Some time back, I posted the first story I ever wrote here. I really appreciated all the great feedback I got. I planned to try another at some point, but it took a lot longer than I hoped to find the time. Anyway, I have finally managed to write a second story. It's ended up pretty long and a little darker than I intended in some ways, but I hope someone enjoys it. Comments and criticism are appreciated.
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Chapter 1: Admission
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The young woman at the receptionist desk seemed nearly hysterical as she pleaded with the receptionist. Aside from her manic expression, she was a very pretty girl of perhaps twenty years. "It's my turn!" she nearly shrieked. "I have an appointment! The doctor has to see me!"
The receptionist cast a jaded glance down her nose at the girl. "The doctor has had to postpone your appointment. Please have a seat and I'll let you know when she can see you."
"No, no, no!" she pleaded. "It's my turn!"
A tall figure confidently strode up behind the distraught young woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. The talk woman looked like she might be about thirty, her body clearly shapely but obscured by a starched white lab coat and her flaming red hair tied down into a severe bun. The younger woman turned her crazed eyes to the hand on her shoulder and then up the white sleeve to a pair of stern glasses looking down at her. The younger woman instantly fell silent and gazed down at her feet like a bashful schoolgirl.
"Meghan, I'm afraid I need to meet with a new patient right now," the tall redhead said evenly. "I'm terribly sorry that I need to postpone our appointment, but I do hope you can wait a little while longer while I see to her. Is that okay?"
The younger woman flinched like she had been struck. "Yes, doctor," she replied weakly. She seemed rooted to the spot, though, unable to even look up at the tall woman in the lab coat beside her. The older woman removed her hand from the younger ones shoulder and the young woman practically sprinted into the nearest chair. She sat there, her gaze firmly fixed on her feet and her hands gripping the armrests like she was holding on for her life.
The statuesque redhead, seemingly satisfied, turned to a trio who had come in after her. To the left was a portly, middle-aged man, his face fixed in what seemed to be a permanent scowl. Next to him was a thin woman with an expensively coifed blond hairdo. The woman had clearly once been quite stunning but was now well past her prime, using way too much make-up and plastic surgery to try to hold back time. She held the pinched smile and haughty gaze of someone used to looking at everyone around her as her subordinates. A few steps behind them was a younger woman. She was dressed in a trashy black leather outfit, with a black leather jacket over a tight black t-shirt and a hip-hugging leather miniskirt over a pair of sheer black stockings and high leather boots. Her lips and fingernails were painted black. Green highlights showed in her close-cropped blond hair. Beneath the intimidating goth outfit, she was clearly an extraordinarily attractive young woman. If the older blonde gave the appearance of an aging former beauty queen, the younger blonde looked like she could be a beauty queen right now with a change of clothes and attitude. She was loudly chewing some bubble gum and gave the impression of complete disdain for everyone around her.
The redhead spoke to them: "Senator and Mrs. Wilde, Cynthia, my office is just up ahead." Turning to the receptionist, she added, "Carol, please see that we are not disturbed. And make sure Marge and Tess are standing by."
"Yes, doctor," the receptionist responded curtly. The redhead and her three companions walked past the receptionist into an office just behind the reception desk with a door labeled, "Dr. Amanda Drake," which the doctor closed behind her. Inside, Dr. Drake took a seat behind a desk stacked with papers. The walls around her were covered with an impressive array of diplomas, certificates, and awards testifying to her credentials as a leading young psychiatrist. She bid the three to take three seats across the desk from her. The older man plopped into the first seat and the older woman stiffly perched on the second, while the young woman pointedly stood and ignored the proceedings.
"Cynthia," Dr. Drake said to the young woman. "I understand from your parents that you have been having some troubles in school."
The older woman responded for her: "Oh, it's been terrible doctor! The partying. The drinking. The drugs. The boys. I can't count how many times we've had to send the butler to pick her up at the police station. Thank heavens the mayor is a friend or there might have been charges! Can you imagine the scandal?"
The portly man interjected, "As long as she was a minor, I could keep the tabloids away from her. But she's just turned eighteen and I can't keep them silent any longer. I'm up for reelection in six months. I run on a family values platform. I can't have this."
At that moment, the man's cell phone rang and he turned his attention to it, curtly barking orders at someone on the other end. The older blonde picked up the conversation.
"We've given her everything --- fancy cars, expensive clothes, the best schools --- and this is how she repays us! It's not just nice boys she goes for, either. She even shamelessly seduces the help. We've had to have three gardeners and two pool boys deported to keep them from talking."
Finally, the young woman turned her attention to the conversation, addressing the doctor. "Mom's just pissed off that they want to stick it in me now instead of her," she said snidely. "She used to just have to flash a little leg to get Hector's big cock hard. Now he's thinking of me when he's doing her."
The mother shot her daughter an acid look and then reached into her purse to pull out a thick envelope, which she handed across the desk to the doctor. "Doctor, here are the sworn statements you requested from us and the servants about Cynthia’s self-destructive behavior. We made sure they all say what a danger she is to herself. Will this be enough?"
The doctor opened the envelope and skimmed the letters. "Yes, this looks more than adequate. We can process her immediately."
"It pains me so," the mother said with faux regret, "but it seems that the only way we can keep our poor daughter from hurting herself is to have her committed to your care."
The young blonde instantly perked up. "Committed?!" she screamed at the mother. "Oh, hell no! No fucking way, you bitch!"
In an instant, the tempestuous young blond had pulled open the office door, but two very large women dressed as orderlies blocked her way. She tried to force her way past them, but they easily restrained her. She struggled madly, but they held her fast. The doctor calmly addressed the two large women: "Thank you Marge, Tess. Please take poor Cynthia to the exam room and get her prepped. I'll be in once we finish here." The young woman spit out a stream of curses as the two orderlies dragged off through a side door and out of sight. The mother couldn't conceal a small smile as her daughter was dragged away.
The doctor turned her attention back to the older couple. The man was still engrossed in his phone call and seemed indifferent to what had just transpired. The woman piped up with a dramatic flourish, "Oh, doctor, I think you see what a trial it's been for us. I do hope you can give our poor Cynthia the help she needs. We're just at the end of our rope with her."
Dr. Amanda Drake gave a forced smile. She had an extensive file on Cynthia's behavioral problems but she didn't even need to look at it. Two minutes alone with her parents was enough to tell her that Cynthia, like so many of her patients, was simply starved for love and discipline. Amanda knew that she could provide plenty of both.
Dr. Drake hated dealing with people like the Wildes, but it was a necessity. Not so long before, she had been a rising star in academic psychiatry: a faculty position at the best school, a steady stream of patients, a series of extraordinary case studies showing that she could cure patients for whom all of the standard treatments failed. She specialized in young adults, particularly on seemingly intractable cases of depression, anxiety, and antisocial behavior. Her colleagues marveled at her ability to turn the most recalcitrant patients into smiling, productive, accomplished young men and women. Then it all fell apart. As details started to emerge about the nature of her treatments, her department was scandalized. Dr. Drake had tried to reason with them. Her approach worked, she argued. She had the evidence and could prove that she could help people the rest of the psychiatric world had failed. What more was there to say? She couldn't understand how men and women of science could be such prudes. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, though, and her superiors concluded that the whole thing needed to be hushed up. Her position was quietly eliminated, her research program shut down, and she was assured that if she did not go quietly she would end up in prison. And so she had gone into private practice, catering to people like the Wildes: politicians, CEOs, Wall Street bankers, celebrities, heirs and heiresses, i.e., the rich and powerful. She had spent enough time around them to truly despise them, but nowhere else could she find clients self-absorbed enough not to pry into how she was treating their children but still willing to pay her a fortune to do it. She made embarrassments go away for them, and in return they gave her enough money to maintain a secure and very private facility, a staff well enough compensated to guarantee their discretion, enough access to the halls of power to keep anyone from inquiring too closely into her business, and money enough to buy all the expensive equipment she needed for her work. Most importantly, as Dr. Drake saw it, she could help their poor children.
"Yes, Mrs. Wilde," she said. "I am confident I can help your daughter. My staff is processing her into the facility as we speak. It will not happen overnight, but I can give you back a happy, well-adjusted, and obedient daughter. Many in my field rely too much on medications to fix this kind of behavior, but the truth is that our understanding of how pharmaceuticals affect the brain is still primitive. They are too blunt an instrument for the delicate manipulation a case like your daughter requires. Our bodies produce our own drugs, though, completely natural mood regulators that work far more precisely on the human mind and with fewer side effects. My treatment program is all about inducing the body to medicate itself, stimulating it to release endorphins to fight pain, oxytocin to build feelings of social attachment, and..."
The portly man had hung up his phone and abruptly interrupted the doctor. "I am a busy man," he said. "I don't need a lecture on psychiatry. My colleagues tell me you’re discrete and get results. That's all we need to know. Just keep her for at least six months, until the reelection is out of the way. The story we'll float is that we’ve moved her to a private boarding school so the pressures of the campaign won't disrupt her education."
Dr. Drake again forced a smile. "Of course, senator," she said pleasantly. "It is important, though, that she has a tightly controlled social environment until she has acclimated to the program. I will need to insist that she not have any contact with you or any other family or friends until I give the okay. It may be several months before she is ready to be seen. Will that be a problem?"
The senator had taken another phone call, so the wife chimed in. "No, no, not at all," she said sweetly. "In fact, I'm sure we'll be quite busy with the campaign, anyway. You can call my assistant and make an appointment when my dear Cynthia is ready for visitors. I'm afraid the Senator and I must be running along now, but I trust you have everything in hand."
"Absolutely," said the doctor. "I will personally see to her in just a moment. I just need you to sign a few forms and then I can show you the way out."
"No need, doctor," said the older blonde signing the papers spread in front of her. "We can show ourselves out. And thank you so much for giving our poor daughter the help she needs."
The man, still snarling into his phone, led the way out the door followed closely by his wife. As they left the office and the door slid closed behind her, Dr. Amanda Drake's smile vanished. She was deeply troubled but energized by the opportunity to help another unfortunate young soul. She undid the severe hair bun, letting her fiery mane spill over her shoulders, dropped the unnecessary glasses she wore for effect, and shed the professional-looking lab coat for the more fashionable and revealing blouse and mini-skirt she wore underneath. She let herself out through a back door into the secure part of the facility to see to her new patient.
Chapter 2: Getting Acquainted
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Cynthia Wilde found herself seated on an exam table in what seemed to be a non-descript doctor’s office. The only unusual features of the office were the severe medical restraints currently holding her in place on the exam table. A few minutes previously, the two burly orderlies had brought her in, tossed aside her expensive leather jacket, and wordlessly secured her to the table while enduring a stream of threats and obscenities. Then they had left her alone to shout until she was hoarse. Cynthia’s back was pressed against the raised back of the exam table, held in place by a strap under her bosom and another across her waist. A third strap passed through her blond hair and across her forehead, holding her head to the raised back of the table. Leather cuffs held her wrists above her head while still more held her legs in stirrups splayed out to her left and right. Much to the girl’s consternation, the awkward posture caused her short skirt to ride up almost to her waist, exposing her sheer black panties underneath. She had struggled madly with the cuffs, trying to pull her wrists free or get at the releases on the cuffs. No matter how she struggled, though, she could not get loose. Eventually, she slumped in her bonds in resignation, seething at her predicament.
At long last, the Dr. Drake walked into the room. The furious goth girl did not at first recognize the psychiatrist she had met just a few minutes before. Shed of her professional attire, the psychiatrist was simply stunning. Her flaming red hair cascaded around a gorgeous face, and down to a buxom body that looked like it would be at home in a pin-up calendar. With her sheer blouse, Amanda Drake showed off her sizable cleavage, even bigger than Cynthia’s own ample rack. Her short, tight skirt showed off a perfectly toned backside and pair of legs. The doctor’s piercing green eyes locked on Cynthia’s baby blues.
“Hello again, Cynthia,” the doctor said cheerfully. “I do hope Marge and Tess weren’t too rough with you. It’s never an easy thing when a patient needs to be involuntarily committed, but I trust you’ll understand in time that we all just want what’s best for you.”
Finally realizing that this was the same woman who had just ordered her committed to a psychiatric facility, Cynthia flew into a rage. She again pulled madly at her bonds, struggling to get free.
“Let me the fuck out of here you goddamned bitch!” Cynthia screamed in fury. “You can’t treat me like this!”
“Poor Cynthia,” said the doctor soothingly. “I know this is frightening, but it really is for your own good. Your mother told me all about your self-destructive behavior and fits of rage. You need help, before you hurt yourself or someone else. You’re here so you can get that help.”
“I don’t have fucking fits of rage, you fucking cock-sucking whore!” Cynthia spat out. “Let me fucking go!”
The doctor laughed. “Listen to yourself,” she said sweetly. “You’re not being rational. Now you need to take a deep breath and calm down and we can talk about why you’re here.”
“Let me out of these damned cuffs and I’ll calm the fuck down!” the girl snapped back.
“Oh, sweety,” the doctor cooed, “you know I can’t do that. You’re not going anywhere until you get well. Just look at how angry you are. This isn’t healthy. A pretty girl your age should be happy. She should be smiling and laughing sweetly, not shouting and swearing like a sailor on shore leave.”
“Yeah?!” Cynthia challenged. “Would you be fucking smiling if your fucking evil bitch of a mother had you locked up in a mental hospital and strung up like a fucking bondage model? What the fuck am I supposed to be smiling about?”
The doctor pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bound girl. “It may seem impossible now but I promise I can make you better. It’s going to take time, but I promise you can be a sweet, happy girl if you just let me help you.”
The doctor laid a hand reassuringly on the girl’s bound thigh. Cynthia flinched at the touch but couldn’t withdraw.
“You’re not going to make me into some Stepford wife like my damned mother!” the girl retorted. “I don’t care if you hold me her for fifty years. You can’t make me into some smiling plastic bimbo.”
“I bet I can,” the doctor said, a mischievous grin in her eyes. “You don’t believe me that I can make you happy, but I’m willing to bet I can have you smiling and laughing like a little schoolgirl before we even leave this office. In fact, if I can’t, I promise I’ll let you go home right now.”
Sensing a challenge, the girl pursed her lips and fixed the doctor with an angry glare.
“I don’t suppose you like knock-knock jokes,” the doctor started. The girl held her furious gaze.
“That’s okay,” said the doctor. “I wasn’t going to tell any.”
The doctor began to stroke her hand along the bound young woman’s thigh. Cynthia quickly started to feel very uncomfortable, but she was determined not to give the doctor a reaction. The doctor’s touch grew lighter until it was just the tips of her fingers delicately grazing the stocking-clad leg. The dancing fingers rose higher until they were playing over the narrow strip of exposed flesh between the girl’s stockings and her panties.
“It will take time to really cure you,” the doctor said. “But it is important for you to know that there’s hope. That it is possible to see yourself smiling and laughing like a happy, well-adjusted girl should.”
The doctor now had a single fingernail lightly scratching the flesh of the girl’s inner thigh. The sensation was very distracting. She tried to close her legs, but the bonds held firm. Cynthia did not want to admit that she was ticklish or that her inner thighs were a sensitive spot. Still, it was becoming hard to hide the fact that the delicate strokes of the doctor’s finger were having an effect. She bit down on her tongue and tightly pursed her lips.
“You are a strong-willed young woman,” the doctor said. “That’s something to be proud of. But no one can be strong all of the time. We all have weaknesses.”
The doctor at last removed her finger from Cynthia’s inner thigh, prompting a relieved exhalation from the girl. In all of her struggling, though, Cynthia had managed to pull her t-shirt out of her skirt, exposing her belly. The doctor moved her finger up and placed it on the exposed belly and started lightly stroking there. Cynthia again sucked in her breath and bit down on her lip.
“Whatever your vulnerabilities, sooner or later they will come out,” the doctor said.
The doctor’s finger stroked circles around Cynthia’s taut belly while the pretty blond clenched her teeth. With her free hand, the doctor tugged the top of the girl’s skirt down a bit until the top of her panties were exposed. She then lightly traced the finger left and right over the girl’s panty line. Cynthia scrunched her eyes shut in frustration, trying not to give in to the doctor’s touch. Dr. Drake looked the girl deeply in the eyes while she glided the finger up and dug it straight into the girl’s belly button. The girl’s eyes bugged out but she managed to keep her lips pressed tightly shut. She could feel the corners of her mouth involuntarily twitching, though, and fought with all her will to keep them down.
The gorgeous redhead leaned in close to the pretty blond’s head and whispered in her ear: “I think I’m gonna get a smile soon.”
Between the merciless probing of her belly button and the redhead’s soft breath in her ear, it was too much for the blond. The corners of her mouth rose against her will, but just for a second before she forced them back down.
“I think I got a smile, there,” said the redhead accusingly.
“No!” hissed the blond between clenched teeth, afraid that if she let another word out she would simply erupt in laughter.
“No?” said the doctor, mock disappointment in her voice. “Maybe I was mistaken.”
She withdrew her finger from Cynthia’s belly button, prompting another relieved sigh from the pretty goth girl as she let her pent-up breath escape at last.
Then the doctor rose from her chair and repositioned it backwards in front of Cynthia’s bound form, straddling the chair so her face was practically nose-to-nose with Cynthia’s. She reached up and placed one finger on each of Cynthia’s ears and began lightly tracing the curves of the ears. It tickled terribly and the girl once again bit down hard on her lip. The delicate touches on her ears were incredibly distracting, but the restraint across her forehead made it impossible to move away. The girl tried hard to resist, but she could once again feel the corners of her mouth rising against her will. She tried to force them down, but as the doctor keep teasing and tickling the girl’s sensitive ears she could feel them rising higher and higher instead. Before long, the girl was unquestionably sporting a big, wide grin over which she no longer had any control.
“I know I’ve got my smile now,” said the doctor with satisfaction, continuing to tickle the sensitive ears. The blond tried to keep up a menacing glare, but it is very hard to maintain a menacing glare while grinning like an idiot.
“I did say I’d have you smiling and laughing, though, didn’t I?” said the doctor with consternation. “You’re smiling, but you aren’t laughing. Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
The doctor again withdrew her fingers. She moved her chair a couple of feet back then reached up to the girl’s left foot and started unlacing her boot. The girl panicked.
“Get off of me you crazy dyke!” the girl shouted. The doctor just ignored her and tugged off the boot. She then turned to the other foot and started to repeat the process.
“I said get off!” shouted the girl, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Soon both boots were off.
“I promised I’d have you smiling and laughing,” the doctor said mildly. “Now let’s get to the laughing.”
She dug her fingernails into the soles of both feet simultaneously, scratching roughly across the stocking-clad soles. The girl let out a loud gasp, but then sucked in her breath, determined not to laugh. The doctor’s fingers were relentless, though. Cynthia scrunched her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying her best to hold it in. The doctor soon found an especially sensitive spot right below each of Cynthia’s big toes and dug in. It was as if a dam burst inside Cynthia and suddenly a stream of giggles poured out of her. Once it started, she couldn’t get control of it again.
“I told you I could get you laughing,” the doctor gloated while she continued to dig away and the sensitive spots.
Cynthia was laughing out loud now, all self-control now gone. Still, the doctor did not stop. She probed and tickled across every inch of the bound feet, eliciting new heights of hysteria from the helpless girl. Before long, Cynthia had passed into silent laughter, unable to get a breath out. The doctor kept it up until it seemed the girl was on the verge of passing out. Finally, Dr. Drake relented. Cynthia sagged in her bonds and gasped for breath. Her face was bright red and tears ran down her cheeks, carrying cascades of black mascara.
“I’m sorry that was necessary, Cynthia,” said Dr. Drake while the girl continued to draw in rasping breaths. “It is important for you to know, though, that it is possible for you to smile and laugh, like a happy young woman should. As I said, it’s going to take time to really cure you, but I promise that before long it won’t take such extreme measures to get a smile out of you.”
The doctor got up from the chair and went to a drawer, retrieving a set of shears. She came back to the bound blond and started cutting away her T-shirt.
“Wh-wh-what are you doing?” demanded the blond, still barely able to breathe.
“We have special clothing requirements here,” the doctor responded matter-of-factly, “and I’m afraid we can’t let you keep your street clothes. The leather we’ll return when you’re ready to check out, but I’m afraid the rest will simply have to go.”
The girl was too weak to protest as the doctor finished cutting free the black T-shirt, exposing a black satin bra. The doctor then reached down and unzipped the girl’s skirt and shrugged it off and away. She next reached behind the girl and unhooked her bra strap, tossing the bra aside. The blond was humiliated to see her large, firm breasts spill free but couldn’t catch her breath enough to argue. Next, the doctor started to roll the blond’s black stockings down her legs. She took her time, slowly inching them down to the ankles and finally tugging them off Cynthia’s feet and discarding them. Cynthia now wore nothing but the sheer black panties. Finally, the doctor took the shears and cut those off, leaving Cynthia’s neatly trimmed blond mound fully exposed. The redness in Cynthia’s face had been fading, but it now went bright red again in embarrassment. For all her outward sluttiness, Cynthia had always had a shy streak and being fully exposed against her will left her feeling horribly vulnerable. The doctor stepped back to admire her handiwork, slowing casting her glance up and down the naked girl’s body. Cynthia could not help blushing furiously.
“Tess and Marge will be by shortly to show you your new home away from home,” said the doctor. “You may be a little uncomfortable now, but before long, I think you and I will be very, very close.”
The doctor then turned and walked out of the room, leaving Cynthia feeling angry, exposed, and more than a little frightened as waited to begin what seemed to be her new life.
