Wednesday, December 25, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment Five

Merry Christmas to all.

This will be the last posting from this story.




Nurse Abigail Cole

“Yes, I know you’re upset Mr. Devereau. You’ll learn to eat without them... and you can still masticate food in the back of your mouth. Just won’t be biting into things like apples... or your Master.”

We deal rather harshly with biters here at the Institute. The incisors and bicuspids of patient Michael Devereau have been ground to the gums. With his mouth forced open by the molt gag, the process was rather simple. Amazing how quickly you can make a man edentulous... relatively edentulous... his molars spared.

“First we relieve you of the ability to bite... and now with therapy we’ll relieve you of the inclination to bite. And isn’t it nice of us to remove the gag... after so many days?”

I stay pleasant and smiling, Mr. Devereau emotionally still suffering from the trauma of hours of dental work. Yes, I must manifest the permanent transformation of his oral capabilities, my hand going to his face, one finger then two pressing past his closed lips into a mouth which will forever yield to whatever is to be introduced.

Vulnerability... we like that here at the Institute. I repress a snort of laughter in seeing the look of alarm on his face.

“So now we can talk... though you’ll need to speak slowly until you acclimate to having no front teeth.”

There comes tears, the continuous doses of estrogen strongly affecting the emotions when the male endocrine system is so immersed. Girls blossoming into womanhood learn to control it. Mr. Devereau is not yet there.

“What prompted you to so grievously assault your Master, Mr. Devereau... the man who provided so much for you... taking care of your wife... sexually pleasing her when you’re incapable... blessing her with so many children... permitting you to care for them. Seems blatantly ungrateful... some would say treasonous.”

His brow furrows in thought. I am sure in being held in tight bound isolation for so many days there has been ample opportunity to self analyze... when not in the haze of the sedatives we’ve injected.

“He was going to send me away... and I’d... well... not be able to please... ah... my... ”

“Your wife,” completing his thought as his speech is lisped and strained. “Well, your Master will continue to please her. With more children. A fourth expected soon. I see in your file that you were permitted to observe... while fucking... ah... making love. Is that what upset you... no longer watching the deep penetration your wife needs... that you can’t provide?”

Cruel... mentally stressing. But that is the point. The mind of the subordinate male must yield... be made malleable.

“I... ah... well... there’s more...”

“Yes, you were also permitted to orally cleanse her. Gracious of your Master to allow that. Many alpha males consider the vagina of their bitches... ah... lovers to be sanctuary... a privileged place... to be accessed only by the masculine... the virile. You’re far from that Mr. Devereau... choosing to grow breasts... so long having your penis locked up... female hormones rendering you impotent. Trained to ooze what little male essence you produce rather than spurt like a man. Women can feel it you know, the strong gush of a real man exploding inside them. It’s arousing... thrilling. Your wife needs that... as do many women... to know that their beauty and allure can bring a man to erupt.”

“I... I... have been pleasing her as best I could...” his tone so desperate in defense. “My love and devotion...”

“But your file indicates orally pleasing her to orgasm has been denied for many years... forbidden by your Master.”

More tears flow, for so long the devotion of Michael Devereau evidenced solely by the succinct oral clean up of his Master’s seed. Yet there were other exhibitions.

“You were frequently sent to visit my former colleague... Nurse Reinholdt... well after appointments to Dr. Michelle’s office were deemed unnecessary.”

Yes, it is disingenuous of me to broach the subject. It was under my recommendation that Michael Devereau learned fellatio... to vicariously experience the ecstatic thrill of the manly ejaculation denied to him... feel a firm penis throbbing in his mouth... exploding as a result of his ardent tongue and lips. Still, this is therapy... encouraging him to think about it... formulate thought... offer his words.

“Yes. Miss Greta.”

“Yes, her nom de guerre. She told me she is expensive... training and disciplining husbands and boyfriends. Your Master paid for the visits. Did you object to seeing her?”

“Well... no?”

“Are you grateful to your Master... sending you out to see her. Did you try to look pretty for her? I understand the evenings were not entirely spent at her penthouse.”

“I was... ah... well... I needed to...”

“Suck some cock?” such crass words, but to the point.

“I... needed to get... ah... out.”

“By going to gay clubs and flirting... showing off your womanly charms. Did you... do you... enjoy finding yourself to be attractive... that men wanted you to perform fellatio?”

“I had no choice... it was that or be caned...”

“By Miss Greta?”

“Yes... she’s... she’s...”

“Very firm... stern... exacting? Is that not what you want in a woman... that your wife does not provide? Does not choose to provide?”

“I... I... don’t know.”

“Tell me about the woman who supervised you... at your Master’s mansion.”

“Miss Modena?”

I look to the file, note the name and nod for him to continue.

“Well she’s...”

