A Night Out (Part 2)

NONE ENTERED BY AUTHOR

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Sam’s week began uneventfully. He worked his usual hours and was his 
usual pleasant self. There was one instance in the kitchen of 
Abracadabra when some hot liquid spilled on his feet and he had to 
clean up and change his socks. Withdrawing to the employees’ locker 
room, he pulled them off and was preparing to pull on some fresh 
ones when another waiter came in and glanced his way. Sam could see 
that Paul took a long second look at his altered feet, as if not 
believing what he was seeing, but he said nothing and went about his 
business. Sam liked Paul and they often spent their break times 
together, albeit in a purely co-employee relationship. He wondered 
if anything would be mentioned about this. He didn’t have long to 
wait.
The following day, Sam and Paul took their break, as usual, and Sam 
could tell that something was on Paul’s mind. "I can see that 
something is bothering you, Paulie. Get it off your chest."
"Do you mind?" he replied.
"Nope," said Sam.
"I couldn’t help but notice your feet," said Paul hesitantly. "I 
remember, at the employee picnic last year, when we swam, that I 
thought your feet were beautiful. I don’t remember them like they 
are now."
"No. They are different. I made a couple of changes that intrigued 
me. Would you like to see them up close?"
"I would love to, Sam, but not here. Everyone would talk"
"True," mused Sam. "I could come over to your place after work today 
and you can look to your heart’s content...even touch them if you 
wish." Sam could see that Paul was getting excited at the prospect.
"That would be great, Sam. Let’s do it." Paul’s face brightened as 
he said it.
The rest of the day went quickly and soon Sam and Paul were off to 
Paul’s apartment, looking for all the world like two college boys 
with the knapsacks used for dirty work clothes slung over their 
backs.. It wasn’t far from the restaurant and they walked the 
distance quickly.
I’ve been on my feet all day, Paul. May I wash them before you do 
anything?"
"Sure, replied Paul. "The bathroom is there, and towels are on the 
stand," motioning to a closed door.
Sam entered the room and closed the door. He removed his shoes and 
socks and washed his feet vigorously, wiping them dry and dusting 
them with talcum.
He donned some fresh white socks, then the sneakers, and crumpled 
the sock tops down to the shoe tops.  Suitable, he thought, as he 
opened the door and stepped into the sitting room.
Paul’s expression was somewhat expectant, thought Sam, as he took a 
seat in a chair as directed, silently, by Paul, who immediately came 
to him and sat on the floor.
Sam placed his feet on a small footstool and Paul immediately began 
to undo the laces., practically in a swoon. "Why are you interested 
in my feet, Paul?" inquired Sam. They are just feet."
"Oh, but they are not just feet, Sam. They are the most beautiful 
feet I had ever seen. After the picnic I couldn’t stop thinking 
about them, but I didn’t dare to talk to you about them. What 
happened in the locker room was a bonus because here we are. Now, I 
must see them." He hesitated. "Are they ruined?" He looked up at 
Sam, who shook his head from side to side very confidently.
"I hope not." Paul was already removing one sock, an act that Sam 
found suddenly erotic. Strange, he thought, because I haven’t had 
any feeling for Paul up to now. By this time, the cuts were 
completely healed, and the lines barely visible.
"Oh, Sam," sighed Paul, "it is still beautiful. Even more so than 
before. I never thought an altered foot could be more attractive 
than the whole thing." He quickly grabbed the other foot and 
practically tore off the sock. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "This is even 
better than I had hoped. Together, they are intoxicating!" He began 
to rub each foot, running his fingers between the remaining toes, 
which Sam found very exciting. In fact, he began to rise, then 
noticed that Paul was equally excited and that his crotch had begun 
to expand.  
"Enough, Paul, before this goes too far." Sam smiled as he said 
this, and Paul immediately calmed down, looking a bit disappointed. 
"Are there any questions, or comments? Would you be interested in 
having this sort of thing done?"
