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755 Words
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“You must excuse our little affectation with the nostril tube. But we have found that it maximizes control with minimal effort,” the words Slavonically accented.
Having callously jammed the length of rubber up one nostril, with forceps the woman penetrates then fishes about in the opposing nostril as tears flow like a waterfall and Douglas sputters in protest.
He lies prostrate, head hanging over the table edge, well bound in his many Segufix straps and cuffs, and oddly welcomes the change after days of lying supine. For during that time, when not coated with powerful burning depilation cream, his mouth was forcibly held open to the extreme with a Jennings mouth gag, a demented dentist working away. It is a distressing enough tribulation without adding the pain and mental suffering of having one’s teeth methodically ground to the gums.
But now, as the woman lectures, it seems whatever his captors want, will be extracted. Yet up to now, nothing has been demanded, not even politely requested.
“Yes, I used to break bones, tear some ligaments, dislocate some joints. Things were different in the old country. Leaving marks was not a problem, permanent damage… no worry. I once crushed a very pretty set of young testicles, between a pair of flat boards the little balls could not long withstand my boot, leisurely pressed. Marvelously slow and painful, he talked of course. And that boy now serves as my maid. His subservience and loyalty to me are telling. But now, it’s the tube. Maximum authority, no marks. I no longer need these.” She pauses to flex massive biceps, well muscled and bare, a brief halter permitting coolness and ease of movement with wrists and arms.
The tube ends are knotted and gruffly pulled, testing the effectiveness and sending the important initial message that under such exacting feminine governance,‘you’re leashed’.
“There, nicely under control. Now Douglas, I’m going to learn just how good a boy you are. I have something for you to eat. And don’t worry, despite your dental work, it’s easily swallowed... soft and mushy.”
Teeth no longer a potential weapon, the woman works with impunity proximate to his mouth, fingers teasingly brushing his lips. A wheeled cart with tray is rolled before his face and Douglas notes a heaping pile of brown mush. It is disgustingly familiar and his heart pounds.
“Lots and lots of nourishment and I’m going to fill your tummy.”
“No! It’s s**t!”
“Oh, Douglas, you’re not to concern yourself with what it is. You’re to be obedient and eat it for me.”
With that, the left hand grasps the ends of the dangling nostril tube and lifts forcing his head back and aligning his mouth. The right hand retrieves a sizeable spoon and scoops up a large dollop of the foul looking mass.
“Open wide.”
The mush is presented and pressed to his lips. A repulsed Douglas refuses to partake, of course, and the woman cackles.
“Well, you’re not the first to decline my offering. But I’ll soon have you feasting. We do this often. It is good for a man’s pride to partake in what we offer. It humbles... and we like humbleness.”
A second tray laden cart is wheeled directly under Douglas’s chin. On it is a bowl filled with water, the height bringing Douglas’s chin to within an inch of the brim.
“So, you deny food. I will deny oxygen. When you decide to take my offering, you will have air.”
Such a simple matter to gently tug downward on the nostril tube and introduce her hand into the bowl, along with Douglas’s face. Yes, the nose and mouth dip below the surface. She pauses and the woman is masterful in her timing, depriving Douglas of air for just long enough to convince of her earnestness before directing his head and face upwards where he can take a hurried gulp of air before she immerses again.
Two more dunks and a gasping Douglas is once again offered the large mush filled spoon.
“No!” the single word sputtered.
The face returns to water as Douglas is alarmed to hear guttural laughter, shocked in learning of her glee. And he finds her correct, the effort needed to bring drowning is minimal, the pinch of thumb and forefinger, the gentlest of tugs, the needed resolve more than apparent.
“Just as with the others, you will eat for me. They all do. It’s what I do best, breaking a boy’s will. Not only obliterating your resistance, but in time you will beg me for it and thank me thereafter. I like it when a boy begs. It exhilarates.”
Yes, in time, Douglas ate, but not until after a few more equally distressing and traumatic dips into the bowl and much more gleeful cackling.
- Writer
