I have two other blogs focused on medical fetish play but I stumble upon these dark posts and find myself getting so wet. This is a home for the things I'm too ashamed to put on my main blogs. NSFW, be 18+ or get the fuck out. In real life, I'm a raging feminist, I work in a field where I interact with survivors of assault and I'm a trans and queer person. But kink is kink and the internet is a dark black hole of depravity. Find me on kik (patientshane) or my other two blogs: medfetlover and transboydoctor.
Yet another pic with lots to like including the head restraint, serious hood, potential gag, sensory deprivation, straitjacket, tight straps, and electro CBT on top of apparent chastity. My kinda scene!
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being cared for but in a medical setting. having my hair washed by gentle hands in a basin, while im strapped down. being stripped and wiped down, forced to expose my self to be touched all over by the hands of strangers. certain areas of my body getting shaved or marked for later examination. getting dressed in one of those thin medical gowns, getting a faint pat on the shoulder whenever i sob or wince.
a distinctly kind but completely detatched care, looking after me only to ensure my validity as a subject.
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a fakeboy being packaged up to be sent to the re-education centre... note how her testosterone-swollen clitoris makes it much more painful for her than most other girls...
Just thinking abt coming home my own gyno chair… in my bedroom maybe, with a big mirror, in front of a screen to watch “educational videos”.
Naked, legs spread and secured to stirrups. An ecg on my chest… milkers on my nipples. On my nose a pretty feeding tube to eat while i spend my weekend there strapped. A catheter tubing my pussy too. Electroplugs on both my pleasure holes. My pussy pumped soft and sentitive first. E stim all around. Legs, clit, tits, ass, belly…
Then a c-pap on my nose and mouth. Straps on my cheeks and forhead, hugging my face. The thick tube running down my body. Starring at myself in the mirror, helplessly covered in wires and tubes. Then switching on the screen, get some nice medfet videos… Switching on the electro. Off into two entire days of inpatient treatment in my own room, cumming nonstop, just all alone in a room full of machines and wires. Not in charge of my feeding, going to the badroom, care about the house, not even in charge of pleasure. Just my own medical toy.
It was so degrading being made to lay down in front of a young nurse so she could pull down your pyjama bottoms and carry out the morning nappy check.
She would inspect my nappy and plastic pants for wetness or semen stains.
"Have you wet yourself?
Okay, and what about touching yourself. Have you been masturbating again?"
You may have heard, we use diaper discipline on our patients here in the hospltal, even if they are not bedwetters.
*We even have special, cutesy medical diapers custom made for arrogant pattents, especally men."
"Im sure wearing those for a few days in our adult nursery. will turn your attitude around."
Aww don’t cry like a little baby. Now just lay still there so I can put this diaper on you
And you had better be good or I will be doing all kinds of unnecessary stuff like administering a daily s enema that will cause you painful tummy cramps then plugging your hole with a slow dissolving plug before wrapping you in double or even triple diapers and protective plastic pants.
Oh yes. I can do what I like to you while you are here in the Clinic and there is really nothing at all you can do about it except do as you are told. Understood?
Of course you're too old for diapers, honey. You're a big, brave boy who can keep his undies dry all night. You can even be trusted to make it to the potty all by yourself without losing a drop!
Yes, I know, you really don't need diapers. Of course I believe you. I'll just check your big boy undies this once for old times sake.
Look at that cute little wet spot! Did someone leak? Aww, it's okay, baby, even big boys who definitely don't need diapers have accidents from time to time. No, you're right, it's absolutely not an accident. Still, we wouldn't want you wearing wet undies all night long! Let's get you into something more comfortable.
You know, I really think you should at least wear a diaper to bed. Although you're fully potty trained, they're just so much more comfortable than your undies, aren't they? Don't you love how soft the padding is, especially when it becomes warm and wet?
I hear you saying no, but your little prince parts are making the most precious bulge before I've even done up the tapes! If I didn't know any better, I would think you want to be Mommy's potty pants forever.
