A Woman's Servant

Chapter One

Chapter One

My Introduction

“No covering for the castrates either?”

I endeavor to make the sound of my voice clinical... professional... in no manner expressing surprise or concern. I do have considerable experience in medical care. But it’s my first day at the Institute and as I tour with the head nurse I need information. I have learned that such is best obtained without hint of naïveté. With my question, Nurse Devon smiles warmly, suggesting that she finds comfort with the otherwise unusual quartet of naked neutered males.

Yes, as she nods I detect a certain smugness, ‘boys without balls’, as she earlier referenced the busy naked forms, foster neither shock nor sympathy.

“Nakedness ingrains a sense of great vulnerability,” Nurse Devon offers, rather pedantically, wriggling her finger in a gesture of ‘come hither’.

A naked form instantly responds to the casual motion and steps forth, perched on high heels, the sole covering for otherwise complete nakedness. Though I have subtly been examining as we stroll through the sizable ward, with the lad more formally introduced, my gaze is free to assess without politely feigning inhibition.

“This is Pattie. You’ll get to know their names over time. But meanwhile they’re all tattooed for identification.”

Free to now visually examine, I note the complete absence of body hair, pubes included. What a male normally exhibits between the thighs is almost imperceptible, one almost expecting to spy the slit of a young girl.

By rote, Pattie gracefully pirouettes a quarter turn, quite the feat considering the precarious height of the footwear. He palms a soft smooth right buttock, rolling the thick epidermis upwards for better display. The smooth and well rounded cheek is most effeminate and the name ‘Pattie’ is emblazoned in bright pink. He... she? proudly presents a permanent gaily colored moniker which would fluster the intact male.

I nod as Nurse Devon lowers her right hand, reaching forth palm upwards. Pattie knows to release her cheek, hands moving to the back of her head. She then steps forth and parts her feet, meekly presenting her pubes for a humiliating inspection, apparently to be ceded upon demand. Instead of shy resistance, there comes a coy smile, followed by a girlish giggle, suggesting the offered hand is welcomed, readily accepted as a curious form of greeting.

“Yes, with the vulnerability of constant nakedness comes obedience,” the lecture continuing as the index finger of the left hand reaches to Pattie’s head to playfully jostle a wisp of hair.

The hair style is simple... little girlish... parted in the middle, hanging straight down, cut at the jaw line with bangs evenly festooning the forehead. I note that more than Pattie’s right cheek has been tattooed. The eyes have been permanently touched up, ever so slight coloring at the corners to augment the aura of femininity brought by the simple coiffure.

As Nurse Devon diddles with the fingers of her right hand, I note the puffy n*****s crinkle to points. Her touch is found to be sensuous, in any other medical environment a most taboo palpation of... of what? Pattie has been castrated! of male remnants?

“This is Nurse Cummings, Pattie. She’ll be supervising the afternoon shift.”

Balanced on high heels, Pattie awkwardly curtsies! Obedience indeed!

The duo peer into each other’s eyes in unspoken communication. Pattie is in awe, her look one of wonderment and admiration. Emotionally she yields. Nurse Devon’s more relaxed gaze is one of insouciance, one of power, her hand free to roam the entire nakedness. Of this Pattie is very much aware. Yes, she yields, not only physically capitulating but mentally as well.

“They all like having their empty scrotums caressed,” Nurse Devon explains, “especially by their castratrix. Something the psychologists try to construe, but really cannot fully explain. In neutering a boy, the intensity of the exchange of power cannot be adequately described. And ironically... it’s so quick and so easy. I offered to snip one of the shrinks to demonstrate the wondrous dynamics of gender modification. Strangely... he declined.”

Nurse Devon cackles with her own words, her offer obviously in jest.

“Your p***s is trying to get hard for me, Pattie. We’ll need to increase your estrogen.”

The diddling fingers are withdrawn. Pattie instantly pouts like the little girl he appears to be.

“Turn and bend, show Nurse Cummings.”

Whereas the touch of his castratrix is indeed strangely welcomed, showing himself to an unknown fully clothed woman mentally challenges. Pattie turns with glumness, more than adequately communicating her reluctance. Then I am pleasantly surprised when the heels part to amazing width and with hands remaining at the back of the head, Pattie bends at the waist, back arching with a suppleness exceeding that of any male, lowering such that the bangs of her forehead nearly greet the floor.

I quickly understand the reluctance. When so displayed, Pattie’s modified, once male organs, are open to full visual inspection. A tiny p***s tip points backwards, the most modest shaft appears sutured, I assume not only precluding a standing erection, but to force the ingénue to squat when peeing. To the right and left of the vestigial male organ are floppy puffs of sensitive pink flesh, obviously where Nurse Devon plundered... where she snipped.

“Pattie... and the others... like being handled here,” Nurse Devon now more brazenly diddling the flaps of former maleness.

I note Pattie presents herself in perfect stillness, obedience ingrained. I quickly conclude, when a controlling woman desires access, Pattie will cede, no matter the level of degradation.

There is no visible scar of his alteration, just folds of thin scrotal flesh loosely flopping right and left of the sutured p***s shaft. I imagine both the quickness and the callousness by which Pattie was forcibly transformed. And, medically the procedure is so simple, only local anesthesia required. I smile in recalling that Roman slaves were neutered utilizing two bricks, the gonads crushed between, maleness ended quickly but with an incredible burst of pain.