Chapter 3: A Closer Look
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Cynthia had been left to stew with her thoughts for some time before the orderlies came by to retrieve her. Her anger had time to renew itself and overtake her humiliation, so by the time they came for her, she was cursing up a storm and swearing vengeance on them and the doctor. They ignored her threats and unbound her. She tried to bolt, but they easily subdued her and then carried her, still naked, out of the room, screaming and writing in their firm grips. They dragged her through a maze of hallways before finally stopping at a door, unlocking it with a proximity card, and tossing her inside as if she were a bag of trash. They then closed the door behind her. The young woman screamed after the two orderlies but they were gone.
When Cynthia recovered enough to pay attention to her surroundings, she found herself in what to all appearances was a pleasant, tastefully decorated studio apartment. She quickly discovered that the front door was locked from the outside and could not be forced. She banged and screamed at the door for some minutes before finally giving up in frustration and quietly fuming. She was still furious at her treatment, but collected herself enough to begin exploring and looking for a way out.
It was only then that Cynthia began to appreciate that this was not such a normal apartment. There were no windows and no doors aside from the locked front door. She could find no sharp objects and nothing heavy that was not securely bolted down. There were no electrical outlets; everything that required power was securely hardwired to hidden power sources. Appliances were impossible to open up without tools and nothing that could serve was anywhere to be found. There was food in the refrigerator and cabinets, but no stove and only flimsy plastic utensils. Her clothes closets held an assortment of seemingly ordinary blouses and skirts, but everything made of flimsy fabric that seemed to tear with even a little force. As pleasant and homey as her surrounding might appear, they were carefully designed to ensure that she could not get out and could not find anything she could use to hurt herself or anyone else.
Lacking any other options, Cynthia decided she could at least clean herself up, so she took a quick shower. She dressed herself in a short black skirt and tight black top, in keeping with her usual tastes. She was annoyed to realize she could find no underwear or any sort of footwear, but at least dressed in something like her favored slutty goth gear, she felt a bit more like herself.
She had only a few moments to enjoy some relative autonomy before she heard the door opening. Rushing towards the door, she was greeted by the two burly female orderlies who had first restrained her. She screamed and charged towards them, but they easily wrestled her to the ground, bound her in temporary restraints, and gagged her over her furious attempts to protest. The two of them roughly carried her out of the apartment and into a sterile-looking hallway. She saw similar doors to her own all up and down the hall as they carried her off, following a series of twisting passages through what looked like deserted hospital corridors. Eventually, they brought her through a non-descript door to a room dominated by a large machine with a complicated computer control panel attached to it. Before the machine stood a platform on wheels, like a hospital gurney, with a series of what were clearly restraints hanging off of it. They forced her onto the platform and started to undo her temporary restraints, re-securing each limb with a series of straps attached to the platform until she was held firmly in place. Straps pinned her spread-eagled at wrists and ankles, shoulders and hips, along her midsection, and across her head. She had enough slack to be able to shift a bit in her bondage, but no more. Finally, the two orderlies easily tore off her flimsy newfound clothing, leaving her naked except for the straps and gag. She feebly tried to protest through the gag, but the orderlies ignored her and left the room without a word, leaving her alone.
Cynthia tried a few more muffled yells before settling down. She could not turn her head to get much of a look at anything around her, so she just sat and stared at the ceiling, quietly seething. Eventually, she heard the door open followed by the click of high heels on the hard tile floor. She could swivel her eyes just enough to see the buxom form of Dr. Drake sauntering in. Her red hair spilled freely across her shoulders and she sported a sheer white blouse and a bright red skirt. She strode up to Cynthia until she was looking directly down on her and run a hand through Cynthia’s tousled blond hair. Cynthia flinched at the touch but could not move away.
“Poor little Cynthia,” Dr. Drake cooed. “I know this can be very strange and frightening at first, but I want to assure you that everything that is happening here is for your own good. You are perfectly safe and sound. You are unwell and we are all here to help you get better.”
Cynthia tried to yell and curse, but all that came through the gag was a muffled “MFFMGGAH!”
“Now, now, Cynthia,” said Dr. Drake gently, placing a finger across Cynthia’s gagged mouth as if to shush her. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later, once we begin your therapy.”
Cynthia was still fuming inside, but could see the futility of trying to fight now. Being bound and completely exposed was also leaving her feeling very vulnerable and less inclined to pick a fight than she might usually be. She lay still and fixed the doctor with what she hoped was a withering gaze.
“That’s a good girl,” continued the doctor when it was clear Cynthia had quieted down. “Now we have some preliminaries before we can begin your real therapy and the first is to do a detailed body scan. Some of my treatments can be, shall we say, strenuous. I need to know that you don’t have any undiagnosed medical conditions that might put you at any risk. I’ll also need detailed physical measurements for ... well, you’ll see.”
“And that what’s this baby is for,“ the doctor said, patting the hulking machine next to them. “I was very lucky to pick this up cheap. It’s an experimental medical scanner, designed to become a one-stop replacement for MRI, CAT, PET, and a host of other technologies. It works on similar principles to an ultrasound scanner but with a broad spectrum of highly focused sound frequencies and intensities to provide an extremely detailed and thorough picture of every inch of a subject, inside and out. Sadly, it turned out to have some unfortunate side-effects that made it unsuitable for the average clinic, but I find it suits our needs just fine. You’re not claustrophobic are you?”
Cynthia shook her head the inch or so the bondage allowed and gave a muffled, “NGGHY,” that the doctor rightly took for a “No.”
“That’s good,” the doctor said, opening a large panel on the side of the machine. She slide the entire wheeled platform into the panel, forcing Cynthia into a small compartment in the machine, and closed the door.
“I’m going to start the scan program and then monitor the results from out here,” Dr. Drake said, her voice now projected through a speaker inside the unit. “All you need to do is lie there. It shouldn’t take too long.”
“There is just one thing,” the doctor added, almost as an afterthought. “The machine does require you to remain still to get a clear image. It’s all computer controlled, so if you do move, it will just give you a warning, back up, and repeat part of the scan. Just be perfectly still and it will all be over quickly.”
Cynthia was nervous and did not know what to expect. She could hear assorted clicks and whirs as the machine came to life around her. She could then hear some gears moving and the sound of a piece of machinery out of her view sliding across her body to stop above where her right hand was positioned. Cynthia held her breath in anticipation. Finally, there was a sound like a hum mixed with a screech, and she could feel the sonic probe pulsing into the skin of her right hand. The feeling was indescribable, like being stroked by a feather that could pass right through solid flesh. The sensation made her skin crawl. It also tickled horribly. Cynthia reflexively clenched her hand and pulled at the bondage to get away.
In a second, the probe stopped and a mechanical voice intoned, “Movement detected. Scan of right hand repeating.”
A moment later the probe resumed and Cynthia again recoiled. Again the mechanical voice repeated its warning and again the scan started over. This happened five times before Cynthia was able to assess her predicament and through force of will keep her hand open and immobile. She could feel the sonic probe moving over her hand, crossing each curve and tracing up and down each finger in a slow, delicate path. The sensation was awful, tickling her inside and out, but she squeezed her eyes shut in frustration and was able to bear it. In a minute, the probe of her hand was complete.
The probe continued to move down her right arm and she could feel it tracing every inch of her on the way down. Tears of frustration tugged at her, but she managed to keep still. As the probe continued down her arm and got closer to her exposed armpit, though, she knew she would lose it. She braced and tensed as it got closer and closer to her sensitive pits. And then it stopped. Gears whirred into motion and she could hear the apparatus moving to the other side of her body. When it came back to life and the tickly beam pierced her left hand, she instinctively recoiled, again triggering the mechanical warning, “Movement detected. Scan of left hand repeating.” She cursed her carelessness but steeled herself as it restarted and made it through the long, terrible trajectory down her left arm until the probe again stopped just short of her armpit and the machine whirred into motion again.
This time, it stopped over the top of her head before kicking back into life. Mercifully, her scalp wasn’t very ticklish and she couldn’t feel the probe at all when it actually probed into her skull. As it moved lower, though, she was horrified to discover just how many ticklish spots her head held. The bridge of her nose was sensitive enough to force her to scrunch up her eyes and ruin the scan, backing it up about a minute. It took some practice to manage to get through that. As the doctor had shown Cynthia, her ears could be horribly ticklish if hit in just the right place. (And unknown to Cynthia, Dr. Drake was also taking notes as the machine uncovered new ticklish spots.) Cynthia discovered the peculiar horror of being tickled deep inside her nose and trying not to sneeze, as well as the terrible ticklishness of the roof of her mouth, her jawline, and a dozen little spots for which she did not even have a name.
Cynthia also realized another peculiar effect of the intense stimulation. As it passed over her lips, it was like getting the most incredible kiss she had ever felt. The sensation was positively electric and, when it touched an erogenous zone, very arousing. She instinctively parted her lips to admit her invisible lover, once again backing up the scan. She forced herself to remain still when it repeated, making it through the probe of her lips but feeling a hint of reluctance when it finally moved on. When the probe moved inside to her tongue, it felt like someone had taken an hour of the most intense French kissing she could imagine and compressed it all into a few seconds. She was so flustered, she didn’t even realize for some minutes that she kept ruining the scan by moving her tongue in response. She finally became aware of what she was doing and through a monumental effort managed to hold still. She again found herself feeling a bit regretful but also embarrassed at her arousal as the terrible probe moved on. She continued to discover new very ticklish spots as the probe moved slowly around her neck and down to her collarbone, which turned out to be horribly ticklish. Finally, the probe came to a stop again and the gears whirred to life, moving the probe to another part of her body.
She was terrified as she could hear the machinery moving slowly down, shivering in anticipation over when it might stop as it slid over her chest, then her belly, then her exposed crotch, and kept going, finally coming to a stop above her right foot. Even before the probe resumed, Cynthia was having trouble stopping herself from shaking. When the peculiar sound started and she could feel the sonic probe vibrating into her big toe, she jolted like she had been hit by an electric current and screamed into her gag. This was by far the worst yet.
“Movement detected. Scan of right foot repeating,” the lifeless machine voice intoned. She tried desperately to hold still as it resumed and could manage it for only a second before she involuntarily jerked her foot and discontinued the scan.
“Movement detected. Scan of right foot repeating,” the machine repeated. She tried to summon all of her willpower and managed to keep herself still long enough for the scan to move down into the ball of the foot, but when it started moving sidewise across the foot, she lost it again.
“Movement detected. Scan of right foot repeating,” the machine once again intoned, moving right back to the big toe to begin again. Again and again, Cynthia went through this, getting a little farther each time. But every time the machine discovered a new ticklish spot on her foot (and there were many), she lost it and had to go back to the beginning. She screamed helplessly into the gag, trying to beg Dr. Drake for mercy, but if her pleas were understood at all, they fell on deaf ears.
The machine ended up spending over half an hour on Cynthia’s right foot alone before she finally managed to make it through the scan. She cried tears of relief as it moved up her right leg, her whole body shuddering from the pent-up frustration of having to sit still through the maddening foot scan. Her leg itself held some rude shocks, such as the discovery of how ticklish she could be on the back of her knee and the soft tissue just above it, but she gritted her teeth and bore it.
She also discovered a new kind of apprehension as the machine started to make it to her inner thigh. She was very ticklish there, but managed to hold it together. She realized she was building up a terrible anticipation, though, as the probe inched ever closer to her exposed crotch. As awful as the tickling was, she couldn’t deny that the intense stimulation could also be very arousing. She shuddered to think about what it would feel like when it hit her bare pussy. As it moved ever closer, brushing the edge of her crotch, it abruptly shut off and the machinery started to move again. Cynthia let out a deep breath and wasn’t sure herself whether it was in relief or frustration.
The probe took a new position on her left foot and repeated the process it had taken with her right foot. The tickling was incredible and, even after the preparation of the right foot, she found that she needed more than a dozen attempts before she could hold still through the entire slow progression from one toe to another, across the balls of her feet, and up and down the arch. Finally, it made it through her left foot and it was relatively easy now for her to hold still as it traveled up her left leg. Once again, she found herself with a mix of dread and anticipation as it inched ever closer to her crotch, turning to a mix of relief and disappointment as the probe shut down just on the edge of her womanhood.
Once again, the gears whirred into life and she could hear the machinery move, this time stopping above her right armpit. Cynthia thought her armpits were probably her most ticklish spot, and no matter how she steeled herself, she was unprepared for the intensity of the sensation when the probe resumed. At the touch of the probe, she bucked horribly in her confinement trying to shake herself loose.
“Movement detected. Scan of right armpit repeating,” the mechanical voice droned before the probe resumed.
She couldn’t take it. Over and over it restarted and over and over Cynthia found she simply could not hold still long enough to complete the scan. Once again, Cynthia let out a muffled scream, trying to get Dr. Drake’s attention to no avail. She shook, begged, and babbled while the probe kept halting and resuming in the same terribly ticklish spot. Finally, in a mixture of resolve and exhaustion, she somehow managed to hold still, while the probe slowly traced the contours of her sensitive pit. She gritted her teeth while tears of frustration poured down her cheeks, but somehow she made it through that portion of the scan.
Cynthia’s relief quickly turned to shock as the probe continued across her body, moving onto her right breast. Cynthia had no idea that breasts could be ticklish, since no one had ever dared to try tickling hers. She quickly learned just how ticklish they could be. She shook with uncontrollable laughter as the probe tried to trace a circular path around her breasts, dipping in and out of the skin and tracing every inward. It took enormous force of will to hold still while it followed its slow, torturous path inward.
When it hit her nipple, Cynthia soon discovered a new dimension to her torment. As before, the probe was not just horribly ticklish, but also arousing. Very arousing, she realized, when focused in the right place. The intensity of the sensation was unbelievable as the probe slowly circled her areola. Even through the intense tickling, she could feel it building inside her. She knew she was getting very wet and could feel her exposed pussy clenching in anticipation. She was too far gone to be embarrassed anymore, and was simply aching for release. When the probe hit her nipple, it was too much. She exploded in an intense orgasm. All of the frustration she had bottled up over the seeming eternity she had been in the machine exploded through her at once and she arched against her bonds with every ounce of strength she had. A long, primal scream tore through her and passed muffled through her gag as the orgasm ripped through her. The machine sensed the movement, though, and promptly discontinued the scan, intoning its mechanical warning.
Cynthia could barely think through the haze of the afterglow as the probe tried to restart the breast scan. She giggled and twitched mindlessly while it tried over and over to resume its scan. Finally, she began to pull her mind back together, deal with her sudden humiliation at having cum in the machine, and focus once again on staying still. It took her a couple of tries before she could get through the nipple stimulation without moving, but finally, she managed to complete the scan of her right breast. It continued on to her left breast, where she once again needed several trials to hold still through the merciless tickling. She barely managed to avoid cumming again when it reached her left nipple. Finally, after a brief, but terribly ticklish visit to her left armpit, the probe moved on from her upper torso.
A belly scan came next. Ordinarily, she would have considered that unbearable torture, but after the intense experience with her breasts and underarms, it was a relief. She had to grit her teeth through a fierce probing of her belly button and discovered some incredibly ticklish spots above her hips, but did not need too many tries to get through there. The probe took a surprise visit around the back, where she realized how terribly ticklish her butt could be. If she hadn’t been thoroughly secured, she would have jumped through the roof when it started to probe her anus. There, too, though, she eventually managed to hold on long enough for the horrible probe to move on.
Finally, she knew there was just one region of her anatomy left to cover. Dr. Drake had wanted an especially detailed portrait of Cynthia’s genitals, and the probe slowed to a crawl to achieve its highest resolution. Cynthia hadn’t a clue how ticklish her crotch could be, but as the vibrations started to trace around the edge of her labia, she practically lost her mind. The tickling was unbelievable, but also incredibly pleasurable. The two feelings fought in her mind as the probe slowly traced around one outer lip then the other, across the sensitive inner labia, and dipped inside to probe the vaginal walls. She was trying desperately to stifle her laughter but also to tamp down another orgasm she felt rapidly growing inside her. When the probe made it to her G-spot, the dam burst and she exploded in another massive orgasm. The vaginal probe started anew, and she cried tears of frustration as she tried to make it through again. With indescribable effort, she managed to hold still as the ticklish probes traced her inside and out. The arousal, too, built up again, bigger even than before, and she desperately tried to hold it at bay. She held out longer than she thought possible, but finally the probe touched her clit and even a fraction of a second of stimulation was enough to make her lose it. The tickling alone was the worst she had ever experienced and it almost immediately brought forth another powerful orgasm. Once again, the scan of her genitals restarted. Although spent and weakened, she made it through nearly the whole vaginal scan. Again, though, right as it neared its end, barely a touch to her clit was enough to make her cum explosively. She screamed in frustration as the vaginal scan started over and summoned every ounce of willpower she could muster. It wasn’t enough. Again, she held on with everything she had, but once the probe landed directly on her clit, it was simply too much and she again shuddered uncontrollably in orgasm. Again and again it happened until she was utterly lost in madness and desperation, babbling incoherently through her gag, pleading futilely with Dr. Drake. Mercifully, Cynthia’s own body eventually gave out as with one final, fierce orgasm, she passed out. At last, the scan was able to complete on her motionless body.
Dr. Drake shut down the machine and pulled the unconscious Cynthia out of it. She looked benevolently down on the twitching, senseless form. Finally, she summoned the orderlies to have Cynthia removed and deposited back in her room.
Chapter 4: Therapy
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Cynthia woke up some time later on the bed in her suite. She did not know how long she had been out, but her mind was still foggy and her body still trembling from the awful scan. She lay in the bed for a long time, luxuriating from the afterglow of the intense sexual experience and trying to gather her thoughts. Eventually, when she felt her legs could support her, she rolled out of bed and took at long, hot shower. She discovered that the ruined garments the orderlies had torn off her had been replaced and she once again dressed herself for the day. She also found that a hot meal had been left for her through a slot in her door and, realizing she was famished, greedily devoured it. Happy enough to be left alone for a while, she resigned herself to her confinement and settled for what she hoped would be a less eventful day. Indeed, no one came to see her for some time and she ended up spending a quiet day in solitude. The environment was disorienting, with no natural light, no clocks, and, she discovered, no live television or radio. New meals occasionally appeared, silently slid through the slot in the door, but when she called after whoever had left them, she got no answer. She discovered plenty of ways to amuse herself, though, with video games, music, and a large on-demand video library, and passed the day with these before falling asleep on her sofa.
She awoke with a start to see Dr. Drake standing in her living room flanked by the two hated orderlies. The doctor smiled warmly.
“I’m glad you’re finally up, sleepyhead,” the doctor said as if they were close friends. “I’ve got a wonderful surprise for you. Please come with us and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Cynthia glared at the doctor quietly and kept her place.
“Now, now,” the doctor gently admonished, “we’ve got a big day ahead of us and you don’t want to start it on the wrong foot. Come along, Cynthia.”
Cynthia held her ground. At a nod from the doctor, the two orderlies moved towards her. Leaping up, Cynthia shrieked, “Stay the hell away from me, you crazy bitches! When my dad finds out what you’ve done, you sick fucks are going to prison for the rest of your fucking lives!”
The orderlies were undeterred. They moved forward, placing firm hands on the furious young blond. She struggled but they were far too strong for her.
“Such language, young lady.” Dr. Drake cautioned mildly. “Your father wants me to help you get well and he’ll be very happy once he sees how much you’ve improved. Now, I know it can be difficult to get used to a new environment, but we do have work to do so you’ll just have to come with me.”
The girl tried to plant her feet, but the two orderlies simply lifted her off the ground and carried her out of the room and down the hallway, following a few paces behind the doctor. Cynthia struggled mightily, threatening and cursing the doctor, the orderlies, and anyone else who might be within earshot but it did not slow the procession in the slightest. Eventually, the doctor opened the door to another room and the orderlies carried Cynthia inside. The room was white and sterile-looking like the rest of the place, with a few undistinguished cabinets, a sink, and some standard medical equipment. It looked much like any doctor’s exam room, except for one very strange object in the center of the room. If she had to describe it, Cynthia would have said that it looked like a black plastic robot resting on its back on a pedestal a few feet off the floor, its arms and legs spread-eagled. Like the machine from the previous day, it was attached to some sort of computer console. The robot-thing itself was motionless. On closer inspection, the thing seemed to be made up of dozens of interlocking panels covering every bit of its surface. Dr. Drake gestured to it proudly.
“This,” she said proudly, “is just for you. I call it a Couch. It’s my own take on the old psychiatrist’s couch, but it’s so much more. I have one built specially for each of my patients. The frame of this one was custom-fabricated from your body scan to make it a perfect fit, just for you.”
Cynthia couldn’t understand what the doctor meant by this until the doctor flipped some latches and lifted the front half of the thing off on a hinge. Inside, the robot thing was mostly hollow, coated all around with some sort of foam and, here and there, a few bits of metal of unknown function. Straps were strategically placed at various points around the device. Cynthia realized with horror that she was meant to go inside the thing.
“Fuck, no!” she screamed. “No fucking way are you putting me in that thing! No fucking way!”
Dr. Drake spoke soothingly, “You need to be a big girl, Cynthia. This is necessary for your treatment. I’m sure in time you will learn to appreciate it.”
While Cynthia continued to protest, the orderlies went to work. The stripped her of her clothing and forced her into the frame. One by one the straps were secured until Cynthia was unable to rise out of the device. Dr. Drake ran a hand lovingly across Cynthia’s now immobile forehead while the girl continued to yell and scream.
“You be brave,” she said. “You’ll get used to your therapy in time and then we will get you all better.”
