Third Snippet From 'A Summer at the Phipps Estate'

This will be the last snippet from this story. Not sure what is next.

*****

To the Psychiatrist - Redmond

The room door opens. Entering is the pretty young nurse, she who so embarrassingly explored with her hands and fingers before my brief encounter with the doctor.

“Turn for me, Redmond. I’ll take you to see Dr. Rosen.”

I obey, my penis remaining somewhat engorged. She looks down, smiling, arms folding about her chest. I note that at her right wrist a metal baton of some two feet hangs from a strap.

“Come now, Redmond. I know you’ve been masturbated, but certainly you can offer me a proper greeting.” 

I can. And I do, the encouraging words not needed as I feel full erection returning. More concern, more confusion. Why am I so eager to stiffen yet unable to ejaculate?

“That’s a good boy,” the smile beaming as she steps forward, her free hand wrapping about my upstanding firmness.

“We don’t get many ten inch males here... not beta males anyway. So you may as well show off for us.”

The nurse leads, I follow, out the door. I am reminded of my first visit to the Estate, Miss Eve directing me through the unknown mansion utilizing my penis as a leash.

Into the hall, though the journey is brief, the sights impress. Nurses in uniform, young males without a stitch, all in make up, hair coifed, effeminately prancing about in a manner antithetical to their age. Apparent adults, but appearance and behavior contrary.

Little time for evaluation, we enter an office, a sign suggesting it is that of Dr. Rosen.

“Redmond Richards, Dr. Rosen.”

Sitting at a large desk of dark wood is a woman professionally attired in a dark blue business suit. Short light brown hair, even features, she appears trim. She is attractive, not stunning, the attire suggesting a woman of purpose, perhaps dressed to intentionally distract from her beauty.

“On the stool. Position him for me. Remove his gag.”

The words are not barked as a command, but firm, leaving no doubt that the woman is in charge. And I am heartened to have removed the gag, the deep penetration constantly titillating to trigger the gag reflex.

Dr. Rosen returns to reading files, many folders piled on her desk. The nurse tugs to a low stool.

“When permitted to sit in the presence of a woman, the protocol at the clinic is to always maximize your exposure. So feet back, knees parted. Think of it as offering your penis and testicles,” the nurse lectures.

It’s ungainly, lowering myself onto the hard wood and adjusting feet and legs as mandated. As the nurse pokes and prods to assure compliance, it feels like I am in a position of offering prayer, almost kneeling, my thumbs remaining secured to the back of my neck collar.

“Good boy,” the compliment coming as for some reason I seem to further stiffen.  

Next the nurse takes from her pocket a simple rod of metal. It is incongruous that something appearing so innocuous can offer such welcomed relief. For the fingers of her left hand part my lips, and the right hand slips the tip of the four inch rod into my mouth, deftly finding the valve which releases air, deflating the ghastly ball which silences me. Then fingers pinch and slowly slip away, the long penetrating length following.

“You’re convincingly silenced, Mr. Richards,” Dr. Rosen notes, the penetrating tube quite stout. “And you will remain silent until I direct you to speak.”

I nod, repressing the desire to graciously offer thanks.

“Sleep okay? The Segufix restraints are severe, but I believe you have acclimated to such at the Phipps Estate.”

I nod, the system almost a duplicate of that into which Miss Eve binds me each and every night.

“I am the clinic psychiatrist, as I am sure you by now are aware. I’ve been evaluating you for summer employment. Plus your own... ah... benefactress wants us here at the clinic to assure that certain attributes detrimental to your standing at the Phipps Estate have been adequately addressed. And I suppose you are due some answers as well.”

A slip of the tongue? Did she begin to use the term ‘owner’?

“I’ve been reading about you. Everything there is to know about you is on this desk. Your mother... stepmother... was interviewed by satellite phone. She’s somewhere in the south Pacific on a year long world cruise. In reviewing the transcripts of the call, I would judge her to be a passively dominant woman. Says here that she bathed you well into your teen years.”

I nod.

“Did you object? You may answer.”

I demure. For it is true, and with the embarrassment of so enjoying, I never told anyone... not my closest friends. I always felt the many Saturday night baths were an intimate thing between my widowed stepmother and me... offering myself to her, in a way alleviating her loneliness with a form of male companionship... completely non sexual. Yet now she has told of it. How much of it?

“No. No objection,” my words raspy, throat worn.

“So you enjoyed it. Exposing yourself, at an age when most teens are shy.”  

“It seemed... natural... and harmless.”

“Yes, natural for a boy of your predilections. Really, Mr. Richards... I’ll call you Redmond... attaining an erection... in front of your mother?”

“Stepmother.”

“Stepmother. Yes, I know. So in your mind such conduct is ‘natural’,” the term somewhat mockingly enunciated.  

