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justifiedsurrender:

I don’t know why I can’t get enough today, I got a nice hard fuck earlier and my boyfriend let me use the toy to cum while he was inside me. Then a couple hours later he let me cum again, and here I am still rubbing my clit as I scroll through tumblr, feeling like an insatiable little fuckslut. I guess once last night and once this afternoon isn’t enough for me, it just makes me want more. Makes me crave more until I feel like I’m nothing but this hole between my legs, waiting to get used again. @doctortease, does the Institute have a treatment for this feeling?

Behavior Correction Case File #451: Justice. Subject displays excessive libido, to the point of interference with her day-to-day life, comorbid by exaggerated focus on her own genitalia and a self-centered objectification fantasy. Subject displays high-risk behavior by reaching out to strangers on the Internet to deal with these issues.

While one might read Justice’s dossier and decide that an “insatiable little fuckslut” is exactly what the Institute aims to produce, her case in fact demonstrates a known issue encountered in later stages of treatment. The issue centers on self-absorption. Even after accepting an orgasm control regimen and having her self-concept reduced to “nothing but a hole,” the subject may end up in a psychological cul-de-sac where her own satisfaction is both paramount and unattainable.

We at the Institute, of course, wish nothing more than to help our subjects transcend such obstacles on the road to becoming their best selves. The first step for Justice is a hard reset–a period of weeks during which she will be used, punished, rewarded or locked away in the dark completely at random, until she can no longer imagine a logical pattern of reinforced behavior and all previous training is effectively erased. This is traditionally quite hard on the subject, but necessary, and within the parameters of her assessed resilience.

When she’s ready, we will begin again from scratch, focusing on the following points: that her pleasure is someone else’s choice, and has no relationship to satisfaction; that insatiable need is a baseline state, and comforting; and that in addition to her vagina and vulva, all her orifices are of equal importance, and dedicated to the use of others.

This treatment plan will be effective if followed properly. Nonetheless, there is significant risk that Justice will fall back into her current pattern if not closely monitored for deviation from expected progress. Cases such as hers are among our most important work, so no matter how many times we have to reset her and start over, we are committed to doing this right.

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Party Animal

“Okay,” Peyton said, biting her lip, “dare.”

Two of her friends glanced at each other; the third took a swig from the filched bottle of sickly-sweet coconut rum. “You going to get it out or not?”

Peyton looked back and forth, a little giddy from her own pass at the rum, from nerves and excitement and flirty energy. “Get WHAT out?” she teased. “I’m not going down on anyone for a dare, you guys–”

The friend she had a crush on held up one hand. There was a black rubber collar in it, with a little blinking box attached.

“Dare you to try it on.”

“Oh my god,” Peyton laughed. “Is that one of those things your dad uses to train dogs? You are such a perv!”

“Dare stands,” said her friend, head cocked. “I mean, unless you’re going to puss out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I bet it doesn’t even work. Or doesn’t hurt if it does.” She tried putting it around her neck, then had to hold her hair out of the way while someone else helped get the buckle done. There was a satisfying little click when it worked, and then she could feel the light pressure against the sides and back of her neck, cold little nubs of metal warming to her skin. “Tada!” she said. “Okay, my turn, right? UmmOW!”

Her friends were staring at her, a little startled. “Holy shit,” said one of them, “it works.”

“YEAH it fucking works!” a little laugh came bursting out of her, significantly more nervous than it had been before, though the excitement was oddly lingering. “Jesus! I am so making one of you try this on next.” She tugged at it, trying to find the complicated buckle, but as soon as only one of the metal contacts was touching her, the second delivered a warning buzz that made her almost lose feeling in both hands. “Ahh! Shit!”

“You can’t take it off once it’s on unless the remote is unlocked,” said the other friend she had a crush on. “I read in the manual.”

“You read in the–” Peyton stared. “Um, did you guys like, plan this?”

“Truth or dare, Peyton,” was the only answer she got.

“It’s my turn! I get to” SNAP. She yelped again, clenching her fists, drawing her knees up in a protective curl that of course would not protect her. But still the helpless giggle came bursting out of her, even though part of her was starting to think this was very, very bad. “FUCK! Okay, okay, truth!”

The friend she had a crush on–the pretty one, with dark eyes and long lashes, and sun freckles on that bitten lip–said “You really have to put a better password on your laptop.”

Peyton’s heart jerked sideways. “My what?”

“Truth. Peyton. Do you like to watch videos of girls getting hurt?”

She was caught, breath coming fast for so many complicated reasons. “I don’t–why were you–that’s NOT cool to–”

A warning thumb rested on the remote button.

