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F x F x m Castration Medical Play , Nurses, Milf , First person

D A routine physical check-up turns out rather unusual as the Nurse suggests that a man really should just get castrated. It is unusual but this medical play turns highly personal and sexually sensual.

T medical play, castration, male, female, nurse, Milf. First person

I don’t know how it came to this. A routine physical check-up turned into a non-routine check-up turned into a recommendation for a procedure. It was underplayed in seriousness, but it boiled down to Castration. I was opposed to it, but I deferred to the beautiful red-haired nurse's insistence. But my opposition was mostly because of the intimacy of the subject matter concerned. What really turned the tide was the way to which she treated the operation - it wasn’t her willingness to do it, it was her eagerness. There was a veil of excitement in her voice. A want for it.

In truth, the idea had never been a consideration to me, but as it was suggested, well, my mere malleability to the concept was rather telling in my newly formed thoughts about the procedure.

The routine checkup now involved me in hospital scrubs, my butt exposed and sitting on a metallic table. I had been given local anesthesia after my scrotum was shaved by the still, expert, practiced hands of the beautiful nurse. She was clinical in this endeavor, but there was a tender veneer to each brushing careful stroke of that straight razor. It sent shivers of anticipation throughout my quivering body. The only reason I wasn’t hard, even in this embarrassing situation, I supposed, was because of the anesthesia that left a dull numbing sensation around my groin. Numbness was always uncomfortable in a dissociated way, but numbness down there, well, it was more than a little uncomfortable in an alien, detached way.

At least I couldn’t feel the chill that was wrapping around my exposed genitals anymore. That is a plus.

But all and all, numbness can always be felt… but this was a new form of hyper-awareness. It was odd to feel not feeling. Especially down there. And yet, the numbness allowed me to be more fixated on the area. More concerned.

The nurse, Nurse Jenny as it were, offered a bright and friendly smile to me as she reached over to the table to her side, I heard, then saw, the metallic object which she retrieved. A scalpel. The bright light gleamed off the sharp edge of it.

My breath was caught in my throat, but not like how you would suppose. Of course, there was trepidation. Concern. But underneath that? Curiosity, arousal, and excitement.

Nurse Jenny seemed to share these feelings. She didn’t quite hide it either, but she wasn’t blatant about it. It was an ambiance in the air. It was dripped into each and every action she took. She showed me that a scalpel is a few seconds longer than strictly professional. I actually don’t believe it was professional to draw my attention to it in the first place.

“Now, don’t you go moving? We don’t want to take any more than what we intend to.” So calm, collected, friendly… and sensual.

It calmed my nerves, but I was still pretty tense. More apprehensive, not of the procedure per se, but because of the intimacy of it. Because of how much this Nurse seemed to extract absolute delight in what she was doing, much akin to how she was going to extract my testicles one by one.

Her playful, sensual manner was very, very intoxicating, contagious.

“Okay. Now, I want you to take some deep breaths, okay? I want you to be very, very present for this. We only get to do this one time. Well, two, but only twice. So just let all your tension go… and I want you to think about me, your hairless scrotum, this scalpel, and what I intend to do with it. Now, if you want, you can take a look, so you know what I am doing. Don’t be shy, I know you do. Look at you, already trying to sneak peeks. Don’t worry, nothing to be ashamed of here. Just a normal – routine – procedure.” She said rather huskily with a twist of softness in her voice. It was a perfect mix of lust and tenderness. Smokey might be more appropriate.

I was numb, but I could feel something going on down there. I could feel the shifts in my body, my abdominal area, and my crotch area. I might be numb locally around the extraction site, sure, but that didn’t mean my body did feel, in a vague way, movement around the area, the repositioning, and the shifting of weight.

“So, what I am going to do is take this sterilized scalpel and make an incision right on your scrotum. And we are just gunna tease that testicle out from the slit.”

I shouldn’t have.

But I did. How could I not?

I looked down. All I could see was the downcast head of the nurse. I arched myself slowly, neck on up, just to get a better view. Her curtain of hair framing the dangerously delightful painting.