I blush, visions coming to mind of my stepmother tenderly cleansing me... everywhere... with hormones raging, my priapism spontaneous.

“And then you posed for her,” Dr. Rosen holding up photos of me exiting the shower, hands to the back of my head, obediently turning about then bending, the pictures sent to Miss Taylor Phipps to become the catalyst for law school and my sojourn at the Phipps Estate. 

“Miss Taylor Phipps has nicely submitted detailed records of your stay at the Phipps Estate. No clothing... ever. And your affinity to submit to the rather exacting care of her nurse is telling. As well as your relationship with your law school classmates... Marsha Devine and Zoey Roberts. That you allow them to cane your bare buttocks.”

“I don’t... don’t allow...”

“Oh but you do, Redmond,” Dr Rosen grasping another piece of paper. “Six foot three, 250 pounds,” she reads. “And you beg like a little boy... cry like a little boy... kneeling for punishment without resistance.”

Dr. Rosen pauses, skillfully letting the shame of my submission further fester.

“It’s all here, Redmond, your escapades as a beta male well documented, the ongoing retention, to be interrupted only when commanded to ejaculate, your chastity, the conflicting sentiment concerning Miss Phipps’ husband and maid... a very accomplished product of the clinic by the way. Your homophobia when fellated by her.”

I am shocked... and disheartened... so much documentation... the disclosure of such antics having the capability of ending my legal career before it begins.

“I could go on and on, Redmond. It’s quite a bit of reading... the affidavits of Miss Zoey Roberts. and Miss Marsha Devine quite prurient... having you strip naked in the cafeteria bathroom... ”

My heart sinks. I am emotionally exposed as well as physically.

“They are very much amused by the suspension bondage I should add. Young women of their ilk find smug comfort in seeing the disdained gender so vulnerable and helpless. No still photos of that. Taylor Phipps submitted to us videos. Amazing how stiff you become.”

The humiliation intensifies. I know there are cameras. I did not know there are video recordings.  

“But enough of that. Suffice it to say, Redmond, that we know everything about you... you and your depravity... your warped proclivities. But you should be cheered to know such attributes  make employment at the clinic possible. Even the fact that you’ve been toilet trained. Such sordid servitude. But from the information I’ve reviewed, you’ve come to enjoy a woman’s effluent. This Marsha girl states in her affidavit that you seem particularly enthralled with her taste.” 

Yes, but more that it pleases her for me to take from her what she discards... and relish it. And I so want to please.

Damn this predilection! 

“So we can accommodate that need. You’ll not go thirsty. Many nurses... much delight in subjugating you.”

Dr. Rosen leans to her desk, elbows down, arms upright, resting her chin on her folded hands.

“Let me explain what we do here. There are males who have latent desires for change... gender change. And there are certain women... and men... who wish to not only cultivate such change but... ah... let’s say augment such change... to the extreme... to permanency. For a considerable fee, we ensure transformation not only takes place, but is done in a manner most pleasing to the own... ah... benefactress... benefactor.”

Again, a slip of the tongue... owner!     

“Yes, we assure the latent desires... sometimes expressed... sometimes well concealed... are turned into talent... and that there is inclination to please... strong inclination to please... whether the boy likes it or not,” the latter greatly emphasized.

“Likes it or not?” 

“As I said, sometimes the latency is well hidden... obscured in confusion. That’s why we often neuter. It speeds the process. Mandates acceptance of life’s new role. No going back once a boy is snipped,” Dr. Rosen’s tone both flippant and calloused.

Maid Maxine comes to mind, testicles dangling in Lucite, bells announcing for all that she has succumbed.

I begin to tremble. What will my role be? Still, in glancing downward I note my penis seems firmer than ever.

“One aspect of the talents we imbue here is oral servitude. Cunnilingus... fellatio... we strengthen tongues... we lengthen tongues... for many a frenectomy is appropriate... a little snip to an otherwise constricting flap of skin under the tongue. Another is anal sodomy, we open for both ease and safety... done under medical supervision. All the nurses are trained... kindly yet exacting... helping in turning boys into obedient little girls with unfettered desire to please... and of course the ability to do so.”

Dr. Rosen pauses. My mind races... so many thoughts... so many visions... the notion that Miss Taylor had her husband so institutionalized and changed bringing heightened fear... and respect... for the libertine woman of wealth.  

“And I am here to...” afraid to complete my query.

“Fellatio training, Redmond. We use dildos of course... in the early stages. As you have learned the gag reflex needs to be addressed. But for our male own... benefactors... we need to assure our girly boys can properly take cock... to be blunt. Utilizing rubber phalli, there is only so much detail one can replicate in teaching proper oral servitude. Before being released, all our girly boys must suck the real thing. Bring pleasure... and learn to enjoy bringing pleasure. That can only be done... adequately assessed... with real cock. And for the summer months... it will be yours.”