I'll tell you what. If you can keep this diaper dry while you have special playtime with Mommy's buzzy toy, you may wear your little underwear to sleep. But if I see even one drop--
Oh. Oh no! Did you have an accident already? I barely even turned it on. I guess you aren't such a big boy after all.
It's okay, little man, there's no need to cry. We can always try again tomorrow. And if you're never big enough to wear undies again, Mommy will be here to change your diaper forever.
doctors who specialise in gradually whittling down the resistances of lesbians through routine appointments 3-5 times a week
the lesbian is stripped naked and restrained to an examination bed/chair, legs spread, ankles clamped in stirrups, wrists shackled above her head, while the doctor, so gently and tenderly the sensitivity is infuriating and irresistable, examines their pussy and vagina
the doctor takes his time to check it for an effective response to stimulation using his fingers, medical instruments, mouth and tongue until the lesbians defiant shouts have melted to whimpering pleas for him to stop, that she'll do anything for him to stop. but the doctor last check is the most important one
once the lesbians cunt is gushing and twitching, dripping wet and their clit is swollen to pain, the doctor stands and begins undoing his belt. the lesbian's eyes widen, as the doctor sweetly says he must now check the effective response of her womb to sperm deposits.
the lesbian starts to cry and shout again as the doctor slowly inserts his cock into her eager cunt, and thrusts deep and slow into the warm wet socket of female purpose. the lesbian melts to whimpering cries, even the accidental occasional moan at thw feeling of a man's cock inside her, filling her like her girlfriend's or wife's fingers never could, reaching her g spot more perfectly than every strap on she owns
the doctor gently caresses her clit with one hand and her nipples and breasts with the other as he fucks her, praising and encouraging her submission to the natural pleasure and desire for a man's cock. he edges her, rocking her back and forth on the edge of orgasm until her eyss roll back and she's drooling. and only then does he rush towards his own well earned release, holding her birthing hips as her breasts bounce until he cums deep inside her womb
he fills her with every drop, not letting a single sperm go to waste and even after he's empty, he remains in her, rubbing her clit to make her orgasm again so her womb pulls in his seed as it contracts with pleasure
this goes on for years, of course, because by their next appointment the lesbian is determined to make it clear that she is and always will be a lesbian. but the doctor is patient, and knows it is his duty to attend to the needs and healing of the unwell.
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i wake up wearing a paper hospital gown and strapped down to a medical bed with my feet in stirrups. i’m disoriented, so it isn’t until i try to thrash around and get free that i notice there’s an IV in my arm and a catheter between my legs. alerted by my movement, a nurse comes over to check on me.
“i’m glad you’re awake, how are you feeling?” he says.
“i’m fine, what am i doing here?”
“you don’t remember? that’s not good. i’m going to take care of you, then i’ll get the doctor for you. he’ll be able to answer more of your questions.”
the nurse takes the catheter out, and i feel a relief from a pain i hadn’t fully processed. as soon as it’s out, though, he pushes another one in—one that’s a size up.
“hey, what are you doing?” i ask indignantly.
he smiles regretfully at me. “i know it hurts, but i promise it’s for the best.” after finishing with the catheter, he swaps out the bag attached to the IV drip, and i feel myself start to get drowsy again.
the next time i wake up, the nurse is already beside me. “hey, welcome back,” he says with a light smile. i’m groggy and confused, so he keeps going. “it sounds like the doctor is really busy for now, but he’ll come see you when he gets the time.”
he heads between my legs, pushing them just a little further apart than they were before to get better access. he pulls out the catheter, but again replaces it with something larger. “this one is a plug,” he explains, “which we use because it has some additional functionality. but of course, that has its drawbacks, so let me know if you ever need to relieve yourself.”
