erotica – Page 4 – Not A Real Doctor

“These are called travel straps,” he said, not without a hint of kindness, as he cinched them up around her tense limbs and torso. “The extra loops are for the suspension system in the–well, you’ll see. It’s mostly to keep you and the others from hurting yourselves by struggling while we’re in transit.” He stood back and smirked a little. “Although they are not without aesthetic appeal.”

She’d been compliant, so far; he’d showed her his weapon when he woke her, told her quietly that he wouldn’t be violent if she didn’t make him, and aside from her fight-or-flight anger and a series of verbal barbs about his manhood she’d obeyed his instructions. The fact that she was being kidnapped–and professionally so–seemed to be setting in now, though. She’d been more and more quiet as he’d efficiently stripped her and buckled her up.

“One more piece,” he said, flipping open part of his matte black case and taking out the thick posture collar. “Normally I’d gag you as well, but you don’t seem to have much to say at the moment. And I don’t think you’re going to try screaming. Are you?”

Silence.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “See, when you don’t answer me–when we can’t have a dialogue at all–that actually makes me nervous.” He reached down and grabbed the rings at her sternum and belly, lifting her up; she couldn’t stay entirely silent at that, gasping at how easily he shifted her, and at the way the thick strap suddenly dug into her crotch.

He carried her over to the faux fur rug he’d brought in with him–she’d already figured out that he planned to wrap her in it, then carry her out in broad daylight–and set her down again. She sagged against her bonds, trying not to let him see her face, but he ran two fingers down the thick strap to her little patch of fuzzy curls.

“Now, all the other girls on this trip have a little company to keep them amused,” he said, slowly pressing the flat leather against her. “A little battery-powered friend underneath here.” She kept her eyes turned away, but he could see the flush spread over her chest, see the subtle shift of her hips. Her lips were swollen around the edges of the strap, and moisture beaded on them. “But that wasn’t a kindness. That was a punishment, because none of them were quite as well-behaved as you. Are you proud of yourself for avoiding it, Alexis?”

“You don’t get to call me by my first name,” she said, in a low, cold voice.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he said, amused. He tipped her chin up with one finger, gathered her hair and picked up the collar to work it into place. She was breathing fast through her nose, jaw clenched, swallowing with a little difficulty under the d-ring as he got it locked shut.

“But I have to call you something,” he said, giving each of the straps a final tug to make sure they were secure. “And you’re… unusual, so far. Not quite deserving of the usual pejoratives. Not a pet. Not a slut. Not a slave… yet.”

“Call me your opponent,” she said, looking up at last with suppressed defiance in her eyes.

“Oh my,” he murmured, a grin crooking his mouth. “As you wish.”

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.

Behavior correction case file #763: ~~Dr.~~ Ellie ~~Graves~~. Subject was formerly the lead therapist of Division G, a promising young doctor with a great future at the Institute ahead of her. Surveillance of her personal Internet traffic, however, revealed plans to take certain concerns about Institute policies to federal authorities. Subject was admitted as quickly as possible and it is not believed that she was able to disclose any sensitive patient information at this time.

Ellie completed an extensive personality profile during her application process, which provides a number of insights into a proper treatment plan. Subject fears but is fascinated by electrostim and predicament bondage. Subject can deal with nudity, but is easily embarrassed by slow, gradual removal of clothing. Subject has had mostly female sexual partners but reported intense responses to forceful sex with men. Subject has speculated about being conditioned to climax on command.

As might be expected, subject has employed the listed techniques on previous patients, several of whom (case files 188, 242, 439 and 751) have responded with enthusiasm to the prospect of being personally involved with her rehabilitation. They are to be given a large degree of autonomy in working with her, but sessions should be monitored to make sure the subject is not in excessive danger.

While some of the staff of Division D have what would be considered an existing relationship with the subject, and would normally recuse themselves under Institute rules, this is a special case and the division heads have given permission for her handlers to indulge any previous speculation on the subject’s sexual ability.

Hypothesis: while knowledge of our standard practices should provide the subject with a modicum of resistance at first, within a month of commencing treatment, she will be malleable, fully sexually activated and compliant with all standard training guidelines for a female patient. While she will unfortunately no longer be useful as a colleague at the Institute, she will be in no danger of reporting anything to anyone, which will mark a successful rehabilitation.

