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.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

this story really rocks