"I don’t know, Sam. What would my parents say? And how would it be 
without all those toes?"
"It has made no difference to me, Paul. I can run and jump and walk 
perfectly naturally, probably because the remaining toes are 
distributed evenly on the feet. It might be different if two were 
removed from either end, or the big toe was removed. That one is the 
most important, I think. But I just love the look, and the looks of 
envy it will surely bring when I show them in public...just like the 
look I saw in your face both then, and now."
"Did you do it yourself?"
"No, Paul. I had a...friend do it, but I watched closely, and I 
think I could do it if I had to. It is just a matter of clamping off 
an artery or two and making a clean cut so the edges can be sewn 
together. Anyhow, if you wanted it done, I could probably make 
arrangements for someone experienced to do it." He paused. "What do 
you think of the look? Isn’t it great!"
"It is...it is.   Will you please strip to your underwear so I can 
see what it looks like when you are nearly naked?"
"Sure," replied Sam, as he removed his shorts and top. He walked to 
a long mirror mounted on the bathroom door and looked intently. Paul 
followed him and looked equally deeply. Sam like what he saw...a 
slim yet well-built body with feet that just captured the eye. Truly 
exotic, he thought, and Paul echoed that thought in words. "I didn’t 
think anyone could look so attractive. Your feet are to die! I must 
have it done, or at least one toe from each foot! The middle one, I 
think. Could I do it myself?"
"Not unless you want to end up in a hospital. If you don’t know what 
you are doing, you could experience some pretty heavy bleeding. I 
will try to make some arrangements. You would love to do something 
like this, wouldn't you? But what will you tell your friends and, 
especially, your parents?"
"I’ll think of something.  You know the bit about necessity. Maybe 
an imaginary mugging and mutilation."
Sam frowned. "Kinda hokey. You could have dropped something heavy on 
one foot but not on both and cause the same damage. You may just 
have to come clean, and hope the folks don’t commit you." He grinned 
broadly. "I don’t have that problem because I don’t have any family 
to contend with, and my friends have come to expect anything from 
me." He returned to the chair and pulled on his shorts. "But what is 
the attraction to feet?"
"I wish I knew, Sam. I have always been turned on by clean, 
well-cared-for feet, like yours were before you worked on them, and 
you have made them better than ever. I would love for you to stroke 
my body all over with your feet...to feel those three toes making 
tracks on my flesh would be the end."
"I will, if you insist, Paul, but it seems like a strange thing to 
want. I gotta say, though, that suddenly my feet seem much more 
attractive to me, too. I guess I made the right move." Sam didn’t 
dare tell Paul that someone else had done it, without telling Sam 
about it until it was over. "I better get going, Paul. I have things 
to do before I go to bed tonight. I suppose I should tell you, too, 
that I am leaving the restaurant. I found another job that will mean 
some traveling, so I won’t be seeing you very often. I will try to 
set up a "cutting" for you, if you really want it.  I will call in a 
couple of weeks; you should know by then."
Sam pulled on the rest of his clothes, embraced Paul, kissed him 
gently, and left.

The rest of the week flew by, and Sam was busy with a variety of 
things connected with closing up shop. He gave notice to both 
employer and landlord, brought most of his clothes to the local 
Goodwill store and pawned what few electronics paraphernalia was 
salable. When he presented himself at 1600 Mockingbird Circle, at 
precisely 8AM, he owned only the clothes on his back and the money 
in his pocket, amounting to just a few dollars for cab fare, if 
necessary, having put the rest in a savings account opened 
specifically to receive the weekly salary that Avery was to pay. 
Charles answered the door. "Come in, Sam," he said. " Mr. Avery is 
expecting you." Charles led Sam into the study where Avery, seated 
in an easy chair, rose when they entered. Charles immediately 
withdrew and closed the door. 
"Hello, Sam," said Avery. You are traveling light. Does that 
mean...?"
