The Warden's Daughter - Chapter 2

THE WARDEN'S DAUGHTER - CHAPTER TWO

by Ivan Jeffords

After some time passed--I'm not sure how much--a little bit of energy began to seep back into my drained body. I noticed that my hands and feet had gone half-numb from a lack of circulation. I tried to stand more upright, but it was awkward, with my wrists tied behind steel girder, and of course the nasty leg-spreader jammed between my knees. That was the worst thing. My thighs were pushed so far apart I couldn't straighten my legs completely, and the muscles had begun to cramp.

I turned my head to look around the room, the leather belt chafing at my neck. I wondered where that little devil Claudia had gone. It suddenly dawned on me that she had left me alone and unguarded, and in Administration Building II, no less, where there was nothing but the old laundry room and what used to serve as the visitor's area . . . and only one security checkpoint I would have to get past to make it to the fence. Escaping was almost all I had thought about ever since I had been thrown into the hellhole, as I am sure you can understand. The thought of serving out a full six year sentence for the "attempted illegal export" of two grams of marijuana was unacceptable to me.

I again looked across the room at the door. I was almost sure it led to a room with several sick beds and a toilet. This was only an educated guess, however--I had only been in the infirmary once, for a basic physical given by the nurse, two days after I was incarcerated. But I thought I remembered seeing sick beds through that door.

Yes, this was a chance, and I had to take it. Behind me, I tried to twist my hands around and feel for the knots that were binding my wrists . . . yes . . . there, got it. With a little more maneuvering, I managed to get a grip on the tightly threaded rope and pull . . . yes! Got the first knot undone. Now for the second . . .

I heard a clicking sound across the room, and I froze. A half-second later, the door swung open. Claudia stepped into the room, glanced in my direction, relocked the door. The teen sauntered toward me, the medical book in her left hand, her index finger marking a place in the middle. She was chewing gum, seemed relaxed. I quickly let go of the free end of the rope, tried to twist my hands into the position I thought they had been in before.

The girl stopped in front of me and looked down at my sore cock—the cock she had abused a little while ago. It hung lifeless, limp. She opened the textbook to the place she had marked and set it face-down on the instrument tray, then took a seat on the stool in front of me. Besides the fact that she was chewing the gum, there was something else different about her now . . . her mood had shifted, I could sense it. But what way, I wasn't sure.

She picked up my penis by the skin, as she had before, and began inspecting it, first the head, then the shaft, the base. She pulled it straight up and peered at my balls. As I looked down at her girlish face, I could see that her cheeks were slightly flushed. And I noticed that her jumpsuit zipper was pulled up higher in the front, and the collar was now neatly turned down--it had been turned up before, I remembered that distinctly. The garment appeared to have been taken off and put back on.

Then it hit me: Claudia had been masturbating. I don't know exactly how I knew this, but I would have bet a week's worth of cigarettes on it.

She began to probe around the back of my right testicle, and, this time, quickly zeroed in on the tender little knot she had shown such a keen interest in before, the epididymus gland. As soon as her fingers touched it, I winced, shifting the weight on my bare feet. She kneaded it for a moment until I gave a loud grunt, then smiled and glanced up at my face, and let go. She got up and went over to a blue gym bag sitting on the floor, bent over and started looking for something. My eyes immediately locked on her tight, young butt. For the first time since my wrenching orgasm I noticed the faint stirrings of horniness. I shifted my weight; I felt the unmistakable onset of a hard on.

Claudia returned with a short steel bar with what appeared to be a coil of wire wrapped around it. I tensed up, my breath quickening. She looked down at my manhood and began to uncoil the wire from the steel bar. It was very thin copper cable, thin but strong-looking. She sat down on the stool and set the steel bar down on the floor between us. She began making little knots in the cable. She did this at about one-inch intervals, her charm bracelet jingling merrily with her movements. I began to feel sick. That vicious thing she was making would destroy my penis, rip my already-tender urethra to shreds. I felt myself straining against my bonds, my hands twisting in the ropes. I knew it was a risk, but I couldn't help myself from speaking.

"What are you doing?"

Claudia looked up at me. There was something in her eyes that told me I had just made a terrible mistake. She let go of the wire; it dropped to the floor. She rose slowly, and I could see that she was breathing hard.

WHACK!

For a half-second I saw stars. I was so stunned it took me a another half-second to realize what had happened--her right hand had shot out and slapped me across the face, and HARD.

"Did I ask you to speak?"

Still reeling from the blow, and afraid to utter another sound, I barely shook my head.

"You have to learn to speak only when asked."

I nodded.

"Is that clear?"

I nodded again, vigorously.

"I said, is that clear?"

It seemed as if I was now expected to speak. With great hesitancy, I whispered, "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

I swallowed, my parted knees visibly shaking. Jesus, I didn't want to get hit again. The girl's fencing training had made her arms strong as a man's.

She was staring at me, waiting for a response.

"Yes . . . Claudia?"

WHACK!

This time I yelped like a kicked dog, I couldn't help it. Her hand had connected more with the side of my head than with my face, and there was a crazy ringing in my left ear.

"Yes, MISS Claudia," she corrected.

"Yes, MISS Claudia," I quickly parroted. The left side of my face felt like it was on fire.

