Though Mr. Dalton generally needs to remain blindfolded for the application of the laser, I want him to see what I will do. It’s a ritual in which I have participated since my days interrogating rebels while serving in the Nigerian Army. In my home country, males are not circumcised...it’s considered a deformity. Therefore, the first thing we would do was circumcise the prisoner, torment him for a few days, and then under threat of further alteration, the ultimate for the male, suggest that they offer information. And they did. Having them watch as a Dominant female removed their precious foreskins set the non nonsense, no bluff tone of interrogations. Every rebel prisoner knew we would do exactly what we threatened, particularly after being forced to watch in horror as a scalpel trimmed away the sensitive flesh of their penis tip.
We never used anesthesia for obvious reasons, and to this day there are dozens of reformed rebels who, while stroking their shamefully ‘deformed’ manhoods, envision my smiling face and unrelenting hands as I slowly incised the useless gathering of skin of which they were so proud. The incomparable level of pain more or less chiseled the event into the stone tabloids of their memories. And I always liked that thought.
And I collected the foreskins. Yes, little jars of formaldehyde, now numbering 324, line the shelves of my den. And I cannot help mentally referring to Mr. Dalton as Mr. 325.
I wheel Mr. Dalton down to the operating room. I can circumcise a man anywhere, but there I have a special chair. The broad doors swing open and the bright mercury vapor lamps make my white uniform seem to glow.
I remove Mr. Dalton’s blindfold and release him from the wheeled suspension cart. He’s as docile as a lamb and, since he is very much aware of my overpowering strength, is most cooperative as I place him in the special chair. When finished, he sits upright, broad nylon straps securing wrists, forearms, chest, waist, thighs and ankles. His legs initially are straight out in front of him. When I turn a crank, they separate...more and more. He winces as I force him into a ‘split’ position. The seat also parts and his nicely stretched and ringed scrotum falls and hangs well out of the way.
Meanwhile, word has gotten out that I am about to perform my specialty and young inexperienced nurses gather to watch. There is no privacy for the male gender on Constancia Island, and the Bagandan girls seem to have an insatiable appetite for witnessing the suffering of the male. Thus, as I gather instruments, antiseptic ointment and bandages, some half dozen smiling female faces stand opposite Mr. 325. He in turn stiffens, the chaste male so eager to show off and entertain. And that he will do.
There are many different methods and devices that can be used in circumcising the male. Since Mrs. Dalton will be displaying her altered toy quite often, she has requested a nice clean cut, with minimal prepuce remaining. We refer to it has a ‘high and tight’ circumcision and it not only exhibits the penis head nicely, it has the added advantage of inhibiting furtive masturbation, making the use of lubricant almost mandatory.
Though it will not be a consideration in Mr. Dalton’s situation, many Dominant females are more sanguine knowing that their subordinate is not secretly stroking himself during visits to the men’s room, or frottaging on the bus ride home from work. The high and tight cut precludes such behavior due to the need for lubrication and the possibility of its detection if later not properly removed.
I place a high stool between Mr. Dalton’s painfully split legs. On a little tray table I have assembled all that I need, including the specimen jar which will serve as the final resting place for Mr. Dalton’s precious foreskin. It is already labeled...‘Dalton – 325’. I smile with the thought that it’s been sitting ready and marked since the day of his arrival. No phallus leaves Constancia Island intact.
The last step is to adjust the video camera and ensure that it is operating and loaded with blank tape. Another memento for my collection...and Mrs. Dalton will later be able to view the procedure on our web site.
I begin. Since I cannot circumcise him while erect, I pick up a scalpel, gently slide the blade under the tightly stretched skin of the prepuce and, with the most casual flick, inflict a one centimeter cut. Mr. Dalton’s eyes bug out. He screams in pain and my audience laughs as the standing manhood deflates like a punctured balloon.
‘Just a little taste of what’s to come,’ I think to myself.