"It means I am ready, Avery. I have nothing else left. I disposed of 
everything."
"Good. I guess you ARE ready." He pointed to a document on the desk. 
"There is the contract that I mentioned and that you must sign. I 
want you to read it carefully. If something is difficult to 
understand, please ask about it. I want no unpleasantness, but I 
want you to clearly understand the obligations of being a slave. 
Once the contract is signed, there is no turning back for the 
duration of the contract. Is that clear?"
"Yes, very clear," replied Sam.  He began to read the document. The 
first provisions were pretty standard contract language, including 
the exchange of consideration to make it enforceable. Sam remembered 
a bit from school that contracts to force human servitude were not 
enforceable, but he had long since decided not to investigate that 
aspect. The prospect of being a slave, of having his whole being 
completely subject to the will, or whim of another, fascinated him, 
and he was willing to endure a five-year period to experience it.
"You mentioned last week that there would be some alterations in my 
appearance, or such. Can you tell me a little more about that?"
"There will probably be no more removals, to put it delicately, but 
there may well be piercings, or tattoos in places that are not 
visible when reasonably dressed, but they would be geometric or 
arabesque designs...no figures or faces. I might choose to make your 
body a canvas for artistic development. I might demand that you 
begin a body-building regimen even more rigorous than what you do 
now. My slaves must be attractive to my guests, even if they are not 
for their pleasure."
"Hmmmm.  I see. I guess I can handle that. I hope I can handle 
that." He drummed is fingers on the desk. Some might think it showed 
concern. He was simply pondering his commitment. He read through the 
provisions regarding unfailing allegiance to Avery and his vow of 
silence as to this employment and, with a flourish, signed his name, 
then handed the document to Avery, who folded it carefully and put 
it in an inside pocket of his jacket. "I don’t need to sign it. This 
is a  contract that commits you as surely as if we both had signed. 
Your contribution is your participation. My contribution is your 
keep and salary. Is that understood?" he paused. "You brought 
deposit slips?"
Sam nodded, and handed them to Avery.
"Good," replied Avery. "You are now mine, in a matter of speaking. 
You must immediately remember your place."
"Yes, Av...er..Master," replied Sam, who  rose quickly from the desk 
and stepped behind Avery and to his right, with his head slightly 
downcast.
"Very good, Sam,!" exulted Avery. "You ARE a quick study.  Charles," 
he called out. "Show Sam to his quarters, please, and prepare him 
for service."
Charles, who had entered immediately upon being called, showed Sam 
the way by a wave of his hand. Sam followed, head still downcast, 
until he left Avery’s presence.
Sam’s face brightened and he began to chat with Charles, who scolded 
him with a shake of his head. "You must remember, Sam, that your 
position is the same no matter what the circumstances, in the house 
or on the property, alone or with others. I am the head of the 
household staff, of which you have just become one. You speak only 
when spoken to, there is no contact between members of staff unless 
necessary, and your head is always to be downcast. You always look 
at those with whom you come into contact from under your brow. If 
you neglect this, Mr. Avery has ways of impressing it on you." They 
stepped into a comfortably appointed room. It was large, with 
several windows, a Queen-size bed and several pieces of comfortable 
furniture, and not the room he spent the first night in.  A door was 
open, revealing a bathroom. There was one rather small closet. "Mr. 
Avery does not believe in austere accommodations for staff. This 
suite is for his personal slave. It is only in here that you can 
relax." Charles pointed to a box with a window and several labeled 
lights. "That is your call box. It will buzz whenever Mr. Avery 
summons you, which can be any time of the day or night. The light 
will tell you where to go. I suggest that you do not tarry when it 
rings. By the way, only Mr. Avery will summon you by that box." He 
pointed to a box on a chair. "Please remove everything and place it 
in that box. It will be held for you. I suggest that you next try to 
move your bowels. If you have problems, there are suppositories in 
the bathroom chest. You might find yourself using them regularly for 
a while, too. When you are finished, there are several tunics in the 
closet. Take the plain one and put it on. I will wait, but be brief, 
if possible."