"Isn't that how you address a BETTER person in your country?"

"Yes, Miss Claudia."

"A SUPERIOR person?"

"Yes, Miss Claudia."

She was still breathing hard, looking as if she was having trouble controlling herself. "How DARE you speak to me as if you're my equal!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Claudia." I winced, half-expecting another blow.

"You're a PRISONER here. You broke our LAWS."

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Miss Claudia." I prayed that unequivocally agreeing with her, offering no resistance, might calm her down.

"You're just like all the other scum in this place."

I hesitated for a split second, then said, "Yes, Miss Claudia."

She noticed my hesitation. She stared at me a long moment, her chest heaving up and down, looking as if her right arm might fly out at me again at any second. I stood rigid, petrified. Her gaze moved down to my cock. It was no longer completely limp; I was surprised to see that some part of me apparently liked this treatment. She reached down and lifted the head with her index finger, looked back up at me, then let it drop again.

She sat back down on the stool and snatched the wire off the floor. As she resumed her work, her movements were forceful, jerky. She placed about a half dozen more knots in the bare, burnt-orange wire, until about a foot of it was dotted with them. She had put double knots in some places and triple knots in others, testing the size and sharpness with her fingers before she moved on to the next.

When she finished, she held the wire in one hand and grasped my penis with the other. Dear God! She squeezed open my pee hole, then looked up at me again, a faint smile on her fresh young face. She began to move the hellish wire closer, and kept looking up at me with that faint smile, as if savoring my reaction. I closed my eyes. Hot tears came immediately. This demon ought to be the one behind bars, not me . . .

When the wire touched tender opening of my urethra, my enitre body shook. Claudia giggled. An agonizingly long moment passed . . . then I felt the wire being drawn around the back of my testicles. I opened my eyes and looked down--she had encircling the top of the scrotal sack and was securing it with a knot. She tied another knot, then another . . . she wasn't going to do what I thought, the little monster, she had just been trying to scare me. But . . . what WAS she planning to do?

She began twisting the wire around itself in a kind of noose, which made the loop around my nuts a little tighter with each wind. The cable was thin enough to bite fiercely into the skin. By the time she finished, both my gonads were squeezed tightly downward in the sac by the single, fine loop of wire; this circle of thin metal formed a nagging ring of pain.

From the floor, Claudia picked up the steel bar with the rest of the wire on it. After reeling in most of the slack, she passed it between my legs and stood behind me. She quickly untied the bungi cord that bond my torso to the girder, letting it fall to the floor. Then she pushed one hand against my side so that I moved a few inches away from the post . . . and she slipped the steel bar up behind my back. "Now, I'm . . . " Her voice trailed off, and she became very still. I realized, with a sinking feeling, that she had seen that I had tried to free myself; she had undoubtedly noticed that my wrists were partially untied. I could feel her anger radiating from behind me like black sunshine.

I braced myself for another blow.

Several long seconds passed. All at once, it seemed that a red-hot knife had slashed across the top of my balls. I cried out, my cracked voice echoing off the hard concrete walls. She had yanked the steel bar, and thus the wire, backwards. The thin copper was biting into the top of my scrotum like the teeth of an enraged weasel. Then I felt raw, knotted wire climb between my tightly-clenched buttocks--she was pulling it straight up now. I cried out again, standing on my toes, desperately trying to move away from it, to minimize the pain and friction. The fist that held the steel bar was grinding into the small of my back . . . and that strong fist begin to rotate the bar, a little one way, then the other, dragging the sharp metallic knots to and fro across my perineum and asshole . . . I screamed again, this time a long, wailing bellow . . . "Stop," I begged, "Please, God, stop . . ."

The fist finally became still, but the tension on the wire did not ease. The fist waited patiently until I stopped wailing, and until I, too, became still. I stood trembling on my tiptoes, my calves, thighs and buttocks clenched as hard as stone.

I felt the girl's warm breath just behind my left ear. She began to speak in a low, dreadfully calm voice. "Now, you listen to me very carefully, you piece of shit. I'm going to untie you . . . and then I'm going to move you over to the examination table . . . and we're going to move very, very slowly . . . and if you give me the slightest bit of trouble, I mean the SLIGHTEST bit, you know what's going to happen to you?"

Now sobbing, I muttered, "No, Miss Claudia."

She moved even closer, so close I could smell the faint tang of bubble gum wafting into my nostrils. "I'm going to tear your balls off."

Her last sentence made me shudder. I struggled to remain still, my body one large tensed muscle, while her free hand loosened the belt around my neck and her other maintained the hellish tension on the cable. The belt dropped to the floor and she began unfastening my hands. She then deftly reached around me and untied the left side of the leg spreader, then the right, all the while keeping her other fist jammed into the small of my back, the heinous wire pulled tight. She had done this before, I remembered thinking somewhere beneath my veil of pain.

"Move," she said, pushing me with her hand.

I teetered, still on my toes, and tried to take a step forward. The knots in the wire nipped at my anus.

"Move!"

