“Hold still now,” the nurse warned.
The left hand held the tiny penis shaft while the right unscrewed the post penetrating the frenulum. Then the expert fingers worked, those on the left skinning back, those on the right gently pulling the metal tube. Jamie grimaced. The nurse cooed words of comfort as she would with a young child.
“Just a little more.”
The shaft finally was free and I fully understood the anguish. Though I knew that the inserted end had a bulbous tip, it was the first time I had seen it. It was sizable and the urethra must have had to expand greatly to allow for its removal. Such pain. Miss Elizabeth noticed my reaction.
“Jamie bears such for me ... and his prostatic health.”
The jewelry was piled into a small plastic container. Jamie was truly naked. Only his gold waist chain remained, welded permanently in place.
“I’ll want a sample.”
Another plastic container came into view. The nurse gently held Jamie’s penis in her left hand and the container in the right. Jamie straightened his back, parted his knees further and performed on cue.
“Good boy.”
Next the nurse retrieved a measuring device. A smiling Jamie again extended his tongue and the nurse cruelly seized it and pulled without mercy. She measured its length and let it slip back between the pretty lips.
Then she began plumping the girlish nipples ... pushing ... pulling ... pinching … twisting … all actions seeming to loosen the flesh which she then pulled viciously and measured the distance it could be drawn from his breast plate.
The flaccid penis was measured and Jamie flushed when the nurse called out ‘two and one half inches’.
“The estrogen is working nicely, Jamie. So tiny, you’ve almost got a clitoris,” the nurse laughed seeming so genuinely proud of her patient.
“Well, we’re going to increase your hormones. Won’t that be nice? I think your breasts will grow better.”
Jamie beamed with the nurse’s announcement.
“Now let’s get that nasty male gland massaged and then we’ll get cleaned up and start the flow. “Stand and spread for me and straddle my legs. Face the wall.”
Nurse Stenson sat on the stool as Jamie obeyed. He spread as the nurse’s hands grasped his hips and guided him back over her thighs. He faced the wall as did Nurse Stenson.
“Relax now. Nurse Stenson is going to find your little prostate.”
She spoke firmly but as if to a child. The index finger of the left hand dabbed into a small jar of ointment. Jamie smiled as it began to worm its way into his rectum from the rear. The right hand reached over his leg and massaged the empty scrotal sac.
“Why, Jamie, what happened here? Something’s missing!”
The nurse feigned surprise in toying with the boy’s emptiness, obviously adding a psychological layer of therapy to her physical efforts.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Jamie clearly enunciated in his girlish voice, his tongue free to express.
Jamie both winced and smiled as the expert single finger worked its way into his rectum to find the neglected gland. Meanwhile the right hand rubbed and the cooing voice continued in its pleasant but taunting manner.
“Now, what would Miss Elizabeth do with a boy’s balls, Jamie?” she asked in a mocking tone.
“She has them in a drawer.”
I looked to Miss Elizabeth at that point. The look of firmness on her face told me it was true. Little Jamie’s marauded testicles were in fact in her possession, symbolizing her Dominance, and I am sure serving as fascinating tchotchkes among her Dominant friends.
Hands and fingers worked as the condescending talk continued…mocking ... taunting … reminding Jamie of his altered status and in particular the woman who served as catalyst for his neutered state.
“Oh, Jamie, you’re getting nice and hard for me. How nice. You like pleasing your nurse. Look in the mirror.”
Nurse Stenson shifted her feet to turn the stool with Jamie remaining on her lap. Facing more toward the mirror and the camera, I was shocked indeed to see that Jamie’s tiny penis was in fact somewhat engorged, even without the Prince’s Wand. It was comically small and Nurse Stenson was quick to point that out. For her to bring Jamie to erection, she must indeed know the castrated male, I thought to myself.
“It gets tinier every week, Jamie. And look at the nasty fluid I’m pumping. There are remnants of your naughty days as an intact male.”
Yes, as Miss Elizabeth had pointed out weeks before, Jamie’s prostate kept producing and it seemed that one of Nurse Stenson’s roles was to ensure he was relieved of the gooey fluid build up.