"Yes, Charles." Sam did as he was told, holding his head downcast. 
When he removed his shoes and socks he, for the first time, saw the 
impact of the surgery. Stealing a glance in the door mirror, he 
thought he looked not unlike a great chicken, with three toes on 
each foot.  A tunic ending in a flounce that came to just below his 
crotch, resembling feathers, and the cowl sleeves not unlike wings 
would complete the illusion. He withdrew to the commode and closed 
the door, only to hear Charles say he was never to close the door on 
himself unless he was alone in his quarters, so he swung it open, 
feeling more than slightly self-conscious when he sat on the toilet. 
He was able to urinate but the bowels were obstinate, so he got up 
and obtained a suppository from the chest. He looked at it uneasily, 
and Charles, who was quietly watching all of this, came in, took  it 
from him and directed him to the bed.
"Lie down on your stomach, please, Sam," he said, and he deftly 
inserted the bullet-shaped medication deep into his rectum. "Now, 
just be patient for a while." Charles moved to a stereo and turned 
it on, as if to encourage the relaxation of the muscles. In about 
ten minutes, Sam rose quickly and flew to the commode, where he 
experienced an explosion from his insides. 
"May I shower, Charles?" 
"Of course, Sam, but be quick." Charles sat down on the edge of the 
bed to wait.  Shortly, Sam emerged from the bathroom, went directly 
to the closet, selected the plain tunic and donned it without a 
word.
"Follow me, please," commanded Charles, and they left the room and 
returned to the area that Sam remembered as the place where he was 
glued.
"Stand near the table, please." Charles removed his jacket and 
reached for a strange-looking device on a nearby shelf. The same 
person who had removed his toes was in attendance, apparently 
waiting to be summoned by Charles. 
"You will wear this style of belt at all times during your  period 
of service. Morgan (here, he motioned to the other person, who came 
forth) will take measurements and fabricate one to your 
specifications very quickly, because the components are adjustable. 
I will remove it once a day, at 9:30PM, for you to evacuate your 
bowels and to shower. You must calculate your intake accordingly, 
because there are no exceptions. You will be held to this strict 
schedule. Now, stand straight, please, and let Morgan do his work."
The other slave came and, with tape measure, rapidly measured here 
and there, and disappeared into another room, returning about 10 
minutes later with a device similar to that shown by Charles but 
with slightly different dimensions.
Charles laid the harness on the table so Sam could examine it 
closely, which would make it easier to apply. The first thing Sam 
noticed was that this one, unlike the one he wore during the first 
visit, had metal rather than leather straps, which made sitting much 
more difficult, and uncomfortable. There was a larger butt-plug 
attached to the strap that passed between the legs, and the waist 
straps were slightly splayed, apparently to rest on his pelvic 
girdle. On the front was a device that appeared to be a very narrow 
chrome bird’s beak. Sam looked at it in some detail, and noticed one 
thing especially...the fastening mechanism was  something that 
required a key or other device to open. Once in this thing, he knew 
he would be well stuck.
"Okay, Sam. First things first. Here is the water," motioning to a 
plastic footbath.  "On the table and feet in, please."
Sam looked apprehensively at Charles. "There are to be no more 
removals, Charles. The Master promised that."
"Wrong, Sam. Master said there probably wouldn’t be any more 
removals. In any case, what is going are the nails. If you were a 
monkey and had to pick up things  with your toes, then the nails 
would be an advantage in stiffening the flesh, but you are not." 
Charles pointed to the water, and Sam slowly inserted his feet, 
which was followed immediately with the dry ice.
Shortly, Sam was directed to lie back on the table and pull himself 
up a bit, and Morgan did his work. There was no pain, and when he 
raised his head to look., each toe was wrapped tightly.
