The last appointment of the day is Joshua – one of my favorite patients. I've had him since he contracted the virus at 15. Now he's 20, a strapping young man, handsome, athletic, strong and limber – captain of his football team. He has every reason to want to keep his balls.
He won't though. In another year, just as he's reaching graduation, they'll have to go. I can't have him moving away and getting treatment from another doctor, after all. Right now he has too much pride to complain, and no reason to think what I do is any different from any other Virility Clinic out there.
I'm debating making the change a few months early. I want to be the one to treat his inevitable penile cancer. I want to be the one to remove both his testicles and penis. I want to take on his aftercare. So long as I play my cards right, I could subject him to my attentions for years. He'd never know how much was necessary, and how much of what I do is purely for my own titillation.
Right now however I'm in no hurry to the next stage. As long as I make sure things aren't so bad that Joshua elects for castration, everything will be fine. Personally, I think if he were thinking clearly, he'd have opted for castration long ago.
Whoever engineered this virus must be as warped as me – it is utterly insidious. Although it infects everyone, it only affects men. The virus concentrates in the testes, where it combines with sperm to cause fast moving, extremely painful cancers of the urinary tract. The penis is usually affected first, swelling and becoming extremely tender to the touch. Within a week, urination becomes difficult and agonizing. If allowed to progress, the urethra is completely blocked, and the cancer will spread to the bladder, driving the patient absolutely insane with pain and the need to urinate. At that point, even if the penis is completely removed, the bladder itself will be problematic. Removal of the bladder is necessary. Sometimes the kidneys need to go as well.
Oddly enough the testicles are nearly the last thing become cancerous under usual circumstances, even though the infected sperm is the problem. The reason for that is the prostatic fluid has a remarkable ameliorating effect. So long as the testes are bathed in pre-cum on a regular basis, they remain healthy. Unfortunately vasectomies are not a solution. Testicular cancer develops usually within a week after one of them.
There is no sure fire way of avoiding cancer except through castration. No sperm, no cancer. Simple as that. Most men went that way, electing to freeze their last spunk for when they wish to start their families. Their only complaint is that they seldom get as much supplemental testosterone as they'd like. The government likes them passive and soft. Most have resigned themselves to servicing their wives with their mouths in hopes of a reciprocal, limp, usually unsatisfying bj.
Some, like Joshua, have resisted this solution. They are holding out for the day that a cure for the virus is found, thinking they'll get out of this with their junk intact and functioning. They will be waiting a long, long time. The government more than adequately funds these clinics, but it is tight about research into the cure. The sharp decline in crime and civil unrest is too tempting.
I went with castration myself. As a doctor I can proscribe as much testosterone as I want. My sex life is quite satisfying, thank you.
Through the various cameras hidden in the examination room, I watch as my assistant has Joshua undress and straps him to the table. The straps are not one of my inventions. I'm far too subtle for that. All clinics tie down the patient because the temptation to masturbate can be too much for them otherwise. It's vital that they allow the machines to do the job. The less skin exposed to sperm the better.
The straps are thick – as they need to be. One around each of his wrists, more around his ankles, holding them to the stirrups, and another set holding his thighs widely apart, leaving his ass and groin exposed and accessible. After placing leads on his chest to monitor heart rate (therapy is stressful, and the last thing I want is the investigation into a heart attack), the assistant finally moves to his groin.
Joshua's groin is hairless. The first preliminary therapy sessions included electrolysis. The excuse was to prevent irritation of his genitals during therapy, but the truth is I like the clean look of a smooth cock and balls. It makes his 8 inch cock look larger, and his hens-egg sized balls seem larger.
He is not going to like losing that large cock and those wonderful balls, but come hell or high water, 15 months from now, they will both be gone. I've vowed that the only sexual relief he will ever have is at my hands.
The assistant starts to fiddle with the chastity sleeve. It is clear and very flexible – allowing Joshua as many erections as he'd like. However the plastic is thick enough to keep any stimulation of the shaft down to a minimum. It is designed to breathe, and allow some airflow, just not friction – at least not enough. The head is hidden under a thicker dome of plastic. No sensation gets through that. At the very tip is a plug that diverts any effluence down into a small collection bag at his thigh. The plug can be opened to allow normal urination as well.
