You wake slowly, as if floating to the surface of a pool of warm water. You open your eyes, but they open slowly. Your eyelids feel gummy and are slow to respond to your commands to open. As they do, your vision is blurry. There’s a bright light coming from above you and it makes it even more difficult to discern details from your surroundings. You see a figure dressed in white moving about the room, which is dark outside the pool of brilliance that surrounds you.
Your thoughts are fuzzy. Muffled. You begin to process input from the rest of your body. Your torso is inclined, but you are bent slightly at the waist. You feel moderate pressure across your head, upper arms, wrists, waist, knees and ankles. Your legs are elevated and spread. The cool air blowing softly across your skin tells you that aren’t wearing any clothes. Your jaw aches and your mouth is held open uncomfortably wide. The acrid taste of rubber fills your mouth and you can feel saliva dribbled past your tightly stretched lips making the air blowing over your face slightly colder. You feel a drip fall from your chin and land on your chest. The remaining drowsiness of your thoughts prevents this information from alarming you as it should, but you begin to feel a slow dread suffusing your body.
You’re trying to remember where you are. How you got here. Your memory seems to be buried in cotton. You experience a moment of panic, bright and sharp as you realize you DON’T know where you are. You gasp loudly as you break the surface of consciousness. Realization ignites the cotton covering your mind, burning it away in a flash.
“Ah…”, you hear a voice coming from the white figure moving about the shadows of the room, “Welcome back, my Pet. I had worried I’d given you too much and I’d have to start without you being in a position to truly appreciate my work, but I see I worried for nothing! Well, my Pet, I have a very important question for you! Shall we have music while we work?”
Your heart is thundering in your chest. Your breath through your nostrils is straining the capacity of the narrow passages. Panic threatens your ability to think.
His words spark recognition. A memory surfaces. “I have a very important question for you.”
The man emerges from the shadows and when your eyes lock with his, you have another flash of recognition. “The Doctor”. He watches you intently. Your breath continues to blast as fast as you are able to draw it. You see him glance off elsewhere in the room and you follow his gaze. An industrial clock is softly backlit against the otherwise dim walls. 11:04, your brain supplies to you. The second hand flows slowly past the 3. Something about that… Something important. You look back to the Doctor. He’s staring at you again.
“I have a very important question for you.”
The memory begins to flesh out, gaining details, color. It comes back.
You had heard rumors on Reddit of a man that was known for some of the most realistic CNC scenes anyone had ever experienced, but that because of the legal implications of his scenes, he only ever worked with someone once, and they never learned who he really was.
You managed to track down someone who had volunteered for him and they were utterly terrified of him, but also confirmed that he did exactly what he promised and that it was the most realistic experience they’d ever been a part of. She was torn with whether she’d ever want to do it again, even if he would allow it.
She gives you his only contact information, an email address.
She tells you to send a mail to the address with your age, the city where you live, and photos of yourself naked from every angle. “If he decides to work with you, don’t negotiate a single aspect. He’ll tell you where to meet. Follow his instructions to the letter or you’ll lose your chance and there will never be another. Good luck.”
Your memory flashes forward. A meeting at an out-of-the-way diner. Not a chain. Dirty. No cameras.
“You won’t know when it will happen. You won’t know WHAT will happen. That’s how I work.” The Doctor speaks slowly, meticulously. Each word precise. Intentional. He doesn’t pepper his speech with “Um”s, “Ah”s, and the little fillers so common to everyday conversation.
“You may not be able to speak. I honestly haven’t decided yet. So, you will not have a safe word. Instead, throughout your… experience… I will say these words, ‘I have a very important question.’ The question itself is NOT important. The trigger phrase is all that concerns you. If you wish to continue, you must hold your breath for a minimum of 10 seconds. I do this so that you cannot, should you panic, forget how you may end the scene. Holding your breath requires thought and action. This will signal your affirmative consent without either of us breaking role and shattering the fantasy I will build for you.”
He takes a deep breath and his mouth twists as if he has considered something distasteful. “Know this,” his voice fallen to a near Bahçelievler Escort whisper, “If you invoke the end of the scene in this way, there will be no discussion of scaling anything back or toning anything down. If you consent to work with me, you submit utterly to what I choose to do to you. If you invoke the ending before I am finished, I will never work with you again.”
