Over the ensuing days, Mr. Reggie will find himself drained of every drop of male essence that the concupiscent Miss Ashley can extract.
In the darkness my thoughts return to the longest night of my life, really several days, a time that would seemingly not end.
I soon found that the tight lid of my box not only immersed me in total darkness, all sound was expunged as well, leaving me to listen to my breathing. Still I could feel and liquids seemed to be constantly siphoning through the gastric and rectal tubes to provide water and sustenance. Otherwise there was nothing.
I assumed that I was being monitored, my last vision while sliding off the table being an electronic board on the nearby wall. I later presumed this to display my vital signs to an observing nurse.
And though encased for many, many days I still had no desire to move. It became reasonable to assume that whatever narcotic had been induced continued to flow into me either orally or rectally.
I became lost in my thoughts. Miss Ashley’s face constantly appeared in my imagination. Various memories of the trips to the Duval tropical island flashed... orally servicing Miss Ashley on the sand of the sun filled beach, observing Miss Ashley so reverently tour her Aunt’s musty preparation room, Miss Ashley’s soft yet firm hand masturbating me to entertain the island women, exploring the island, naked but for wire mesh mittens, that odd graveyard with the simple tombstones for Chippie, Bernie, and Ralphie.
In being entombed, my mind harped on that small cemetery. What was it Miss Ashley said when I asked about its genesis?
“Companions of my Aunt, Charles. The boys who after losing the wager of the first hunt later accepted the challenge of a second. It was long ago and they each wagered a lifetime of servitude, and more, against just one of Aunt Meredith’s many millions. They lost.”
She was casual in her reply, in no way hinting at foul play. So the matter was dropped. But since I ironically found myself entombed at the clinic, not as permanently as Chippie, Bernie, and Ralphie and though alive, entombed all the same, the memory occupied my thoughts. And being at the Amsterdam Institute for Behavioral Modification, heavily endowed by the same Meredith Duval, furthered the sense of irony. It was as if her hand reached from her grave, seeming to protect the heir to her fortune.
I wondered if Aunt Meredith’s curare tipped darts, those used to subdue her prey, had the same effect as the Thorazine so diabolically used to subdue me.
I comforted myself in reciting to myself my legal rights. This subterfuge could not last forever. A hearing would come, before a judge. I would be freed and be very insistent that the terms of the prenuptial agreement be met.
But when? I should be angry. Outraged! But I was not. There was instead a strange sanguineness.
Drug induced? Or perhaps contrition for conspiring for Miss Ashley’s millions.
Whatever the case, one cannot live in a box forever... at least I didn’t think so.
Then finally there came noise other than my breathing. The lid was being lifted! And I found myself clenching my eyes. Tender hands pressed a warm moist cloth over my face as a blindfold. A soothing voice offered greetings.
“Been a good boy, Charles?” the voice humorously inquired.
No more ‘Mr. Barrington’, the young female voice spoke very patronizingly.
Obviously with gastric tube in place I could not reply.
“Move your right arm for me. Try hard for Nurse Peggy.”
I was surprised to find that if I concentrated I could indeed move, reacting as a child would to a kind but insistent mother. But I needed the prodding, my own thoughts floating in clouds, the circuitry of my brain not seeming to be connected to my body. The soft but firm voice seemed to cut through the fog to momentarily connect the circuits.
“Oh yes, very good, Charles. You’ll find that over time the Thorazine has that effect. It makes the mind very receptive to a controlling voice. Now the left arm, try real hard. Concentrate on my words, what you’d like to do for me.”
It moved and I found myself oddly proud to be pleasing the nurse. I felt a finger tip brush the underside of my penis in a simple but welcomed form of reward.
“In a few more days we’ll have you out of there.”
The blindfold was slipped away and the resulting flash of light was quickly extinguished when the lid was shut. The tedium resumed. My mind reentered its odd space where memories of past events seemed to replay like old movies. Gone were further thoughts of attempting to move a limb.
