Thanks, @medcontrol-uncontrol, for sharing this fantastic story. I just couldn’t find all three parts that easily, and therefore decided to repost it at a single blow again. The story seems to be a bit longish, but it’s absolutely worth reading it entirely.
The ad looked inviting, more than most; “Medical Fantasies in a Real Hospital, with Real Staff. Any procedure considered.”
I’d been interested in casts, braces, splints and traction for quite a long time, and had also opened my eyes to other, related interests. Finding people with similar interests on the Internet had emboldened me, so I decided to call and investigate this “hospital”. Thinking I’d get a sales pitch and a request for a credit card number, I was surprised when the voice on the other end of the line said “Come on by and see the place”. That very afternoon I did.
It was indeed a real hospital, although small by modern standards. It was probably built in the late 50’s or early 60’s was a single-story brick structure, with several wings radiating out from the main building. I was greeted in the lobby by a slender woman in a traditional nurse’s uniform (starched white), whose name tag read “Ms. Lori”. She guided me into an office and spoke with me for a few moments about my interests. She explained that they had to be careful who they showed the hospital to, as their discretion was the primary reason for their continued success. I started with my interest in recreational orthopedics, and she asked some knowledgeable questions on the subject. She went on to ask about other aspects of medical fantasies, and I admitted to having looked at some of them on the Internet, while others I’d never considered before.
After half an hour or so, she seemed convinced of my sincerity, and led me back into one wing of the hospital, to see some of the work they did. She explained that it was used mostly by the staff when they were off-duty or “on vacation”, and as such their identity would not be hidden. I was advised not to ask any questions, and to keep my hands folded behind my back.
The first room we entered had a young woman laying in a bed wearing a body cast from her toes to the top of her head. Her arms were not encased, but were held down by her sides with heavy-padded, hospital restraints. A tube led from a bag of milky fluid into her nose, and another tube exited from the crotch of the cast, leading to a urine collection bag hanging on the bed. This, I was told, was Mary, and she was spending her two-week vacation relaxing – as relaxed as sedatives could make her without requiring a ventilator. Because of the extended immobilization, Mary would have to spend her first 5 weeks back at work in a Milwaukee Brace. Again. Apparently the prospect of this did not bother her.
The next room had a man in it wearing a shoulder spica cast. This was Tom. He was spending a week exploring a type of cast he’d never worn before. He seemed content, reading a book.
The third room was a little shocking for me. In it was a woman with tubes in every natural orifice of her body, as well as a ventilator tube connected to the front of her neck. Wires connected to electrodes placed all over her body, with others disappearing into orifices alongside some of the tubes. Her name was Margaret, and she was testing her limits of physical discomfort. As I watched, there was a sudden, sharp buzzing, and Margaret arched her back, falling back down into the bed. Apparently electric stimulation was part of the experience.
The forth room I entered had no bed. Instead, there was a frame against one wall, and stretched out on this frame like a drying animal pelt was the latex-encased form of a woman. Several tubes entered her bodysuit at the head and crotch, leading to a white metal cabinet beside the frame. This woman’s name was Erica. I was told nothing else about her.
The last room I was shown was a “treatment room”. Seeming like a large operating theater, there was equipment and materials filling it up, stainless steel and white enamel seeming to take up every spare foot along the walls. I couldn’t begin to guess at what half of them did. I was then lead back to the front office.
Miss Lori asked if I might be interested in attending the hospital, and I admitted that it had piqued my curiosity. A small smile played across her face as she handed me a clipboard with several sheets on it, telling me that it was a questionnaire used by the staff to determine what their “patients” wanted, and needed. Assuring me that I would not have to sign anything yet, she explained how to fill the questionnaire out, then left the room. The form had 158 different items on it, each with three boxes next to it: Interested, Not Interested, Don’t Care. Those which I marked as “Interested”, the staff would try to integrate into my visit, provided I decided to make a visit. Those marked “Not Interested”, would be things I definitely did not want to try, and they would not be forced on me. The items marked “Don’t Care” might be done by the staff, and might not be.
Some things I quickly decided I was for: Cast (with sub categories for every possible type or combinations of casts): Splints (again, many possibilities): Brace (how many different types of braces can you name? Double it and add five – that’s how many there were – I checked them all): Traction (several types – I intentionally indicated “no” on any that were described as “skeletal” – that usually meant pins or wires or something inserted through the skin): Muscle Relaxants (I’d taken muscle relaxers before, and I was all for them): Pain Killers (see the previous – I liked not hurting): Restraints (seemed okay, especially those padded ones Mary was wearing): Anesthetic Gasses (see “Painkillers” above).
Some items I automatically marked “Not Interested”: anything that ended in “ectomy” (I guess, since it is a real hospital, they could perform real surgery): Piercing (I’m not particularly fond of needles): Castration (yes, it was really on there): Amputation (there are all kinds of folks, folks): Electroshock Therapy (I still remember Jack Nicholson’s scene from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”): Implantation (I have no idea what, or where, they were referring to).
Some things had never really revved my engine, but weren’t immediate turnoffs, either: Enemas: Colonic Therapy: Catheterization: Anal Stimulation: Electro Stimulation: Scheduled Feeding: Assisted Respiration (spending some time in an iron lung might be interesting).
