He is Your Master Now Pt. 04

Ambrose Sweet's ordeal takes a bizarre and unsettling new turn as he is further herded towards a particular fate, the nature of which slowly begins to dawn on him, even as he struggles in vain to blind himself to it.

He is Your Master Now Part 4: The Four Nurses

Ambrose whipped his head toward the loud, clockwork-like clacking of the iron door handle.

He wrongly assumed he was past sinking any further into fear or despair and could only presently feel a blank curiosity that was more a sense of numbness, than suspense, as to who was entering the room.

The door swung open and in rushed four very large, stern looking women clad in what appeared to be matronly, starched, gleaming white, 1940s style nurse's uniforms. Not a single one wore makeup and all their hair styles were either short, or efficiently pulled up with no regard to style and topped by nurse's caps from the same era.

There was not a lick of warmth or humor on any of their faces, in fact, the apparent leader sneered contemptuously at him as they moved forward with purpose to flank him as he lay on the stone floor. He looked up at the head nurse feeling like a worm, wondering if she would crush him underfoot and grind and grind; working his smeared existence into very floor until one could no longer imagine that the remnant stain was once a human being.

The head nurse tapped him disgustedly with a foot.

"So. This is the one, is he?" she sneered with a strange accent that bordered on the theatrical.

"What's going on?" asked Ambrose with dawning concern.

The woman leaned down and slapped him in the face. It wasn't a particularly painful slap, but it still stung somewhat. It was the first time as an adult that anyone had ever hit him, and he didn't know how to react.

A real man would have abruptly stood and hit her back. Or maybe not; maybe the slap, coming from a woman as it was, wouldn't seem painful enough to rate such a response from a real man; they'd never hit a woman over such a slap.

"Ambrose."

He turned to face Cassilda and was startled to see her trembling with the anticipation of a heroin addict who had gone too long without a fix. She even seemed to struggle as if trying to contain a sudden excess of saliva from spilling out of her predatory mouth.

"All you need to know right now is that these women work for me." she seemed barely able to concentrate.

And with that, she threw of her crown of thorny roses and stripped off her robe. All her tattoos were gone except for that of the yellow mask and crown bearing the special symbol. Instead, he saw a network of dark veins visible beneath her skin which seemed to multiply and thicken as he watched.

She turned and joined the withing mass of women and the crossdresser Andrea.

The nurse who slapped him, whom he assumed was the leader, was aided by another in roughly hauling him up to his feet. Standing among them, he could see that they were not just tall, but large overall. He wondered if they too were crossdressers, but he didn't think so. With the head nurse leading the way, two nurses ushered him toward the entrance while the fourth fell back behind them.

"I need to get my clothes..."

"You won't be needing them." Said the head nurse.

"But my ID..."

The head nurse turned to him, grabbed his face roughly with a single hand, leaned in and ominously informed him... "Never again will you ever be the person defined in those articles of identification." Her accent immediately brought to mind a trip he and his family took when he was a child, to a New England restoration village during one of their vacations.

He wanted to ask what she meant by not being "the person defined in those articles of identification"--- what an odd way to put that, but he only got as far as "What do you m..." when she slapped him again, harder, as if to prove that she had been holding back with her first slap. She looked back at the writhing mass of flesh behind her and hurried them all out of the room.

Before they passed the door, he craned his neck to look backward but because of his very off kilter angle of view, and both the fact that he was being jostled and the moment passing too quickly, he had no choice but to dismiss what he saw--- thought he saw, as a product of an imagination fueled by fear, stress and some vague notion of the kind of weird mind games that were further possible with Cassilda.

It appeared to him that the bodies of Cassilda, the women and Andrea were all combining into one amorphous mass of varying skin tones. But what was most disturbing is that the bones seemed to remain solid, giving the entire mass a discomfiting, multifaceted angularness. Their hair in all their various shades and textures seemed to skim over the surface, swirling around without mixing.

He quickly put it out of his mind once he was back in the main hall as he was distracted by the presence of Stephen the driver.

