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submissivelolah-deactivated2020

If you were my test subject 5/

Your rehabilitation is brief. Brutal.

You’re constantly connected to a cardiac monitor with three electrodes on your chest. There’s a probe in your nose monitoring… you can’t even imagine. The urinary catheter doesn’t come out. They keep feeding you through the tube into your stomach. Sometimes you crave actual food so badly you want to tear your throat out.

You’re so weak you can’t stand up. They work with you for hours every day. They don’t let you say no to anything.

There’s the gym. The pool. Uncaring hands hurting you.

Eventually you can sit up. Stand up.

You don’t want to be able to. You know when you can they’ll just take you back to that laboratory and… and… experiment on you again.

And when they’re done with you for the day, they restrain you in a hospital bed, loosely enough so you can twist and turn, tightly enough that they can easily force you to be still if they want.

You try not to think about this being your entire life now.

You begin to wonder when they’re going to start on you again. What they’re going to do to you.

They give you more time than you thought they would. You can almost walk unaided without your thighs trembling when you wake on morning to the restraints holding you tightly to the bed, so tightly that you can barely pull at them.

Your heart starts racing as orderlies come into the room, not the therapists.

You’re wheeled through the door, too scared to shout, to object in any way. A cold sweat and lightheadedness makes your vision dim around the edges as your wheeled around corners, down corridors.

You’re brought into the laboratory again. That same antiseptic smell, the same dryness and lancinating surgical lights.

Hands lift you onto the surgical trolley under those lights. You’re restrained so tightly, in exactly the same way as you were for so long. The familiarity of it makes you reel with panic, and nausea, and you hate yourself but a thrill of excitement and pleasure as well. There are straps around your ankles and knees, your wrists, your elbows. Tape across your forehead. A rubber bite guard forced into your mouth.

With a tiny jolt, the motors in the table begin to spread your legs, bend your knees. Your arms are brought out perpendicular to your body.

There are nips in the crook of each arm as IV cannulas are inserted.

All of these sensations, every one, sends a delight of adrenaline through you.

You’re desperate to hear the doctor’s voice. And dreading it.

But when she looms over you, when she speaks, it’s still a shock.

‘Yes, I thought you would miss this,’ she says. ‘Good.’

There are no other hands on you, no other sounds around you. Or maybe there are and all you can focus on is her.

‘Your initial investigations have given us some spectacular data. Thank you.’ She placed gloved hands on the each side of your head. ‘We’re going to be moving onto our first actual experiment which I hope will bring us closer to widespread behavioural control of the population. Sadly, as in a lot of science, the initial stages are rather barbaric, before things are finessed. And, of course, this could be an entirely wrong tree that we’re barking up. There’s only one way to find out, really.’

She sticks an electrode onto your forehead, one behind each of your ears. More on your scalp.

‘I’m interesting about finding out about neuronal plasticity. Can stimulus affect brain structure to a significant degree.’

She connects wires to the electrodes, hands the wires away.

‘One of the ways in which I’m going to investigate this is by giving you electroconvulsive therapy - ‘

You immediately try to struggle, object. Your mind is filled with images of convulsing, drooling, lobotomised people. The shout in your throat comes out as a weak gurgle. The doctor ignores you.

‘After perhaps three doses of ECT, we’ll perform more baseline investigations including an EEG and an MRI, before further ECT with sexual stimulation and orgasm in the immediate recovery period. And then we’ll see what results we have. But first a baseline EEG and MRI.’

She steps out of your line of vision and you feel inappropriately bereft at her absence.

There’s no sound. No movement. Nothing in the room for the longest time.

Just your thoughts, racing in your head. This was your life now, nothing but an experimental animal, no cares given for your humanity, for the thoughts and ideas in your head. ECT can wipe all of that out, you know it can. They want to wipe you out and make you something else. They’re going to wipe you out and make you something else.

You don’t know how long after you’re wheeled out the room and down a corridor, lifted onto a hard plastic table and pushed into a claustrophobic, thumping white tube.