The doctor pushed the front of the device back down, closing the lid on Cynthia. She felt the foam press against her on all sides as the cover slid into place and locked with an audible click. After that, she felt nothing. The foam was soft to the touch, but pressed unyieldingly on every inch of her body. It seemed to be breathable so she did not overheat, but she could not so much as wiggle a finger. Although she could feel foam pressing close around her nose and mouth, her breathing was unobstructed. She stifled a momentary panic she realized that she could hear nothing but her own breath and heartbeat. Aside from this and the firm grip of the foam, the device produced total sensory deprivation.
Cynthia shouted every obscenity she could think of and a few she made up on the spot. Her words echoed in her own ears, but she had no idea if anyone outside could even hear her. Eventually, she settled down and quietly stewed, waiting in anticipation for whatever the crazy doctor had in mind.
After a short while, she heard a click and felt the foam release a bit around her ears. She realized that she could now hear what was going on in the room outside her plastic prison. She was still otherwise completely cut off from the outside world. She heard heavy footsteps outside, fading away and the sound of the door closing. Finally, Dr. Drake spoke.
“I’ve sent Marge and Tess, away, dear,” she said gently. “It’s just you and me now. It’s important for you to know that your therapy sessions are just between you and me. Nothing you say leaves this room. You can be totally honest and open here. Do you trust me?”
“Therapy sessions?!” Cynthia shrieked in disbelief. “Trust you?! Are you totally mental? Let me the hell out of here!”
“We just need to get to know each other,” Dr. Drake said soothingly. “You’ll learn to trust me in time.”
Cynthia heard another click and felt the pressure release under her arms. She felt cool air waft over her armpits and realized the doctor must have opened the panels covering that part of her anatomy. She tugged at her arms with all her strength, but she was still utterly immobile. Although almost her entire body was still encased in the weird woman-shaped prison, she suddenly felt very exposed. What she did not know is that the doctor had also activated one of the Couch’s other hidden devices, a programmable vibrator buried above her crotch. It was so muffled by the Couch as to be inaudible and the doctor had programmed it to come on only very slowly. For the moment, its touch was so faint as to be unnoticeable, although it was very gradually increasing in intensity.
“Now Cynthia,” the doctor said. “Why don’t you tell me about your home life?”
Cynthia was so struck by the incongruity between the doctor’s friendly demeanor and the nightmarish situation in which she found herself that she almost laughed out loud. Instead, she just replied, in her best stuck-up teenage girl voice, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
She was suddenly jolted by the sensation of a touch against her armpits. The doctor had placed one fingernail in each pit and was very slowly dragging each nail up and then back down its respective hollow. Cynthia was very ticklish there but determined not to give the crazy doctor the satisfaction of knowing she was having an effect. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the electric sensations.
“Would it be fair to say that I sensed a bit of tension between you and your mother?” the doctor asked, ignoring the girl’s last remark.
“Go to hell!” Cynthia hissed out between her gritted teeth.
The finger nails slowly going up and down her pits started to move faster. Cynthia was having a harder time keeping control. She could feel laughter building inside her, but forced herself to maintain steady breaths.
“It can be tough when a parent has other priorities,” the doctor said sympathetically. “You want to think that you’re the most important thing in the world to them, but what if you aren’t?”
Cynthia knew she couldn’t open her mouth again without bursting out in laughter. She kept quiet and tried to force it down. Soon, though, the two fingernails in her pits were joined by two more moving in opposite directions and Cynthia lost it. A stream of giggles erupted from her and once it started, she couldn’t stop it.
“It isn’t your fault, you know,” the doctor said. “You feel that she isn’t there for you because you aren’t a good enough daughter. But the fact is that she isn’t there for you because she’s not a good enough mother.”
Cynthia felt anger and tears rising in her. She didn’t want to talk about her mother to anyone and she sure as hell didn’t want to talk about her to this demented psychiatrist. But she couldn’t catch her breath to get a word in edgewise.
“Sto-sto-stop!!!” she tried to yell between her uncontrollable giggles, but more fingers joined in, moving faster and faster. She was going out of her mind but the doctor kept droning on, talking about her family and asking her these inappropriately personal questions. Cynthia twisted and strained every muscle in her body trying to shake free or somehow force her arms to close, but she couldn’t move a millimeter. The laughter poured out of her and she thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen.
“Y-Y-Yes, I ha-ha-hate the fu-fu-fucking bitch!” she finally managed to spit out between fits of giggling. Instantly, the fingers slowed and Cynthia dropped back from total hysteria. As the tickling receded, Cynthia became aware of the building tension in her loins. The vibrator had slowly amped up and with the tickling decreased she became acutely aware of her growing arousal.
“Go on,” the doctor prodded.
Cynthia was back to tittering uncontrollably and distracted by the sexual need starting to demand her attention. When she didn’t respond, the fingers started to pick up the pace.
“She’s always ha-ha-hated me!” she quickly added and again the fingers slowed. “When I was born, I ruined her figure.”
She paused as a stream of titters forced their way out of her throat, before she got them under control and continued: “Then I cramped her style. The nannies cared more about me than that bitch did, but she’d always get jealous and get rid of them when I started to care about them.”
Cynthia paused for a long while. The urgency in her crotch was growing by the second and she could feel a powerful orgasm building. Suddenly, the fingers started to pick up the pace again and ruined the building climax. “Okay, o-o-okay,” she shouted. “She was j-j-jealous of the nannies and w-w-when I got older she was j-j-jealous of me. Everything I tried to do right just made her more jealous. Nothing could please that fucking whore!”
The fingernails and slowed again and the fire in her loins continued building. Cynthia couldn’t stop periodic fits of giggling from the tickling and her pussy felt like it was going to explode.
“But you still can’t help feeling it’s your fault she doesn’t care about you,” the doctor added. “It isn’t your fault.”
“It-ah-it-ah isn’t my fault he-he,” Cynthia repeated, moans now competing with giggles for control of her voice. “It isn’t my f-f-fault.”
In a practiced motion, the doctor used a free elbow to tap a key on the keyboard, kicking the hidden vibrator into high gear. That was all it took to push Cynthia over the edge.
“It isn’t my fault!” she shrieked as an explosive orgasm rocked through her. She screamed like a banshee, her howl dissolving into a frenzied stream of giggles as the orgasm passed and the tickling caught up with her. It felt like every ounce of sensation and emotion within her was pouring out at once in one primal explosion of cathartic emotional release and raw sexual ecstasy. For long minutes afterwards, she was barely aware of her surroundings. She knew the fingers continued to lightly scratch her pits while the vibrator buzzed away on her crotch. She knew there were more orgasms, although not like that first one. She was dimly aware of the doctor’s voice continuing to prompt her and her own voice pouring out her heart in response. But she couldn’t have recalled five minutes later what they talked about. The rest of the therapy session passed by in a haze and she only remembered waking up later back in the bed in her room with no memory of how she got there.
*****
Cynthia learned that these “therapy” sessions were to be a frequent event, and for a while they defined her life in the institution. They could happen at any time. The two despised orderlies might show up when she was sleeping or waking, eating or bathing. Sometimes they would come once a day, sometimes three times or more, and sometimes they would even skip a day or two. Whenever they showed up, they would inform her it was time for a session and, if she felt like struggling, were more than happy to carry her out bodily. Sometimes she fought and cursed them while they dragged her down the hall, strapped her down, and sealed her in the Couch. Others times she went along without protest and resignedly shed her clothes and stepped inside. There was great variety in the sessions, but always intense tickling and mind-blowing orgasms. And somehow, despite her hatred of Dr. Drake, she always ended up pouring out her heart and soul to the doctor like she was her closest confidante.
The doctor liked to vary the routine from session to session to keep the young woman from growing accustomed to her techniques. As Cynthia soon learned, the redhead was a virtuoso at manipulating her, body and soul. For instance, a later session found Cynthia locked into the Couch with panels open to expose her belly and crotch. Dr. Drake set to work like she was conducting a symphony. First one finger on her left hand lightly drew circles and figure-eights on Cynthia’s taut belly, raising goose bumps across her flesh as the doctor started asking the girl about her relationship with her father. Soon more fingers joined in, light at first then digging and probing, until the young woman was howling with laughter. As the questions grew more personal, the doctor’s right hand began lightly tracing around the folds of Cynthia’s labia, starting to ignite a fire in her libido through the haze of laughter. As Cynthia gasped out answers to the doctor’s questions between guffaws, the right hand grew more intimate, alternating between deep probes into the girl’s now glistening slit and light tickles to the surface of her mound. By the time the session was fully underway, Cynthia was babbling incoherently. A concert pianist could not have been any more dexterous than the doctor. She had her right middle finger buried in the girl’s snatch, the tip of the finger firmly rubbing back and forth over Cynthia’s G-spot. Her right thumb massaged circles around Cynthia’s clit, while the other three fingers teased in and out of her swollen lips. Meanwhile, her left middle finger dug deeply into the girl’s belly button while her left thumb lightly stroked along her bikini line and three more fingers scratched and probed the belly flesh in between. Her hands worked the girl’s body into a moaning, grunting, laughing frenzy while the doctor’s soothing voice whispered gentle encouragement in Cynthia’s ear. As Cynthia’s babbling coalesced into an epiphany about her need for male attention, the doctor brought Cynthia’s body to its own peak as she exploded into a screaming, squirting, giggling climax that seemed to stretch on for hours before leaving her totally drained. As she lay tittering and panting in the afterglow, Cynthia could feel the doctor’s hands stroking her exposed flesh protectively as she continued whispering encouraging words in Cynthia’s ear about what a good girl she was. For a few minutes, Cynthia was content to luxuriate in the feeling of being warm, safe, and loved.
*****
The doctor was not above bringing a few toys into the mix, some of her own design. Another session in the Couch for Cynthia began with the sensation of her crotch being exposed. Something teased at the edge of her lips and soon slid inside her. The doctor did not even need lube; Cynthia, much to her embarrassment, had reached the point that she would start getting wet as soon as the two orderlies showed up and mentioned “therapy.” By the time they closed the lid of the Couch and sealed her inside, she would be absolutely soaking. After the unknown device was inserted, Cynthia could feel the crotch plate press shut again, and, a short while later, other panels open up on her feet. The plastic prison still held her feet firmly in place and the toes bent back, but the soles were fully exposed. As the doctor started up a conversation with the young woman about her difficulty forming deep friendships, she scratched her nails lightly along the immobilized soles. Fingernails were soon replaced by the soft tendrils of a pair of feathers and then by the hard tips on the feathers’ bases. As the girl went from soft giggles to hearty belly laughs, she realized that the device buried in her pussy was rocking back and forth rhythmically, banging against her G-spot with every motion. Like a benwa ball, it had a carefully calibrated weight inside to translate the girl’s involuntary shaking into a regular, erotic drumbeat inside her. As the conversation continued and Cynthia’s arousal built, the doctor dropped the feathers and switched to two mini-vibrators pressed into the girl’s feet. She traced them up and down the arch, around the balls of the feet, and over the base of the toes, pausing to dig deep whenever she hit a particularly sensitive spot. Externally, the frantic girl could not move an inch, but her insides were shaking uncontrollably and translating every quiver into more vigorous action by the vaginal probe. Cynthia was going out of her mind with laughter, trying to squeeze out a few gasping words about her personal life to get the doctor to ease up. The tickling was so intense she was reduced to silent laughter, invisibly mouthing answers to the doctor’s deeply personal questions between pleas for mercy. The vaginal probe was relentless, though, and she could feel the orgasm build to a crescendo and finally burst through her, once again leaving her as much at the doctor’s mercy emotionally as she was physically as the brutal session continued.
*****
So it was for Cynthia over the weeks and eventually months she spent in the institution. She learned a great deal about herself: physical insights into the many ticklish spots that seemed to cover her body and the numerous ways she could apparently be brought to a screaming orgasm, as well as emotional insights into the roots of her rage and antisocial behavior. She could not deny that the therapy was having an effect on her. Before she entered the institution, she could not remember a time when she wasn’t angry and depressed. She went through life in a perpetual snit, taking it out on everyone around her. Now, while a part of her still felt that she should be angry --- at her life, at her parents, at society in general --- in her heart she didn’t really feel it anymore. She could not say if it was finally being forced to confide all her pains and bear her soul to Dr. Drake under the duress of the therapy sessions or just a chemical side-effect of the hours of maniacal laughter and dozens of mind-shattering orgasms. Somehow, though, the hurt inside her was muted and a persistent euphoria was taking its place. She felt almost giddy all the time now and would sometimes catch herself smiling for no reason or even giggling to herself like a little schoolgirl. She would instantly clamp down on it when she caught herself, suddenly furious at how her emotions being manipulated, but at the same time she knew that the manipulation was working.
Chapter 5: Crime and Punishment
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As she grew accustomed to the bizarre therapy sessions, Cynthia was gradually introduced to other aspects of her treatment. As she soon learned, the doctor’s care did not always end in pleasure.
Cynthia knew the rules were changing one day when Dr. Drake showed up at her apartment flanked by the orderlies Marge and Tess, and handed Cynthia a thick paper packet and a blunt pencil. Puzzled, the girl looked down at the packet and saw a box for her name and bold letters spelling out “Comprehensive Placement Exam” on the cover. The doctor spoke:
“Cynthia,” she began. “I am so glad your therapy is proceeding nicely, but now that you’re getting settled in we need to start attending to the rest of your personal development. You are, after all, a young woman at an age when most of your peers are going to be heading off to college. And frankly, your academic records tell me that you have not taken your studies seriously. We will need to remedy that.”
The girl could not believe what she was hearing. Now this demented dominatrix was going to make her do homework? Despite all the humiliating tickling and sexual stimulation she had suffered, this somehow struck Cynthia as the most perverse thing the doctor had ever said. She fixed Dr. Drake with an angry, disbelieving stare.
The doctor continued: “We’ll be arranging a personal tutor and an education program designed to make up for lost time. You’re a very smart girl, you know, and I’m sure in no time we’ll have you back on track. We will need to figure out exactly where you stand right now, though. School records can be so imprecise. If you’ll just take this exam, that should tell us what we need to know to get you started.”
The girl continued to stare at the doctor in disbelief and muted fury. The doctor smiled back at her serenely.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” the redhead finally added. “It shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Have fun!”
The doctor spun on her heels and walked out of the room, the orderlies close behind her. The door shut and locked behind them. Cynthia, meanwhile, was fuming. She finally sat down at a little table in the suite and leafed through the exam. It was pages upon pages of questions that looked like they’d been pulled from dozens of different high school classes: math, English, science, social studies, and others she could not even identify.
“Is she fucking kidding?!” Cynthia demanded out loud. Finally, she turned back to the front page, took the pencil she had been handed, and carefully filled in the name field: “Fuck. You.” Then she crumpled up the packet and tossed it at the door before settling down to an afternoon of television.
Some hours later, the doctor and the orderlies returned. The doctor saw the crumpled booklet on the floor, picked it up, smoothed it out, and leafed through the empty pages. She looked at the obscenity on the front page and shook her head slowly in apparent disappointment. “Tsk, tsk,” she muttered, like a disapproving schoolmarm. She nodded silently to the two orderlies then walked out of the room without another word.
The orderlies moved to the young girl, who was on her sofa studiously ignoring them. They grabbed her and hauled her to her feet by her arms then dragged her from the room.
“Another therapy session?” Cynthia asked nonchalantly, but the two large women ignored her except for a couple of sly grins.
Soon Cynthia had been stripped, forced into the Couch, and strapped down securely. She realized something was different this time when one of the orderlies grabbed her jaw and roughly forced it open while the other produced some kind of object from her uniform and forced it between the girl’s teeth. It seemed to be made of the same foam that lined the Couch, soft but unyielding. It expanded to fill her mouth, forcing her tongue down to its floor and filling the space behind her teeth so she couldn’t force it out. Cynthia realized it was a gag and had left her totally mute. She tried to protest but could get nothing out. The orderlies gave her straps a final check and closed the lid sealing her inside. The Couch, by design, had always made her feel helpless, but somehow the additional step of securely gagging her seemed to double the feeling of helplessness. She couldn’t move, see, hear, or make a sound. Powerless to do otherwise, she lay perfectly still in terrible anticipation of what the twisted doctor had in mind this time.
Eventually, the pressure on her ears released a bit and she could hear the doctor address her. Cynthia had worked herself into a panic and was expecting anger and threats from the doctor for her defiance. Instead, the doctor addressed her like a parent looking at a bad report card: not angry but disappointed at a bright child who could be doing better. The doctor calmly expressed her regret that Cynthia did not appreciate how they were trying to help her mature as an individual. Cynthia felt the catches release around her underarms and the cool air of the room blow across her pits. Soon she felt the doctor’s fingers in her underarms, with light scratches rapidly building into a furious spidering of five fingers in each pit. It took only seconds for Cynthia to lose it. She tried madly to shake free of the Couch, but to no avail. Her pits remained completely immobile and exposed, the doctor’s fingers working them over furiously without pause. Normally, Cynthia could plead for mercy, even if it fell on deaf ears, or she could get the doctor to ease up a little by opening up to her emotionally. Now, both options were closed to her and it somehow made the tickling seem a hundred times worse. She tried to beg and scream into the gag but nothing came out. Inside, her lungs felt like they were bursting from frantic laughter. From outside the Couch, though, the only hint there was a living being inside was the subtle quiver of flesh on the exposed pits as the doctor continued to work them without mercy. For over an hour, the doctor continued, sometimes digging and sometimes stroking, sometimes faster and sometimes slower, but never letting up for a second. The girl lost all sense of rational thought. At the edge of her senses, the doctor’s gentle admonitions continued to play in her ears. The doctor softly chided her about the importance of thinking of her future, the value of a well-rounded education, and the existential pleasures of a rich intellectual life. She expressed confidence about what a bright girl Cynthia was and how well she could do if she would just apply herself. And all the while, she kept those fingers dancing in Cynthia’s defense underarms, driving her into utter madness. Finally, the doctor slowed and then stopped her ministrations. The girl was an absolute wreck, her mind in tatters and her body continuing to tremble uncontrollably within the Couch.
“I do hope you take our little discussion to heart,” said the doctor mildly as the broken Cynthia heard the doctor’s high heels click away across the floor.
Eventually, the orderlies showed up, released her, carried her limp and quivering body back to her room, and deposited her on her bed. She curled into a ball and fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke, she found that a fresh copy of the placement exam was sitting on the little table in her suite. She stared at it for a long while in anger and humiliation. Then she sat down at the table, picked up the pencil, and got to work.
*****
Over time, more enrichment activities began to be added to Cynthia’s day. Pretty soon, she was meeting each day with a private tutor to go over homework and plan out her lessons, a personal trainer who would coach her through a demanding physical fitness program, a “charm coach” who guided her on everything from how to eat in a fine restaurant to how to dance at a formal ball, and, most humiliatingly, a “life coach” who trained her in how to be a self-sufficient adult. All were attractive women, ranging in age from the perky blonde fitness trainer, who seemed to be about Cynthia’s own age, to a matronly fifty-something brunette who was her charm coach. The orderlies would force Cynthia to dress up in special outfits chosen for each of these encounters: a sexy schoolgirl outfit for meetings with the tutor; a sports bra, short pleated skirt (sans underwear), and track shoes for the trainer; a demure miniskirt, see-through blouse, nylons, and high heels for the charm coach; and a revealing French maid outfit for the life coach. It made Cynthia feel like an X-rated Barbie doll. The sessions themselves, however, were completely professional. The various coaches kept absolutely emotionally distant and refused to so much as engage in polite pleasantries with Cynthia. Furthermore, their lessons always occurred under the watchful eye of a series of security cameras, so Cynthia could never know if she was alone with them. A bad report from any of the trainers brought punishment from Dr. Drake. It could be mild for a small offense, such as a half hour of soft feathers on her feet for a disappointing daily run on the treadmill. More severe infractions, such as open defiance, could bring harsh discipline. As Cynthia learned, the doctor could be as creative in her punishments as she was in her therapy sessions.
In one instance, Cynthia showed up for charm school with her blouse improperly buttoned. The annoyed charm coach reprimanded Cynthia for her slovenliness and moved to unbutton and rebutton Cynthia’s blouse for her. Of course, Cynthia had nothing under the blouse and soon her large, firm breasts were exposed to the coach. Despite all the forced nudity she had endured in front of Dr. Drake and the two orderlies, the humiliation of being exposed to yet another stranger fueled a sudden burst of rage in her. She angrily shoved the charm coach away, leaving her sprawling on the floor. In seconds, Marge and Tess were in the room and had wrestled Cynthia to the ground. Soon after, the doctor rushed in and apologized profusely to the stunned older woman. Cynthia was promptly dragged away, stripped, and sealed, fully gagged into the Couch to await the doctor’s response.
Cynthia blushed in embarrassment as she felt the front of the Couch release and felt cool air on her breasts as they alone were set free from the Couch. The doctor’s gentle voice again showed no hint of anger as it lectured Cynthia on the importance of showing proper respect to those who were there to help her. She was genuinely confused as she felt feather-light touches on her exposed breasts from a pair of soft brushes the doctor held in her hands. She wondered if this was to be a more pleasant experience than the sheer torture of her usual punishment sessions. Her sense of alarm faded and her arousal grew as the brushes delicately played over her rapidly hardening nipples. The doctor continued to lightly chide the girl as she began to moan and drool into her gag from the pleasurable teasing of her nipples.
