Dr. Winthrop Samuels Series

by Chris Bellows

  “How long?”

  Winnie peers at his watch.

  “Going on three and one half hours. As long as she remains motionless she will minimize the acute pain. Instead there comes a slow build up which the masochist prefers. Interminable, seemingly unending, barely endurable... for now. But though bearable it creeps and creeps. She’ll soon be battling the urge to move and flex... the bearable then becoming intensely unbearable... and it will be self induced pain, mentally creating the most anxiety. Yes, the frustration of having to keep oneself immobile brings such delightful inner turmoil...

  “But do continue the Kim chronicle. It intrigues me as much as I am sure it intrigued you,” he encourages.

  What a delightful atmosphere in which to tell the Kim Simpson story.

  ***

  Since I was planning to retire, I made what some would judge to be a rash decision. With my term ending why ruin so many other careers in divulging Kim’s bold plot? In keeping quiet my pension would be in jeopardy, but a long departed husband... both overweight and a heavy smoker... left some ‘fuck you’ money in the form of life insurance.

  I took a chance. It would be a burden to hold a male prisoner in an all female institution. It would require assistance. But that I already had to a degree... a captain of the guards who attempted to keep Kim secreted away in a special holding room, two matrons who, on the surface have been examining so many snatches for so long that a penis proved to be bewildering... or so I imagined their explanation to the personnel committee. And there was my secretary. After so many girls had been brought to my office and stripped naked for an interview, Kim’s exhibition seemed to amuse, putting aside the initial shock.

  And so I more or less joined a cabal.

  That tongue proved enticing. And after so many years of being entertained by pert, behaviorally challenged girls, the effete yet male form of Kim could bring a comforting sunset to my career.

  And what could Kim ever do to protest his handling? His subterfuge put him at great risk. Challenging any treatment offered at Hartwood would mean divulging his ploy... admitting to perjury and exposing himself to the retribution of a myriad of sloppy administrative and clerical types whose collective incompetence did not distinguish the gender of their charge. They would be sanctioned, yes, but Kim would find himself a target of revenge.

  And in the end, Kim’s concerns would be realized... held where he least desired to be... in an adult male prison... getting that cute rump of his jack-hammered.

  So rather than having a cuffed and naked girl under my desk, as I was wont to do on certain boring afternoons, I would have a new toy.

  But one must exercise the greatest precaution in introducing testosterone and sperm to an environment laden with estrogen. My girls were a concupiscent lot. We constantly thwarted masturbation with fur lined cuffs, dozens of pairs donned at any given time. The dining facility never saw an intact hotdog. Even the door knobs were angular in shape and with rough surfaces. Anything which could be inserted to furtively knead those young quims was well accounted for, tied down and locked up.

  And as stated, no male was allowed near the girls. One must avoid the task of explaining to high ranking officials how an incarcerated teenage girl came to be pregnant. So you can imagine what the reaction would be in introducing a functioning penis in an all female prison population. The girls would eat him alive.

  No, I needed comfort that however meek and effeminate Kim appeared to be, he would never have means or opportunity to hump one of my little ‘darlings’... should he ever get near the brats.

  I had the captain take Kim to the infirmary. Theresa, the head nurse was an old, old friend. I picked up the phone and called to forewarn.

  “Got some special handling for you. One Kim Simpson is being brought to the infirmary, to be kept well bound and placed in isolation. You’ll see why. But I’ll need measurements. The usual, but also measure what you find between the thighs.”

  I smiled in hanging up, leaving Theresa to be as surprised as the rest of us. My next call was to the metal working shop. Long gone are the days when ‘rehabilitation’ training for girls includes only cooking and sewing. No, many traditionally male skills are imbued at Hartwood... carpentry, plumping, mechanics. Just have to ensure that dildo production is minimized.

  “Maggie, Theresa will be sending you some measurements. Most will be standard. But use the heaviest gauge iron. Yes, nice and thick. And there are certain devices I’ll want made for the groin area. I’ll stop in to explain.”

