“Balls. I like a boy’s balls. So pridefully borne, yet so vulnerable and subject to a woman’s controlling whim.”
I wince, she turns to walk, maintaining her grip and I obviously step with care and alacrity following my balls to the spa/bathroom.
There, though Elsa is not, her equipment and I must assume her talents for film are waiting for me. I am chagrined to find that a high resolution digital camera has been propped in a corner, the lens trained on the oversized bathtub. A red light, which I know signifies it records, blinks on the top. My most intimate bathing will be filmed and I know where the well edited result will be made available.
I murmur my protestation, the gag obviating all discernible speech. Nurse Hopkins ignores and prepares my bath. Beginning with five to six inches