Ms. Lori came back into the room shortly after I’d finished, and looked over my selections. She nodded at most, and smiled at one or two, then picked up a pen and asked me a couple of other questions. If I decided to spend time in their hospital, would I prefer male or female staff to take care of me? Would I want to be in any particular “condition” when I left the hospital? Seeing my puzzled look on that one, she explained that some of their “orthopedic guests” usually left the hospital in some kind of brace or cast, to be worn “full-term” as she put it. Since the hospital staff were authentic medical personnel, they could arrange for all the correct paperwork to satisfy any employer about the “condition”. They also had the ability to prescribe drugs if the course of “treatment” was to be continued at home. I replied that it might be interesting to take home a “souvenir”, which brought another smile to her face. She then asked if I had any questions, and I asked the big one – what about cost?
Ms. Lori smiled again, and explained that there was a fee for their services, though that was waved in cases of “quid pro quo” – that is, they would help to fulfill my fantasies, if, in exchange, I allowed them to use me to fulfill theirs. My raised eyebrows elicited a further explanation; the staff sometimes had specific procedures they wished to perform on others, or wished to have procedures performed on them, that required someone else be present. If I agreed to the “quid pro quo”, and signed a contract and waiver to that effect, I could spend time in the hospital free of charge. I was assured that nothing I’d checked on the form as “Not Interested” would be forced on me, and I would not be injured or have anything permanent done to me that I had not specifically requested. Seemed reasonable, so I agreed, and Ms. Lori scribbled some notations on the form.
Finally, I asked about the amount of time I could expect to stay in the facility. Ms. Lori explained that they could develop a “treatment plan” for virtually any length of stay, although some things, such as having a brace custom-made, took time, and a lot of their patients tended to book in for weekends only. With that she looked at me and asked what kind of time frame I had in mind.
Originally, a weekend visit had been on my mind, but I considered the fact that I’d just been divorced, and had three weeks’ of vacationing coming without anything (or much money) to do during that time. I explained this to Ms. Lori, which caused her to yet again raise her eyebrows. After thinking for several minutes, during which she tapped the end of the pen against her bottom lip, she said that a treatment plan would be worked up and sent to me via e-mail, and that if I was interested, I needed only to let them know the dates I’d be available. I thanked her, shook her hand, and went home.
Two days later I received a sizable e-mail from the hospital, titled “Recommended Treatment”. I half-expected it to read like a cheap bondage novel, and was surprised at the content;
I have reviewed the tests and documentation provided to me. That, as well as the examination I personally made, has led me to the conclusion that you are suffering from osteoarthritis of the spine, as your previous physician had indicated. I do, however, disagree on the course of treatment, and do not think that surgery is indicated at this time. I believe a regimen of rest, coupled with appropriately-applied traction, will reduce the pain and discomfort you are experiencing, and that use of a properly-fitted supportive appliance (i.e., a brace) will allow you to continue at this reduced level of pain and discomfort for the foreseeable future. This treatment, though not as drastic as surgery, will require a hospital stay of 2-3 weeks. If you are interested in pursuing this course of action, please contact my office so that we may make appropriate arrangements.
At first I was puzzled as to the content of the letter, but then I realized that they were providing me with an official-sounding reason to use when I asked for time off. I’d often made statements that my back and neck were uncomfortable, so it wouldn’t come as a tremendous surprise. I decided then and there to go for it.
The next day I showed the e-mail to my boss, and asked for 3 weeks off. He seemed overly skeptical, and I imagined that I wouldn’t be the first to try to fake an e-mail excuse to ask for time off. He scribbled something down, and said he’d get back with me. I thought it would be a day or two before I heard from him, but he was at my cubicle 45 minutes later, looking very perturbed. It seems he’d written down the name of the doctor, and decided to call the doctor to verify the message. My heart sank to my stomach. I hadn’t thought that he’d do that. I surmised that he’d found no such doctor, and was about to give me my pink slip. Instead he said he’d talked to the doctor, and asked why I’d kept my condition from him, looking a little bit hurt. I stammered a bit, and then explained that with the marital problems and divorce that had occupied my spare time for the past two years, I really didn’t want anyone else knowing about this additional problem. (Seemed a reasonable excuse, even if hastily contrived.) Boss then explained that he’d called Human Resources, and had arranged for me to take as much time as I needed (paid), and that if any special arrangements needed to be made to my work environment on my return, they’d be happy to accommodate me. He then turned and left.
I sat there with my mouth agape and my mind spinning. Two days before I’d half-heartedly looked into exploring some of my more arcane fantasies, not really expecting too much to occur. Now, it looked as though not only was I going to get to experience them, but on a full-time basis, and in full view of my friends and co-workers (without their knowledge, to boot – and that seemed to be the most exciting aspect of all).
And to top it all off, I’d actually gotten to see my boss act, not just nice, but sympathetic. That alone was worth all the trouble.
It was 6:30 pm, and I was standing outside the door to the hospital, trying to convince myself that, one, this was real, and two, it was what I really wanted to do. After all, I had no real guarantee that I’d be treated as I preferred, and that my preferences would be respected. On the other hand, I had no reason to suspect that I’d be mistreated. Aww, the hell with it. I stepped inside ….
