The Conquerable, A Femdom Novel

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Returning home, my spare bedroom beckons. Not only my Sybian but my naked houseboy resides within and as I enter my nose detects that a well restrained Douglas has wet himself.

“Good evening, Douglas, how was your day?” I mockingly inquire knowing that the Segufix system of restraint has not allowed more than a finger or toe to wriggle.

I approach and sniff demonstrably, communicating that I know of Douglas’s transgression.

“You’ve wet yourself. Good thing I diapered you.”

“I am sorry Ma’am.”

It’s a pain to remove the soiled garment. The Segufix system is comprised of a series of broad nylon straps studded with grommets. Such transverse his supine nakedness at the ankles, thighs, waist, chest and head, the ends to his right and left affixed to the sturdy guard rails of the bed. Soft but exacting cuffs and straps encircle the limbs and connect to the broader straps by way of clever magnetic locking posts inserted through the many grommets. Only someone wielding a special demagnetizing device can release the posts inserted through the aligning grommets and thus return mobility.

A well designed head harness also serves to immobilize. Tautly pulled and well secured over the forehead, Douglas cannot even nod. And should I choose, I can likewise render his jaw motionless; a second strap under the chin will silence completely my vocally impaired servant. As a psychiatrist, I know the system inures onto the holder of the demagnetizing device the ultimate in perceived power and authority. And the design, one in which anyone can quickly remove the locking posts, anyone with freed arms and hands, gives rise to a luscious level of frustration for the bound. Anyone can offer mobility, except the trussed. And Douglas is fully aware that the demagnetizing device, which offers freedom, rests nearby, within feet, if not inches. But he cannot avail himself of its offer of emancipation, only a governing woman.

“Wetting yourself will mean punishment, Douglas. Your tube awaits.”

“Please no, Ma’am, it’s... it’s so...”

“Painful... controlling... dehumanizing, disconcerting that it imbues such wondrous power? That it forces you to cede what I believe, deep within, your psyche wishes to offer?”

Silence, and in my profession silence signifies consent.

“It removes ambivalence, Douglas. Removes the opportunity and need to make choices. Leashed like a pet, for the likes of you it terminates the burden of having to decide. You would never pull the trigger on your own, Douglas, detonate what your cohorts in Afghanistan trained you to fabricate. That they learned late, casting you out and making you a bomb school dropout. Yes, though deep within there is a need to end all of life’s burdens it will not be through suicide. Having to make choices, selecting paths, roles, friends, enemies, you need someone else to even make that decision. So the tube strangely entices in ending all need for thought, any need to accept responsibility. It empowers and you enjoy empowering. Your loss, your surrender of will, becomes a heady transference for the right person, such as me. You are commanded, and you obey. Life at its simplest. For you there is bliss. And for she empowered, there can also be bliss.”

As I speak, I prepare the rubber tube identical to that which changed Douglas’s life. I lubricate and summon thoughts of early medical school. My training, in the hospital emergency room, an unconscious patient, breathing impaired, possibly an airway blocked, one must learn of the body’s various orifices and experience the inspection thereof. I know the nasal passage to be sensitive. I know it to be accessible. I know that palpating, stuffing, the insertion of an object into the sinuses, being so near the brain, can bring consternation. It’s what ‘water boarding’ is about, partially. Not only the sense of drowning but that something foreign is forcefully introduced so proximate to the cerebrum and frontal lobe.

Unfortunately for Douglas his captors were equally aware of the reaction of the somatic system. Though there is no true endangerment, the mind over reacts. Panic, terror, fear with a governing woman there to offer comfort, or torment, should desired behavior and cooperation not ensue.

Is it cruel to return Douglas to his captivity? Of course. But my vanilla side postulates it is for his own good. Douglas is the abandoned puppy at the local pound awaiting adoption, or extermination. I offer adoption.

Rubber forceps, somewhat flexible, begin to work up Douglas’s right nostril. He protests, pleads, struggles against his bonds in vain. The sinus cavity initially resists invasion, but a firm hand and knowing fingers soon feel the little pop of concession, the prongs entering the sinus cavity. Tears flow, bringing a smile but no grace as my right hand inserts the tip of the tube into the left nostril. Smaller than the forceps, the tip slips into the sinus cavity with less resistance. I fish about with the forceps, snag the tube and slowly draw the invading tip of rubber back down the right nostril. In being about a foot in length, I adjust until the two free ends of the tube dangle just below Douglas’s encumbered chin. I discard the forceps and grasp the twin ends, tugging gently. In forming an upside down ‘U’, the tube has been looped through his sinuses. Douglas cries out evidencing the incredible level of sensitivity. I smile then pull the left end of the tube down a little, tie a simple granny knot then pull the right end until the knot slips up into the opening of his nostril. I tug the right end, stretching the tube. This offers a moment of intense discomfort as I tie a similar knot on the right side. When I release, the tube retracts, the right knot likewise slipping into the right nostril.

Gratified that my new leash will not inadvertently slip out, I smile knowing that my pet will instantly and most obediently respond to any level of handling I choose to administer. “Brings back memories, Douglas?”

“Yes,” the voice beleaguered.

“Well, while you’re here serving me, your nostrils will be so intubated. I like the control it offers. But you will have a decision to make. Should I remove it each time you leave and stuff you each time you return, or just leave the tube in place? It will probably be your only decision, Douglas. It’s your choice.”

As I speak, I grasp the demagnetizing device and begin to remove the many locking posts inserted into the many grommets and holding Douglas completely immobile. I know the ease and quickness brings a sense of frustrating futility to the bound, the small but emancipating demagnetizing device placed well within reach, including he thoroughly trussed, given the ability to lift a hand.

He will be returned to the Posey cuffs while I supervise diaper removal and a cleansing shower. He will always feel the constriction of some form of bondage in my presence, and perhaps when not.

Then it will be time for him to learn to crawl for me, tube-bearing hand gently offering feminine guidance.