Ashlyn’s been a “patient” at the facility for six months. Every day, they clip a long pole to her thick collar, make sure she’s wearing the proper footwear (and nothing else), and drag her into the treatment room to strap her down.
Only once she’s inside, secured, tied tight and completely exposed, do they unlock the belt and remove the fitfully buzzing toy attached to it. (Batteries need charging, after all.) The first time they unplugged her, Ashlyn gasped with relief from the constant teasing, but that was before she knew what they’d do next.
It’s amazing, the number of things you can find to do to a girl who can’t squirm away or close her legs. They fuck her, of course, when it suits them, and they punish her needy pussy with the crop or dripping wax or the horrible snapping wand. They’ve had every other girl in the facility in the room, at one time or another, eager tongues lapping away at her swollen clit, chins and noses and fingers and cheeks–Ashlyn never knew she could distinguish between so many different sensations on her lips. They’ve used overpowered vibrators and water jets to drive her to the edge (and oh, it’s cruel when the water is cold), and they’ve held her there with feathers and oil-wet paintbrushes. The only thing they have never, ever done is permit her to come.
She screams and thrashes, of course, begs and bargains, not that she believes it’ll do any good. But it’s all she has left. That, and the skylight.
The treatment room is the only place in the facility with an open window to the sky. At her deepest moments of desperation, cunt pulsing, raw with broken need, she can look up and see the deepening blue of afternoon, or the red underbellies of sunset clouds. Ashlyn clings to it. She believes it’s their one remaining mercy.
She’s wrong, of course. By now the conditioning is almost complete, the association locked. When she is finally released from the facility–perhaps transferred to another training center, perhaps to the tender care of a private practice–Ashlyn will never be able to look up again without remembering that she is helpless, and wet, and owned.