… and was greeted my Nurse Lori, who was guiding a wheelchair towards me. A younger girl, in a candystriper’s outfit, followed her, and took my suitcase from my hand with a smile. I sat down in the chair, and was wheeled down the hall, to the office where I’d originally filled out the questionnaire. Ms. Lori handed me a clipboard, and asked me to carefully read over the documents on it. On top were printed versions of the questionnaire I’d filled out before, with all my answers inked in by the printer. I signed it, then went to the next document – “Contract for Mutual Servitude – Quid Pro Quo”. This document explained that I’d be letting the staff make all decisions concerning my treatment during my stay, and that in exchange for not having to pay, I was donating the use of my body towards medical research, within the limitations of Form 1203-B7. (I looked, and noted that was the form number of the questionnaire I’d just signed.). I signed that one, then the Waiver of Personal Liability that followed. That was it.
Nurse Lori collected the forms, made a couple of notations on them, and sealed them in an envelope before putting them in a file cabinet in one corner of the room. “Time to start”, she said.
She took control of the wheelchair and guided me out through a side door, down a short hallway (definitely late 50’s or early 60’s – all the tile was aqua green), and into a simple exam room. I was instructed to completely disrobe and wait for the doctor on the table. Once I was completely naked (“Underpants also, please”), Nurse Lori took the wheelchair, along with my clothes, out of the room and closed the door.
I’m sure it wasn’t five minutes, though it seemed longer, when the door opened and a woman in her late forties walked in. The tag on her coat identified her as Doctor W.E. Beckham. Doctor Beckham asked me quite a few questions concerning my physical history, then proceeded to examine me. I’d experienced physical exams before, but never one this thorough. Pulse, temperature, blood pressure, eyes, ears, throat, nose, listened to my heart, listened to my lungs, listened to my stomach, listened to my abdomen, thumped my chest and back, checked my joints for range of motion, checked my pulse at the wrist with my arm in various positions (I found out later that this is a good method for determining if muscle spasm exists in the neck and shoulders – if the muscle is in spasm, the pulse is cut off when the arm is raised). I lay on my back and my groin was looked at carefully. I rolled onto my stomach and my anus was examined. I stood up, bent over, and had my prostrate checked. Straightening up again, I was asked to turn my head and cough. Etc, etc.
Finally, after what seemed like two hours, the Doctor stated that it was time for me to be taken to the Prep Room. She then turned and exited through the door. I sat on the table, looking at the walls, trying to imagine what I’d gotten myself into, when the door opened, and in stepped Nurse Lori, guiding another wheelchair, only this one had a high back and adjustable leg rests, and every surface was covered in sheepskin. It also had somewhat formidable-looking leather restraints for the wrists, ankles and chest. I was gently but firmly guided into the chair, and the different straps were secured. Once I was belted in, a thick blanket was spread out over the top of me, covering all of my body except my head and neck.
“You will now be taken to the Prep Room. Here you will be prepared for a long hospital stay, with particular attention paid to those things which will benefit your treatment.”
“It has been determined that your initial course of treatment will consist of enforced spinal traction using the Cotrel method, that is, using a heavily-padded pelvic harness and head halter. Initially the traction weight will be five pounds on the head halter, and twelve pounds on the pelvic harness. These weights will be increased daily, with 3 daily periods, spanning 30 minutes each, of intermittent increased traction, accomplished by a mechanical traction machine. Traction will also be applied to both legs, to remove the effects their weight on your back. This will be done using skin traction on both your upper and lower legs. The initial treatment period is ten days, which may be extended, depending on your response.”
“To maximize the effect of the traction, you will be given large doses of muscle relaxers and tranquilizers. These doses will be increased at night, and decreased during the day, so that normal sleep-and-wake periods may be maintained. However, because of the doses you will be given, and to eliminate your need to spend time out of bed, you will be intubated with both an endotracheal tube for breathing, and a nasogastric tube for feeding. You will be on strict liquid-protein diet during this time, to minimize the necessity to void your bowels. To further minimize that need, you are going to undergo colonic therapy, to empty your intestines as completely as possible before being placed in traction.”
I felt a sudden rush of anxiety, which was apparent when I said, “Intubated?”
Nurse Lori stopped, looked into my eyes and smiled warmly. “Please don’t worry about it. You will be completely asleep when the procedure is performed, and you will be given pain-relieving drugs to minimize the discomfort. Trust me, I’ve done it several times, and it’s not bad at all, if you just relax.” She wheeled me out the door and down the hall.
“You will also be catheterized, though mostly only at night. One of the other doctors wants to use you for something during the day, and I understand a catheter would get in the way.” She actually sounded amused at that. My mind started swimming with the possibilities. “To help keep you clean, and to prepare you for the traction and other treatment regimes, we are going to apply a depilatory solution to you which will remove all your body hair. This includes your head, too, I’m afraid, but it’s been found that the traction, and what comes after the traction, are actually more comfortable against bare skin.”
We turned several corners (more than I’d have thought there would be in a building this size), and bumped through a swinging door into a room labeled “Patient Prep”. A fairly large room, it had a circular shower in one corner, and a stainless-steel table near a sink. I was wheeled to the shower, and my restraints were removed. “Stand in the shower, please.” I did as asked, and was handed a pair of swimmer’s goggles. “Please put these on, and make sure they’re snug. You don’t want to get any of this in your eyes.” I did as instructed. “Hold out your arms.” I did this also, and was rewarded with rubber wrist cuffs being placed on each arm. These were then attached to rails at each side of the shower. I was then presented with what looked like a scuba mouthpiece; I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and it was shoved in between my teeth and gums. Finally a clamp was placed on my nose. “Just relax, this will take a little bit.”