The assistant checks the bag, and notes how much precum has filled it over the last week. I can tell from the other room it isn't nearly as much as there should be, and I frown. The assistant takes the bag and its contents down to the lab to check for traces of sperm. I take that as my cue to walk into the room.
Joshua is looking up at the ceiling stoically when I walk in. I notice that his nipples have peaked up in the chilly air. It's deliberate, I like the look, but I pretend it is a surprise.
"Good morning, Joshua. Are you cold? Should I heat the table a bit more?"
"Yes, please." Joshua is always polite to me. I think I intimidate him.
I reach over and turn up the temperature. Almost immediately Joshua relaxes a bit. His scrotum begin to stretch out a bit. His fists are no longer balled.
I take the electronic key and press it against the sensor on the chastity sleeve. I then pull the band free from around his scrotum. The sleeve comes off his cock like a glove. Joshua is already hard in anticipation. After years of therapy, his body knows exactly what's coming. I resist the temptation to touch his penis. There might be traces of sperm in the fluid beading freely up at the tip. He's an armed weapon.
I pull the first machine over. It's my least favorite part of the process, mostly because I can't see a damn thing. It slides over his groin and pours soapy water over the exterior to clean it, then, with something like a vacuum takes up the water again. It takes only 15 seconds, and it shouldn't be enough to tip him off, but I always worry. When I pull the first machine away, Joshua's cock is still a bit damp, but completely clean. From the size of his twitching erection, he hasn't ejaculated yet. Good.
I put the chastity sleeve into the reader, to both clean and take the information off it's chip. I use the moment to talk to Joshua, even though I really don't need to hear the information from his lips. "So have you been having regular erections?"
"Yes."
"At least twenty a day?"
"I don't keep count." Joshua is frowning. I suspect he's holding something back.
I check the read out and sure enough, he had 15 today, but the days before he only reached 10. This went along with the lack of prostatic fluid collected. Joshua has been a bad boy.
"Have you been using your plug properly?" I reach down and feel between his buttocks, the flared end of a size 7 prostate stimulator is there. With a gloved finger I touch it to see if it's properly placed and producing the proper amount of vibration. It seems to be working properly.
"I've been practicing a lot this week," he says. Ah the excuse. "I can't run with that in."
"It's not necessary you keep it in while you practice, but you must remember to put in afterwards. Perhaps you should leave it in while you sleep."
He shakes his head. "I – I can't. I can't sleep with it in."
I shrug. "Some other time then. It needs to remain in and active at least 10 hours a day. I want those erections. They are what keep you healthy."
"Okay."
He's not going to do it, I can tell. He's reached the breaking point of frustration. All patients reach it, not just mine. They hate having all those unsatisfying erections. They hate the constant distracting buzz against their prostate glands even though it's scientifically designed to encourage the production of prostatic fluid. It has a side effect of stirring their libidos with a constant itch. Patients hate being brought to near orgasm, but never reaching it. They hate having near constant blue balls. But all these things are vital. Prostatic fluid keeps the virus inactive, and only a lot of it bathing his testicles and tubes will keep him from developing the cancer.
"No ejaculations?" I ask him. The rig is too well designed to allow that, but I ask anyway.
"No." His face is flushed. He wants me to get on with it and let him cum, but he's too embarrassed to say so.
Instead I pull the plug out. It's skin is a high grade flexible plastic, designed to feel slippery without the use of oil. Most doctors don't put it in dry, but I've never used anything on Joshua, and he apparently hasn't figured out that he can use extra lubrication. It takes a little effort to pull it out, despite it being on the small side. Joshua has never considered sodomy. He is, in fact, a virgin.
I put it in the cleaner and read the output. Not surprisingly, he has barely worn it. It's only had five hours of use put on its battery – all but one hour done today. I'm vaguely amused that Joshua was able to have 10 natural daily erections without any internal or external stimulation. His balls are quite productive.