Ambrose, who had never been naked in front of another man, would have ordinarily felt exposed and, of course, inadequate, but given the deeply disturbing trick his mind had just played on him, Stephen's presence was a relief. The fact that Stephen laughed upon seeing Ambrose did not in the least diminish this respite from the general madness that had just transpired. There was also the fact that Stephen's presence added to his general confusion and disorientation as Ambrose had supposed that Stephen had headed back to Long Island or at least far from the mansion. It was clear now that Stephen's driving away upon delivering him to the estate was a sham, performed, perhaps, as just another part of Cassilda's mind games.

The head nurse silenced Stephen with a flinty glance before reaching into a pocket in her nurse's uniform to pull out a stack of bills. She counted out five thousand dollars and handed it to Stephen.

"You should leave." She said to him flatly.

But before turning to leave, he spoke to Ambrose.

"Looks like you told her your name three times."

Stephen continued with a smirk on his face, "You know, I had the good sense to follow my suspicions. And now here we are. Both of us--- under different circumstances of course."

With a shocking clarity, Ambrose vividly recalled his first meeting with Cassilda and quickly drew an uncomfortable inference. Stephen's was a simple off the cuff remark which, on the surface, seemed intended to merely hurt Ambrose and yet it set off a cosmic bomb of realization.

On the conscious level, it seemed as if Stephen somehow possessed Cassilda's ability to bewitch him. But that suspicion quickly died as soon as he gave word to it in his mind. He realized that no matter what Cassilda was engaged in at the moment, she was working through Stephen's words.

Stephen words triggered within him a profound understanding. He now knew as a fact that just before he went ahead and repeated his name to Cassilda all those months before, he actually knew that he had been stepping into a life changing trap. What really shook him, however, was that this sudden realization was strangely and strongly retroactive.

This knowledge further provoked within him an intensely strong feeling of a kind he had never felt before. It was the sense that time itself enabled him not only to look back to that past moment via his memories, but also to affect his life going forward from that very past moment. By envisioning today, an alternate course of action where he just completely ignored Cassilda in that past, he could erase his entire history with Cassilda and continue on his fated, intended path through normalcy and sanity.

Ambrose knew nothing of practical use when it came to theoretical physics, he had always dismissed such musings as those of a bunch of smug nerds jerking off. But, although he could not put a name to it, he knew instinctively that he stood at the junction point of a two-way causal loop: a sort of cosmic "undo".

Stephen apparently had a keen enough awareness to avoid the trap Ambrose had not. Again, with a certainty, Ambrose knew that if he walked out of the mansion with Stephen, he would find himself transported back to that fateful moment in time on Fifth Avenue, but this time, he'd be able to unseal his fate.

He realized that back then, without the hindsight he know possessed, he was doomed to repeat his name because he was too blinded by his general contempt for people, men and women both, but particularly women, as well as being blinded by his lust and the lure of easy money; the paltry one hundred dollars, that Cassilda had dangled before him.

And yet here was a man, who unlike him, was able to walk away from such a life. It was even possible that Ambrose was now living the fate meant for Stephen. Perhaps if he changed his own fate, he thought hopefully, he could still possibly be part of Cassilda's--- entourage, cult, circus, religion--- what have you, but perched on the edge of Cassilda's madness, rather than be caught up in it.

Cassilda was certainly extremely wealthy, and he figured it was very likely Stephen was able to dabble in carnal delights to his heart's content merely by existing at the periphery of Cassilda's world. He could bask in the sunlight as he imagined Stephen did, or burn to a crisp as seemed to be his current fate.

Although Cassilda's control over Ambrose seemed arbitrary and capricious, he was beginning to sense a pattern to that control. Between the moments where she took firm control of him, there were moments where she allowed him an escape of sorts. They weren't always pleasant escapes, but they were escapes. It just hadn't concretely occurred to him to take any of them.

If he hoped to alter his fate going forward, it was important that he leave the mansion with Stephen.

A question remained, however. Would he remember any of his time with Cassilda? More importantly, would he have the awareness to alter course and reject his fate in the face of what he perceived at the time as the most easily convenient sex with a strange woman who might be a total freak in bed?

Yes. He would of course. Whatever decision he made here now, would mirror the one he "would" made in the past.

