The Compliance Clinic

Consciousness returned reluctantly with the jolting movement of a gurney. Eyelids sticky with sleep pulled themselves open to see an anonymous ceiling passing by. The smell of antiseptic stung your nose. You tried to move, but every part of your body seemed pinned in place. Panic set in, heart pounding, brain screaming for freedom as your muscles tensed and pulled to no effect.

Cold air caressed your body, tightening your nipples. You were naked you realized with a jolt. You opened your mouth to speak, but the gag prevented it. Helpless, immobile, even speech stolen from you. Fear made your palms slick with sweat as you squeezed your hands into fists. Where? Who? Why? You had no answers to the questions echoing in your head.

The gurney hit the swinging doors, knocking them open and shaking your body. They were moving fast, taking you… where? Your pulse thudded in your ears as you fought for release, but could not gain an inch.

They had you in a room now. Plain beige walls, anonymous, sterile. There was a nurse. She wasn’t hiding her face but you didn’t recognize her. Young and pretty in the way magazines say women should be. The snap of latex gloves echoed in the room before she checked your pulse with clinical precision, dictating into something. All you could do was watch.

“Patient is blonde, caucasian, female. Breast enhancement procedure was successful.” The nurse’s hands groped and squeezed your breasts with rough efficiency, as though testing for firmness, sending unexpected sensations through your stomach. You struggled to look down, gasping into the gag as you saw your now swollen and unfamiliar mounds. What have they done?

The nurse’s fingers pinched your already stiff nipples. Your squeal was muffled by the gag. “Nipples are sensitive, suitable for piercing.” The nurse continued her catalog, barely acknowledging you.

Your mind rebelled at the indignity, but your body behaved differently. A heat spread through you. Wetness between your legs. Excitement warred with shame.

“Chastity shield remains in place. Subject exhibits increased sensitivity and arousal.”

The words were slow to penetrate your foggy mind. You strained your neck to look, but couldn’t see, but now you were aware of the hard plastic covering your pussy. A tap, fingernail on plastic, muffled sensation but enough to make you try to buck your hips despite the restraints.

“Involuntary motor response confirmed,” She noted.

The nurse was looking at you now. Amusement obvious in her eyes for the first time. She tapped again as she leant down to whisper in your ear.

“There will be no cumming for you. Not anymore. Not once we’ve finished with you.”

A third tap made you writhe in frustration, pathetic whimpers lost in cloth. Stripped of autonomy, stripped of self. The nurse straightened up again and returned to her work. You looked up at her eyes wide and pleading. Your hips lifted, straining against the tight restraints, eager for another tap. You hated that you did it. The plastic of the shield pressed against your pussy, adding to the frustration. Her eyes glanced at your crotch for just a second, then back to the monitors.

“Subject exhibits mental weakness. Recommend proceeding to neural compliance conditioning.” As she spoke she turned to pick up something, a syringe already full of a clear liquid. Her eyes fixed on yours as she flicked the side. A clear droplet trembled on the tip of the needle.

The restraints cut deeper into your wrists. Your stomach twisted, not from fear, but need. The heat built between your legs. Wetness collected with nowhere to go.

The needle slid in. Ice flooded your veins, instantly silencing your panic, leaving only the raw, throbbing at your core.