I could call him out on his behavior, and give him the lecture that he needs this for his own sake. But I decide to go a different route instead. "I'm concerned that you aren't getting enough stimulation with the current probe." Reaching into a drawer I pull out a size 14 prostate stimulator. It's designed for use in people who are used to sodomy – the thickest part is twice as wide as the one I removed.
Joshua's eyes bulge. "No. This one works fine. Let me just keep it in. Let me try one more week!"
I shake my head sadly. "I'm afraid not. This one is obviously not working. The amount of fluid collected is far too small." I take off the packaging and begin to work it into his ass. His face twists and he whimpers a little. It hurts, I know, but that doesn't stop me. Suddenly, Joshua reaches a breaking point and actually fights his restraints. It's pointless.
"Please, it's not fitting."
"It will if you relax," I assure him, meanwhile making no effort whatsoever to relax him.
He bears down, actually attempting to help me, and at last the widest part passes through his sphincter. It is quickly sucked into place. I twist it around a few unnecessary times to position it. Then I start up the motor.
This probe uses both vibration and small shocks. Normally it senses imminent orgasm and gives a quick more painful shock to temporarily paralyze the smooth muscles and stop the process of ejaculation in its tracks. There is then a refractory period of about fifteen to twenty minutes before it starts the process again.
I use a tool to reprogram it to keep it working past orgasm and to stop the refractory periods. I'll program it back to normal again after the milking is over.
Joshua has a bit of wetness in the corner of his eyes. He's staring at the ceiling again – embarrassed and sore. The thickness of the prostate stimulator is tough for him to deal with, and he's doubtless trying to figure out how he can attend his class and work with it in.
But soon the pain gives way to the pleasure and he starts twitching his hips. Even with all this, he is desperate to come. But before he does, I carefully feel his testicles, weighing them in my hands before measuring them with a caliper. They are full of sperm and fluid and very heavy. He's thoroughly blue-balled at this point. I take my time, feeling for lumps in his scrotum and penis, being thorough to the point of redundancy. Usually this part of the exam takes only second or two, but I'm enjoying the feel of his hot skin under my fingers. I'm officially dragging my heels.
"Please," he says finally. "Can we hurry?"
"Oh, my, do you need to come?" I grin at him. "Well, let's get on with it."
The milking machine has a clear sleeve. I snug it down over his glans and shaft and press a button. The plastic suddenly puffs, then goes to work spraying a lubricant, and massaging his dick with fine, nearly invisible hairs, and long smooth strokes. I've used the machine on myself. It feels like an exquisite blow job. Right now Joshua is in heaven.
I leave him there, helpless hooked up to the machine and return to the observation room. I do this for two reasons. Firstly, it gives Joshua the illusion of privacy for this most intimate act, and that is part of what I need to do to secure his willingness to continue on with me. He doesn't know about the cameras. They are everywhere, and I can switch feeds to watch the best angle. Right now I have it split between his penis, his face and a wide shot of his entire body. He's squirming in his restraints. He grits his teeth and gives out a breathy scream as he achieves his first, mind blowingly strong orgasm.
I'm hard at this point, but I'm careful not to touch myself. The best part hasn't even started yet. I'll edit and watch the video later. That's when my real pleasure comes. I may not have balls, but I'll have several orgasms tonight, I can feel it.
The second reason for being out of the room is so I don't have to respond when Joshua suddenly calls out that he's done. I know he's done. The machine has already calculated the amount of ejaculate, the sperm count, and the ratio of prostatic fluid to sperm. All are in the satisfactory range. Normally, the machine would be stopped for a while to allow the patient to recover, but I've never bothered with that part.
The machine keeps sucking on him, even though he's in that ultra-sensitive refractory period. Joshua writhes now in a futile attempt to free himself. For me, this is more entertaining than his pleasure a few minutes ago. I let it continue until the refractory period is over and he's ready to go again. I wait and watch the process repeat until Joshua has his first dry ejaculation. Then I go back and stop the machine.
"Excellent. Now it's time to get you clean."