She was so fucking embarrassed. “Okay! Yes! I mean. Sometimes.” She took a deep breath. “Can I have some more rum now?”

“Yeah,” said her third friend, the one she’d sometimes been a little scared of, the one who had been in her dream last week. “But you gotta come over here and sit between us first.”

She stood, unsteadily. Two steps across the room, the next shock came, and dropped her to her knees.

“Oh my god,” she was panting, still laughing a little, on the verge of hiccups. “Oh fuck.”

One of them stood up, leaned down, and took her collar in two fingers. Peyton found herself stumbling forward on her hands and knees, being led like a reluctant puppy, and feeling–weirdly–comforted when that warm hand brushed her neck.

They put her in the middle of the couch, sprawling kind of sideways, one of them pulling her hips back so that her legs fell a little open while the other kept that grip on her collar and pulled her head in close to rest. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth again,” said Peyton, as they lifted the bottle to her lips and let her drink.

“Truth. Are you turned on right now?”

She bit her lip, met her crush-friend’s eyes, wouldn’t answer. SNAP.

This time, when the shock came, she let her hips roll and her back arch a little, and the noise that came out of her was some kind of gigglegaspmoan.

There was a hand on her thigh, then a hand at the top of her leg. There was a hand working its way up her shorts. Peyton closed her eyes and bit her lip and let it ride the soft, fuzzy skin to the dip where the tendon of her leg stood out against the swell of herself, then edge cautiously underneath the edge of her underwear.

“Rules clarification,” said someone. “If she tells the truth but doesn’t use her mouth, does that mean she’s cheating?”

“It means I win,” she said, grinning, and braced herself to get what she deserved.

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Sick Day, Part Three

She tried to push the panties out of her mouth to answer him, but he reached forward to push them back in, grabbing her chin and pulling back to make her arch. Then he touched the buzzing vibrator to the side of the thermometer, just above where it was pushed inside her.

She couldn’t control herself at that sensation, bucking and jerking as he held her tight to keep her from wriggling away. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets. Muffled sounds of outrage escaped her; it wasn’t painful, but not exactly pleasant either. It was sure as hell stimulating.

Then she felt him release her chin, reach back, and undo his belt.

She stilled, even as he continued to toy with the vibrator: the learned response to the slithering sound of leather through loops overrode her urge to squirm. He doubled it and let it brush slowly across her lower back, then the tops of her thighs, the places she knew he could make it hurt worse if he wanted to. Then he gave her one sharp snap on her left cheek.

She bit down on the sodden wad of fabric in her mouth and slowly exhaled, a little helpless mewl, but he didn’t spank her again. He just took her wrists, one by one, and crossed them on her back once more. Then he let the dangling end of the belt tap her on the shoulder.

She lifted her head. He tucked the belt under her, around her throat, and looped it through the buckle. He wrapped it around his fist, and she slid back on her elbows, presenting herself. Slick and swollen, dark pink, ready.

The angle of it made her gasp, when he pushed inside. It wasn’t the first time he’d fucked her while teasing her ass, but it was definitely the first time he’d fucked her from behind with a glass rod buried inside her while obstructing her breathing with her own underwear and a convenient choke-leash. When he sat back on his heels, pulling her hips into him, and pressed the vibrator up against the top of her slit, she more or less lost the ability to think.

It was a nice position for him; he could make her fuck back against him by tugging the belt, and adjust her vertically to his preference via upward pressure on the vibe. The way this combination made her strain and struggle, gasping and trying to find her balance, was all that kept her from coming. She wanted him deep, wanted him to just plunge all the way into her, but he liked to keep it shallow sometimes: the head of his cock popping just in and out of her lips, teasing her needy cunt.

“Do you feel,” he panted, “any better?” But her only answer was a stuttered groan.

He made her come first. She could feel herself clenching tight around the thermometer. Distantly, she wondered if he was watching, if he could see it moving with each involuntary contraction–not that it would have been easy, given the way the rest of her was thrashing around. Just as she was coming down, he pulled out the glass plug and his cock, flipped her over on her back with one scoop of his arm, and jacked off onto her belly and chest.

Feeling his warmth spatter on her skin gave her a startling aftershock; she did spit out her gag, finally, chest heaving for air as the rush went through her and she collapsed out of her orgasmic arch.

He flopped down next to her, eyes barely open, grin very self-satisfied. “Are we sorry?”

“Yeah,” she said, after a couple of tries.

“Are we well?”

“Yeah.”

His hand was between her legs again, lightly testing the feel of her closed lips with all his fingers. She shivered; usually she was capable of revving right back up afterwards, but then usually she didn’t come quite that hard. He dipped a finger into her and then out, wetly slipping over her clit, which–well. Huh. Apparently she was ready to rev back up after all.