In time, though, it began to dawn on Cynthia that this was not going to be the fun time it had seemed at first. The light touches were enough to warm her up, but too little to get her off. And the sensation in her nipples began to turn from a delicious tingle into a maddening tickle that slowly built within her heavy breasts. Within a few minutes, Cynthia found that the once-pleasant nipple stimulation had become torment. Her libido was raging and she realized that desperately wanted to cum, but the light touches of the brushes were not enough to push her over the edge. She tried to wiggle her crotch against the apparatus but she had no room to maneuver and could not get any sensation there. At the same time, the tickling seemed to grow more intense by the minute. All the while, the doctor continued to chide her about the need to consider how her poor coach must have felt to be treated so rudely. By the fifteen minute mark, Cynthia was going crazy. She was trying frantically to shake herself free or even just move her breasts an inch to give her tormented nipples a moment’s respite from the maddening brushes. There was nothing she could do, though, and the brushes continued to tickle and tease her swollen nipples relentlessly. By the half hour mark, she was completely out of her mind. If she could have gotten an arm free, she would have torn her nipples right off her body rather than endure another second of the horrible stimulation from the damnable brushes. Still it continued, though, along with the doctor’s remonstrations. Cynthia screamed soundlessly into her gag while tears of frustration flowed from her eyes. She couldn’t believe her nipples could be so ticklish or that she could ever be so horny. She silently begged for mercy, unsure if she wanted the doctor to stop or to increase the intensity enough to get her off. By the time an hour had passed, the girl was simply a deranged mess of animal instinct, frantic to escape the tickling and satisfy her urgent need to cum. After ninety minutes, the doctor finally stopped and, with some last expressions of mild disappointment, left the girl to stew. She lay trapped motionless in the Couch for some long minutes, greatly relieved by the end of the tickling but still hornier than she had ever been in her life. She strained madly at her bonds, knowing it was futile but unable to stop struggling. When the orderlies finally appeared and released her, her libido was still raging. Cynthia was beyond embarrassment and as soon as she had an arm free, it flew madly to her pussy. The orderlies laughed at the girl’s plight and pulled her arm away right before she could push herself over the edge. She wept tears of frustration but they were too strong for her. Finally, they wrestled her free and carried her back to her room, keeping her from frigging herself until they got her inside. The dropped her on all fours just inside her door. Cynthia did not even wait for the door to close behind them before she got back to masturbating, furiously rubbing her pussy while she grunted like a wild animal until she finally got her release.
*****
Another incident arose from her “life coaching.” The coach, a Ms. Swisher, was a tall, slim, severe-looking woman who dressed in a non-nonsense pantsuit and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. She wore her shoulder-length black hair tied down in a severe bun. It struck Cynthia that Ms. Swisher had some of the same mad dominatrix vibe to her as Dr. Drake. Her lessons to petulant blond, herself dressed in the demeaning French maid outfit, had always been particularly galling to her. She taught Cynthia everything from how to cook a meal or run a dishwasher to how to dress a wound or change a flat tire. As far as Cynthia was concerned, these tasks were servants’ work, absolutely beneath her. Afraid of Dr. Drake’s wrath, though, she reluctantly followed through. One day, though, after their normal lessons, Ms. Swisher announced that she was going to inspect Cynthia’s little private suite. The sullen girl was forced to escort the prim woman back to her room, the orderlies along to keep a watchful eye on them. Once inside, Ms. Swisher made no attempt to hide her disgust at what she saw: bed unmade, dirty dishes everywhere, filthy bathroom sink, and a toilet in urgent need of a thorough scrubbing. She told Cynthia in no uncertain terms that her slovenly behavior might be tolerated in a moody tween, but it was unacceptable for a grown woman. She added that she would be back the next day and expected to see the dishes cleaned and put away, the furniture dusted, and the bathroom thoroughly cleaned, then left in a huff.
Cynthia had never been asked to clean up after herself before. All her life, she was surrounded by maids who scurried around, usually invisible to her, making sure these things got done. Cynthia had already been reluctantly forced to learn to do some of the things the maids had always done for her, but scrubbing toilets was a step too far. She flatly refused to do it. She decided she was making a stand and that was that, and spent the night in a snit going out of her way to avoid lifting a finger for anything that might qualify as tidying up. The next morning, the orderlies showed up with Ms. Swisher and the stern life coach entered the room. Her jaw dropped open in shock at the disobedience, while the young blond planted her feet and stared back at the brunette in defiance.
“I was told this one was ready to be educated,” the coach snapped at the orderlies with a snort of disdain. “You will need to see to this.”
The life coach then marched out of the room without another word. The orderlies sighed heavily and exchanged exasperated glances. They then moved to the angry blonde, still petulantly making her stand in the middle of the room, and carried her off for her punishment. After she was secured and gagged in the Couch, she waited a long time in total sensory deprivation. Only Dr. Drake was allowed to carry out her punishments and the doctor was evidently otherwise occupied. Cynthia tried to keep her anger at a fever pitch to steel herself for whatever was to come, but in the absolute nothingness of the Couch, it was hard to keep anger from turning into apprehension. Finally, she was allowed to hear again as the pressure released on her ears. She was greeted by the pained voice of Dr. Drake:
“Really, Cynthia, what will I do with you?” she began. “Poor Ms. Swisher is just trying to help you become the confident, independent young woman we both know you can be. And this is how you treat her? I had to spend ten minutes just reassuring her that you can act like a big girl. Honestly, if you can mess up a toilet you can certainly clean it. They say some people think their shit doesn’t stink, but I know you are too bright to really believe that.”
Cynthia felt a panel beneath her slide open. She could feel the pressure come away from her butt as it was exposed to the world. It was a strange and disconcerting feeling to be completely bound and surrounded by the firm pressure of the Couch except for her ass hanging loose below her.
“You’ve got a butt, just like everyone else,” said the doctor, running her long fingernails tantalizingly across the cheeks and raising goose bumps on the firm flesh. “You’ve got a butthole just like everyone else’s.”
With that, an unwanted finger probed her backside, causing the girl to clench involuntarily. The finger withdrew but returned again moments later, lubricated. The doctor wormed it into the girl’s backside, wiggling it around in a way that tickled terribly.
“You can’t expect to continue to be treated like a two-year-old, waiting for others to clean up after you every time you use this thing.”
She punctuated the statement with a sharp wiggle, causing Cynthia to gasp. The finger withdrew and began scratching around Cynthia’s butthole. It tickled horribly. Soon another hand joined in. As the doctor continued scolding the young woman for her misbehavior, the tickle torture stepped up its intensity. Cynthia had never experienced a prolonged butt tickling before and found it maddening. Just a little scratching on her hole would have her eyes practically bugging out of her head but the doctor would just keep it up until she was screaming into her gag. The torment of her anus was punctuated by light scratches on her cheeks that sent shivers across her body and sudden pokes and gooses that would have her jumping in her bonds and reddening in humiliation. A half an hour of this treatment left the girl a quivering wreck. Finally the hands withdrew and the doctor fell silent. Cynthia was relieved to think it was over. About thirty seconds later, though, she heard an unfamiliar whining noise and was suddenly hit by an indescribable sensation. The doctor had thrust a sonic toothbrush onto her rectum. Cynthia would have jumped out of her skin if the Couch hadn’t held her firmly in place. The doctor resumed her remonstrations, chiding the young woman about the need to start acting like an adult as she thoroughly probed the puckered anus with the horribly ticklish toothbrush. Cynthia shook like a madwoman in her bonds. She tried clenching her cheeks and forced a momentary reprieve, but the doctor merely inserted some kind of spreader to force the cheeks apart again and open up Cynthia’s butthole before resuming her ministrations. It was worse than ever now, as the doctor slowly probed every inch of Cynthia’s crack, outside and for a good couple of inches in. Cynthia howled noiselessly into her gag as the torment stretched on, the doctor gently rebuking her the whole time and urging her to try to do better.
When the quivering mess of a young woman was finally removed from the Couch an hour later, still naked and matted with sweat, she found herself deposited unceremoniously on her bathroom floor. A scrub brush, a bucket of hot water, and some cleaning fluid was already waiting for her. The trembling girl pushed herself up on her hands and knees with great effort, picked up the scrub brush, and scrubbed with every ounce of strength she had left.
*****
Cynthia also learned that the orderlies, Marge and Tess, had their own forms of punishment when the need arose. She had figured out pretty quickly that they were not really allowed to hurt her. She had seen them get harshly chewed out by Dr. Drake after Cynthia managed to get a nasty bump on her head when she struggled free of the orderlies’ grips while they were transporting her. And she knew that the doctor reserved tickling and sexual stimulation solely for herself. In any event, Cynthia viewed the orderlies as servants and her upbringing had taught her to think of “the help” as beneath her, barely human and of no more significance than a household appliance. She let that attitude get the better of her one day when they came to fetch her for therapy while she was in a particularly sour mood. This was one of those days when she struggled and cursed with every fiber of her being while they practically carried her to the room. This time, though, she uncharacteristically managed to break free of their grip just long enough to twist around and bite Marge on the arm hard enough to draw blood. Cynthia knew she had gone too far, and cowered as the massive and now furious woman looked for a moment like she was going to beat the young blond senseless. Tess held her partner back and whispered something in her ear, though, and Marge calmed down, a cryptic smile crossing her face. The two orderlies then picked Cynthia up as if nothing had happened and the rest of her therapy session proceeded normally, or at least as normally as it ever did.
Cynthia assumed that was the end of that until her next punishment session. It was a minor offense, getting a poor grade on a math quiz, and she knew the doctor would not be too harsh. The orderlies seemed in unusually high spirits as they strapped her into the Couch and inserted the gag. Cynthia could sense something wasn’t quite right but didn’t really know until the orderlies closed the lid of the Couch on her and sealed it up. She could instantly feel a difference in the foam cover over her crotch. Instead of the usual soft touch of the foam, it was cold and wet. She could feel some sort of gel squash into her privates as the lid tightened on her, but didn’t know what it meant. She soon got a hint when she felt her pussy starting to tingle. The tingle morphed into an itching, which quickly became more and more intense. Cynthia started to struggle and try to yell against the gag, but as usual, she couldn’t move or get a word out. The itching continued to grow, rapidly becoming unbearable. She desperately struggled in her bondage, trying to get an arm free to scratch at her now terribly itchy genitals or even just a little movement to rub them against the soft foam. She was able to do nothing, though, and could only lie still in torment.
Eventually, the doctor entered for what she seemed to consider a routine session of discipline. Cynthia heard the click of opening panels and could feel cool air on the soles of her feet. It was to be a foot tickling session. The doctor began her usual practice of lightly chastising the girl with exhortations of how much better she could be doing. While she spoke, she began to slowly run soft feathers up and down the girl’s soles. Ordinarily, this would be a pretty minor penalty, enough to reduce her to girlish giggling but not much more. This time, though, it was absolute torture. Cynthia tried desperately to force the horrible itching from her mind, but the light tickling made it impossible to concentrate. No matter how she tried to will herself to imagine she was somewhere else, the tickling on her feet would snap her mind back involuntarily to the sensations of her body and then to the awful itching in her crotch. She struggled madly to try to move or alert the doctor that something was wrong, but she was totally helpless. The session continued for perhaps an hour, the frantic young women going crazy in her bondage. She silently begged and pleaded for the doctor to finish so she could get free and do something about the fierce itching that was driving her mad.
At long last, the session was done. Cynthia heard the two orderlies tell the doctor that they would release Cynthia and get her back to her room, followed by the doctor’s high heels clicking on the floor as she left the room, and the door closing behind her. Finally, the lid of the Couch rose and she saw through tear-reddened eyes the two orderlies smiling down on her.
“Something wrong, miss?” Marge asked sweetly, an evil smirk on her face. The girl tried to plead with her eyes for mercy.
“I think something is wrong, Marge,” said Tess. “Look how red that poor little pussy is. I bet a cool damp cloth would feel so good down there, wouldn’t it?”
She moistened a towel in the sink and brought it near Cynthia’s crotch. If Cynthia had been able to speak, she would have begged them for even a single drop of water to wash away the awful itching gel that had been placed for her.
“Now hold on there, Tess,” said Marge. “You know we aren’t allowed to touch her down there.”
“Oops,” said Tess, withdrawing the damp towel and tossing it away. “Right you are.”
Cynthia was going absolutely frantic, straining at her bonds, while the two orderlies just stood and laughed at her. They probably kept her waiting only a few minutes more, although it seemed like an eternity. Finally, after a warning of what would happen if she tried to tattle on them, they retrieved the towel, wiped away the gel, and released the hysterical girl. She immediately fell to furiously rubbing her crotch with the towel while they laughed some more. Before she could rub herself raw, they grabbed hold of her arms and dragged her back to her room, where she immediately launched herself into the shower to scrub away the last remnants of the gel. At last, the maddening itching was gone, but it had left her pussy horribly sensitive. Every touch sent electric shivers through her body. Before she knew it, Cynthia’s cleaning had turned into an intense hour-long masturbation session. Finally, humiliated and exhausted, she crawled to her bed and collapsed into sleep. She still sometimes struggled with the orderlies after that, but she never tried to hurt one of them again and never again saw them as beneath her.
*****
The worst punishment she ever experienced, though, came when she decided to risk trusting one of her handlers. She had been cut off from any outside contact since she had been committed. In the disorienting timelessness of the institution, she could not be sure how long she had been there but she knew it must have been a few months at that point. She had despaired of finding any way to reach her parents and didn’t dare appeal to the hated orderlies for help. She saw no other human beings except her various coaches and concluded that she had no choice to trust one of them. She decided on the perky young fitness coach, Tammy, who seemed in many ways so similar to Cynthia herself. Sure, Tammy could be a tyrant in her own way, but Cynthia was sure she would have some pity for a fellow pretty, young blonde if she just knew what was going on. Cynthia had been extremely careful to secret away a little scrap of paper, furtively torn from an inner page of one of her textbooks when she was sure it would not be noticed. She had found opportunity to write a note explaining her plight and pleading for help, carefully shielding her actions from any hidden cameras she might not have noticed. She managed to subtly hide the paper in an orifice she hoped would go unsearched and, during one of her fitness training sessions, discretely retrieve it and slip it into the trainer’s pocket while pretending to lose her balance after a hard workout. She silently prayed that the trainer would discover the note and go to the authorities. After the workout, Cynthia was returned to her room and waited breathlessly to see if she had won her salvation.
Cynthia never learned how she was betrayed. Maybe she had been caught by some unseen camera after all. Maybe the doctor found the note before Tammy did. Or perhaps her trust in Tammy was totally misplaced. She never saw Tammy again, as the perky young trainer was replaced with a hard-assed female body-builder who drove Cynthia mercilessly. All Cynthia knew was that the orderlies soon showed up at her door and dragged her off without warning to the Couch. Even those two heartless thugs looked scared and a bit sympathetic as they did it. Cynthia knew, as they gagged her and sealed her in, that she was in serious trouble.
When the doctor finally showed up, she kept up the same tone of disappointment without a hint of anger that she always reserved for her punishment sessions. The tickling, though, was beyond anything Cynthia had ever experienced. First, she found her ears exposed. She knew in the abstract that she had some ticklish spots around her ears but never really thought about them as one of her main tickle zones. She was surprised and horrified to learn that just two fingernails, delicately scratching behind her ears in just the right spots, could have her pissing herself in under two minutes. While she stripped the girl of any vestige of self-control, the doctor calmly shared how hurt she was that Cynthia did not yet trust her. The horrible tickling continued as one after another panels closed and opened and a few well-placed fingers reduced her to jelly in seconds. Ears, nose, lips, cheeks, neck, collarbones, elbows, the base of the ribs, a dozen secret pressure points hidden along her abdomen, the base of the spine, perineum, hips (inside and out), knees (above and below), ankles, calves: the tickling carefully steered clear of what she always thought were her worst zones, but in the doctor’s skillful hands, it did not matter. Cynthia was in absolute torment, going out of her mind. If she could have gotten a word out, she would have offered anything to get it to stop. She would have agreed to do everything the doctor said and be her helpless tickle slave for the rest of her life if the doctor would just let her go this one time. She could not utter a word though, and the doctor did not stop. Cynthia was sure she would pass out from the intensity of it, but the doctor knew what she was doing at kept a careful eye on Cynthia’s vital signs making sure she was pushed to her edge but never quite beyond it. The doctor kept Cynthia there for almost four hours, the hysterical girl lost in madness. All the while, the doctor continued to drone on about how much she cared for Cynthia and wanted to make her well and how important it was for Cynthia to trust her and let the process work. The girl madly wished she could just speak to Dr. Drake, agree with her, and reassure her that she would be a good girl and never, ever question the doctor’s methods again. She could not, though, and just silently descended into madness.
When the exhausted and utterly broken young woman was finally returned to her room, she curled into a ball and slept for the next twelve hours. She knew in her heart from then on that there was no one she could trust to help her and no route to salvation except through Dr. Drake.
Chapter 6: Epilogue
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As the months passed, Cynthia fell into a resigned acceptance of her situation. Therapy sessions continued about once a day, always a mix of torturous tickling, mind-blowing sexual ecstasy, and deep heartfelt talks about her hopes, fears, and desires. She came to view these sessions with an almost giddy anticipation and no longer needed much prompting to pour her heart out to Dr. Drake once the more intense tickling got underway. Her coaching progressed rapidly, as she proved a quick study in nearly everything once she was sufficiently motivated. The punishment sessions, with their brutal tickling, made sure she stayed motivated. Soon, severe offenses such as open defiance became unthinkable to Cynthia, but the doctor always seemed to find cause enough to punish her for falling short in some way. The lingering euphoria her early therapy had produced had morphed over time into an all-around feeling of simple contentment. Her constant anger and teen angst, meanwhile, had faded. She could no longer even clearly remember why she had once been so moody. Dr. Drake’s gentle praise had once struck Cynthia as patronizing and infuriating, but now every kind word from the doctor gave her a warm glow inside. High praise from the doctor could immediately leave Cynthia feeling like she was walking on air, not to mention very wet.
Cynthia found she was earning greater privileges as she warmed to the doctor and gained her trust. Before long, she was allowed visitors. It was almost anticlimactic when the doctor finally arranged a face-to-face meeting with her parents, who she had not seen in over sixth months. When she had first been locked up, she had fantasized about killing them for what they had done to her. Now she looked at them and felt no resentment, or much of anything at all for that matter. Cynthia was poised and polite, able to confidently discuss her achievements and listen to her parents tell her about her father’s successful reelection. Her mother tried to gloat over the girl’s confinement, taunting her in her passive-aggressive way, but Cynthia shrugged it off impassively. Cynthia’s mother had always known how to push her buttons and gloried in reminding her daughter who was queen bee of the household. She secretly seethed over being unable to get a rise out of her daughter, but she reluctantly had to admit that the doctor had delivered on her promise of happy, well-adjusted, and well-behaved daughter. Cynthia’s father looked at his little girl and saw a useful prop for future campaigns and maybe even a future television talking head pushing his donors’ agendas. He thanked the doctor for her work before curtly ending the meeting because of an upcoming fundraiser. The doctor made sure to follow up the meeting with a long therapy session for Cynthia, where the doctor’s kind words about how well Cynthia handled the meeting, combined with a skillfully deployed vibrator, left Cynthia feeling very relaxed and contented.
Soon Cynthia was having day trips, first escorted and then on her own. Not long after, she could have overnight trips and then whole weeks away. The doctor knew that Cynthia would always come back for her treatments. In time, Cynthia was transferred to outpatient treatment, moving into her own apartment but showing up every day eagerly to receive her therapy. She continued to work with her tutors and coaches and was soon holding a part-time job and applying for colleges. Armed with some very impressive test scores, not to mention her family’s name and money, she had a lot of options from which to choose and a bright future ahead of her.
*****
A few years, later a beautiful young woman showed up the office of Dr. Amanda Drake. She wore a smart business suit (still in her favored black). Her fetching blond hair hung easily around her smiling face. She did not need to see the doctor every day anymore, but she dearly wished she could. She was eager to tell the doctor that she had just picked a law school at which to continue her studies. Her father was pleased, thinking the accomplished young woman would soon follow him into politics. She had no intention of following in his footsteps, planning instead to become a civil rights lawyer dedicated to helping the poor and powerless, but her parents didn’t need to know that yet. As the poised young woman sauntered confidently into the waiting room, anticipation for her scheduled therapy was getting her panties soaking wet.
She walked up the receptionist and said politely, “Excuse me, Carol, I’m here for my appointment with Dr. Drake.”
“It’s good to see you again, Miss Wilde,” said the receptionist pleasantly. “I am sorry to say that the doctor has had to deal with a sudden urgent matter and it may be a bit of a wait.”
Just then, the doctor’s office door burst open and an adorable young Japanese girl, perhaps eighteen years old, burst through. She was hotly pursued by Marge and Tess, who quickly got the girl under control and wrestled her away and out another door while she screamed in Japanese. Cynthia could not understand a word of it, but she could guess from the girl’s demeanor that whatever she was yelling would make a Japanese sailor blush. The tall, flame-haired doctor strode out of the office followed by an older Japanese couple. Cynthia recognized the man as Hideo Nakashima, a powerful business executive and big donor to her father’s campaigns. Dr. Drake smiled serenely at Cynthia and Cynthia felt her panties melt under the gaze of the doctor’s piercing green eyes.
“I am so sorry, Cynthia,” she said sweetly. “As you can see, I’ve got my hands full right now, but please have a seat and I’ll be with you soon.”
The doctor turned back to the office, reassuring the Japanese couple that everything would be all right with their daughter. Cynthia sat down on the edge of her chair and gripped the armrests tightly.