he leaves the room, and i’m left just to sit there bored and think about the pain between my legs. slowly, the memories from the night before start to come back to me. i was out dancing with my friends, and i remember clocking a man who was staring at me the whole time. it wasn’t until much later, when i’d had a few drinks in me, that he approached me and handed me a cup.
that man, come to think of it, looked a lot like the nurse. and isn't it strange, that no one else has come in to check on me? even if the doctor is busy, hospitals usually have multiple nurses.
as i start to panic, i feel the plug in my urethra start to... oh my god it's expanding. that's the "additional functionality" he was talking about. the beeping from the heart rate monitor speeds up, and i try to get myself out of the bed, but the restraints are secure. the man pretending to be a nurse must hear the commotion, as he enters the room immediately afterwards.
"now now," he says with a sadistic smile, "there's no need for all that."
"what are you going to do with me?" i demand.
"well first, i'm going to give you a sedative." he starts to fitz with the IV bag again. "not enough to knock you out this time, i want you to feel everything that's happening. but i really do need this struggling to stop."
"you're sick," i spit.
his demeanor remains frustratingly calm. "i'm sure you think so. but remember this point, because it's only going to get worse."
i want to curse at him, but i also need to know: "what do you mean? what are you going to do?"
he leans in close and almost whispers his answer. "i'm going to fuck you in a hole you've never been fucked in before." my eyes go wide and i pull back as much as i can within the restraints, which isn't much. he pushes a button and grins as i feel the plug expand again. "i'm going to fuck your pee-hole."
i try to resume my thrashing, but my limbs are heavy—the sedative is starting to kick in. "you're a freak! what's wrong with you?"
"a lot of things. but since the guise is up, i suppose we don't need this anymore," he says, then cuts the hospital gown off me. "and now that i don't have to pretend, i get to play with you as much as i want until the big finale." he flicks the plug and i scream.
when i'm eventually able to form words again, it's a babble of "no no no no please don't!"
"please don't?" he asks with mock surprise. "you want me to hurry up and fuck your urethra now? but baby you're not stretched out enough, i'd rip you open. well, if that's what you want—"
"NO i don't want that!"
"so you want me to keep playing with you then?" he flicks the plug again, and i scream again. "that's not an answer."
"yes, i want you to keep playing with me! please don't fuck me there yet," i sob.
You answered an ad in a dirty magazine about becoming some homosexual man's milking goat. You're trans and it's the 1980s so you're out of options. He takes you in and now there's no radio or phone reception for miles. Good thing you get exactly what your tranny heart desires; to join his farm ♡.
CW: Hucow but goats, human livestock (humane), con/noncon, drugging, t4t, trans/cis
"Welcome to the farm" a rustic, hand painted sign proclaimed as your truck drove by. It was a red beater truck, something only a farmhand would drive around given that it wasn't much to brag at; beaten and smelling like horses like it is... yet it took the dirt road just fine... and you had climbed in it eagerly no more than 3 hours prior. You sat in the passenger seat right now, in fact, as a large man drove you both quietly past the signs border and into private property.
"Are we almost there then?" You finally asked, voice breaking the silence sharper than you expected. The radio hadn't even been on, not a lick of static to buzz between you two so your voice made even you jump. It was no surprise that his eyes cut over to you quickly, almost irritated but no...no it melted into something more akin to surprise. It really had just been quiet.
"No, not quite." He finally hummed out, a southern drawl that made your skin buzz. That voice was what made you say yes to getting into his car; suddenly it wasn't too scary to join this man's cult.
"We have about another hour or so," he kept on, fingers flexing themselves against the old stained cover of his steering wheel, "You'll get to see a few of the other buildings along the way though, before we get to yours."
Before we get to yours...Oh that's right, the barn you'd get to live in for the rest of your life. Your stomach rolled, a hot clenching feeling that worked its way downward to your cunt. The other reason you'd got in this man's truck; the promise he made to you on a dirty internet ad that he seemed to be able to make good on. He was going to make you livestock.