I began to make my way across the concrete in a kind of duck waddle. It was almost impossible to make any progress, though, with the girl's fist jammed into the small of my back and propelling me forward, yet at the same time pulling up on that fiendish wire, which forced my nuts backward. Every time I hesitated, she pulled even harder on that fucking wire. I stumbled, teetered, and wavered across the room like a marionette at the hands of a clumsy child. I felt so small and helpless--the thought that a teenage girl could maintain absolute and total control over me with nothing more than a two foot length of copper wire . . . I stole a glance down at my crotch--my cock had begun to stiffen at this last thought. This disturbed me. Claudia noticed the change.

When we finally reached our destination, she said, "Now get up on the table, on your knees first, then turn around on your back. And I'm warning you--no trouble."

I did as I was told, which wasn't easy with that damn wire tugging on my nuts. When I rolled over, Claudia slipped the steel bar back under my legs and kept the wire taught. She stepped behind me. "Give me your hands." She began to tie my wrists together. The back support of the exam table was raised at about a 45 degree angle--it was awkward for my arms to be stretched around behind it, the edges digging the insides of my upper arms. I noticed that while she was tying my hands, the wire had gone slack, but I had no intention of trying to get away--there was no doubt in my mind that one false move on my part would result in her yanking the cable with all her might--she kept that steel bar with her every moment. I was very afraid for my balls. I was almost sure they had been seriously sliced up from all the pulling and yanking that had already taken place. I kept glancing down at my upper thighs, expecting to see blood running down the insides of them, but so far I didn't see any.

Claudia moved back to the other end of the table and secured both of my calves into the stirrups with bungi cord. She never let go of that steel bar, either, not until I was completely secure, always holding it in one hand or under her arm, even under her chin as she worked, always prepared.

"There," she said, when she at last finished securing me. She brushed a wisp of hair out of her face, her forehead moist from exertion. No longer needing her "insurance," she let out some slack on the wire and dropped the steel bar into a little tray that protruded from the end of the table, just underneath my crotch. She walked slowly around the table, seeming to tower over me in those stacked sneakers, checking her work over . . . She adjusted the stirrups so they were turned more outwards and my legs were wider apart.

At last she seemed satisfied. I watched her walk across the room, that firm, sassy butt pumping. She rolled the instrument tray and stool towards me. I leaned back and closed my eyes--God only knew what would happen next. But . . . despite my fear, my dick was hard. It seemed to have a mind of its own. Maybe it was the pressure on my nuts from that wire . . . I don't know . . . all I know is that when I opened my eyes again and saw Claudia standing before me, the instruments at her side, I had the strangest, lusty sensation--I felt that my penis DID have a mind of its own, that it WANTED to be hurt, to be severely punished, to be whipped and punctured and torn up and left for dead by this young, bubble-gum chewing girl with the silly charm bracelet and the sparkly blue fingernail polish and the orange teeny-bopper perfume. She was just staring at my cock, and that cold stare made it even harder, if that was possible. It was so stiff it bounced up and down with my rapid heartbeat. I gave my head a slight shake to try and rid myself of the lusty, masochistic feelings, which seemed to have taken me over. I didn't like them.

Claudia slowly moved in between my parted legs now, the focus of her green eyes riveted on my erection, my tightly bound balls. She picked up the steel bar and wound in some of the wire and then began to pull upwards on it, but not forcefully, like before, but gently, just enough to lift my tight testicular package up a little bit. It somehow resembled a small, upside-down pumpkin. Then, very slowly, she extended the index finger of her right hand. She gingerly pushed it into the center of the swollen sphere . . . and she began move her fingertip in little circles . . . and she pushed deeper and harder . . . and I began to grunt and jerk with her movements . . . and her first knuckle disappeared into the caved-in pumpkin . . . and then the second knuckle . . . and the arcs kept getting bigger and bigger . . . and my nuts began to feel as if they were twisted up and tangled inside the sack . . . and soon her finger began to hit my pubic bone . . . . and I felt things inside me gnash and pop and grind . . . I gasped and raised my hips to try and escape that finger--that hard, young, steadily moving finger--but I could not, that determined digit following my every movement . . . and after some brief eternity I finally I yelled "Jesus!" and she withdrew it.

A dull ache had spread up into my abdomen. I was sure she had reduced the complex, delicate contents of my scrotum to useless mush. Yet my cock was stiff as ever now, still bobbing with my frantic heartbeat--I kept thinking that a young girl ought not to do such a reckless thing to man's testicles, especially a smart young girl who knew something about biology and who knew better and . . . and this thought made me insanely horny!

She gazed at my throbbing organ a moment as if pleased with herself, then turned to the instrument table and picked up a pair of wire cutters. When she turned back around, she stopped halfway into the movement, looking at me over her shoulder.

"Do you like my ass?"

This caught me completely off guard. I had to clear my throat twice before I could answer. "Yes. Very much."

She stuck her teenage bottom out a little bit. "I've noticed you staring at it every time I turn around." She peered down at it herself, sticking it out even more. "You don't think it's too big?"

"No," I said quickly, sensing an opportunity. "I think it's perfect."

She giggled and put one hand on her hip. Her awesome bubble-butt strained against the thin turquoise material of her jumpsuit, her panty lines clearly visible, even the crotch lines standing out, exaggerating its protruding lewdness. Christ, I thought I would have a heart attack.

"I bet you'd like to kiss it, wouldn't you?"

"Oh yes," I said, almost before she had finished the sentence. I felt myself straining against my bonds, my cock pointing skyward as if trying to howl at the moon.