Saturday, December 21, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment Four

Michael Devereau

My room... perhaps best termed a chamber... is windowless... the only opening in four plain white walls the entrance door. Lighting is at the behest of a tending nurse, a dimmer switch determining the illumination. Otherwise I am in the dark, left to my thoughts, staring at the ceiling when eyes are opened. And with the intensity of the darkness, there are times when I know not whether they are.

Most times, for going potty... as the deed is childishly referenced... the room light is limited, as with feedings. For daily examinations there is brightness... and I have come to conclude it is to augment the embarrassment as much as to assess my wellness... forced to watch as gloved hands pinch, poke and palpate with license. And of course when the nurse removed my hair... every strand... it seemed that spotlights glowed. I suppose for that I should be grateful for the enhanced vision with the sharpness of the razor and the power of the caustic chemicals applied   

So my existence diminishes to guessing at the timing of the next visit... and the purpose... food, water, potty, examination... a dose of estrogen.

My thoughts wander but always seem to circle back to when I last engaged with Master Edward.... he paying the enormous cost of my stay.

I was tenderly licking his penis... as trained to do on demand... and he was explaining that I was to be sent away... the curiosity of the many children... three with a fourth soon to come... not to be piqued by a nanny with breasts and a penis.

It stunned, having so obeisantly served over the years... that the sacrifice and surrender of both my wife and my self esteem were deemed superfluous. But is that what prompted me to bite... intend to harm my Master... he who provides all? 

Then come to mind the final words I am able to recall after days... weeks?.. of unending bondage... when in the new scheme of things I had the temerity to inquire of my wife Nicole. I found purpose in orally serving her... regularly cleansing her of another man’s seed had become a welcomed ritual... my turn to please.

‘You’re useless to her... but don’t fret... I’ll continue fucking her,’ the words intended to sooth.
Did such spur the extreme reaction?

More comes back to me... my Master’s mention of the regimen of constant pregnancy... that it would continue... without me! My wife... so often accepting... craving another man’s seed... would have her babies nurtured and cared for without me!

For some reason I find a need to talk to Nurse Abbie. In past interaction she has annoyed and irritated with her profound words... at a very young age seeming to know me... know of me... better than myself... with her graduate work in aberrant psychology her demeanor coming across as precocious. For some reason I now find wisdom.

The room door opens. The room alights most dimly. It is unexpected, but I have come to accept that visits are random.

“Well, a new arrival. Fresh meat. And not yet ready to play,” the voice is female, low, husky, the tone pretentious.

Coming into view, smiling wickedly comes a woman in a loose light blue blouse and pleated dark blue skirt... short... not in any manner stylish. She is of age... not old... but certainly not young. She moves to stand at my right side, eyes examining.

“Nicely restrained and gagged. I like a man that way. But the chart on the door says you’re a biter. Naughty boy.”

The right arm extends, a hand going to my face. I cannot move, as always. I helplessly lie as a finger goes to my lips then smooths over my teeth, forcibly exposed by steel.

“I’m Monique. As you can see I’m a patient here as well,” her free hand going to the hem of the short dark blue skirt and momentarily flipping it up.

Sans undergarments, the brief motion offers a glimpse of her sex, pubic hair well trimmed.

“So I need to be careful... for now. But after your dental work we’ll get to know each other much better.”

The finger withdraws. Then comes humiliation of intensity as I undergo examination... not clinical... instead very much intended to embarrass as my breasts are palmed, my ringed penis pushed about, my testicles palpated. The smooth hairlessness seems to thrill, a hand grazing over my freshly shorn scalp.

“So nice big tits... tiny balls... a penis that even if not rendered useless by a chastity ring could not please an elf. And someone decided to make you delightfully smooth, Mr. Michael Devereau. Should I call you Mike? Waggle your tongue if so.”

Curious that my tongue has become a form of communication. I find myself thrusting forth and waggling, fearful of annoying she with unfettered access.
“Good. Been reading your file... all about you.”

She smiles at my look of shock and perplexity.

“Oh yes, all the subordinate males have their total background information available to the women patients... sort of a library for casual reading here. Know you’ve been watching your Master fuck your wife for years... raising their kids... while held in strict chastity. Quite entertaining. But most fascinating is that you’ve been trained to come on command... to the sound of your wife’s voice.”

I wrench against my bonds, arms fruitlessly pulling, the level of agitation intolerable.

Noting the slight motion and twitching muscles, the woman laughs... a finger playfully tapping my nose.

“Want to bite me?” she taunts. “Well the most entertaining stuff were the video tapes, you fucking a piece of rubber... your wife conditioning you to ejaculate... though the file indicates you more leaked onto a plate. And the best... you licking a penis... must suppose it was your Master. Did watching that one really excite you enough to come when your wife commanded?”

I seethe, restrained and gagged I cannot explain that all was forced upon me.

