Chapter Forty-One

Thus began quarter four, their last twelve-week chance to drive out Karl’s demons: in disharmony and futile, pig-headed rebellion.

All that first long week Karl nurtured his anger and hatred of what was being done to him. He remained taciturn and uncooperative, refusing to meet his nurse’s eyes or speak more than was absolutely necessary. As she had recently done to him, he withdrew all evidence of affection, unjustly regarding her as a jailor and abuser of the vulnerable. He stoically accepted or turned his face away from kisses and touches.

There was nothing he could do about the monster of course. That idiot responded to baiting and fellating and torture as always, with greedy eagerness. It erected instantly at just the prospect of an inserted finger, thermometer or vibrator. It pulsed demandingly through enemas, hosing and disimpaction. It even greeted the prospect of rape by stiffening instinctively.

Nurse Drake took to wearing her fourth quarter uniform from right out of the bath to bedtime, flaunting her ‘big pink’ incessantly and using it at whim as well for interminable afternoon atonement sessions (had he actually once complained about the Lifetime Channel?). The monster even raged insanely at each initial penetration, until degraded excruciation and impotent fury drove out everything else when she began her brutal and pitiless pounding.

This was the negative incentive from hell.

It took the place of all the positive ones Karl pointedly eschewed, driving him to demented extremes in his efforts to recover his mobility. With Doreen taunting him to get up walk out if he didn’t like it, he tried his absolute damnedest to do just that. Yet no matter how madly he strained, cursed and cajoled himself or tried to reason his way out of his internal prison his body stayed obstinately inert, as vulnerable as ever to his daily workouts, discipline, and now almost constant buggery. Like everything else, this grew more demanding and unendurable by the day, as more punishing and degrading positions were added to his protocol.

Mostly he was still taken from behind. Whether because it was more demeaning to be fucked this way – swinging swaybacked from the sling, on all fours like an animal, kneeling with his face pressed to the mattress and his ass thrust up high, lying sobbing on his side as he was unexpectedly spooned in the deep of the night – or because she wanted to spare or deny him the sight of her dancing breasts and glorious estrus, Nurse Drake only employed one semi-frontal assault: the most humiliating of all.

This was the pile-driver position she once teased him with. Now it made him suffer the absolute most. Curled up almost into a ball, his torso inverted and his erection throbbing accusingly down at him from barely a foot away, his discomfort was infinitely exceeded by his degradation. When Nurse Drake stepped up to straddle him she seemed to tower to the heavens, tempting him to unwelcome rapture. When she pushed her prick down vertical, lowered herself with a spreading of her knees and slid it into him, her grin explicitly mocked both his supreme subjugation and the groan of greedy need that always greeted first insertion. Worst of all though (talk about irony) was the fact that it was impossible for her to get all of her usual power into it when she began properly fucking him in this position.

Riding his unreasoning anger, defying his own enjoyment, an element of denial had re-infected Karl.

Okay, he accepted intellectually that he needed this treatment. It was akin to the constipation torture, only worse. To pay his debt to femininity, and eradicate harmful male habits he was being made to suffer as women have always suffered.

First there were the endless beatings and confinement, then the trauma of childbirth, and now finally the ultimate nightmare of unwanted sexual invasion. It fit the theme of ‘appropriate and extravagant’ atonement too exactly to be argued against. This was putting him in touch with his feminine side with a vengeance, and no wonder it now occupied his afternoon and evening indoctrination and demeaning periods. Yet for all this logic to hold up, those rapes must remain unwelcome. Needing it was okay; wanting it was not. It was far more comfortable to hate and rebel than address the paradox at the heart of his dilemma.

That was far easier to do when she was making every thrust an unbearable agony. It was also easier when not faced with her eyes and smiles, her boobs jiggling in tight latex and her still contagious arousal in full flower.

Perversely fucked-up as he was, Karl preferred being hurt worse to giving up his juvenile masculine misconceptions. It seemed the needs of his treatment both demanded and forbid this last, and presently it was more comfortable to preserve them. Still he felt increasingly guilty and even ridiculous taking his desperate turmoil out on Doreen, and the beginning of the second week finally brought understanding between them.

