Drool - Part 4

Drool - Part 4

💊 Part 1 💊 Part 2 💊 Part 3 💊

"Come on, honey, you just told me you were starving! Either there's a big scary lion growling in your tummy, or now you're fibbing. Open up."

Nurse Molly's rosy perfume fills your nostrils as you breathe hard through your nose. You're being careful not to bite your lips as you keep them pursed shut, revolted by the appearance of the brown goop dangling at the end of the nurse's pink spoon. The waxy sheen of the sticky, moist food does nothing to make the unidentifiable chunks appear more appetizing.

Your pink puffy mittens remain snugly wrapped around your fists, leaving you no outlet for nervous movement except pumping your legs back and forth in the bizarre high-seated chair you've been strapped to. Nurse Molly had said it was dangerous for you to eat lying down while still recovering from the muscle relaxers, and the restraints were necessary to keep you from falling out and bumping your head. Worst of all, as you whimper and squirm in your purple t-shirt and fuzzy cotton bib, wrinkling your nose and glaring at Nurse Molly, you can't help but hear it: the constant, gentle, singing, mischievous crinkle of your puffy diaper.

You're hyper-aware of its every hug and tug on your body: the way the leg guards press into your thighs as your hanging feet kick the air. The way the plush cotton shapes itself to your bits and bum as you sit on the cushioned seat. The way the stretchy tapes, tipped blue like a French manicure, squeeze the plastic wings to your hips, keeping it snugly in place.

But right this minute, even your humiliatingly thick diaper is not your biggest concern.

"Come on, honey. You've got to eat something! We only serve fresh, healthy food at the clinic. It's easy to digest and has all the nummy vitamins you need to keep your treatment on track!"

Nurse Molly hovers the pink spoon in front of your closed mouth as her syrupy voice coaxes you to give in. You swivel your head from side to side, and the brown goop follows the path of your lips like a homing beacon. This whole thing feels ridiculous! Why can't they let you feed yourself? Why can't they serve you real food?! And why must you be RESTRAINED in a chair where your pink jelly sandals can't even touch the floor?!

"Oh, I think I know the problem. You miss having your device in your mouth, don't you? Is that it, honey? You want your sucky little buddy back?"

This has to be a joke! You scowl at the giant pink pacifier resting on the plastic tray in front of you, its silicone shaft still glistening with your creamy drool.

"N-n-no! Ohhhhnnnngh!"

You can't stop yourself from stammering out a denial, but this serves only to form your mouth into the perfect "O" shape for Nurse Molly to slide the pink spoon past your lips. Shocked by her quick reaction, you swallow reflexively, and the first bite of brown goop slides its way into your rumbling tummy.

It tastes awful. Like bitter vegetables pulverized with protein slurry. You scrape your tongue with your teeth to get the sticky substance off your taste buds and thrust your head forward, gagging. Nurse Molly clearly interprets this as you smacking your lips and leaning in for more, which she obliges with another gooey spoonful of the brown mush forced into your open mouth.

As the horrifying feeding begins in earnest, your only goal is to get the revolting taste of the food out of your mouth. You realize, paradoxically, that this means swallowing it all as quickly as possible. But every time you force more of the sludge down your throat, it's replaced just as quickly by an even thicker spoonful thrusting past your lips. After a minute, the pace of your feeding becomes a marathon, and bits of goop you can't swallow begin dribbling out of your mouth, onto your chin, and staining the front of your drooly bib.

"Look at you go, honey! That's it! Nom nom nom! Just like that! Whoops, don't fidget, I just got some on your cheek! That's okay, just a little snack for later, hm?"

You're struggling to breathe as more mush is shoveled into your mouth than you can possibly take. Your eyes roll up to the ceiling as your jaw hangs open stupidly; more sticky food is spilling from your lips than is making it to your stomach, turning your bib into a canvas of disgusting brown slop. A heavy chunk falls onto your thigh, along the seam of your puffy diaper's leg guard, looking all the world like a messy accident that was too big for your padding to contain.

"Nnnnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhh," you moan pathetically, spraying even more goo across your face. You're not so much trying to communicate as prove to yourself you're still conscious. Stupefied by the slimy, horrible-tasting drool that now streams from your face, your pink-mittened hands pull at the restraining straps of the high-seated chair. Why? Why? Why?

"Wunngh? Wunngh? Wunngh?" You gurgle through a fresh mouthful of sludge. Tears drip from your eyes and snot from your nose, mingling with the oozing mess that decorates your cheeks and chin.

"Don't worry, honey. In two shakes of a lamb's tail, you'll have your sucky back between those pretty lips. We're going to fix you and make it all better. There's no need to cry."

Nurse Molly scrapes the bowl for a last spoonful of the brown slurry. Your eyes widen in horror as the final bite comes sailing not towards your mouth, but towards your nose. With a playful giggle, Nurse Molly intentionally smears the foul-smelling goop across every inch of your face, massaging it into your skin like lotion, mixing in your tears.

Setting down the spoon, she picks up your pacifier and leans in close, wielding the silicone nipple like a pestle to push the last of the disgusting food into your now-bulging tummy. The motion of the nipple sliding in and out between your lips is strange and humiliating, yet you can't stop yourself from sucking and slurping the soft, rubbery shaft.

"This feels better, doesn't it, honey?" Nurse Molly whispers, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand. "This is what you wanted all along."

You realize with crippling shame that you do feel calmer now. The taste of the awful food begins to evaporate in the streams of drool that the pacifier coaxes from beneath your tongue. Despite yourself, you settle into a suckling rhythm, and breathe a sigh of relief when the pink leather strap is secured around your head. The pacifier is locked back into place. Your mouth is yours again.

All you have to do is suck.