Claudia's smile disappeared and she turned back towards me. "You know how much chance there is of that?"

I shook my head, my heart--and hard on--sinking.

"About as much chance as angels flying down from heaven and freeing you from this place."

She moved towards me with the wire clippers. "Let's cut this off." For a terrible half-second I thought she talking about my penis, but she reached down and clipped the cable free of my ball sac. At least that was a relief, the biting feeling finally gone. It almost made up for the disappointment I felt after she teased me with her ass--for a moment there, I had actually--foolishly--thought she might let . . .

Claudia was putting some alcohol on a cotton ball. Now what? My body tensed as she took hold of my testicles. She began to swab the top of my ball sack. This stung like hell, but also felt good in some way. At least she was concerned with cleanliness and preventing infection. This thought, combined with the medicinal smell of the alcohol, brought me partially back to reality; I became seriously concerned with the state of my genitals. I leaned forward, expecting to see the white cotton soaked with blood, but there was only a faint tinge of red on it. Apparently, there was less damage than I had imagined. My nuts seemed to be intact . . . though they were still a bit numb and looked red and swollen. They felt all right, more or less. I didn't know what that last trick she performed might have done to the insides of them, but I found myself thinking, Yes, I could probably still have kids, and feeling a bit foolish for worrying so much.

I looked up at Claudia and winced a few times as she carefully swabbed between my legs, my scratched asshole, and the now raw crack of my ass. The girl seemed to have an uncanny talent for how to inflict maximum pain without causing excessive physical damage.

Of course she couldn’t do any real harm to me, or to any of the other prisoners she brought in here. She would get in big trouble for that, anyone she seriously injured would have to be taken to a hospital, her father would find out . . .

Though I tried hard to convince myself of this, there was still uncertainty in my mind. There was that guy in the cell across from mine, for example, who had apparently been held in here all day and had blood on his crotch when the guards brought him back. But even if I hadn't witnessed that, there was something in the girl's eyes, her manner, a determination about her as if she had some wicked long-term plan for me, or perhaps everyone she brought here, with some ultimate outcome in mind. I sensed that all the things she had done so far were simply "foreplay."

Claudia was looking at the medical text now, frowning, turning the book sideways and peering closely at a diagram. She glanced up at my cock and balls, then looked back at her book, lost in thought.

If she had such a plan, I did not want to think about what it might be; the mere idea of it sent a kind of spiraling terror through me, a feeling like I was falling into utter depravity and helplessness. I could not explain that latter feeling; it made no sense to me.

Claudia looked up from the book. "I want to show you something." She carried the text over to my left side and held it out so I could see it. It was open to a diagram of the male reproductive system, a different one than before, labeled in her native language, not English. She pointed to it with her finger and said, "I wonder if it would hurt more to stick a needle all the way through the ball, or to penetrate this . . ." She tapped her finger on the sketch of epididymus gland.

I could feel all the blood draining from my face.

She glanced at me and then looked back at the book. "See, there aren't so many nerves inside the balls themselves. The main nerves run down the sp . . spermatic cord . . . is that how you say it in English?"

I stared at her, almost unable to speak. I finally managed a nod.

She looked back at the diagram and ran her fingertip along a colorful bundle of tubes. "The nerves mostly end right here, at this gland . . . I don't know how to say it." She was pointing at the epididymus. "Do you know how you pronou . . . never mind, doesn't matter. I was thinking it would hurt pretty bad to stick a needle right at this point, where the nerves come in." She looked back at me. "What do you think?"

I felt tears coming to my eyes.

She waited momentarily for a response, a sincere look on her face, as if this was the most reasonable question in the world.

She said, "I already tried sticking a needle all the way through a guy's ball, right through the center, but he didn't scream that much." She shrugged. "Everybody's different. Anyway, which do you think would hurt more?"

I could not speak. My throat had gone so dry that nothing would have come out if I had tried.

She blew a small pink bubble and popped it. "You can talk now, it's okay."

I half opened my mouth, but then just closed it again. I have never felt so utterly alone.

"Well," she said with another shrug, "I guess there's only one way to find out." She put the book back on the instrument table, leaving it open to the diagram, then sat back down on the stool. I watched with increasing trepidation as she snapped a pair of thin white rubber gloves over her hands. My cock was shrinking rapidly. This wasn't fun. Whatever horniness I had felt before had vanished as quickly as it had come.

She was pouring alcohol on another cotton ball. Now she was lifting my half-limp cock with her left hand and began swabbing down both of my testicles. Oh God. The scrotum drew up, my heart pounding faster and faster.

She turned to the instrument table, her gloved fingers hovering over her depraved home-made tools. She selected the one with the curved, sickle-like needle, the needle itself about three inches long. Behind me, my bound hands clenched into two sweaty lumps of tensed flesh. Claudia clasped my tight scrotum and pulled at my left testicle, which had drawn up against my body. Claudia giggled. "They're trying to hide. Why do they always do that?" She firmly pulled down on my nut, pinching. "Come back down here." I winced and grunted as the girl forced it down lower into the sac.

Now that she had a good grip on my testicle, she moved the end of the long, curved needle closer. Again I twisted on the exam table, straining against the bonds, unable to control my natural instinct to escape. There was a faint smile on her lips.

