Changing Time
Knees to chest, straps encumbering thighs and calves, Kelly sprays away the mass of urine and feces, three days of odorous excretions. Gratefully the room air immediately begins to clear. Within moments she can ironically begin to detect her own scent, sans undergarments the evidence of her arousal quite apparent.
Spray hose stowed, she palms the meaty scrotal sac, kneading the plump testicles, enjoying her power, gently squeezing to bring forth a paroxysmal twitch of the arms. And yes the untouched penis stirs, slowly engorging with the many days of neglect and abundant hormones.
“Your penis is hardening again, Chestnuts. Do you like showing off for women,” Kelly pressing the button for speech. “You may reply.”
The molt gag remaining aside, Kelly begins the psychological process of bonding, knowing that the sense of relief overwhelms, knowing that her charge must fully understand that it is a controlling woman... she with ownership... who has bestowed such relief.
“I... I don’t know, Miss Kelly,” the diction mangled by altered teeth.
“You should give it some thought. I’ll put you on display if you’d like. Good boys, obedient boys, get freed of the table.”
“To move!”
“Oh yes. You be a good boy and you can show off your erection to all the nurses and visitors here.”
“No diapers!”
“Without anything. You’d like that wouldn’t you! Being shown naked.”
“Well it would be nice to use the bathroom instead of... instead of... soiling myself.”
“I’d put you back in diapers, Chestnuts. Your nakedness would only be for a little while. I like having you in diapers... keeps you randy and eager to be cleansed... keeps your penis nice and ripe... your balls juicy.”
Kelly fills a bowl with warm water, adds soap, locates a razor. The maternal care... the exacting care... begins.
A Parting Gift
Having cleansed, shaved, and applied depilation lotion Kelly entertains herself splaying the upturned cheeks and inserting two fingers well into the rectum. In finding the prostate gland she notes Chestnuts’ penis twitches with every slight press of her curled fingers. Pre ejaculatory fluid begins to ooze, bringing a glisten to the engorged purple penis tip. It is demented joy, forcing forth what as been so cruelly repressed... but joy all the same.
Meanwhile Chestnuts moans, the powerful lotion burning sensitive flesh, the bottle’s explicit directions to avoid contact with the genitals explicitly ignored.
Sensing progress in the battle for glabrousness, Kelly withdraws her penetrating fingers and grasps a moist towel finally ending the searing torment with cooling relief. There will be more visits, more applications, more suffering, and finally the follicles will permanently surrender.
Meanwhile, feminine power bringing vaginal frothiness, Kelly for sure detects the scent of her own arousal. She steps to the sink, disposes of the cleansing towel and washes her hands. She then reaches under her skirt finding the evidence of her arousal, coating many fingers. In returning to her toy, she moistens his nose and upper lip. Observing the reaction of the male hound amuses. He deeply inhales, his stiffness waggling, his delight undisguised.
‘They’re all hounds,’ she thinks to herself, noting her scent fosters further priapism.
Yes, Chestnuts will be trained, the joy of being cleansed, the feel of warm soothing caresses, sensing smooth soapiness, will be ingrained with the scent of her feminine fragrance. He’ll learn to savor it.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
More Censorship
It appears we no longer need to fear government censorship. Big business is more than adequately fulfilling the role.
Not only are the nerds of Amazon rifling through page after page of smut to determine 'acceptability', but now Google will be reviewing pictures. Wonder what prude got that job!
See below.
Perhaps Google has developed self censoring software (like their self driving car). Hate to think an employee has to look at all the nasty nude pictures.
Hopefully this blog will not be affected as my postings have for the most part been the written word.
*********************************************************************************
Dear Blogger User,
We're writing to tell you about an upcoming change to the Blogger Content
Policy that may affect your account.
In the coming weeks, we'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually
explicit or graphic nude images or video. We'll still allow nudity
presented in artistic, educational, documentary, or scientific contexts, or
where there are other substantial benefits to the public from not taking
action on the content.
The new policy will go into effect on the 23rd of March 2015. After this
policy goes into effect, Google will restrict access to any blog identified
as being in violation of our revised policy. No content will be deleted,
but only blog authors and those with whom they have expressly shared the
blog will be able to see the content we've made private.
Our records indicate that your account may be affected by this policy
change. Please refrain from creating new content that would violate this
policy. Also, we ask that you make any necessary changes to your existing
blog to comply as soon as possible, so that you won't experience any
interruptions in service. You may also choose to create an archive of your
content via Google Takeout
(https://www.google.com/settings/takeout/custom/blogger).
For more information, please read here
(https://support.google.com/blogger?p=policy_update).
Sincerely,
The Blogger Team
Not only are the nerds of Amazon rifling through page after page of smut to determine 'acceptability', but now Google will be reviewing pictures. Wonder what prude got that job!
See below.
Perhaps Google has developed self censoring software (like their self driving car). Hate to think an employee has to look at all the nasty nude pictures.
Hopefully this blog will not be affected as my postings have for the most part been the written word.