Nurse Lori left the room, and was replaced with a woman (I assume it was a woman – she protruded in all the right places) dressed completely in black rubber, head to toe, with a gas mask-looking thing on her face. She walked to the wall next to the shower and started working controls. I braced myself for the usual shot of cold water that comes out when any shower is first turned on – but was greeted by nothing but a warm, soothing stream.
I was “soaped-up” several times, and each time was scrubbed down firmly but gently by the rubber-clad woman. For the most part I stood still with my eyes closed – it actually felt good. When the water stopped, I opened my eyes and looked down. A large mass of dark hair covered the drain. The clamp was removed from my nose, and the mouthpiece from my mouth. After thoroughly drying me off, the rubber lady removed my goggles and wrist restraints. “Lay on that table”, came a muffled order, and she pointed to the table near the sink.
I did as I was told, with my head on the pillow. A blanket was spread over me, and the rubber lady left the room. After watching her leave, I turned my head back, and noticed a large mirror on the ceiling. Apparently I was to see whatever was going to be done to me. I also saw that I was completely bald, and that even my eyebrows were gone. I moved one hand to my groin, and noted that it, too, was bare as a baby’s butt.
The door opened, and two women came in, both dressed in white rubber outfits which covered everything except their faces. They moved immediately to my table, and started positioning metal troughs at the foot of the table. Once in place, they lift each of my legs and placed them in these “troughs”, and secured them there with rubber straps. The result was that my legs were spread wide apart, and raised up, so that my genital and anus were clearly exposed and presented. Next, each of my wrists was secured to the table with a rubber strap, and a wide strap was placed across my chest.
One of the women then walked to the head of the table, and presented what looked like a large football mouth guard. “Open wide”, she commanded, and I did as I was told. She then gently but firmly pushed the piece into my mouth. Once in position, it held my jaw slightly open, but effectively sealed my mouth. She then walked to the wall behind my head, and after a moment returned with a nasal gas mask. “Nitrous oxide”, she said, “it will help you relax during the procedure, and will minimize any discomfort you might feel.” The mask was placed snugly over my nose, and I noted the cool, slightly sweet gas inside. Within just a couple of minutes I started feeling a tingling sensation all over.
Both women had retreated to one of the cabinets against the wall, and returned with a covered tray and a rolling IV pole. A large, fully inflated, red rubber bag hung from the pole, with a hose attached to the bottom of it. Attached to the end of the hose was what I recognized to be a double Bar__x enema nozzle. One of the women held the nozzle up, while the other liberally spread lubricant on it, then the first turned to me and without hesitation inserted it into my rectum. As it happened so quickly, I was surprised when it was inserted, and jumped a little. The second woman looked at me for a second, then walked to the wall behind the head of the table. She must have increased the nitrous mixture, for the effects I was feeling from the gas suddenly increased. The first woman started inflating the two balloons on the Bar__x nozzle, and although I felt the pressure, I felt no discomfort. Once it was inflated, she released a clamp on the hose, and the enema solution flowed into me.
The mirror over my head gave me an unobstructed view of the procedure. Once the enema was started, the towel over the tray was removed, and I got an overhead view of what it contained; several rods of different diameters, slightly curved at one end with a rounded tip; three-pronged dilators of different sizes; different-shaped items made from a black rubber with wires attached to them; and what looked like a large, stainless-steel test tube with a rubber sleeve on the inside with two hoses attached.
The taller of the two women now spoke. “It is the doctor’s orders that, in addition to being intestinally evacuated (I supposed that’s what the enema was for), you will be given a rectal and urological assessment. This will involve dilating your urethra and rectum, and collection of specimens for analysis. While your digestive tract is being cleansed, we will proceed with the urological tract.” She then donned fresh gloves, and picked up the smallest of the slightly-curved rods. The other woman, who also donned fresh gloves, proceeded to apply liberal amounts of lubricant to the curved, rounded end of the rod.
It suddenly hit me what was about to happen, though the nitrous was doing a wonderful job of relaxing me. Since there was nothing I could do to stop it, I just took several deep breaths in quick succession. The tall woman heard this, turned and looked at me, and simply smiled. She then turned back to the foot of the table. Grasping my penis in one hand, she pulled it straight up, and holding it in that position, introduced the rounded end of the rod into my urethra. She slowly inserted it as far as she could, and then held it there for a moment.
I’d always wondered what it was like to be catheterized, and I’d read different accounts that described it as everything from absolute torture to the next best thing to heaven. I guess I’d expected there to be some pain from the rod being inserted into my penis and most of the way to my bladder, but there was none. I felt the metal enter, and I felt it’s progress the entire way down, and I felt it as it was being held in place, but I never felt pain, or even discomfort. If I had to describe the feeling, it was like I was in the process of urinating.
The rod was removed as slowly and carefully as it was inserted, and the next size rod was picked up, lubricated, and inserted. Again, there was no pain, though I felt as though I was pissing a stream a little larger than the one before.
About this time I realized a fullness in my abdomen, and noted that the enema bag was mostly deflated. As it emptied completely, the clamp on the hose was closed once more by the shorter woman. She then went back to assisting the first .