When all involved are satisfied with her correction, Ellie is to be placed on fucktoy rotation, level 9.

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

███████ ██ to previ███ █wn██, but init████ ██sts produc██ █████ ████ss. Instead, Divi████ █ ███ds decid██ to engage in an exp██████ ██ur██, det████ed ███lo██

█████ 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)

Behavior correction case file #413: Katrin. Subject is a part-time lifeguard during summers between college terms and has been repeatedly caught by pool owner engaging in surreptitious masturbation, high-risk sexual activity and other inappropriate behavior on the grounds. Rather than risk a mark on her employment record and possible misdemeanor charges, subject agreed to behavioral therapy at the Institute.

Katrin is a less complicated case than subject #328 and will likely respond to straightforward aversion therapy. She is required to wear a swimsuit similar to her lifeguard uniform at all times, though this one is fitted with microscopic body monitors and electrical stim units to aid in analysis and reinforce direction of guidance.

As per standard Institute policy, subject will be shackled to bed when not in treatment and woken each morning by an orderly who will provide manual stimulus until her monitors indicate sufficient arousal. She will then be taken to our own swimming pool and, while in an environment similar to the one that has caused her such problems, be treated with Hitachi therapy as per standard orgasm control/induction regimen B. (You know how this goes–make her beg to come then make her beg to stop–pretty straightforward. DT) The obvious potential for breathplay and cold-water shock should be explored as well.

A week of such treatment should be more than sufficient to reform the subject. However, subject has already agreed to spend two months at the Institute voluntarily. Division D has expressed interest in continuing treatment and observing subject’s behavior on a daily basis. What are her reactions to an extended forced pleasure regimen? Will temporary aversion become a more permanent fetish related to the environment, clothing, or bondage in use, and will this fetish affect normal sexual function? Will the subject bond with a single handler or grow accustomed to rotation through a group of staff? The Institute stands to learn a great deal from this case.

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.

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.)

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.)

“You checked in the back?”

“Yeah, that row is all empty, they’re bringing in a new line next week. Sorry.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. I really was hoping to take one home today.”

“Well, I can sell you the floor model–obviously she’s seen some testing, you know, she’s got a few scuffs and marks, but she’s in perfectly good condition.”

“Hmm… I don’t know. I don’t want to get her home and find out she’s not going to last me.”

“She’s still under warranty, same as the others. Look–I’ll give you ten percent off.”

“Fifteen?”

“Yeah, fine, it’s been a slow week. Pull your van around to the side door and we’ll get her loaded on. You want her boxed up?”

“Nah. I have a feeling I won’t be able to get all the way home without stopping to test her out.”

submissivefeminist:

Is this worth passing notes in class, girl?

“Well?” The tap of the ruler against the tops of her thighs. “Is it?”

The ruler was such a joke. He kept it on his desk in a jar of pencils, and everyone could see that the numbers were faded to the point of illegibility. What was he going to measure anyway? He was a fucking English teacher.

He was also fucking hot, crazy, movie-star hot, with a taste in dress shirts and a cruel wit that maintained the rapt attention of every girl in his class. There were rumors, too, about things he’d done with past students after they’d turned 18. Nobody could prove anything–certainly none of the office aides had been able to find a written complaint–but everybody knew somebody whose cousin used to go here, and she said that her friend…

“Answer me.”

The ruler tapped a little harder, the flat on her skin making a sharp sound as she jerked in the cuffs. Brienne tried again to swallow, unused to the gag, and shook her head no.

He’d humiliated her in front of the class when he caught the note going from her hand to Maddy’s, made her apologize to them from the front of the room, then leaned over and murmured that she’d need to come see him after school. She had expected a dressing down. Rumors aside, she hadn’t really expected to be dragged to a windowless supply room, wordlessly blindfolded, cuffed, gagged and bent over, his fingers undoing the top few snaps of her blouse without touching her skin.

She knew she was really in trouble when she heard the jingle of the collar he’d taken from her bookbag.

“Is this yours, Brienne?”

She hesitated. The ruler on her thighs was not gentle this time.