Little Sam began to knock on his cage at that point. Watching Jamie receive the attention which I so much needed made him painfully press against the entrapping plastic. Miss Elizabeth smiled understanding the source of my discomfort.
“In time, Sam. How long has it been? Four weeks? Not sleeping well? The nocturnal erections will be become more frequent by the way, so as early as you awake now it will probably become worse. And I believe you may soon need absorbent padding in your underwear. You will begin to constantly secrete fluids and it’s possible that you will stain your suits.
“When you make a decision, that will end; I assure you. You’ll have your own appointments with Nurse Stenson and be free to frolic with Jamie as much as you like, when not in service”
Miss Elizabeth paused from her lecture and studied the television screen. The tiny penis, centered in the picture, stood untouched with Nurse Stenson working the prostate gland from within the anal passage with her left hand and from without by stimulating the perineum and empty scrotum with her right.
“Would you like to come for Nurse Stenson?” the cooing voice asked of the squirming Jamie.
“That’s my cue, Sam. I’ll return in a moment.”
Miss Elizabeth left me alone. With wrists bound and Little Sam locked away, I was unlikely to cause mischief. I continued watching and observed my Hostess enter the examination room where Jamie struggled to receive the frustratingly pleasurable caresses of Nurse Stenson.
The scene became perversely decadent...Jamie stripped of everything except his gold waist chain, sitting erect, or as erect as he could become, on the lap of a fully clothed nurse with a fully clothed Miss Elizabeth now observing. She used the same condescending tone of voice in expressing mocked surprise in viewing Jamie’s tumescence.
“Why, Jamie, so big and hard for Nurse Stenson?”
It was the smallest erection I had seen since I was a boy. But the women doted over it, making farcically exaggerated comments about its puissance. Miss Elizabeth began toying with Jamie’s nipples ... so puffy and pink ... so obviously tender. Then her free hand diddled the tip of Jamie’s erection.
“Think you can ejaculate for me, Jamie? Get rid of all that foul fluid. Hmmm.?”
Well, of course, he could not. And the women massaged, toyed and verbally humiliated Jamie while he meekly sat and oozed what Nurse Stenson’s knowing finger’s pumped from within.
Finally, Jamie began bucking his hips in frustration, mimicking the motion of copulating. And the women laughed, knowing that it was for naught, that long ago, a simple strand of thin wire so callously twisted about his testicles slowly robbed Jamie of any possibility of ejaculating sperm. And yet, like a neutered puppy, his girlish body still emulated the motion required for fornication.
The bucking continued with Miss Elizabeth and Nurse Stenson closely watching in fascination. Then the nurse noted that the stream of goo had ceased and announced ‘clean up time’. Miss Elizabeth affectionately patted Jamie on the head.
“Maybe next time, Jamie. Though your penis is getting smaller and smaller.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed with her comment and withdrew toward the door. A forlorn Jamie remained bucking even as Nurse Stenson removed her hands and pushed Jamie off her lap.
As the door to the bedroom opened for Miss Elizabeth’s return, Jamie was placed under the shower.
“Anyway, as he learns time and again that his genitals have been permanently altered, that he can no longer sexually function as a male, he more readily accepts his status, that of owned and groveling servant, and his special treatment.
“Not all bad, Sam, what else would Jamie do in life?”
We watched in silence as Nurse Stenson bathed Jamie, caring for him like a child, scrubbing everywhere as she soaped him in the shower area. After a good cleansing she had him lie tummy down on the stainless steel table, and Jamie’s ordeal began in earnest. She had him obscenely spread, knees draped over the table edge with calves dangling. Jamie’s cute buttocks faced the camera and the nurse forced him to reveal his tiny rosebud opening with the withered sac below.
Then she stepped away and poured syrup into onto a large spoon. Jamie looked on in trepidation.
“Nice and clean, inside and out.”
“Ipecac syrup,” Miss Elizabeth informed.
