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Chapter Thirty One
Dr. Wilson’s operation resulted in freedom. I am no longer kept bound and suspended and the tears of remorse in losing so precious a section of skin turned to tears of joy in being able to move about.
While recuperating there was much activity within Miss Elizabeth’s apartment. I was kept out of sight, lack of clothing precluding my presence, while electricians and carpenters arrived daily for an entire week.
Wiring was routed to every door and special locks installed. T
he carpenters worked for hours in one of the spare bedrooms.
Meanwhile, in being kept naked and donning a ridiculous bandage about the end of my penis, I was not able to ascertain the nature of their efforts. I remained catheterized, the flexible tube clamped at the end, and that also contributed to my shyness.
Then all returned to quiet and Miss Elizabeth proudly slipped a rather sheik looking metal collar around my neck. It snapped shut with menacing finality. Highly polished steel with a key hole in the back and rings welded to the front, sides and back, it fit quite comfortably and obviously was custom made.
“Just a little precaution,” she suggested as she tucked away the key.
I found that the collar triggers locks on almost every door in the apartment, including the bathroom doors. Whenever I near, some kind of electronic signal latches the door to lock, barring entrance or preventing me from leaving, depending upon which side of the door I find myself. And of course, Miss Elizabeth and Jamie have card keys which countermand the mechanism.
Thus, I can never get out to the foyer and the elevator. Permission and assistance is always needed for bathroom visits. And a bad little Sammie boy can merely be walked to a secluded room and the door closed behind to leave him imprisoned, just as one would tuck away a recalcitrant cat or dog. Tugs at doorknobs are futile. But if I step away, I can hear the click of the lock releasing. Frustratingly clever to watch others come and go as they please while I await permission to enter or exit or for someone to graciously hold the door open before I near. Thus my freedom within the apartment is relative. There is no sneaking about or accidentally encountering a scene where subservient male eyes are not wanted.
Sleeping has been difficult, for Little Sam, now even littler, continues his habit of nocturnal erection. I awake in pain and patiently wait for flaccidity to return.
Today is scheduled for the removal of the bandage. I have not seen my penis since the degloving ten days before.
Nurse Stenson slowly unravels as I watch, hands on head, like a good boy. I am shocked at the resulting sight. Dr. Wilson indeed sutured tightly leaving me with a pencil point. The bulbous tip, formerly used to so please the feminine love pouch is gone. The underside, where my palm naughtily rubbed for furtive pleasure, has little sensitivity, the skin there replaced with much less sensitive flesh.
Nurse Stenson inspects closely and smiles.
“You won’t be making much mischief with that,” she observes with an irritating laugh.
Then she retrieves a set of calipers and begins to take very careful measurements of my scrotum, which Jamie has dutifully kept shaven, and the plums within, turning each this way and that and recording her findings.
“Ms. Mouquoud wants you ringed,” she explains which a simple smile.
Next, her fingers tenderly feel about, caressing my scrotum. Then two fingers slip underneath and abrade my perineum. Nurse Stenson knows the male anatomy and knows the anatomy of the altered male best. Little Sam beings to tumefy. I marvel at her knowledgeable touch.
She watches with calm expectation. Palming Little Sam while she works my perineum and wakes my prostate, I proudly feel myself stiffen and then comes pain. It feels as if my penis is trapped. I grimace.
“The skin has not yet stretched. You’ll feel discomfort with attempts at erection for another week or two. But you’ll need to try, it is the only way the epidermis will regenerate and make up for what Dr. Wilson removed.
“What do you feel? Would you like to masturbate for me?”
A blunt question. I pause in reply and with my pierced tongue struggling to form the words.
“It’s as if my penis belongs to someone else. Like a sausage has been attached,” I finally slur.
“Yes, it will also take time to become accustomed to the limited sensitivity. And as intended you will never feel very much there. It’s really for urination and Jamie’s amusement now.”
A foul smelling cream is spread over my scrotum.
“Jamie will also be applying this daily. It’s a depilatory cream. As suggested, Ms. Mouqoud wants your testicles ringed. We’ll have to kill the hair follicles since close shaving will be difficult.”
She smiles and reaches for a syringe. “Turn and bend.”
On my left cheek, I feel the cool wetness of an alcohol soaked cotton swab followed by the jab of the hypodermic needle.
“Testosterone. Ms. Mouquoud wants you kept nice and randy. I’m afraid you’ll be finding your penis becoming erect more than you’d like, what’s left of it.” Again the irritating laugh as the Nurse withdraws the needle.
“And at some point you’ll begin trying to masturbate. When you do, you’ll develop a fuller understanding of your alteration and begin to seek alternative relief. For that, Ms. Mouquoud has refurbished one of the bedrooms. Look it over sometime. It is the only door which your neck collar does not lock.