*********************************************************************************
Dear Blogger User,
We're writing to tell you about an upcoming change to the Blogger Content
Policy that may affect your account.
In the coming weeks, we'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually
explicit or graphic nude images or video. We'll still allow nudity
presented in artistic, educational, documentary, or scientific contexts, or
where there are other substantial benefits to the public from not taking
action on the content.
The new policy will go into effect on the 23rd of March 2015. After this
policy goes into effect, Google will restrict access to any blog identified
as being in violation of our revised policy. No content will be deleted,
but only blog authors and those with whom they have expressly shared the
blog will be able to see the content we've made private.
Our records indicate that your account may be affected by this policy
change. Please refrain from creating new content that would violate this
policy. Also, we ask that you make any necessary changes to your existing
blog to comply as soon as possible, so that you won't experience any
interruptions in service. You may also choose to create an archive of your
content via Google Takeout
(https://www.google.com/settings/takeout/custom/blogger).
For more information, please read here
(https://support.google.com/blogger?p=policy_update).
Sincerely,
The Blogger Team
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - The Drive Home/Visit Two
The Drive Home
Kelly’s mind rewinds, the moisture of her loins continuing to flow as she pictures her hands working, smoothing ice over heated pubes, finally holding the freezing lump to the torrid standing penis of her charge. Ah, such futile lurching, arms pulling, restrained legs attempting to straighten in shocked reaction.
Watching the scrotum shrink, the chestnut sized testicles defensively returning to the inguinal canals, spurred laughter. Finally, what stood so straightly and firmly capitulated to her wishes, meekly shrinking, ready to be returned to a chastising diaper.
‘Smooth and clean,’ she announced as a palpating hand caressed seductively.
Soft absorbent cloth, pinned in place as with any infant. Then a fresh canvas chastity cover, metal lined, hooked to the front of the waist band. As required in the Guidebook, a left hand pressed the penis downward, tip to the rectum, the flaccid shaft pressuring the chestnut gonads as her right hand threaded the locking strap under the waist band at the small of the back. In pulling the strap... most tightly... there came a gurgling groan of discomfort, the strap’s tension pressing the chestnuts even more as the Segufix pin was set in place and the locking cap adhered.
Such loving care... so nicely cleansed, the chafed skin finally relieved of constant irritation.
But for how long?
The bag drips... and drips... and drips. Her charge will soon soil himself and the frustration will resume. And the pressure on those chestnuts...
Yes, a name! Chestnuts! It seems more appropriate for a dog, one of coloring similar to chestnut brown, but the naked form will soon become more pet companion than human.
On her next visit, the process of mentally ingraining the name will begin.
Eager to return home, Kelly finds herself making a stop... the convenience store, a supply of batteries to be assured, her vibrator not to deaden.
Visit Two
“I’ll want to feed him today,” Kelly Davis instructing by telephone.
Three days have past, letting her charge ‘Chestnuts’ languish in silent dark solitude. Having announced herself as the lad’s owner, the desk nurse dutifully makes a note, to be passed on to the duty nurse.
‘Room 7, no food.’
“Clinic nutrition? Or will you be bringing your own?”
“I’ll feed him whatever you have.”
“We’ll have it waiting for you Miss Davis.”
Aware that the Clinic’s sustenance is laced with laxatives, who is she to break with protocol?
Kelly dresses. She forgoes undergarments, feeling rather saucy in so doing. But the scantiness is practical. All that moisture exuding during her visits should not go to waste.
During the drive to the Clinic, it occurs to Kelly that she has no idea what her charge ‘Chestnuts’ looks like. Constantly hooded, no photo offered by the Clinic, it brings curiosity... yet in a way the lack of individuality is fitting. Chestnuts is an object, a woman’s toy. Oddly, his looks are irrelevant.
Still, she hopes for some degree of facial decorum. It’s ironic that she has not only visual access but unfettered physical access to his entire form, even rummaging about within his rectum to knead his neglected prostate. But what of his looks?
Alas, that will need to wait. Breaking him requires continuing sensory deprivation, his only cerebral input coming from his owner. But she makes a note to inquire of a photo.
Now recognized, the desk nurse immediately shows Kelly to room 7, the door opened for entry, the ‘do not disturb’ sign placed on display. Kelly now expects odor and indeed Chestnuts is in need of changing. Three days of unending torment, lying in his own wastes, the cruelty seemingly unending.
Waiting near the sink is a bowl heaping with some ground up formula. It appears to be baby food and in having his teeth filed to preclude biting and better adapt to the molt gag, Kelly assumes that sustenance in need of chewing to be a challenge.
She pauses to observe her charge. The water bag drips steadily as always. There comes the sound of reluctant swallowing with every drop. The bare chest heaves with each breath. An occasional spasm brings fruitless tugging against the formidable Segufix straps. Such vulnerability! The cognition of her power spurs twinges, her vagina moistens. Kelly reaches and tweaks the right nipple. Chestnuts lurches... in surprise? In delight?
Days of constant sensory deprivation, his only cerebral input has been during brief feedings.