You don’t know how long you’re in there either.

It seems like an eternity and no time at all before you’re back in the laboratory, restrained, staring at the ceiling. Everything seems so far away.

Then she is behind you again, holding a mask onto your face. You don’t even bother thinking about objecting.

‘You’re going to be anaesthetised for this, of course,’ she says as you begin to feel a little woozy. Something cold and burning is being injected into your veins…

Heavy still blackness dissipates into a raw throat and the worst headache you’ve ever ever had. Total disorientation.

You’re wheeled out of the laboratory into a bedroom, transferred onto the bed and restrained again.

Things slowly slowly come back as you stare at the ceiling tiles. Then you sleep.

They shock you again the following day.

And again the following day.

Everything feels very far away. And too close. And the headache is the worst. And you don’t really know where you are or what’s going on, except for maybe brief flashes. You can vaguely remember that something different will happen soon, but you can’t remember what or when or why.

Then more electrodes and being still and another MRI. A weird creeping feeling of anticipation from nowhere you can recall.

You’ve shown a simply wonderful response prior to the next stage,’ the doctor says. ‘I’m very much looking forward to continuing.’

stephbotreblogs

This is honestly the best med kink story I’ve ever read- it needs to be shared!

submissivelolah-deactivated2020

If you were my test subject 4/

You’re not given drugs to render you unconscious. Your eyes are taped closed. Cold fills your stomach. They’ve fed you again. You don’t remember ever being hungry.

You’re left lying under the surgical lights, feeling the heat of them on your skin… They don’t move you from that room again. Someone stays with you… stepping around you, checking the monitors, adjusting the wires and electrodes, their steps always just at the periphery of your hearing, the few times they actually touch you as terrifying as an electric shock.

You would prefer to be drugged.

Deep exhaustion seeps into your muscles, an aching heaviness as the endorphins from the repeated orgasms forced onto you wear off.

The hours pass. You never get used to the air being forced into your lungs, the total inability to move even slightly. Panic comes in waves. You can feel your heart racing intermittently, lightheadedness, an irresistible urge to breathe faster than the ventilator permits.

But then maybe you doze. Maybe you sleep. You lose track of yourself.

But suddenly there are more people, more noise around you. From a fugue-like state you are immediately utterly alert, hyperfocused. Your heart is thudding in your chest. The prospect of more of yesterday is unbearable. The prospect of more time like the last few hours… perhaps even worse.

Gloved hands are on you, adjusting wires and tubes. There’s a pull on your penis as someone adjusts the urinary catheter.

‘I hear you had a difficult night.’ The doctor again. You want to scream at the sound of her voice. ‘That’s to be expected. With time it’ll improve.’

Her gloved hands on your forehead, her fingers peeling off the tape. You’re blinded again by the lights, before the same black dense mask is back over your eyes. Earphones again, blocking out the sound.

Her lasts words ring in your frontal lobe.

With time it’ll improve.

You are never leaving this place.

They force you to have blinding orgasm on blinding orgasm, again and again and again. Paralysed, it’s even worse. Even better. Even worse. There’s no escape, no release from the sensations they’re imposing on you.

Again and again and again.

Then nothing.

Cold in your stomach again, and an absence of sensation, and bone deep weariness.

You don’t sleep that night either. There are the same waves of panic, but they’re so hard to maintain in the fog of fatigue. It’s so much easier to ignore the tube in your throat. But the fear of the next day is there. Always there. That it might be the same. That they might do something different.

The next day is the same. But you sleep that night. You can’t help it.

The days are always the same. The same shutting out of extraneous sensation. The repeated orgasms again and again and again. For weeks. It must be weeks. Or months. You have no idea. Sometimes they bathe you, turn you… it might be every day? Or not? You have no idea.

You have no idea what data they’re collecting, what more they could possibly learn. What more they could possibly want from you. The doctor hadn’t spoken to you in… well, you had no idea. They just made you have the same day time and time again.

You had no idea if you even really existed anymore.

