Dr. Winthrop Samuels Series

by Chris Bellows

  I nod as there comes a knock on the door. Kim shuffles forth with the bucket and newspaper.

  “You’re probably best to arrange it. Kim will get the door.”

  ***

  There is no need to speculate over Mrs. Anderson’s guests. Maggie appears to have the physique of a weight lifter. One can easily envision those arms hammering untold numbers of thick iron shackles. And then her companion stoops, coos in a childish voice and a teasing finger diddles the exposed tip of Kim’s penis. The offering is a pleasant but ephemeral touch to which the appendage can not, dares not respond. The familiarity suggests it is Theresa, the nurse who first measured to have the organ permanently placed in chastity then iced it to be ringed.

  “No problems with the train?” Mrs. Anderson inquires.

  Both offer that Amtrak was on time. Still employed at Hartwood, the women have time off. It is a reunion. It is curious that just as with Mrs. Anderson they both don short loose skirts. Not unbecoming, the youthful apparel appears unusual for women I judge to be in their thirties.

  I am introduced but Theresa’s eye understandably wanders to Sunny as Maggie makes a professional inspection of Kim’s many bonds, checking the rivets and seams. When finished she playfully, but firmly, smacks his buttocks then joins Theresa in admiring my hanging plaything.

  “Hung by her own flesh. I would not think such is tolerable. Amazingly controlling. She cannot move.”

  “And she is compelled to endeavor not to do so. Over twenty grommets,” I explain. “The weight is evenly apportioned. No more stress than if I pinched and gently pulled at your skin. It’s the impinged muscles and tendons which bring the real control.”

  “Wish you had such capability at Hartwood, ladies?” Mrs. Anderson offers with a wicked smile.

  “We’d only need to hang one girl,” Theresa responds in seeming seriousness. “Make an example of her. Suspend her in the courtyard for all the new arrivals to see. Instill abject fear. What a shortcut to behavior modification.”

  Maggie nods and laughs, her fingers grazing over the elbow grommets.

  “Great work,” she exclaims. “The metal is neat, clean, strong.”

  “Nickel cobalt. Used in medical devices,” I reply.

  She nods.

  “Not easily forged.”

  “Correct. All the machinery used to cut, grind and shape are diamond tipped.”

  Maggie moves to stand directly in front of Sunny, who peers helplessly upwards as she hangs exposed to strangers.

  “You’re a lucky girl,” Maggie offers, seeming to understand Sunny’s proclivity.

  Her hands, just as with Mrs. Anderson, lower to those prominent breasts, so perfectly shaped and presented by the corseting. The mounds welcome attention.

  “Her name is Sunny. As you’ve probably ascertained... a masochist with strong exhibitionist tendencies,” I expound then sip my Scotch.

  As Maggie palpates the breasts, Theresa moves to Sunny’s hips, reaches under as I have so often done, and apparently explores the girl’s barometer for arousal. She finds the extreme wetness expected. With a look of Schadenfreude, she extends her hand to show to all her wet fingers.

  “Yes, I see what you mean. Winnie is it?”

  I nod as Kim finally arrives with well iced Scotches for the arrivals.

  “What’s with the bucket and the newspaper?”

  “As you can see, I impinged some muscles and tendons with the buttock and ankle grommets. She cramps with the slightest motion So we’ve put her on a special diet. She’s fed to keep her bowels loose. No need to contract the muscles.”

  The laughter deepens Sunny’s embarrassed shade of pink.

  “Delightful. So you need to be housebroken, sweetheart?”

  Sunny is too humiliated to reply. Theresa moves to the feet, held high and offering the most comfortable presentation of her legs... knees bent. There is admiration as she inspects the Achilles heel grommets.

  “Nice touch. I would think this makes walking difficult.”

  “Training, massage will return mobility. But yes, she’s somewhat hobbled. Walks best in high heels. We’ve got special shoes for her... when I want to walk her.”

  “Leashed, no doubt.”

  I nod.

  The visiting women pause from their inspection to join us in enjoying the fine single malt. Imbibing ‘neat’, no water or other additives, just ice, suggests masculine tastes in beverages. I would not be surprised if cigars are lit.