“Important in breaking any remaining mental fortitude, plus it helps with the absorption of the hormones.”
Jamie reluctantly took the emetic. Then Nurse Stenson hooked up stanchions and tubes that began to appear from various cabinets.
“I prefer a complete systemic infusion for inducing the hormones. It’s no more effective than a hypodermic injection, but the transmission is deliciously demeaning,”
Jamie’s little rectum, still lubricated from Nurse Stenson’s prostate massage, was introduced to an enema nozzle. Then the nurse catheterized the tiny penis just as the ipecac syrup began to wreak its havoc.
Jamie vomited, the emetic wrenching the complete contents from his stomach. Then the enema began and Nurse Stenson opened a valve to empty Jamie’s bladder as well.
I watched in amazement as the Nurse took complete control of every aperture. Three enemas making Jamie’s bowels run clear, a second smaller dose of ipecac until she was satisfied his stomach was empty and, of course, the bladder was drained.
Then the nurse worked diligently to rearrange the tubing. She forced a gastric tub into Jamie’s throat, which with his controllable gag reflex was swallowed with notable ease. She connected the three invading tubes to large bags of solution.
“Mostly water and saline, but laced with estrogen and progesterone. Nurse Stenson will slowly fill Jamie’s system, his bladder, colon and stomach, for hours. A rather helpless sensation would you not agree? Lying naked and having a Dominant woman force fluids into your body. It’s not more effective than an injection, as stated. But the process is so important, feeling in every cavity the slow infusion of chemicals which will transform ... weaken the male muscles ... atrophy the phallus ... and you’ve seen Jamie’s enhanced breasts ... rather cute wouldn’t you agree?”
Stupefied by the thorough execution of Miss Elizabeth’s control, I just nodded. Jamie was nothing more than a receptacle for whatever Miss Elizabeth wished to infuse. And to think that the liquids slowly transformed...
Little Sam renewed his efforts to engorge. I did not understand his reaction, though watching the lithe and totally naked body squirm as Nurse Stenson’s hands soothed and rubbed the girlish buttocks was engrossing.
“You can join Jamie, Sam. Say the word and the CB-2000 will be removed forever. And there will be one last kindness in exchange for your sacrifice. Then you will serve, most devotedly. And the alternative is to otherwise work, sleep rather uncomfortably and report here at my whim. That’s all that’s left.”
It was then that I was summarily dismissed. Miss Elizabeth knew that I had to return to the office for an appointment and explained that the slow infusion of hormones into Jamie’s bladder, colon and stomach took hours, with Nurse Stenson amusing herself in painfully filling Jamie’s cavities to the maximum.
But the walk to the office, again too short to properly ruminate upon both that which I had seen and Miss Elizabeth’s ominous offer, gave pause for enlightenment.
When Miss Elizabeth used the term ‘kindness’ the lecture on the Stockholm Syndrome churned to the surface of my brain.
What were the necessary elements?
The lurid videotape was a threat to my survival.
I could not escape the entrapping CB-2000.
Jamie performed such wonderful kindnesses in releasing, shaving and massaging my scrotum.
I had no perception of how to escape Miss Elizabeth’s demands.
And as a result, in feeling Little Sam’s reaction to being with Miss Elizabeth and gazing at Jamie’s fine nakedness, it was evident that I had developed unwarranted devotion and affection for my ‘captors’.
Trudging through the lobby of MacDonald Bear, focus was lost while acknowledging colleagues and staff.
But I began to understand the operative question. Was my devotion such that I would be willing to sacrifice, as did Jamie years before in that Swedish orphanage?
If only I had not borrowed so much to purchase the MacDonald Bear stock. In arriving at my office, a glance at stock quotations suggested that MacDonald Bear was down another 2 points.
I sat in despair, realizing that a sizable portion of my next paycheck would be needed for forthcoming margin calls.
Then heartening thoughts and images soothed my depression. Miss Elizabeth’s confident and controlling persona, Jamie’s fine, girlish nakedness, and the subtle offer began to intrigue. In giving up control I would also give up such frustration, the mental torment, the financial turmoil. I was so very aware of Miss Elizabeth’s resources. It was my business to know. Her wealth was unfathomable...