You’re utterly broken by another day. Just like you’ve been broken by each of the other however many days they have done this to you. Your muscles feel like lead, the air being pushed into you a relief. Even if you weren’t paralysed, you doubted you would be able to move.

The eye mask is taken off your face, the earphones out of your ears. The room isn’t painfully bright, the surgical lights are off.

You can just see the doctor standing above you. You’re too exhausted even to panic.

‘You’ve given us some simply wonderful data over the past few weeks, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear. Simply wonderful. We’ll be moving onto the next phase of our work when we have fully analysed the data, but for now we’re going to be extubating you.’

She leans over you to disconnect the ventilator from the tube in your throat. Briefly there is a rising sense of suffocation, darkness, before she attaches a bag back to the tube and forces some oxygen into your lungs.

‘Turn off the roc,’ she says to someone at your side.

She pushes more air into your lungs.

‘You’ll be extraordinarily weak, I’m afraid, once the paralytic has worn off. We’ll be rehabilitating you somewhat before they next phase of our work together,’

From very far away, your limbs begin to feel different. Less heavy. Like maybe you could move them, if you had the will and the strength.

She forced more oxygen into your lungs.

Breathing begins to feel uncomfortable. Being breathed for begins to feel uncomfortable. You desperately try to lift your arms to pull at the tube in your throat. Can’t. You’re so weak.

‘Yes it can be rather uncomfortable being ventilated,’ the doctor says cooly. She removes the bag from your tube, the tie holding the tube secure, and pulls out the tube in one smooth motion. It feels like your windpipe is being pulled out your body,

As soon as it’s out, she’s pressing a mask onto your face, the hiss of dry oxygen in your ears. You want to cough, desperately, but can barely find the strength to make your chest muscles work to breathe.

A thin little tube is slipped into your mouth, right to the back of your throat. Saliva and secretions are suctioned out.

The doctor watches you, with no response to your struggles.

Hands are on your wrists and ankles, and you can feel straps restraining you again.

Slowly, slowly, your breathing becomes easier.

‘Good,’ the doctor says. She switches the mask on your face for something that’s held on with a band of elastic going around the back of your head. ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’

submissivelolah-deactivated2020

If you were my test subject 3/

You wake unnaturally suddenly again. Definitely drugs.

Your eyes aren’t taped closed any more. Your eyes open to a ambiently lit room, white, a high-ish ceiling. No windows that you can see. No theatre lights above you.

The doctor is standing behind you. No one else in the room, you think. She’s smiling.

‘I’ve changed my mind about how we’re going to treat you,’ she says, ‘given the data that we have accumulated thus far. At this stage you would normally undergo repeated orgasms under varying conditions with varying stimulation while being very closely monitored. Given what we already know about you however, I feel that it is likely to be more engaging for you and more… illuminating for me if we try a different approach.’

You don’t really know how you’re supposed to feel about that. Relieved? Grateful? Excited? It isn’t like you’re able to react in any case.

‘We’ll need some baseline data, of course, which is what we’ll be doing this morning. We’ll digress from the normal protocol in the afternoon and I’ll tell you more about what we’ll be doing to you then.’

You clench your fists and curl your toes, almost involuntarily. The doctor’s words have sent burning heat down your spine.

The doctor’s smile changes, becomes satisfied, almost smug. ‘Indeed.’

She disappears from your vision. You hear her walking away and you take stock of the sensations your body allows. The surface below you is soft and pliable and warm. Your mouth is still held open by something rubbery and unyielding, your head still completely immobilised. There’s still something heavy in your rectum, a burning pull in your urethra, a band around the shaft of your penis that you don’t think is as tight as you remember. Your arms are restrained at your sides, at the wrists and the elbows, your legs held slightly apart with straps at the ankles and the knees. You can’t even squirm.

Not very long after, you’re wheeled back into the room with blinding surgical lights that make your eyes burn again. You wonder if they took those lenses out of your eyes when they made you unconscious last night. You think probably not.