You were going to be his little goat boy.
Your pussy clenched again, your eyes traveling around the cab of the car to focus on anything at all other than the heat burning through your extremities. It's probably the last time you'll be in the human part of a car ever again, your thoughts pulled at the nerves in your clit because they were right; soon your human experience would be over.
You leaned forward, making a daring display of human conscience as you turned the radio dials to play just about anything. The silence was broken by soft erratic buzzing of the radio searching stations; it went through about 10 before settling on some country music playing through static.
"We don't get much round here," the man spoke up finally, looking amused at your antics. He had waited for the world of visual storytelling to inform you of what you should've already known: no one comes out here. Ever. "I just don't feel comfortable lettin' men like them come up here and install things on my mountain. If I don't get some music...well then so be it- oh, a buildings comin up on the right."
And sure enough it was. The dirt road they had been driving on had went from city to town to highway to dirt road surrounded by fields; when they made it to the welcome sign they were engulfed by trees with just the idea of a mountain in the distance. For twenty minutes they had been driving through blank unyielding forest; now a small clearing dotted with buildings came into view.
The man didn't slow down, just drove on past what looked like normal livestock buildings surrounded by fenced in grazing fields.
"Those're just normal coops n stalls." And for what he said, they did just look normal. Cattle and goats seemed to be wandering around, munching away at the ground. A long building with what looked like 20 fans along its length sat back further and had no fences surrounding them; a chicken coop. "Gotta feed everyone somehow." He pondered aloud to you, kindly continuing to inform you of the simple nature of your new life. The world thinks this is a normal farm.
The buildings quickly left your view and you were once again swallowed up by trees and greenery. Your thoughts wandered, buzzing away like the static on the radio or some insect insatiable for a light bulb. You were insatiable for the mere concepts this man had thrown out at you and the not knowing was killing you.
It ate up at your guts gash first, pussy clenching inwardly to suck at nothing. Your new home would look like one of those barns and you'd soon be bleating away in an open field with your tits out; like the animal you knew you were. You'd maybe even get to press your face up into some farmhands crotch and feel the worn side of his hand press your firmly down, reiterating that yeah, that was the right thing to do. And you'd inhale, nice and deep, to get just a taste of his musk and he'd chuckle and let you go. Maybe make a comment about how engorged you looked and to come into the barn for a second so he could help-
The truck stopped and you let out a little gasp as the seat belt pushed into your skin. You hadn't been paying attention at all.
"Gimme just a moment," the man nodded to you as he stepped out of the truck and walked towards a building. As your eyes tracked him, all 6 foot nothin of him, you realized he had parked at a gas station. Or, moreso, a building parading as a gas station. It had the pumps, one of which the man had parked the truck at, and all the signage to look like a legit gas station but something about it just didn't look right. It looked to handmade to be legal. It was an hour into private property.
Yet, as the man walked towards the entrance, an older looking man came out and embraced him, slapping him on the back repeatedly before letting him go. Seamus, good to see you! What can I... the windows were up and the men walked away before you could hear anymore. But you learned his name and that made you feel some kind if way.
The soft southern man that was taking you away from reality, your new owner and master, was named Seamus.
He soon returned to the car, holding up two popped open glass bottles of coca cola. Branded, how fancy. The car wasn't hot by any means but Seamus sure hadn't been turning on the air either so the coldness of the drink was welcomed. You were half a sip on before you heard him tisk at you, a sucking sound from his teeth, and felt the bottle get just oh-so-gently tugged down away from your lips.
"Not yet," Seamus replied to your stunned silence, soda still in the pockets of your cheeks. "Now that's just rude, ain't it? Pavel's gone n given you a soda and you haven't paid him up yet." Seamus let go of the bottom of the bottle, leaning back to stand in the doorway of the drivers side.
Supposedly, the man named Pavel stood more upright from where he had been leaning bent against the back half of the truck, filling it with gas from the pump.
