Dangerousangleofadream - Femdom

If you lick my heel I'll get you out of the cage.

Regression is progression

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."

Long Run to captivity

The running had done me no good. I was going to be caught by the two women who were chasing me. It was only a matter of how much longer it would be.

It all started with me finding the satchel with money in it lying in the stable. Apparently one of the women currently in hot pursuit of me needed to pay cash for a horse she was acquiring, and thinking I was alone, I had reached into the satchel and taken one of the wrapped stacks of bills.

A female cry sent me running, and a glance over my shoulder as I ran across an open field told me I had two female pursuers. The field was very wide and long and open, nowhere to hide, and I was running out of steam. The ladies were about half my age and in much better shape.

I stopped suddenly, and the two of them slowed to a walk, moving toward me angrily, rope at the ready.

"Let's be reasonable," I said. "How about I just give you the money?"

"Around here we don't take kindly to thieves," the woman closest to me answered. "Just surrender and we'll rope you up and decide what to do next."

I was beat. I couldn't run or resist. I fell to my knees and put my hands on my head, and the women closed around me and pulled my hands behind my back. One tied my wrists while the other wrapped her rope around my torso, pinning my arms against my sides while my wrists were tied behind my back. I was helpless.

"It's a long walk back," the woman in front of me said. "And we're going to make this as embarrassing for you as possible. I have half a mind to drape you over my horse when we get back, ride you through town all trussed up and hand you over right in the street to the first female officer I find."

I blushed in shame as the ropes were drawn tight around me. I had run for nothing, only prolonging my brief freedom, and now the two women had captured me, and now that I was tied up, they could do literally whatever they wanted to me.

Source: Image by Microsoft Bing AI Image Generator. Text is mine.

The severe correctional procedures carried out on male slaves at the institute often necessitate treatment from one of the institute's nurses. Don't expect any compassion, though, because they have ways of making the 'treatment' extremely uncomfortable, and they can also order that a punishment is repeated if they think the male hasn't learned his lesson.