There are people all around you and hands wearing latex gloves on you again. They don’t acknowledge your fearful wide eyes, they’re touching you like you’re not even human. Hissing tubes emitting a dry gas are put into your nostrils, making your eyes tear up. A drip is connected to the cannula in your arm, then your arms spread out from your body so you feel like you’re crucified. Your legs are spread wide, your knees bent backwards on the motorised leg rests and you feel the probe in your rectum be adjusted, tiny tiny movements that feel huge. The band around your penis is pushed further down the shaft. Hands are in your hair, affixing tiny electrodes to your scalp. Hands all over you placing electrodes and wires. It must only take a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity and no time at all before the hands are gone and the doctor is standing above you again.

‘Like I said a little earlier, we’ll be collecting some baseline data about your physiological responses this morning. We’ll be removing as much extraneous sensory input from you as possible to facilitate this, and stimulating orgasm in several ways. You will be quite unable to resist orgasm.’

With that, she placed something black and dense over your eyes, cutting out the light completely. You felt tape going across it, further securing your head down onto the bed.

Earphones were placed over your ears, and the silence that had filled the room before was loud compared to the profound emptiness that you hear now.

Everything seems to melt away - the gas in your nose, the restraints on your limbs, the surface you lie on. You feel your heart slow - and only realise just how hard it had been continually thumping. You have several blissful moments of nothing.

Far away you feel the band on your penis growing tighter, making you erect. There’s a vibration, or an electric tingle - not just on you but in you, deep inside you, building growing, and you’re helpless against it. The darkness and the quiet seeps into you and all you’re aware of is this feeling and wanting more. You feel like you should hate yourself - or them - for making you want this, for making you like this, but you can’t. It’s the most exquisite sensation you’ve ever felt. The intensity comes in waves, gradually crescendoing and receding until your whole body is alight with it. You’re harder than you’ve ever been and it just borders on pain when something throws you over the edge and the orgasm is as blinding as the theatre lights that must still be on above you.

You think you hear yourself cry out, but all is silent.

You think you’re allowed some time to breathe, for the ringing in your ears to subside, for the sweat that covered you to cool somewhat, but you can’t be sure. That sensation is inside you again, all over. And it’s spectacular and terrifying, lying there in the dark. It consumes you, and there’s pain this time, just a red glow at the end.

There’s more pain the next time. More pain that lasts longer as the orgasm takes longer to subsume you. Longer and longer you endure that overwhelming all-consuming fire, the pain mixing in. Again and again they fill you with it until every moment is agony and you think that this time… this time you might die from it.

Or this time.

You don’t, of course. They make sure of it.

When you feel hands on you again they feel alien. Or you don’t feel human anymore, you can’t tell.

‘Very good,’ the doctor says from above you. ‘Well done.’ Her hands are on your face, removing the tape, removing the heaviness from over your eyes. ‘We got some wonderful data from you.’

You can only just see her silhouetted against the theatre lights. She removes the tubes from your nostrils. Your breathing is fast, deep, but slowing. The ringing in your ears is gradually dissipating.

‘Let me tell you what will we’ll be doing next, while you recover a little. There was almost a smile in her eyes. You realise just how much she enjoys this.

There are more people around you now, wheeling carts and setting instruments up. You can’t really see…

‘You… like… this control we have over you. If I had any doubts after our last session, we have totally refuted them now. I think it will be… interesting… to take this control to its logical conclusion and control your body completely.’ She leans over you, inspects your mouth.

‘At the moment you have a little control. You can clench your fists, curl your toes. You are breathing on your own. I propose to remove that control from you.’

You feel your heart rate spike again, your vision go black around the edges. You make a guttural sound in the back of your throat.

‘I am going to insert a fibre optic camera into your trachea and intubate you, and connect you to a ventilator which will breathe for you. I’ll do this with a little sedation, of course. I’m not a monster. I will then use a drug which will paralyse you. You will be totally conscious, once the sedation wears off, of course. That’s very important for our data.’

You just see a cart being wheeled to the doctor’s side. You try to scream but all that comes out is a hoarse wheeze. A mask is held tightly over your nose and mouth. The doctor ignores you now.

