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