“I’m going to ask you to take over on this for me in a moment,” he murmured, “while I go get the laptop. And then, to make sure today’s lesson sticks, you’re going to walk me through every tab you have open. Every post you liked. Every line of conversation that made you this wet.”

“Now?” she said, startled.

“I took the afternoon off to take care of you,” he said, with that smug and sleepy smile. “And I intend to. As many times as necessary.”

She bit her lip. “Um. Okay.”

“That’s right, okay.”

“Some of it might just be… a little… weird to you,” she admitted.

“I certainly hope so,” he laughed, and kissed her temple. “My little sicko.”

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“Hi, baby. Can you hear me?” He squinted at the screen, looking at the little mirror image of himself in the corner, then tilted it so the camera wasn’t pointed directly into the light.

Her face appeared, frozen for a second, then block, then moving, grinning. “Hey!” she said. “Is it working? Is it there?”

“Yeah!” he stepped away from the monitor so she could see their surrogate, kneeling on the bed, lace mask pulled over its face and implant status light pulsing slowly at the nape of its neck. It was nude and still but for its breathing, curled slightly in on itself, waiting.

On the monitor, she bit her lip. “Fuck. You got a cute one.”

“Aww, you like it? I tried to pick one as close as I could get to you.” He looked down at it, tugging at his lip, his eyes hungry. “Wanna try it out?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She picked up the collar and its trailing wires, fastened it, and made sure the cold contact metal patches were touching her throat. “Okay, try something.”

He reached out and ran the backs of his nails down the surrogate’s chest, around the side of its breast to its inner arm. Goosebumps rose on its pale skin. Through the speakers, she gasped.

“Fuck. Oh man. I didn’t think it would be that clear!” She wrapped her arms around herself and giggled. “Do it again. God, I miss you. It feels so good to have your hands on me again…”

He squeezed its arms, its shoulders, then settled his hands on its hips and pulled it in close to his chest. She let out a little hum of pleasure, feeling the heat of his body against her back. “Should I, like… move it so it’s sitting like you are?” he asked.

“I think you should move it so it’s sitting on your dick,” she said, hand stealing down into her shorts.

He laughed. “You sure?”

“Baby, I have been fucking starving for you,” she growled. “We can cuddle after. I wanna see just how much of you I can feel…”

Needing little encouragement, he wriggled out of his shirt and pants, springing out hard and lifting the surrogate’s yielding body up to part its thighs. It was wet, of course, warm and slick, and if it didn’t feel exactly like she did, well…

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, arching a little on the screen. “Oh my god. Oh fuck, I didn’t think… I can feel how tight it is AND how hard you are, baby… you don’t have to put on a condom or anything, right?”

“Nah, the service takes care of all that,” he grunted, pushing deeper inside it. “God. This is so much better than jacking off to your snapchats, I can’t believe we didn’t try it before!” He picked it up and started to rock its hips back against him, and she groaned and lifted herself a little off her chair.

“They must be so well-trained–there’s no way I’d be able to hold that still if you were really inside me.” She bit her lip. “Can you make it move some more?”

“I think there’s a command, yeah. Um. Kivirmak?

It had already been trembling a little, holding back, but now it arched and bucked and–he thought–barely contained a whimper of its own. He grinned with pleasure, slowing his thrusts, and both she and it squirmed with frustration.

“You playing with yourself, baby?” he said, panting a little.

“Yeah, why? Are you–oh my GOD,” she said, eyes going wide as he reached down to roll its clit between finger and thumb. “Holy fuck! I can feel–you and it and me–all on top of each other–”

He moaned, grabbing it by the shoulder and settling back on his heels, pulling its weight down on top of his cock and making it bounce a little. He could feel its breath hitching; he gave it a playful slap between its legs. Both of them jumped, and she let out a little squeak.

“Is it close, baby?” she managed. “Because I am.”

“Sure feels like it,” he said. “Mmmmfuck. But I don’t think it can have an orgasm unless I give that command too.”

Her eyes were dark and glittering, and she had one finger between her teeth as she rolled her hips against her other hand. “Do it,” she said. “Make it come.”

Hadi,” he said.

The surrogate definitely did let out a little noise then, legs shaking, gripping the sheets. On the monitor, she caught her breath and rubbed herself faster. “Fffffuck,” she whispered, “it’s like I can feel it but not actually go over–oh God–can you–can you make it go again?”

He did, and that time, watching it and feeling it clench and writhe and shudder, they both came with it.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said lazily, afterward, running his fingers over its goosebump skin again, “but I kinda wanna rent one for when we actually do this again in person too.”

“Fuck yes,” she murmured. “Let’s get two.”