Joshua groans. This is his least favorite part – therefore my favorite. This is also the part of the exam most likely to get me in trouble with the review board if Joshua ever squeals.
Of course, cleaning is necessary. There is deadly sperm in his urethra, and the distinct possibility that some of it may have backwashed into his bladder. The only solution for this is a rinsing with a special fluid. The fluid is totally artificial but it has the same qualities as prostatic fluid. It's not so much the wash that is a problem, as my insistence on how much and long its retained. Both are a bit extreme.
Joshua doesn't know better.
Every year we do a measure of his bladder, which he utterly loathes. I always do it at the end of the day, so there is no other patients for him to compare notes with. Most doctors only require that the patient drink water, but I've insisted that Joshua drink a beverage of my own devising. Joshua hates the flavor. It's too salty. He has never drunk urine, or he'd certainly object stronger. He doesn't know that the bulk of it, in fact, is piss– my own, collected up over the day. I add a harmless inert chemical to disguise the smell and a little blue dye to change the color and he never catches on. The flavor however is identical to what I usually deposit in the toilet. I wouldn't nearly enjoy this process if it didn't. It never fails to make me hard thinking of my piss running over his unappreciative tongue and down his gullet, later to cause him extreme distress.
He drinks it in the waiting area. I watch him grimace his way through it, and delight knowing that he will still be savoring the flavor of my pee while aching to pee himself. He informs the receptionist as soon as he's choked his way through the bottle. He's not allowed water to rinse, instead he's lead back to the table, undressed and strapped down as normal.
He is taken out of his chastity sheath, not because it's necessary. I simply enjoy seeing his penis when the opportunity can be had. I sometimes fondle him a bit as I push in a catheter. I'm sure he finds it confusing and humiliating. The catheter fills immediately with his urine, but I have the valve shut off so it doesn't flow far. With a syringe I inflate the little balloon holding it into his bladder. Then the wait begins.
He complains of needing to pee almost immediately, but I make him wait until he starts sweating. Then I fuss about slowly, knowing how desperate he is. He claims he's going to burst. He begs freely, but I'm not hurried. That's my recycled pee filling his bladder. It seems wonderfully fitting. Sometimes I can't resist and have to excuse myself to the bathroom, not to urinate (though that's what I lead him to believe) but rather the quickly masturbate. I always come hardest on his bladder measuring days.
Finally, I dare not put it off anymore. I don't want to damage his kidneys. I go in and flip the switch, allowing his bladder to drain into a bag. His relief is palpable, sometimes he laughs, sometimes he cries, but I'm always a little let down. Eventually his bag is filled as much as it will be. I mark the amount down and send the nurse in to unstrap him and send him home.
I don't need to measure him again today, unfortunately. There is no excuse to have him drink my urine. But as I fill the bag for his wash I make sure there is ten to twenty milliliters more than he was measured for. I want his bladder to be excruciatingly full. That part is required for my satisfaction.
I use a little lube on the tip of the catheter and slide it in. It seems counterintuitive, being that the urethra needs cleansing too, but that's the way it's done. I attach the bag and hang it high above his head, at full drip. Gravity fills his bladder over the next few minutes. I watch, with pretend clinical interest as his expression goes from anxious, to uncomfortable, to full on distress. He always complains before we reach the end of the drip.
"It's too much. You filled the bag too much again. God why do you do that."
"Don't be silly, it's the proper amount." It is in fact considerably more than recommended. "Here I'll make this go faster for you."
"No!" he cries and stains against his bonds again, but I ignore him and squeeze the bag to get the last bit in. He starts weeping.
Then we wait. The book says five minutes is sufficient. I make him wait for twenty. He writhes as much as he can within his bonds. He sweats, he sometimes seems to gag. His new larger prostate stimulator is still going. I forgot to shut it off. Now in addition to teasing his libido, it shakes his bladder and causes it further distress.
I'm getting hard thinking about this. The cameras are running, I won't really miss anything. Instead I took myself to the bathroom. "Something about watching this procedure just makes me need to piss," I informed him and noted how his writhing increased. He'd like to piss. I won't let him.