She gasped, nodded, shook her head, nodded again. (She’d borrowed it–well, it was a gag gift she’d given Maddy, then taken back–but how was she supposed to explain that with her mouth wedged open?)

The leather of the collar against her neck: he began to buckle it into place and her knees almost buckled too. He’d still barely even touched her, but every nerve in her body was on alert, straining for the slightest sensation; the brush of his thumb against the sensitive skin of her throat made her pulse jump.

“There are a number of things you’ve done that require attention,” he said, running his fingers over her collarbone to just brush the upper skin of her chest. “First, the note. Second, carrying sexually deviant paraphernalia in a bag intended for textbooks. Third, failing to speak up for yourself when a teacher displays absolutely inappropriate behavior toward you.”

The ruler was back, this time on its edge, sliding up between her thighs to press sharply against her; Brienne made a helpless noise and went up on her toes, but he followed her, pushing, forcing her to feel the damp patch on her white panties. She could feel the flush in her cheeks and neck; she twisted her wrists against the steel and arched, trying to give her shoulders some relief.

“You’ll be working with me in a series of extracurricular sessions to make sure you’re prepared for graduation. Each Tuesday, you’ll meet me here after school, in uniform, prepared to be attentive, quiet, and obedient. You will bring this,” he tugged at the ring of the collar, “as a reminder of your transgressions. Do you understand?”

The ruler left. His fingers replaced it. Brienne moaned, humiliatingly, involuntarily grinding herself against them for the brief second before he took the pressure away.

He jerked her underwear down, grabbed her hair to hold her, and then there it was, the cold flat of the ruler pressed against her cheeks.

“Do you,” he said, “understand?”

Brienne tried to nod, and wondered if he understood she’d had to pass that damn note forty-eight times.

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.

thesimplestpleasure:

I blush just thinking about this. It’s the examining that gets to me, I think. The closeness, the intimacy, the inspection – the fact that this is a man merely looking at what he owns and doing with it as he sees fit. The fact that I damn well better sit still no matter what his fingertips do because he expects me to be good and let him explore.

So. Mean.

Every inch of you, smooth as velvet, groomed just as he instructed. Your pose picture perfect, legs apart for him, wrists crossed behind your head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The slow, calm, methodical humiliation of your naked vulva.

He’s had to wipe you down several times, using the wadded wreck of your own panties to sop up your wetness as the heavy clamp stand keeps the Hitachi in place against you. There’s a dimmer switch on it, of course–you can’t decide whether that’s for kindness or cruelty–which he adjusts occasionally, always a microsecond before you think you’re about to go over the edge. Or lose it.

He likes to keep you here, almost delirious with need, where he can watch you pulse and throb under the gentle brush of his probing finger. It’s almost dissociative. It reminds you that the cunt in question just happens to be attached to you: his property in your helpless, trembling body, to be tested and explored at his leisure. To be subject to pleasure or punishment in precise increments. To come, or not to come, only when he decides as much.

Of course, realistically, you know this is the easy part. Eventually he’s going to get bored and spin that dimmer all the way up. He’s going to paddle that pussy with his hand until it splashes, as is his usual manner. And he’s going to wait for you to start begging, between squeals and gasps, for your orgasm.

Then he’s going to turn on the camera and make you repeat yourself.

You think you’re blushing now?

You’d be surprised how easy it is to find an unused storage room down in the subbasement of the theater and communications building, and even more surprised how easy it is to fill it with scavenged materials. A bench. a clip-on scoop light. A rolling cart. A wheeled frame. Padlocks. Chains.

Of course, Kelly couldn’t borrow everything–some of it she had to order through the departmental Amazon account, furtively tapped out during her work-study shift and snagged from the office before anyone could open the boxes. Cuffs. Lube. That ridiculous dildo.

Not that any of the equipment ever got much use. She just snuck in there to stare, fantasize, shove a hand down her shorts, and have massive, fist-biting orgasms.

It was hers and only hers, and as the semester went on she grew more and more daring. She started spending the night there, just smirking when her roommate asked curiously who she was hooking up with. She played with cuffs, tightening them around one ankle, then both. She challenged herself to see how fast she could wriggle out of her own ropes.