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The thing about the Institute is this: it’s no secret, what we do here. It’s common knowledge, both locally and online, and while the details of patient files and therapeutic methods are of course confidential, you’d be hard pressed to find a girl who knows where our complex is but not what happens inside. No one who enters emerges the same person. Many don’t emerge at all, as a person or otherwise.

Yet nearly all of them come to us of their own accord.

Why is that? Why would you, in possession of full knowledge or at least wild rumors about the treatment we plan to inflict on you, walk through our doors and sign away your life to our tender mercies? It seems counter to every instinct of self-preservation. Most of our clients are financially stable, and all arrive in good physical health. Your complaints are little things: bad habits, flaws of character, shames, mistakes and regrets. What drives you all to surrender voluntarily to the slow, thoughtful cruelty of men, women and machinery bent on breaking you?

It’s likely you couldn’t articulate the answer if you tried. But we can. We’ve seen you before, you and every girl like you. We know you’ve spent your whole life alone inside, frustrated, aching and empty, trying to smother the roaring fire of needs you do not and cannot understand. You have been hiding it so long that everything in you hurts. You are already suffering.

You want to believe that your pain can be fucked away.

Whether that’s true is something you’ll have to see for yourself—but only we can show you. You know that. So you’ll take a deep breath, step into our parlor, and hand over your body in the hopes that we’ll break it open to fix your soul.

That’s the thing about behavior correction, you see. It only works if you really want to change.

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Behavior Correction Manual Article 5.44(A): Bargaining. Understand this: given sufficient time and regular treatment, your subject will eventually offer sexual favors. This differs from the feints or pathetically transparent seduction attempts one often sees early on in subjects who believe they are cunning. The offers we discuss here are desperate and genuine, and appear later. They are part of an attempt to bargain purely as a coping mechanism, even if the terms of the offer the subject presents are far from clear.

You may be tempted to take this as a sign of progress. It is in fact a form of backsliding, and must be discouraged. Consider:

  • A bargain is a deal struck between peers. At the Institute, a subject surrenders claim to peer status prior to treatment.
  • An offer of sex implies three things to be traded: availability, anatomy, and willing participation. A subject is always available; can have her anatomy accessed at any time; and is required to participate in any act her therapist finds useful.
  • Trading is a form of economic control. Control, at the Institute, is a virtue exercised solely and entirely by our hardworking staff.

Recommended strategy in response to this behavior includes general depersonalization and forced sensation, often including deep-penetration therapy. Pictured above is subject #218, formerly “Melissa.” Note the use of heavy vaginal/vulva stim combined with degradation positioning and an inability to support herself against her retention hook. The subject was required to repeat the exact words of her original offer to a series of staff members until she became incoherent, then left in situ overnight before repeating the exercise for a full week. By its conclusion, when presented with video of subject-initiated versus staff-initiated sexual activity, she exhibited a marked preference for the latter.

The basic principle at work is this: almost universally, subjects who arrive at the Institute do not know what they want. To allow them to complete a cycle of desire-request-fulfillment is counterproductive and harmful. Instead, by concentrating our work on manipulating, guiding and hyperprovoking desire to the breaking point, we can show them what they actually need.

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The Exam, Part Three

The study lasted–well, they later told her it was six weeks. She’d lost count by day four.

She returned to the doctor’s office each morning, and since Daddy had to leave early for work, most days she got belted into the back seat in her slippers and nightie and sleepy fuzzy hair. She always got put in a gown (and usually taken out of it) as soon as she arrived anyway. And it didn’t matter if she’d just had a bath or not; they always stripped her down and scrubbed her clean before they started.

Her head was different, inside and outside the doors. She knew that, but she found it hard to recall one version while she was living in the other. Her body felt different here, too. She wasn’t allowed to forget any part of her physical presence for long, and she became very used to any of the dozens of students treating her like a loose-limbed doll for checkups or demonstrations. She’d been hesitant about that, a little, at first. After a few days in the straps, she learned to comply.

Some days were play days, when she and other girls would be put in a room with toys and asked to try things or answer questions, while most of the staff watched from the other side of a mirror. Some days were Uh-Oh play days, when the straps came out, and the other girls got to make her the toy. Some days were good girl days, when they’d put sweet things in her mouth and sweeter things in her private parts, and she’d spend hours giggling and arching and edging and end up with a serious case of the squirmies.

Some days were bad girl days, when they’d put her on the table, and bring out the blindfold and the cold metal instrument tray and the cuffs. She didn’t like the bad girl days. Not even a little. No matter what they said.