“But the file indicates you’ve sucked a lot of cock over the years. So pleasuring your Master must have come as second nature. You seemed quite attentive to his penis. And so nicely hung. I can understand why your wife takes on bull studs like that. Particularly...”

Her stultifying narration pauses as a hand goes to my pubes, a finger crassly flicking the side of my penis, avoiding the piercing ring while looking into my face. She is pleasant, smiling, torturing me with her words... and enjoying every moment.

“We date here... at the Institute. It’s a euphemism for when a subordinate male is relegated to a woman undergoing therapy.... for a few hours. It’s kind of like immersion treatment... you know... eating so much of a particular candy you become queasy at the sight of it.”

She steps out of sight to a cabinet over my head... where the nurses move when in need of supplies. When she returns I hear a stool being pushed in place, then a length of dark cloth covers my eyes. Seconds later, blinded, I feel cloth enveloping my head. Then my forehead is pressed by smooth, warm flesh and my nose fills with feminine fragrance. I learn of the convenience of the loose skirt... the missing undergarments. For there begins the flow of golden elixir... hot, bitter, salty... flowing unimpeded to my gullet, mouth forced open... gag reflex long restrained.     

 “Yes, your file mentioned this well ingrained talent... so facilely taking a woman’s toilet.”

The warmth retreats, the blinding cloth slipped away. It is used to dab about my lips, unnecessarily tidying... as always, I have neatly imbibed all she offered.

“So after your dental work, we’re going to date, Mike... Mr. Michael Devereau. And you’ll be tasting more and more of me.”

The cloth is tossed away. The woman... Monique... stands where I can best view her as she in turn views me.

“Know you can’t ask... gagged and silenced... but I understand you want to know... why I am here. Well, my husband... my late husband... had a bit of an accident. He choked... on excrement. I trained him to so much enjoy the taste of my wastes that he got carried away. Least that was the conclusion of the coroner. But for the district attorney to agree to drop the case, there was offered a deferred prosecution agreement... undergo therapy here at the Institute and evidence that I was sitting on his face as my husband panicked for oxygen would be quashed.”

She notes my look of fear and horror, stepping forth, a hand going to the steel of my gag, fingers inserting and pinching a tongue with no place to hide. She pulls... vigorously.

“Long, thick and strong. Well exercised. Nicely conditioned. You don’t think the district attorney had reason to insist on the agreement... do you Mike?” smiling in hearing my gurgles of shock.     

Saturday, December 14, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife’s Lover', Segment Three

Michael Devereau

I am bald! And I berate myself for the strong emotional response. A young nurse, cooing supporting words as if I was a wounded child, holds up a mirror.

No hair!

It shocks... but more notably there is grief... unbecoming a man. Remaining completely incapacitated, I am in need of a tissue, and a pretty slim hand tenderly wipes away tears.

“There, there Mr. Devereau... plenty of girls go this way. Makes the morning thing go much quicker... nothing to have to fuss with,” her free hand going to smooth over scalp which for years has been covered in long tresses painstakingly groomed.

Yes, I cry. It is the reaction of a girl, estrogen level peaked. Guess in many respects that is what I have become... being emasculated for years at the mansion of Master Edward.

“I’d like to tell you that it will grow back. But that’s when I will be sent in with more lotion. It’s strong stuff... so guess you should acclimate to... you know... being without a strand of hair... anywhere. The follicles... well... they sort of surrender after a few applications. And there will be plenty of time for more of that.”

The words... intended to comfort... bring more distress. The strength of the depilation lotion need not be explained. After my beautiful long locks where brusquely chopped away, the smell of the applied cream, and moments later the searing heat of my scalp, evidenced its potency.

“Now close your eyes for me like a good girl,” the nurse coos again.

When a hand approaches my face with a razor, I do close my eyes... more in fear than compliance with her request.

My eyebrows... gone! I sob... so much wanting to resist... protest... shout... scream. Alas I cannot, the Segufix restraints remaining, the steel of my molt gag obviating any discernible words. There come only more sobs.

“I’ll get you into your masturbation mittens and you’ll be one step closer to release and getting some exercise... after your dental work. Won’t that be nice?”

With the odorous cream carefully applied to shorn eyebrows, I remain with eyes closed, now feeling the heat at my forehead. Meanwhile the girl works about my right hand, loosening the wrist strap. There comes covering, a thick material, and the sound of a click. Then the strap is again tightened and the same comes to my left hand.

“A little awkward... not being able to use your hands... to masturbate and whatever. But you’ll be fed. And a nurse will provide whatever you need... water... going potty...”

I am about to explain that near impotency has long curtailed any thoughts of masturbation. But... I am gagged.