It was addictive, but, Kelly told herself, it was harmless. None of the stuff was actually stolen–it hadn’t even left the building. And she wasn’t one of those sick sadists who actually hurt people for pleasure. She was just having a little fun.

She discovered that if she locked her wrists AND her ankles, she could come just by squeezing her thighs.

It was in just such a situation that she found herself, late one Friday night after all her classmates had drunk themselves into stupor. She liked to hide the key in the laces of her shoe, so it couldn’t possibly get lost, but she really had to work to get it up in range of her–fuck. Was that the door handle rattling?

No. No no no no no–

“But it’s just four days. And two of them are the weekend!”

“Not all of us get a summer break, college girl,” he said, smiling a little. “There are disadvantages to pursuing older men.”

She hated that, hated knowing it. It had been hard enough being away from him at school; their time together in these few months was precious, and thinking about spending it without him made her anxious, needy and fretful. Some part of her needed more than just his body, it needed the sense of trust they’d built, the certainty of his guiding hand. Without it, she could feel the old patterns creeping up: bad habits, sleepless nights, the dark fog and the worry of being unable to trust herself…

“But Andrea and Charlotte are going to be there!” She poked his leg with her toe. “Come on. All three of us in a beach house, running around in our bathing suits, drinking margaritas…” She worked her toe a little farther up his leg. “And you know how, um, flexible Andi gets when she’s drunk. That doesn’t tempt you?”

“You’re trying to persuade me to neglect my job by promising your friends’ impaired consent,” he said dryly.

“And tits,” she said.

“Go put on the bathing suit,” he said. “See if that affects my judgment.”

She came prancing back into the room in the stripy black and orange bikini, grinning, quite certain he wouldn’t be able to say no much longer. He leaned back on the couch and made a little stirring gesture with one finger, and she twirled for him, indulging herself in the thrill of it, the sure power her body could give her.

“Convincing,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d bought a halter top.”

She turned again and lifted the mass of her hair to show him the knot. “I saved up my allowance,” she teased him, just before she felt his hand grip the cord behind her neck.

“Do you know what a halter is?” he said quietly, his lips close to her ear.

Her body had gone still but trembling, responding to his shift in tone, the feel of his starched cotton shirt on her bare back. “It’s–it’s for horses.”

“It’s for animals. Animals who need to be led. Animals who need to be controlled.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I’m wearing,” she said, squirming a little impatiently as she let her hair drop.

It worked. He took the back of her bikini bottoms in his other fist and swung her easily to one side, making her yelp as the fabric cinched up against her crotch. She stumbled and caught herself with her hands against the top of the couch back, knees half-bent just at the edge of the cushion, her hair falling around her face.

“Stay,” he said.

She froze.

“Was it expensive?” he asked, running his thumb slowly down her spine and watching her skin prickle.

“They always are,” she said. “Sir.”

“So you wouldn’t want it to get stretched out–much less absolutely torn apart–by having me rip it off, wrap it around your head like a real halter, and use it to hold you in place while I fuck you out of your mind,” he said. “Would you.”

She bit her lip. There was absolutely no right answer.

He fished in his pocket and pulled something out. “I suppose it would be reparable, on a temporary basis.” The tiny sound of metal being pinched, then released. He slid his hand familiarly inside the left cup, pushing it out of the way and letting her soft breast spill out. “Do you think–if I tore it–we could fix it with this?”

The point of the safety pin dragged a little circle around her areola, and she gasped as she felt her skin contract against it–then held her breath, barely daring to breathe. He didn’t break her skin at all. He was far too careful. But she could feel the little scraping sharpness of it tracing around her, angled to make her prickle but not bleed.

Two circles, and then over the inner slope of her breast before he started drawing a thin line down her trembling skin to her belly. “You’re a sensitive beast,” he murmured, as goosebumps followed his hand. “Not one used to burdens. A soft one, and one prone to arching and mewling. A kitten? But kittens don’t take so well to the halter… and they certainly don’t take orders.” He brought his knee between her legs and pushed up, putting a little of her weight onto the shifting muscle of his thigh. “For instance, if I said: grind.”

“Y-yes,” she managed, and tried to move her hips without flexing her abdomen against the warning point of the pin. It was fucking hard. He was teaching her a lesson, she realized: she’d forced him to react with her body, and now he was forcing her body to react to the smallest possible point of pressure. She was swollen and throbbing, wet against the pressure as she started to soak through the flimsy scrap of fabric.