  As one would expect of a woman whose vocation is working in metal and steel, Maggie’s gender was rather obfuscated. Possessing the demeanor of a blacksmith more than any feminine charm, Maggie was tall and powerfully built. I am sure steroids were not used, but the question frequently arose.

  Anyway, Maggie’s skills were often used to make special restraints, nothing like the feel of heavy ineluctable metal on the wrists and ankles of truculent girls. Well outside of acceptable procedures, Maggie relished making gothic rough ankle and wrist wear. Forged while the bearer watched, rebellious girls were readily quelled... being held in tight bondage and made to offer arms and legs while Maggie labored over custom made weighty trinkets. Her handmade chains were renowned for their bulk and the memorable rattling. Quite the baubles for modifying behavior.

  Yes, day after day I would have a girl sit in stocks, ankles, wrists and neck well presented and ready to accept Maggie’s finished product. It’s something a girl won’t forget, held motionless while one limb after another is fitted. Watching Maggie’s muscular form temper the hot iron, blow after blow, etches wondrous memories on devilish minds. My message is conveyed... and reluctantly yet well received... we spare no time and expense at Hartwood in assuring a girl’s complete capitulation.

  So, I had this Kim Simpson and I knew his thoughts. Having duped the system he believed he would have an easy six months, relative playtime compared to his interlude in Lansing.

  That wouldn’t do. I sketched the implements I wanted made. Two small circular rings of steel with double spikes penetrating the perimeter. The spikes sharpened at both ends, the points terminating within the circumference and those pointing outward, would serve a dual purpose. Slipped over the penis then adjusted to assure snugness, the interior points would end Kim’s distasteful habit of stiffening in the presence of a woman. The exterior points would assure that there would be no unauthorized use of the organ. If I forbad masturbation, I could not allow vaginal penetration, no matter how pusillanimous the effort on Kim’s part.

  Well Maggie was at first perplexed as I handed her my sketch.

  “For the nipples?” her wicked mind always working.

  “You’ll see when our latest charge is brought in for a final fitting.”

  Maggie began to work. My captain brought in Theresa’s measurements and Maggie barked orders to several trustees, girls who effectively had life sentences at Hartwood, juvenile crimes so heinous that upon turning eighteen they would serve more time in an adult facility. And with that a production line began.

  As noted all chains were hand forged, a lengthy process requiring days for lengths as short as two feet. For Kim I wanted much weight. I wanted him to sense my bonds with the slightest movement. It does not require much gauge and tensile strength to make chains that are unbreakable by even the strongest male... new alloys... new methods. But to imbue the sense of hopelessness and finality, the cognition that all control has been rendered to his female superiors, I wanted weight. For the effeminate Kim, I wanted him dragging at least a hundred pounds. And when Maggie held up one link, a bar some three quarters of an inch in diameter, hastily heated and bent to an open ellipse, I knew my instructions would be well executed.

  Maggie dunked the open loop in a bucket of water then handed it to me. I nodded in satisfaction.

  “It’s nearly a pound.”

  Maggie nodded back. Then she offered a flat strip of black iron. Yes, gothic, ponderous as well, exuding an aura
of permanence. Wickedly heavy.

  “We’ll use this for the cuffs and neck collar. Cut to the desired length, heated then bent.”

  It was then that I made a quick but telling decision.

  “Rivets, Maggie. Locks offer potential release. Make it so the cuffs and collar cannot be removed. I want a sense of permanency. To whom can he protest?”

  Yes, even then I was thinking of my early retirement... and that prodigious tongue of course.

  ***

  “I need to go.”

  Sunny beseeches to interrupt my story.

  “Excuse me a moment,” this Winnie politely intercedes.

  My host goes to the kitchen area and retrieves a basin. He then moves to Sunny’s far side, considerate in not blocking my view of the suspended hundred pounds of well exposed feminine flesh. I cannot help thinking how many nasty girls at Hartwood I would have enjoyed introducing to this African torture.

  “Must she be here to watch,” the little vixen moans in protest, apparently referencing my presence.