“You will have 60 seconds to begin to hold your breath from when I utter the trigger phrase. 10 full seconds, mind you. The means for you to measure the time will be available to you. If you have not begun to hold your breath within 60 seconds, the scene will end and we will never work together again. Make your decision wisely.”
Reality comes back in a rush. His eyes, shockingly blue, remain fixed on yours. He glances, once more, to the wall and to the pale green glow of the luminescent face of the clock. Realization floods you and you look to the clock yourself and a different sort of panic fills you now. Panic… and excitement. The second hand continues its inexorable path. It rounds the 10 and you realize you only have seconds left to make a choice.
You make the decision. You hold your breath and start counting down. “Ten Mississippi…”. His eyes still glaring at me. “One Mississippi,” you finish and gasp for air. Though he explained the logic behind this method, you wonder if it’s the best idea. When deep in scenes, you’ve been known to hold your breath for managing pain. Will he see this as a wish to quit? The woman said you would have no say and must do as he says. Unable to speak, you lay strapped to his table and try to remain calm.
The Doctor smiles broadly. His teeth are perfectly white and perfectly straight. “Well done, my Pet. Well done, indeed. Let us begin!”
The Doctor walks behind you. You try to follow his movement, but your head is strapped tightly to what you now recognize as a medical exam table the likes of which you have never before seen. Thick, black leather straps emerge from below the visible edges of the table. The straps securing you completely with virtually no movement allowed to your head, torso, arms and legs. From behind you, you hear the sound of metallic clanging and then the sound of water running from a faucet and initially hear it striking what you assume is a container of some sort, the pitch changing as the container is filled. The doctor appears from behind you, wheeling a tall pedestal to a position just beyond your strapped, raised, and separated legs. Atop the pedestal a curved mirror provides you with a magnified view of your most intimate areas. Your sex is swollen and glistening redly in anticipation of what is to come. “For you, Pet. I wouldn’t want you to miss a moment of what is to come!”
He once again moves behind you. You hear more wheels being moved toward you and he returns from the other side this time, moving an instrument tray to flank the opposite of your legs from where the hanging mirror rests. From your position, you can’t see the contents of the tray, but you spot the ominous gleam of stainless steel. Also on the tray is a large steel bucket. You notice a hose is dangling from a spout at the bottom of the bucket before it loops back up to the tray.
You ponder the purpose of the bucket and hose, is he going to give you an enema? Is he going to cath you and fill your bladder? Would the steel bucket be used to collect fluids also?
How many trays does this man have? Your heart races in anticipation and fear. Is he going to make you bleed? Is he going to cut you? Inject you with something? He already drugged you once, is that part of his plans? Will he explain what tools he chooses to use, or will you be left to guess?
You experience a moment of panic and vainly start struggling within your restraints.
The Doctor, hearing your futile struggles, lets out a sinister chuckle. “Oh no, my Pet. You are going to be my ‘guest’ for quite some time. Struggle if you wish, but a little free advice as a reward for your earlier bravery… Save your strength. You’ll need it!”
With that, he attaches something that resembles an IV hanger, but significantly more heavy duty to the side of the instrument tray with a large clamp at its base. He shakes the hanger, apparently testing it’s sturdiness. Seeming satisfied, he hoists the steel bucket over his head and hooks it by its metal handle from the hanger, making a grunt of effort as he does so. A haze of condensation clings to the surface of the bucket and begins to bead. Your eyes are fixated as a drop forms slowly near the upper rim of the bucket and slowly trickles to the bottom edge. The drop hangs from the sharp rim of the bucket and falls to the floor with a barely discernible splat. The implication of the condensation fills you with another slow burn of dread. The water inside it must be very cold to form so much condensation so quickly…
He lifts a large clear plastic bag filled Bala Escort with fluid and hangs it next to the bucket. The clear plastic of the bag is also foggy with condensation, telling you instantly that the contents are also chilled. An IV bag?!? What…?