"Master insists that you  be ‘confined" immediately, Sam, so the 
genital hobble  is next. Just  lie back against those shoulder stops 
and raise your legs into a tuck. This will get easier with 
experience, but we will do it this way for a while." 
Sam complied and Morgan stepped forward and grabbed a bar suspended 
from two chains. He pulled it down and under Sam’s knees, then swung 
two hinged C-clamps over Sam’s legs just below the knees and locked 
them in place. Sam could no longer swing his legs free of the bar, 
which Morgan now caused to be raised slightly, which pulled Sam’s 
buttocks just off the table and exposed his anus.
Charles had put on a rubber glove and dipped his finger into 
lubricating jelly, which he then applied generously to Sam’s nether 
regions. He then carefully inserted the large plug deep into Sam’s 
rectum.  "Morgan!" he said sharply, and Morgan let down the bar and 
unfastened the clamps, allowing Sam some freedom. He felt somewhat 
uncomfortable with this foreign body in his own, but Charles quickly 
brought him to attention.
"Stand, please." Charles’ voice had a slight edge, thought Sam, so 
he best respond quickly. He leapt to his feet, without thinking 
about the just-completed surgery. Charles began to fasten the other 
components. First the side straps which, from the way they were 
twisted,  fitted snugly on top of Sam’s pelvis. When fastened, there 
was no possibility of downward  movement. Next, he dealt with the 
bird’s beak. He held it up to Sam’s crotch, decided on the best 
position and fastened it to the pelvic belt. Sam was able to see 
that it would completely cover his groin. It was thick, with a 
cylindrical hole on the underside. He saw no room for his testicles. 
Charles lifted the "beak" slightly. "Okay, Sam," he said. "Your 
penis in the hole, please" 
Sam complied, noting that his entire member fit in the hole and 
that, when flush against his groin, had no possibility of coming 
out. Charles then deftly manipulated Sam’s testicles, eventually 
pushing them out of the scrotum and under the skin alongside the 
penis. He then quickly pushed the "beak" against Sam’s groin, 
flattening the scrotum and preventing the testicles from descending. 
Sam felt slightly uncomfortable, again, but didn’t say anything.
Charles reached around Sam’s leg and grabbed the strap that hung 
from the tip of the ‘beak.’ He pulled it tight against Sam’s bones 
and attached it to the pelvic belt. Finally, he adjusted the 
butt-plug slightly and fastened its flange to the strap he had just 
pulled under Sam’s legs. ‘That’s that," he exclaimed. "You will have 
the rest of the night to yourself, Sam, to get used to these new 
things." He led Sam back to his quarters and left.

Sam looked at his new hardware. His toes were beginning to be 
sensitive, but they were tolerable. On the other hand, this chastity 
belt was a different proposition. He stood before the mirror and 
examined it carefully. It was ingeniously fabricated. The straps 
were twisted in the right places for comfort and pierced for easy 
connection of all components. He rapped the ‘beak’ smartly with his 
knuckles. No feeling whatever. It operated just like a cup that goes 
in a jock strap. All the pressure is against the pelvis. He suddenly 
felt the urge to urinate and absentmindedly reached for his penis, 
only to realize that it was not accessible. He went to the toilet 
and straddled the bowl, releasing his sphincter. It flowed through a 
hole in the top of the ‘beak.’ At least I don’t have to sit to pee, 
thought Sam with some satisfaction. He wondered, though, just what 
it would be like if he got hard, inasmuch as his penis was 
permanently held in a downward position. He also noted, with dismay, 
that it was no longer possible to scratch his genitals if he should 
have an itch. Because of this device, they were there and not there, 
simultaneously. He hoped that he would be able to hold his bowels 
until tomorrow at this time. 24 hours was a long time to go without 
taking  a dump, he thought. He tried to sit and found that it could 
be done if he was careful not to sit heavily onto a chair, in which 
case, the strap would push into his crotch, so tight was the fit. 