  “No. But she will, Sunny. I like exhibiting you like this. You know you enjoy it.”

  Winnie holds the basin under the hips. A knowing hand reaches beneath and between the thighs. I note that the hue of Sunny’s skin begins to turn in blushing. The nipples crinkle. Winnie makes some sibilant sounds to encourage her flow. Though most awkward, I assume that Sunny has held the contents of her bladder as long as possible, hoping I would leave, the matter to be completed in private. No such luck. So, in desperation, and though mortally humiliated, she opens herself despite the guiding male fingers and our peering eyes.

  In laboring to keep her muscles relaxed, those that will cramp as a result of being grommeted, I note she most carefully curtails the flow. Even the process of urination must be relearned, that cascade of painful contractions not to be spurred in energetically closing her urethral passage.

  “Good girl, Sunny. You’re doing very well. Learning to just hang, relax and entertain.”

  In completing her task, I note Winnie’s fingers move from the outer labia to offer a brief and tantalizing circumgyration of the clitoral hood. No real gratification, just a quick tease. The man knows the female anatomy. Sunny moans with the ephemeral joy.

  As Winnie strolls to the bathroom to rid the contents of the basin he prompts me to continue.

  “So you conspired with Theresa and Maggie concerning this ‘Kim’ character...” his voice rebounds from the bathroom above the sound of running water...

  ***

  Though Maggie enjoyed the large and heavy gothic stuff, replicating ancient irons and shackles, she and her girls could be inspiringly precise as well. It required just one day, after Theresa provided the measurements, to fabricate the most important constraint, that which would make Kim’s penis, putting aside its emaciated appearance, completely unusable. She fabricated two rings of surgical steel into which she drilled eight tiny holes. Through those openings double pointed needles could be inserted and permanently glued in place. So when prepared, a naked Kim was escorted from his infirmary bed where he lay for two days in straps and taken to the metal working shop. There he was placed in stocks, sitting on a stool, arms and legs extended straight out, wrists and ankles then locked between two parallel planks.

  With his slim build, the four openings were perfect, designed to restrain girls, and quite effective in presenting the lithe Kim as well.

  “See, girls, as trustees we offer a privilege from time to time,” I lectured, beaming in providing a naked male beast and placing him completely at their disposal... as well as mine.

  Well there came the first step in ensuring there would be no hanky panky involving that male organ... either by his hand or that of one of my many female charges. Theresa iced the penis until it practically shriveled and disappeared. Then she slipped on ring number one and pushed it up the shaft to the base at the pubes. There Maggie inserted the eight needles through the ring, gluing each in place such that the points pressed against the shaft. The second ring was likewise slipped over the penis but held at the tip. There eight needles were also pressed through the openings in the circumference and glued, the points abrading the overly sensitive glans.

  The result... since the penis was shriveled in coldness, as it warmed and returned to size sensation also returned. Kim would feel the sharp points, very much made aware that his organ was off limits to him... to everyone. With any attempt to stiffen he would be in agony. Likewise, any attempt to insert the appendage into any opening, oral, vaginal or otherwise, would bring suffering to the recipient, the opposite end of each of the sixteen needles equally sharp and pointed.

  Yes, I effectively neutered the lad... no erections... and no possible penetration even while remaining flaccid.

  After all the years of exerting power over the female form, I cannot tell you the sense of omnipotence in observing the hapless Kim, caught in his own trap so to speak, no possible protest other than to admit to his brazen scheme and be packed away to a male penitentiary... time for perjury and other charges added to his sentence to assure a long stay.

  “His rectum is quite stretched, Henrietta. In checking his prostate I could have driven a truck past that sphincter,” Theresa noted.

  “He no longer has to worry about that here,” I proclaimed in tenderly toying with his ear. “Unless of course he requests it. One never knows with a lad of his ilk.”

  Kim squirmed in his stocks then lurched as Maggie’s heavy hammer landed with a metallic thunk to begin forging the thick strips of iron which would, over the ensuing days, be bent, shaped and riveted to adorn wrists, ankles and neck.