During the ensuing days there came a new element of boredom. In being nourished through tubes, my sense of taste was rendered useless. Though never an epicure, I experienced this natural human desire to tantalize the taste buds and in being kept in a box I tasted nothing. So fused with the many dreams of Ashley, our marriage, the island, enduring all the kinkiness, came thoughts of food. Such was not driven by hunger. Whatever was pumped into my stomach and colon seemed to quiet the physical need for sustenance. There came instead a psychological need, especially after the many dreams of eating fine foods. The need to taste cascaded, each hour, each day? Eating moved higher on the mental list of things to do when finally released. The smell and taste of freshly baked pie become a recurring hallucination.
Then something finally changed! The steady hiss of oxygen flowing into the box stopped. I had not really noticed it made noise until it ended. Then I felt the box move. It slightly shook and vibrated. It was being rolled. Within minutes the lid was raised and the same warm wet cloth quickly covered my eyes. There came the comforting but commanding voice of Nurse Peggy.
“Dr. Corrothers would like to speak with you, Charles. If you agree, nod for me please.”
Again her voice cut through the drug induced fog, causing my cortex to stimulate long unused nerves and dendrites. Such spurred my neck muscles and I nodded with all the enthusiasm I could muster. I would do anything to change the days and days of isolation and silent darkness.
Chapter Twenty - Corky
In being leashed with arms and legs enfolded in ineluctable latex, one really doesn’t fully sleep. Depending on how cruelly the leash is tied, lack of slackness can awaken whenever I roll or shift, the chain leash tightening and pressuring my spiked neck collar.
Thus I lie half awake in the darkness and well into the night hear my wife murmur. She knows that Mr. Reggie’s sexual prowess is most likely restored after hours before exploding deeply into my gullet for the entertainment of her guests. I cannot help but roll back onto knees and elbows and peer over the edge of the mattress. There in the dim light I see an insatiable Miss Ashley caressing the massive manhood, coaxing it to erection. I am envious. She senses that I am watching, turns her head to me and smiles devilishly, reading my thoughts. At one time that knowing hand worked my member. And now I watch on all fours as it assiduously works the somnolent Mr. Reggie. The handsome, most physically attractive Mr. Reggie. He who I fellated at the behest of my wife and Master.
As I am sure wife Ashley has instructed him, he is to repose supine while she is on top. So a half awake Mr. Reggie knows to lie and accept the graceful touch, repressing the urge to reciprocate and subordinating all urges to his superior.
I can see the outline of his long and thick ten inches as Miss Ashley’s hand pumps once more to assure its firmness. Then she rises to kneel astride his hips, holding the engorged shaft and introducing the bulbous tip to the meaty flesh of her outer labia. So many times it was I lying under her. So many times it was my manhood, now rendered useless by her decree, that pleasured the warm wetness of her vaginal pouch.
Miss Ashley plunges downward to impale herself with a quick and aggressive motion, her sheath obviously quite well lubricated by the images of some licentious dream. There comes her sigh as Mr. Reggie’s erect penis opens her. She will proceed to ride and I must watch and listen, my abundant hormones causing my own phallus to thicken with desire.
A life of chastity, enforced by Dr. Helga Reinhold’s scalpel, has assured that all I can do is frustratingly
observe. And to add to Miss Ashley’s amusement there was the weeks and weeks of counseling at the Amsterdam Institute for Behavioral Modification.
The memories return.
After nodding, agreeing to talk to Dr. Corrothers, many hands worked to disconnect the various tubes leading from penis, rectum and throat to connections in the interior of the box.
My eyes slowly adjusted and Nurse Peggy slipped away the blinding cloth. The dour Nurse Valerie worked with her and those firm seemingly caring hands slowly pulled away the gastric tube.
“We’re going to leave in place the catheter and rectal tube, Charles. But the gastric tube inhibits speech and we think you’d like to talk to us. You would, wouldn’t you?”
Again the condescending tone, yet after the days and days of isolation and the narcotics, it was no longer irritating. My mind seemed receptive to being spoken to as if a child. The simple, firm words, softly spoken, seemed easier to process. They came through the mental fog and I listened, temporarily putting aside the cascading dreams and hallucinations.
So I managed to nod.