Kelly smiles in understanding the gift she will bestow... input... sound... touch... relief from days of acidic urine and odorous sludge. She now knows to turn off the drip bag then press the button for speech.
“Good morning, Chestnuts. It is Miss Kelly. Yes, I am going to call you Chestnuts. You have very nice balls and I think the name fits. Would you like some food? Thrust your tongue and waggle for me.”
The surgically freed appendage obediently juts past the metal strips of the molt gag then comically flutters about in the room air. Kelly playfully grasps it causing a gagging sound. She tugs, pulling up, down, right and left, demonstrating her control. And in imagining its ultimate use, she further wets.
“Let’s get you freed of the gag,” aware that swallowing even the ground up fare can be precarious.
Kelly steps to the cabinet and retrieves the device for unlocking the Segufix caps. She returns and hands move to the pins which hold in place the taut Segufix straps enshrouding the head. In releasing, the tongue moves and indecipherable words gurgle. No doubt a ‘thank you’, her charge Chestnuts transformed to a meek infant.
In working about, reaching behind the head to unbuckle the molt gag, for the first time Kelly notes a neck collar... of smooth steel... matching the waist band and the ankle bands. Hooked to it is the hem of the dark cloth hood. And the encircling ring of metal is also seamless... no latch... no hinge... permanently welded in place.
Slipping out the molt gag proves to be a chore. Indeed the dental work is customized, the incisors ground flat to preclude biting, the bicuspids shaped such that the gag cannot be easily ejected even without the buckled head strap.
Such exactitude in binding and silencing a boy!
“Thank you,” Chestnuts lisps as the fingers finally wedge out the molt gag.
“No talking, unless I want a response,” Kelly quickly admonishes. “You are to be fed. I’ll want you to work your tongue for me. Each offering to be gathered from the spoon. If you’re good and you beg well enough, I may change you.”
As Kelly moves for the bowl, the head nods, somewhat celebrating its relative freedom. There is eagerness, the Clinic protocol offering but one meal per day. Inwardly Kelly smiles, Chestnuts’ sole meal will be offered slowly... and be well earned... the tongue to be worked to exhaustion.
Kelly’s mind rewinds, the moisture of her loins continuing to flow as she pictures her hands working, smoothing ice over heated pubes, finally holding the freezing lump to the torrid standing penis of her charge. Ah, such futile lurching, arms pulling, restrained legs attempting to straighten in shocked reaction.
Watching the scrotum shrink, the chestnut sized testicles defensively returning to the inguinal canals, spurred laughter. Finally, what stood so straightly and firmly capitulated to her wishes, meekly shrinking, ready to be returned to a chastising diaper.
‘Smooth and clean,’ she announced as a palpating hand caressed seductively.
Soft absorbent cloth, pinned in place as with any infant. Then a fresh canvas chastity cover, metal lined, hooked to the front of the waist band. As required in the Guidebook, a left hand pressed the penis downward, tip to the rectum, the flaccid shaft pressuring the chestnut gonads as her right hand threaded the locking strap under the waist band at the small of the back. In pulling the strap... most tightly... there came a gurgling groan of discomfort, the strap’s tension pressing the chestnuts even more as the Segufix pin was set in place and the locking cap adhered.
Such loving care... so nicely cleansed, the chafed skin finally relieved of constant irritation.
But for how long?
The bag drips... and drips... and drips. Her charge will soon soil himself and the frustration will resume. And the pressure on those chestnuts...
Yes, a name! Chestnuts! It seems more appropriate for a dog, one of coloring similar to chestnut brown, but the naked form will soon become more pet companion than human.
On her next visit, the process of mentally ingraining the name will begin.
Eager to return home, Kelly finds herself making a stop... the convenience store, a supply of batteries to be assured, her vibrator not to deaden.
Visit Two
“I’ll want to feed him today,” Kelly Davis instructing by telephone.
Three days have past, letting her charge ‘Chestnuts’ languish in silent dark solitude. Having announced herself as the lad’s owner, the desk nurse dutifully makes a note, to be passed on to the duty nurse.
‘Room 7, no food.’
“Clinic nutrition? Or will you be bringing your own?”
“I’ll feed him whatever you have.”
“We’ll have it waiting for you Miss Davis.”
Aware that the Clinic’s sustenance is laced with laxatives, who is she to break with protocol?
Kelly dresses. She forgoes undergarments, feeling rather saucy in so doing. But the scantiness is practical. All that moisture exuding during her visits should not go to waste.
During the drive to the Clinic, it occurs to Kelly that she has no idea what her charge ‘Chestnuts’ looks like. Constantly hooded, no photo offered by the Clinic, it brings curiosity... yet in a way the lack of individuality is fitting. Chestnuts is an object, a woman’s toy. Oddly, his looks are irrelevant.
Still, she hopes for some degree of facial decorum. It’s ironic that she has not only visual access but unfettered physical access to his entire form, even rummaging about within his rectum to knead his neglected prostate. But what of his looks?