Just as the needle tip touched my ballsack, I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Why?" I sobbed.

Claudia glanced up at me, as if surprised by the interruption.

"Why?"

Tears were now running down my face. "Yes, Miss Claudia . . . why . . . "

She gazed past me, as if giving this question some serious thought. "I don't know . . . it's interesting to me. And it makes me feel relaxed." She let out a pleasant sigh. "Peaceful." She giggled, revealing her dimples, and brought the point of the needle against the ballsack.

"Noooo!" I wailed.

"Oh, yes," she whispered, and brought the needle point against the tightly-stretched skin of my nut. There was a mild pricking sensation . . . I craned my neck forward, trying to see, but I didn't want to see . . . Christ, she was going to spear the testicle from back to front, the longest possible route . . . no, I didn't want to see that, good God no. I closed my eyes and decided it was best to remain perfectly still, so as not to cause any more damage than possible, my body a tense block of granite. I felt the pricking sensation swell into a bright circle of pain. I began to scream . . .

Time seemed to stand still. There seemed to be nothing left in the universe except Claudia and me . . . the soft, inner sanctum of my left testicle, the girl's strong, clamping fingers, and that sharp, curved needle.

When I thought it was over, I looked down again, my whole body shaking so much the table rattled like a junk heap. Claudia's head was still bent down in concentration, now only her girlish scalp visible . . . she finally let the handle of the probe go. It dangled haphazardly from my punctured gonad. She looked at it a moment, then disconnected the needle from the handle with a crisp snap. As she did this, her fingers bumped against my freshly pierced gland. I cried out again.

She set the disconnected probe handle on the table, sat back and admired her work. "You screamed a lot more than the other guy." I closed my eyes and put my head back, my face covered in sweat. The worst was over. Now there was just a sickening ache that was crawling up into my intestines and lower back. The damage seemed as much psychological as it did physical--I felt utterly weak and helpless. Impotent.

I flinched again--Claudia was touching me down there. I looked down, fearing the worst. The testicle she had just perforated would not hang right, with the long, curved needle imbedded in it--it was suspended at an odd, twisted angle, and was swelling. She tried to adjust it by pushing on the sack but it kept sliding back around. She giggled.

"Please," I said in a weak whisper.

She looked up at my face. "Please what?"

"I mean, Miss Claudia . . ."

She was tapping on the needle.

"Please . . .it's--oh!--it's very tender, please . . ."

Claudia nodded as if she understood. She spread her index and second finger into a V and wrapped each around the ends of the needle. "So you wouldn't want me to pull on it, like this . . ."

"Oh--oh Christ, please--oh, oh God!"

"No? Probably you don't want me to twist it, either . . ."

I let out a screech like toddler. My voice trembling, I said, "Miss Claudia, in the name of God, stop . . . stop, please . . . I can't take it anymore."

She giggled, then finally let go of the needle. Now the skewered gonad looked shriveled and deflated, oddly resembling one peeled section of a tangerine. Claudia raised her head a little and looked at my penis--it was shriveled, too, lying at exhausted-looking angle on my abdomen. She grasped the right side of my scrotum and tried to get a grip on my other testicle--the one that was still unmolested. My ball sack shriveled even more than the first time, drawing the gland and away from those eager young fingers. "You can't hide from me either . . ." Claudia forced it downward, and, running her finger along the back, she soon found what she was looking for. I winced as she changed hands, keeping a tight grip on the tender little epididymus gland. She turned to the instrument table again, her right hand pausing over the tools.

This time she selected the one with the corkscrew-like end.

"Please, Miss Claudia. Please don't."

Claudia looked blandly at me, the probe raised up. "What did you say?"

I was terrified, scared to death to speak . . . but I couldn't help myself. "Miss Claudia, I'm afraid--"

"That's normal," she said.

"But, I'm afraid . . . of damage. It might cause permanent injury."

She nodded understandingly. "But don't you want to find out which place hurts more?"

"Yes, of course," I lied Jesus! "But, Miss Claudia . . . I haven't had children yet."

She raised one of her thick eyebrows. "Children? You don't need any children." She leaned forward to go about her work, as if this explained everything.

"Please, Miss Claudia . . . think . . . think about what you're doing before you do it . . ."

She looked back up at me, annoyed. "I AM thinking about what I'm doing. You don't need children. You're a criminal. Your genes don't need to be passed along--that will just make more people like you. It's biology."

Leaning forward, her childish face a mask of concentration; she moved the spiraling needle into position, touching the tip to a point on my scrotum just above her thumbnail. Again, my body became granite hard in anticipation of the pain. "Anyway," she said, "these needles are very thin, they shouldn't cause much damage . . ." I cried out and then my cry slowly turned into a long, pitiful wail . . . it's hard to find words to describe the agony I experienced as she twisted that hideous thing into my epididymus. It was like having a tooth cavity drilled out without the use of Novocain, only the pain centered not in my mouth, but in my groin. Claudia would twist the needle in a little bit, wait for my wailing to die down, then twist it in a little more . . . at several moments I was sure I would pass out, and probably would have had she not stopped twisting to let me "catch up" with her. Each time she began again, white-hot bullets of pain would shoot all the way up into the middle of my back, and all the way down to my toes.