“This is what my good girl does,” he whispered to her, and the catch in his voice made it clear that he wasn’t as self-possessed as he wanted to sound. “Do you want to be my good girl even while you’re away?”

“Yes!”

He pulled his knee away and tugged the fabric aside to expose her, and then the sharp little pin was there, pressing its flat against her trembling clit. She couldn’t contain a cry of something, fear and lust and sheer pounding abandon–

He took it away. “Don’t,” he said, “move.”

She didn’t.

When he returned he had something in his hand, a soft silver cord that he fastened around her neck; she felt a small metal shape bump against her throat. “There are eight cards in here,” he said as he clasped it, “and each morning and each night you’re away, you’ll find a moment to yourself and draw one out. You’ll obey it, and you’ll think of me, and that’s how I’ll be with you: my hand will be your hand on your body, your mirror will be my eyes. You’ll like that, won’t you, my little animal, my little girl?”

Something in her relaxed, finally, and she sagged back against him. His hand. His eyes. His sharpness, keeping her aware of every nerve in her skin.

“Of course,” she said.

He let her keep the pin too.

I know how gifs work, but stick with me a second: the little skip between cycles on this one made me think of a dungeon with a time trap. Sci-fi, fantasy, whatever, just some method of consistently snapping the contents of one room back… say, thirty seconds or so…

See, Kiri here is a synthdoll: she’s wealthy, very wealthy, wealthy enough to have had a remote body custom-fabricated from the DNA on up. They’re legal, mostly, as long as you have a visible registration marker (like, say, those gorgeous fractal tattoos). Her original self is resting peacefully in a chamber, safe at home, her mind linked to this beautiful puppet via quantum entanglement.

The thing about diving synth is that it makes you reckless. There are automatic switches to cut out pain if it goes above a set threshold, and a maintenance contract to repair any damage you can imagine, to the point of growing an entire new doll if necessary. Rich girls like Kiri can taste the choicest poisons, cliff-dive without hesitation, seduce or be seduced by anyone they like and fuck away the consequences. Her synth doesn’t develop any bad habits, but Kiri is addicted to risk, the rush of danger with the safety of the automatic killswitch if anything goes bad.

So when a beautiful stranger at a glass-sheathed bar bet her she’d break in his little one-room chamber of delight and torment, she laughed and laughed and took him up on it.

He didn’t mention the chronoswitch, but then, she didn’t ask, did she?

They had the usual fun at first–dragging her in through the heavy door by her hair, letting her fight it a little, a rough kiss to bruise her lips and a grip on her breast to make her arch and gasp. None of it really hurt though, certainly nowhere near the safety cutoff level. Kiri was enjoying herself.

She squirmed and bit his tongue for fun, and he tore her very expensive little red dress getting it off her. Kiri bucked against him, and he had his wrists in her hand, pinning her back over a cheap block of plywood as his cheek brushed the tattoo under her arm. She was surprised to discover that she was sensitive there, very much so, but not unpleasantly. Somewhere, on a cushioned bodyrest, she smiled a little.

Then he flipped her over and slapped a little lube on his hand, pushing a couple fingers into her, letting her squeal in mock dismay as he spread her lips and thoroughly, efficiently wet her inside and out. She was starting to wonder if he’d played with dolls before, and let her tart little tongue make a joke to that effect, which is how she got the ball gag.

She was breathing fast, pulse pounding, riding exactly the kind of risk she loved as she felt his cock nudge through his pants against her slippery pussy. Then he hauled her back away from the block, cuffed her hands up above her head, and kicked her ankles apart until autoshackles snapped onto them as well.

He stepped back, letting her glare at him as she shook her hair down over her eyes. What was he going to do? Whip her or something? That would end things quickly, kick her out and drop the doll limp until its retrieval company showed up. Not much fun… but no, he was doing something else, sliding a piston dildo under her and flipping it on.

The buzzing fuckrod slid into her easily, and she gasped and curled her fingers over the cuffs, letting herself enjoy it in the role-play of victim, damsel, toy. His hand traced her hip down to the little patch of fuzz, then found her clit, making firm circles in time with the machine as she struggled to tilt her hips.