  “A waist band would be most repressing,” Theresa sprightly suggested.

  “And heavy,” Maggie called out between blows.

  “So make one...”

  Our colloquy is interrupted as Sunny cries out, her otherwise motionless form thrashing about.

  The movement of her legs seems to cause intense spasms which in term cause more movement. Winnie puts aside his wine and arises from his chair. Terming the reaction a cascade seems most apropos.

  “So sorry, Mrs. Anderson. But its appears Sunny has burned through the required endorphins and lost control of herself.”

  Whereas releasing the many grommets would seem to be the likely solution, this Winnie instead steps to her side and begins massaging, cooing soft words to encourage better control.

  “Just relax,” his soft paternal voice murmuring as one knowing hand lifts the right ankle and the other kneads her calf.

  “I’m afraid part of the training is to force her to endure the cramping for awhile... instilling more mental discipline. Otherwise she’ll never reach the expected level of slow torment.”

  Winnie works the left ankle and calf and with Sunny’s cries of anguish I realize further confabulation is not possible. Besides, it is indeed late.

  “I’ll stop in another time. Perhaps with a visitor?..”

  “Sunny would so much enjoy that,” Winnie replies with a wicked smile, his hands working feverishly.

  I rise and depart, my last glimpse is of Sunny, struggling to get her aggravated muscles back under control. Tears flow. I smile.

  Chapter Four

  Dr. Winthrop Samuels

  Such a fascinating neighbor. Unfortunately Sunny’s outburst brought an early end to an otherwise enthralling story. To think in this day and age one could be stripped naked and clapped in irons!

  I will have to listen to the finish.

  Forcing Sunny to ride out her muscle spasms is necessary to the process. She will learn discipline. And so I knead and massage, loosening muscles and allowing her to restore mental control.

  “Concentrate,” I admonish. “Return to calm, make yourself limp and I will let you fellate me. Just relax.”

  Yes, I have not forgotten my plans before Mrs. Anderson’s pleasantly surprising visit. So as Sunny indeed calms, firm fingers rubbing her bald head, I look to the stool which Louise so cleverly positions
when she avails herself of Sunny’s oral skills.

  Finally Sunny returns to being the docile one hundred pounds of naked femininity which I desire. I pull up the stool and sit. Sunny knows to work my zipper with lips and teeth. The word dexterous again comes to mind but I suppose nimble is the more apt term.

  “Must you show me to others?” the words slither from ‘poor’ Sunny’s busy mouth.

  “How else would you want to endure, Sunny? You have yet to fully understand yourself.

  “Now I know you want to be released, but make it nice and slow. If you rush. I’ll just keep you dangling that much longer...” I advise as her tongue finds my penis tip.

  She obeys. I imagine with those long truck rides across Europe she perfected a sense of timing. The longer she performed fellatio the further the trucker would take her, satiated males quickly wanting to dispose of a conspiring party. Thus she would delay and delay ultimate climactic release... fellating her way across the continent... the longer the blow job... the longer the ride.

  I finally gush, the night’s activities so much heightening my satyriasis. Sunny greedily takes my essence. There are tears of joy in knowing she has finally earned release.

  “Nearly four hours, Sunny,” I announce in peering at my watch. “But I know you can do better.”

  Louise is expected. Just over an hour. So after release I lead Sunny to the kitchen, her unused muscles struggling to propel her feet. On a whim, I decide to hogtie her. It’s an easy matter to loop a cord through the right elbow grommet, the right buttock grommet then bend back her foot loop and tie it off through the right Achilles heel grommet. Another cord connects the left three grommets and as I tighten both cords, presto, a naked hog tied little masochist.

  “Louise will be here soon, have a good night.”

  “Please not like this.”

  “Any way I choose, Sunny. It is best for you.”

  I cannot help playing with her breasts a bit as I assure the proper level of discomfort... that is barely tolerable. Back arched, if she attempts to relieve the stress by straightening she will tension the buttock and heel grommets... bringing forth the cramping she knows to avoid. So once again, Sunny must concentrate and relax... and slowly suffer.