Alas, that will need to wait. Breaking him requires continuing sensory deprivation, his only cerebral input coming from his owner. But she makes a note to inquire of a photo.
Now recognized, the desk nurse immediately shows Kelly to room 7, the door opened for entry, the ‘do not disturb’ sign placed on display. Kelly now expects odor and indeed Chestnuts is in need of changing. Three days of unending torment, lying in his own wastes, the cruelty seemingly unending.
Waiting near the sink is a bowl heaping with some ground up formula. It appears to be baby food and in having his teeth filed to preclude biting and better adapt to the molt gag, Kelly assumes that sustenance in need of chewing to be a challenge.
She pauses to observe her charge. The water bag drips steadily as always. There comes the sound of reluctant swallowing with every drop. The bare chest heaves with each breath. An occasional spasm brings fruitless tugging against the formidable Segufix straps. Such vulnerability! The cognition of her power spurs twinges, her vagina moistens. Kelly reaches and tweaks the right nipple. Chestnuts lurches... in surprise? In delight?
Days of constant sensory deprivation, his only cerebral input has been during brief feedings.
Kelly smiles in understanding the gift she will bestow... input... sound... touch... relief from days of acidic urine and odorous sludge. She now knows to turn off the drip bag then press the button for speech.
“Good morning, Chestnuts. It is Miss Kelly. Yes, I am going to call you Chestnuts. You have very nice balls and I think the name fits. Would you like some food? Thrust your tongue and waggle for me.”
The surgically freed appendage obediently juts past the metal strips of the molt gag then comically flutters about in the room air. Kelly playfully grasps it causing a gagging sound. She tugs, pulling up, down, right and left, demonstrating her control. And in imagining its ultimate use, she further wets.
“Let’s get you freed of the gag,” aware that swallowing even the ground up fare can be precarious.
Kelly steps to the cabinet and retrieves the device for unlocking the Segufix caps. She returns and hands move to the pins which hold in place the taut Segufix straps enshrouding the head. In releasing, the tongue moves and indecipherable words gurgle. No doubt a ‘thank you’, her charge Chestnuts transformed to a meek infant.
In working about, reaching behind the head to unbuckle the molt gag, for the first time Kelly notes a neck collar... of smooth steel... matching the waist band and the ankle bands. Hooked to it is the hem of the dark cloth hood. And the encircling ring of metal is also seamless... no latch... no hinge... permanently welded in place.
Slipping out the molt gag proves to be a chore. Indeed the dental work is customized, the incisors ground flat to preclude biting, the bicuspids shaped such that the gag cannot be easily ejected even without the buckled head strap.
Such exactitude in binding and silencing a boy!
“Thank you,” Chestnuts lisps as the fingers finally wedge out the molt gag.
“No talking, unless I want a response,” Kelly quickly admonishes. “You are to be fed. I’ll want you to work your tongue for me. Each offering to be gathered from the spoon. If you’re good and you beg well enough, I may change you.”
As Kelly moves for the bowl, the head nods, somewhat celebrating its relative freedom. There is eagerness, the Clinic protocol offering but one meal per day. Inwardly Kelly smiles, Chestnuts’ sole meal will be offered slowly... and be well earned... the tongue to be worked to exhaustion.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - A First Visit
A First Visit
Guidebook completed, at least the indoctrination segment, Kelly Davis returns to the Clinic, her interview with the director bringing her to regard the drab structure of concrete as more of a penitentiary than place of rehabilitation.
She brims with excitement, her smile effervescing as a nurse greets at the reception desk, checks for authorization, then arises to lead to room seven.
“He’s had his daily meal. When you decide to begin feeding him, it is best to call before noon.”
The Guidebook likewise so informed Kelly. She has decided to introduce herself first in diaper changing and later assume the task of spoon feeding the Clinic’s special concoction to her charge.
“Do you know the patient’s name?” Kelly reverting to her many years in nursing.
“They have no names here. Their past lives are more or less obliterated with the mental stress and isolation. You may call him whatever you’d like,” the nurse smiling wickedly with her reply.
Kelly also smiles. She recalls as a little girl naming her pet puppy. Such fun she and mother had in formulating an appropriate appellation.
The nurse opens the room seven door and steps aside to allow her entry. Kelly notes she flips a sign at the door knob...’do not disturb’.
“If you intend to change him, all you’ll need are in the cabinets to your left. The Segufix lock release hangs from a pouch in the right hand cabinet. If you choose to have him speak please return him to the gag thereafter. The button beside the door summons the duty nurse should you encounter difficulty or have a directive.”
Yes, a directive, Kelly is pleasantly reminded. The Guidebook so indicated. As prospective owner, she now directs all elements of her charge’s care. She moistens again in being so empowered. Perhaps she will increase the flow of the drip bag... keep those kidneys in good order and his diaper in great need.
The door closes leaving Kelly alone with the supine well restrained form. The odor of bodily excretions is stronger, two more days lying in filth. She marvels at her change in attitude. As a nurse of some ten years the task facing her was considered drudgery, so many infirmed patients in similar need. Yet the protocol at the Clinic affords such desirous caprice. She can do as she wishes... a young virile male to be completely subject to her whim.