A total of ten different-sized rods were inserted into my urethra. The last, and largest, looked to be almost a quarter of an inch in diameter. Due to the slow expansion of the passage by the previous rods, and also, no doubt, to the effects of the nitrous, I felt only the slightest of discomforts, a stretching sensation, while it was being inserted. Once it was in, an elastic strap was placed around the shaft of my penis, and an attached strap was clipped to the rod, to hold it in place. The two women then stripped off their gloves, donned a fresh pair, and turned to the enema-in-progress.
A basin was moved to the foot of the table, obviously to catch what was about to come out. The double-Bar__x nozzle was deflated and removed, and I was allowed to expel everything. Once it was all out, a second bag was hung on the IV pole, and the process was started all over again.
With the second enema started, the elastic strap was removed from my penis, and the final rod was withdrawn. A ring of black rubber was then placed around the base of my penis, underneath the scrotum, which had a wire attached to it. A second piece was inserted into my rectum alongside the Bar__x nozzle – it, too, had a wire attached. Both of these wires were attached to a box with button and dials on it. The short woman flipped a switch and turned one of the dials, and my eyes rolled back into my head. I felt a sudden surge in my groin, and my penis immediately launched into an erection bigger than any I had ever known. The electric current must have been going straight through my prostrate, as I felt a rush of sexual excitement more intense than any I had ever known.
Lubricant was smeared over my now-rigid member, and the metal test tube was slipped down over it. One of the hoses was attached to a sealed jar, and the other to a metal device mounted on what I recognized as a vacuum pump. Another hose was connected between the pump and the collection jar, and the pump was turned on. As the vacuum built up, my penis was drawn even further into the tube, until it was entirely encased by the metal. Then, I heard a clicking sound from metal device on the pump, and the rubber sleeve started squeezing my penis. After a few seconds it stopped, then a few seconds later it repeated. I realized then that I was attached to an honest-to-god milking machine, and that the next specimen they were going to collect was my semen. The woman with the control box adjusted one of the dials, and the current going through my prostrate increased. I tried to move, but the straps held me firmly. I felt the climax coming for what seemed several minutes, and when it finally arrived, my eyes again rolled back into my head and I lost consciousness as my body convulsed with the most intense orgasm I’d ever known.
I must have regained consciousness a moment or two later, for everything was still attached to me and running. I glanced at the collection jar, and noted with some satisfaction that a fairly large amount of milky-white liquid was in the bottom. I felt smugly satisfied with myself for being such a good patient when I was jolted with another increase in current from the electrodes. Surely one of these women had seen my orgasm? Both of them then looked at the collection jar, then back at me. Apparently the sample collected wasn’t enough.
After my second orgasm, the Bar__x nozzle was removed and I was allowed to expel again. Since this also meant the rectal electrode was removed, the current was turned off, though the milking machine was left in place. Once I was finished expelling the second enema, the tall woman rolled a stool up to the foot of the table, and sat down. Donning yet another pair of gloves (it made me wonder how many boxes of latex gloves this place went through in a month), she examined my rectum, even pushing one finger into it and moving it around. She then turned to the cart, and selected the largest of the three-pronged dilators, and once the assistant had smeared it with lubricant, proceeded to insert it into my rectum.
The dilator was slowly opened, and just as it was getting uncomfortable, it stopped. It was held in place for a few moments, then was opened a little more. A few moments there, and it was opened a little more. This was repeated several times, until apparently the dilator reached its limit, for it was retracted and removed, then a second, larger dilator was inserted. This one, too, was slowly opened, and when it was finally opened as far as it would go, the tall woman turned to the cart and retrieved a stainless rod with a small pad on one end, and a wooden handle on the other, with a wire exiting the handle. The wire was connected to the box which the electrodes were attached to, and using an exam light, she peered into my now-opened anus, and skillfully placed the padded end of the rod against my prostrate. “There it is”, she said.
The other woman turned a dial on the box, and instantly I was aroused again. The milking machine still had a firm grip on my penis, and now I was swelling up again to fill up the tube. After a moment, the tall nurse turned to the other one, smiled, and said “Now”.
The jolt of electricity that was applied to my prostrate was unlike any I’d ever felt before, and that included the time I’d touched the live wire inside my television set. If not for the mouth guard, I might have cracked some teeth from suddenly clenching my jaw. Even the effects of the nitrous weren’t enough to dull the pain I felt. Although there was only a single jolt, I twitched for several moments. When I finally settled down, I looked at the jar, and the sperm content seemed to have doubled. I was hoping the amount was sufficient, but my heart sank when the tall one turned to the other and said, “Twice more ought to do it”. The next time had me trying to scream through the mouth guard, and trying to rip the restraints from the table. On the third jolt, I simply passed out.
I awoke fairly quickly, apparently having slept many hours. Opening my eyes, I found myself looking into a ceiling-mounted mirror which gave me an astonishing view of myself. I was in a hospital bed (of course). I took quick stock of all the different ropes applying traction to my body – my neck (head halter, made of heavy leather with lots of straps and apparently lots of padding), pelvic harness (Cotrel, of course – trochanter pads on each hip and padded straps over each iliac crest), skin traction on both arms (upper and lower, holding my elbow at 90 degrees to my upper arm, and my arms away from my body), skin traction on my upper and lower legs, with the legs held up off the bed by some sort of metal-framed sling padded with lamb’s wool. In addition, a large tube disappeared into the plastic mask over my mouth (an endotracheal tube holder, I recognized it from episodes of ER), which I could feel going down my throat, and a smaller tube running into my left nostril, which I could also feel running down the back of my throat. The large tube connected to a machine by the bed, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was on a ventilator. The small tube was capped, and was clipped to an IV pole at the bed corner.