Next comes a bell shaped cone to be placed over the penis tip and under the foreskin. Our selection is the largest of any medical facility of which I am aware. All shapes and sizes can be accommodated on Constancia Island. Most facilities only handle infants.
Then comes the Gomko clamp to stretch the prepuce and hold it in place. So far, other than the little flick of the scalpel I have merely invoked discomfort. Now as I tighten, Mr. Dalton winces in pain. I want a nice tight cut. Yet I must be careful not to remove so much as to deform the frenum. There are many permanently bent phalli in Nigeria as a result of my novice attempts while serving in Army intelligence.
I snicker with the image and the thought is tempting...but Mrs. Dalton wants a nicely shaped cleanly cut organ, which can be displayed.
So with the foreskin held in place over the metal bell, I can slowly begin a circular incision to free the useless flap of flesh. I could go faster but there is no rush and listening to Mr. Dalton’s pleas and cries of anguish is most entertaining. And my sang-froid makes such an impression on the male psyche, further dragging Mr. Dalton into the complete mental capitulation we so endeavor to foster.
It is much less traumatic to encircle the metal bell with fine wire, tighten and then let time takes its course, denying the foreskin of circulation and making removal as simple as peeling an orange. But what would be the delight in that?
So after much expected howling, lurching in bondage, and pleading, tweezers capture my prize and Number 325 fills the specimen jar. My audience politely applauds yet they do not know there is an encore. Since Mr. Dalton’s member will be bandaged for a few days it is timely to initiate the most significant piercing of his new life. I term it a modified Prince Albert.
A long needle awaits. It is straight but at the end it hooks like a knitting needle. The point is very sharp yet I can slide it into Mr. Dalton’s urethra without puncturing anything...until I pull back and press it into the skin.
A standard Prince Albert ring merely pierces the penis about one or two centimeters into the urethra. Mr. Dalton’s will be much deeper, ensuring that, despite extreme stress and tension on the ring, it will not tear.
So I gently slide the needle in and at a point about four centimeters deep press downward and pull back, pushing the needlepoint against the moist sensitive flesh and puncturing the underside of the penis. I press the outer surface underneath with the index finger of my free hand to assure a good opening. I feel the sharp point emerge.
With all the pain he has experienced from the circumcision, a jaded Mr. Dalton emits a meek and very hoarse scream and then faints, entering a self induced coma. Fortunately I am finished. There is no more pain to be meted out therefore Mr. 325 will not miss a thing.
Chapter Thirty
Mr. Dalton
I hung in suspension for three or four days. Since my penis was bandaged and a strange needle remained inserted with its curved point penetrating the skin, I was catheterized. My testicle rings were attached to elastic cords or weights or something as the stretching process continued. A slippery lotion was constantly being applied to my scrotum. I was fed mush and in the extreme boredom fantasized about being whipped and forced to work the salt flats by Luana. And after a strenuous afternoon my tongue was permitted to service her fine backside in reward.
The laser treatments continued...the heat being felt on my torso and back. Then my blindfold was removed and I was instructed to be particularly careful in keeping my eyes closed.
My face was depilated!
Some two months before, I had arrived on Constancia Island in need of a haircut. It remained untrimmed. As a Caucasian girl of some thirty years worked the laser
device, she had to brush away the long strands that almost covered my ears and got in the way when she worked to remove my side burns.
“You’re going to be very pretty,” she observed in an irritatingly soothing voice.
It was apparent she had training as a cosmetician for after she turned off the laser, her fingers pushed and smoothed various strands and locks of my hair. With a trained eye she seemed to be envisioning different styles. My pate was long enough to draw back and gather into a modest ponytail.
The laser left me feeling like I had a sunburn. But within two days the sensation disappeared and Nurse Naomi and other young nurses took to brushing their hands over the most intimate areas of my anatomy and commenting on the ‘delightful’ smoothness and complete absence of hair.
It was indeed smooth, and in the lights seemed to gleam like the shiny coat of a well-groomed thoroughbred.
