Prologue

 

"I called you as soon as I saw this. Got another one for you."

It is the firm, knowing voice of Dr. Mildred Hofsteter. She speaks as I enter the infirmary, standing at her sloped operating table. Though the scene is most comical, I do not laugh, refraining not out of courtesy, mind you, but because I have encountered the situation so many times before.

Mildred, graying hair hinting at her years of experience, labors between the well parted calves of a prostrate inmate. The adjustable, well designed table has his head and shoulders low at the far end. In the raised middle, the table hinges to force his midsection high but he is bent at the hips such that his thighs are vertical to the floor. With knees also bent the inmate appears ready to crawl... except that he is well strapped to the table. At the near end where Mildred works, the table parts so that she stands between the feet of her supplicating patient.

What is comical is that with his backside thrust high toward the ceiling, his parted thighs and buttocks present perfectly his asshole... where Dr. Mildred's skilled hands diligently endeavor.

"Anal rape?" I succinctly inquire.

Mildred nods.

"Just got transferred here. One of the prison's biggest pegs forced itself into one of the prison's newest and tightest holes," our doctor wryly informs. "And as usual the big peg won the battle."

"Can't I have some clothes!"

The earnest plea comes from Mildred's patient, apparently upset that he is ineluctably restrained completely naked before two women. The gloved right hand of the tending physician reaches out and rapidly swings to apply a loud smack to the meatiest portion of the well exposed posterior. With the crisp thwack the patient yelps yet thereafter knows to return to silence.

"Quiet! You're not showing us anything we have not seen before... just less of it," Mildred humorously ads.

I step to Mildred's rear to watch over her shoulder. She is working with needle and thread to suture the results of what we encounter too often... a rectum torn by the powerful thrusts of a mammoth penis enraged by months, possibly years, of unsatiated lust, pent up hormonal imbalance and enraged frustration brought by incarceration. As the needle penetrates the sensitive pink flesh about the anus, our inmate turned patient flinches noticeably.

I smile.

Then my eyes move to the reason Mildred suggested I visit the prison infirmary. Dangling... if that is the proper term... dangling below the brownish pink circle of Mildred's attention are a very limited set of balls and a penis that can barely be seen despite the small scrotal sac. In preparation for Mildred's handiwork, the inmate has been well shaved about the pubes. Thus there is nothing to camouflage the diminutive organs of the rape victim. Yes, as Mildred suggested, he shows very little of what a woman would expect a male to otherwise proudly display.

"Yes, I see why you called. Can I see his summary file?"

Mildred points to a nearby table.

An inmate's 'summary file' is available to all prison staff and administrators. Basically it contains an encapsulation of everything prison personnel should know about an inmate in order to best keep him incarcerated without incidents of endangerment. Biographical data, criminal background, terms of sentencing, and most importantly a history of encounters with staff and other inmates... particularly incidences of violence... are all listed. The summary file divulges everything and can make the life of a prisoner quite daunting. The merest bite, kick and scratch is permanently listed and divulged to all. An inmate's background is an open book.

I read...

Samuel B. Perkins... age 19, 5 foot 4 in height, 125 pounds, original crime... shoplifting. Attempted escapes... scuffles with guards... fighting... have relegated a simple sentence of six months in minimum security to many years of the most stringent incarceration that the state can offer. I note that he is an orphan. Shuffled from foster home to foster home as a youth. No known family. His file suggests that his only visitor at the minimum security facility was his attorney... and that was months ago. Even his legal counsel has abandoned this malefactor who is obviously maladjusted, malcontent... well... mal everything. Newly transferred, now Samuel B. Perkins must confront me! No one will ever know what happens to Samuel B. Perkins. And if by some chance his status became known... no one would care.

Some inmates just have no luck.

My name is Dr. Mary Dawson and my job is to change lives. I am the resident psychologist at the huge state penitentiary. And though my vocation is to encourage the incorrigible... transform recalcitrant males to 'model' citizens... I am really nothing more than a well educated baby sitter for those who would... were they members of the animal kingdom... be euthanized as too dangerous to domesticate.

Yet I try. And with failure after failure a woman of my ilk needs occasional diversion to renew the spirits. Term it recreational pursuits. So when Dr. Mildred comes across a Samuel B. Perkins, she knows to contact me. And I am grateful to be called from the deep dark chamber where I spend most of my day.

As Dr. Mildred's needle pricks and nimble fingers suture I move to the far end where the head and face of the hapless Samuel B. Perkins lie in ignominy. Despite his notorious past, he is

embarrassed to be restrained nude and have his privates so thoroughly exposed to the female gender. I am amused to find that this young criminal actually blushes as I brush a hand along the smooth relatively hairless flesh of his back then reach under to tweak a nipple.

"Hey!" he protests.

His deliciously naive reaction brings another smile. He is helpless and most vulnerable... physically and mentally. Samuel B. Perkins has a baby face that belies the nastiness listed in his file. Samuel B. Perkins is slender with limited muscling and a cute backside that needs no further examination. Samuel B. Perkins is delightfully pugnacious. Samuel B. Perkins is mine.

