could bring the most agonizing pain imaginable.
Would he be able to right himself?
Minutes... hours... the time is immeasurable. His penis seems to continuously shrink. He notes that the organ no longer weeps fluid. But instead his eyes now do, the slowly growing pain not to be countered... certainly not to end... tears not to be stopped.
Then finally there comes the distant sound of footsteps. Boots forcefully greeting concrete. The sound of lesser footwear suggests a small entourage.
Suddenly the room is immersed in light... bright... beaming... seeming to place Jay Blaine on a stage, powerful spotlights trained on his stooped nakedness. Then opens the door and the sound of boots is no longer distant.
“Where I come from the naked male not only greets with a humble bow but also spreads his feet to properly display his balls.”
The voice is monotone and firm with a hint of an Asian accent. Jay Blaine meekly parts his feet. Greeting his nose is the scent of an aromatic cigar. A hand lowers and gently palms his testicles, the tender warmth feels good. There comes a slight squeeze and a soft laugh. Handling a man’s organs is deemed joyful.
“A wonderful stress position is it not Mr. Blaine? Makes a man quite happy to greet a woman of governance who can offer mercy... a degree of mercy.”
“Jay this is Madam Soong. She is here to inspect you,” Dr. Ann Simpson explains, the voice afar, apparently finding an unseen chair in a previously darkened corner.
The woman moves to his front, strolling casually, visually taking in every inch of well lit and exposed flesh. Then the small cigar greets the concrete floor and a booted foot extinguishes with an ardent and unfeminine crushing motion.
“He’s big... and strong... but we’ll make him stronger.”
“Six foot, three inches, 245 pounds,” the voice of Nurse Annika proclaims.
“Excellent,” the accented voice responds in a noted monotone.
Fingers of the left hand entwine in cranial hair and slowly lift. Jay grunts, the action further stressing his arms at the shoulders. He also notes in her right hand there is a length of rattan.
“Not a bad face, though it is of little matter. Has he been worked before? Exercised under the cane or whip?”
Jay looks upwards. The woman has short black hair, appears to be Chinese, and is very athletic. Loose, white blouse, tight black skirt, black leather boots, not effeminately pretty though far from plain, the face is instead more aptly described as handsome, hinting of a certain masculinity.
“No. A life of sexual profligacy is the only notable accomplishment. Has a thing for girl’s underwear. And though a prolific secretive masturbator, has recently found pleasure in exhibiting himself before women. The deviancy of most males transcends over time. Who knows, without proper feminine guidance, what lowly level this character’s perversion would reach.”
Madam Soong nods in understanding.
“Eight inches?”
“When fully erect,” Nurse Annika advises.
“Very nice. We have good surgeons. We have perfected a procedure which keeps a boy sizable but eliminates the... well let’s term it certain desires. The full penectomies became time consuming and expensive. And viewing and handling a good stiff penis gives the girls a certain sense of empowerment...”
Through her grip, Madam Soong feels Jay Blaine shudder in fear.
“Don’t be so apprehensive. I have not yet agreed to your procurement. I’ll want to see you erect. Then I will need to cane you. I purchase very expensive pieces of property... and I have not short changed myself yet.”
Madam Soong returns to his rear.
“I am going to release your thumbs. You will remain bent at the waist and lift your hands to place them on the back of your neck. As stated, there can be offered a modest degree of mercy.”
She taps his buttocks with the cane. Though a most moderate stroke, the instant searing pain, so different from the hours of strappado, sends a message. The woman is to be obeyed.
Jay Blaine’s heart leaps with joy as he feels fingers working about the small clasps which so effectively connect the encircling hose clamps and hold him in place. When freed he draws his hands to his head, knowing the cane awaits any mischief.
“Yes, I’ll want you erect. Then I’ll have you dance for me. I enjoy watching a boy dance. Perhaps you will sing for me as well.”
Jay Blaine shudders anew as the clasps are reconnected to his thumb rings.
“You cannot dance for me stooped over,” a dour Madam Soong decrees as she moves to the wall and the opposing end of the rope. She draws upwards.
Helplessly, Jay Blaine’s hands rise... and rise... the rope is tied off as he finds himself struggling onto his toes. Fear, vulnerability... yet there is the presence of an authoritative woman... he is displayed naked... before an entire audience of authoritative women... that which is known to excite... yes, there comes the brisance.
Jay Blaine stiffens.
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