Sam couldn’t help but notice that this device created a pretty sleek 
look around his crotch. He removed his tunic and walked gingerly 
around the room just to get the feel of the device. Already, it was 
becoming more familiar, and easier to wear. He turned down the bed 
and sat down on it, lifting and turning his legs onto it.  He would 
be able to endure this, he thought, even for five years. Sam laid 
his head on the pillow and was, almost immediately, asleep.
The next morning, when Sam awoke, he felt a dull pain in his crotch. 
It was clear that his balls were not doing well in their new home 
under his skin. There seemed to be constant pressure from the ‘beak’ 
that was more than the testicles could bear. He reported this to 
Avery when he came in for a consultation.
"Master," began Sam," eyes remaining downcast, "my balls 
ache...constantly." he absentmindedly rubbed his crotch and 
contacted the metal of the cover. "it is the pressure of the 
chastity shield."
"Hmmm. That is too bad," returned Avery. "You must wear the 
equipment, so there is only one alternative. I was hoping that there 
would be no more cutting, but another is inevitable." He looked at 
Sam with arched eyebrows, and Sam knew.
"I understand, and it’s OK, Master," said Sam, evenly.
"Come to the dispensary, in an hour." Avery pursed his lips and left 
the room.
Sam shaved, cleaned up, applied deodorant and fragrance and dressed 
in his tunic. His feet, with the still-bandaged toes, felt 
reasonably comfortable, despite having had the surgery the previous 
day. He gave himself a once-over in the mirror and went to the 
modification room (he decided that was a good name for it) where 
Morgan was already in attendance, holding a key-like device in his 
hand.
"On the table," he said briskly, motioning with his left hand.
Sam complied by hoisting himself up and letting himself down gently 
on the hard surface. The contact with the harness produced a dull 
"Clank" which was ignored by both of them. He lay back and Morgan 
pulled him up to the shoulder bumpers. He extended Sam’s arms and 
placed them in manacles that were fastened to the table top. Funny, 
thought Sam, that I didn’t see those before. 
Morgan then spread Sam’s legs wide on the table...almost more than 
he could stand...and placed the feet in stirrups attached to the 
table while strapping down the ankles to immobilize Sam's lower 
body.  Morgan reached under the table and threw a lever and Sam 
noticed that a section of the table slid away, allowing Morgan to 
approach his genitals, which he did, using the device he was holding 
to release the fasteners on the belt. He removed it and looked at 
Sam’s equipment. He shook his head approvingly and reached for a 
syringe and a vial of clear liquid.
"This won’t hurt a bit, Sam. Just a pinprick or two" he made several 
injections in and around Sam’s scrotum, while Sam flinched slightly. 
In about ten minutes Morgan touched Sam’s penis. "Feel anything?" he 
asked. 
"I feel that the area is moved by your touch, but I feel nothing of 
the touch."
Morgan took a pin and stuck it into the penis. "Feel that...?"
"Nope," replied Sam.
"...and this?" Morgan stuck it into Sam’s scrotum.
"Nope, again." Replied Sam.
"Then I guess we are ready. First, I will shave the area, so no hair 
gets in the way when I join the skin. I am then going to open your 
scrotum and remove your testes. I will stretch the cords and suture 
them and clip them quite high, so that when I disconnect your balls, 
the cords, being elastic, will withdraw into your abdomen." He took 
a scalpel from a sterile package and swiftly made the appropriate 
incisions. Grabbing a cauterization tool he quickly touched it to 
the areas that began  oozing blood, which stopped it immediately.  
He extracted each testis, pulled its cord dramatically, and clamped 
it so he could place a line of sutures across the tube very close to 
Sam’s groin. This done, he clipped the cords just below the sutures, 
leaving each testis to drop with an accompanying length of tube, and 
the remaining stump of each tube instantly disappeared into Sam.
