Prime ingredients to spice up a story: guilt, shame, humiliation, punishment, coercion, trickery and betrayal of trust.
Below is a fantasy I thought of the other day. The lady surgeon and assistant are the same as the real ones I saw a year or so ago for a cyst removal.
I’m strapped down tight to the operating table. I’m naked from the waist down. My legs are spread wide and my knees are pulled up toward my chest. My pubes are shaved and my penis is taped back onto my abdomen. I feel a light breeze blowing on my scrotum.
I feel terribly exposed and vulnerable. I don’t know how I got into this situation. I am terrified and also aroused at the same time.
The young lady assistant who got me ready leans over and slyly whispers in my ear that Doctor X loves orchiectomies. It is her favorite procedure.
I hear the operating room door open. The assistant announces: “The patient is ready for orchiectomy!”
The surgeon calmly approaches, savoring the sight of my tight, pink, wrinkled scrotum, hers to do with as she pleases.
I whimper and softly beg, “Please, please, don’t… don’t do this.”
There is a long moment of silence. Then I feel the pinch of the anesthetic needle.
“They always say that,” the lady surgeon quietly says. Her assistant chuckles.
“He’ll make a sweet little neutered puppy.”