"Wh...what am I supposed to do?" You asked, finally, as they both stood there expecting you to do something. To pay Pavel.
"That's fair, you're new." Seamus nodded at your blunder, almost conversing inwardly with himself about how he was going to explain this to you simply. He seemed patient but repetition seemed lost on him. His face split into a smile and he looked over to Pavel like there was some inside joke, "why don't you just open your door and let him get to know ya."
So you did what you were told, turning and opening the door with your free hand and holding your soda in the other. Pavel was there before you knew it, smelling like gasoline and car parts, sidled up between your legs with your back to Seamus.
"You just let him do what he wants now, yeah?" You heard Seamus drawl, along with a few clicks of a lighter and the smell of a spliff. Apparently Pavel didn't need any permission, as his fingers ran their way up your spread thighs to your hips, working your shirt up and over- you raise your arms to help him take your shirt out but he just laughs at you and says something you don't understand in polish.
He doesn't pull your arms down but he may as well with how he just grabs your binder and pulls everything just over your tits. Oh, right, that's all that matters anymore. Your tits. Which now sat prominently on display in front of you both, nipples tentatively erect from being pulled out so unceremoniously.
Pavel exhaled hard, looking satisfied at your body as he placed his hands each under one of your teats and jiggled them. It was obscene and it made you squirm, trying hard to sit still against the leather of the truck cab. He laughed at you, genuine and full of pity as he let them drop with the weight of gravity and watched physics run its course.
Something in you wanted to be a good boy so you arched your back and presented yourself well, your tits warmed by the sun breaking through the trees above you. Pavel smiled warmly at you, saying nothing as he took the drink from your waiting hand and seemed to debate it. He very carefully lined the side of the bottle up with the tip of your teat and pressed it slowly down onto your flesh.
The sharpness of the cold made you tense right the fuck up, breath catching several times over as the bottle stood unyielding. He held it for an excruciatingly long time, enough for your other nipple to go soft and the current one to start burning against the glass. Only when you started to look over your shoulder in panic at Seamus did Pavel recind the bottle.
Just to promptly place it just as firmly against your other teat, except now he was massaging your hard, desperately cold teat like a pill between his thumb and finger. Your eyes met Seamus's as they finally rolled far enough over in your skull and everything in his face said to let him keep touching you however the fuck he wanted. It made your blood go cold and your pussy run hot and wet between your legs.
It felt like an eternity as Pavel alternated between icing your tits and massaging them gruelingly back to life. So much so that your soda stopped dripping icy perspiration down on your thighs and fell to room temperature, only then did Pavel hand it back to you with a smile and a nod.
"Seems you paid Pavel." Seamus finally said, climbing into the cab of his truck and closing the door. "Why don't you get buckled back up and enjoy your drink."
The rest of the drive was intoxicatingly long, alternating between idle chit chat with Seamus and sipping away at your coke. It was cool enough that you enjoyed it but just warm enough that it was a little too sweet to want to drink it quickly. Seamus encouraged you a few times not to waste it, since you'd paid Pavel so in full it'd be a shame. He kind of had a point.
You passed a few more buildings on the way in, just some cabins where people live, Seamus had said, offhandedly insinuating once again that you were in a different class now. You were his livestock, special and expensive; off market and nonexpendable. This whole operation ran off the back of your consent.
"You know, I'm curious" you speak up, finding it a little hard to project your voice but finding it nonetheless. "Are you ever worried someone won't respond to your ad?" The question had kind of dug at you in the last 30 minutes, as the two of you passed all of this infrastructure. Surely not more than just the two of them were degenerative enough to want a life like this, right?....right? Obviously not, as Pavel existed and the two of them aren't eating all of the grain silos and barns full of animals all on their own. So...how many people had actually answered the ad?