My recreation begins.

Chapter One

 

Mornings bring the exhilaration of a new day. In my field, it brings one of excitement... the unexpected. Amongst the thousands of charges at Hempstead Penitentiary, one never knows what silly antics have occurred during the night. Fights... disrespect to guards... contraband... drugs. Such disobedience brings new inmates to join my flock in the disciplinary cells... specially installed well beneath the formidable granite and concrete walls of one of the most secure prisons in the country.

And so thoughts of a new day bring a smile as the dim glow of a rising sun joins the muted sounds of clinking chains. Sammy is so considerate in crawling about under the comforter of my large double bed. Despite his many shackles and slim shiny chains, he tries to remain soundless as he moves about under the covers. It is impossible with so many bindings, yet I applaud his efforts and pretend to remain in slumber.

As a psychologist I know that the symbol presented by thorough bondage is as important as the physical restraint of motion. Therefore Sammy is adorned with an impressive array of metal links connecting neck collar, wrist shackles, elbow bands, waist band, thigh bands and ankle shackles. With the large and more aggressive prisoners, I have them put in heavy... make that extremely heavy... irons. But with my little Sammy such is not necessary. Besides he does need to be granted some degree of alacritous movement in order to best serve me. Still, I can clip various chains at my whim... either together to hobble the feet, secure the wrists and arms... or to various hooks and eye bolts adorning the walls of my apartment. So he understands my power and has long ago capitulated to it.

My thoughts are diverted as I feel the warm wetness of a very subservient tongue part my gluteal cleft and begin the pleasant chore of awakening me.

Yes, Sammy and I sleep together naked, his extensive and never ending cunnilingus bringing somnolence each and every night... his analingus serving to bring wakefulness each and every morning. I feel the lengthy pink appendage press deeply. I giggle like a girl in love in sensing the bulbous piercing of his tongue rim my sphincter. In lying on my right side I raise my left thigh and bend at the knee, parting my cheeks to offer better access. I emit an involuntary sigh as Sammy knows to penetrate with zeal. He now realizes I am awake and will continue his oral efforts until I utter the command to stop.

"Such a nice way to greet me, Sammy."

I absorb the many waves of pleasure and feel the moisture within my quim turn to outright wetness. Sammy knows to snuggle his head lower and dutifully capture every drop. A mild orgasm, nothing like the thigh clenchers resulting from my typical evening of cunnilingus, brings conclusion. Work awaits. I must arise.

"Get some coffee," my voice firm but pleasant.

Sammy reluctantly withdraws and I reach for the key that hangs as a necklace to release the lock connecting his ankle cuff to the bed chain. Over the months Sammy has come to feel better being under total control. I have psychologically transformed his truculent attitude to complete obedience and acceptance of my authority.

"Scoot," I command with a smile as I smack his girlish hairless posterior to send him to the kitchen. With my apartment door locked, not to be opened from inside or out, I can trust him for a few unsupervised moments as I use the bathroom.

Within moments, as I sit on the commode, Sammy enters the bathroom with coffee. I gaze at his nakedness... the epitome of forced femininity. His body hair long ago chemically removed, his male hormone levels depleted, he has acquired a wonderful layer of subcutaneous fat that makes sleeping with him quite pleasurable. It's like having an extra pillow, warmed to a perfect temperature. I have had his hair grown long and simply parted in the middle like a little girl. His pierced ears have rhinestone studs. I insist he practice his manicuring on himself... when his hands are freed to do so. And during those intervals he very much enjoys getting into my make up drawer. His nipples are perky like those of a prepubescent girl, and in viewing such one expects mammary glands to sprout and begin to form. Yes, I have feminized him to perfection.

"Come," I beckon.

He has paused, enthralled in looking at the beauty of his governess... the awe of my presence always bringing diverting thoughts of my power... as intended. I have instilled adoration despite the exercise of my unwavering authority and the torment I constantly bestow.

"You look very pretty, Dr. Dawson."

"Thank you, Sammy."

As the lithe form stands before me, I seem to tower over him despite sitting on the john. As noted, Sammy is some 5 foot 4 inches. I stand at nearly six foot. Thus while I sit we are nearly at eye level.

"Hold still."

Sammy knows to continue obediently grasping my coffee while I undertake a quick but very important inspection. My hands move to his pubes where a tiny penis flops above an empty scrotal sac. With the fingers of my left hand I tug the fleshy folds beneath and then press upwards into the pelvic bone with the fingers of my right. My palpating hands search for the entrances to the inguinal canals, right and left where the sac joins at the pelvis. In finding the right entryway, Sammy flinches as I thrust upwards... quite firmly.

"I can feel one Sammy. They're still there but quite useless at this point."

My fingers likewise press and thrust into the left, assuring myself that the male tidbits remain well tucked out of sight. In satisfying myself that the testicles remain well nestled away, the daily examination brings memories of that visit to the infirmary months ago when Dr. Mildred Hofsteter first introduced me to Sammy...