I guess it was the fifth day when Nurse Jasmine removed the bandages and examined my impaled penis with a pride of ownership. Then she slid out the catheter leaving the needle in place. She poked and prodded and gently pushed it inward which served to evacuate the new opening on the underside of my shaft. She then turned the needle to insure the point was totally clear of the puncture, then slowly drew it back out. She could be most gentle when necessary.
My manhood was free! But it looked odd with its mushroom like head so vulnerable and constantly open to view.
Then before I had time to fully contemplate, brazenly trying to decide whether my circumcised state was an improvement, Nurse Jasmine held up an oddly shaped ring.
It was in the shape of a half moon...a half circle connected by a straight section. Judging from its size I quickly realized where it was intended to go.
“Your Prince Albert ring, Mr. Dalton. We’ve modified the shape for practical purposes.”
Yes, she opened it, slipped the curved section into my urethra then pushed it through the new opening and out, leaving the straight part in the urethra.. The curved part aligned perfectly running from the opening on the underside of my penis to the tip where it met the straight part peeking out of my pee hole. I cringed as the electrical welding device was turned on and with the familiar spark and instant of intense pain the straight section and curved section were permanently connected to form a loop...the curved part exiting the underside approximately an inch and a half below the tip and rejoining the straight section at the tip.
Nurse Jasmine toyed with the new adornment and gave it a painful tug.
“We’ve used such a ring to leash some males,” she noted. “It will withstand a lot of tension before tearing. And then if it does tear, you do not want to know the results.”
Of course I began to stiffen and Nurse Jasmine was not at all surprised. She just waited until it stood straight up then slipped a small padlock from her pocket.
“The nurses have a key. You’ll be permitted to urinate on a schedule...our schedule.”
And with that she used the tiny lock to connect the new ring to the band around my waist.
My newly pierced and ringed penis was locked upright! The tip was just beneath my navel.
I spent a couple more days in suspension...released for moments each day for bathing and massage. The cosmetician returned often, coifed my hair in several styles, taking pictures of each.
On one morning she applied make up, trimming my eyebrows to nothing, and taking much time with mascara and other feminine cosmetics. I was strangely embarrassed when in the middle of the process a nurse came by with a key and had me urinate into a basin while the cosmetician stood to the side and watched.
When she finished, more pictures were taken and I remained appearing as a pretty girl until bathed the next morning. The nurses laughed with my most effeminate appearance. I blushed like a schoolgirl.
All the while the stretching of my scrotum continued. Measurements were taken. Dr. Reinhold seemed pleased.
Then came the most fateful day of my life. Having been deemed completely depilated except for cranial hair and eyebrows...having my penis healed of the circumcision and the piercing, having my scrotum obscenely stretched to a point halfway to my knees, perhaps further...having the openings for my waist band successfully healed...Dr. Reinhold declared I was ready for the final procedure.
Though the medical building was kept quite warm, I felt goose bumps when Dr. Reinhold and Nurse Naomi approached in full surgical gear. When so attired, it was ominous. It signaled that some part of my anatomy was to be incised, pierced or altered in some manner.
As always, I was helpless to resist or even protest. I still could not properly speak. Both smiled as I was wheeled to the operating room. There I was released from suspension, Nurse Naomi positioned me on an operating table while Dr. Reinhold worked on preparing instruments. I was frightened. I believe the morning dosage of Thorazine had been increased and I found myself helpless to resist.
Nurse Naomi installed stirrups, sliding them into slots on the side of the operating table. My ankles and calves were lifted and well separated. Dr. Reinhold punctured my right buttock with another injection and the bright room lights slowly faded.
I guess I should have been grateful for the anesthesia.