"Not really, no," Seamus responded smoothly, looking over at you briefly before looking back at the road. "We put it up where we knew people could find it and...well, the world bein the way that it is, people always want somewhere else to be." He said it so simply and honestly; and he was right. No one was nice to trans people, especially not those with any of the mental health issues you obviously had if you were willing to do something like this. But at the same time the way he presented it was so kind...of course you'd want to be here. Of course you'd want to be milked by a man that respected you enough to treat you like an animal. To expect nothing of you besides your base nature; to be yourself and to be used lovingly.
It was the same way it was presented in the ad...you could see it now in the raunchy porno mag you'd snagged from the video store a few weeks ago. The ad you laughed at the first time you read it...then couldn't stop reading incredulously after every time you touched your aching pussy to pictures on paper... then couldn't stop just straight up touching yourself to in general. You'd read the text Tired of living? Of being a person when it's all just too much? Become livestock today! Cows, Goats and more! It was accompanied by a PO box number and a tear out fill in form with your own contact information so they could call you directly. It gave very little information on anything else. It haunted you for weeks until all you could dream about was being here.
And here you are.
Seamus had still been talking to you and you promise you were listening but the headrest of your seat was getting so comfortable. It supported your head so well. And the sky, oh the sky that filtered through the treeline was so beautiful. It was turning a dusky grey with little specs of pink sunset throughout. It whooshed past as the truck kept on jostling the two of you forward, endlessly down this dirt road and forever away from civilization.
Time passed seamlessly, you almost didn't realize anything happened at all until you were absolutely positive you were being carried. Thrown up and over the strong toned shoulder of Seamus, you could tell by the pattern of his shirt. He had been wearing a soft and worn flannel, almost matching the same tones of the rust patches on his truck. Now your face was pressed up against the lower part of his shoulder blade and you could smell his cologne.
He jostled you about, your nose bopping the middle of his back, but only as an inevitable consequence of walking; you get the idea he wasn't trying to rough you up or treat you badly. Through the fog in your brain you could tell Seamus had stopped walking, the vibrations of his voice traveling along your jaw and through your throat. Just bringin my new goat to his pen, Seamus said, you'd hope in adoration but could only wonder as your eyes felt too heavy to open. The man he talked to joked about him drugging you, I thought this was a consent place, and Seamus just laughed back.
You parsed out from their conversation that Pavel had drugged you. It kept new livestock calm as they were walked through the large barn doors and down the well kept corridor of pens. Sometimes the realization of their new reality was too much for new livestock...sometimes it was just easier to wake up in your pen and start the day.
So you let your head bob and sway as Seamus proudly walked you down the isle, the smell of fresh soap and clean wood filling the air. If you could use your brain for anything other than drifting listlessly, you'd be able to see your pen as Seamus laid you down on your new bed. You'll come to call it your nest, like most of the other livestock in your barn.
It's a small cedarwood paneled room with half walls between you and your neighbors. A small half gate made of the same heavy wood has your name engraved on a placard, welcoming you home every time you come back from a milking. It was a simple little space with a floor bed and a nest worth of blankets neatly folded at the foot. It had no other human furniture one would expect in a bedroom, just a bed with a large mirror across from it; and open space with some food and water containers. Any adornments or toys would come with time; when the your true personality comes out through training and daily regimend.
Your blanket is green, you note as Seamus laid you down. It was soft and quilted, the stitches looking hand done; something you could only notice because you literally couldn't focus your eyes anywhere else but right in front of you.
"It's all right, sweet thing." Seamus cooed at you, as if you were some frightened doe in front of him. His fingers were warm and knowing as they undressed you, pulling your clothes off like he'd done this before. Like he'd drugged people and took clothes off them before.
"You're gonna take a nice nap while I start milkin you," his voice broke through the fog again, all you could do was hear and feel him. "You'll get real used to this."
It was so matter of fact. Seamus went about busying himself, something you could only see if he walked in front of you or the mirror across from your bed caught him. He came over with a small stool and a taller looking stool with a shape that was hard for your drugged brain to understand.