‘Give him 4 of midazolam,’ she says to someone by your arm.

Almost instantly there’s a fuzziness all over you, your limbs feel like they’re sinking into the bed.

The doctor’s hands on your face, a snakelike tube over you being fed into you, over your tongue, just grazing the back of your throat. Then deeper, deeper, making you want to cough, making you want to yank your head away. But the cottony feeling of the drug makes that feel impossible.

You feel something be fed down over the snake, a weird pressure in your throat and a tug as the fiberoptic scope is removed. In your mouth is a pliable plastic tube. You try to push your tongue against it. Can’t. It needs too much muscular coordination. Your muscles feel like they’re too far from your brain.

Something is affixed onto the end of the tube in your mouth, a bag that must be feeding oxygen directly inside you. The doctor squeezes it, looking right into your eyes. Another pair of hands is tying a knot around the tube, making it secure. She sees the panic as you realise that she has complete control over you now.

‘Give him 50 of roc.’

And you realise you were wrong, as the tiny movements you could make with your toes, your fingers… as the ability to make them disappears. At the growing knowledge that the only thing keeping you alive is the air being forced into your lungs by the doctor standing over you.

The brief moments that she stopped doing that, removed the bag from the end of the tube, turned away from you… those brief moments when you could feel incipient suffocation… that was the complete control she had over you.

The doctor connected plastic tubing to the tube in your throat, and more air was forced in. The hellish breathlessness slowly went away with the too-regular breaths the machine took for you.

The doctor leaned over you again. ‘We’ll start again with data collection in the morning.’

submissivelolah-deactivated2020

If you were my test subject 2/

You wake up suddenly, unaware that you had been unconscious. There’s no blissful moment of ignorance, just a sudden snap into hyperperception - the thick bands holding your wrists by your sides, your ankles still, your forehead firmly against the bed. There’s a nip in your arm where they sited the IV, and a burning from the catheter in your urethra. Your eyes are still taped closed.

There’s someone in the room with you, not troubling to hide their presence. Their shoes squeak on what must be a vinyl floor as they step around you. Something goes tight on your arm - the blood pressure cuff, you suppose. You can feel the pulse in your arm in time with the thumping of your heart in your chest, in time with the rushing sound in your ears.

Another set of squeaking footsteps.

‘He’s awake,’ the same female voice from… from whenever he was awake before. A sudden thick wave of disorientation hits. You have literally no idea how long you have been unconscious for. They could have done anything to you. There’s no way of knowing that your sleep was natural. It couldn’t have been natural. The sound of that voice makes your pulse race even more, makes you feel lightheaded.

‘We switched off the propofol about 10 minutes ago,’ another voice says, deep and masculine. The person behind your head.

‘Good,’ she continues, ‘Bring him through when your finished with the vitals.’

You hear her walk out of the room. The person left with you takes more steps around you, doesn’t touch you, doesn’t speak to you. You begin to feel just a little less than human.

Without warning, your bed moves. There’s no creaking or squealing of wheels or joints, just a smooth push feet first, a corner and different air - a corridor? - and another corner and different air again, the sensation of much more space and more people.

You’re wheeled into what must be the centre of the room. You can feel hot light on your skin and realise with shame that you must still be naked. There must be three - four - five? People around you, not touching you, not speaking to you.

‘I trust you feel well rested,’ the doctor’s voice again, beside your shoulder. Her hands are on your face, working at the edge of the tape over your eyes. ‘You’ll want to keep your eyes closed as I remove this tape. The surgical lights are very bright.’

You do as she says. Even with your eyes scrunched up the lights above you are nearly blinding when the tape comes fully off. Tears leak from the corner of your eyes, So nearly blinding is the light that you barely notice your legs lifting apart, your knees bending, hands affixing something tight around the shaft of your penis. By the time you can spare a thought beyond the pain of the light, something cold and metallic is being slipped into your anus, deeper and deeper. You grunt, clench your fists as best you’re able to.