  Mrs. Anderson directs her guests to a circle of stuffed comfortable chairs surrounding a coffee table. We sit, Maggie and Theresa offered the best view of Sunny. Her well bound nakedness creates an aura, not to be seen but felt. The women are excited, not visually stimulated but exuberant. It is apparent that they are daughters of Sapphos. The display of Sunny brings sexual inspiration. And though the male form would normally bring aversion, when it is completely subjugated and rendered impotent, as with Kim, it heightens the arousal as well.

  “I trust you don’t mind if Kim entertains, Winnie,” Mrs. Anderson enunciating the word with noted vigor as Maggie kicks off her shoes.

  I nod and sip as Maggie snaps her fingers and points to the floor before her. There instantly follows the sound of rattling as Kim moves to obey, his chains clanking with every labored step.

  “We’re not shy, Winnie. Hope you don’t mind. Long train ride, and though there’s much of this offered at Hartwood, there’s nothing quite as good,” Maggie explains without a hint of modesty.

  Kim kneels before the feet of Maggie. Her powerful hands clutch clumps of hair.

  “Show the man your only skill, Kim,” Mrs. Anderson laughingly commands as Maggie draws down his head.

  With that, the most enormous tongue I have ever seen thrusts between reddened lips, extends uncountable inches and begins to lap at the feet and ankles. Though previously described by Mrs. Anderson, until one sees such an appendage on a human form, the size is best described as that belonging to a farm animal.

  I note that Kim parts his knees as widely as possible, the sharp needles of his chastity rings obviously abrading his inner thighs. With head lowered to the floor I spy the prostate manipulator, the slim strip of metal ending at the rose bud of his anus where it bends to penetrate then presumably expands to be held in place and constantly work the eponymous gland as suggested. Removal would require fingers and hands other than those so well shackled. I imagine Mrs. Anderson’s maternal assistance is required for bathroom visits. As chained, Kim cannot reach to wipe his own ass!

  The tongue slowly works upwards to the calves. Mechanical, yet with tenderness, this is not Kim’s first foray into oral service. Maggie releases his hair and slips her index fingers into the loops on his neck collar, right and left, to offer guidance and the sense of feminine control I am sure Kim well learned at Hartwood. The short loose skirt can be readily lifted and will offer little impediment. I know from Maggie’s smile that Kim’s unflagging tongue will continue until directed to stop.

  As a male, I am considered a non entity in this trio of domineering lesbians. Here to entertain with my naked and suspended charge, I am akin to the clown hired for a child’s birthday party. And I have brought Sunny, a meek little pet to add to the recreation.

  “Kim can suck cock as well, Winnie. Those years at Lansing were not all anal penetration. He’s been well trained to serve.”

  “Sunny is orally accomplished as well,” I politely offer.

  “Of course.”

  With that comes a low moan.

  “She’s beginning to cramp. Do you mind?”

  I know Sunny does not wish to draw more attention to herself than possible, therefore until now she has stoically and silently fought off the slow building agony. But the spasms come despite her desperate need to remain calm. Reacting to the uncontrollable motion will begin the cascade which will in turn transform the slow tolerable pain to the acute agony of contractions and more spasms.

  In my shirt pocket is my fornix probe. My
new trio of lesbian friends is going to have quite the show.

  ***

  Theresa, as a medical type, was fascinated in watching me methodically draw the equivalent of a benumbed climax from Sunny.

  As she attentively observed, I carefully inserted the probe into Sunny’s vagina. Meanwhile, Kim went to work in earnest under the short skirt of Maggie. Without a scintilla of circumspection, the woman lifted the hem and Kim knew to shuffle forth and service her mons. With the length and girth of that tongue, the sounds of wet lapping could be heard across the loft as I plumbed Sunny’s anterior fornix and began the faux fucking. In, out, in, out, within minutes the PC muscles compliantly contracted. I had Sunny wet the newspaper, one squirt bringing a metallic ting as it hit the bucket below. The reaction, for the most part an unfelt ejaculation, impressed Theresa.

  She now sits, her turn to benefit from Kim’s oral prowess.

  “No vaginal or clitoral stimulation, thus no ecstasy?”

  I nod and elaborate.