A moist cloth, my head and eyebrows are swabbed, all remnants of the depilatory lotion removed. My head is returned to the constricting harness. After the young nurse departs, I carefully open my eyes, ironically grateful that she was most diligent in cleansing. I manage a glimpse of my right hand. What is described as a mitten is actually a small pillow covered in ruff canvas. And unlike a mitten, there is no pouch for the thumb. I cannot hold or grasp a thing. And given any degree of inclination, could certainly not joyously stroke myself, inhibiting Prince Albert ring aside.     

I try to calm myself but thoughts of my reflected image continue to distress. I am an alien. Should I somehow gain freedom, escape from where I am held, without hair... eyebrows... I am freakish in appearance. Nurse Abbie suggested I would be made to look vulnerable... and I am... vulnerable to the scornful looks of others.  

Is this standard care for this institution? Or the vengeance of Master Edward?

Then come more thoughts... to be released from the many straps... after my dental work? Both Nurse Abbie and the young grooming nurse have referenced such.

Head shaved, hands rendered useless, there comes more concern in mulling over the referenced  dental work. Mouth forcibly held open, there is no limit to my vulnerability, demonstrated each time a nurse introduces food, water... or anything else for that matter... into my mouth.

Saturday, December 7, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment Two

Michael Devereau

For how many days have I been so tightly trussed, each time coming out of a fog to have another hypodermic needle thrust into me?

Finally, as things begin to clear up, I try to think about the moments before being strapped down... as I recall kneeling, licking my Master’s penis. This nurse interrupts my reverie.

It is the annoying young receptionist from the office of Dr. Michelle White!  

As my head clears I recall what turned out to be our last encounter... her hands tenderly kneading my breasts as I watched a videotape and my wife commanded me to come. Moments later positioning my filled blue plate... utilized as a prompt for climactic relief... under my face and so exuberantly watching as I licked it clean.

She speaks. I listen, I can do little else being so well bound, some steel contraption in my mouth inhibiting speech. 

I learn the reason for my incarceration is that I bit my Master! And I learn the punishment... penalty... is to endure rehabilitation. To be a guest for a long, long time.

“You seem even more effeminate since I last saw you, Mr. Devereau,” such an angelic face, yet her words come across as so daunting, as I feel her fingers working about my pubes.

It is true. In the many years since the appointments at Dr. Michelle’s office ended... substituted by visits to the professional dominatrix Miss Greta... there came concerted efforts by my wife and my immediate superior, housekeeper Miss Modena, to have me appear as girlish as possible. The ruse was that the growing children would not be confused by my gender... appearing in blouse, skirt, shoulder length hair, and meticulous make up applied by Miss Modena. 

Yet the real reason was to assure the supremacy of the Master of the house... the alpha male... keeping in check my self esteem... better described as any remnants of male pride.

Master enjoyed running his fingers through my long coifed hair as I paid homage by licking his penis, so much enjoying my humiliation. 

The girl... guess I now must think of her as my nurse and care provider... toys with my breasts. Years ago gynecomastia was induced by way of a prescription drug, resulting in enlarged mammary glands. Normally considered an affliction in the male, in the haze of being relegated to household servant... regularly watching my wife’s lover bring my wife to the ecstasy I could not... emotional imbalance resulted in the need to please. To do so in a manner void of masculinity. I willingly decided to grow breasts!

In my lower peripheral vision I see she is aligning a receptacle, fingers carefully prodding my penis. It is free! Unlocked! Ironic that it is the only part of my anatomy that can move.

Carefully avoiding the sharp points of my Prince Albert ring, she makes sibilant sounds encouraging urination. How many mornings did I so perform for Miss Modena, my bathroom visits well supervised? Still I blush... closing my eyes to open myself.

“Good boy. Always please your nurse,” the advisement so condescending. 

“You’ll not be permitted clothing here, Mr. Devereau. That is the rule for our subordinate male patients. So when it’s finally deemed appropriate for you to be free to move about... well... your appearance may be found to be a little... ah... confusing... breasts, long hair and a penis.”

At my Master’s mansion I was clothed... blouse and a tight skirt... cloaking a most effective chastity configuration... penis locked to a guiche piercing at my rectum. But it seems at this institute the evidence of my gender... small turning to tiny with the deluge of estrogen... will be exposed.

Gagged, there is nothing I can say or suggest. Even when wife Nicole denied me clothing at our home, my penis was locked in chastity and not to be fully seen.

“And there will be no make up... and certainly no way to style your hair...”

Deed completed, my nurse steps away, disposing that which I have been long trained to accept from women in need.

She returns, standing over me with a smile. Anywhere else, at another time, it would be a pleasant and charming smile. It brings me to shiver. I am so much at her mercy. 

“So we’ll need to complete the... ah... hairless look. It will make you look... well... vulnerable. We prefer that here.”

With that, a hand goes to my right breast, fingers finding my nipple. She cruelly pinches...  sending a message... vulnerable indeed. 

Wednesday, December 4, 2019