"You should leave." Ambrose thought the main matron was advising him until he saw Stephen turn and head toward the entrance. But his pace was much too slow and that was all the proof Ambrose needed to know that he could erase his time with Cassilda.

Before he could act, however, the head nurse leaned into Ambrose' ear and whispered, "Leave if you wish, but you know that if you do, all you would gain is a lifetime of mundanity."

The head nurse was not an unattractive woman, but neither was she beautiful. And yet her whisper voice, and its accompanying hot and moist breath somehow enabled him to remember every powerful moment of his sexual exploits with Cassilda compressed into a fraction of a second.

Stephen reached the nearest door and placed his hand on the handle, the matron called out to him as if to allow Ambrose more time to consider his next move.

"Stephen."

He turned with an expectant expression on his face.

"This one is special. Don't you think?" To indicate that she was obviously referring to Ambrose, she grabbed his flaccid penis roughly and squeezed it between thumb and forefinger hard enough to make him yelp, before relaxing her grip.

She was practically pushing Ambrose out of this life.

Stephen nodded in agreement and took a long look at Ambrose before turning to leave Ambrose to his fate.

The head nurse completely released her grip on Ambrose' penis, reached into another pocket and applied the hand sanitizer she retrieved from it.

**********

He was hauled past the grand staircase in the entry hall to a door that opened onto a window lined hallway, which like the "throne room", also appeared to be too long to fit within the manor's dimensions, as seen from the outside.

From what he could see, the entire mansion had the feel of an old ancestral manor, preserved with vintage, museum quality furnishings and objets d'art. Overall, the look was rather fearfully gloomy. Even those touches which seemed to be included to provide an element of mirth, or to break up the dreariness, seemed to instead amplify the oppressively funereal ambiance.

In addition, there seemed to be a sense of historical presence imbuing every object his eyes fell on; as if the carpets, fixtures, paintings, sculptures, animal trophies--- all of it, where drenched by all the history that took place in their presence.

Appearance-wise, it was a haunted mansion in all but actual fact. Though Ambrose feared that for him, it might eventually become one in actual fact. But would he be the haunted, or the haunter? He feared both possibilities.

He pondered the idea that his experience in the throne room, and all those yet to come within this domicile, could cause his essence to seep into the furnishings and the very structure itself, perhaps trapping him there once it had absorbed too much of him.

He regretted not leaving with Stephen.

Once they had traversed the impossibly long hallway, they climbed a service staircase to the second floor and entered what was unmistakably a medical examination room. But for reasons he could not currently fathom, the room featured a large, old fashioned, claw foot bathtub at one end as well as an exposed commode.

With few exceptions, everything in the room was from a bygone era but surprisingly, it all seemed recently manufactured, if not brand new.

With no shred of resistance, Ambrose hopped on to the examining table upon the head nurse's instructions. Everything happening to him had such a weight of inevitability that he had practically no will of his own at that point.

"My name is Bridget Bishop. From here on out you are to address me by my title of governess followed by my surname. Do you understand?"

"Um, yeah."

She slapped him again. "I require on your part, thoughtful consideration during all of our personal interactions. I ask again: do you understand?"

"Yes Governess Bishop."

He flinched when she reached a hand toward him again, only to have her lightly pinch his cheek. "Now, there's a good lad."

"Why are we in this room?" he asked.

SLAP!

"You just had to go ahead and ruin it. Didn't you?" She admonished him.

Ambrose corrected himself. "Governess Bishop, why am I in this room?"

SLAP!

"Mr. Sweet! Understand, that your questions are immaterial. Further, there is nothing of interest or value which you can volunteer of your own volition. You may speak only whenever one of us prompts you to speak, even if it's only that it amuses us to demand that you speak."

He almost responded: "Yes Governess Bishop" but caught himself when he realized it was a statement that didn't require a response from him.

SLAP!

Now he was thoroughly confused.

"You were right not to respond. That one was just to make you aware that we oft-times are capricious in nature--- which is all the more reason why you should take great care to be ever attentive in our dealings, as it would overall reduce the possibility that you would be subjected to any unpleasantness."