Kelly steps forth and again watches the drip bag, smiling at the slight but constant aggravation as drop after drop splashes to the yawning mouth, the tongue twitching, and her charge helplessly swallowing. Curiosity... brazenness... prompts her to reach forth, fingers slipping into the opening forced by the metal strips of the cruel molt gag. Yes, she gathers the tongue, newly freed of its entrapping frenulum, pinches and tugs. The male form lurches, the Segufix bonds holding fast. The length of slimy pink futilely attempts to retract as a delighted Kelly unravels to display to herself the impressive length and budding agility. When another droplet splashes, she finds her grip impedes the ability to swallow, the naked form coughing with heightened aggravation.
Lesson learned... turn off the drip bag when exercising the altered sex organ.
She releases. The form calms, a subsequent droplet more readily ingested.
Kelly next presses a button to the side of the form’s well restrained and hooded head. The Guidebook informed that with a press of her finger, hearing is temporarily returned to her prospective companion.
“I am Kelly Davis... Miss Kelly to you,” the words offered as she reaches with her free hand to turn off the drip bag. “My nose suggests you need changing. Would you like to be changed?”
The question of course is superfluous, Kelly knowing the form has been forced to lie motionless in his own sludge and juices for many days.
The gag inhibits speech, but still there comes a gurgling sound, the desperate words indecipherable.
“If you want to be changed, thrust forth your tongue... waggle it for me.”
Ah, Kelly’s first command. More moisture flows as a most compliant young male obeys, the tongue eagerly fluttering about with zeal. It beseeches.
“Then you’ll need to be a good boy for me. When I release your ankles I’ll want your legs folded, knees to your chest. You will remain so while I tend to you.”
Kelly steps to the cabinet and retrieves the simple but clever device which releases the magnetic capping lock from the metal pins of the Segufix straps and cuffs. In seconds the ankle cuffs are released. As Kelly lifts to guide the feet upwards, she notes bands of smooth seamless steel encircle the ankles, before covered by the Segufix cuffs. Though lighter in gauge, such match the steel waist band.
The form meekly complies, knees to chest... such eagerness. Ah... to be finally cleansed. With the motion the room fills with the odorous collection of excretions. Kelly realizes that haste will be of benefit during the initial stages of cleansing. She thus encircles thigh and calves with straps, holding legs right and left in a folded position, and releases a lever to fold down the lower portion of the table. She then moves to the right wall where there is a sink, water faucets and waiting hose and spray nozzle.
It’s a smelly endeavor, tending to a diaper soiled with many days build up. But Kelly reminds herself that as unpleasant as her duty is, her well restrained charge has lain in the irritation for days, slowly breaking the will. Such wickedness, returning the hapless male to childhood.
With knees to chest, the Segufix lock securing the strap of the canvass to the steel waist band is well exposed. Again, it is rapidly released, the strap pulled away, the metal lined chastity device unhooked and dropped to the floor. Beneath is the absorbent cloth diaper, reeking of days accumulation of urine and stool. Kelly unpins, allowing the foul mass to fall to the floor. There she sprays, alleviating much smell as she adjusts the flow and awaits to assure a comforting temperature.
Warmth flows. She directs the spray to the well exposed buttocks and nicely presented testicles of her charge. She is pleased that within moments, much of the odor dissipates, the tiled floor well drained. She is also pleased with the reaction of the virile young male... her virile young male.
He slowly hardens.
Kelly turns off the spray. She steps forth, palms the meaty testicles and jostles... celebrating her ownership, inspecting the firming penis with curious pride. It is sizable and uncircumcised, the pink tip turning to purple as tumescence slowly progresses. Its helplessness amuses.
“You’re becoming erect,” Kelly announces in pressing the button for speech.
And the lad blushes, she notes, the humiliation intense.
Kelly decides to pause. Wrists and hooded head remaining secured, gag in place, there is nothing her charge can do or say other than to wallow in the embarrassment of ignominious exhibition.
She would like to just leave him be, watching with a smile as a restrained hand challenges the Segufix cuff in an attempt to stroke and play. But alas, cleansing must continue.
Kelly prepares a basin of warm soapy water, finds a straight edged razor and notes there also awaits a bottle of depilatory lotion which she knows to be quite strong.
Ah, the privileges of ownership...
Now, what should I name him? her thoughts wandering as she works.
Guidebook completed, at least the indoctrination segment, Kelly Davis returns to the Clinic, her interview with the director bringing her to regard the drab structure of concrete as more of a penitentiary than place of rehabilitation.
She brims with excitement, her smile effervescing as a nurse greets at the reception desk, checks for authorization, then arises to lead to room seven.
“He’s had his daily meal. When you decide to begin feeding him, it is best to call before noon.”
The Guidebook likewise so informed Kelly. She has decided to introduce herself first in diaper changing and later assume the task of spoon feeding the Clinic’s special concoction to her charge.
“Do you know the patient’s name?” Kelly reverting to her many years in nursing.