“Oh, look at you. An active participant, I see. Well now, I can’t say as I am surprised, nor can I say that I am against the idea. Quite the contrary, I do like an audience.” She purred, slipping away and moved to readjust that cold metallic slab I was laying on. Up, up, up. I was now not rigid and laying, but I was comfortably propped up so that it was easy to watch.

She returned to her original position. She slowly reached the table and produced a mirror, setting it up slightly to the side of her, “So you don’t miss any of the action.” She informed me. Informed with glee.

The keenest point was that when she made the incision it was tenaciously slow. She even rubbed the side of the blade up and down where she was planning to cut. Who would have thought such a device could be wielded in a sensational manner? I couldn’t feel the show she was putting on, but I could see it --- clearly. Her tongue lulled out a little as she performed the dance of blade on numbed flesh.

The sharp blade disappeared into one of the sacks. I didn’t know it, but I saw it, her other hand tightly clutching right above my ball, making the skin wrap around it tightly. I could see the details of my ball, the shape, the size, the whitening of it as it was snuffed by the pressure of my sack. It was quite alien, quite unique.

The scalpel dipped and cut and was lifted up again, a few inches later. My eyes widened. Mostly out of surprise that there was an utter absence of blood. The flesh, untethered, slowly opened. I saw a stark white film of connective tissue. It was starkly thin, not even close to the flesh that had been severed. It was a second skin, but not so much skin as a tightly knitted blanket of fibers.

She purred and cooed, smiling now, sharp as the scalpel resting in her long, elegant digits, the handle of which was resting peacefully in her clutched palm.

“My favorite part. Right here. See this fiber-like tissue. It is the last defense that we need to be just so gently severe.” She dictated as her blade moved back to the top of the slit created and ever so gently sliced downward. The fibers cut like cords. It opened with much more ease than the initial flesh. It was so thin that I imagine all she needed to do was pin it between her sexy fingers and ease it to tear open.

Because she was being so delicate with the blade, she had to repeat the tracing path several times. Down, down, take the blade away, restart at the top, and gingerly repeated. I imagine that this film around my balls was so weak that to apply too much pressure would be disastrous.

After she completed the circuit five times, I realized that she was drawing out the procedure. It was, after all, her favorite part. The action smacked of foreplay, the vibes thick in my throat. Now, I couldn’t feel anything around my groin but that did not mean that I was not capable of being aroused mentally, and to be sure, I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat.

She had done this many, many times, but this was my first. My first, and by necessity, last. She was taking my virginity, and she treated it as such.

But all good things came to an end and the fibers of the connective network of tissues finally gave up and split open.

She put the scalpel away, looking up at me with that alluring smile, she had her lower lip pinched between her teeth.

“Now, we have to tease that pesky testicle right out. You might feel the sensation of the kneading.” She put a gloved hand on the slit and her fingers started to palpate, fingers applying pressure in an ebb and flow. She didn’t look at the task, her eyes were on me. My eyes gravitated toward her twinkling eyes and those fingers as she coaxed the testicle out of the opening.

She sucked in air, “Oh my, look at that. That's your testicle. But, no, we aren’t there yet, dear. Not quite. This is a delicate procedure, and it needs to be treated as such, don’t you agree? We don’t want to do it wrong; we will take all day if we need to, don’t you agree?”

Shit. I was timid, shy, and completely punch drunk on the implications but that didn’t still my voice. My mouth moved quicker than thought could truly wrap around what she was saying. I nodded, “Yes. Yes.” It came out more as a beg than agreement.

As she kneaded and massaged around the open slit mark, no more protection around my ball, it slipped out. It bubbled out – but it wasn’t particularly aggressive, it seemed like a perfectly normal reaction. The ball wanted to come out, perhaps as much, if not more than how the nurse and I wanted it.

The nurse helped the ball out of its hiding hole by pinching her ivory-gloved fingers just above where the ball resided. She didn’t pinch it so much as massage it out. I could imagine that the action could have been done with one deft movement, but she was deliberately taking her time. Easing it out. Coaxing it. Allowing it to truly accept the fate that was in store for it.

“Hello, there little guy. Now, aren’t you just a beautiful little specimen? Look at you. You want to come on out for Nurse Jenny. Hmmm? You want to … Oh, yes, such an eager little boy you are, oh yes, don’t be shy. Nurse Jenny is going to be very, very gentle with you.”