He lay in the middle of the therapy mat, sort of. Mostly he lay atop the medicine ball, which elevated his rear end radically. From tits to chin he rested on the floor, as did his toes. The cervical collar kept his head craned painfully up and forward and the shackle-bar his legs widely spread. A new element had been added, a kind of triangular leather sheathe that buckled up the back. This encased him from fingertips to armpits, and with each little belt tightened mercilessly kept his forearms pressed together all the way to the elbow.

A tribute to the limberness they’d achieved with him, this was still surpassingly stressful on his shoulder sockets, growing almost intolerably so when she finished pounding him to her latest climax, pulled out and used the lift motor to raise him up by the ankles and fingertips until his face and peri-area were at the level of her prick. Still cheerfully overlooking his sullen rebellion, she wiped his nose and his chin and lips between the ring-gag and collar. Even with the fresh agony in his shoulders and back, the relief in his neck brought a tinge of unintended gratitude to his sobs. Doreen heard this and winked at him.

“Hang on, baby. This is week two, where all that cocksucker training starts coming in handy. I just need to make you a little prettier first.”

Heels clicking on the hardwood, big pink bobbing a little, she strode from the suite. Five minutes or more passed while Karl burned at the memory of his latest rape: the huge ball under his abdomen, his chin rubbed raw on the mat despite the incessant drool, her cries of selfish pleasure as she stabbed pneumatically into him…what was not to hate about any of that?

Finally she returned, carrying a hairbrush and a handful of wild violets she must have picked from the yard, going right outside in her latex and prick. With a light of teasing hilarity in her gaze she confirmed this.

“I saw these growing from the kitchen window while I was making lunch earlier. They reminded me of your eyes, little slut. I thought I’d braid them into my cute young cocksucker’s hair before I finally let her give me a proper blow-job. Oops, I mean ‘him’. Just to help him feel that bit more feminine, you understand.”

More humiliation, more burning resentment as his hair was brushed out and parted down the middle. Karl closed his eyes, listening to this woman he still loved so much humming to herself as she knelt beside him. Swift and nimble, her fingers began braiding the hair she’d clearly been deliberately growing ever longer all year. When she finished and held up a mirror, he opened his eyes at her urging despite himself.

His thick blonde hair (always his best feature according to Krista) was now in perfect Heidi-style pigtails, perhaps a play on his Nordic heritage. All up and down those twelve-inch ropes poked those impeccably placed flowers – some a shade darker than his eyes, but the newly emerged ones a perfect match. In any event, he did indeed look a bit feminine.

Gazing at the reflection of his own mortified misery – lobster-red face, chafed chin and slavering gape; tortured, million year-old eyes bloodshot and magnified – brought on a fresh spate of sobbing. Doreen removed the mirror. She cradled his head sympathetically against the warm skin and cool slickness of her breast. Unwilling to accept her comfort but unable to refuse, he bawled like an infant while she cooed and cuddled him.

“Shhh, baby, it’s not as bad as all that. I think you look absolutely darling, if rather understandably careworn. But you’re still my erring male to the cored-out core. I wouldn’t want to fuck you so much otherwise. I’m attracted to women no more than you are to men. Still, it’s all a spectrum in the end, and it’s fun to blur the boundaries and explore other roles. It adds a spice of excitement to what can sometimes be a necessity.

“Speaking of which, it’s now necessary for me to begin fucking your face as well as your butt. Do you want it involuntarily through the ring so you can childishly resent it, or shall I free your pouty mouth to participate?”

Shamed by so many things (the picture he made, his breakdown, accepting her comfort while he was still so mad at her, his continuing ingratitude and antipathy in the face of her patience), Karl took his first step toward caving. He met his mistress’ eyes and used his own to tell her he would willingly participate. Ball-crawlingly humiliating as it was, he’d hadn’t endured that terrible afternoon of training for nothing.

Nurse Drake unbuckled and removed the ring, careful not to disturb a strand of his hair. Then she stood, assuming a spread-legged, authoritarian stance. Her voice was suddenly husky with passion.

“Later you can service me as lovingly as you like. I look forward to a lot of heavenly, eventually consensual sixty-nine. But this is still atonement time. I’m sorry darling, but your participation is going to be limited for a while.”