The doctor was always there, even when she couldn’t see him. She grew to know his hands from everyone else’s: they way he was so careful with her, so precise, the way his palm on her back soothed her and the way his fingers inside her made her jerk and squeal. By the time Daddy came to pick her up, most days, she was well past the point of comprehending grownup words, but she could hear them quietly discussing her progress. She hoped the doctor always told her Daddy she was a good girl. She knew he sometimes didn’t.

There were two bad girl days in a row. Then three. Then four. Then this-many. She was very, very deep in scary space; she had stopped being able to come out of it even after Daddy took her home. She squirmed in the back seat, thumbsucking, trying to work up the nerve to say that she didn’t want to go back, please, please, it was a nuh-uh, it was too much.

That was when they kept her overnight.

She tried so hard to be brave, even when she could hear the other girls being shepherded off and picked up, even when she knew she was alone with all of them and the doctor was pulling on gloves and spreading her very wide. Even when she heard the click-buzz of the scariest implements, and felt the tip of the metal sound. Even when she felt the click of the oral speculum worked between her teeth.

They made a wet and thrashing mess of her. They reduced her body to a string of helpless muscles and raw nerves, and no matter how many times she inarticulately begged her they wouldn’t let her come, and then once she got really scared of coming they ignored her pleas to stop. This wasn’t punishment: there was no smirking or mockery, no attempt to see if she’d learned her lesson. This was a procedure. They were working, quietly and with professional competence, to break her.

The operation was declared successful at 5:34 am.

She woke up in her own bed with her Daddy stroking her hair. She was still aching, but her memories of the night seemed distant and foggy, locked in something at the center of herself.

“Shh,” said her Daddy. “You’re home now. The study’s concluded. You’re back here with me.”

“Do I have to go back?” she managed, curling instinctively around her blanket.

“No, no.” Daddy smiled. “The doctor wants to follow up with you, of course–he’ll be making a series of house calls.” Her heart skipped, for a complex and confusing number of reasons. “But all the primary work is done. Their next project is working with the data you and the others gave them.”

She wormed her head under the soothing hand, one fist against her lips, exploring the new space she’d found her head in. It didn’t buzz quite like it used to. Instead, very softly, it sang.

“Daddy,” she said, “how did the exam go?”

A little chuckle. “Oh, my little girl. You got the best possible score.”

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Behavior correction case file #902: Alex. Subject was introduced socially to Dr. L, and was diagnosed “in the wild” with sexual frustration, general insolence, and an inability to self-manage combined with an independent streak too wide for her own good. She was referred for an evening assessment by our house-call team. Subject displayed vehement disagreement with the team’s conclusions and was restrained for her own safety. Continued restraint is advised, for the time being, except when under strict supervision.

Alex is a natural submissive in deep denial of her essential self, which means she has been suffering emotional pain and dissonance for some time without being able to identify a cause. This in turn has led to her becoming hostile and lashing out at herself as well as those around her. Fortunately, our staff is accustomed to such referred pain, and even better, we have the tools to deal with it.

The subject will begin each morning with a sensory overload regimen: ritual bondage, exposure, depilation if necessary, and heavy applied stim to the nerve centers of maximum humiliation. Forced orgasm is an expected byproduct of this treatment, and we will of course track any such effects. Feel free to question the subject about her experience, though she is not expected to respond usefully for some time. In no case is the treatment to cease before the subject has screamed herself hoarse.

By this time, the subject should be more pliable. Take her to the workroom of choice and consult the attached training syllabus for the topics we expect to cover. They include oral, anal and vaginal service, self-identification and understanding of her new role, proper posture, apparel selection or lack thereof, pain management, and a very thorough course in obedience by means of operant conditioning. Feel free to continue education for as many shifts as seem appropriate; in case the subject’s energy levels seems to be flagging, remember that workrooms are stocked with fresh tubs of ice water hourly.

We will evaluate the subject’s progress each month, and expect to see significant improvement in attitude and aptitude by Q2. At this point, Dr. L plans to conduct a series of personal evaluations of her self-image and embrace of her most genuine self, and may take her on as a personal project. We expect that by then, she will be grateful for the opportunities offered by such focused work with a supervisor. Be sure to remind Alex just what a lucky subject she is.

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Behavior correction case file #440 UPDATE: Ivy. While the subject has shown marked improvement under treatment so far, recent indications are that progress has plateaued. It may simply be that we have reached the limitations of what can be achieved by coaxing and instructing, and need to move on to working directly with the subconscious.

Simply put, Ivy will be put on overload. Each week, her chart will be updated with a randomized stim schedule, with staggered rest periods at irregular intervals to disorient her and induce repeated fugue states. She will spend the majority of shifts in some form of sensory deprivation combined with vibration, penetration, focused impact, and utilitarian bondage or encasement. She will never know exactly who is using her body, how long a session will last, or whether she will be permitted (or punished for) orgasm. Any information she gleans about her current circumstances will be drip-fed and incomplete. Monitor pulse levels, and feel free to switch things up to keep them high.