“They have no names here. Their past lives are more or less obliterated with the mental stress and isolation. You may call him whatever you’d like,” the nurse smiling wickedly with her reply.
Kelly also smiles. She recalls as a little girl naming her pet puppy. Such fun she and mother had in formulating an appropriate appellation.
The nurse opens the room seven door and steps aside to allow her entry. Kelly notes she flips a sign at the door knob...’do not disturb’.
“If you intend to change him, all you’ll need are in the cabinets to your left. The Segufix lock release hangs from a pouch in the right hand cabinet. If you choose to have him speak please return him to the gag thereafter. The button beside the door summons the duty nurse should you encounter difficulty or have a directive.”
Yes, a directive, Kelly is pleasantly reminded. The Guidebook so indicated. As prospective owner, she now directs all elements of her charge’s care. She moistens again in being so empowered. Perhaps she will increase the flow of the drip bag... keep those kidneys in good order and his diaper in great need.
The door closes leaving Kelly alone with the supine well restrained form. The odor of bodily excretions is stronger, two more days lying in filth. She marvels at her change in attitude. As a nurse of some ten years the task facing her was considered drudgery, so many infirmed patients in similar need. Yet the protocol at the Clinic affords such desirous caprice. She can do as she wishes... a young virile male to be completely subject to her whim.
Kelly steps forth and again watches the drip bag, smiling at the slight but constant aggravation as drop after drop splashes to the yawning mouth, the tongue twitching, and her charge helplessly swallowing. Curiosity... brazenness... prompts her to reach forth, fingers slipping into the opening forced by the metal strips of the cruel molt gag. Yes, she gathers the tongue, newly freed of its entrapping frenulum, pinches and tugs. The male form lurches, the Segufix bonds holding fast. The length of slimy pink futilely attempts to retract as a delighted Kelly unravels to display to herself the impressive length and budding agility. When another droplet splashes, she finds her grip impedes the ability to swallow, the naked form coughing with heightened aggravation.
Lesson learned... turn off the drip bag when exercising the altered sex organ.
She releases. The form calms, a subsequent droplet more readily ingested.
Kelly next presses a button to the side of the form’s well restrained and hooded head. The Guidebook informed that with a press of her finger, hearing is temporarily returned to her prospective companion.
“I am Kelly Davis... Miss Kelly to you,” the words offered as she reaches with her free hand to turn off the drip bag. “My nose suggests you need changing. Would you like to be changed?”
The question of course is superfluous, Kelly knowing the form has been forced to lie motionless in his own sludge and juices for many days.
The gag inhibits speech, but still there comes a gurgling sound, the desperate words indecipherable.
“If you want to be changed, thrust forth your tongue... waggle it for me.”
Ah, Kelly’s first command. More moisture flows as a most compliant young male obeys, the tongue eagerly fluttering about with zeal. It beseeches.
“Then you’ll need to be a good boy for me. When I release your ankles I’ll want your legs folded, knees to your chest. You will remain so while I tend to you.”
Kelly steps to the cabinet and retrieves the simple but clever device which releases the magnetic capping lock from the metal pins of the Segufix straps and cuffs. In seconds the ankle cuffs are released. As Kelly lifts to guide the feet upwards, she notes bands of smooth seamless steel encircle the ankles, before covered by the Segufix cuffs. Though lighter in gauge, such match the steel waist band.
The form meekly complies, knees to chest... such eagerness. Ah... to be finally cleansed. With the motion the room fills with the odorous collection of excretions. Kelly realizes that haste will be of benefit during the initial stages of cleansing. She thus encircles thigh and calves with straps, holding legs right and left in a folded position, and releases a lever to fold down the lower portion of the table. She then moves to the right wall where there is a sink, water faucets and waiting hose and spray nozzle.
It’s a smelly endeavor, tending to a diaper soiled with many days build up. But Kelly reminds herself that as unpleasant as her duty is, her well restrained charge has lain in the irritation for days, slowly breaking the will. Such wickedness, returning the hapless male to childhood.
With knees to chest, the Segufix lock securing the strap of the canvass to the steel waist band is well exposed. Again, it is rapidly released, the strap pulled away, the metal lined chastity device unhooked and dropped to the floor. Beneath is the absorbent cloth diaper, reeking of days accumulation of urine and stool. Kelly unpins, allowing the foul mass to fall to the floor. There she sprays, alleviating much smell as she adjusts the flow and awaits to assure a comforting temperature.
Warmth flows. She directs the spray to the well exposed buttocks and nicely presented testicles of her charge. She is pleased that within moments, much of the odor dissipates, the tiled floor well drained. She is also pleased with the reaction of the virile young male... her virile young male.
He slowly hardens.
Kelly turns off the spray. She steps forth, palms the meaty testicles and jostles... celebrating her ownership, inspecting the firming penis with curious pride. It is sizable and uncircumcised, the pink tip turning to purple as tumescence slowly progresses. Its helplessness amuses.
“You’re becoming erect,” Kelly announces in pressing the button for speech.