“Good boy. Nurse Valerie will help. You’re going to be weak so when we release you from the box just stay on the floor. It’s rubber padded and you can crawl for us.”
Four hands expertly assisted as I struggled to roll over the edge of the box onto the floor. Nurse Valerie held the catheter to ensure it did not become entangled and I found Nurse Peggy was correct. I was not only extremely weak but disoriented. I was strangely grateful for the guidance as the firm soft voice instructed.
“Come over here. We have a nice shower. Charles needs to be cleansed. Yes he does.”
Yes I did. Despite the preciously controlled temperature inside the box, I was coated with days of perspiration. So I gingerly moved on hands and knees detecting soft laughter from the normally dour Nurse Valerie. I looked up to see her holding the end of the catheter tube. It had become a leash and it was evident that she enjoyed holding it. When I momentarily paused, she gently tugged, bringing an instant of most unusual pain to my penis tip.
“Just a little further,” she admonished.
I was led to a tiled section of flooring with plumbing fixtures on the adjacent wall. Remaining on all fours the nurses doused me with soothingly warm and cleansing water and four hands began to soap and wash every inch of my nakedness. The sensual input after many days of deprivation overwhelmed. Had I a tail, it would have waggled like a happy puppy, I ironically thought at the time.
I was being groomed like a dog, an image that I could not extinguish, and when particular attention was paid to my long neglected penis and testicles, I felt myself begin to stiffen despite being catheterized.
This brought another chuckle from Nurse Valerie.
“He’s a randy one, this Charles. Good thing we have him tubed.”
Nurse Peggy joined in the laughter, her hand reached under my stomach to confirm Nurse Valerie’s finding.
“Yes, the Thorazine dosage has been greatly lowered. His physical incapacity will slowly diminish but there’s just enough to continue mental receptivity.”
While the nurses spoke as if I was not present, my mobility increased and I turned my head about to inspect the room. It was large, windowless, quite sparse with one wall entirely covered in mirrors. There was only one door and it appeared formidably locked.
Large fluffy towels dried me. Nurse Valerie moved towards the door to exit. As she approached there came a buzzing sound and a click. The door yielded to her hand. Someone controlling the lock obviously was watching. The mirrored wall was one way glass.
“Feeling rather peaked, Charles?” a voice seemed to reverberate throughout the huge room. Loudspeakers in each corner carried a stentorian female voice. I recognized it as the psychologist who greeted me at my apartment door. I answered affirmatively in a raspy voice.
“This is Dr. Stella Corrothers. Welcome again to the Amsterdam Clinic. You’re confined in the special ward endowed by a person of whom I am sure you’re aware, Meredith Duval. We treat sexual deviance here, Charles, a specialty if mine. Miss Ashley Duval has become very concerned over your behavior and had you institutionalized against your will. As an attorney I’m sure you’re aware that that’s not easily done in recent times, but there are considerable resources at Miss Duval’s disposal.”
There comes a sardonic laugh and the microphone temporarily clicks off. Then the voice returns.
“Miss Duval indicates you’ve been rather deviant and disobedient, Charles. Running about without any clothing, performing sordid acts before the help. And being rather self destructive. In being offered a life of leisure, you’ve instead spitefully filed papers for divorce. Tsk. Tsk.
“Well here you’re going to learn obedience. First to the sound of my voice, then to Nurse Peggy and finally to the fairer sex in general.
“Remember, the name of the Institute, Charles. Behavioral Modification.”
The microphone clicks off as another sardonic laugh commences.
Then there is another click, apparently inadvertently returning sound to the loudspeakers. It was then that I was provided a clue as to my fate, overhearing comments evidently intended for someone behind the one way glass. Perhaps Miss Ashley?
“Nothing like a steady stream of homoerotic encounters for the virile homophobic male. The shock, the horror, the revulsion. So nicely cathartic. He’ll be barking for you sooner than you think.”
Chapter Twenty One - Miss Ashley Duval
Riding Reggie is delightful at any time. But in the predawn hours, having somewhat rested and knowing that after climaxing to complete gratification I can roll to the mattress and sleep some more, there is added a most relaxing element to steamy copulation.