She smiled wickedly at him, but Ambrose could tell it was forced. That somehow made it more sinister.

"Governess Corey" said Governess Bishop to one of the other nurses.

"Yes Goody Bish---", she cut herself short when Governess Bishop shot her a sharp angry look. She started over, "Yes Governess Bishop?"

. "You may begin taking notes."

Governess Corey retrieved a pen and a notepad from a pocket.

One of the other nurses took his blood pressure and temperature and read the readings off to Governess Corey. The fourth nurse began preparing a syringe.

It was an old fashion syringe with a reusable needle that screwed onto a glass tube containing a plunger as well as brackets to allow for one handed operation. If one were squeamish about injections, the entire contraption would be the very definition of intimidation rendered in glass and chrome. The most alarming aspect was not apparent until the nurse came closer; the actual needle was far thicker than the modern variety which were so slim that one could barely feel them.

Before he could think of leaping off the table, Governess Bishop swallowed his cock and balls in one of her large hands and squeezed almost to the point of pain. Ambrose grimaced.

"I trust, Mr. Sweet, that would you believe me if told you I could crush your nether regions into a pulpy mass. Would I be correct in that assumption or do you perhaps need a partial demonstration?"

"No Governess Bishop" he grimaced.

"No what? No to the possibility that I could crush your little manhood or no to needing a partial demonstration?"

"Yes--- I believe--- Governess Bishop that you can crush me down there and no that I don't need a demonstration--- Governess Bishop."

"Good. Rebecca Nurse--- that'd be Governess Nurse to you, is going to draw some blood. She often needs several attempts to succeed I'm afraid." She squeezed his groin harder for a moment, causing Ambrose to cry out, "Can you be a brave little lad, and stay calm through it all?"

"Yes Governess Bishop" he said, defeated.

"Good." Then to Governess Nurse, "You can proceed."

The injection was indeed painful but thankfully, Governess Nurse was able to tap the vein rather quickly after tying off his arm with a rubber tourniquet. She laid the syringe on the tray beside the examining table and reached into a pocket to retrieve something.

Ambrose felt insulted when he realized she was ripping the wrapper off what appeared to be a large lollipop as if he was a child. The insult turned into humiliation when he saw it was shaped like a small set of cock and balls; the phallus being larger slightly larger than his own erect penis. Considering that Governess Bishop still held onto his groin, he had no choice but to take it in his mouth.

As a side effect, Cassilda's implacable but unassuageable lust spell had impacted his appetite to the point where he could go for long spells without eating. Eating only when his hunger had become too urgent. Being that it had been about thirteen hours since his last meal. He sunk even further into humiliation when he began sucking greedily on the small cock and tiny balls rendered in hard lemon candy.

All the governesses began genuinely laughing.

"What did I tell you ladies?" said Governess Bishop loudly, "He's a natural."

Ambrose, being as hungry as he was, was oblivious to their taunts.

They checked his ears, his eyes, reflexes, took his weight and height and even collected a urine sample.

Where it not for the fact that he was completely naked, attended to by four abusive nurses, coerced into fellating a phallic lollipop--- all of which took place in a medical examination room seemingly transported from a past era, which also contained an antique bath tub and an exposed commode--- the entire experience would have been no more exciting than a regular bare bones medical exam.

"We're almost done Mr. Sweet" said Governess Bishop with a vicious leer, "but I'm afraid you're really not going to like this next step. Even so," she slapped him in the face lightly, teasingly really, "keep in mind that I mean business. Do not resist, and do not say a word unless I allow it. Do you understand?"

"Yes Governess Bishop." Ambrose stared at her wild eyed, filled with apprehension. Even though Cassilda had not explicitly bewitched him into complying with their orders, he felt he had no choice but to acquiesce to whatever the nurses demanded of him, so long as he was no serious danger of harm.

Governess Bishop was not what Ambrose would consider sexy, but neither did he consider her ugly. And so his mood began to lighten when Governess Bishop began to carefully take off her clothes fold them neatly, and lay them one by one, on a countertop. As he suspected, she was athletically muscular.