Comforting to know society has advanced.

“Psychologically we want any pleasure to be slight and evanescent... faint reminders of being formerly virile. It abets their handling of the donors... bestows a form of p***s envy, so to speak.”

Nurse Devon’s index finger ceases its expert caresses, knowing precisely how to indeed bring slight and evanescent joy to the altered genitals.

“Go. It’s bath time,” a flustered but somewhat gleeful Pattie instantly righting herself after receiving a playful smack to a girlish right cheek.

As Pattie prances away, I note some sullenness with the rejection. Embarrassed, humiliated with my presence and being made to exhibit all things private, yet there is a degree of masochistic acceptance. I watch as the pretty cheeks roll, the high heels of the castrate forcing a most sultry gait.

“Could they really otherwise achieve erection?” I tried to cloak the incredulous nature of my question.

Nurse Devon snickers.

“Pattie’s little c******s can swell, but full erection can never again be achieved. In fact, if the swelling continues she’ll bring herself pain as my sutures deny tumescence. After the orchiectomies, I suture the shaft of the p***s to the perineum forcing our boys to squat to pee. It further drives home the alteration. But yes, there can be a modicum of swelling. There remains sensitivity after neutering, both the empty sac as you witnessed and the p***s tip craving attention. It’s what makes castration so divinely frustrating. Lots of sensation, no climactic relief. That’s why we use them to harvest sperm. Vicariously, they sense the expungement of semen that they can no longer achieve. Thus they become relentless with the donors, conspiring with us to deny them pleasure as well. You’ll be quite amused, Nurse Cummings.”

With the enlightening introduction to the castrates, focus turns to the Institute’s main function, the procurement and sale of sperm.

It is indeed cleansing time and Nurse Devon wordlessly permits me to monitor the naked castrates... her boys without balls... as they work the ward. Some dozen intact male forms lie prostrate, not only equally naked but absolutely glabrous as well, cranium devoid of hair. Strapped to special Gurneys, I note the lower surfaces split at the waist. Each donor rests legs parted, p***s exposed, testicles dangling in a trough of warm solution on a small table beneath. Within the split, there may stand a tending castrate, and sure enough I observe as Pattie is so positioned. She releases the thigh strap of one donor and gently washes, laving with a soft soapy cloth, the tenderness of mother to infant.

Bathing the donors requires much time and patience I conclude. There are straps for the ankles, calves, thighs, waist, biceps and wrists. Each must be temporarily released for bathing. There is a thick neck collar to thoroughly immobilize the head. But most bizarre, only before seen by me in orthopedic critical care wards, there are frames of steel rods encumbering the hands and feet, rendering each and every finger and toe immobile as well.

The donors cannot move!

“They breathe. They swallow. They secrete,” Nurse Devon observes. “All other motion is denied. All energy is to be expended in the production of sperm. Here at the Institute, our donors yield more than at any other facility.”

Nurse Devon gushes with pride, a vane farmer who has consistently produced the most prodigious crop.

“I trust, Nurse Cummings, that you are as experienced with the hypodermic needle as your resume suggests. It’s not only estrogen to be infused into those cute buttocks. Botox injections are de rigueur. We can’t have the donors ejaculating now, can we?”

I nod, having read the briefing papers. Years of experimentation have shown the effluent of the male reproductive system is not maximized in climactic release, but instead is best slowly harvested... ‘milked’ as Nurse Devon crassly suggests. And further study suggests that the most knowledgeable ‘milker’ is a male... or former male as here at the Institute. They know the proper erogenous areas, indeed vicariously feel the pleasure, and psychologically come to zealously maximize production. Plus there is an incentive system, instituted ad hoc by Nurse Devon.

Among the castrates, the top producer obtains fellatio from the one with the least results. Performed before the entire nursing staff, the male on male oral sodomy can be joyously humiliating. And thus indeed offers great incentive.

Pattie’s donor becomes tumescent, a p***s of great length and girth slowly swelling. Interesting that even the normally homophobic male would so react, the offered care quite sensuous. And I suppose any interruption of the constant restraint is welcomed, joy expressed with just about the only motion permitted. Nurse Devon notes my gaze.

“Yes, they bond. Donor and castrated caregiver learn to please each other... the donor obtaining food and cleansing in the only manner possible... the castrate obtaining the juices she can no longer excrete. We nurses never touch the donors, as you’re aware, other than to inject the ejaculatory muscles with Botox. All sensory input comes from she who will harvest... milk the donor of what we relish and sell. Fascinating how the naked presence of a former male can become so sexually provocative, don’t you think, Nurse Cummings? Within weeks of indoctrination, the donor responds to his caregiver like a lonely puppy – so eager to oblige, so eager to be milked.”

I listen but turn not my head. The sense of feminine power is exhilarating in realizing the virile but helpless male hardens... ultimately under the strict supervision of a woman.

“Look at the erection on that one. You’d never guess he’s drained twice daily, would you?”

Yes, it is quite impressive, if indeed sperm so freely and regularly flows.

“I have some calls to make. Stay and observe. After cleansing, you’ll supervise the afternoon milkings. Learn all you can. Bare bottom spankings are the preferred form of discipline here. If needed, apply such slowly, firmly and with utmost humiliation... otherwise they come to enjoy...”