‘Good boy,’ the doctor says, a gloved hand still on your forehead. ‘It’s all much easier if you just let it happen.

Then her fingers are forcing open your right eye. You can’t move your head even a little, but you try - the light hurts. Her fingers are so strong that you can’t resist at all. She’s bringing her other hand so close to your face you can’t see anything else in the room around you. Her finger applies a contact lense to your eye, and you blink and gasp at the unaccustomed sensation, barely reacting as she does the exact same to your other eye. And before you can recover, there’s more tape over your eyes and the blinding pain from the lights is subsiding.

You become more aware of your legs being wide apart, the heavy, fullness in your rectum. The tight band around your penis.

There are hands in your hair, some stickers being placed on your forehead.

‘The lenses I just placed in your eyes will allow you to see what we want you to see, whether you permit it or not,’ the doctor says. ‘We will be monitoring your responses to what we show you for the next few hours, to better understand what you are stimulated by before we proceed.

Hands insert hard plastic tubes into your nostrils. A dry chemical sensation fills your nose.

‘You may very well orgasm during the next few hours,’ the doctor continues, ‘it would not be unexpected.’

A weird, woozy feeling is creeping over you. ‘We are administering a drug which will reduce your inhibitions.’ The doctor sounds very far away.

With no warning, your vision is filled with light. Not painful like the surgical lights above you, but startling.

Images flash. Cat. Dog. House. Car. Mountains. Each image lasts for… honestly you don’t even know how long.

Benign images give way to naked women. Naked men. Snippets of every sort of pornographic anyone had ever imagined. You get erect, you can’t help it. Your breathing quickens and your heart races. You try to squirm, can’t. You’re so aroused that you have no control over your muscles, the sounds coming out of your mouth. You’re desperate for release, to go over the edge. But nothing you see quite…

The images unexpectedly cut out.

‘Very good,’ the doctor says from behind you. ‘You’ve shown some very interesting reactions over the past few hours. We have a lot to work with.’

You’re breathing hard, sweating. You’re painfully erect, aching for release.’

‘I can see how erect you are,’ the doctor says, ‘I’m afraid there’s no way now to relieve that. But you’ll give us some excellent data, thank you.’

Your breathing settles and your skin cools, and after what could have been hours your penis is soft again. People step around you, but don’t touch you, or speak to you. At some point you feel something cold in your stomach, a fullness, and realise that they must be feeding you through the tube that they forced into your throat.

You like there for… well. Time has no meaning for you anymore.

‘As I said earlier,’ the doctor says, surprising you. You had fallen into some far away place, somewhere that you weren’t restrained on a hospital bed under surgical lights, ‘you gave us very interesting results earlier. You showed marked responses to images of restraint and bondage, and non-consensual activities. Interesting, especially considering the situation you’ve found yourself in. We certainly had no idea of your… predilections before we acquired you. We’re going to do some interesting things with you. I’m very much looking forward to it.’

submissivelolah-deactivated2020

If you were my test subject...

I would imagine that you would be sufficiently resistant to require restraint.

Initially being moved on a gurney you would have wide straps buckled across your chest and pelvis, and cuffs around your ankles and wrists. Six orderlies would be needed to transfer you onto the examination couch, holding you firmly as the straps were released and pulling you briskly across onto the table; you try to resist but their hold on you is too strong. Your ankles are cuffed apart, and your wrists pulled above your head and restrained there.

There are five or six people around you, all doing different things, and in the glare of the overhead light you can’t really see: your clothes are being cut off by someone wearing latex gloves, another person is adjusting the table so your next is extended, leaving your throat exposed.

You’re naked and shivering as they start to put more restraints on you - over your thighs, your upper arms, your forehead. There’s a blinding light shining into your eyes and you can barely resist as your mouth is pulled open and held open with some rubber contraption.

Something nips on one of your forearms and you realise that someone is putting an IV in - you try to pull your arm away, but just can’t. Electrodes are being placed on you chest, a blood pressure cuff is going around your other arm. And then… all those hands are gone. You’re left like that for… a while.