When she finished, she let out a sigh, gazing at the needle. It protruded alongside its companion like some kind of bizarre, non-identical twin. "Looks like I was right. That little gland is more sensitive than the whole ball." She looked up as if she expected me to confirm this. I was too worn out to open my mouth, not that I would have, anyway--I wouldn't have given the young beast the satisfaction of admitting that her amateurish medical hypothesis had been correct.

She was still waiting for an answer, her eyes locked on my face. "Don't you agree?"

I just glared at her, then looked down at my poor, badly aching balls. I felt utterly violated and abused.

"Well," she said, "I guess we need to make absolutely sure. We need to be scientific about it."

"What?" I muttered, but she was already moving across the room. She stooped to her gym bag, dragged something out of it, and headed back towards me. It was a small black box, made of plastic, some kind of electrical gadget, a few red and black wires coming out of it.

She set it down between my legs, adjusted some dials. She picked up one of the wires, which had a little metal clip on it, and carefully attached it to the needle that had pierced my right ball.

"No," I gasped. "Please, no!"

Ignoring me, she calmly attached a second clip to the corkscrew needle imbedded in my other nut. I watched, my mouth hanging open in horror, as she picked up a shiny metal thing that looked like an egg. She began covering it with lubricant squeezed from a tube. "Now just relax," she said, and the next thing I knew she had parted my ass cheeks and was shoving the metallic egg up my rectum. I felt her fingers probing around my perineum and the cold steel pressing against my prostate.

Claudia picked up the box, made another adjustment, and turned it so I could see the front panel. "You can make the electricity go in any direction you want using these switches--this one will make it go between your balls, and these two will make it go from your ass through either ball . . . pretty cool, huh?"

I had started crying again.

"This way," she explained, "we can be a hundred percent sure about which place has more nerves in it."

"You don't need to do that," I said, trying desperately to compose myself. "The second place hurts more. I swear. I was just angry, I didn't want to admit it."

Claudia chuckled softly. "I think you'd say just about anything right now."

"No, really, honestly, I wouldn't do that, Miss Claudia. You were absolutely right, what you said about the nerves--the second needle hurt a lot more, no question about it. You could see that by the way I screamed."

Claudia sadly shook her head, adjusted some dial on the box. "No, I think we better do this scientifically. My biology teacher says it's not good to do experiments . . . quali-ta-tive-ly . . . is that the right way to say it in English?"

I didn't answer.

"Anyway, its always better to do things quanti-ta-tively. Otherwise you don't know for sure, you're just guessing." She looked down at my tortured nuts. "For example, I might have put the second needle in more roughly than the first one. Or, maybe because the second needle was shaped differently, it hurt more." She clicked a switch on the box. "This way there won't be any question about it. We can stimulate the nerves directly, and equally, and then we'll know for sure."

"No, please, I--ooohhhh--ohhhhh . . ." She had flicked a switch, and I could feel a slight tingling in my prostrate and left ball . . . she did something else . . . and now the tingled moved, changed to my right ball . . .

"Good," Claudia said, flicking another switch. The tingling stopped. "It's working." She was adjusting a dial. "That was only Level One, just for a test. Now let's try . . . Level Five. What do you say?"

"No, for God's sake--AHHHH!"

It seemed like a bolt of lightening slammed through my left nut. I arched my back like a cat, groaning, for what seemed like minutes . . . and then the pain abruptly stopped. I fell back flat on the table.

"And now the right . . ."

Before I could utter a protest, my back was arched again, and I was screaming bloody murder. She must have held the switch closed the same amount of time, but it felt like a hundred years. I finally fell back flat on the table, gasping.

"Hmmm . . . looks like you might have been telling the truth after all. The second needle seems to have penetrated a lot more nerves." She was adjusting something again. "But we really ought to check it at the maximum level, Level Ten. Just, you know, to make absolutely sure."

"No, please, for Christ's sake . . ."

She sighed, looking at my tormented balls, then up at my face. "You did this to yourself, you know. You speak when you're not asked to speak, then you don't answer when I ask you a simple question . . ."

"I'm sorry, Miss Claudia, I won't do it again. I promise."

She seemed to be vacillating.

"Please, I'll be better, I swear. Miss Claudia"

She looked down at the little black box. "You tried to escape when I was out of the room, don't think I didn't notice that. I need to punish you for it. Do something extra."

"No, you really don't, Miss Claudia. I've learned my lesson. Miss Claudia."

She smiled gently. "Don't think calling me 'Miss Claudia' all the time is going to help you. I'm not stupid."

"No," I said, then hesitated, afraid to add the required 'Miss Claudia.' "You're very smart. It's amazing, really, how much you know about biology."

"You talk too much."

I opened my mouth to say "sorry, Miss Claudia," but then closed it again. She gazed down at the black box, as if still undecided, and then looked back up at me. She was quiet for a long time--too long a time. I fidgeted under the steady gaze of those green eyes.

"Well," she finally said, "there may be something else we can do to take care of all this. I've been wondering what it would be like to force elect . . . well, better not say, it might ruin the experiment."

I swallowed. "What experiment?"