Between these sessions, Ivy will be folded into a small case and transported to the recovery chamber on level 4. She will spend recovery time unbound but collared, and dressed in minimal decorative garments, which are to be referred to as “pretties.” She will see a small, consistent set of supervisors during these periods, who have already been briefed on treating her gently but addressing her in diminutive and reductive terms. Soothing, petting, and cuddling are encouraged. Subject is to feel as if she is receiving special treatment (which is in fact true), but also in firm and careful hands.

Until, upon waking, she finds herself at full use again.

The overarching goal in this case is to simulate a fractured reality. The subject should come to believe that her stim sessions are a dream when she is in recovery, and that her recovery is a dream when she is under stim. The alternating stresses of this contradiction should provide opportunity to examine and manipulate her psyche to an otherwise unattainable degree.

The closest we have come to using this form of therapy in the past has been as a punitive measure against hostile actors bent on harming the Institute. The intent for those subjects was to break them. With Ivy, however, it must be clear that our intent is pure and therapeutic. We do not expect her to break; we expect her to blossom.

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Behavior correction case file #440: Ivy. Subject is regressive, and struggles with denial and reluctance to acknowledge her own sexual needs. Subject has also demonstrated a marked difficulty with remaining still.

Ivy is to be restrained at all times until she has internalized the basic fact that struggling, while rewarding in the short term, has long-term consequences. Orderlies are advised to use consistent manual contact in order to accustom her to being handled, as one would a small domestic animal. Restraint position should be changed regularly to keep the subject from relaxing too far into subspace. To prevent excessive struggle during rope changes, consider use of toys: subject may respond to a combination of oral occupancy (finger/pacifier) and clitoral stim. Use a gentle tone of voice at this time and keep up a stream of verbal praise–again, as one would soothe a small pet, or a child.

Subject is expected to maintain a high baseline level of lubrication and should be manually stimulated to edge at random intervals; color and temperature of facial surfaces and throat provide a useful gauge of current arousal. The promise of orgasm will be used to motivate behavior, but should be largely withheld even when subject behaves properly (this is not expected). Provide spurious reasons to withhold orgasm: minor infractions of unspoken rules, embarrassing observations from case file, and so on. Upon objection, alternate spanking with further edges.

Once per day, subject is to be blindfolded, partially declothed (panties at ankles, etc), and brought to an observation chamber via nipple clamp leash to answer questions about her progress. Phrase questions in degrading, belittling ways, and use anal stimulation to reward answers in the same idiom. Discourage silence, impertinence, or other attempts at dignity via freeform means. Observers and questioners will rotate: it is considered important that the subject know she is humiliating herself verbally in front of an ongoing series of unknown people.

If subject should maintain a full week of proper behavior, good conduct and appropriate self-degradation, set her existing conditions as a new benchmark and impose new ones until she reaches failure state (aka “tantrum”). Suggestions: display orifices for sexual partners until such time as they choose to acknowledge and make use of them; insert tail, apply bondage mitts and serve food and water in floor dishes; installation bondage in lobby to allow exploration/stimulation by guests waiting for admittance.

Admittance of this subject is open-ended and therapy is set to end only when subject herself believes that she is “cured.” Division D has prepared her cell for an indefinite stay and will document and, if helpful, publish each step of her correction online.

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Behavior correction case file #34: █li███. Subject admitted und██ ████ █y for kn███ █████ █████y. █████ to Dr. ██████ █or ba████.

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█████ is consi████d a distinct requirem███, in addit██n to ██urly stimul██ ██ ████oris, “g-█████ █nd nipples; ana█ ███████ ██ ████mended. Should subject reach a ██████, discou████ ████ ███ █ENS unit. Also consider appl███g su██ ████████ if subject brin██ ██ "re█████," ███ghts” or “██████.” Verbaliza███n of any kin██, ██ ████ ██ █o be puni█████

Under NO circum███nc██ is the subj███ to be ███mitted orgasm. ███itor vita███ at al█ ██mes and be sure ██ forc█ ██ █east 24 edg██ ███ day, ██ting that su███ct respo██s to tradi██████ █████chistic implem███s as well as forc██ ███asure.

NOTE: Drs ██████ and ████████ are known to ha██ ███sonal histo██ with th██ ████ct and sh████ recuse them██████ fro█ any con█████████ ██ ███ █████ment plan. The Ins██████ is a place of ████y and tr███████, not cru███ or ███geance.