“Yes, doctor,” she said softly under her breath, the anticipation building a fire in her loins as she waited for the doctor’s return.
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Chapter 1: Admission
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The young woman at the receptionist desk seemed nearly hysterical as she pleaded with the receptionist. Aside from her manic expression, she was a very pretty girl of perhaps twenty years. "It's my turn!" she nearly shrieked. "I have an appointment! The doctor has to see me!"
The receptionist cast a jaded glance down her nose at the girl. "The doctor has had to postpone your appointment. Please have a seat and I'll let you know when she can see you."
"No, no, no!" she pleaded. "It's my turn!"
A tall figure confidently strode up behind the distraught young woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. The talk woman looked like she might be about thirty, her body clearly shapely but obscured by a starched white lab coat and her flaming red hair tied down into a severe bun. The younger woman turned her crazed eyes to the hand on her shoulder and then up the white sleeve to a pair of stern glasses looking down at her. The younger woman instantly fell silent and gazed down at her feet like a bashful schoolgirl.
"Meghan, I'm afraid I need to meet with a new patient right now," the tall redhead said evenly. "I'm terribly sorry that I need to postpone our appointment, but I do hope you can wait a little while longer while I see to her. Is that okay?"
The younger woman flinched like she had been struck. "Yes, doctor," she replied weakly. She seemed rooted to the spot, though, unable to even look up at the tall woman in the lab coat beside her. The older woman removed her hand from the younger ones shoulder and the young woman practically sprinted into the nearest chair. She sat there, her gaze firmly fixed on her feet and her hands gripping the armrests like she was holding on for her life.
The statuesque redhead, seemingly satisfied, turned to a trio who had come in after her. To the left was a portly, middle-aged man, his face fixed in what seemed to be a permanent scowl. Next to him was a thin woman with an expensively coifed blond hairdo. The woman had clearly once been quite stunning but was now well past her prime, using way too much make-up and plastic surgery to try to hold back time. She held the pinched smile and haughty gaze of someone used to looking at everyone around her as her subordinates. A few steps behind them was a younger woman. She was dressed in a trashy black leather outfit, with a black leather jacket over a tight black t-shirt and a hip-hugging leather miniskirt over a pair of sheer black stockings and high leather boots. Her lips and fingernails were painted black. Green highlights showed in her close-cropped blond hair. Beneath the intimidating goth outfit, she was clearly an extraordinarily attractive young woman. If the older blonde gave the appearance of an aging former beauty queen, the younger blonde looked like she could be a beauty queen right now with a change of clothes and attitude. She was loudly chewing some bubble gum and gave the impression of complete disdain for everyone around her.
The redhead spoke to them: "Senator and Mrs. Wilde, Cynthia, my office is just up ahead." Turning to the receptionist, she added, "Carol, please see that we are not disturbed. And make sure Marge and Tess are standing by."
"Yes, doctor," the receptionist responded curtly. The redhead and her three companions walked past the receptionist into an office just behind the reception desk with a door labeled, "Dr. Amanda Drake," which the doctor closed behind her. Inside, Dr. Drake took a seat behind a desk stacked with papers. The walls around her were covered with an impressive array of diplomas, certificates, and awards testifying to her credentials as a leading young psychiatrist. She bid the three to take three seats across the desk from her. The older man plopped into the first seat and the older woman stiffly perched on the second, while the young woman pointedly stood and ignored the proceedings.
"Cynthia," Dr. Drake said to the young woman. "I understand from your parents that you have been having some troubles in school."
The older woman responded for her: "Oh, it's been terrible doctor! The partying. The drinking. The drugs. The boys. I can't count how many times we've had to send the butler to pick her up at the police station. Thank heavens the mayor is a friend or there might have been charges! Can you imagine the scandal?"
The portly man interjected, "As long as she was a minor, I could keep the tabloids away from her. But she's just turned eighteen and I can't keep them silent any longer. I'm up for reelection in six months. I run on a family values platform. I can't have this."
At that moment, the man's cell phone rang and he turned his attention to it, curtly barking orders at someone on the other end. The older blonde picked up the conversation.
"We've given her everything --- fancy cars, expensive clothes, the best schools --- and this is how she repays us! It's not just nice boys she goes for, either. She even shamelessly seduces the help. We've had to have three gardeners and two pool boys deported to keep them from talking."
Finally, the young woman turned her attention to the conversation, addressing the doctor. "Mom's just pissed off that they want to stick it in me now instead of her," she said snidely. "She used to just have to flash a little leg to get Hector's big cock hard. Now he's thinking of me when he's doing her."
The mother shot her daughter an acid look and then reached into her purse to pull out a thick envelope, which she handed across the desk to the doctor. "Doctor, here are the sworn statements you requested from us and the servants about Cynthia’s self-destructive behavior. We made sure they all say what a danger she is to herself. Will this be enough?"
The doctor opened the envelope and skimmed the letters. "Yes, this looks more than adequate. We can process her immediately."
"It pains me so," the mother said with faux regret, "but it seems that the only way we can keep our poor daughter from hurting herself is to have her committed to your care."
The young blonde instantly perked up. "Committed?!" she screamed at the mother. "Oh, hell no! No fucking way, you bitch!"
In an instant, the tempestuous young blond had pulled open the office door, but two very large women dressed as orderlies blocked her way. She tried to force her way past them, but they easily restrained her. She struggled madly, but they held her fast. The doctor calmly addressed the two large women: "Thank you Marge, Tess. Please take poor Cynthia to the exam room and get her prepped. I'll be in once we finish here." The young woman spit out a stream of curses as the two orderlies dragged off through a side door and out of sight. The mother couldn't conceal a small smile as her daughter was dragged away.
The doctor turned her attention back to the older couple. The man was still engrossed in his phone call and seemed indifferent to what had just transpired. The woman piped up with a dramatic flourish, "Oh, doctor, I think you see what a trial it's been for us. I do hope you can give our poor Cynthia the help she needs. We're just at the end of our rope with her."
Dr. Amanda Drake gave a forced smile. She had an extensive file on Cynthia's behavioral problems but she didn't even need to look at it. Two minutes alone with her parents was enough to tell her that Cynthia, like so many of her patients, was simply starved for love and discipline. Amanda knew that she could provide plenty of both.
Dr. Drake hated dealing with people like the Wildes, but it was a necessity. Not so long before, she had been a rising star in academic psychiatry: a faculty position at the best school, a steady stream of patients, a series of extraordinary case studies showing that she could cure patients for whom all of the standard treatments failed. She specialized in young adults, particularly on seemingly intractable cases of depression, anxiety, and antisocial behavior. Her colleagues marveled at her ability to turn the most recalcitrant patients into smiling, productive, accomplished young men and women. Then it all fell apart. As details started to emerge about the nature of her treatments, her department was scandalized. Dr. Drake had tried to reason with them. Her approach worked, she argued. She had the evidence and could prove that she could help people the rest of the psychiatric world had failed. What more was there to say? She couldn't understand how men and women of science could be such prudes. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, though, and her superiors concluded that the whole thing needed to be hushed up. Her position was quietly eliminated, her research program shut down, and she was assured that if she did not go quietly she would end up in prison. And so she had gone into private practice, catering to people like the Wildes: politicians, CEOs, Wall Street bankers, celebrities, heirs and heiresses, i.e., the rich and powerful. She had spent enough time around them to truly despise them, but nowhere else could she find clients self-absorbed enough not to pry into how she was treating their children but still willing to pay her a fortune to do it. She made embarrassments go away for them, and in return they gave her enough money to maintain a secure and very private facility, a staff well enough compensated to guarantee their discretion, enough access to the halls of power to keep anyone from inquiring too closely into her business, and money enough to buy all the expensive equipment she needed for her work. Most importantly, as Dr. Drake saw it, she could help their poor children.
"Yes, Mrs. Wilde," she said. "I am confident I can help your daughter. My staff is processing her into the facility as we speak. It will not happen overnight, but I can give you back a happy, well-adjusted, and obedient daughter. Many in my field rely too much on medications to fix this kind of behavior, but the truth is that our understanding of how pharmaceuticals affect the brain is still primitive. They are too blunt an instrument for the delicate manipulation a case like your daughter requires. Our bodies produce our own drugs, though, completely natural mood regulators that work far more precisely on the human mind and with fewer side effects. My treatment program is all about inducing the body to medicate itself, stimulating it to release endorphins to fight pain, oxytocin to build feelings of social attachment, and..."
The portly man had hung up his phone and abruptly interrupted the doctor. "I am a busy man," he said. "I don't need a lecture on psychiatry. My colleagues tell me you’re discrete and get results. That's all we need to know. Just keep her for at least six months, until the reelection is out of the way. The story we'll float is that we’ve moved her to a private boarding school so the pressures of the campaign won't disrupt her education."
Dr. Drake again forced a smile. "Of course, senator," she said pleasantly. "It is important, though, that she has a tightly controlled social environment until she has acclimated to the program. I will need to insist that she not have any contact with you or any other family or friends until I give the okay. It may be several months before she is ready to be seen. Will that be a problem?"
The senator had taken another phone call, so the wife chimed in. "No, no, not at all," she said sweetly. "In fact, I'm sure we'll be quite busy with the campaign, anyway. You can call my assistant and make an appointment when my dear Cynthia is ready for visitors. I'm afraid the Senator and I must be running along now, but I trust you have everything in hand."
"Absolutely," said the doctor. "I will personally see to her in just a moment. I just need you to sign a few forms and then I can show you the way out."
"No need, doctor," said the older blonde signing the papers spread in front of her. "We can show ourselves out. And thank you so much for giving our poor daughter the help she needs."
The man, still snarling into his phone, led the way out the door followed closely by his wife. As they left the office and the door slid closed behind her, Dr. Amanda Drake's smile vanished. She was deeply troubled but energized by the opportunity to help another unfortunate young soul. She undid the severe hair bun, letting her fiery mane spill over her shoulders, dropped the unnecessary glasses she wore for effect, and shed the professional-looking lab coat for the more fashionable and revealing blouse and mini-skirt she wore underneath. She let herself out through a back door into the secure part of the facility to see to her new patient.
Chapter 2: Getting Acquainted
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Cynthia Wilde found herself seated on an exam table in what seemed to be a non-descript doctor’s office. The only unusual features of the office were the severe medical restraints currently holding her in place on the exam table. A few minutes previously, the two burly orderlies had brought her in, tossed aside her expensive leather jacket, and wordlessly secured her to the table while enduring a stream of threats and obscenities. Then they had left her alone to shout until she was hoarse. Cynthia’s back was pressed against the raised back of the exam table, held in place by a strap under her bosom and another across her waist. A third strap passed through her blond hair and across her forehead, holding her head to the raised back of the table. Leather cuffs held her wrists above her head while still more held her legs in stirrups splayed out to her left and right. Much to the girl’s consternation, the awkward posture caused her short skirt to ride up almost to her waist, exposing her sheer black panties underneath. She had struggled madly with the cuffs, trying to pull her wrists free or get at the releases on the cuffs. No matter how she struggled, though, she could not get loose. Eventually, she slumped in her bonds in resignation, seething at her predicament.
At long last, the Dr. Drake walked into the room. The furious goth girl did not at first recognize the psychiatrist she had met just a few minutes before. Shed of her professional attire, the psychiatrist was simply stunning. Her flaming red hair cascaded around a gorgeous face, and down to a buxom body that looked like it would be at home in a pin-up calendar. With her sheer blouse, Amanda Drake showed off her sizable cleavage, even bigger than Cynthia’s own ample rack. Her short, tight skirt showed off a perfectly toned backside and pair of legs. The doctor’s piercing green eyes locked on Cynthia’s baby blues.
“Hello again, Cynthia,” the doctor said cheerfully. “I do hope Marge and Tess weren’t too rough with you. It’s never an easy thing when a patient needs to be involuntarily committed, but I trust you’ll understand in time that we all just want what’s best for you.”
Finally realizing that this was the same woman who had just ordered her committed to a psychiatric facility, Cynthia flew into a rage. She again pulled madly at her bonds, struggling to get free.
“Let me the fuck out of here you goddamned bitch!” Cynthia screamed in fury. “You can’t treat me like this!”
“Poor Cynthia,” said the doctor soothingly. “I know this is frightening, but it really is for your own good. Your mother told me all about your self-destructive behavior and fits of rage. You need help, before you hurt yourself or someone else. You’re here so you can get that help.”
“I don’t have fucking fits of rage, you fucking cock-sucking whore!” Cynthia spat out. “Let me fucking go!”
The doctor laughed. “Listen to yourself,” she said sweetly. “You’re not being rational. Now you need to take a deep breath and calm down and we can talk about why you’re here.”
“Let me out of these damned cuffs and I’ll calm the fuck down!” the girl snapped back.
“Oh, sweety,” the doctor cooed, “you know I can’t do that. You’re not going anywhere until you get well. Just look at how angry you are. This isn’t healthy. A pretty girl your age should be happy. She should be smiling and laughing sweetly, not shouting and swearing like a sailor on shore leave.”
“Yeah?!” Cynthia challenged. “Would you be fucking smiling if your fucking evil bitch of a mother had you locked up in a mental hospital and strung up like a fucking bondage model? What the fuck am I supposed to be smiling about?”
The doctor pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bound girl. “It may seem impossible now but I promise I can make you better. It’s going to take time, but I promise you can be a sweet, happy girl if you just let me help you.”
The doctor laid a hand reassuringly on the girl’s bound thigh. Cynthia flinched at the touch but couldn’t withdraw.
“You’re not going to make me into some Stepford wife like my damned mother!” the girl retorted. “I don’t care if you hold me her for fifty years. You can’t make me into some smiling plastic bimbo.”
“I bet I can,” the doctor said, a mischievous grin in her eyes. “You don’t believe me that I can make you happy, but I’m willing to bet I can have you smiling and laughing like a little schoolgirl before we even leave this office. In fact, if I can’t, I promise I’ll let you go home right now.”
Sensing a challenge, the girl pursed her lips and fixed the doctor with an angry glare.
“I don’t suppose you like knock-knock jokes,” the doctor started. The girl held her furious gaze.
“That’s okay,” said the doctor. “I wasn’t going to tell any.”
The doctor began to stroke her hand along the bound young woman’s thigh. Cynthia quickly started to feel very uncomfortable, but she was determined not to give the doctor a reaction. The doctor’s touch grew lighter until it was just the tips of her fingers delicately grazing the stocking-clad leg. The dancing fingers rose higher until they were playing over the narrow strip of exposed flesh between the girl’s stockings and her panties.
“It will take time to really cure you,” the doctor said. “But it is important for you to know that there’s hope. That it is possible to see yourself smiling and laughing like a happy, well-adjusted girl should.”
The doctor now had a single fingernail lightly scratching the flesh of the girl’s inner thigh. The sensation was very distracting. She tried to close her legs, but the bonds held firm. Cynthia did not want to admit that she was ticklish or that her inner thighs were a sensitive spot. Still, it was becoming hard to hide the fact that the delicate strokes of the doctor’s finger were having an effect. She bit down on her tongue and tightly pursed her lips.
“You are a strong-willed young woman,” the doctor said. “That’s something to be proud of. But no one can be strong all of the time. We all have weaknesses.”
The doctor at last removed her finger from Cynthia’s inner thigh, prompting a relieved exhalation from the girl. In all of her struggling, though, Cynthia had managed to pull her t-shirt out of her skirt, exposing her belly. The doctor moved her finger up and placed it on the exposed belly and started lightly stroking there. Cynthia again sucked in her breath and bit down on her lip.
“Whatever your vulnerabilities, sooner or later they will come out,” the doctor said.
The doctor’s finger stroked circles around Cynthia’s taut belly while the pretty blond clenched her teeth. With her free hand, the doctor tugged the top of the girl’s skirt down a bit until the top of her panties were exposed. She then lightly traced the finger left and right over the girl’s panty line. Cynthia scrunched her eyes shut in frustration, trying not to give in to the doctor’s touch. Dr. Drake looked the girl deeply in the eyes while she glided the finger up and dug it straight into the girl’s belly button. The girl’s eyes bugged out but she managed to keep her lips pressed tightly shut. She could feel the corners of her mouth involuntarily twitching, though, and fought with all her will to keep them down.
The gorgeous redhead leaned in close to the pretty blond’s head and whispered in her ear: “I think I’m gonna get a smile soon.”
Between the merciless probing of her belly button and the redhead’s soft breath in her ear, it was too much for the blond. The corners of her mouth rose against her will, but just for a second before she forced them back down.
“I think I got a smile, there,” said the redhead accusingly.
“No!” hissed the blond between clenched teeth, afraid that if she let another word out she would simply erupt in laughter.
“No?” said the doctor, mock disappointment in her voice. “Maybe I was mistaken.”
She withdrew her finger from Cynthia’s belly button, prompting another relieved sigh from the pretty goth girl as she let her pent-up breath escape at last.
Then the doctor rose from her chair and repositioned it backwards in front of Cynthia’s bound form, straddling the chair so her face was practically nose-to-nose with Cynthia’s. She reached up and placed one finger on each of Cynthia’s ears and began lightly tracing the curves of the ears. It tickled terribly and the girl once again bit down hard on her lip. The delicate touches on her ears were incredibly distracting, but the restraint across her forehead made it impossible to move away. The girl tried hard to resist, but she could once again feel the corners of her mouth rising against her will. She tried to force them down, but as the doctor keep teasing and tickling the girl’s sensitive ears she could feel them rising higher and higher instead. Before long, the girl was unquestionably sporting a big, wide grin over which she no longer had any control.
“I know I’ve got my smile now,” said the doctor with satisfaction, continuing to tickle the sensitive ears. The blond tried to keep up a menacing glare, but it is very hard to maintain a menacing glare while grinning like an idiot.
“I did say I’d have you smiling and laughing, though, didn’t I?” said the doctor with consternation. “You’re smiling, but you aren’t laughing. Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
The doctor again withdrew her fingers. She moved her chair a couple of feet back then reached up to the girl’s left foot and started unlacing her boot. The girl panicked.
“Get off of me you crazy dyke!” the girl shouted. The doctor just ignored her and tugged off the boot. She then turned to the other foot and started to repeat the process.
“I said get off!” shouted the girl, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Soon both boots were off.
“I promised I’d have you smiling and laughing,” the doctor said mildly. “Now let’s get to the laughing.”
She dug her fingernails into the soles of both feet simultaneously, scratching roughly across the stocking-clad soles. The girl let out a loud gasp, but then sucked in her breath, determined not to laugh. The doctor’s fingers were relentless, though. Cynthia scrunched her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying her best to hold it in. The doctor soon found an especially sensitive spot right below each of Cynthia’s big toes and dug in. It was as if a dam burst inside Cynthia and suddenly a stream of giggles poured out of her. Once it started, she couldn’t get control of it again.
“I told you I could get you laughing,” the doctor gloated while she continued to dig away and the sensitive spots.
Cynthia was laughing out loud now, all self-control now gone. Still, the doctor did not stop. She probed and tickled across every inch of the bound feet, eliciting new heights of hysteria from the helpless girl. Before long, Cynthia had passed into silent laughter, unable to get a breath out. The doctor kept it up until it seemed the girl was on the verge of passing out. Finally, Dr. Drake relented. Cynthia sagged in her bonds and gasped for breath. Her face was bright red and tears ran down her cheeks, carrying cascades of black mascara.
“I’m sorry that was necessary, Cynthia,” said Dr. Drake while the girl continued to draw in rasping breaths. “It is important for you to know, though, that it is possible for you to smile and laugh, like a happy young woman should. As I said, it’s going to take time to really cure you, but I promise that before long it won’t take such extreme measures to get a smile out of you.”
The doctor got up from the chair and went to a drawer, retrieving a set of shears. She came back to the bound blond and started cutting away her T-shirt.
“Wh-wh-what are you doing?” demanded the blond, still barely able to breathe.
“We have special clothing requirements here,” the doctor responded matter-of-factly, “and I’m afraid we can’t let you keep your street clothes. The leather we’ll return when you’re ready to check out, but I’m afraid the rest will simply have to go.”
The girl was too weak to protest as the doctor finished cutting free the black T-shirt, exposing a black satin bra. The doctor then reached down and unzipped the girl’s skirt and shrugged it off and away. She next reached behind the girl and unhooked her bra strap, tossing the bra aside. The blond was humiliated to see her large, firm breasts spill free but couldn’t catch her breath enough to argue. Next, the doctor started to roll the blond’s black stockings down her legs. She took her time, slowly inching them down to the ankles and finally tugging them off Cynthia’s feet and discarding them. Cynthia now wore nothing but the sheer black panties. Finally, the doctor took the shears and cut those off, leaving Cynthia’s neatly trimmed blond mound fully exposed. The redness in Cynthia’s face had been fading, but it now went bright red again in embarrassment. For all her outward sluttiness, Cynthia had always had a shy streak and being fully exposed against her will left her feeling horribly vulnerable. The doctor stepped back to admire her handiwork, slowing casting her glance up and down the naked girl’s body. Cynthia could not help blushing furiously.
“Tess and Marge will be by shortly to show you your new home away from home,” said the doctor. “You may be a little uncomfortable now, but before long, I think you and I will be very, very close.”
The doctor then turned and walked out of the room, leaving Cynthia feeling angry, exposed, and more than a little frightened as waited to begin what seemed to be her new life.