I glanced down at it, but my view was prevented by that lovely crimson hair and the sheer closeness of the nurse. She was inspecting it, turning her head side to side, really soaking in the sight. Luckily for me, the mirror provided an angle that allowed me the same closeness that the Nurse had.

Front row tickets to the whole occasion.

I could tell by her movements that she was sexually invigorated. The emptying of my sake was damn near pornographic for her. I could see the traces of arousal just rolling off of her hunched form. She was practically salivating. She was much closer than strictly necessary. This was a proper medical procedure and yet she was treating it like something wholly different, distinctly unprofessional. More informal. Familiar. It was as if this was that moment where two people were casually doing something and the scene set up for the perfect opportunity to share an unplanned kiss.

To say that there was sexual tension was to underplay exactly how intoxicating Nurse Jenny was. She looked deeply at the now newly exposed testicle.

We both could see the sheer details of it as it hung out, bursting out of the tight confining sack and just enjoying the exposure. It was complete with blatant veins, it was convex shaped, and have ridged, and the white and yellow musky coloration that surrounded it was unlike the other film that had been gently, teasingly cut away.

“Your testicle is like an egg, dear. Your ball sack is the eggshell… we cracked that pretty well, wouldn’t you agree. Now this, this is the white portion around the juicy sexy center. We don’t want this; we want that yoke.” She said purring.

I gasped and slowly, gently, carefully, leaned my head back and exhaled. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one to extract such wild joy from such an intimate and delicate action. I didn’t know that I would find this entire thing so intoxicating. Naturally, I had my thoughts on it, and they were favorable, but I never quite knew that I could feel like this.

What made the scene all the thicker with sensual scintillating sensations was that Nurse Jenny seemed to be well and truly worked up. She was making love, I was watching her deliberately soft, slow, and careful movements. Her fingers wove their magic in just a delicately precise manner that it was hypnotic.

And frankly, though the only thing I truly could feel was the weight shifting as my ball sack was manipulated, testicle spilling out and emptying into the palm of her gloves hand, I could still feel it. I felt it, perhaps, and oddly enough, I felt it much more acutely and surely than even had my groin not been completely numbed from the local anesthetic.

She leaned back, straightened her posture, and gave a nice big ole stretch. I was treated to those voluptuous breasts tightly pinned in her scrubs. The scrubs were loose, very relaxing fit, but the way she arched her back, they filled outward. I never realized how unprecedentedly large they were. They were not the massive udders that drive men to do bad and sometimes silly things, they were exceptional in their perfect proportions. They were breasts that encouraged men to do art, and masterpieces. And they were right there, for me.

Of course, anybody would have thought that this was just an ordinary stretch, just to limber up, and while that might be the case, I knew that she was treating me. They were displayed for me and me alone, perhaps as a reward. But I think she just wanted to get me even more aroused.

As if that was possible.

She swiveled in her chair to a little drawer of metal chrome operating equipment. She placed the scalpel down and retrieved little scissors. She brandished them like the sexual tool that it was. My toes curled, my body tensed, and she smiled all the wider. It flashed as brightly as the tool she was going to use on me.

“Oh, tell me how you really feel, sweetie.”

I gulped. I wasn’t sure if this was an invitation to talk or if she was just playfully bantering, much as she had throughout the operation, yet this was directed specifically to me. She was not looking at my opened ball sack, nor the contents that spilled out, no… She was looking straight into me, through me, right to my soul, right to my most hidden wants and desires.

“Well…?” She tilted her head, displaying those scissors, and awaited my reply, “Do you want me to continue? Do you want me to make some little, tiny cuts along that little egg… get to that yummy yoke?”

I nodded.

“Say it.” She pressed on.

“Yes, yes, god, please continue.”

“Nurse Jenny. Say ‘please continue, Nurse Jenny.’” She nibbled her lower lip as she proclaimed the instructions.

“Yes, please continue, Nurse Jenny.”

“Well now, if you insist.” She giggled musically. She leaned forward, her eyes intensely borrowing at my crotch. She was just about ready to continue. Without moving her head, her eyes flashed up at me, a deviously aroused look in her stark sky-blue eyes, “Remember, don’t move. Not one inch.” This statement was more akin to foreplay, the building up, not so much strict instructions.