Seamus knew what it was for though and easily slid your limp body over the stool and into place. The leather was supportive and easily warmed up to your body temperature; your mind quickly forgot he moved you at all. It resembled the top half of a massage table with a circular hole cut out for your face to rest in; yet the spot where your chest would normally rest was completely cut out so your tits also just fell uselessly forward, pulled by gravity. There wasn't much else, maybe a few inches more to the stool before it ended. The rest of your body laid on your little bed, ragdolled there.
Seamus didn't waste any time, obviously empassioned by the process. Once he had you positioned, so kind as to make sure a small hand mirror under your face was placed so you could see what he was doing in the wall mirror, he began to wash your tits. One at a time, methodical and slowly with warm, soapy water and a wash cloth.
"Yknow, this time you won't give me nothin but I couldn't help myself." Seamus hummed, gently sudsing the area around your nipples. "Just didn't feel right leavin you here wonderin. Tomorrow we'll have the vet come in and get you squared up...get you producin."
Seamus tweaked your left teat when he said the word producin, his thumb twitching on the release. You think your breath caught, it wavered on your exhale; giving away just how awake you were.
"Oh, there you are. Pretty goat." He perked up a bit as your body responded to him. You could see in the mirror that he was moving the bucket of water away, discarding the cloth into it where it lazily sank to the bottom.
Your eyes shot open and you stopped breathing for a moment, the second that Seamus made the first true pulls at your teats. One after the other, in a time his hands knew by memory, Seamus began to work your tits. Your cunt sucked away at itself, pulling a knot into your stomach as you wished you could hear the sound of milk hitting metal. You wanted to give that to him.
But patience was a skill you'd learn here and would be rewarded for. Seamus groaned as he tugged, knuckles rocking upward and downward in a motion that genuinely worked your mammaries. It felt carnal and real, like something your body remembered but your mind was taught was wrong a long time ago.
You didn't realize until he stopped that you were groaning too. Like a bitch in heat.
Your teats were worked so much that the skin around your areola were just as pink and they stung a bit, especially at the tips. But as Seamus washed them again with the soapy water, now cooled from the rooms air, you couldn't help but feel satisfied.
Well, emotionally satisfied. Your cunt was still weeping between your legs, only calmed by the fact you were drugged and listless right now. You could do nothing as Seamus laid you back down onto your bed and tucked your naked and milked body under the covers. There was no light for him to turn off, as the barn shared large overhead ones that didn't direct any certain light into the pens. So it was easy for you to nod off, despite the gnawing feeling in your clit and dissatisfaction in your gash, because you were excited for tomorrow.
If it was anything like today, you could get used to this.
"Welcome to the farm." Seamus said softly as he latched the gate of your pen shut.
i think being forcibly stripped and put onto an exam table with my feet in stirrups in a public location where people could look at my shaved pussy close up and rub my clit to see how big and hard it can get and put things in my pussy and ass while everyone watches and laughs would fix me
I think that before a trans man is allowed to transition, he first needs to be medically tested by doctors to see if he’s a real trans man or just a confused fakeboy. They do this by misgendering and degrading him while fingering his needy pussy. If he manages to stay dry, then he is a real trans man who is given testosterone and sent on his way. But if the patient gets wet at being called a girl, then she’s a delusional transtrender, and letting her become a boy would be treated the same as allowing a patient to commit self harm. She would be prescribed with estrogen and breast growth supplements so she could no longer try to hide who she is, and if the doctor ruled that she didn’t seem to be making enough progress in her treatment (as measured by how much her bust size increases in subsequent appointments), then she would be forcibly institutionalized for her own good. That way the doctors could give her more intensive and rigorous treatment for her mental illness.
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Ah, to have cuntboys have a photo of their cunt on the front page of their identity documents instead of a photo of their face. Every ID - passport, driving license, nametag at work, university card...