My fingers and thumbs seemed to be wrapped up in padding, as I could feel softness all around them, but was unable to move them, or even see them in the mirror – just large balls at the ends of my arms where the traction strips went to the spreader block. The “boots” applied to my feet seemed more substantial than traction boots I’d seen on the internet, and actually looked more like cam walker boots than the foam rubber Buck’s boots I’d seen. They held my feet firmly, and also held my ankle at ninety degrees to my leg. At least I didn’t need to worry about foot drop.
One thing I did not see was a catheter. I almost expected one, and was wondering why it was absent, when the door opened and in walked a nurse I hadn’t met yet.
“Good morning, my name is Stephanie. Time for breakfast.”
Breakfast turned out to be a small bottle of milky white fluid hooked up to the tube running into my nose. The fluid was cool in my stomach, and helped to erase a hunger pang I hadn’t noticed until it started going away. After making sure my meal was flowing properly, Nurse Stephanie leaned over and checked the ventilator, then all the traction ropes. Once satisfied, she turned to me and smiled.
“You’ll be given several days to get used to your treatment before the staff takes advantage of your ‘agreement’. I’ll fill you in ….”
Breakfast is served at 8:00.
At 9:30, a doctor by the name of Morgan would come to my room with two assistants and a cart of equipment. Similar to what I’d experienced at check in, a vacuum collection device would be attached to my penis, and an electrode would be inserted up against my prostrate. Unlike check in, the current used here was low, and was designed to stimulate a natural orgasm, instead of forcing it out. Two hours was allowed for this, though at the beginning it only took 30 minutes.
Lunch at 11:30 (another bottle of white liquid).
Twice each week, on Wednesday and Saturday, a portable colonic system would be placed in bed with me, and I’d be cleaned out – noon to 1:00 pm. All other days of the week I’d be left alone.
1:00 pm – injection of muscle relaxant. I’m not sure what they used, but it only took about 10 minutes before I felt like an overcooked noodle. It was no wonder they had me on a respirator.
2:30 – Doctor Morgan returned with his assistants, and again I was “encouraged” into carnal action. Even with the muscle relaxants, they managed to get it out of me, though it did take more time – three hours were allotted for the afternoon session.
Dinner at 6:00. The liquid for the evening meal was brownish in color. Didn’t matter much, as I couldn’t taste it.
At 8:30 two nurses came in (always different ones each night) and bathed me, after which a catheter was inserted into my bladder for the night. It seemed like it took them 30 minutes to get the thing in, but I wasn’t complaining – whatever techniques or materials they were using, they got the cath in with almost zero pain or discomfort, and once it was in place, I almost didn’t feel it.
9:30 pm – a shot, and out I went. By the time I woke up in the morning, the catheter had been removed.
That was my routine, with the exception that each day more weights were added to the different traction ropes. My back and neck were actually feeling awfully good, and despite the lack of television or radio, I was relaxed. Then, on the eighth day, the routine changed.
Doctor Beckham walked into the room, followed by several of the nurses. She stood beside my bed and looked down at me.
“Today this institution will exercise its rights under the contract which you willingly signed before entering this institution for treatment. While we will try to minimized the risk of permanent injury or scarring to you as much as possible, we cannot guarantee that you will come though this unscathed. Also, what will occur here today is completely confidential – you may not discuss it with anyone else, not even a member of the staff. If you fail to adhere to these rules, your treatment will be stopped and you will be removed from these premises, and never allowed back.” With that she turned to one of the nurses standing near the door and nodded.
The door was opened, and Doctor Morgan rolled her cart into the room. The electrode was lubed and inserted into my anus, up against my prostrate, but instead of placing the collection tube on my penis, a snug rubber ring was instead placed around the base of my penis, and attached to Doctor Morgan’s machine with a wire. The machine was turned on, though I could feel that the current was lower in intensity. My member became erect, though not as turgidly as before. Once Doctor Morgan was satisfied that I was responding to the machine, she nodded to Doctor Beckham, who turned to one of the nurses at the door and nodded. The nurse left the room. Everyone else milled around, and I got the impression that something unusual was about to happen. Little did I know ….
After a few moments, the door opened again, and I saw Nurse Lori, sitting in a wheelchair, being rolled into the room. Instead of her nurse’s uniform, she was wearing a patient’s gown.
The wheelchair was rolled up next to my bed, and the wheels locked. Two of the other nurses reached down and helped Nurse Lori out of the chair. She apparently was under the influence of something, as her eyes were glassy, she had trouble standing, and she didn’t really focus her gaze on anything. Once she was standing, the wheelchair was moved out of the room. While two of the nurses held Lori steady, a third removed her gown. That nurse then donned latex gloves, squeezed something out of a white tube, then reached down between Lori’s legs. Her eyes rolled back and she moaned – I guessed that whatever was in the tube was being applied to her vagina. After that nurse finished, she stepped back, and the two nurses holding Lori guided her to my bed, and lowered the side rail. They then helped Lori climb up onto the bed, and helping to guide her body, set her down upon my manhood. Apparently it was a lubricant that was applied to Lori’s nether regions, for she slid down upon my cock with surprising ease.
