hypersexualgirl:

voyeur

“Are you nervous, Bethany?”

She nodded, trying not to tremble.  Her knees were weak; she kept telling herself it was from fear.  She locked her legs and kept her body straight, feeling his eyes on her as she stood with her back to him in the dimly lit office.

“That’s understandable.  You’ve probably grown used to your condition–attached, even.  It can be scary to think of having it taken away.”

“Condition?” she managed, throat tight.

“You’re misguided, Bethany.  You believe your sexuality is something you have to guide, master, control.”  She heard the leather of the couch creak as he stood.  “For most people that is possible.  For you…”  His hand brushed her lower back, and she stiffened.  “Absurd.”

“Doctor,” she started, but he cut her off.

“That’s right.  I’m the doctor, and I’m going to help you, Bethany.  This treatment is going to teach you to surrender control of your sex to someone who can handle it.”  His fingertips ran lightly down, between her cheeks, then lower to spread the undeniably dripping lips of her bare pussy.  “Isn’t that what you want?”

All Bethany could do in response was whimper.

knockedoutloaded:

(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.