Your eyes adjust, a little, to the light. You can see the monitor you’re hooked up to, the IV connected to your arm and darkness beyond. You can’t move your head at all, your fingers only touch the soft padded surface of the table. You wait, alert for any movement in the shadows, any footsteps.

When someone comes, it is silently.

You jerk in the shock of having your feet touched, latex gloves again. The touch goes away and is replaced by mechanical white noise; your legs are drawn apart, the knees bent up. What little force you can is concentrated on trying to keep your legs together, but the inexorable pull of the restraints make you fail. Suddenly someone else is standing by your head, silhouetted against the light.

Gloved fingers are in your mouth, then hard plastic is forced over your tongue until it rests at the back of your throat. You gag and a hissing tube is inserted beside the plastic suctioning the little saliva left in your mouth. After a few moments, the suction is removed. You can feel tears streaming out the corner of your eyes.

One eye is closed by the hands, and taped over with gauze, and then the other, and you are completely blind. A mask goes over your nose and mouth.

The hands between your legs touch you again, holding your cock and palpating it, squeezing your balls. Hands on your abdomen, pushing here and there, deeper and deeper. Hands and something cold - a stethoscope? - on your chest.

Cold jelly and pressure on your anus - a slow slow push of a finger inside, sweeping around and around and deeper. It feels like it violates you for hours, but the finger eventually pulls out.. Then coldness on your penis, a sting and then agonising pushing as something is fed up up up and then an unexpected relief as your bladder releases.

More pushing on your anus; not a finger, cold metal, then liquid warmth and tension as fluid flows into your rectum, more and more until you’re desperate for release, then more and more until something lets the fluid drain away. It’s replaced, and the pressure builds again, and is released, and again and again and again.. until it stops and you’re empty and sweating.

The hands haven’t said a single word, but now one of them says ‘He is ready for the doctor now.’

You sense rather than hear or see them leave. There is only white noise and the thud of your heart beat. A draft from somewhere chills you, raises your nipples into hard nubs and raises goosebumps all over you.

You might have been like that for hours, or just seconds, when suddenly there is a voice behind your head. Female, soft.

'You’re a rather lovely specimen, but I suppose the reason we have brought you here hasn’t been explained. The staff can be rather remiss about that sometimes.'

Footsteps walking around you, the voice changing where it is coming from; even blind you can feel this woman’s eyes appraising you. ’

For a while, the government has been seeking more… pleasurable means of keeping control of the masses. Fear is rather effective, but it does tend to give rather unpredictable results. Crime, vandalism, election of nut jobs, what have you. Pleasure is a little more difficult, but much more predictable. You’ve been chosen as a subject in this research. You won’t ever be going back to your life, I’m afraid, but after a while you won’t want to.’

The voice was behind your head again. There was a snap of latex gloves and you jumped at the touch of hands on your face. The plastic tube in your mouth was adjusted a little, then the hands fitted something soft and rubbery around your teeth, your tongue, pulling your mouth even wider before the plastic was removed.

'Of course we need to check that you’re completely healthy before we start. It wouldn’t do to have our results skewed in any way. What we have already is quite satisfactory but…'

There was another set of footsteps, a clatter of a trolley being brought close to his head.

'I’ll be doing a few endoscopies, and then an echocardiogram. And then a CT scan. Hopefully we won’t find anything too dire. You are exactly what we want in this programme. Sadly this might be a little uncomfortable for you.'

There is a hard pushing on the back of your tongue, pushing all the way to the back of your throat, you gag and gag and cough but it is unstoppable. You cant move your head away, you can’t push it with your tongue. There is a hiss and something suctioning saliva from your mouth. The endoscope goes further and further into you, pushing and pushing,

'Good boy. It’s so much easier if you just let it happen. Good boy.'

It feels like it never ends. There’s a horrible fullness in your throat, even in your chest, as the scope is moved about. You feels like he can’t breathe. Every touch of it makes you want to gag.