They held her there while two other nurses started moving about the room, and I suddenly noticed a few things about Nurse Lori that were different. The first, and most evident, was the trach tube that had been installed in the front of her neck. Made of almost clear plastic, I hadn’t really seen it until Lori was on top of me, as that was the first time she’d actually faced me. I could hear her breathing through the tube, and saw the soft fabric around her neck with which the tube was tied.
The second thing I noticed about Nurse Lori was her pierced nipples. Nothing really exotic, just a simple horizontal barbell through each one. They were placed almost against the base of the nipple, and the bars looked like they were an eighth of an inch thick. They were as impressive for their size as for their simplicity.
The last thing I noticed, and did so almost as an afterthought, was that her hair was wet. It looked at though she’d just stepped out of the shower.
Two assistants appeared then, and started added bars to the fracture frame attached to my bed. One directly above Lori’s head, another at the foot of the bed, and one on each side of the bed beside Lori. All had pulleys, and once they were clamped to the frame, ropes were threaded through them.
Turning away from the bed, those two assistants returned, each with a large canvas hand mitt, which they simultaneously applied to Lori’s hands. Made of heavy canvas with a rigid palm and sleeves for each individual finger, these mitts were lined with lamb’s wool, even down to the cuff which was locked around Lori’s wrists. Locked onto her hands, they were attached to the ropes at her sides, holding her hands firmly away from her torso.
Once they’d completed this, the two assistants left the room, but quickly returned, each with their hands full. As they approached the bed, I saw they were carrying the front and back halves of a thick, heavy plastic jacket, which I originally took to be an upper back brace. Turns out I was only partially correct.
When they walked into Lori’s field of view, she saw them, and started breathing rapidly. Apparently something significant was about to happen, though I was sure if she was excited about it or frightened. Doctor Morgan noticed, and nodded to one of the assistants who, until now, had done nothing more than stand around and watched. Quickly this assistant walked out of the room, and returned with another cart upon which was mounted a machine with corrugated hoses coming out of it. Another respirator, I surmised. Sure enough, the cart was parked against the wall on the far side of the room, plugged into an outlet, the machine was turned on, and the hose attached to it was picked up and carried to the bed. I heard a chuffing noise, and turned to see Nurse Lori trying to say something. Her mouth moved, but the air was only going out of the trach tube. Apparently it was cuffed, robbing her of all speech. The hose was brought up to the bed, and hooked up to her trach tube. The chuffing noise ceased, and her breathing took on a mechanical rhythm, though her mouth movements continued. Doctor Morgan made an adjustment to the machine, and within a few breaths Lori stopped moving her mouth and seemed to relax.
It seemed a great effort was being made to keep Lori quiet and relaxed, though not tranquilized. I surmised they’d just added Nitrous Oxide or Entonox to the air that was being pumped into her lungs – quick-acting agents, their effects would end almost immediately after the flows were stopped. Whatever was going to happen, they wanted Lori awake and alert for it. Part of me felt sorry for her, and part of me was scared for her. There wasn’t much I could do at the moment though, so I just watched, and felt her slick vagina engulfing my rigid penis.
Once Lori had relaxed, the two assistants stepped up to the bed with the two halves of the plastic jack – one for the front, and one for the back. The back half was placed against Lori’s torso and held in place, but the assistant holding the front half waited. Doctor Beckham then walked up, holding two pieces of wire. Bent to resemble a tuning fork, te ends of the times were bent into a sort of question mark. I started to wonder what these were for, when Doctor Beckham attached once to each of Lori’s nipple piercings. Once attached, they were held at a right angle to Lori’s torso, each sticking out about ten inches. The nurse with the front half of the jacket then approached.
As she did, I noticed that the entire inside of the jacket was lined with lamb’s wool, both front and back, and that the front half had breast cups molded into it. I also saw that, where the nipples would be on these cups, there was a round hole, with a small notch cut out of the top and bottom. As the front half was placed against Lori’s body, the two long wires attached to her nipple jewelry were passed through the holes in the breast cups. Once the front and back halves were in position, straps were passed between them, and drawn tight. Buckles, not Velcro, held the straps firm, and once hey were all in place, locks were snapped over the buckles, preventing them from being removed, or even loosened. As the last of the buckles was being secured, I looked at the breast cups, and saw that the long wires stuck straight out of the hole – apparently the way the vest was made, Lori’s nipples were still down inside the jacket. Doctor Beckham then took the wires, and Lori suddenly grimaced, apparently knowing something was about to happen – and happen it did. Doctor Beckham rotated the wires ninety degrees, and pulled – twisting Lori’s nipples hard, turning the jewelry’s orientation from horizontal to vertical, and pulling them through the vertical slots in the holes. They were then allowed to return to horizontal, and I realized that Lori’s nipple piercings were now fixed to the outside of the jacket, stretching her nipples at least an inch. I saw tears in her eyes, yet her vagina tightened up around my cock. Was this something she was wanting? The two long wires were detached from the nipple jewelry, and Doctor Beckham stepped back.
