Dan - Chapter 3

Author: lithium500mg
Title: Dan - Chapter 3
Date: 01 March 2016

Dan – Chapter 3

Previously I described how I, perhaps stupidly, allowed myself to be tightly bound naked in a restraint chair used by Ming the Merciless in the 1930’s Flash Gordon movies. Ten minutes of claw-type nipple clamps proved my mistake. My foolish self-capture was followed by torment by members of the LAPD who used testicle electrodes, a smartphone app and a video feed to entertain themselves at my expense.

Except for Dan, the LAPD cop who I met on a hiking trail and at whose mercy I now was, the police accepted the premise that I had broken into Dan’s home and was being punished. When I disappeared from my job and apartment, these same police were able to completely erase evidence of my existence in Los Angeles.

The “facility” that held me chained and naked had been a bomb shelter built during the “Red Scares” in the U.S. in the 1960’s. While built partly to keep out people who were desperate to escape deadly Soviet radiation (in a Christian manner, of course), it also could keep people in. The facility was clean of anything loose except a small bar of soap.

I concluded my last notes with the words from the whitey-tighty-clad Dan, “You need a circumcision, boy!” I was spread-eagled on a cot-sized bed in the underground cell, and my genitals immediately shrank to their minimums. It took me later in the day to realize that things could be even worse - he didn’t mention castration.

I was multiply rendered helpless, and hopeless. I was cuffed to the cot, locked in a cell, collar chained to the cell door, and locked in the facility. Additionally, I had a spreader bar chained to my ankles. My balls and even my nipples dreaded Dan’s return. I began hoping I could get out of my prison by giving him the best blow job ever. It would have been my first.

Dan entered my cell, stepping over the heavy chain attached to my collar and to the cell door, freed my hands, and uncuffed my ankles, which were still restricted by the leg spreader. He ordered me to use the toilet, #1 and #2, followed by a shower. He then left the facility. The cell had a toilet but no paper, the shower had no towels. There was no paper, towels or anything loose in the cell except the soap. Even the cot was just a length of sheet metal covered with heavy sheet vinyl.

I carried the collar chain to the toilet and did as ordered, got cleaned up in the shower, and wiped as much water off my body as I could. I could hear the sump pump push the waste water up to the sewer. I checked out my leg spreader, and hobbled over to the cell door. I got a better look at the other cell, and at what was obviously a wall for serious restraint. I instinctively looked at the floor under the bondage wall for blood stains. There weren’t any.

The other cell was a strange space with a shower but no toilet. On the outside and attached to the bars were what looked like stainless-steel boxes with electrical connections, purpose unknown. I looked down at my dick and wondered what it would look and feel like cut. I’m not sure I ever shuddered before, but I now had good cause, and my whole body shook.

Dan came back with food and drink, allowed me to nourish myself but not to ask any questions. He told me, however, that “I was chosen.” I wouldn’t find out exactly what that meant for weeks. Dan cleaned the paper goods that contained the nourishment from the facility, and left me alone for a while.

It was probably early in the afternoon; I couldn’t tell exactly but I expected Dan to go back on duty in a few hours. He entered the facility, barefoot, carrying his LAPD shirt, and wearing dark blue shiny compression shorts with an LAPD insignia. His bulge was in proportion to his large body, and I could make out the outline of his briefs underneath. He had been working out in the yard above the bomb shelter with his buddies. I decided to make my offer and I offered him the deal – blow job for freedom.

I was hoping to get to his dick in my mouth, take a shot, and get it over with. Instead he grabbed my collar chain and said something like “You think I’m dumb enough to stick my cock in your mouth, boy” or something like that. Maybe he thought I might bite his dick, but that would have been dumb. He clearly didn’t possess the key to the cell or to the collar chain locks in his skin-tight shorts.

He went out of the facility, came back, and took me out of the cell. I hobbled over to the restraint wall. I wanted to fight, but the leg spreader prevented any serious action. A few minutes later I was spread-eagled to the wall. I was terrified that Dan was going to take a knife to my dick. I started sobbing and begging for mercy. I was broken again.

Dan used the permanent steel shackles to spread my arms and legs, and extra leather restraints that were set up through eye-bolts to vary the spread. I expected the spread-eagle, but was alarmed when straps tied down my calves, knees, thighs, biceps, and more. He pulled a heavy rubber hood over my panicked head, zipped it at the back, then fastened the expected neck strap. The hood had just two small nose holes, so my focus became less on my cock and more on my ability to breathe.