It didn’t take long to bring her to the edge. She was panting around the gag, arching, dollbody stretched taut and trembling, certain she was going to come any second…

He stepped back again, just beyond a small ring of lights embedded in the floor. She was puzzled, but maybe he just wanted to watch. There was no stopping her orgasm now anyway. Fuck, she thought, oh fuck, oh fuck, here it was–

Then a skip, a hiccup, and her body twitched in a way she didn’t understand.

She was back on the edge, exactly at the point where he’d stepped away from her. The machine thrummed and thrust upward, stretching her, pushing her toward the edge–closer–closer–

Skip.

The edge reset and rose again, making her ride it. She was definitely going to come this time, no question. Oh my, oh god, her body just starting to clench and then–

Skip.

It began to dawn on Kiri that something wasn’t right.

He grinned at her from beyond the boundary marker and tossed a little ball of paper. Just as she arrived yet again at the point of no return, when the paper was about to touch her skin, it

Skip.

vanished.

Oh shit.

“How many edges do you think you can take?” he asked conversationally. “Me personally, I’d only last a few dozen before I snapped, but you’re a tough little double, aren’t you, girl?”

Skip.

“See, if you were really in there, your memory would reset every thirty seconds with the rest of your body, and this little trap wouldn’t have much of an effect at all. But you’re not. You’re tucked away somewhere nice and safe, ready to retreat at the first onset of pain. But I didn’t say I was going to hurt you. I said I was going to torture you.”

Skip.

Somewhere, Kiri was panicking. The pleasure was as real to her as anything, and the desperate need rising in her over and over again was unavoidable, the synthdoll reacting exactly as it had been when he first threw the switch. But there was no release, there would be no release: her doll wouldn’t get sore or tired in the timetrap, wouldn’t get thirsty, wouldn’t trigger any of the safety cutouts to get her back out. Not for hours. Not for days.

Skip.

FUCK, she had been close that time! No no no no, she didn’t think she could take two more of these, much less a dozen, but here it was again, the pulse inside her and the flood of electric need rushing up her spine before–

Skip.

“Takes a lot to afford a doll that flawless,” he grinned, “and I think you’re going to share it with me, girl. I think that before very long, you’ll break, and you’ll be willing to give me anything to unplug you. Your mind, your money, your cunt–this one or your real one, whichever I please. But you won’t be able to tell me where you really are with that gag in. Which means I’m going to have to get a list of registered dolls in the city and knock on doors… one… at… a time.”

The thought of actually being found did something to her, closed a short circuit in her dollbrain, and oh FUCK that was it–she was coming–the first microsecond of a massive, crashing–

Skip.

She screamed through the gag, thrashing, the machine still buried inside her as she was dragged back over the edge like a raw nerve, her orgasm ripped away before she could taste it.

“It’s going to be some time, I’m afraid,” he murmured, letting his eyes drink in the sight of her sobbing body once more. “But I’ll find you, girl, don’t worry. And by the time I finally let you out of this trap, you’ll be more than ready to be MY puppet. Once and for all.”

The door slammed closed on another desperate edge, and she was left staring after him, tears leaking from her synthetic eyes before they vanished as if they’d never been.

Skip.

Skip.

Skip.

There wasn’t actually a bed in the house. The owners slept on a big slab of Ikea foam right on the floor, which was probably just as comfortable anyway, except that the lack of bedframe made it hard to tie someone down. That was the third complication the burglars faced. The second was that they hadn’t realized Cassie would be housesitting at all.

She’d been a couple days late–so what, the plants would be fine, she thought. Unfortunately, she timed her arrival while the three thieves were still in the house. They grabbed her before she could figure out what was happening, made it clear what would happen to her if she screamed for help, and improvised.

Tacks, hammer, scissors and an old nylon tie-down from the garage. Cassie found herself stripped quite efficiently and pinned down at twenty-four points, right in the middle of the living room where they could keep an eye on her. Then they went through her bag, and her misfortune doubled.