To force them to show their pretty pussies to the cashiers whenever they want to buy alcohol or cigarettes - everyone waiting in the lane would see it too, of course, it's not like they have time to take you to the backstage for privacy. It's not like you deserve privacy anyway.
To force them to present themselves on the airport every time they're flying, to force them to be inspected by the security every time - we have to ensure you're really who you're saying you are, after all, it's about safety. So we have to measure your clit size - see if it's indeed one inch long as it says in your passport. Check if you're not smuggling anything inside your hole.
To force them to have monthly appointments at the city hall so it can be checked if all the information provided are still up to date. Every time you have to shave completely so nothing obscures the view - it's encouraged you get it permanently removed with a laser, though. If you're not shaved, they'd forcibly shave you bald right there, making sure it's up to standards, streaming it on the jumbotron outside of the building. Your clit has to measured while soft and hard so it's always easy to confirm if it's you and if you're turned on during any control - so they'd tease you until they're satisfied with the results. That would be streamed too, of course. Then they would finally take the photos - of you standing, squatting, holding your cunt open.
All the photos from these controls will be uploaded on a public server, along with your name. Anyone who knows your name can just type it in and browse through the collection of monthly photos of your aroused cunt. Additional details such as an address will be available upon request for the general public (if they provide a good reasoning - for example, they are interested in fucking you cunt) - and they are always available for people working in the police, security services, etc.
Lying in bed, I found myself an involuntary audience to a conversation between Emily, the care director, and Julia, my primary caregiver. They were discussing my progress at Alderwood, their voices clinical and detached. I lay there, listening but not invited to participate, a passive subject of their assessment.
"It's time," Emily said, her tone indicating a decision had been made.
"Jason has adjusted well to his initial transition. We should progress to the next phase. How is his physical state?"
"Significant muscle atrophy," Julia replied. "It makes him more manageable and reinforces his dependence, which is in line with our goals. The regression is progressing well."
Emily seemed pleased. "Good. And the restraints?"
"We’re moving to a more restrictive helmet and restraints," Julia continued. "He will be bed-bound in a mobile care bed. No more wheelchair."
I lay there, listening in growing horror. The thought of being confined to a bed, my mobility further restricted, was terrifying. Yet, their conversation continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
"The sedation, laxatives, and stool softeners are working well," Julia added. "His stool is consistently runny, which reinforces his new care-dependent identity. We’re planning appropriate activities in the playroom to match his targeted mental age."
Emily’s response was curt and businesslike. "What would you estimate his appropriate mental age to be now?"
"Like a special needs resident," Julia stated matter-of-factly. "He's progressing well, using simpler language, becoming more docile and compliant. The transition to his new life is proceeding as planned."
Emily nodded, her expression one of satisfaction. "This aligns with our Total Life Management approach. His care-dependent identity is becoming well established."
As I listened, a sense of profound despair settled over me. My new life at Alderwood was taking a turn towards even greater dependency. The prospect of being bed-bound, my movements and activities even more restricted, filled me with dread.
Their conversation painted a dark picture of my future – a future where I would be completely care-dependent, my identity molded into that of a docile, compliant resident. The mention of toys and playroom activities meant for someone of a much younger mental age only deepened my sense of loss. The thought of being confined to a mobile care bed, my physical and mental faculties further diminished by increased sedation and medication, was terrifying. The notion that this was seen as progress, as an appropriate outcome for my time at Alderwood, was almost too much to bear. Every aspect of my life, from my physical abilities to my mental faculties, was being systematically managed and controlled.
As Emily and Julia concluded their discussion, I lay there, a silent witness to the planning of my own regression. The realization that my identity, my autonomy, and my future were no longer in my hands was overwhelming. I was a resident under the total care of Alderwood, my life defined by the institution's policies and goals.
As they left the room, Julia’s final words to me were a firm reminder of my new reality. "Jason, you’re doing well. Embrace your new life. This is where you’re meant to be."
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