████mended durati██ ██ ██████ is fo██ █o six ██████. Any l████r and we will lik███ see per███████ ████ges to subje███ █████ ███ █████ █ell-be███.

(Ah fuck, another one of these? We have GOT to improve our backup policy. Just… keep doing what we’re doing, I guess? Her current handler certainly seems to enjoy the work. –DT)

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Behavior correction case file #328: Maura. Subject masturbates compulsively, to the point of interference with social life and career, seclusion, and possibly self-harm. Subject known to spend multiple hours per day on Tumblr.

Maura has already undergone one round of treatment for her disorder at a similar facility, but the results of attempts at aversion therapy were impermanent, and she was referred to the Institute as a special case. The course of treatment proposed relies on overcompulsion instead.

Subject will be fitted with a small pacemaker-like contact implant at the base of the spine, supplying a regular electrical stimulus to the nerve but interfering with normal signals from the pelvis. Past experiments indicate that this will both keep the subject physically aroused–almost unbearably so–and inorgasmic. No amount of pleasure, physical or otherwise, will allow her to climax.

Subject will stay in an apartment on the Institute grounds similar to her own home, permitted toys but not clothing, and will have pornography from her own browser history selected and played on screens in each room. She will be monitored in this environment until she reaches a point of desperation considered dangerous for her own safety (estimated time: 36 hours).

She will then be informed that, if she chooses, she may enter an adjacent closet-sized chamber, crouch, lock her hands and ankles into a stockade, and present her orifices for use. Doing so will deactivate the implant. Subject will then be available for use by any staff member, visiting colleague, or other patients with grounds privileges. The rate of such engagement will obviously be variable and random. After sufficient begging, polite thanks to her partners, and 10-12 orgasms, the stockade will unlock and the implant will reactivate. The chamber will not reopen until subject once again reaches a level of extreme desperation.

NOTE: it is possible this course of therapy will require several months to take effect. All staff in Division E are encouraged to make use of the subject during her availability periods and discuss her progress at weekly check-in.

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Behavior control case file #312: Vanessa. Subject generally willful, insistent that she can achieve orgasm only during solo masturbation, and lacking in libido. Surveillance of such habits, however, indicates a distinct preference for masochism, female submission, and predicament bondage. Note: subject referred to the Institute by partner under misleading pretenses and will likely be uncooperative.

Vanessa will be kept in some form of restraint at all times and displayed for observation by visiting colleagues for at least an hour a day. She will be mechanically stimulated upon waking each morning and will have two orderlies assigned to maintain her state of arousal until curfew. In between, she will undergo a series of therapeutic sessions designed to retrain her orgasmic response and obstinacy.

Pictured above is one such session. After being harness-bound and edged, Vanessa is submerged and must lift her hips above water to request being lifted out of the tub. Clitoral/vaginal stimulus will commence for fifteen to thirty seconds before she is lifted by her harness, hair, or nipples out of the water and allowed to breathe. As she shows signs of approaching climax, stimulus will be removed and subject will be dropped back in.

If desperation and self-degradation seem sufficient, subject will be permitted orgasm just as she is once more denied breath. Current recommendation is no more than twelve such permissions per day.

Hypothesis is that within the first week of such therapy, Vanessa will have a baseline elevated arousal level and willingness to submit, as well as quite literally associating breathing with pleasure and need. Follow up with forced orgasm regimen (type H or J), then fucktoy rotation on level 6.

(This series is inspired by a number of things, but most obviously by pleasuretorture’s experiments.)

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Behavior correction case file #253: Chrissy. Subject is a “screamer,” unable to control the volume or pitch of her voice during sexual activity. While vocal enthusiasm is a highly prized trait here at the Institute, it comes second to self-control when so ordered.

Chrissy will first be conditioned to associate being gagged with arousal and a need for stimulation–a common course of reeducation for new subjects. Once complete, we will begin building the idea that the gag is her own responsibility, and must remain in her mouth in order to reach orgasm. Opening her mouth to scream (or biting the gag too hard) will result in a series of bouncing, weighted tugs on her nipples, and cessation of clitoral stim.

After the first failure, she will also receive a series of punishments of ascending intensity to her vulva, and will be required to beg–in a whisper–for the gag to be replaced between her teeth.

Subject is not a quick learner. Reassess case progress at two weeks or two successful orgasms, whichever comes last.

(Tip of the hat to Z.)

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yourbadgrrl:

Is this how you imagine me, Sir? Stripped, then bound tightly to the horse, every hole vulnerable to your abuse, your caress. Dripping and aching for your touch, subject to your whim, your need, your demons…

There are a dozen identical benches in the long, dim corridor, all currently occupied with a taut, arched girlslave. It’s almost always full, here; this is the holding pen, where acquisitions who have had basic testing and conditioning are placed for a few weeks, between the dark cattle-cages below and the bright, sterile niche-training units above.