Chapter 3: A Closer Look
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Cynthia had been left to stew with her thoughts for some time before the orderlies came by to retrieve her. Her anger had time to renew itself and overtake her humiliation, so by the time they came for her, she was cursing up a storm and swearing vengeance on them and the doctor. They ignored her threats and unbound her. She tried to bolt, but they easily subdued her and then carried her, still naked, out of the room, screaming and writing in their firm grips. They dragged her through a maze of hallways before finally stopping at a door, unlocking it with a proximity card, and tossing her inside as if she were a bag of trash. They then closed the door behind her. The young woman screamed after the two orderlies but they were gone.
When Cynthia recovered enough to pay attention to her surroundings, she found herself in what to all appearances was a pleasant, tastefully decorated studio apartment. She quickly discovered that the front door was locked from the outside and could not be forced. She banged and screamed at the door for some minutes before finally giving up in frustration and quietly fuming. She was still furious at her treatment, but collected herself enough to begin exploring and looking for a way out.
It was only then that Cynthia began to appreciate that this was not such a normal apartment. There were no windows and no doors aside from the locked front door. She could find no sharp objects and nothing heavy that was not securely bolted down. There were no electrical outlets; everything that required power was securely hardwired to hidden power sources. Appliances were impossible to open up without tools and nothing that could serve was anywhere to be found. There was food in the refrigerator and cabinets, but no stove and only flimsy plastic utensils. Her clothes closets held an assortment of seemingly ordinary blouses and skirts, but everything made of flimsy fabric that seemed to tear with even a little force. As pleasant and homey as her surrounding might appear, they were carefully designed to ensure that she could not get out and could not find anything she could use to hurt herself or anyone else.
Lacking any other options, Cynthia decided she could at least clean herself up, so she took a quick shower. She dressed herself in a short black skirt and tight black top, in keeping with her usual tastes. She was annoyed to realize she could find no underwear or any sort of footwear, but at least dressed in something like her favored slutty goth gear, she felt a bit more like herself.
She had only a few moments to enjoy some relative autonomy before she heard the door opening. Rushing towards the door, she was greeted by the two burly female orderlies who had first restrained her. She screamed and charged towards them, but they easily wrestled her to the ground, bound her in temporary restraints, and gagged her over her furious attempts to protest. The two of them roughly carried her out of the apartment and into a sterile-looking hallway. She saw similar doors to her own all up and down the hall as they carried her off, following a series of twisting passages through what looked like deserted hospital corridors. Eventually, they brought her through a non-descript door to a room dominated by a large machine with a complicated computer control panel attached to it. Before the machine stood a platform on wheels, like a hospital gurney, with a series of what were clearly restraints hanging off of it. They forced her onto the platform and started to undo her temporary restraints, re-securing each limb with a series of straps attached to the platform until she was held firmly in place. Straps pinned her spread-eagled at wrists and ankles, shoulders and hips, along her midsection, and across her head. She had enough slack to be able to shift a bit in her bondage, but no more. Finally, the two orderlies easily tore off her flimsy newfound clothing, leaving her naked except for the straps and gag. She feebly tried to protest through the gag, but the orderlies ignored her and left the room without a word, leaving her alone.
Cynthia tried a few more muffled yells before settling down. She could not turn her head to get much of a look at anything around her, so she just sat and stared at the ceiling, quietly seething. Eventually, she heard the door open followed by the click of high heels on the hard tile floor. She could swivel her eyes just enough to see the buxom form of Dr. Drake sauntering in. Her red hair spilled freely across her shoulders and she sported a sheer white blouse and a bright red skirt. She strode up to Cynthia until she was looking directly down on her and run a hand through Cynthia’s tousled blond hair. Cynthia flinched at the touch but could not move away.
“Poor little Cynthia,” Dr. Drake cooed. “I know this can be very strange and frightening at first, but I want to assure you that everything that is happening here is for your own good. You are perfectly safe and sound. You are unwell and we are all here to help you get better.”
Cynthia tried to yell and curse, but all that came through the gag was a muffled “MFFMGGAH!”
“Now, now, Cynthia,” said Dr. Drake gently, placing a finger across Cynthia’s gagged mouth as if to shush her. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later, once we begin your therapy.”
Cynthia was still fuming inside, but could see the futility of trying to fight now. Being bound and completely exposed was also leaving her feeling very vulnerable and less inclined to pick a fight than she might usually be. She lay still and fixed the doctor with what she hoped was a withering gaze.
“That’s a good girl,” continued the doctor when it was clear Cynthia had quieted down. “Now we have some preliminaries before we can begin your real therapy and the first is to do a detailed body scan. Some of my treatments can be, shall we say, strenuous. I need to know that you don’t have any undiagnosed medical conditions that might put you at any risk. I’ll also need detailed physical measurements for ... well, you’ll see.”
“And that what’s this baby is for,“ the doctor said, patting the hulking machine next to them. “I was very lucky to pick this up cheap. It’s an experimental medical scanner, designed to become a one-stop replacement for MRI, CAT, PET, and a host of other technologies. It works on similar principles to an ultrasound scanner but with a broad spectrum of highly focused sound frequencies and intensities to provide an extremely detailed and thorough picture of every inch of a subject, inside and out. Sadly, it turned out to have some unfortunate side-effects that made it unsuitable for the average clinic, but I find it suits our needs just fine. You’re not claustrophobic are you?”
Cynthia shook her head the inch or so the bondage allowed and gave a muffled, “NGGHY,” that the doctor rightly took for a “No.”
“That’s good,” the doctor said, opening a large panel on the side of the machine. She slide the entire wheeled platform into the panel, forcing Cynthia into a small compartment in the machine, and closed the door.
“I’m going to start the scan program and then monitor the results from out here,” Dr. Drake said, her voice now projected through a speaker inside the unit. “All you need to do is lie there. It shouldn’t take too long.”
“There is just one thing,” the doctor added, almost as an afterthought. “The machine does require you to remain still to get a clear image. It’s all computer controlled, so if you do move, it will just give you a warning, back up, and repeat part of the scan. Just be perfectly still and it will all be over quickly.”
Cynthia was nervous and did not know what to expect. She could hear assorted clicks and whirs as the machine came to life around her. She could then hear some gears moving and the sound of a piece of machinery out of her view sliding across her body to stop above where her right hand was positioned. Cynthia held her breath in anticipation. Finally, there was a sound like a hum mixed with a screech, and she could feel the sonic probe pulsing into the skin of her right hand. The feeling was indescribable, like being stroked by a feather that could pass right through solid flesh. The sensation made her skin crawl. It also tickled horribly. Cynthia reflexively clenched her hand and pulled at the bondage to get away.
In a second, the probe stopped and a mechanical voice intoned, “Movement detected. Scan of right hand repeating.”
A moment later the probe resumed and Cynthia again recoiled. Again the mechanical voice repeated its warning and again the scan started over. This happened five times before Cynthia was able to assess her predicament and through force of will keep her hand open and immobile. She could feel the sonic probe moving over her hand, crossing each curve and tracing up and down each finger in a slow, delicate path. The sensation was awful, tickling her inside and out, but she squeezed her eyes shut in frustration and was able to bear it. In a minute, the probe of her hand was complete.
The probe continued to move down her right arm and she could feel it tracing every inch of her on the way down. Tears of frustration tugged at her, but she managed to keep still. As the probe continued down her arm and got closer to her exposed armpit, though, she knew she would lose it. She braced and tensed as it got closer and closer to her sensitive pits. And then it stopped. Gears whirred into motion and she could hear the apparatus moving to the other side of her body. When it came back to life and the tickly beam pierced her left hand, she instinctively recoiled, again triggering the mechanical warning, “Movement detected. Scan of left hand repeating.” She cursed her carelessness but steeled herself as it restarted and made it through the long, terrible trajectory down her left arm until the probe again stopped just short of her armpit and the machine whirred into motion again.
This time, it stopped over the top of her head before kicking back into life. Mercifully, her scalp wasn’t very ticklish and she couldn’t feel the probe at all when it actually probed into her skull. As it moved lower, though, she was horrified to discover just how many ticklish spots her head held. The bridge of her nose was sensitive enough to force her to scrunch up her eyes and ruin the scan, backing it up about a minute. It took some practice to manage to get through that. As the doctor had shown Cynthia, her ears could be horribly ticklish if hit in just the right place. (And unknown to Cynthia, Dr. Drake was also taking notes as the machine uncovered new ticklish spots.) Cynthia discovered the peculiar horror of being tickled deep inside her nose and trying not to sneeze, as well as the terrible ticklishness of the roof of her mouth, her jawline, and a dozen little spots for which she did not even have a name.
Cynthia also realized another peculiar effect of the intense stimulation. As it passed over her lips, it was like getting the most incredible kiss she had ever felt. The sensation was positively electric and, when it touched an erogenous zone, very arousing. She instinctively parted her lips to admit her invisible lover, once again backing up the scan. She forced herself to remain still when it repeated, making it through the probe of her lips but feeling a hint of reluctance when it finally moved on. When the probe moved inside to her tongue, it felt like someone had taken an hour of the most intense French kissing she could imagine and compressed it all into a few seconds. She was so flustered, she didn’t even realize for some minutes that she kept ruining the scan by moving her tongue in response. She finally became aware of what she was doing and through a monumental effort managed to hold still. She again found herself feeling a bit regretful but also embarrassed at her arousal as the terrible probe moved on. She continued to discover new very ticklish spots as the probe moved slowly around her neck and down to her collarbone, which turned out to be horribly ticklish. Finally, the probe came to a stop again and the gears whirred to life, moving the probe to another part of her body.
She was terrified as she could hear the machinery moving slowly down, shivering in anticipation over when it might stop as it slid over her chest, then her belly, then her exposed crotch, and kept going, finally coming to a stop above her right foot. Even before the probe resumed, Cynthia was having trouble stopping herself from shaking. When the peculiar sound started and she could feel the sonic probe vibrating into her big toe, she jolted like she had been hit by an electric current and screamed into her gag. This was by far the worst yet.
“Movement detected. Scan of right foot repeating,” the lifeless machine voice intoned. She tried desperately to hold still as it resumed and could manage it for only a second before she involuntarily jerked her foot and discontinued the scan.
“Movement detected. Scan of right foot repeating,” the machine repeated. She tried to summon all of her willpower and managed to keep herself still long enough for the scan to move down into the ball of the foot, but when it started moving sidewise across the foot, she lost it again.
“Movement detected. Scan of right foot repeating,” the machine once again intoned, moving right back to the big toe to begin again. Again and again, Cynthia went through this, getting a little farther each time. But every time the machine discovered a new ticklish spot on her foot (and there were many), she lost it and had to go back to the beginning. She screamed helplessly into the gag, trying to beg Dr. Drake for mercy, but if her pleas were understood at all, they fell on deaf ears.
The machine ended up spending over half an hour on Cynthia’s right foot alone before she finally managed to make it through the scan. She cried tears of relief as it moved up her right leg, her whole body shuddering from the pent-up frustration of having to sit still through the maddening foot scan. Her leg itself held some rude shocks, such as the discovery of how ticklish she could be on the back of her knee and the soft tissue just above it, but she gritted her teeth and bore it.
She also discovered a new kind of apprehension as the machine started to make it to her inner thigh. She was very ticklish there, but managed to hold it together. She realized she was building up a terrible anticipation, though, as the probe inched ever closer to her exposed crotch. As awful as the tickling was, she couldn’t deny that the intense stimulation could also be very arousing. She shuddered to think about what it would feel like when it hit her bare pussy. As it moved ever closer, brushing the edge of her crotch, it abruptly shut off and the machinery started to move again. Cynthia let out a deep breath and wasn’t sure herself whether it was in relief or frustration.
The probe took a new position on her left foot and repeated the process it had taken with her right foot. The tickling was incredible and, even after the preparation of the right foot, she found that she needed more than a dozen attempts before she could hold still through the entire slow progression from one toe to another, across the balls of her feet, and up and down the arch. Finally, it made it through her left foot and it was relatively easy now for her to hold still as it traveled up her left leg. Once again, she found herself with a mix of dread and anticipation as it inched ever closer to her crotch, turning to a mix of relief and disappointment as the probe shut down just on the edge of her womanhood.
Once again, the gears whirred into life and she could hear the machinery move, this time stopping above her right armpit. Cynthia thought her armpits were probably her most ticklish spot, and no matter how she steeled herself, she was unprepared for the intensity of the sensation when the probe resumed. At the touch of the probe, she bucked horribly in her confinement trying to shake herself loose.
“Movement detected. Scan of right armpit repeating,” the mechanical voice droned before the probe resumed.
She couldn’t take it. Over and over it restarted and over and over Cynthia found she simply could not hold still long enough to complete the scan. Once again, Cynthia let out a muffled scream, trying to get Dr. Drake’s attention to no avail. She shook, begged, and babbled while the probe kept halting and resuming in the same terribly ticklish spot. Finally, in a mixture of resolve and exhaustion, she somehow managed to hold still, while the probe slowly traced the contours of her sensitive pit. She gritted her teeth while tears of frustration poured down her cheeks, but somehow she made it through that portion of the scan.
Cynthia’s relief quickly turned to shock as the probe continued across her body, moving onto her right breast. Cynthia had no idea that breasts could be ticklish, since no one had ever dared to try tickling hers. She quickly learned just how ticklish they could be. She shook with uncontrollable laughter as the probe tried to trace a circular path around her breasts, dipping in and out of the skin and tracing every inward. It took enormous force of will to hold still while it followed its slow, torturous path inward.
When it hit her nipple, Cynthia soon discovered a new dimension to her torment. As before, the probe was not just horribly ticklish, but also arousing. Very arousing, she realized, when focused in the right place. The intensity of the sensation was unbelievable as the probe slowly circled her areola. Even through the intense tickling, she could feel it building inside her. She knew she was getting very wet and could feel her exposed pussy clenching in anticipation. She was too far gone to be embarrassed anymore, and was simply aching for release. When the probe hit her nipple, it was too much. She exploded in an intense orgasm. All of the frustration she had bottled up over the seeming eternity she had been in the machine exploded through her at once and she arched against her bonds with every ounce of strength she had. A long, primal scream tore through her and passed muffled through her gag as the orgasm ripped through her. The machine sensed the movement, though, and promptly discontinued the scan, intoning its mechanical warning.
Cynthia could barely think through the haze of the afterglow as the probe tried to restart the breast scan. She giggled and twitched mindlessly while it tried over and over to resume its scan. Finally, she began to pull her mind back together, deal with her sudden humiliation at having cum in the machine, and focus once again on staying still. It took her a couple of tries before she could get through the nipple stimulation without moving, but finally, she managed to complete the scan of her right breast. It continued on to her left breast, where she once again needed several trials to hold still through the merciless tickling. She barely managed to avoid cumming again when it reached her left nipple. Finally, after a brief, but terribly ticklish visit to her left armpit, the probe moved on from her upper torso.
A belly scan came next. Ordinarily, she would have considered that unbearable torture, but after the intense experience with her breasts and underarms, it was a relief. She had to grit her teeth through a fierce probing of her belly button and discovered some incredibly ticklish spots above her hips, but did not need too many tries to get through there. The probe took a surprise visit around the back, where she realized how terribly ticklish her butt could be. If she hadn’t been thoroughly secured, she would have jumped through the roof when it started to probe her anus. There, too, though, she eventually managed to hold on long enough for the horrible probe to move on.
Finally, she knew there was just one region of her anatomy left to cover. Dr. Drake had wanted an especially detailed portrait of Cynthia’s genitals, and the probe slowed to a crawl to achieve its highest resolution. Cynthia hadn’t a clue how ticklish her crotch could be, but as the vibrations started to trace around the edge of her labia, she practically lost her mind. The tickling was unbelievable, but also incredibly pleasurable. The two feelings fought in her mind as the probe slowly traced around one outer lip then the other, across the sensitive inner labia, and dipped inside to probe the vaginal walls. She was trying desperately to stifle her laughter but also to tamp down another orgasm she felt rapidly growing inside her. When the probe made it to her G-spot, the dam burst and she exploded in another massive orgasm. The vaginal probe started anew, and she cried tears of frustration as she tried to make it through again. With indescribable effort, she managed to hold still as the ticklish probes traced her inside and out. The arousal, too, built up again, bigger even than before, and she desperately tried to hold it at bay. She held out longer than she thought possible, but finally the probe touched her clit and even a fraction of a second of stimulation was enough to make her lose it. The tickling alone was the worst she had ever experienced and it almost immediately brought forth another powerful orgasm. Once again, the scan of her genitals restarted. Although spent and weakened, she made it through nearly the whole vaginal scan. Again, though, right as it neared its end, barely a touch to her clit was enough to make her cum explosively. She screamed in frustration as the vaginal scan started over and summoned every ounce of willpower she could muster. It wasn’t enough. Again, she held on with everything she had, but once the probe landed directly on her clit, it was simply too much and she again shuddered uncontrollably in orgasm. Again and again it happened until she was utterly lost in madness and desperation, babbling incoherently through her gag, pleading futilely with Dr. Drake. Mercifully, Cynthia’s own body eventually gave out as with one final, fierce orgasm, she passed out. At last, the scan was able to complete on her motionless body.
Dr. Drake shut down the machine and pulled the unconscious Cynthia out of it. She looked benevolently down on the twitching, senseless form. Finally, she summoned the orderlies to have Cynthia removed and deposited back in her room.
Chapter 4: Therapy
---------------------------------
Cynthia woke up some time later on the bed in her suite. She did not know how long she had been out, but her mind was still foggy and her body still trembling from the awful scan. She lay in the bed for a long time, luxuriating from the afterglow of the intense sexual experience and trying to gather her thoughts. Eventually, when she felt her legs could support her, she rolled out of bed and took at long, hot shower. She discovered that the ruined garments the orderlies had torn off her had been replaced and she once again dressed herself for the day. She also found that a hot meal had been left for her through a slot in her door and, realizing she was famished, greedily devoured it. Happy enough to be left alone for a while, she resigned herself to her confinement and settled for what she hoped would be a less eventful day. Indeed, no one came to see her for some time and she ended up spending a quiet day in solitude. The environment was disorienting, with no natural light, no clocks, and, she discovered, no live television or radio. New meals occasionally appeared, silently slid through the slot in the door, but when she called after whoever had left them, she got no answer. She discovered plenty of ways to amuse herself, though, with video games, music, and a large on-demand video library, and passed the day with these before falling asleep on her sofa.
She awoke with a start to see Dr. Drake standing in her living room flanked by the two hated orderlies. The doctor smiled warmly.
“I’m glad you’re finally up, sleepyhead,” the doctor said as if they were close friends. “I’ve got a wonderful surprise for you. Please come with us and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Cynthia glared at the doctor quietly and kept her place.
“Now, now,” the doctor gently admonished, “we’ve got a big day ahead of us and you don’t want to start it on the wrong foot. Come along, Cynthia.”
Cynthia held her ground. At a nod from the doctor, the two orderlies moved towards her. Leaping up, Cynthia shrieked, “Stay the hell away from me, you crazy bitches! When my dad finds out what you’ve done, you sick fucks are going to prison for the rest of your fucking lives!”
The orderlies were undeterred. They moved forward, placing firm hands on the furious young blond. She struggled but they were far too strong for her.
“Such language, young lady.” Dr. Drake cautioned mildly. “Your father wants me to help you get well and he’ll be very happy once he sees how much you’ve improved. Now, I know it can be difficult to get used to a new environment, but we do have work to do so you’ll just have to come with me.”
The girl tried to plant her feet, but the two orderlies simply lifted her off the ground and carried her out of the room and down the hallway, following a few paces behind the doctor. Cynthia struggled mightily, threatening and cursing the doctor, the orderlies, and anyone else who might be within earshot but it did not slow the procession in the slightest. Eventually, the doctor opened the door to another room and the orderlies carried Cynthia inside. The room was white and sterile-looking like the rest of the place, with a few undistinguished cabinets, a sink, and some standard medical equipment. It looked much like any doctor’s exam room, except for one very strange object in the center of the room. If she had to describe it, Cynthia would have said that it looked like a black plastic robot resting on its back on a pedestal a few feet off the floor, its arms and legs spread-eagled. Like the machine from the previous day, it was attached to some sort of computer console. The robot-thing itself was motionless. On closer inspection, the thing seemed to be made up of dozens of interlocking panels covering every bit of its surface. Dr. Drake gestured to it proudly.
“This,” she said proudly, “is just for you. I call it a Couch. It’s my own take on the old psychiatrist’s couch, but it’s so much more. I have one built specially for each of my patients. The frame of this one was custom-fabricated from your body scan to make it a perfect fit, just for you.”
Cynthia couldn’t understand what the doctor meant by this until the doctor flipped some latches and lifted the front half of the thing off on a hinge. Inside, the robot thing was mostly hollow, coated all around with some sort of foam and, here and there, a few bits of metal of unknown function. Straps were strategically placed at various points around the device. Cynthia realized with horror that she was meant to go inside the thing.
“Fuck, no!” she screamed. “No fucking way are you putting me in that thing! No fucking way!”
Dr. Drake spoke soothingly, “You need to be a big girl, Cynthia. This is necessary for your treatment. I’m sure in time you will learn to appreciate it.”
While Cynthia continued to protest, the orderlies went to work. The stripped her of her clothing and forced her into the frame. One by one the straps were secured until Cynthia was unable to rise out of the device. Dr. Drake ran a hand lovingly across Cynthia’s now immobile forehead while the girl continued to yell and scream.
“You be brave,” she said. “You’ll get used to your therapy in time and then we will get you all better.”
