Dangerousangleofadream - Femdom

men were made to be obedient little toys. they just look so pretty with tear and sweat stained faces, just begging to be a good boy.

how does it feel to know youre pathetic enough to do anything just to hear me say youre being a good boy?

Drool - Part 2

💊 Part 1 💊

"Well someone has ants in their pants! Are you excited to have a room all to yourself?"

Your jaw would drop if it weren't already anchored open by the giant pink pacifier bobbing stupidly in your mouth. You try to catch your breath, but it isn't a simple task. The only way you can comfortably inhale is to gum the firm, rubbery shaft in a regular rhythm, suckling like a lamb as you breathe through your nose in soft, short bursts. The metronome of your squeaking and puffing is interrupted only by sporadic, thunderous slurps, when your full mouth is no longer able to accomodate the ocean of spit spilling out from under your flattened tongue. Any saliva you're unable to swallow bubbles out from behind the shield of the pacifier in a geyser of slimy drool. It glazes your cheeks and chin before draining pitifully onto the front of the tight, cloth bib wrapped around your neck.

And yet, despite the bizarre predicament you find yourself in -- uselessly pawing at your thin paper hospital gown in a pair of pink mitten restraints -- the sight of this bedroom plunges you further into the depths of astonishment.

The pastel purple accent wall is dominated by a life-sized mural of a bashful unicorn, which trots gaily along a rainbow road. A small dresser stands in the opposite corner, painted in the same cream-white and pink trim as the heavy fiberglass guardrails of the hospital-style bed. The large flatscreen television suspended from a high wall is already turned on: a cartoon bunny wearing shortalls stares down at you, singing hypnotically about his favorite letters of the alphabet. The entrance to the small bathroom -- tiled in bubblegum pink -- has no door, and is fully visible from the hallway when the room's privacy curtain is drawn open.

"Nnnngggh eehn ahhee nnggh?" You gurgle in confusion to Nurse Molly, tickling your nose with the spit bubbles that froth up behind the shield of your pacifier. This can't possibly be the room they assigned for you! What is going on here? Unable to bite your lip or scratch yourself to ease your anxiety, you stomp and shuffle awkwardly in the pink jelly sandals you had been given to wear with the matching hospital gown. You use the round, squishy toe of your right shoe to play with the jelly strap of your left, lightly skinning the back of your ankle in the process.

"Sorry, honey," Nurse Molly replies with a dismissive smile. "It'll be tough for us to have a chat during your oral treatments. Before we get you settled in, we need to do something about your fidgeting; you're going to trip and hurt yourself dancing around like that."

Nurse Molly reaches into the pocket of her pink scrubs before playfully shaking an orange cylinder of pills in front of your dripping face.

"These -- " she rattles the container again, as if teasing you with an enticing treat. " -- are a simple muscle relaxer. While our program is set up to address the root cause of your tics, medication can provide some short-term relief in the early stages of treatment. These pills might make your arms and legs feel a little funny, so it's best if you lie down for an hour or two after taking them, until we find a good dosage."

Nurse Molly walks over to the bed and releases a latch under one of the fiberglass guardrails. The chunky, solid barriers of poured white plastic fold down, granting you ingress to the elevated mattress.

You hesitate, feeling the gentle rain of spittle on your chin as you once again behold the giant unicorn on the wall. Everything about this situation feels wrong, and yet Nurse Molly's impassive assurances are filled with so much promise. You imagine the life you could be living soon: no longer afraid to speak in public, no longer drawing looks of concern from your scratching and biting, no longer annoying your peers with shaking legs or incessant tapping...

In defiance of your gut instinct, you climb up onto the bed. Nurse Molly guides you into a supine position as you struggle to gain purchase with your slippery, balled mittens. Soon, she has you on your back, staring up at the dumb cartoon as you paw nervously at the guardrails.

"Stay right there, honey," Nurse Molly retreats to the pink-tiled bathroom and you hear the sound of running water. When she returns to your side, your eyes flutter in shock. She seems to have found an enormous plastic bottle with a wide rubber nipple cap, and filled it to the brim.

"It's important to take these pills with lots of fluids. The water carries the medicine throughout your body and helps it take action more quickly," Nurse Molly explains with clinical confidence. Your lips tingle as Nurse Molly firmly grips the shield of your pacifier with a finger and thumb, sliding the silicone shaft out along the curve of your tongue like a damp carrot being plucked from the ground. You grimace as you watch a thick, cloudy rope of saliva chase the shaft of the pacifier through the air for several inches, then collapse like a heavy bridge onto the front of your soaked bib.

Despite the humilation, you take a moment to rejoice in the feeling of emptiness in your mouth. Your teeth feel strange as they involuntarily clamp down on your bottom lip -- almost like they had shifted slightly to accomodate the bulging, rubbery guest that had come to join them.

"It's worse than I thought," Nurse Molly coos with concern, holding your drool-coated chin with a gloved hand as she massages the inside of your lower lip with her thumb. "We won't be able to leave you without the oral device for long. Until I can consult with the doctor, we're going to keep it in whenever you're not eating or drinking."

"B-b-but -- " The taste of latex from Nurse Molly's gloved thumb is replaced by the slightly bitter flavor of three large pills, which begin dissolving as she drops them onto your tongue. Your stammering attempt at speech is both literally and figuratively drowned as your doting caretaker tips the plastic bottle upside-down, sliding the rubber cap between your slick, drooly lips.

"Soon, all those squirmies are going to go away," she says breezily, squeezing the bottle so that you're forced to gulp down the fountain of cold water. "You'll feel so relaxed...so calm..."

The minutes tick by slowly as Nurse Molly continues to empty the bottle down your throat. You're cognizant of the cartoon playing on the television, but the sing-song of the character voices seems to melt into the background. Your arms do feel a bit funny...and heavy...like they would struggle to lift their own weight...

By the time the bottle announces its emptiness with a few notes of airy suction, your tongue is lolling lazily in your mouth. You don't feel intoxicated, just...

...flat...and...slow...

You want to say something else before Nurse Molly eases the pacifier back into your pliant mouth, but it feels like it would take too much effort. Once again stuffed full with the bulbous shaft, you barely take notice of the pink leather strap she loops around the back of your head and through two holes in the pacifier's bobbing shield. It's now snugly secured to your suckling lips.

"We can't have it falling out if you decide to take a nap," she grins, taking a moment to wipe your chin with the saturated bib. "I'm going to go check in on some other patients. Why don't you take it easy for a bit?"

Lifting and locking the fiberglass guardrails back into place, Nurse Molly pulls the privacy curtain of your room closed before leaving you alone with the sickly sweet sing-alongs of the cartoon show. You wish she had left you with the remote so you could change the channel, but realize your dumb mittened hands couldn't work the buttons anyway. Your body seems to melt into the mattress as you're forced to listen to the cartoon rabbit's next song.

"Sometimes it's sunny and sometimes it pours!"

The muscle relaxers seem to be hitting even harder. You can barely keep your eyes open.

"When it rains outside, the puppy dog snores!"

You realize with some anxiety that you can't feel your legs anymore. The whole lower half of your body has gone limp.

"Thank you Mr. Cloud, because when we're awake,"

Something feels...warm...

"We'll dance in the puddles you're about to make!"

💊 Part 3 💊

I Thought I Made It Clear.

Barbara Palvin