And the lad blushes, she notes, the humiliation intense.
Kelly decides to pause. Wrists and hooded head remaining secured, gag in place, there is nothing her charge can do or say other than to wallow in the embarrassment of ignominious exhibition.
She would like to just leave him be, watching with a smile as a restrained hand challenges the Segufix cuff in an attempt to stroke and play. But alas, cleansing must continue.
Kelly prepares a basin of warm soapy water, finds a straight edged razor and notes there also awaits a bottle of depilatory lotion which she knows to be quite strong.
Ah, the privileges of ownership...
Now, what should I name him? her thoughts wandering as she works.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - The Guidebook
Ownership
Part I, The Clinic
The Guidebook
The director has mandated that contact not begin until Kelly Davis has reviewed the guidebook. Returning home, chilled glass of wine, Kelly spends an evening reading. She finds the guidebook is written in three parts, Indoctrination, the so termed interval during which she will manifest her control and ownership, Care and Feeding of the Subjugated Male, more or less suggestions for a satisfying ongoing relationship, Recalcitrance and Discipline. Kelly assumes the latter segment to be perused if unexpected events unfold, such as a return to male aggression.
She finds the manuscript to be well written and well researched, clinical psychologists summarizing many years of hands on experimentation and behavior analysis.
Kelly reads that for many males there is a yearning, deeply encrusted in the psyche, to return to a maternal environment. A need to be nurtured. A desire to be freed of responsibility. To bring to the surface these latent wants, the Clinic begins with many days of sensory deprivation. All care coming from a governing woman... and at her whim... never in response to request or pleading.
The male is immersed, learning that nothing is under his control. All comes from a supervising maternal authority.
It is during this interval that the process of imbuing ownership begins. The male finds that food, water, cleansing, basic things such a bathroom needs are meted by she in charge... she with eventual ownership.
As Kelly reads the moisture returns in contemplating the level of the strict restraint, the regiment from which there is to be no deviation. And the diapering, so clever, forcing the male to return to childhood, wallowing in bodily fluids and excretions until a controlling woman deems soothing relief should be offered... perhaps the term ‘earned’ more apropos.
Diagrams outline the process for removal and changing of the incredibly confining canvas. This is required study, for it is Kelly as prospective owner who will be charged with the task. The male will find his only relief from the endless, sightless soundless tedium will come from her.
Alas, the table to which her pet is secured folds downward at the middle. Thus at changing time, the ankles are released and the decubitus position, knees to chest is assumed. The guidebook suggests the patient will willingly comply, knowing that in order to be finally cleaned, exacting compliance will be demanded.
Yes, after many days of lying on one’s irritating and odoriferous wastes, Kelly imagines the obedience to be total. Bring the knees to the chest... or wallow longer. The guidebook suggests days... not hours... of further delay, continued wallowing, if any resistance or lack of cooperation is displayed.
The position exposes the adjustable strap, locking to the waist band at the back. The Segufix magnetic post can thus be readily removed, the strap pulled from under and the metal lined canvas slipped away. This permits the soggy, stool soiled undergarment to be released and dropped to the tiled floor, handling minimal.
Then comes a warm spray, found to be most soothing in dousing skin chafed by many days of irritation, one’s own urine bringing slow endless torment.
‘Cradle the testicles, handle the male genitals with clinical authority,’ the guidebook emphasizes. ‘Clean the penis with deliberation, but no evidence of passion. Consider it an object in need of attention... brief attention... a mantel piece in need of dusting. Manifest ownership over organs the male normally vaunts. The evanescent touch of a controlling woman will speak loudly.’
Shaving is found to be demeaning and therefore necessary. Ultimately swathing about depilation lotion for permanent glabrousness recommended.
Kelly is enthused by the paragraph concerning erections.
‘During this process, though quick and austere, the chaste virile male will tumefy. This is not to be encouraged or discouraged. But discussion, calling attention to this embarrassing state, will enhance the process. Humiliation fosters humbleness.’
The guidebook has a photo. The head of a prospective pet is propped up, the hands of a governing woman having released the head bondage so the male can peer at a massive erection standing between thighs, apparently up turned for cleansing.
‘You can see... but never touch,’ the encaptioned words of the smiling woman so flippantly driving home her authority.
A following paragraph explains the need for ice, flaccidity required for the return to diapering.
Kelly smiles in imagining the plaintive yelps as dripping coldness denies the male organ further celebration of its brief freedom.
‘The penis is to be drawn between the thighs, tip to the rectum,’ advice offered before absorbent cloth is returned to the adult infant.
A diagram shows a fresh diaper nestling the buttocks and genitals. ‘Tightness cannot be over emphasized,’ the guidebook offering a sequential diagram of the locking strap tucked under the waist band and pulled most firmly before the magnetic Segufix post is thrust through metal grommets in the strap to secure in place.
‘The male needs to feel the controlling touch of a woman at all times. Anal insertions should be given consideration. With proper laxatives, stool will still be exuded with strained effort... and sloppily as desired... greatly intensifying the level of discomfort... both psychological and physical.’