"Now," he continued, I will remove the scrotum, and I will draw down 
some skin from  your penis to close the opening, so none of the 
scrotum skin, which is thin and flexible, will remain. I think you 
will like the results."
Morgan worked quickly and shortly stepped back, as if to evaluate 
his work. "Perfect," he muttered.
About that time, Avery walked in. He, too, was pleased, and showed 
Sam by repositioning an overhead mirror. Sam, still fastened to the 
table, looked intently and could only marvel at how large his penis 
now appeared, not having the scrotum as a comparison piece. It never 
retracted, even when chilled, and now, it looked stupendous.  The 
suture to stand at my side. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," replied Sam.
"I know that Charles has instructed you, but do you have any 
requests? This will be your one and only time to make them."
"Only one, Master," replied Sam. "May I have a sunlamp for my 
quarters? I think I will be more attractive to you and your guests 
if I am tanned, especially my feet." Sam remembered not to raise his 
head but to look at Avery from under his brow.
"That is a good idea, Sam, and one will be installed." He paused. 
"Now, much as it pains me, because this is your first day of real 
service, you must be disciplined."
"Why, Master," inquired Sam.
"Because you violated one of the rules, Sam," replied Avery. You 
were sent to Morgan and you spoke to him. I am sure you noticed that 
he didn't reply?" Avery arched his brows.
Sam thought back and realized what he had done.
Avery continued. "I understand that you were just being friendly, 
even civil, but you are not to make those choices. Those are the 
rules, aren't they?"
"Yes, Master," replied Sam. "Sam is sorry." 
"I am sorry, too, Sam, but I must impose punishment or the other 
staff will get the wrong idea."
"Yes, Master," replied Sam, barely holding back tears, mostly 
because he didn't know what the discipline was to be or how it was 
to be imposed.
"Please report to Morgan." Avery said it with finality and returned 
to his reading. Sam correctly read this as a dismissal, and he left 
without another word, proceeding directly to the mod room.
As before, Morgan was at the table. He looked up and motioned to Sam 
to come to the table and lie down pointing at the shoulder stops. 
Sam did as he was motioned, and Morgan fastened his feet in the 
stirrups and his hands in the cuffs. Now, however, he brought a 
belly belt out and fastened it tightly around Sam's midsection, and 
a smaller band around his forehead, also fastened to the table.  
What a remarkable table, thought Sam, to have all of these anchor 
points for belts and straps and cuffs. Sam was now unable to move. 
Morgan pushed a button and the table tilted so that Sam was 
suspended in a standing position, much like the target of a carnival 
knife-thrower. He then approached Sam with a peculiar-looking tool 
and motioned for Sam to open his mouth. Sam opened wide and Morgan 
deftly grabbed his tongue with the device and locked it so Sam could 
no longer control his tongue. Morgan could pull it to its full 
extension at will, and he did, hanging a large weight on it. He then 
let go and Sam discovered that the weight prevented him from 
retracting the tongue. He held it while he took a hypodermic needle 
and injected its contents into Sam's tongue.  In a minute, Sam could 
feel nothing.  Morgan took a pin and poked it into the fleshy 
member.  No flinches from Sam. Morgan smiled and nodded 
affirmatively. He then took two other larger and longer needle-type 
probes and, using a template, quickly pierced Sam's tongue twice 
along the centerline. . Sam couldn't see what happened then, but 
Morgan unscrewed the sharp tip from each probe and took two 
tongue-shaped pieces of metal. They were bulky but not long. Morgan 
quickly applied one to the top of Sam's tongue and the other to the 
bottom, making a bizarre sandwich in which the first third of his 
tongue was the filling. The probes were just long enough to reach 
the surfaces of the inserts, and Morgan fastened them with screws 
that held the pieces tightly to Sam's tongue. This done, Morgan 
released the clamp and swung the table to its horizontal position. 
He unfastened Sam and motioned him to the door.