Cassie had planned on having a little time to herself at the house, so she’d brought her Hitachi, along with the rubber gag she liked to bite down on when she came. She hadn’t expected anyone to see them. She definitely hadn’t expected her captors to see her visible trembling or the flush that crept up her neck when they stuffed it in her mouth. She hadn’t expected them to figure out quite so fast what this situation was doing to her flooding cunt.

The owners would be back in five days or so. Nobody really expected to hear from Cassie in that time. Nobody would be coming by the house. The burglars had several days to do whatever they wanted to her taut and helpless body, and the nice thing about a Hitachi is that it doesn’t have batteries to exhaust.

Because the first complication they’d found–the one they were pretty sure Cassie could help them solve, once sufficiently persuaded–was the safe.

They had plenty of time to try combinations themselves, while they kept her pinned down and squirming, the vibrator thrumming against her aching pussy. They could hear it every time she came–the straining against the nylon, the squeaking of her teeth against the ball. Over a day of forced orgasms, well into the dozens, and Cassie was more than ready the combination–

If only she knew.

If only she could say so.

If only she wasn’t afraid of what would happen if they found out she lied…

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.

collegesubmissive:

“What happens when I do this, hm?”

She lets out a whimper, her mouth opening wide, faltering along the way.

“I want an answer, pet. Now.”

She bites down on her lip, pausing to try and take a deep breath. “I feel it down there, Sir. I… I know I’m getting wet.”

He raises an eyebrow, unable to keep from smiling at her predicament. “And if I twist a little bit, what then?”

She moans, her back arching from the bed. “Please, please touch my pussy, Sir!”

“Oh, not a chance, little one. I’m having fun with this. I love when you squirm for me, so I’ll enjoy it for as long as I see fit.”

He tugs until she’s tight, stiff and trembling, then runs the backs of his nails down the sides of her breasts. The skin prickles all the way from her ribs to her collarbone: she jerks and gasps when he finds her nipple again and flicks.

All five fingertips circle the peak and slowly spread apart: stroking her, soothing her, letting the skin slowly start to relax. She feels a tiny bit of relief, thinking maybe he’s about to move on, but disappointment too. All that focus and attention on one place is powerful: she never thought she could be controlled so effectively with just one hand, and nowhere near her pussy.

Then his hand slides up to her throat.

“S-sir,” the word comes frantically, but he’s not gripping tight, just… holding. His palm molds to her and his thumb and finger rest just behind the corners of her jaw, soft but undeniable.

“Tell me again what’s happening to your pussy, girl,” he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.

It’s fucking gushing, that’s what’s happening. “Uh. Sir. It’s wet because y-y-youOH!” He’s finally taken his mouth to her breast, rolling her nipple between lip and tongue, pulling back to puff a little air and watch it tighten up again so fast it aches.

“It’s wet because I’m playing with my property,” he finishes for her, his lips brushing again and again against her as he speaks. “Just one tiny piece of my property, albeit a flawless one. Do you like it when I play with the things I own, pet?”

“YES, Sir,” she says, arching to try to get her breast into his warm mouth again, but he chuckles as he pulls back and gives her another flick.

“What did you want me to do with that pussy again?”

It’s a trap, of course it’s a trap, but what is she going to do? “Please touch it. Please!”

“What will you do for me if I agree to touch your wet, warm, needy, throbbing pussy right now, girl?”

It pours out of her: promises, bargains, pleading and cajoling. She won’t touch for a week. She’ll touch every hour for a week. He can fuck her in any hole, use her, punish her, rent her out and watch. She’ll use her body in any way he pleases, go naked, go belted, go collared, go anywhere he orders her if he’ll please just touch…

The tiniest fraction of tightness on her throat, and she understands. Her mouth clicks shut.

“I’m going to touch you now–because I choose to, not because you are particularly convincing–but rest assured I will hold you to each and every one of those, pet. One at a time, thoroughly, and at length. Understand?”

“Always, Sir,” she whispers.

When his hand finally slides up each side of her velvety, bare lips, touching her pussy without a hint of penetration or pressure on her clit, the noises that come from her throat are kittenish and desperate. He takes his fingers up and down, again and again, drawing closer and closer to her inner lips, and then withdraws–

Only to land flat with a sharp, wet smack.

Convulsing, clenching, edging, crying out from the shock more than the pain, she wonders if he was taking notes or what.

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…

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.