Such cruelty, Kelly thinks to herself, the male forced to labor to relieve his bowels.
In finishing the segment on Indoctrination, she sips her Chardonnay and recalls the director’s final comments. Yes, weeks of indoctrination... certainly not months. The male will break and capitulate, there is no doubt.
Part I, The Clinic
The Guidebook
The director has mandated that contact not begin until Kelly Davis has reviewed the guidebook. Returning home, chilled glass of wine, Kelly spends an evening reading. She finds the guidebook is written in three parts, Indoctrination, the so termed interval during which she will manifest her control and ownership, Care and Feeding of the Subjugated Male, more or less suggestions for a satisfying ongoing relationship, Recalcitrance and Discipline. Kelly assumes the latter segment to be perused if unexpected events unfold, such as a return to male aggression.
She finds the manuscript to be well written and well researched, clinical psychologists summarizing many years of hands on experimentation and behavior analysis.
Kelly reads that for many males there is a yearning, deeply encrusted in the psyche, to return to a maternal environment. A need to be nurtured. A desire to be freed of responsibility. To bring to the surface these latent wants, the Clinic begins with many days of sensory deprivation. All care coming from a governing woman... and at her whim... never in response to request or pleading.
The male is immersed, learning that nothing is under his control. All comes from a supervising maternal authority.
It is during this interval that the process of imbuing ownership begins. The male finds that food, water, cleansing, basic things such a bathroom needs are meted by she in charge... she with eventual ownership.
As Kelly reads the moisture returns in contemplating the level of the strict restraint, the regiment from which there is to be no deviation. And the diapering, so clever, forcing the male to return to childhood, wallowing in bodily fluids and excretions until a controlling woman deems soothing relief should be offered... perhaps the term ‘earned’ more apropos.
Diagrams outline the process for removal and changing of the incredibly confining canvas. This is required study, for it is Kelly as prospective owner who will be charged with the task. The male will find his only relief from the endless, sightless soundless tedium will come from her.
Alas, the table to which her pet is secured folds downward at the middle. Thus at changing time, the ankles are released and the decubitus position, knees to chest is assumed. The guidebook suggests the patient will willingly comply, knowing that in order to be finally cleaned, exacting compliance will be demanded.
Yes, after many days of lying on one’s irritating and odoriferous wastes, Kelly imagines the obedience to be total. Bring the knees to the chest... or wallow longer. The guidebook suggests days... not hours... of further delay, continued wallowing, if any resistance or lack of cooperation is displayed.
The position exposes the adjustable strap, locking to the waist band at the back. The Segufix magnetic post can thus be readily removed, the strap pulled from under and the metal lined canvas slipped away. This permits the soggy, stool soiled undergarment to be released and dropped to the tiled floor, handling minimal.
Then comes a warm spray, found to be most soothing in dousing skin chafed by many days of irritation, one’s own urine bringing slow endless torment.
‘Cradle the testicles, handle the male genitals with clinical authority,’ the guidebook emphasizes. ‘Clean the penis with deliberation, but no evidence of passion. Consider it an object in need of attention... brief attention... a mantel piece in need of dusting. Manifest ownership over organs the male normally vaunts. The evanescent touch of a controlling woman will speak loudly.’
Shaving is found to be demeaning and therefore necessary. Ultimately swathing about depilation lotion for permanent glabrousness recommended.
Kelly is enthused by the paragraph concerning erections.
‘During this process, though quick and austere, the chaste virile male will tumefy. This is not to be encouraged or discouraged. But discussion, calling attention to this embarrassing state, will enhance the process. Humiliation fosters humbleness.’
The guidebook has a photo. The head of a prospective pet is propped up, the hands of a governing woman having released the head bondage so the male can peer at a massive erection standing between thighs, apparently up turned for cleansing.
‘You can see... but never touch,’ the encaptioned words of the smiling woman so flippantly driving home her authority.
A following paragraph explains the need for ice, flaccidity required for the return to diapering.
Kelly smiles in imagining the plaintive yelps as dripping coldness denies the male organ further celebration of its brief freedom.
‘The penis is to be drawn between the thighs, tip to the rectum,’ advice offered before absorbent cloth is returned to the adult infant.
A diagram shows a fresh diaper nestling the buttocks and genitals. ‘Tightness cannot be over emphasized,’ the guidebook offering a sequential diagram of the locking strap tucked under the waist band and pulled most firmly before the magnetic Segufix post is thrust through metal grommets in the strap to secure in place.
‘The male needs to feel the controlling touch of a woman at all times. Anal insertions should be given consideration. With proper laxatives, stool will still be exuded with strained effort... and sloppily as desired... greatly intensifying the level of discomfort... both psychological and physical.’
Such cruelty, Kelly thinks to herself, the male forced to labor to relieve his bowels.
In finishing the segment on Indoctrination, she sips her Chardonnay and recalls the director’s final comments. Yes, weeks of indoctrination... certainly not months. The male will break and capitulate, there is no doubt.
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