Apparently satisfied with his preparations, he seats himself on a wheeled stool and rolls himself between your legs. Grabbing a pair of gloves from a box, he dons them with quick, efficient motions. Each of them making a telltale snap as pulls them onto his hands.
With no delay, he reaches into one of the pockets of his coat and pulls out a roll of white tape. He peels back the edge and proceeds to measure out approximately a foot of tape before tearing it off. Temporarily affixing the strip to the edge of the tray, he does this again, and again, and once more. With four equal pieces of the tape now measured and cut, he takes the last, still gripped between the fingers of his right hand reaches toward you.
His movement is so sudden you flinch, but he appears to take no notice. He presses one end of the tape firmly to the top of your left butt cheek, almost inside the crack. He massages the end of the tape firmly into your skin to ensure a good hold, and then pulls off to the side, spreading your opening wide, and then pushes the tape back, running it along toward your back, and holding you open. With practiced smoothness, he grabs the next piece of tape and does the same thing, but further down the cheek. He repeats this twice more on the other cheek. Viewing yourself in the mirror, you see your puckered back door is no longer hidden but prominently on display.
Moving quickly, he selects another object from his tray. It looks like a tube of toothpaste, blue and white. He pops open the white plastic flip-top cap and squeezes the tube. A clear gel squirts from the cap onto the waiting fingers of his other hand.
With no word of warning, the fingers spear into your exposed sex, not cruelly per se, but clinically smearing ice-cold gel around your swollen labia and into your passage. He removes his fingers abruptly, squirts more gel from the tube onto them, and returns to you, this time penetrating your back passage. The gel again shocking you with its initial temperature before quickly warming from your body heat. He starts with one finger, and then two. He spins them around the inside of your cavity, liberally coating all of the surfaces.
Next, he picks up a very intimidating object from the tray. It looks vaguely like a long red slender dildo, except that it has several large bore eyelet holes in the tip and along the sides near the tip and several tubes hang from the back end of it. You notice with growing trepidation that one of the hoses leads directly to the stainless-steel bucket suspended above him. Two of the other tubes are short and end in black rubber squeeze bulbs. Finally, you see that the last hose is MUCH larger than the others with a diameter almost as thick as the dildo-looking object it is attached to.
He squirts more of the clear gel onto the object and smears it liberally along its surface. He looks up at your eyes and with a cruel glint in his eyes, says to you, “It’s entirely up to you my pet, but it will make things easier on you if you relax and push for this!” With that, he takes the object in both hands and moves toward your pulsing anus.
You gasp in shock and then abject pleasure at what you know is coming. You can’t stop the moan that escapes through your gasping nose.
The Doctor wastes no time. He brings the nozzle to your pucker and applies gentle but firm pressure. With the lubricant already slicking your passage, it slips into your orifice with a barely audible “pop”. You immediately feel full and try to push against the intruder, but to no avail. Despite the suddenness of the intrusion, you have no time to adjust, as the Doctor is seemingly not satisfied. You feel him moving the nozzle around inside your ass. He slides it forward and you feel pressure. He pulls it back, adjusts it and slides it forward again. This occurs several more times until suddenly you feel the slick head slide MUCH more deeply inside your body. “There we are!” he exclaims excitedly.
You remember to look in mirror and see that the long nozzle has completely vanished into your backside, leaving only the end with its tubes and hose sticking out beyond the stretched pucker.
The Doctor holds the nozzle deep within you with one hand, while reaching for one of the pump bulbs with the other. He grasps it and with strong sure strokes, he squeezes it. After only 2 pumps, you can feel the nozzle inflating inside you. After 5, the feeling of fullness, which you had started to get used to, begins to increase. After he stops at 10 pumps, the feeling is overwhelming. The urge to bear down and expel the invader is uncontrollable, but despite your efforts it is too large to pass through your tiny hole.
Your efforts have not been Balgat Escort unnoticed. You see the doctor once again staring at you, this time with an eyebrow raised and a sneer on his delicate lips. “Did you think it would be that easy?” He chuckles and reaches for the 2nd bulb. He begins to pump, and you see and feel a donut shaped balloon inflate on the OUTSIDE of your anus, hiding it from view. “We wouldn’t want it to slip all the way inside! Well, that would end our fun just as much as if it were to slip out!”