Dan left me “hanging” for some time, maybe 40 minutes. He returned with another person, I’ll call him Doctor Chan, who had a heavy Chinese accent. They came straight to the wall and began examining my body in scary detail. While I couldn’t see anything, there was no barrier to my ears. Dr. Chan noted that my overall size and build were acceptable, even exemplary, and that the amount and distribution of body hair was near perfect.

At Dr. Chan’s request, Dan adjusted the restraints, meaning that my arms were pulled high and wide, slightly straining my shoulder joints. My chest was stretched exposing my ribs and making my stomach and innards seem horribly vulnerable. My legs were pulled wide so that my groin muscles felt at the breaking point, and I was on tip-toes. My weight was now supported partly by my toes and partly by all the supplementary leather bands that pinned me to the wall. They took video and a number of photographs – I could hear the clicks.

The next focus was on my genitals. I learned later that the man I will call “Mr. Ming” requires circumcised concubines and exceptionally high body symmetry. Mr. Chan performs the necessary modifications. They examined my dick in detail, manipulating the foreskin and even noting the slight irregularity of the opening. I involuntarily aided the examination by springing a boner due to the handling. I admit that, even though I felt fear and apprehension, there was something erotic going on, like getting a tattoo on your cock.

Dan mumbled, “Do you prefer him being erect when you do the cut?” The Doctor replied “Ya, the symmetry will be perfect. There’s a chance he will heal asymmetrically if I cut it retracted. I’ll bring the injectables. ”

Next, they went to my testicles. My balls hung unevenly and would have to be adjusted for perfectly level and symmetrical countenance. I wanted to scream that “one hung low” is natural, but the tight and compressing hood kept me from getting into even more trouble. The manipulation of my balls was enough to make me semi-hard again. Dr. Chan fingered my two jewels, presumably for medical reasons, and then discussed with Dan how the incisions would make the perfect adjustment. He pulled off the last remnants of last night’s superglue.

The Doctor checked for moles and other imperfections that would have to be removed – there was just one - and then focused his attention on my nipples. “Mr. Ming demands conical nipples. This subject’s will need to be lengthened to three millimeters. The current tip geometry is correct. What are those marks?” I was somewhat numb by now, physically and mentally, and didn’t think about what was just said.

Dan was talking, “I used claws to keep him from being unruly. His nips are sensitive, what will the lengthening do?” The Doctor took a while to respond, “The marks’ll be fully healed in a day. We’ll stretch the skin so that the nerves will be nearly exposed. He won’t want to wear a blouse for a month, then he’ll experience hyper-sensitivity. Mr. Ming will be pleased.” The word “blouse” stuck out, but otherwise I just stored the words without understanding them.

Dr. Chan checked my feet, legs, arms and legs, commenting that the left arm must be made the same diameter as the right. Dan was tasked with this change. “He won’t be using his right arm to ….” That seemed to be the end of the examination. “Do you want to check his back?” “No, only the front is seen in Dr. Ming’s celebrations.” Dan released the tight stretch so that my feet hit the floor again, and left the facility with Dr. Chan.

I’m of Italian and French ancestry, 22 years old, about 5 ft 8 in tall, that’s 173 cm. At this point I was uncut, and had moderate but thin, soft black body hair on my legs, arms and chest, very little on my back. I had a longish wavy head of black hair, and now needed both a haircut and a shave – I am normally clean-shaven. Before torment in Ming’s Chair, I was about 155 lbs, that’s 70 kg. Mr. Ming requires his concubines to remain below 11 stone.

Dan returned to the facility and moved me from the restraint wall. He walked me back to the cell without any restraints except for the hood. Even without the hood, I couldn’t have resisted because my legs and arms were like rubber from the wall restraint. He put me in belly-chains, removed the hood, and reattached the collar and chain. Otherwise I was free to roam the cell. My hands could even reach my dick.

I was left alone while Dan went on his shift. I confess that a lot of my time was spent fingering my cock and nipples. Some of the talk was beginning to sink in. What the fuck were they going to do to me? Dr. Chan was going to cut my dick and balls, and nipples. Where was this concubine? Would they numb my cock? I remember wishing I were wearing my jock strap.

I would be naked until well after I arrived in Hong Kong.