And so, I obeyed.

And so, she went on with the task. She placed the twin sharp blades, splayed open, toward the lower portion of my exposed testicle.

and made the tiniest of tiny little snips. The first cut. The thin fleshy membrane surrounding my testicle opened. She had broken ground. Just enough to ease one of the blades inside, the other remained out.

She slowly eased it inward, all the way to the pivot of the scissor. But then she backed it up just slightly so that only half of those tiny blades would be doing the cutting.

“This will only take a couple of snips.” She said coyly. The scissors teasing against my numbed flesh. I could see one of the blades completely disappear into that thin white membrane.

That smile got even more sensual, and the scissor slipped outward so that I could see half of the blade that had once been utterly blanketed by my snipped flesh, “Maybe a few?” She toyed.

And then she pulled the blade out even further so that only a small fraction of the already tiny blade was tucked inside, “Several… perhaps.”

She was in no rush and made sure to show me that she wasn’t.

I didn’t mind.

But I did. I did mind. I was pretty much going out of my mind with extreme excitement, I wanted it done not to get the experience over with, but because I sought release. Release from what? God, I didn’t know. All I knew was that my mind was cooking, melting, and if she continued to do this in such a dragged-out, drawn-out fashion, I would go fucking crazy. My brain would be a mush. It was already feeling mushy-like, but as they want for release, to finish built up, and up, I didn’t know what would happen.

She applied pressure on the chrome finger holes and it snipped… and clipped again. Her movements were precise and never once made a wasted movement. It was truly confidence-inspiring, knowing that this operation was handled with such an expert.

And yet, even in her precision, she found a way to make the actions more stimulating. Not just a run-of-the-mill operation. She added personality to an otherwise impersonal affair. It wasn’t in her movements, and I couldn’t strictly see anything that was different than had this been done by any other person, and yet, yet… there was just something about her.

Her free hand snatched just a little of the newly liberated and malleable flesh. She pulled it up, widening the hole and causing the skin to tighten tautly. The hole that she’d cut was stretching against the connecting flesh. She was preparing to snip this portion, priming it with assistance from her other gloved hand.

She inspected her work, placing one tiny final cut. This snip did absolutely nothing. The hole, I suspected, was big enough. No, I knew the truth of the matter, she just wanted one last tiny snip.

She had a whole other ball to work with – we both knew that.

With her assisting hand, she coaxed out my testicle, this time, it was it. Complete and total. There was nothing much-stopping freedom. Just one more patch, I was sure. But this was not to be conducted with scissors. No.

She palpated the region above where my testicle rested. It responded by jettisoning itself out. It was like a blooming flower. It looked significantly bigger as it squeezed through the laceration, the snip cut, and just hung there. Free. Open. Exposed. Vulnerable.

“Well, well, well, look at what we have here. Oh my, what a beautiful specimen. Don’t you agree?” She cooed, ogling it with her eyes. She took the tiny, bladed scissors and traced along the heaving testicle. She had no intention to snip anything else and yet here she was, tracing it with metallic sharp edges.

But she then discarded the tool for something a little less sinister looking. She raised up her arm and let a thread dangle before me. It looked like floss. For all I knew, it was floss, but surely it was some kind of super-strength medical-grade floss. But the fact remained that it looked like floss.

And she went right back to work. Her movements were less structured and sure though, it was more dexterous and nimbler. First, she took my hanging nut and slowly tugged it. To my surprise, it extended – and extended, a cord connecting to my body properly secured it. She took the floss and wrapped it around the cord. And around again. For good measure, she wove it around a few more times until there was a nice healthy amount of floss wrapping around that cord. Her movements were a dance, she was stepping in tune to some kind of passionate music even though there was none.

And yet, I heard it. I heard that music that she was tightly tying me off to. She pulled the ends of the floss upward and nimbly set to tying it off again and again, the knot easing downward with each pull against the ends.

She tilted her head to the left, and then to the right, she looked at me, and then those eyes looked at the mirror, making sure that everything was set up properly so that I could see the operation as clear as day.