Chapter Thirty One
Dr. Reinhold
The procedure is more common than generally known. Performed in sex change operations, which occur more frequently than people realize, diverting the flow of the urethra is simple. It is the loss of the use of the pubococcygeus or ‘PC’ muscles that complicates. Those are the muscles that in both the male and the female cut off the flow of urine. But with my mother pioneering in the highly specialized area of surgery, I am well trained. Essentially I deploy muscles controlling the sphincter which over time Mr. Dalton will learn to utilize to regulate his urinary function.
When Mr. Dalton awakes, he will henceforth need to squat to urinate.
With an opening made between his rectum and scrotum, the flow of urine will exit between his thighs. Diverting the muscles is intricate but it is the only way he will control his bladder. We do not want an incontinent Mr. Dalton.
In diverting the urethra I have essentially made the penis functionally useless. Going forward even the ejaculatory process will be curtailed, his sperm feebly dribbling out between his thighs. There will be no more climactic relief for Mr. Dalton. When aroused, the ampullar glands will release but with very little sensation, and with the flow of sperm flowing out my new opening and never reaching the prostate. The prostatic fluid will flow backwards and also exit the new opening. The overall result of any physical manipulation of the penis will be a very limited sensation of pleasure. No matter the level of stimulation, Mr. Dalton will obtain very little gratification through sex...intercourse or masturbation.
So with the tube of male flesh not needed for bodily functions, it becomes an ornament...for Mrs. Dalton. And she wants it stiff...permanently.
I slide a narrow cylinder of rubber into Mr. Dalton’s penis. It is firm but somewhat malleable. The surface is not smooth. It is covered with little rubber barbs shaped like those at the end of a fishhook. It slides inward very easily. But if I pull outwards, the barbs catch the very sensitive pink lining of the urethra making it painfully impossible to remove. Another feature is the small bulbous tip, which is measured to exactly reside in the prostate gland when fully inserted. This also inhibits removal and has the devious effect of constantly inflaming the prostate gland.
Uncomfortable, yes, but Mr. Dalton will become accustomed to it over time. And he will also be very proud of his permanent erection though when locked to his waistband it will be totally under the control of Mrs. Dalton.
The curious thing about the modifications Mrs. Dalton has selected is that the erectile chambers of the penis are untouched. Thus with stimulation the penis will still engorge and I envision some very interesting parties and other gatherings where a stripped down Mr. Dalton will be displaying an organ rendered useless for all functions except serving as a barometer for
the level of his arousal...or the level of frustration, as he will come to learn.
The process of tumescence, the cascade of internally generated chemical compounds, which serve to restrict the flow of blood from the penis, will still occur. And the thin, artificially stiffened phallus will slowly plump...providing much amusement I am sure.
As I conclude, Nurse Naomi gently locks Mr. Dalton’s Prince Albert ring to his waistband. For all I know it may never again be released. Other than for the amusement of the Dominant female, there is no need to ever unlock it.
A catheter tube temporarily drains the bladder while my new opening heals. Mr. Dalton will hang in suspension for a few more days. Then when physically able, he will spend a few weeks at Estovia, Lady Constance’s home. There he will learn service under Motamba, Lady Constance’s head housekeeper and major domo. He will become Constancia Island’s newest maid.
In being trained as a flight attendant, that process shouldn’t be too difficult. It’s teaching him to apply his own make up and walk in heels that will probably take time.
As I remove my latex gloves, Nurse Jasmine enters. Though Mr. Dalton is still unconscious, she will use her superior strength and with Nurse Naomi collect him from the operating table and place him back into the mobile suspension apparatus.
Just another morning’s work completed, I think to myself in satisfaction. Sometimes altering the male to assure a lifetime of sexual frustration is more enjoyable than obviating all sexual desire through outright castration.
Mr. Dalton will forever pine for the orgasm he can no longer achieve.
Chapter Thirty Two
Mrs. Dalton
My gigolo Anthony orally works to pay homage to the inside of my thigh. I stand over him with a crop assuring that his expensive but rather unskilled tongue continues its endeavors. For what I pay, I want the most fervent of attention.
The Constancia Compendium Page 42