(via the-prophet)
“The doctor will be right with you,” smiled the girl at the desk.
Bethany tried not to tremble, not least to avoid hearing her chains rattle against the legs of the chair. Her boyfriend had recommended the clinic, but he hadn’t prepared her to be stripped to her stockings, gagged and bound in a dim waiting room with six equally nervous-looking young women. Judging by the sounds coming from back in the office, this “doctor” was either torturing women or subjecting them to screaming orgasms.
Or, said a sneaky corner of her mind, both.
Two more girls were unchained and pulled reluctantly down the corridor, stumbling in their ankle chains and stilettos; under their squeals, Bethany swore she could make out a whine like an electric mixer set to high. Across from her on the office wall was a mock-Victorian poster, detailing causes and remedies of “female hysteria.” Studying it, trying to distract herself, Bethany could feel her own wetness seeping down the fake leather seat.