I am stunned. My homophobia stirring anew, I cringe, thinking of the many times I have had to endure maid Maxine’s attention.

Alas, I counsel myself in reluctant realization. Maxine’s attention has been most accomplished, her tongue and lips seeming to adore the firmness of the intact male. Such apparent envy. 

“You will be used weekdays, returning to your owner on weekends.”

There! She said it! Owner! Without correcting herself, Dr. Rosen continues...

“While here you will abide by our strict protocol. For failure you will be disciplined,” Dr. Rosen nodding to the young nurse behind me.

“Abby, just a reminder jolt please.”

Young nurse Abby steps before me smirking. Her right arm makes a rapid motion, the baton flipping into her hand as one would draw a pistol. She then lowers the tip, aligns and with a press of her index finger I am jolted, an electrical charge to my well exposed scrotal sac. The pain is sudden and unbearable. I lurch and shudder, nearly falling off the stool. 

“A cattle prod, Mr. Richards. We don’t us the cane here... it leaves marks. We don’t blemish the property of the owners,” Dr. Rosen succinctly explains. “That was the lowest setting, by the way. Just an inkling of what can be expected for disobedience.

“Thank you Abby,” the nurse returning behind me.

“You’ll be well tended, bathed, internally cleansed just as you are at the Phipps estate. Days you’ll spend having your penis licked and sucked by our aspiring girly boys. Nights you will be strapped down in thorough bondage.”

“What if I come? I... I... can’t retain forever with that much... ah... attention,” I meekly interrupt.

“I will explain that in a moment. The masturbation nurse reports that you were incapable of ejaculating for her... yes?”

I nod. Dr. Rosen smiles knowingly then continues.

“In addition to your duties, as stated certain attributes potentially detrimental to your standing at the Phipps Estate will be addressed. Taylor Phipps has insisted. We will instill in you a complete dependence on supervising women. You will not move without guidance... not do anything without permission. Right down to the most basic needs... eating, relieving yourself and at times...”

Dr. Rosen pauses, taking from her desk drawer a strangely shaped open tube. Slim and rounded at one end it curves to where the opposing end forms a lump similar to that which gags me. From there another slim tube protrudes.

“Breathing. This is an endotracheal tube for intubation... normally used to assure breathing while sedated for medical procedures... surgical operations... or during prolonged illness. We’ve modified it here at the clinic.”

Dr. Rosen gestures to the young nurse. Returning into vision this Nurse Abby takes the tube, stepping between my thighs. Her youthful look of innocence slowly transcends, a wicked smile coming as the fingers of her left hand pinch to close my nostrils. She patiently waits, the smile growing, and as I open my lips to take another breath, the slim end is brusquely stuffed into my mouth. The hand pushes, gruffly... more gruffly than medically regimented. The lump fills my mouth. The pushing stops. Despite the many days of enduring the penis gag, I somewhat choke. And the smile... it grows... and it frightens. 

“The nurses here... I should explain... they are selected for certain attributes. One of which is a noted lust for sadism,” Dr. Rosen offers with a pleasant laugh. “Now you’ll find you can exhale, Redmond, but not inhale. We’ve had installed a one way valve in the wicked little tubes.”

Left hand remaining pinching my nose, I learn first hand of the described alteration. For when I attempt to draw a breath, the tube yields not... and the pinching fingers of Nurse Abby’s left hand relinquish not as well.

I panic. No air!  Dr. Rosen smiles anew, noting my struggle. Hands restrained, the grip on my nose firm, my legs locked, folded under me, my lungs suck paroxysmally. Nothing! But what is more telling is that Nurse Abby steps even more proximate, the folds of her starched white skirt pressing my scrotum and upturned penis. And in contrast, her nearness, the cloth brushing my penis tip... it feels good. Her controlling presence excites!

“Calm yourself, Redmond. This is just a little demonstration... of feminine control... and how you will learn to cede to it. Yield even more than you have at the Phipps Estate. For I will decide when you draw your next breath. You cannot expel the tube, as I’m sure you’re aware. And the hand of the woman in control will not release your nostrils. You’ll just have to calmly and meekly wait, accept the ultimate in feminine governance... that the essence of life is ours to bestow... not yours to take.”

There comes a pause... no words... and no air. Finally Dr. Rosen breaks the silence.

“Ok, Abby, half a breath.”

Should I be grateful when the young pretty nurse leans even closer, taking the open end of the tube into her mouth and gently blowing? The one way valve opens, restoring much needed air into lungs desperate for resuscitation.

But then she stops, lips withdrawing, leaning back, her nirvanic look so wicked... so terrifying!

“Getting the feel for it, Redmond? It’s best to stay still. Motion uses up the oxygen which will only be partialled to you. You’ll have another gulp of air... in time.”