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The jolts of electricity have the effect of making me squirm and lurch within my tight bondage, doubling the anguish, particularly when I inadvertently tension the cord to my nose bridle.
But worst of all is the randomness. There is no pattern as to the length of each charge nor to what area. And sometimes the jolts stop completely for minutes...as if my tormentor needs a respite from pressing a button or turning a dial...or whatever causes the severe shocks.
It is weird, but my mind occupies itself by trying to determine which area is most sensitive. My penis feels as if is being broiled like a hot dog. But then there will be a charge to the anal insertion and my poor prostate explosively reacts and feels ready to surrender.
Does it last an hour? Two? I don’t know. And ironically I have no way of knowing if it is over. Twice I relaxed only to be suddenly bombarded with a diabolical series of shocks, seeming to form a circle...right nipple, right testicle, penis, prostate, left testicle, left nipple...capped by a jolt to all areas. Someone is having fun.
There is a third long intermission. I stand guard, mentally preparing myself for more. And I guess that is one sinister aspect of the torment...not really knowing. Always expecting.
Meanwhile the drip bag has continued throughout the entire ordeal. A splash of water hits my tongue and I struggle to swallow...so devious...so well planned. They know the male body here and exactly what can be tolerated.
I believe it is over. My perspiration dries during a long period of nothingness. I hear the door open and I mentally cower. I do not know whether a visitor is good or bad. Am I being summoned back to the salt flats? Could the night be that short? Perhaps I have passed out and not realized it...completely losing any concept of time.
I feel hands...soothing hands. Young and soft they work to remove the clamps from my nipples and testicles. The anal probe is gently removed. My benefactress is most tender in sliding out the probe in my penis. My bladder is full and aches...a minor discomfort compared to the hours of shocks and jolts.
Gratefully, she knows. Fingers grasp my penis and slip back the foreskin.
“Empty yourself for me, Mr. Dalton.”
The voice matches the hands and fingers. Young, soft, feminine. But like all the females at this facility there is a no nonsense firmness...a directness that eliminates all hesitation in reacting to requests and directions. All spoken words are really commands.
The sensitive tip of my manhood brushes against a bowl placed on the floor beneath the stool. The feminine hand continues to hold me as I do my business as instructed. I am so relieved.
Now I know the electric show is over.
“I am the night nurse, Katani...Nurse Katani to you.”
She removes the bowl, which I so dutifully filled. I hear splashing followed by the sound of running water. Somewhere in the room there is access to a drain and faucet. Evidently wall panels conceal the fact that the room is better equipped than it appears. She returns and I feel her fingers on my scrotum, still stretched and restrained by the testicle rings. She applies more cream and tenderly works the curious substance into my skin, seeming to enjoy the feel of the hairless, warm and most vulnerable flesh.
“You’re stretching nicely, Mr. Dalton. Your sponsor wants these hanging just about to the knees...easily done.”
She laughs with a disturbing aloofness. The notion that a male can so easily be altered amuses.
“We can even go further if desired. This cream makes the skin very supple. It’s extraordinarily useful.”
Finished, I feel her hands smooth over every inch of my nakedness. It feels good. Is she being kind or inspecting…trained to find and treat any abrasions or contusions...like a horse trainer or dog breeder.
She talks while she examines. I guess the night shift is rather boring and though I cannot reply, my prostrate and well bound form supplies some degree of companionship, however unresponsive.
“I watched your little show. Mrs. Dalton is quite a fast learner and very resolute in using the call in feature. For most women it takes two or three calls before attaining the level severity to which she took you.”
Mrs. Dalton! Calling in? How devious. So somehow her presence is felt despite the geographical separation. My mind enters a funk. I am not sure that Nurse Katani’s revelation is comforting. Is it better to know that at the end of the long electrical cord, stretching all the way to New York, it is my Superior on the other end of the attachments to my genitals? The woman who evidently found me cavorting with a professional Dominatrix?
While my brain continues to roil, my nurse begins to massage various areas...assuring that circulation adequately flows to arms and legs long held immobile by Nurse Jasmine’s extreme bondage.
It feels good. Am I tumefying? I cannot tell but Nurse Katani giggles at something as she works.
I wish my mind were more settled enabling me to enjoy some of the few sensuous moments on Constancia Island.
Shoulders and back are next. Then my buttocks. Lastly I feel her fingers on my penis. Yes, it is firm. The stiffness resists her efforts to bend it back for inspection. Still she palms it and cruelly pinches some of the tender foreskin. I have no way to resist. She can poke, prod, pinch, inspect and examine with impunity. I must take the bad with
the good. The young nurse is giving herself an anatomy lesson.
All good things must end and she shifts to my front. The dripping stops and I detect movement. Then the flow resumes. She has replaced the bag with a full one.
“Try to sleep. In a few hours I will shower you and induce a bowel movement. That’s how you’ll begin every day here.
“Then Dr. Corrothers will stop in and your tongue will be freed to tell her all she wishes to know.”