Swinging him toward her as she thrust forward, she rammed into Karl’s willingly gaping gullet as brutishly as she ever did his ass. To Karl’s credit hoverer he dealt with this far better.

This cock was longer than the one he’d trained on true, and he retched involuntarily while adjusting to how much it plumbed him. The challenge was a familiar one however and he rose to it. With the collar holding his head up and immobile he turned himself into a static receptacle, sealing his sloppy lips around the root as hands on the back of his head compressed them against latex. He won the battle over his gorge in seconds and hung there impaled to the limit, his own cock stirring at the mix of rapturous abjection and pride of performance he felt. Then Nurse Drake shifted her grip to his pigtails and began swinging and thrusting, long strokes in and out.

Quickly these increased in force and speed. Yet Karl’s passive abnegation was perfect. Anathema as it was to his conception of himself, he almost relished the opportunity to show Krista’s ghost how far he’d come from the guy who was too insecure to let her get on top of him.

Goddess was right about at least one thing too: he knew he wasn’t gay, or not enough to be worried about anyway. It was a spectrum, as she’d said, and no one got killed by expanding the arc a tiny bit now and then. In a way he’d already made his peace with playing the sissy for Doreen through their serious-or-not banter about him living as her slave for real.

If this was what he needed to heal, so be it.

This was a way he could suffer extravagant and appropriate atonement and not only still live with himself but actually get off on the degradation of it. Slapping against his belly with the swinging of his body, his cock was completely hard of its own initiative for almost the first time all quarter. He even moaned as she drove in and out of him, the bone of her pubis bashing against his lips even as the faux bone mounted on it pitilessly plunged into his esophagus. In harmony on this level at least, ironically untroubled by the conflicts stirred by the identical use of his other hole, Karl contritely served and suffered interminably, until at last another orgasm signaled intermission. Then he had no resistance left to offer.

Doreen pulled out of him and dropped to down to face him. Before Karl could muster his defenses her beaming face was kissing his bruised and abraded lips.

“That was wonderful, darling! That’s how to take an atonement session with big pink!’

Her shining eyes and doting smile took on a winsome look.

“Don’t you think it’s time to get over being angry with me, darling? I’m giving you what you need and we both know it. Hating me might be convenient, but it’s not helping you and it hurts my feelings. I spoke the truth when I said I can’t bear the thought of you resenting me. I can suffer along with you if you insist on it little slut, but this is really unbecoming.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Before he could help it Karl was crying like baby again. Damn, he was so sick of being so weak and blubbery all the time! Doreen held him and petted him. “I just hate it so much!”

“I know you do – for now at least. And that’s by design. But don’t hate me, please. Even if I shatter glass screaming and come a thousand times, I’m still only doing my job. I just have a really rewarding one, especially when the patient is as delectable and lovable as you.”

This won a watery smile from Karl.

“I don’t hate you, mistress.”

She hugged his face to her breasts again. Her voice was a whisper.

“One day soon you’ll thank me for this, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Abruptly Karl was thrust out at arm’s length again.

“Are we going to be seeing a little more positive outlook now, little slut?”

Wow, she was so irresistibly beautiful.

“Yes, Nurse Drake. I was childish and I’m sorry. But this really is asking a lot of a guy like me, you know.’

“Well, we’ll just have to turn you into a more appreciative kind of guy then, won’t we? But not yet. You have to suffer until it stops being suffering. And there’s really no time like the present, is there, especially when my big pink is so nicely slick with natural lube?

“Gird up your guts, little slut. The afternoon is young and we’ve got eleven weeks to go. Let’s see if you really can take it like a man and behave yourself from now on…”

Strengthened by their rapprochement, Karl managed somehow.

He still hated it, but he could no longer indulge in transferring that hatred to her. He still loved her, desired her, and owed her so much. She was his Goddess and above his judgment, and she was right about another thing: better her and here than the vermin at the state home.