  “Relatively speaking. But there is a hormonal release. See how calm she is. I’ve reset her tolerance for withstanding the slow anguish which, I suspect in another hour or so, will bring another bout of spasms, muscle contractions and intolerable cramping. Maybe then I’ll offer some massage. We extend her time in suspension every day.”

  Kim’s tongue begins. I note that Theresa seems more in a hurry than Maggie. Forgoing the foreplay of laps to the feet and calves she lifts her skirt to brazenly flash her charms. She is shaven, as expected, inviting daily the oral attention of the many strumpets locked away at Hartwood. Kim knows to obediently press his face between the spread and inviting thighs. Theresa lowers the skirt over his head and sits back in a much practiced pose.

  “Maggie, can you make some of those probes? I’ll have the girls at Hartwood squirting like spouting whales.”

  We laugh with the comparison and the depiction of bringing forth numerous clinical and desensitizing climaxes. Then comes another moan from Sunny. Too early for cramping, I look to see that her bowels have involuntarily released, the odorous contents plopping into the bucket below. Tears of shame roll down her cheeks. Her gleaming flesh turns to crimson.

  More laughter.

  “She truly needs to be housebroken,” Theresa reiterates.

  “We keep her in diapers. But I thought such would impede your preferred view.”

  The women nod.

  ***

  Sunny’s embarrassing release signaled the end of the cocktail hour, at least for me. Kim, having orally serviced Maggie and Theresa, was due to offer his tongue to Mrs. Anderson next and whereas the scene amused, my own lust required attention. Besides, Sunny required cleansing and though Theresa offered, the need was more appropriately fulfilled back in her loft.

  I bid adieu as Theresa began gently caressing and diddling Kim’s penis tip, coaxing engorgement which of course would bring forth the agony of the sixteen needle points. Such a wicked woman.

  Her teasing fingers moved to his scrotum, cradling the tiniest set of testicles I have seen on an adult.

  “The cyproterone acetate is working well, Henrietta.”

  My hostess smiles.

  “Just 200 milligrams a day. Leaves him a little randy but continues to shrink his balls.”

  Such wickedness. Cyproterone acetate is an anti androgen, most commonly used in sex change therapy, male to female. With the relatively small dosage, Kim’s testicles will ever so slowly wither and shrink.

  Kim is being slowly transformed, not necessarily into a female, but more into a eunuch... one whose most prominent sexual features are the tongue and lips.

  Into the elevator, up two flights, we roll back to Sunny’s loft. There I offer a warm moist cloth to Sunny’s soiled anatomy, the soft stool slithering to leave remnants about her inner thighs and of course her gluteal cleft. I am most careful, cognizant of prompting the cascade.

  “Thank you sir,” a most humiliated Sunny humbly offers.

  I caress her nipples, stow the soiled cloth and rubber gloves and pull the stool before her face and head.

  “Thank me properly,” I command in slackening the hair cord and nose leash.

  I sit as my hanging puppet works my zipper, the nose leash and cord attached to her hair bob affording just enough motion. The teeth find the tab, she slowly lowers her head, the zipper slides down and my semi erect penis seems to jump from the confines of my underwear. Kim’s performance, the commanding women, Sunny displaying herself in complete nakedness and vulnerability, her bowels serving to both humiliate and entertain, all bring stimulation.

  Sunny obediently engulfs. As always, she is masterfully deliberate. Yet it requires little to achieve full erection and I smile with the little choking sound as the rock hard tip abrades the back of her throat. Sunny seems hungry, though her eagerness will not bring her to rush. No, she imagines being in a truck, I am sure, rolling across Europe, kilometer after kilometer, the vehicle’s vibration adding incidental pleasure to her oral effort.

  “Arroycoo, Sunny. You’re acclimating quite nicely. By the time Louise returns from work, you’ll have hung for nearly six hours. And in time, you will go longer. Relax, do not move a muscle. Just think of yourself as a object, a fine piece of sculpture, to be admired, to amuse, to entertain.”

  Sunny’s head slowly bobs, her tongue swirls, her lips gently pressure my shaft as with the slight motion I sit and copulate her face. Otherwise there is complete immobility.

  In finally spending, there comes a meek gulp as Sunny graciously takes my seed. In reward, I again toy with her nipples.

  “Some prune juice?”