'While I am here, I’ll place an NG,’ the doctor says so quietly you can barely here it. And with no warning there is a thin tube being forced into a nostril, covered in lubricating jelly. It tickles and makes you gag even more as it slips down aside the endoscope. You can feel it being stuck to your cheek Suddenly, ungently, the scope is removed.

'Good boy. What I’ll do now is allow you to rest a little and get your breath back before the colonoscopy. All you’ll fell now is some cold jelly on your chest as I have a look at your heart.'

You try to regulate your breathing, but it’s a struggle. The freezing cold jelly on your clammy skin, the pushing on your chest, is barely an afterthought as you actually hear what this woman has said. You would never be going back to your life. This was what would be happening to you forever, at the mercy of some government scientists. And she said that you would want it to be like this. Eventually. Your mind is repulsed by the thought. And repulsed at yourself - you were excited when your legs were forced apart.

'Marvellous,’ the doctor said after a few minutes, 'Now you have your breath back we’ll proceed with the colonoscopy and then we’ll wheel you over to the CT.'

Her voice came from between your legs. There was the form touch of gloved hands on the inside of your thighs, and your legs were moved even further apart. Some tiny part of your brain burned with excitement. A finger on your anus, and more cold cold jelly that you wanted to pull away from and couldn’t. A finger slipping inside you, pushing pushing deeper and deeper and around. She stroked over your prostate and you twitched. You couldn’t help it.

'Yes, I thought you would like that. Good. Don’t worry, you will be feeling that particular sensation a lot in the years to come.'

The finger was removed, and something hard, plastic, bigger, was slipped in in it’s place. The colonoscope was pushed in, stretching you inside. Air was insufflated, more and more until he felt you would burst. You could feel the scope winding around his insides. It was horrible. And thrilling. You liked the stretch of it… The scope was removed… but whatever was in his anus was adjusted, made bigger or something. You couldn’t have pushed it out even if you wanted to…

'Good boy,’ said the doctor, standing at your head again. 'All of that looked fine. I think that you’re going to have a wonderful time staying with up… but while we have plenty of gas in your colon, we’re going to scan you. And then we’ll feed you and let you rest.'

You legs are lowered and brought together, and then you’re being pushed out of the room into what sounds like a corridor. There are more footsteps here, some voices saying words you can’t make out. You become very aware that you’re restrained on a trolley, blind, gagged, covered in monitoring devices and with a catheter in. These people can see everything…

Your heart begins to race, your breathing to speed up. You want out of these straps, out of this… place. You try to say something, scream something, but all that comes out of the gag is a gurgle. You’re pushed into a quieter room, a little warmer. Panic is rising in you now. You don’t want this! They can’t do this to you! A firm hand on your jaw, almost painful, forcing your attention.

'You have been so cooperative up until now.’ The doctor’s voice was no longer quite so sweet. 'If I have to paralyse you and put you on a ventilator to continue this work, I will. Do you understand?'

They would take even control of your breathing away from you! No! With what feels like heroic effort, you slow your breathing, and try to be still.

‘Good boy.’ Gloved hands stroke your hair.

More hands on you immediately, gripping you hard. You feel the restraints being undone and there is a little more give in your joints. Then the hands are lifting you onto another hard surface, affixing the restraints again. The table you are on moves back and forth a couple of times, and then you’re lifted back onto a gurney. You don’t even think about resisting. When you’re wheeled out into the corridor again, it almost means nothing that strangers can see you like this. You suspect that you’re not the only person - subject - being transported like this. You’re wheeled into somewhere quiet. A little warmer than anywhere else.

'I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,’ the doctor says from beside you, 'and we’ll be getting started on the experiments you’re here to help with.’

latexfetishworld-deactivated201

rubberonion92

16.12.2018 - This might be my last post here BUT I am still reachable here and you can still find me on Instagram or Fetlife. Thanks to everyone that supported me. You guys always made this average girl felt special and loved. Again, 谢谢, danke schön, merci vielmols, terima kasih & thank you!