So he learned to smile tremulously at her little taunts as she prepared to take him in the sling or the bath or on the mat or bed. He acknowledged his perverted, reluctant, yet inescapable arousal up through the first stroke or two. Then the bludgeoning began, and he curled his toes, ground his teeth or bit the pillow, ring, or big rubber cock in his mouth and wept helplessly until it was finally over with. Afterwards he graciously accepted kisses or slaps on the ass, or even the intermediary insertion of the vibrator or plug with meekly penitent submission whatever the extent of his misery.

It helped as well when Nurse Drake began milking him daily. Though this was something else he’d greeted with initial misery, something that would damn him in every high school in the land, he always found this as calming as she’d said he would.

Lassitude seemed to radiate from her rubbing, and he invariably swooned into a rapture so deep he often missed the ending. Ever more often he heard that dulcet voice inside, telling him to relax and submit, that it was okay that he liked to suck her cock, no one would care if they knew and that it was best to take it the other way with contrition and grace too. After a while he began to listen to it. And so the slow evolution toward acceptance progressed.

Gradually the trauma he endured with each vicious ass-stabbing lessened – or perhaps he just began to get used to even this. Though he still wept and wanted it to end, he no longer spent each session in skin-crawling abomination. After the first month or so he even began to enjoy it beyond that first swift, indescribably fulfilling thrust, lasting three or four or more sometimes before she really began to hurt him, before the hideous shame swept over him and he remembered that was being corn-holed, fudge-packed, rump-reamed, turned into a simpering prison bitch, bugger-boy, pillow-biter, pick your locker room put-down. Then the misery overwhelmed him again, and it again became a test of endurance. Yet even so, Doreen eventually perceived something in his response that told her the time had come.

Soon this would no longer suit for atonement. It was time to turn it into therapy. Finally, with only six weeks left (how dreadfully the days were flying by!) she broached the subject.

It was bedtime, and they were in their version of the sixty-nine, with Doreen on top of course. Straddling his tipped-back head, she was using her feeldoe to fuck his face while she fellated his harnessed erection.

For Karl this was heaven: his lips kept kissing her labia around the cock connecting them and all he had to do was lie there and take the punishing thrusting and frustrating pleasure.

Doreen was both a workhorse and virtuoso at fellatio of course, and only the harness kept him honest. When she suddenly stopped fucking and sucking him short of orgasm and disengaged their reciprocal connection, Karl assumed the mutual enjoyment was over and that she was ready to begin pounding him goodnight. He groaned with resignation but no real horror. But then she turned, she squirmed and cuddled with him, rubbing her cock erotically against his side but making no attempt to take him with it. Her heat warmed him through the thin silk of her gown and her love for him was like a miasma in the air.

“You know what tomorrow is, don’t you darling?”

“Halfway through the last quarter. Six weeks left until the state home.”

“That’s right. It’s time to make that big last therapeutic push, to show the Krista within that you really have changed.

“You’ve taken my cock in atonement until its effectiveness for that purpose has begun to diminish. It’s time to use it for therapy instead. I will explain how that will work later. But in short, it’s time to make you love my cock and not hate it.

“So no sex tonight, darling. And no atonement cock tomorrow, except for in your throat. I’m going to have to fuck your pretty face some. Then we’ll have another nice romantic dinner-date as befits such a night of positive incentive. We’ll get high and have a few drinks and watch the killer meteor shower they’re forecasting. Finally I’ll take you to my bed and make love to your butt like you’ve been dreaming of, worm-turn your whole world, put the ghost of your old girlfriend to rest and maybe even heal you right there. Are you up for it?”

Karl felt a swooning rush in the dark. He wanted what she promised so bad, yet still cringed instinctively. Time was running out though, as were excuses. Unless their whole premise was wrong, all their evidence connected incorrectly, there should be little more reason for his subconscious to go on punishing him. Maybe learning to love what he would never have allowed his lost love to do to him would somehow make the difference. In any case, positive thinking was essential to any chances of success. Vaginal tricklings now dried to his lips stuck them together a moment before he could respond.

“I think that’s fabulous, ma’am. I’ll sure try my damndest.”

“Call me honey, darling. And don’t worry about trying anything until the right time. Just relax, accept, submit to femininity and everything will work out fine.”

“I believe you, honey. And I love you.”

“I love you too. Now let’s tie you up and get a condom on. Tomorrow’s a big day.”