Having firmly attached the vest to Lori, those two nurses returned to their cart, and came back to my bed with several bars of black material. When they hit against each other, the sound was not metal, but a cross between plastic and ceramic. A straight bar was attached horizontally to the front of Lori’s vest, and another to the rear half. A longer bar, bent down at the ends, was placed over her left shoulder, attaching the front to the back; its twin was placed over the right shoulder. I suddenly realized what the appliance being constructed was.
Nurse Lori, dear, sweet Nurse Lori, was about to be placed in a halo.
“I can see in your eyes you are concerned for our nurse. Please do not be alarmed. This was requested by her. You see, she is about to embark on a ten-week vacation, traveling to England, Norway and Germany, then finishing up in Las Vegas. She wanted to be placed in a halo for the entire trip, as well as having the trach tube.” While the doctor was speaking, Lori looked down at me and smiled weakly – her way of assuring me that what the doctor was saying, was true. “There was a condition to being placed in this, though. Lori specifically requested that the halo be applied, with traction, while she had a well-endowed man in her. We’ve actually been waiting for a month or so for a willing patient to come in, and it happened to be you. It was fortunate that you appeared when you did, as the time frame for Lori’s vacation was limited.”
The frame for the halo vest/back brace was now finished, with four uprights evenly spaced around Lori’s head. A traction rope was threaded through pulleys to end directly over that beautiful cranium, and attached to a head halter. That device was then placed over Lori’s head, and the side straps were connected between the chin and occipital straps. It was adjusted, and then weights were attached to the other end of the rope. I could see Lori’s neck start to stretch. I didn’t know how much weight the attached, but it was a lot. Then it was time.
Adjustments were made to the respirator breathing for Lori, and the glazed look disappeared from her eyes. She was fully awake and aware.
A nurse entered the room carrying a tray, on which was a bundle of cloth. Doctor Morgan donned latex gloves, unfolded the bundle, and removed the halo itself from its sterile package. Turning to my bed, she ceremoniously placed the halo over Lori’s head, like a bishop crowning a prince. Satisfied with its position, she nodded to an assistant, who then slowly screwed in the positioning pads. Once firmly held in place by the pads, Doctor Morgan turned back to the tray, and opened another small package. One by one, the pins were inserted into holes in the halo and started, but were stopped before they came in contact with skin. Eight pins were placed, two on either side of each positioning pad. Once all were set, Doctor Morgan was handed a pair of what seemed to be battery-powered screwdrivers.
“The torque setting is correct?” she asked. One of the assistants nodded. The doctor turned to Lori. “Ready?”
Lori closed her eyes fro several seconds; our respirators made the only sounds in the room, a staccato rhythm that, in another setting, might have been decent to dance to. Lori then opened her eyes, and looked directly at the doctor …
… and for the last time in a long time, nodded her head.
Doctor Morgan selected a pair of pins on exact opposite sides of Lori’s skull, adjusted them with her fingers until they were just barely touching the skin, and then placed the battery-operated screwdrivers to them. She waited only a second before activating them, and I less than a second they drove the pins home, reached their torque limit, and shut off.
Lori’s body jumped, and I suddenly realized that no local anesthetics were being used on the pin sites. She was feeling every bit of it. At the same time, her vagina tightened up around my penis again, and stayed tight. As the second set of pins were tightened in, Lori’s vaginal muscles started a throbbing rhythm. When the third set of pins were set, her eyes closed, and a sudden rush of warm, sticky fluid gushed from her vaginal orifice – she’d just had an orgasm. And with each pair of pins being inserted through her skin and into the outer surface of her skull, she came again. When the final pair was driven home, the orgasms came one after another, repeatedly, for what was probably a full fifteen minutes. Doctor Morgan and the other nurses simply stood back and watched, waiting for Nurse Lori’s body to finish what it needed to do. Once her body stopped heaving, they moved in, connecting the uprights to the halo ring, and removing the positioning pins. Before the uprights were tightened, two more weights were added to the traction rope, and Lori’s neck stretched even further. The uprights were tightened, the traction weights removed, and the head halter was cut away. The ropes were removed from Lori’s hand restraints, though the restraints themselves remained, and two nurses moved in to help Lori off my bed. She held up her mitted hands, though, indicating she wanted them to wait, and, leaning forward a little, started to slide up and down my cock. I was certain she was in a tremendous amount of pain from those eight pins in her head, and the tractive force being placed on her neck and shoulders, not to mention the stretching that was being done to her nipples, and yet before she left, Nurse Lori wanted to make sure that I received as much pleasure out of the experience as she did. The other nurses saw this, and re-tied her hand restraints to he bed frame in a way that let her use her arms for leverage. Once in place, she began rocking back and forth, sliding herself up and down my penis. The electrical stimulation device had caused me to have a great erection, but had somewhat desensitized my penis; as a result, it took a fair amount of work on Lori’s part before I finally came, too. Once I did, the ropes were removed from Lori’s hands, and she gladly accepted help off the bed. Before returning to her wheelchair, she leaned over my head, and mouth two words with dramatic exaggeration;
Nurse Lori was wheeled out of the room, and Doctor Morgan looked back at me, and the small pool of fluid which puddled the bed around my waist and hips.
“Time to get you cleaned up.” She adjusted my respirator, and I fell into a deep, deep sleep.
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
dededos
areudirty
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
yousharknotpass
origamiaround
kaledo-art