Chapter Twenty One
With the hormonal buildup as a result of being kept forcibly chaste, events seemed to cause my life to become more of a roller coaster ride. Good things became fantastic. Bad things became tragic.
I received a notice that my apartment building had been purchased. Though I had rent control, my contract was up for renewal and the notice specified that the new owners were converting to condominiums. For a mere $900,000 I could buy my abode. If not, I had six months to move out.
I had not the money for the purchase. Even the cost of moving would be a strain. More turmoil.
Then, the following week, I received a call from the secretary of Ms. Grace Hobson, director of personnel. I was summoned to her office.
Normally the middle-aged harridan only dealt with administrative staff. Ranking investment bankers interacted with the executive committee on matters of personnel. I was to find out that had changed.
As the elevator took me to the 35th floor, the very number, lit up above elevator the door, brought consternation. Visions of that videotape, neatly sealed, addressed and ready for mailing, haunted me. As stated, the abundant hormones seemed to cause wide mood swings.
To console myself, to place me in the proper frame of mind for meeting with Ms. Hobson, I forced myself to think about how Jamie’s soft fingers and fine wet tongue would sooth my scrotum and neglected testicles on my next visit to Miss Elizabeth’s penthouse. My homophobia, at least when it came to recreating with Jamie and his fine body, had dissipated. And so as I entered the suite of offices for MacDonald, Bear’s esteemed Director of Personnel, Little Sam was pressing against his cage with my thoughts.
Ms. Hobson’s effeminate male secretary greeted me. That alone made a statement about the woman who ruled the secretaries and clerical staff with an iron hand. Grace Hobson was a no-nonsense administrator who made things work. And though disliked by many at my level, who technically outranked her, no one ever dared to trifle with her fiefdom. To do so could cause irritation perhaps even havoc at various levels within the firm. And then the ultimate powers would end that havoc ... and in so doing no
one cared to prognosticate whose ox would be gored. Thus everyone let the overbearing, physically imposing woman do her job.
Ms. Hobson’s office was larger than mine and more opulently decorated, a tribute to her influence and ability to infight. I had never paid much attention to such matters, choosing instead to concentrate on the size of the upcoming bonus, which of late had been penurious. Success is as one measures it.
I was ushered in by the humble secretary. Grace Hobson demanded coffee of the truckling young male. She did not offer any to me.
She began without any courteous exchange. Abrupt, straight to the point, her demeanor suggested that she was busy with important matters. I always wondered about people who project such an aura, whether there was in fact importance or the facade was a mere subterfuge.
“No deals closed recently, Mr. Winthrop. Anything on the horizon?”
Her tone was haughty. Her question sarcastically intoned. These were inquiries, much more genteelly phrased, normally asked by the head of the Investment Banking Department.
Though I seethed, I ignored her provocation. “Things are slow. The immediate horizon is limited. But such is better discussed with Winston.”
Normally invoking Winston’s name, the very powerful head of Investment Banking, gained one a degree of shelter from interdepartmental jousting. Winston had his own fiefdom and my fellow investment bankers and I considered ourselves like cubs with our vaunted mother bear Winston protective of all.
“Winston resigned yesterday. It seems he accepted a rather lucrative offer from a Middle Eastern financial firm. I’m told he received a guaranteed retirement package that will eliminate the normal vagaries of Wall Street employment.”
I was shocked, but I was indeed familiar with the vagaries of Wall Street.
“So, Mr. Winthrop. Anything on the horizon? I’m afraid I’ve been assigned the task of trying to pick up the pieces of his department. And I’m beginning to understand Winston’s inclination to jump ship.”
Well reader, the remainder of the conversation did not get any better. Grace Hobson’s iron fist was gripping my throat, explaining how the firm’s overhead was subsidizing my performance, or lack thereof, and quoting the substantial costs of rent, heat, light, telephone, and secretarial services with amazing precision.
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