And with Corky watching in envy, to the physical stimulation of having ten hot and stiff inches friction my love nest there is added a satiating feeling of revenge.
Yes, I know my thoroughly chaste husband is watching, his penis probably stiff in coveting my naked derriere as I pump up and down. And as much of Reggie as he has already tasted, he’ll later be cleansing me of even more semen while I linger over morning coffee.
The thought brings memories of the Amsterdam Clinic where Charles became Corky and the process of operant conditioning began.
I sat with Dr. Stella Corrothers in the observation room where Charles was finally released after many days of sensory deprivation and rectally induced Thorazine. Physically weak, the drug opened his mind, effectively extending a welcome mat to the commands and desires of his handlers. Dr. Stella informed me that though young, Nurse Peggy was one of the best behavior modification nurses on the staff.
“Young, pretty, authoritative, Charles will be immersed, his mind overwhelmed by the conditioning. He’ll soon be sitting up and begging for a simple treat.”
Oh, the image made me wet.
So I sat behind the one way glass as Nurse Valerie and Nurse Peggy released and cleansed my ungrateful husband and the process began. I had been warned of the time and the cost and shrugged off such as minimal compared to what Charles’ scheming would have ultimately cost. And there was the satisfaction of revenge. Upon being served the divorce papers I realized that my fears were unfortunately correct, I had been set up.
Charles’ enthusiasm and insistence on a prenuptial agreement hinted at what was to come. After all, it was I who should have been crafting such a document to seek to protect my assets, not he.
So this condescending Nurse Peggy, stepping into the role so wonderfully, finishes drying my slippery clean Charles. He remains on all fours, the neuroleptic narcotic affecting his motor skills. Dr. Corrothers suggested that he was not physically incapacitated, it was that his mind was dulled and the nerve signals to move, or do anything for that matter, needed prompting... needed the firm suggestion of a controlling person. In our case it was Dr. Corrothers and Nurse Peggy.
“Charles, I want you to respond to the nice Nurse Peggy. She’s been kind enough to release you from your box.
And such a warm and soothing bath you’ve had after lying in darkness. Can you crawl to her for me? No need to stand, I know it’s too much effort. And the floor is well padded so your knees won’t hurt.”
Nurse Peggy positioned herself against the wall opposite the wash area where Charles lingered in his mental fog. She augmented Dr. Stella’s strongly worded request by gracefully clapping her hands.
“Here, Charles. Over here. I have something for you.”
Oh, I think my moisture began to run down my thighs in watching my theretofore contumacious husband respond so obediently. Charles crawled to the waiting Nurse Peggy. As he neared she moved, stepping to one corner so that Charles had to knowingly and willingly shift directions. Dr. Stella smiled in seeing his reaction. She flipped off the microphone and turned to me.
“Yes, receptive, quite malleable but with some degree of cognition. We have the dosage just about right.”
The microphone clicked back on.
“It’s been a while since you had solid food, Charles. Crawl a bit for Nurse Peggy and she’ll have a reward for you. A cookie. You’d like a cookie wouldn’t you, Charles?”
Nurse Peggy teasingly stepped back as a crawling Charles neared. She stooped to show him the cookie, turned and then walked to Charles’ left to another corner. Charles continued after her. Dr. Stella again turned to me.
“This becomes rather laborious after a while, Ashley. Nurse Peggy will work him for an hour or so and he’ll get his cookie. Then it will be back into the box. We’ll withhold food, the gastric tube being rather ungainly to repetitively insert and remove. But that will furnish a suitable system of rewards for desired behavior, he will be most eager to eat and he will not do so until he responds to our commands.”
“And his oral training?” I inquired, my thighs inadvertently clenching with the thought.
“Probably will begin in the second session after this. One step at a time, Miss Duval. It will take many sessions and he must be eager to perform for us at each encounter. But in the end he will be conditioned to engage in what he formerly thought of as the most vile of acts. And he’ll do so at your command. We’ve never failed.”
The Chris Bellows' Collection Page 24