If it sounds a bit like a purgatory, it is one. The days there certainly blend together into an endless blur, with feedings, cleanings and lubrication staggered to keep any of them from guessing how much time has passed. It is a place intended to break girls. It is utterly, brutally effective.

They are edged, of course, by a bored higher-class slave on her turn in the chore rotation. They can hear her clacking down the aisle in her heels, heavy vibrator swinging in one hand, picking a victim at random and grinding its bulbous head against her clit for exactly the length of time scrawled on her lower belly. (Basic testing, you see.)

They’re also used. As you can see above, any trainer who needs a quick break can hop in, find a hole to his liking, give it a quick test for wetness (rarely failed) and fuck away until he’s satisfied.

The girl in the picture was once named Alice. She will someday be renamed Slip, for the ease with which her cunt takes penetration, but for now she is only Station 8. At this point, her initial captivity in the cages is a hazy blur, and her life before that a dreamlike memory. She clenches the moment she feels a finger push into any orifice, and she is almost incapable of orgasm without command.

It’ll be another month before they unstrap her and carry her squirming, dripping vessel of a body upstairs.

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girl-on-edge:

royb8771:

Oh damn, that is a video I would love to see.  😀

This makes me think… I would love to see (or be) a sub, teased relentlessly to the edge for hours or days, tied up not quite in reach of a vibrator, sybian, or other toy. The fact that she isn’t on the toy yet made me think this. Truss up one frustrated sub in a way that they can get stimulation if they REALLY TRY, but make the source of stimulation so far away that it is nearly impossible for them to get to, and, once that have contorted and strained their body, impossible to maintain that posture for more than a short time. Tell them they can cum… If they do it themselves. Then watch the struggle become more and more desperate.

I know she’s in reach of this toy, the picture just made it occur to me.

girl-on-edge has an interesting idea there, and here’s what it made me think of: a theremin.

What you do is, you set up a magnetic induction switch under the Sybian, one that controls its rate of vibration. It vibrates the fastest when the girl’s body is held at a very precise distance from it–say, when the tip of the dildo is juuust inside her. As she lowers herself onto it, and toward the more intense vibrating ridge, the sensor makes it slow down… slower… slower… until trying to press herself down against the toy makes it almost stop completely.

Here’s the catch: the device has an override switch too, built into her collar. If someone else touches that ring on the front, completing a circuit, it goes into overdrive regardless of where she is. So her controller can walk in, unzip, grab her throat and pull her mouth forward to be used, and she’ll be stimulated quite thoroughly as long as she’s of service.

She’ll get so close. So close. But if she seems to be getting distracted at all, the hand moves from the metal to the leather of the collar, leaving her to edge and work frantically with her mouth to try to earn the vibration back again. It doesn’t take long to get off when you’re standing above, watching her, using her.

Her controller cleans up, wipes the hair from her sweaty forehead, and leaves. And then, as soon as she’s alone, the struggle to find a workable position–pussy clenching, legs cramping, arms helpless to hold her up long enough–begins again.

She’s allowed to come. It’s explicitly permitted. If only she could just get a little closer…

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A shot like this is all about the details.

  • Her wrists are chained, but her hands are gripping the metal bars (stirrups?) and they look pretty strong. She’s allowed to use her arms to pull herself up off the vibrator if she can. But there’s no leverage, and she won’t be able to stay up for long. Then it’s back down onto the relentless, tortuous buzzing, so powerful it pounds her swollen clit and sends waves through her entire pelvis.
  • She’s forced to wear the battery pack wired to those nipple clamps on a belt around her waist. The rack she’s chained to is fixed, but the batteries are portable. That means she can be taken off, led around, dragged to a different device, or caged for the night–all without a second of relief from the pressure or electricity.
  • That ball gag has a hole in it. She can be watered, maybe even fed, through a tube without being permitted to speak. She is here to be used, tormented with forced pleasure, and slowly, slowly broken down, and her only protests will be wordless.
  • She’s still wearing her jewelry–the navel ring and the little pendant under ner neck, trapped under the top belt (look closely!). She is stripped of modesty but not of decoration. She’s here to be punished, but also to be seen: she is adorned, and she is an adornment.
  • Each time she comes–and she has come, and will come, again and again, no matter how she struggles–her mind accepts a little more of what her body already knows: she is a toy, she is owned, she was made to be used. Her body and her orgasms belong to her owners, to be withheld or forced upon her as they please. And when she finally breaks, she’ll know herself in a way she never imagined.