The doctor pushed the front of the device back down, closing the lid on Cynthia. She felt the foam press against her on all sides as the cover slid into place and locked with an audible click. After that, she felt nothing. The foam was soft to the touch, but pressed unyieldingly on every inch of her body. It seemed to be breathable so she did not overheat, but she could not so much as wiggle a finger. Although she could feel foam pressing close around her nose and mouth, her breathing was unobstructed. She stifled a momentary panic she realized that she could hear nothing but her own breath and heartbeat. Aside from this and the firm grip of the foam, the device produced total sensory deprivation.
Cynthia shouted every obscenity she could think of and a few she made up on the spot. Her words echoed in her own ears, but she had no idea if anyone outside could even hear her. Eventually, she settled down and quietly stewed, waiting in anticipation for whatever the crazy doctor had in mind.
After a short while, she heard a click and felt the foam release a bit around her ears. She realized that she could now hear what was going on in the room outside her plastic prison. She was still otherwise completely cut off from the outside world. She heard heavy footsteps outside, fading away and the sound of the door closing. Finally, Dr. Drake spoke.
“I’ve sent Marge and Tess, away, dear,” she said gently. “It’s just you and me now. It’s important for you to know that your therapy sessions are just between you and me. Nothing you say leaves this room. You can be totally honest and open here. Do you trust me?”
“Therapy sessions?!” Cynthia shrieked in disbelief. “Trust you?! Are you totally mental? Let me the hell out of here!”
“We just need to get to know each other,” Dr. Drake said soothingly. “You’ll learn to trust me in time.”
Cynthia heard another click and felt the pressure release under her arms. She felt cool air waft over her armpits and realized the doctor must have opened the panels covering that part of her anatomy. She tugged at her arms with all her strength, but she was still utterly immobile. Although almost her entire body was still encased in the weird woman-shaped prison, she suddenly felt very exposed. What she did not know is that the doctor had also activated one of the Couch’s other hidden devices, a programmable vibrator buried above her crotch. It was so muffled by the Couch as to be inaudible and the doctor had programmed it to come on only very slowly. For the moment, its touch was so faint as to be unnoticeable, although it was very gradually increasing in intensity.
“Now Cynthia,” the doctor said. “Why don’t you tell me about your home life?”
Cynthia was so struck by the incongruity between the doctor’s friendly demeanor and the nightmarish situation in which she found herself that she almost laughed out loud. Instead, she just replied, in her best stuck-up teenage girl voice, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
She was suddenly jolted by the sensation of a touch against her armpits. The doctor had placed one fingernail in each pit and was very slowly dragging each nail up and then back down its respective hollow. Cynthia was very ticklish there but determined not to give the crazy doctor the satisfaction of knowing she was having an effect. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the electric sensations.
“Would it be fair to say that I sensed a bit of tension between you and your mother?” the doctor asked, ignoring the girl’s last remark.
“Go to hell!” Cynthia hissed out between her gritted teeth.
The finger nails slowly going up and down her pits started to move faster. Cynthia was having a harder time keeping control. She could feel laughter building inside her, but forced herself to maintain steady breaths.
“It can be tough when a parent has other priorities,” the doctor said sympathetically. “You want to think that you’re the most important thing in the world to them, but what if you aren’t?”
Cynthia knew she couldn’t open her mouth again without bursting out in laughter. She kept quiet and tried to force it down. Soon, though, the two fingernails in her pits were joined by two more moving in opposite directions and Cynthia lost it. A stream of giggles erupted from her and once it started, she couldn’t stop it.
“It isn’t your fault, you know,” the doctor said. “You feel that she isn’t there for you because you aren’t a good enough daughter. But the fact is that she isn’t there for you because she’s not a good enough mother.”
Cynthia felt anger and tears rising in her. She didn’t want to talk about her mother to anyone and she sure as hell didn’t want to talk about her to this demented psychiatrist. But she couldn’t catch her breath to get a word in edgewise.
“Sto-sto-stop!!!” she tried to yell between her uncontrollable giggles, but more fingers joined in, moving faster and faster. She was going out of her mind but the doctor kept droning on, talking about her family and asking her these inappropriately personal questions. Cynthia twisted and strained every muscle in her body trying to shake free or somehow force her arms to close, but she couldn’t move a millimeter. The laughter poured out of her and she thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen.
“Y-Y-Yes, I ha-ha-hate the fu-fu-fucking bitch!” she finally managed to spit out between fits of giggling. Instantly, the fingers slowed and Cynthia dropped back from total hysteria. As the tickling receded, Cynthia became aware of the building tension in her loins. The vibrator had slowly amped up and with the tickling decreased she became acutely aware of her growing arousal.
“Go on,” the doctor prodded.
Cynthia was back to tittering uncontrollably and distracted by the sexual need starting to demand her attention. When she didn’t respond, the fingers started to pick up the pace.
“She’s always ha-ha-hated me!” she quickly added and again the fingers slowed. “When I was born, I ruined her figure.”
She paused as a stream of titters forced their way out of her throat, before she got them under control and continued: “Then I cramped her style. The nannies cared more about me than that bitch did, but she’d always get jealous and get rid of them when I started to care about them.”
Cynthia paused for a long while. The urgency in her crotch was growing by the second and she could feel a powerful orgasm building. Suddenly, the fingers started to pick up the pace again and ruined the building climax. “Okay, o-o-okay,” she shouted. “She was j-j-jealous of the nannies and w-w-when I got older she was j-j-jealous of me. Everything I tried to do right just made her more jealous. Nothing could please that fucking whore!”
The fingernails and slowed again and the fire in her loins continued building. Cynthia couldn’t stop periodic fits of giggling from the tickling and her pussy felt like it was going to explode.
“But you still can’t help feeling it’s your fault she doesn’t care about you,” the doctor added. “It isn’t your fault.”
“It-ah-it-ah isn’t my fault he-he,” Cynthia repeated, moans now competing with giggles for control of her voice. “It isn’t my f-f-fault.”
In a practiced motion, the doctor used a free elbow to tap a key on the keyboard, kicking the hidden vibrator into high gear. That was all it took to push Cynthia over the edge.
“It isn’t my fault!” she shrieked as an explosive orgasm rocked through her. She screamed like a banshee, her howl dissolving into a frenzied stream of giggles as the orgasm passed and the tickling caught up with her. It felt like every ounce of sensation and emotion within her was pouring out at once in one primal explosion of cathartic emotional release and raw sexual ecstasy. For long minutes afterwards, she was barely aware of her surroundings. She knew the fingers continued to lightly scratch her pits while the vibrator buzzed away on her crotch. She knew there were more orgasms, although not like that first one. She was dimly aware of the doctor’s voice continuing to prompt her and her own voice pouring out her heart in response. But she couldn’t have recalled five minutes later what they talked about. The rest of the therapy session passed by in a haze and she only remembered waking up later back in the bed in her room with no memory of how she got there.
*****
Cynthia learned that these “therapy” sessions were to be a frequent event, and for a while they defined her life in the institution. They could happen at any time. The two despised orderlies might show up when she was sleeping or waking, eating or bathing. Sometimes they would come once a day, sometimes three times or more, and sometimes they would even skip a day or two. Whenever they showed up, they would inform her it was time for a session and, if she felt like struggling, were more than happy to carry her out bodily. Sometimes she fought and cursed them while they dragged her down the hall, strapped her down, and sealed her in the Couch. Others times she went along without protest and resignedly shed her clothes and stepped inside. There was great variety in the sessions, but always intense tickling and mind-blowing orgasms. And somehow, despite her hatred of Dr. Drake, she always ended up pouring out her heart and soul to the doctor like she was her closest confidante.
The doctor liked to vary the routine from session to session to keep the young woman from growing accustomed to her techniques. As Cynthia soon learned, the redhead was a virtuoso at manipulating her, body and soul. For instance, a later session found Cynthia locked into the Couch with panels open to expose her belly and crotch. Dr. Drake set to work like she was conducting a symphony. First one finger on her left hand lightly drew circles and figure-eights on Cynthia’s taut belly, raising goose bumps across her flesh as the doctor started asking the girl about her relationship with her father. Soon more fingers joined in, light at first then digging and probing, until the young woman was howling with laughter. As the questions grew more personal, the doctor’s right hand began lightly tracing around the folds of Cynthia’s labia, starting to ignite a fire in her libido through the haze of laughter. As Cynthia gasped out answers to the doctor’s questions between guffaws, the right hand grew more intimate, alternating between deep probes into the girl’s now glistening slit and light tickles to the surface of her mound. By the time the session was fully underway, Cynthia was babbling incoherently. A concert pianist could not have been any more dexterous than the doctor. She had her right middle finger buried in the girl’s snatch, the tip of the finger firmly rubbing back and forth over Cynthia’s G-spot. Her right thumb massaged circles around Cynthia’s clit, while the other three fingers teased in and out of her swollen lips. Meanwhile, her left middle finger dug deeply into the girl’s belly button while her left thumb lightly stroked along her bikini line and three more fingers scratched and probed the belly flesh in between. Her hands worked the girl’s body into a moaning, grunting, laughing frenzy while the doctor’s soothing voice whispered gentle encouragement in Cynthia’s ear. As Cynthia’s babbling coalesced into an epiphany about her need for male attention, the doctor brought Cynthia’s body to its own peak as she exploded into a screaming, squirting, giggling climax that seemed to stretch on for hours before leaving her totally drained. As she lay tittering and panting in the afterglow, Cynthia could feel the doctor’s hands stroking her exposed flesh protectively as she continued whispering encouraging words in Cynthia’s ear about what a good girl she was. For a few minutes, Cynthia was content to luxuriate in the feeling of being warm, safe, and loved.
*****
The doctor was not above bringing a few toys into the mix, some of her own design. Another session in the Couch for Cynthia began with the sensation of her crotch being exposed. Something teased at the edge of her lips and soon slid inside her. The doctor did not even need lube; Cynthia, much to her embarrassment, had reached the point that she would start getting wet as soon as the two orderlies showed up and mentioned “therapy.” By the time they closed the lid of the Couch and sealed her inside, she would be absolutely soaking. After the unknown device was inserted, Cynthia could feel the crotch plate press shut again, and, a short while later, other panels open up on her feet. The plastic prison still held her feet firmly in place and the toes bent back, but the soles were fully exposed. As the doctor started up a conversation with the young woman about her difficulty forming deep friendships, she scratched her nails lightly along the immobilized soles. Fingernails were soon replaced by the soft tendrils of a pair of feathers and then by the hard tips on the feathers’ bases. As the girl went from soft giggles to hearty belly laughs, she realized that the device buried in her pussy was rocking back and forth rhythmically, banging against her G-spot with every motion. Like a benwa ball, it had a carefully calibrated weight inside to translate the girl’s involuntary shaking into a regular, erotic drumbeat inside her. As the conversation continued and Cynthia’s arousal built, the doctor dropped the feathers and switched to two mini-vibrators pressed into the girl’s feet. She traced them up and down the arch, around the balls of the feet, and over the base of the toes, pausing to dig deep whenever she hit a particularly sensitive spot. Externally, the frantic girl could not move an inch, but her insides were shaking uncontrollably and translating every quiver into more vigorous action by the vaginal probe. Cynthia was going out of her mind with laughter, trying to squeeze out a few gasping words about her personal life to get the doctor to ease up. The tickling was so intense she was reduced to silent laughter, invisibly mouthing answers to the doctor’s deeply personal questions between pleas for mercy. The vaginal probe was relentless, though, and she could feel the orgasm build to a crescendo and finally burst through her, once again leaving her as much at the doctor’s mercy emotionally as she was physically as the brutal session continued.
*****
So it was for Cynthia over the weeks and eventually months she spent in the institution. She learned a great deal about herself: physical insights into the many ticklish spots that seemed to cover her body and the numerous ways she could apparently be brought to a screaming orgasm, as well as emotional insights into the roots of her rage and antisocial behavior. She could not deny that the therapy was having an effect on her. Before she entered the institution, she could not remember a time when she wasn’t angry and depressed. She went through life in a perpetual snit, taking it out on everyone around her. Now, while a part of her still felt that she should be angry --- at her life, at her parents, at society in general --- in her heart she didn’t really feel it anymore. She could not say if it was finally being forced to confide all her pains and bear her soul to Dr. Drake under the duress of the therapy sessions or just a chemical side-effect of the hours of maniacal laughter and dozens of mind-shattering orgasms. Somehow, though, the hurt inside her was muted and a persistent euphoria was taking its place. She felt almost giddy all the time now and would sometimes catch herself smiling for no reason or even giggling to herself like a little schoolgirl. She would instantly clamp down on it when she caught herself, suddenly furious at how her emotions being manipulated, but at the same time she knew that the manipulation was working.
Chapter 5: Crime and Punishment
--------------------------------------------
As she grew accustomed to the bizarre therapy sessions, Cynthia was gradually introduced to other aspects of her treatment. As she soon learned, the doctor’s care did not always end in pleasure.
Cynthia knew the rules were changing one day when Dr. Drake showed up at her apartment flanked by the orderlies Marge and Tess, and handed Cynthia a thick paper packet and a blunt pencil. Puzzled, the girl looked down at the packet and saw a box for her name and bold letters spelling out “Comprehensive Placement Exam” on the cover. The doctor spoke:
“Cynthia,” she began. “I am so glad your therapy is proceeding nicely, but now that you’re getting settled in we need to start attending to the rest of your personal development. You are, after all, a young woman at an age when most of your peers are going to be heading off to college. And frankly, your academic records tell me that you have not taken your studies seriously. We will need to remedy that.”
The girl could not believe what she was hearing. Now this demented dominatrix was going to make her do homework? Despite all the humiliating tickling and sexual stimulation she had suffered, this somehow struck Cynthia as the most perverse thing the doctor had ever said. She fixed Dr. Drake with an angry, disbelieving stare.
The doctor continued: “We’ll be arranging a personal tutor and an education program designed to make up for lost time. You’re a very smart girl, you know, and I’m sure in no time we’ll have you back on track. We will need to figure out exactly where you stand right now, though. School records can be so imprecise. If you’ll just take this exam, that should tell us what we need to know to get you started.”
The girl continued to stare at the doctor in disbelief and muted fury. The doctor smiled back at her serenely.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” the redhead finally added. “It shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Have fun!”
The doctor spun on her heels and walked out of the room, the orderlies close behind her. The door shut and locked behind them. Cynthia, meanwhile, was fuming. She finally sat down at a little table in the suite and leafed through the exam. It was pages upon pages of questions that looked like they’d been pulled from dozens of different high school classes: math, English, science, social studies, and others she could not even identify.
“Is she fucking kidding?!” Cynthia demanded out loud. Finally, she turned back to the front page, took the pencil she had been handed, and carefully filled in the name field: “Fuck. You.” Then she crumpled up the packet and tossed it at the door before settling down to an afternoon of television.
Some hours later, the doctor and the orderlies returned. The doctor saw the crumpled booklet on the floor, picked it up, smoothed it out, and leafed through the empty pages. She looked at the obscenity on the front page and shook her head slowly in apparent disappointment. “Tsk, tsk,” she muttered, like a disapproving schoolmarm. She nodded silently to the two orderlies then walked out of the room without another word.
The orderlies moved to the young girl, who was on her sofa studiously ignoring them. They grabbed her and hauled her to her feet by her arms then dragged her from the room.
“Another therapy session?” Cynthia asked nonchalantly, but the two large women ignored her except for a couple of sly grins.
Soon Cynthia had been stripped, forced into the Couch, and strapped down securely. She realized something was different this time when one of the orderlies grabbed her jaw and roughly forced it open while the other produced some kind of object from her uniform and forced it between the girl’s teeth. It seemed to be made of the same foam that lined the Couch, soft but unyielding. It expanded to fill her mouth, forcing her tongue down to its floor and filling the space behind her teeth so she couldn’t force it out. Cynthia realized it was a gag and had left her totally mute. She tried to protest but could get nothing out. The orderlies gave her straps a final check and closed the lid sealing her inside. The Couch, by design, had always made her feel helpless, but somehow the additional step of securely gagging her seemed to double the feeling of helplessness. She couldn’t move, see, hear, or make a sound. Powerless to do otherwise, she lay perfectly still in terrible anticipation of what the twisted doctor had in mind this time.
Eventually, the pressure on her ears released a bit and she could hear the doctor address her. Cynthia had worked herself into a panic and was expecting anger and threats from the doctor for her defiance. Instead, the doctor addressed her like a parent looking at a bad report card: not angry but disappointed at a bright child who could be doing better. The doctor calmly expressed her regret that Cynthia did not appreciate how they were trying to help her mature as an individual. Cynthia felt the catches release around her underarms and the cool air of the room blow across her pits. Soon she felt the doctor’s fingers in her underarms, with light scratches rapidly building into a furious spidering of five fingers in each pit. It took only seconds for Cynthia to lose it. She tried madly to shake free of the Couch, but to no avail. Her pits remained completely immobile and exposed, the doctor’s fingers working them over furiously without pause. Normally, Cynthia could plead for mercy, even if it fell on deaf ears, or she could get the doctor to ease up a little by opening up to her emotionally. Now, both options were closed to her and it somehow made the tickling seem a hundred times worse. She tried to beg and scream into the gag but nothing came out. Inside, her lungs felt like they were bursting from frantic laughter. From outside the Couch, though, the only hint there was a living being inside was the subtle quiver of flesh on the exposed pits as the doctor continued to work them without mercy. For over an hour, the doctor continued, sometimes digging and sometimes stroking, sometimes faster and sometimes slower, but never letting up for a second. The girl lost all sense of rational thought. At the edge of her senses, the doctor’s gentle admonitions continued to play in her ears. The doctor softly chided her about the importance of thinking of her future, the value of a well-rounded education, and the existential pleasures of a rich intellectual life. She expressed confidence about what a bright girl Cynthia was and how well she could do if she would just apply herself. And all the while, she kept those fingers dancing in Cynthia’s defense underarms, driving her into utter madness. Finally, the doctor slowed and then stopped her ministrations. The girl was an absolute wreck, her mind in tatters and her body continuing to tremble uncontrollably within the Couch.
“I do hope you take our little discussion to heart,” said the doctor mildly as the broken Cynthia heard the doctor’s high heels click away across the floor.
Eventually, the orderlies showed up, released her, carried her limp and quivering body back to her room, and deposited her on her bed. She curled into a ball and fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke, she found that a fresh copy of the placement exam was sitting on the little table in her suite. She stared at it for a long while in anger and humiliation. Then she sat down at the table, picked up the pencil, and got to work.
*****
Over time, more enrichment activities began to be added to Cynthia’s day. Pretty soon, she was meeting each day with a private tutor to go over homework and plan out her lessons, a personal trainer who would coach her through a demanding physical fitness program, a “charm coach” who guided her on everything from how to eat in a fine restaurant to how to dance at a formal ball, and, most humiliatingly, a “life coach” who trained her in how to be a self-sufficient adult. All were attractive women, ranging in age from the perky blonde fitness trainer, who seemed to be about Cynthia’s own age, to a matronly fifty-something brunette who was her charm coach. The orderlies would force Cynthia to dress up in special outfits chosen for each of these encounters: a sexy schoolgirl outfit for meetings with the tutor; a sports bra, short pleated skirt (sans underwear), and track shoes for the trainer; a demure miniskirt, see-through blouse, nylons, and high heels for the charm coach; and a revealing French maid outfit for the life coach. It made Cynthia feel like an X-rated Barbie doll. The sessions themselves, however, were completely professional. The various coaches kept absolutely emotionally distant and refused to so much as engage in polite pleasantries with Cynthia. Furthermore, their lessons always occurred under the watchful eye of a series of security cameras, so Cynthia could never know if she was alone with them. A bad report from any of the trainers brought punishment from Dr. Drake. It could be mild for a small offense, such as a half hour of soft feathers on her feet for a disappointing daily run on the treadmill. More severe infractions, such as open defiance, could bring harsh discipline. As Cynthia learned, the doctor could be as creative in her punishments as she was in her therapy sessions.
In one instance, Cynthia showed up for charm school with her blouse improperly buttoned. The annoyed charm coach reprimanded Cynthia for her slovenliness and moved to unbutton and rebutton Cynthia’s blouse for her. Of course, Cynthia had nothing under the blouse and soon her large, firm breasts were exposed to the coach. Despite all the forced nudity she had endured in front of Dr. Drake and the two orderlies, the humiliation of being exposed to yet another stranger fueled a sudden burst of rage in her. She angrily shoved the charm coach away, leaving her sprawling on the floor. In seconds, Marge and Tess were in the room and had wrestled Cynthia to the ground. Soon after, the doctor rushed in and apologized profusely to the stunned older woman. Cynthia was promptly dragged away, stripped, and sealed, fully gagged into the Couch to await the doctor’s response.
Cynthia blushed in embarrassment as she felt the front of the Couch release and felt cool air on her breasts as they alone were set free from the Couch. The doctor’s gentle voice again showed no hint of anger as it lectured Cynthia on the importance of showing proper respect to those who were there to help her. She was genuinely confused as she felt feather-light touches on her exposed breasts from a pair of soft brushes the doctor held in her hands. She wondered if this was to be a more pleasant experience than the sheer torture of her usual punishment sessions. Her sense of alarm faded and her arousal grew as the brushes delicately played over her rapidly hardening nipples. The doctor continued to lightly chide the girl as she began to moan and drool into her gag from the pleasurable teasing of her nipples.
