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Nurse Jasmine
Mr. Dalton hangs so meekly...like a child in a crib. I wonder if he knows his engorged manhood stands for all to see.
Well, it will soon become flaccid and do so at my hand. Complete feminine control over even the proudest of male functions, such a delicious meal...and at Constancia Island, we feast every day.
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!