I could. God, I could. I could see how the tight constriction of the knots and floss successfully cut off the cord from the testicle to the body. The border edges, the portion just outside the suffocating grip of the floss, bulged outward – after all the secureness of that floss made no room for much of the excess flesh along the cord and so it had to bulge outward somewhere.

And just like that, she took out those small scissors again and snipped the excess floss from the tie off. She could have snipped both ends with just one cut, yet she opted for the more sensual option, like she seemed to always do, and took one end, cut, letting the loose excess floss float down to the ground. She repeated this action for the other end.

“Almost. Almost there. You’ve been a very good sport about this.” She said softly, but her voice was sultry, deeper, raspier, sensual. If I didn’t know any better, she was nearing an orgasm, had to be.

She let my ball go, after caressing and stroking it for a moment. She took one of her gloves off and exposed her well-manicured, unblemished, pristine hands. She junked the glove and reached into her nurse scrub, through the neckline. And the way she looked at me conveyed perfectly the words ‘just wait’.

And so, I did. My eyes fluttered from her pawing motion as her hand wiggled inward from her neckline to her breasts. The cavern, the canal of her breasts outlined her exploring hand. Her eyes expressively and theatrically glanced upward to the ceiling, I could see the whites of her eyes dancing, swaying from left to right. She knew where she was going, she knew what she was doing. But she put on this show expressly for my purpose, my enjoyment, to really stretch out the tension. She fumbled a moment until finally she got what she was looking for. She retrieved it, whatever it was, with her hand and produced it.

She smiled.

It was a ring box. Beautiful and midnight black.

She tilted it so that I could see it. She pulled to top off, the hinges relenting rather smoothly, and inside was revealed what looked to be a testicle. She took it out, held it to the light, and gave it a squeeze. It looked plastic. Not blatantly so, but enough like plastic to shatter the illusion that it was something real.

“That is right. Plastic. Fake. Nothing of substance. Sad, really. Empty and lifeless.” Her naked hand plucked the plastic testicle from the velvet bed it rested on and she deposited it into a metallic tray.

“Doctor won’t notice. It is passable enough.”

I wanted to ask questions. Maybe questions. But my words fell short, and I was at a loss for words. She could tell that I wanted to ask questions though.

“Now, don’t you go worrying your pretty little head off about this? You will see in time.” She promised with a little smooching kiss as a punctuation of her words.

“Now, I want you to be still with this. Yes, go ahead, I want you to hold this box with one of your hands. Doesn’t matter which, but seeing as I am working on your left testicle, I figure it is only fitting that you use the right hand, don’t you agree?”

I did.

I still didn’t understand what was going on, but the mystery of it was adding gas to my already igniting mind.

Our hands met halfway.

Our fingers touched. Flesh on flesh. Flesh on flesh that hadn’t succumbed to general anesthetic. And the box traded hands, possession.

“Now, hold it so the hinge is facing you. That poor little lonely box won’t be lonely for much longer.” She spoke.

And it was then that I truly understood what she was driving at.

Holy shit.

Just then she purred even more, “Actually, I think you might want to have them both cut at the same time, right?” She inquired, reaching back into the depths of her breasts and producing yet another box. Her actions were less of a show and quick.

I had both of my hands outstretched, a box in either hand.

And she astutely returned to her job. She put the gloves back on. Sterilized. She did these actions slowly, glacially slow. Purring all the while, she even treated my ears with humming from her throat.

Then she went back with her gloved hands to the table, where the scalpel was, “One down, one to go, hmmm?” She giggled a little to herself.

The cold, razor-sharp tip dipped against my ball sack, cutting open my flesh. This time she looked right at me. Her movements were precise. She knew the procedure; she didn’t need eyes for it. She held me captive, and my eyes gravitated toward her working hands and the one testicle already hanging outward. It moved from her movements.

She slit right on down the sack. It was a sure strike.

With the first wall of defense down, she went back on up with that blade and gently traced up and down until the blade found purchase and the thin walls of my testicle were cut, the film spreading with delicate ease.

I knew the procedure by now. She took the scissors, little, tiny ones, and sliced through the shell around my testicle, to expose it.