In time, though, it began to dawn on Cynthia that this was not going to be the fun time it had seemed at first. The light touches were enough to warm her up, but too little to get her off. And the sensation in her nipples began to turn from a delicious tingle into a maddening tickle that slowly built within her heavy breasts. Within a few minutes, Cynthia found that the once-pleasant nipple stimulation had become torment. Her libido was raging and she realized that desperately wanted to cum, but the light touches of the brushes were not enough to push her over the edge. She tried to wiggle her crotch against the apparatus but she had no room to maneuver and could not get any sensation there. At the same time, the tickling seemed to grow more intense by the minute. All the while, the doctor continued to chide her about the need to consider how her poor coach must have felt to be treated so rudely. By the fifteen minute mark, Cynthia was going crazy. She was trying frantically to shake herself free or even just move her breasts an inch to give her tormented nipples a moment’s respite from the maddening brushes. There was nothing she could do, though, and the brushes continued to tickle and tease her swollen nipples relentlessly. By the half hour mark, she was completely out of her mind. If she could have gotten an arm free, she would have torn her nipples right off her body rather than endure another second of the horrible stimulation from the damnable brushes. Still it continued, though, along with the doctor’s remonstrations. Cynthia screamed soundlessly into her gag while tears of frustration flowed from her eyes. She couldn’t believe her nipples could be so ticklish or that she could ever be so horny. She silently begged for mercy, unsure if she wanted the doctor to stop or to increase the intensity enough to get her off. By the time an hour had passed, the girl was simply a deranged mess of animal instinct, frantic to escape the tickling and satisfy her urgent need to cum. After ninety minutes, the doctor finally stopped and, with some last expressions of mild disappointment, left the girl to stew. She lay trapped motionless in the Couch for some long minutes, greatly relieved by the end of the tickling but still hornier than she had ever been in her life. She strained madly at her bonds, knowing it was futile but unable to stop struggling. When the orderlies finally appeared and released her, her libido was still raging. Cynthia was beyond embarrassment and as soon as she had an arm free, it flew madly to her pussy. The orderlies laughed at the girl’s plight and pulled her arm away right before she could push herself over the edge. She wept tears of frustration but they were too strong for her. Finally, they wrestled her free and carried her back to her room, keeping her from frigging herself until they got her inside. The dropped her on all fours just inside her door. Cynthia did not even wait for the door to close behind them before she got back to masturbating, furiously rubbing her pussy while she grunted like a wild animal until she finally got her release.
*****
Another incident arose from her “life coaching.” The coach, a Ms. Swisher, was a tall, slim, severe-looking woman who dressed in a non-nonsense pantsuit and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. She wore her shoulder-length black hair tied down in a severe bun. It struck Cynthia that Ms. Swisher had some of the same mad dominatrix vibe to her as Dr. Drake. Her lessons to petulant blond, herself dressed in the demeaning French maid outfit, had always been particularly galling to her. She taught Cynthia everything from how to cook a meal or run a dishwasher to how to dress a wound or change a flat tire. As far as Cynthia was concerned, these tasks were servants’ work, absolutely beneath her. Afraid of Dr. Drake’s wrath, though, she reluctantly followed through. One day, though, after their normal lessons, Ms. Swisher announced that she was going to inspect Cynthia’s little private suite. The sullen girl was forced to escort the prim woman back to her room, the orderlies along to keep a watchful eye on them. Once inside, Ms. Swisher made no attempt to hide her disgust at what she saw: bed unmade, dirty dishes everywhere, filthy bathroom sink, and a toilet in urgent need of a thorough scrubbing. She told Cynthia in no uncertain terms that her slovenly behavior might be tolerated in a moody tween, but it was unacceptable for a grown woman. She added that she would be back the next day and expected to see the dishes cleaned and put away, the furniture dusted, and the bathroom thoroughly cleaned, then left in a huff.
Cynthia had never been asked to clean up after herself before. All her life, she was surrounded by maids who scurried around, usually invisible to her, making sure these things got done. Cynthia had already been reluctantly forced to learn to do some of the things the maids had always done for her, but scrubbing toilets was a step too far. She flatly refused to do it. She decided she was making a stand and that was that, and spent the night in a snit going out of her way to avoid lifting a finger for anything that might qualify as tidying up. The next morning, the orderlies showed up with Ms. Swisher and the stern life coach entered the room. Her jaw dropped open in shock at the disobedience, while the young blond planted her feet and stared back at the brunette in defiance.
“I was told this one was ready to be educated,” the coach snapped at the orderlies with a snort of disdain. “You will need to see to this.”
The life coach then marched out of the room without another word. The orderlies sighed heavily and exchanged exasperated glances. They then moved to the angry blonde, still petulantly making her stand in the middle of the room, and carried her off for her punishment. After she was secured and gagged in the Couch, she waited a long time in total sensory deprivation. Only Dr. Drake was allowed to carry out her punishments and the doctor was evidently otherwise occupied. Cynthia tried to keep her anger at a fever pitch to steel herself for whatever was to come, but in the absolute nothingness of the Couch, it was hard to keep anger from turning into apprehension. Finally, she was allowed to hear again as the pressure released on her ears. She was greeted by the pained voice of Dr. Drake:
“Really, Cynthia, what will I do with you?” she began. “Poor Ms. Swisher is just trying to help you become the confident, independent young woman we both know you can be. And this is how you treat her? I had to spend ten minutes just reassuring her that you can act like a big girl. Honestly, if you can mess up a toilet you can certainly clean it. They say some people think their shit doesn’t stink, but I know you are too bright to really believe that.”
Cynthia felt a panel beneath her slide open. She could feel the pressure come away from her butt as it was exposed to the world. It was a strange and disconcerting feeling to be completely bound and surrounded by the firm pressure of the Couch except for her ass hanging loose below her.
“You’ve got a butt, just like everyone else,” said the doctor, running her long fingernails tantalizingly across the cheeks and raising goose bumps on the firm flesh. “You’ve got a butthole just like everyone else’s.”
With that, an unwanted finger probed her backside, causing the girl to clench involuntarily. The finger withdrew but returned again moments later, lubricated. The doctor wormed it into the girl’s backside, wiggling it around in a way that tickled terribly.
“You can’t expect to continue to be treated like a two-year-old, waiting for others to clean up after you every time you use this thing.”
She punctuated the statement with a sharp wiggle, causing Cynthia to gasp. The finger withdrew and began scratching around Cynthia’s butthole. It tickled horribly. Soon another hand joined in. As the doctor continued scolding the young woman for her misbehavior, the tickle torture stepped up its intensity. Cynthia had never experienced a prolonged butt tickling before and found it maddening. Just a little scratching on her hole would have her eyes practically bugging out of her head but the doctor would just keep it up until she was screaming into her gag. The torment of her anus was punctuated by light scratches on her cheeks that sent shivers across her body and sudden pokes and gooses that would have her jumping in her bonds and reddening in humiliation. A half an hour of this treatment left the girl a quivering wreck. Finally the hands withdrew and the doctor fell silent. Cynthia was relieved to think it was over. About thirty seconds later, though, she heard an unfamiliar whining noise and was suddenly hit by an indescribable sensation. The doctor had thrust a sonic toothbrush onto her rectum. Cynthia would have jumped out of her skin if the Couch hadn’t held her firmly in place. The doctor resumed her remonstrations, chiding the young woman about the need to start acting like an adult as she thoroughly probed the puckered anus with the horribly ticklish toothbrush. Cynthia shook like a madwoman in her bonds. She tried clenching her cheeks and forced a momentary reprieve, but the doctor merely inserted some kind of spreader to force the cheeks apart again and open up Cynthia’s butthole before resuming her ministrations. It was worse than ever now, as the doctor slowly probed every inch of Cynthia’s crack, outside and for a good couple of inches in. Cynthia howled noiselessly into her gag as the torment stretched on, the doctor gently rebuking her the whole time and urging her to try to do better.
When the quivering mess of a young woman was finally removed from the Couch an hour later, still naked and matted with sweat, she found herself deposited unceremoniously on her bathroom floor. A scrub brush, a bucket of hot water, and some cleaning fluid was already waiting for her. The trembling girl pushed herself up on her hands and knees with great effort, picked up the scrub brush, and scrubbed with every ounce of strength she had left.
*****
Cynthia also learned that the orderlies, Marge and Tess, had their own forms of punishment when the need arose. She had figured out pretty quickly that they were not really allowed to hurt her. She had seen them get harshly chewed out by Dr. Drake after Cynthia managed to get a nasty bump on her head when she struggled free of the orderlies’ grips while they were transporting her. And she knew that the doctor reserved tickling and sexual stimulation solely for herself. In any event, Cynthia viewed the orderlies as servants and her upbringing had taught her to think of “the help” as beneath her, barely human and of no more significance than a household appliance. She let that attitude get the better of her one day when they came to fetch her for therapy while she was in a particularly sour mood. This was one of those days when she struggled and cursed with every fiber of her being while they practically carried her to the room. This time, though, she uncharacteristically managed to break free of their grip just long enough to twist around and bite Marge on the arm hard enough to draw blood. Cynthia knew she had gone too far, and cowered as the massive and now furious woman looked for a moment like she was going to beat the young blond senseless. Tess held her partner back and whispered something in her ear, though, and Marge calmed down, a cryptic smile crossing her face. The two orderlies then picked Cynthia up as if nothing had happened and the rest of her therapy session proceeded normally, or at least as normally as it ever did.
Cynthia assumed that was the end of that until her next punishment session. It was a minor offense, getting a poor grade on a math quiz, and she knew the doctor would not be too harsh. The orderlies seemed in unusually high spirits as they strapped her into the Couch and inserted the gag. Cynthia could sense something wasn’t quite right but didn’t really know until the orderlies closed the lid of the Couch on her and sealed it up. She could instantly feel a difference in the foam cover over her crotch. Instead of the usual soft touch of the foam, it was cold and wet. She could feel some sort of gel squash into her privates as the lid tightened on her, but didn’t know what it meant. She soon got a hint when she felt her pussy starting to tingle. The tingle morphed into an itching, which quickly became more and more intense. Cynthia started to struggle and try to yell against the gag, but as usual, she couldn’t move or get a word out. The itching continued to grow, rapidly becoming unbearable. She desperately struggled in her bondage, trying to get an arm free to scratch at her now terribly itchy genitals or even just a little movement to rub them against the soft foam. She was able to do nothing, though, and could only lie still in torment.
Eventually, the doctor entered for what she seemed to consider a routine session of discipline. Cynthia heard the click of opening panels and could feel cool air on the soles of her feet. It was to be a foot tickling session. The doctor began her usual practice of lightly chastising the girl with exhortations of how much better she could be doing. While she spoke, she began to slowly run soft feathers up and down the girl’s soles. Ordinarily, this would be a pretty minor penalty, enough to reduce her to girlish giggling but not much more. This time, though, it was absolute torture. Cynthia tried desperately to force the horrible itching from her mind, but the light tickling made it impossible to concentrate. No matter how she tried to will herself to imagine she was somewhere else, the tickling on her feet would snap her mind back involuntarily to the sensations of her body and then to the awful itching in her crotch. She struggled madly to try to move or alert the doctor that something was wrong, but she was totally helpless. The session continued for perhaps an hour, the frantic young women going crazy in her bondage. She silently begged and pleaded for the doctor to finish so she could get free and do something about the fierce itching that was driving her mad.
At long last, the session was done. Cynthia heard the two orderlies tell the doctor that they would release Cynthia and get her back to her room, followed by the doctor’s high heels clicking on the floor as she left the room, and the door closing behind her. Finally, the lid of the Couch rose and she saw through tear-reddened eyes the two orderlies smiling down on her.
“Something wrong, miss?” Marge asked sweetly, an evil smirk on her face. The girl tried to plead with her eyes for mercy.
“I think something is wrong, Marge,” said Tess. “Look how red that poor little pussy is. I bet a cool damp cloth would feel so good down there, wouldn’t it?”
She moistened a towel in the sink and brought it near Cynthia’s crotch. If Cynthia had been able to speak, she would have begged them for even a single drop of water to wash away the awful itching gel that had been placed for her.
“Now hold on there, Tess,” said Marge. “You know we aren’t allowed to touch her down there.”
“Oops,” said Tess, withdrawing the damp towel and tossing it away. “Right you are.”
Cynthia was going absolutely frantic, straining at her bonds, while the two orderlies just stood and laughed at her. They probably kept her waiting only a few minutes more, although it seemed like an eternity. Finally, after a warning of what would happen if she tried to tattle on them, they retrieved the towel, wiped away the gel, and released the hysterical girl. She immediately fell to furiously rubbing her crotch with the towel while they laughed some more. Before she could rub herself raw, they grabbed hold of her arms and dragged her back to her room, where she immediately launched herself into the shower to scrub away the last remnants of the gel. At last, the maddening itching was gone, but it had left her pussy horribly sensitive. Every touch sent electric shivers through her body. Before she knew it, Cynthia’s cleaning had turned into an intense hour-long masturbation session. Finally, humiliated and exhausted, she crawled to her bed and collapsed into sleep. She still sometimes struggled with the orderlies after that, but she never tried to hurt one of them again and never again saw them as beneath her.
*****
The worst punishment she ever experienced, though, came when she decided to risk trusting one of her handlers. She had been cut off from any outside contact since she had been committed. In the disorienting timelessness of the institution, she could not be sure how long she had been there but she knew it must have been a few months at that point. She had despaired of finding any way to reach her parents and didn’t dare appeal to the hated orderlies for help. She saw no other human beings except her various coaches and concluded that she had no choice to trust one of them. She decided on the perky young fitness coach, Tammy, who seemed in many ways so similar to Cynthia herself. Sure, Tammy could be a tyrant in her own way, but Cynthia was sure she would have some pity for a fellow pretty, young blonde if she just knew what was going on. Cynthia had been extremely careful to secret away a little scrap of paper, furtively torn from an inner page of one of her textbooks when she was sure it would not be noticed. She had found opportunity to write a note explaining her plight and pleading for help, carefully shielding her actions from any hidden cameras she might not have noticed. She managed to subtly hide the paper in an orifice she hoped would go unsearched and, during one of her fitness training sessions, discretely retrieve it and slip it into the trainer’s pocket while pretending to lose her balance after a hard workout. She silently prayed that the trainer would discover the note and go to the authorities. After the workout, Cynthia was returned to her room and waited breathlessly to see if she had won her salvation.
Cynthia never learned how she was betrayed. Maybe she had been caught by some unseen camera after all. Maybe the doctor found the note before Tammy did. Or perhaps her trust in Tammy was totally misplaced. She never saw Tammy again, as the perky young trainer was replaced with a hard-assed female body-builder who drove Cynthia mercilessly. All Cynthia knew was that the orderlies soon showed up at her door and dragged her off without warning to the Couch. Even those two heartless thugs looked scared and a bit sympathetic as they did it. Cynthia knew, as they gagged her and sealed her in, that she was in serious trouble.
When the doctor finally showed up, she kept up the same tone of disappointment without a hint of anger that she always reserved for her punishment sessions. The tickling, though, was beyond anything Cynthia had ever experienced. First, she found her ears exposed. She knew in the abstract that she had some ticklish spots around her ears but never really thought about them as one of her main tickle zones. She was surprised and horrified to learn that just two fingernails, delicately scratching behind her ears in just the right spots, could have her pissing herself in under two minutes. While she stripped the girl of any vestige of self-control, the doctor calmly shared how hurt she was that Cynthia did not yet trust her. The horrible tickling continued as one after another panels closed and opened and a few well-placed fingers reduced her to jelly in seconds. Ears, nose, lips, cheeks, neck, collarbones, elbows, the base of the ribs, a dozen secret pressure points hidden along her abdomen, the base of the spine, perineum, hips (inside and out), knees (above and below), ankles, calves: the tickling carefully steered clear of what she always thought were her worst zones, but in the doctor’s skillful hands, it did not matter. Cynthia was in absolute torment, going out of her mind. If she could have gotten a word out, she would have offered anything to get it to stop. She would have agreed to do everything the doctor said and be her helpless tickle slave for the rest of her life if the doctor would just let her go this one time. She could not utter a word though, and the doctor did not stop. Cynthia was sure she would pass out from the intensity of it, but the doctor knew what she was doing at kept a careful eye on Cynthia’s vital signs making sure she was pushed to her edge but never quite beyond it. The doctor kept Cynthia there for almost four hours, the hysterical girl lost in madness. All the while, the doctor continued to drone on about how much she cared for Cynthia and wanted to make her well and how important it was for Cynthia to trust her and let the process work. The girl madly wished she could just speak to Dr. Drake, agree with her, and reassure her that she would be a good girl and never, ever question the doctor’s methods again. She could not, though, and just silently descended into madness.
When the exhausted and utterly broken young woman was finally returned to her room, she curled into a ball and slept for the next twelve hours. She knew in her heart from then on that there was no one she could trust to help her and no route to salvation except through Dr. Drake.
Chapter 6: Epilogue
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As the months passed, Cynthia fell into a resigned acceptance of her situation. Therapy sessions continued about once a day, always a mix of torturous tickling, mind-blowing sexual ecstasy, and deep heartfelt talks about her hopes, fears, and desires. She came to view these sessions with an almost giddy anticipation and no longer needed much prompting to pour her heart out to Dr. Drake once the more intense tickling got underway. Her coaching progressed rapidly, as she proved a quick study in nearly everything once she was sufficiently motivated. The punishment sessions, with their brutal tickling, made sure she stayed motivated. Soon, severe offenses such as open defiance became unthinkable to Cynthia, but the doctor always seemed to find cause enough to punish her for falling short in some way. The lingering euphoria her early therapy had produced had morphed over time into an all-around feeling of simple contentment. Her constant anger and teen angst, meanwhile, had faded. She could no longer even clearly remember why she had once been so moody. Dr. Drake’s gentle praise had once struck Cynthia as patronizing and infuriating, but now every kind word from the doctor gave her a warm glow inside. High praise from the doctor could immediately leave Cynthia feeling like she was walking on air, not to mention very wet.
Cynthia found she was earning greater privileges as she warmed to the doctor and gained her trust. Before long, she was allowed visitors. It was almost anticlimactic when the doctor finally arranged a face-to-face meeting with her parents, who she had not seen in over sixth months. When she had first been locked up, she had fantasized about killing them for what they had done to her. Now she looked at them and felt no resentment, or much of anything at all for that matter. Cynthia was poised and polite, able to confidently discuss her achievements and listen to her parents tell her about her father’s successful reelection. Her mother tried to gloat over the girl’s confinement, taunting her in her passive-aggressive way, but Cynthia shrugged it off impassively. Cynthia’s mother had always known how to push her buttons and gloried in reminding her daughter who was queen bee of the household. She secretly seethed over being unable to get a rise out of her daughter, but she reluctantly had to admit that the doctor had delivered on her promise of happy, well-adjusted, and well-behaved daughter. Cynthia’s father looked at his little girl and saw a useful prop for future campaigns and maybe even a future television talking head pushing his donors’ agendas. He thanked the doctor for her work before curtly ending the meeting because of an upcoming fundraiser. The doctor made sure to follow up the meeting with a long therapy session for Cynthia, where the doctor’s kind words about how well Cynthia handled the meeting, combined with a skillfully deployed vibrator, left Cynthia feeling very relaxed and contented.
Soon Cynthia was having day trips, first escorted and then on her own. Not long after, she could have overnight trips and then whole weeks away. The doctor knew that Cynthia would always come back for her treatments. In time, Cynthia was transferred to outpatient treatment, moving into her own apartment but showing up every day eagerly to receive her therapy. She continued to work with her tutors and coaches and was soon holding a part-time job and applying for colleges. Armed with some very impressive test scores, not to mention her family’s name and money, she had a lot of options from which to choose and a bright future ahead of her.
*****
A few years, later a beautiful young woman showed up the office of Dr. Amanda Drake. She wore a smart business suit (still in her favored black). Her fetching blond hair hung easily around her smiling face. She did not need to see the doctor every day anymore, but she dearly wished she could. She was eager to tell the doctor that she had just picked a law school at which to continue her studies. Her father was pleased, thinking the accomplished young woman would soon follow him into politics. She had no intention of following in his footsteps, planning instead to become a civil rights lawyer dedicated to helping the poor and powerless, but her parents didn’t need to know that yet. As the poised young woman sauntered confidently into the waiting room, anticipation for her scheduled therapy was getting her panties soaking wet.
She walked up the receptionist and said politely, “Excuse me, Carol, I’m here for my appointment with Dr. Drake.”
“It’s good to see you again, Miss Wilde,” said the receptionist pleasantly. “I am sorry to say that the doctor has had to deal with a sudden urgent matter and it may be a bit of a wait.”
Just then, the doctor’s office door burst open and an adorable young Japanese girl, perhaps eighteen years old, burst through. She was hotly pursued by Marge and Tess, who quickly got the girl under control and wrestled her away and out another door while she screamed in Japanese. Cynthia could not understand a word of it, but she could guess from the girl’s demeanor that whatever she was yelling would make a Japanese sailor blush. The tall, flame-haired doctor strode out of the office followed by an older Japanese couple. Cynthia recognized the man as Hideo Nakashima, a powerful business executive and big donor to her father’s campaigns. Dr. Drake smiled serenely at Cynthia and Cynthia felt her panties melt under the gaze of the doctor’s piercing green eyes.
“I am so sorry, Cynthia,” she said sweetly. “As you can see, I’ve got my hands full right now, but please have a seat and I’ll be with you soon.”
The doctor turned back to the office, reassuring the Japanese couple that everything would be all right with their daughter. Cynthia sat down on the edge of her chair and gripped the armrests tightly.
“Yes, doctor,” she said softly under her breath, the anticipation building a fire in her loins as she waited for the doctor’s return.