It took me a bit longer than usual to come. I admit, didn't try to rush it. Joshua had to wait twenty-two minutes for relief today. Oh well.
The final part was to deflate the balloon and pull the catheter. Joshua didn't wait to start peeing. I barely had time to aim him into the table's built-in urinal. The flow was fast and hard, flushing whatever remains of his sperm out of his urethra. He sobs like a child. He's twenty years old, the captain of a football team. I wonder what his teammates would think to see him like this.
He is now completely cleared, so there is no further reason for me to be there. I open the door and call for my assistant to release Joshua and help him arrange his next appointment.
"I'm thinking of just getting rid of my balls," Joshua says as I start to leave. "Should I? Is it really worth this?"
I feel a thrill of panic. It's too soon. I'm not done enjoying him this way. "Think of your career," I admonished. "Next visit won't be as bad, I promise. I'll take extra care."
He nods but he doesn't look convinced. I leave before my fear can betray me.
I go back to the observation room and start assembling the footage, editing it into a more reasonable length masturbation tape. It's great material. I'd like more of it, but I might not be able to get it. Joshua worries me. If he insists and gets castrated that will throw my future plans for him in the toilet.
Perhaps I can't wait that other year. Or even a few months.
Next visit I'll go easy on him. Too easy. He'll eat it up and not complain. I won't complain about the lack of fluid, I'll give him a shorter, smaller wash. It will be terribly unsatisfying, but knowing what will be coming will sustain me. I'll wait until his chastity sleeve is on again and inject a little of his own sperm back into his urethra, making up some bullshit reason for it. I know he's not going to use the larger stimulator nearly as much as he should. The virus laden sperm will dig in before Joshua's frustrated erections have a chance to beat it off. It wouldn't take long, a week or two after that for the first symptoms.
Sheathed as it is, he won't notice when his penis becomes more sensitive. It will doubtless be the painful urination that brings him in. I will have to do many washes to save his bladder, which he'll accept gratefully, no matter how large or how long I force him to hold them. He'll be panicking. I might even be able to convince him that the special drink is needed. The idea of that makes me hard again and I come a second time thinking of him sucking my hot fresh urine out of a bottle (could I arrange that?) while I fill him past full with an ice cold wash (this is pure fantasy, but something I've longed to try). It might be pressing my luck, but now that I've thought of it, I intend on doing it.
Of course, his large, hen-egg sized balls will have to go immediately, but I'll put off the penectomy as long as I can, so that he can savor the agony of his cancer fully. It will be excruciating, far worse than anything I have ever done to him. The cancer will feel like fire and thorns shoved down his piss slit, night and day, without relief. Even morphine will hardly put a dent in it, though I doubt I will offer much of that. I don't want his mind too foggy, after all.
I'm pretty sure I can extend his agony for at least three days, a week isn't too unrealistic. With twice daily washes -- iced, I've decided! I will claim it will be more soothing to his penis, and who knows I might be right -- he might go a fortnight without risking his bladder, but people will start questioning what I'm doing. No better leave it a single week. After that, I'll have to be satisfied with the tapes. I will, of course, be filming this endless sweet climax of pain.
Then the penis, too, will have to go. All 8 inches, plus root, into the trash. The thought is disappointing, it's a beautiful cock, but I bolster myself with the knowledge that he's never had an opportunity to use it. I've been in complete control of it. He'll never fuck a woman. He'll never even masturbate to a naughty picture. But he'll want to. I'll make sure he receives plenty of testosterone – perhaps he can still compete athletically. His body will stay firm and beautiful. He will certainly retain his healthy libido, even if he loses any ability to satiate it.
His prostate of course will stay. It will need frequent milking to remain healthy. Soon that size 14 won't seem so bad to him. I might even work him up to a 20. It will be quite enjoyable to see him strapped to my table, with a freezing, full-to-bursting bladder and a stimulator the size of my fist in vibrating in his well-stretched ass.
Or perhaps I will go another route. I wonder how much it will take to convince him the best tool for the job is my perfectly functioning penis.
Probably not a lot. Joshua is pretty trusting. That's one of his charms.