She gently massaged the ball sack, encouraging it out. It hung down just like its twin, but it was not its twin, not yet. There was still the tie-off. Which she did methodically. Around over, around over, though, tie, tightly.

She snipped the excess floss and now my balls looked like twins. Both out and waiting to be separated from my body properly.

This entire time I was aroused, my cock rock hard… but during the course of the second operation --- well, my cock was hard enough to cut glass, it must have been responding in zeal because somehow it just knew without a doubt that this was the last time it would taste the glories of erection.

And then new scissors were in her hand. Not the small, tiny ones, these were bigger, heftier. They were meant for thoroughly cutting flesh that might be otherwise more resistant than the thin film she had cut prior.

She opened the blades wide like a mouth and placed it right at the beginning of the cord, or rather, the end, where it connected to my testicle. It was an inch or a few away from the tight band of floss she had tied off. It was like a magician's trick, the way she produced those scissors. She took it and gingerly traced along the elastic cord, gently rolling the blades up along the cord until it was resting on the bottom portion of what was tied off.

She slipped the blades so that they could separate the cord in one go.

But I knew her game. And she knew I knew.

And God, I knew that she knew I knew also.

It was a shared agreement between us on how she would proceed. She didn’t take the cord in one giant lifeless boring cut, no, oh no, she cut the cord halfway through and took positive relish in the fact that she had to cut the cord several times just to have it separate. At first cut, the testicle limped lower, the cord struggling to remain connected, to support such tremendous weight without the assistance of the other half of the cord.

Snip

Snip

Snip

It fell from my body. I was numb but somehow, somehow, I just felt its emptied presence, the way it disappeared. Like an invisible weight off my shoulder. It was at that point that I was a mess on the table, my body arched a little – it was a tall tale sign of an orgasm that rolled through my body, and yet no cum came out, but God, it was an orgasm, of that I could be sure. The most powerful I had ever experienced, and yet, without anything to show for it, it was perhaps the most powerful orgasm that I never actually had.

This is not to say that I didn’t ejaculate. The tip of my penis gaped open, and clear liquid translucent seed spilled from the tip, running down my shaft.

“Oh, I hope there is more where that came from. A lot more.” She laughed; she knew there was.

She held the ball in her palm, her gloved thumb stroking against it, admiring it. She held it up to her face and she just seemed to appreciate it. Just making love with it with her eyes.

And then.

She gave it a little peck. A kiss. The type of kiss a mother would give to her offspring.

Halfway done.

And then she took that orb and placed it reverently into the box.

Nurse Jenny then took the box out of my hand and closed it.

“One, now let's work on two.” She teased. Took those scissors and sniped. It was a giant undertaking, severing my ball from the cord immediately and without remorse.

My toes curled, I tensed, and my cock exploded. Cum painting everywhere. It went on Nurse Jenny’s face, her uniform. Everywhere! What made me explode a second twice, a back-to-back as it were, was that Nurse Jenny during the last snip, well, she leaned right in and opened her mouth. And awaited the load she knew was sure to cum.

The seed, the last of its kind, dripped down her lips. She licked it right on up with relish.

And then she slowly pulled it away from me. A sacred part of my anatomy and deposited the box in between her breasts again.

“I will be safekeeping these.” And she, with some white traces of my come on her face, licked it all on up while she made the two boxes disappear into her cleavage.

She took the gloves off and looked at my cock, her fingers running along her face, making sure to collect the last remains of the seed… and swallow it. Making it disappear forever.

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on the tip of my cock, a firm hand squeezing around my manhood, stroking and jerking it.

“I just want the very last bits. I am going to squeeze it all out of you. The last seed is the best seed.” She teased, “And you know who it belongs to? Me. Your last cum spurt, all mine. Oh yes. You can no longer have a child, you can no longer produce any sperm, no seed, nothing. But it was worth it, wasn’t it?” She slowly circled her finger around the tip of the cock, just to make sure nothing new came out, to make sure it was perfectly and absolutely drained, “I think you had as much fun, if not more, than me… Such a good patient.”

She planted a nice warm kiss on the tip.

And her warm mouth enclosed my cock. The whole thing. And she began to suck with relish and delight, moaning as she did. There was nothing left for her to devour, and yet, oh god, she was very professional in so far as she was thorough.