  ***

  Sunny’s progression continued for days. Evenings I would suspend her for up to six hours. Louise in turn would suspend her in the mornings. Massage, my offering of faux orgasms, Sunny’s driven need to suffer, all brought increased tolerance. We acclimated Sunny, mentally instilling the discipline to remain completely motionless, physically teaching the muscles to meekly endure. With her slight weight distributed over so many grommets, her flesh did not noticeably stretch.

  And of course there was the fellatio... sublime.

  And for Louise, sitting on the same stool, Sunny’s cunnilingus was well received. Within two weeks Louise rented a loft and moved into the building. Third floor. Sunny began experiencing some seemingly interminable elevator rides while dangling from the many cords and grommets. Yes, with the frame wheeled down to Louise’s abode, Sunny meekly hung while Louise decorated her new home. Friends assisted, a cadre from Spankers helped paint, amused with Sunny’s naked, well bound form. And the intensity of the humiliation was unsurpassed. Without diapers, our diet of prune juice, abundant fruit and stool softeners brought forth the constant need for a receptacle and subsequent infantile cleansings. Bladder relief continued to require assistance, and I must acknowledge, Sunny’s proclivity was well cultivated. Slow pain, constant humiliation.

  But alas, there comes a decision point. Sunny’s employer has beckoned. A message is received, return from her leave of absence or find other employment.

  On a mild Sunday afternoon in November, I decide to walk her.

  High heeled shoes strapped about her feet, short corset cord... neck collar, through the sixteen spinal grommets, right buttock grommet then left... I tightened. I diapered her as a precaution and this oddly provided a degree of comfort. With the elbows clipped together, I threw a coat over her shoulders, the sleeves hanging empty. I buttoned only about the neck leaving the folds to flash open below with each step.

  My hand approaches her nose.

  “Must I be leashed?” that once effervescent voice so humble.

  “You’ll feel better being under control, Sunny. When were you last able to move on your own? Governance is ingrained. It thrills.”

  I deftly slip the clip into her nose. It clicks closed and I give the connecting cord a light tug. Then I cruelly lead her to a mirror. The unbecoming bob, the sole remaining tuft of hair utilized to i
mmobilize her head, appears ludicrous. It is ironic that her nose leash will attract secondary glances. She peers at herself. I detect a tear forming.

  “Come, it’s a nice day. You have not been walked in a while.”

  The gait remains ungainly, but practiced. Down the elevator, out onto Ludlow Street, it’s quiet as always on weekends.

  “Is it what you’ve expected, Sunny... the arroycoo?”

  She nods.

  “It builds so slowly... the pain. I fight the urge to move. The mental conflict... it offers such a challenge.”

  “It appears we can go eight hours. Well past your ability to hold your bladder. But the assistance offered in relief must bring delight... a girl with your penchant.”

  “Being touched there, held open by the fingers of a man is quite humbling.”

  “As intended, Sunny. And you’re not getting any better with the potty training.”

  “You have a wicked mind, Dr. Samuels. Whatever it is being fed to me, I cannot control myself.

  I laugh.

  “Such a mind is what you sought, Sunny. You came to me. Now it is time to make a decision.”

  A gust of wind blows open the folds of Sunny’s coat, momentarily exposing her diaper and a bit of her breasts, thrust forward in being tightly corseted. A passing woman takes note, the exposed flesh drawing her attention from the comical hair bob and the nose leash. I delay righting her garment to offer a brief show. But in furtherance of my wickedness I reach behind and slip my hand into that white cloth covering.

  “Does your diaper need changing?” I inquire in a voice loud enough for the intrigued woman, two steps past, to hear.

  I note that she stops and turns to look again. I just smile in seeing Sunny’s look of consternation. But I do right her coat to cover her.

  “Wicked,” she repeats.

  “Your employer has issued an ultimatum, Sunny. You must choose... your future... your fate. Return to work. If not, other jobs will not be as readily forthcoming.”

  There comes a reflective pause. Sunny is in thought.

  Most curiously, it appears to be a difficult decision. The endless drudgery of bondage, the boredom, the slow pain punctuated with moments of intensely agonizing cramping, the humiliation of being displayed like a lewd piece of sculpture, the deep fellatio which, though for her is ostensibly facile, I know to offer frustration in repressing the gag reflex.