He removed both gloves, tossing them in a trash can you had not previously noticed on the bottom of his instrument cart. He pulls out two clean gloves and dons them quickly. Next, he picks up an instrument of shining stainless steel that you recognize from your last gynecologist appointment, a speculum. Without hesitation, he separates your labia with one hand while advancing the bills of the speculum with the other. It is SHOCKINGLY cold and you fail to suppress the shudder that ripples across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“I’m so sorry, my Pet! Did I neglect to warm that up first? Wherever are my manners?!” His voice drips with cruel insincerity and he laughs.
He begins to turn the screw on the speculum and you feel the bills begin to part as you are spread inexorably open, wider and wider. You watch with resignation as your most intimate cavity is opened in lewd display. Mortified as you see your juices collect at the bottom of the steel device, you see them begin to drip on and past your taint before becoming lost in the rubber donut protruding from your backside.
He moves back to the tray and selects a long slender plastic wrapped package. He grabs one end with both hands and peels it apart, exposing a floppy yellow tube with a tapered point. You can just barely make out the eyelet holes on the tip, reminiscent of the nozzle now wedged so deeply inside your ass, but you can’t for the life of you imagine what it could be for…
He sets it down on a white prep pad and picks up a small syringe he opens from more sterile packaging. He once again opens the blue and white tube of lubricant and he slips the tapered tip of the syringe into the hole and squeezes the tube with one hand while drawing back the plunger of the syringe with the other. You see the syringe being filled with the thick gel.
He closes the lube cap with a snap and places it and the syringe on the white pad. He picks up another white package and after peeling it open, extracts a slightly larger syringe. This he inserts into the cap of a translucent plastic bottle and draws the syringe full. You can see the label that reads “Sterile Saline” on the side of the bottle not covered by the hands that have so recently been inside you.
Placing this second syringe back on the tray, he picks up the first and once again returns to your privates. “I hope you enjoy this as much as I will, my Pet, for your sake. It’s happening, regardless. I can guarantee you will find this… novel.”
With that, he bends down and you watch with horrified fascination as he approaches your pussy with the gel-filled syringe. Your fascination quickly morphs into outright terror as you see him probing the top of your passage with the tip of the syringe. Your fears are quickly confirmed as you feel something rigid slip into your 4th hole… your urethra. He slides the tip into the tiny hole and firmly seats the base of the syringe against the fleshy walls surrounding the hole and smoothly depresses the plunger.
Your virgin piss pipe is instantly filled with the cold gel and you feel a mild burning. As you see the Doctors hands withdraw, you are captivated by the magnified view in the mirror. You see the tiny hole spewing gel slowly from the passage, but it stays lewdly gaped with the gel filling it.
Without seeming to rush, but wasting no time, he retrieves the yellow tube from the tray. You see at the opposite end of the tube, there are three stubbed sections of tubing coming off from the main tube like a pitchfork. He quickly applies two small clamps to the outer stubs of tubing while leaving the center stub alone, which you can see has a plastic tip the other stubs did not.
After the two clamps are applied, he moves toward your helpless mound once more, this time leading with the tapered tip of the tube which he aims right at your gaping piss hole. He pauses and seems to shudder… in anticipation? He takes a deep breath and advances.
With the briefest glance at your face, enough to showcase the maniacal gleam in his clear blue eyes, he turns his laser focus to your drooling pussy and the wink of your peehole, still gaping and oozing with clear gel. His hands as steady as any surgeon, he aims the tip of the tube at your vulnerable smallest hole. Without hesitation, it penetrates you and he begins to slowly advance it, taking his time, savoring your every wince, gasp, shudder, and squirm. You are acutely aware of the urethral invader. The burning sensation from being injected with the lube, which had already begun to subside, returns 10-fold, accompanied by a sharp sting. Not truly painful, you’ve felt worse knocking your funny bone (not to mention a UTI), but this sensation is compounded by the shock of its location where you never expected to feel a solid object explore.