She stepped around the right side of the table, carefully moving the box around my legs, guiding the wires over my left knee. She set the box down right next to me on the table, the cool plastic of its back pressed against my hip, and adjusted something, I couldn't see what. She was standing close to me now, I could smell the juvenile orange fragrance of her perfume. She reached out and began to lightly stroke the head of my cock, which was nothing but a shriveled stub, with her index finger. "Wouldn't you like to help me do an experiment?" She spoke very softly. "Wouldn't you like to get nice and hard for me?" As before, she seemed to be talking to "him" rather than to me.

But my penis did not respond to her stroking. I--he--was too afraid, too terrified of that goddam black box. I glanced down at the console and could see that a dial in the middle was pointing to the number 10. Jesus! Claudia kept stroking, very lightly. Her other hand slid across my stomach and came to rest on the lower part of my abdomen, her fingers resting in my pubic hair. God, her hand was soft . . . she began to massage me just above the base of my cock, and her other hand stroked the shaft.

"Don't be afraid," she murmured to it, stroking its length the way a little girl might stroke a kitten. "I'm not going to hurt you, only the other part . . . you don't mind that, do you? Don't you want to shoot your white stuff out into my hand . . . my nice, soft hand . . . ?" She cupped my dickhead in the palm, and I swear, it felt like velvet. It suddenly seemed as if my penis could not stiffen fast enough--the organ started swelling like a water hose had been hooked up to it. I--it--simply could not resist such tender treatment. The girl was leaning closer now, I could feel her warm, young breath on my stomach, on my rapidly expanding organ.

I closed my eyes, the part of me that wanted to resist farther and farther away, only a faint echo now . . . it wouldn't be so bad, whatever she was going to do . . . no, not bad at all, I reassured myself, as my cock grew stiffer and stiffer. A small price to pay for such exquisite pleasure! Claudia picked the thick organ up now, grasping a handful of skin on the top and beginning to pump as she had before . . . oh, GOD that was wonderful . . . heavenly, oh my sweet Jesus . . .

I looked at Claudia and realized how beautiful she was, so lovely, so feminine and girlish . . . I looked at the skin of her forearm, youthful and perfectly smooth, followed it down to her sweet hand, the charm bracelet's little starfish and dolphins dangling against my stomach . . .

My cock looked enormous, veins bulging, the head as big as a lemon . . .

I began to gasp for breath, the room began to spin . . .

Oh, I was going to come, and come HARD . . . yes, it was happening, that sweet tingle spreading up from my tightening prostate, my asshole puckering . . . oh, yes, yes, yes . . .

I cried out, just on the brink of the first spasm.

At that same instant Claudia's left hand left my stomach.

The next thing I knew, it felt as if a giant metal claw had grabbed my balls and crushed them. I yelled again as I glimpsed the girl's finger holding a switch closed on the box, my back arched, my hips in the air. A ribbon of white semen shot out of my pee hole and splashed across my face. Claudia giggled, let the switch go briefly, then pushed it again, just at the instant the next spasm was due. My back arched again, and another hot string of come shot out, this one hitting me smack in the middle of my forehead. I looked down and realized that the girl was purposefully aiming my pulsating dick at an upward angle so that I would spray myself in the face, and about the time I realized this and that she had let the switch go, then clicked it closed again and I had yet another contraction. This time, a watery spray of jism flew out and struck me dead in the left eye. There was more giggling from Claudia, and another electrically-driven spasm . . . and another . . . and another, until I was just laying there trembling, my head bent to one side, my burning eyes squeezed shut, the girl still eagerly flipping the switch back and forth.

She finally let go of my spent cock, letting it drop on my stomach, and stepped around the end of the table. "Interesting," she said enthusiastically. I felt her disconnecting the wires from the imbedded needles. The metal egg came out of my butt with a faint pop. A second later the needle in my left nut came out, in one swift movement. I gasped, but after what I had been through, the pain was small and anticlimactic. I felt her fingers grasp my right nut, then the corkscrew needle being twisted back out . . . this was not so minor, and I grunted and groaned until it was at last free of my body.

I lay there for a while, my eyes still closed, while she dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on each of my wounds. I was so exhausted I actually started to doze. I soon heard water running in the sink, then the sounds of her cleaning up, putting things away. After some time she appeared at my side again. "Turn your head toward me." She began to wipe off my face with a damp towel. She leaned closer and peered into left eye, which still stung. She went back to the cabinet and returned with a small white bottle. "Look up."

I did as I was told and felt cool, soothing drops cleansing my eyeball. She looked at my eye again, then continued wiping my chest and stomach with the towel. Finally, she dried my cock head.

"You've done very well," she said.

Surprised, I looked up at her.

"You're not so easy to break. Most men just whine and beg after a while, they don't even get hard anymore." As she wiped her hands on a towel, she glanced at my shoulders, my chest, then down my red, swollen balls. "You're pretty strong."

Was the girl actually giving me a compliment, or was she setting me up for something else?

Claudia sat down on the stool and let out a sigh, as if she were tired herself, and gazed at my crotch. I watched her for a moment--she seemed perfectly calm, composed. I decided she had been completely honest when she told me this kind of activity made her feel "relaxed" and "peaceful."

She reached out and cupped my aching testicles in her hand. I shifted uncertainly on the table. Was there a longing look in her eye? I wasn't sure. She just held my nuts for a moment, peering at them.

"I want you to give these to me."

I blinked once. I wasn't sure I hand heard her correctly. "Uh, excuse me, Miss Claudia, but I don't think I underst--"

"Of course I could just take them," she continued, and glanced over at the medical book. "I know exactly how to do it. But it would be better if you gave them to me." She looked up and into my eyes. "You know, offered them to me. Like a gift."

I stared back at her for a moment, unable to come to grips with what she was saying. "Are you . . . serious?" I had started to say "crazy," but checked myself.

Claudia did not answer, still cupping my balls in her soft hand. She seemed distant, maybe even a little sad--I couldn't quite read her. My mind was trying to get around her last little speech. I kept waiting for her to say something else, but she just sat there, an oddly wistful look on her face.

Finally, mixture of dread and curiosity overwhelmed me. I said, "Uh, excuse me, Miss Claudia, but I don't really understand what you're getting at."

She gazed steadily at me, that eerie calmness still there. "What don't you understand? Do you not understand simple English?"

Now I was afraid. I didn't like the blank, far-off look on her face, nor the tone of her voice.

"I only meant . . . why you would think I would want to . . . you know . . . 'give' them to you." It was hard for me to believe I was even having this conversation.

She shrugged. "To stop the pain."

Jesus . . . Fear rose inside my stomach like a coiled snake.

She glanced up my chest again, my arms, then back down at the man-sized testicles cupped in her hand. "You're strong, but I'll break you. Believe me. It will just take a little longer than usual." Her young fingers gave my balls a firm squeeze. "I'm going to torture these over and over again, as long as you're in this place." A smile danced on her lips. "And you're going to be in this prison a long, long time." The smile broadened. "Six years. I saw your file."

I became almost paralyzed with fear. She meant every word she was saying, I could see it in her eyes.

"I'm going to have you brought here once a week," she went on. "Every Sunday. Then you'll have the rest of the week to heal, and to think about what's going to happen to you the next week." She paused, smiling again, this time showing proud dimples. "I'm very creative--I never do the same thing twice. I'll make the pain more intense each time, too." She motioned to the medical book. "I learned a lot today, just in two hours. I'm always studying, thinking up new things to try."

She watched me for a moment, then looked back at my nuts, kneading them in her palm. I winced. "But . . . I really don't want to take them from you just because you want to stop the hurting. Like I said, I want you to offer them to me yourself, on your own. To give them to me as a present." She looked into my eyes and added, "To make me happy." She grinned at this, her eyes now smiling, too.

"You're crazy," I blurted, no longer able to contain myself. I wanted to shout, "Why the hell would I want to make little MONSTER like you happy?" But of course I wouldn't have dared. I half-expected the girl to fly into a rage at me for saying she was crazy, but she just keep looking at me, her soft hand kneading my balls.

She said, "You know . . . it could be . . . in your advantage." She paused, looking uncertain. "Is that how you say it? In your advantage?"

I was quiet for a moment, thrown off by this change in direction.

"Miss Claudia, it's 'to' your advantage," I said mechanically, my mind on the meaning of her sentence, not the grammar. What the good Christ was she saying?

"To your advantage," she repeated carefully. "It could be TO your advantage . . . if you give them to me as a present."

Holy shit! Was she talking about trading my balls, for God's sake, for some kind of special privileges? A bigger cell or something? My brain simply could not process what it was receiving. Did the arrogant brat actually think I would let somebody cut off my . . . but another thought struck me. She wasn't talking about somehow getting me out of prison early, was she?

I remembered her comment about the chances of me kissing her ass being about the same as angels flying down from heaven and setting me free.

Still, even if she was talking about trading my manhood for freedom, she was as crazy as a loon. Psycho kind of crazy.

My thoughts were interrupted by the expression on her face. She was watching me with a . . . seductive look? That's what it seemed like. Her eyelids were slightly lowered, her lips parted just a bit. I hadn't seen this look from her before. There was something scary about it . . . scarier than anything else she had said or done.

Claudia abruptly broke the spell, let go of my balls and stood up. "I think I'll let you go now," she announced. Just like that.

She went over to the telephone and dialed a number. After waiting a moment, she simply said, "You can come get him now" and hung up on whoever it was. I assume it had been one of the same two guards who had brought me here. She stepped back behind the exam table and untied my hands. Then she began a complicated procedure in which she allowed me to get dressed while keeping at least one of my arms or legs bound to the table, always staying safely out of my reach. When I had finally pulled on my pants, one wrist handcuffed to the table's frame, there was a heavy knock at the door.

"Hold on," Claudia called to whoever it was. I struggled to zip up my pants with my free hand. Claudia glanced around the infirmary. She draped the cloth over the instrument table so that her home-made tools were out of sight. In the corner, she saw the shredded remains of my jockey shorts, and, giving me a wry smile, picked them up and tossed them in the trash can.

There was another impatient knock. Claudia looked me over, as if to make sure I wasn't dripping blood anywhere, then started towards the door. Halfway there, she stopped and turned partially back toward me.

"I want you to think about what I said."

I only looked at her, not answering.

She stuck out her ass just a bit, glanced down at it over her shoulder.

"Remember, it could be to your advantage."

(to be continued in Chapter 3)

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