The Clinic

By Mel

Chapter 2: Treatment Starts

I couldn't believe my ears. "So the job offer wasn't genuine, it was a conspiracy? You and Jenny deliberately did this so you could take me prisoner?" I gasped.

Dr. Gordon laughed. "My, that's something to put in your case notes, young lady. What paranoia! You came here of your own free will, and voluntarily agreed to be admitted, on Jenny's advice and with my endorsement. That's what the record says. And your behaviour since you've been here, recorded on camera, is proof that you need treatment. You're a singularly beautiful young lady, and you deserve to be treated properly."

What on earth could I do? I could scarcely attack the Director, trussed up as I was. Even if I could somehow overcome him, how could I leave this cell? If I screamed, who would hear me? Only Jenny, who was probably standing outside, and was in on the plot, and maybe one or two other employees, who of course would assume that anything I said against the Director was just the ravings of a lunatic.

"Anyway, let's get you ready for treatment. Stand up." Reluctantly, I rose to my feet. As soon as I was upright, Dr. Gordon leaned heavily on me, slamming me against the cell wall, pinning me against it so that I couldn't move. He pulled something from his pocket and shoved it into my face, completely covering my mouth. Some object was forced into my mouth, a huge lump that was covered in leather. Something was covering almost the entire lower half of my face; I could feel it against my cheeks, along my jaw line and under my chin. It event rubbed the underside of my nose. I tried to scream, but the sound was almost entirely muffled. I could feel one of the Director's strong hands pressing this panel firmly against my face as with his other hand he held a collection of straps and buckles and draped them over and around my head.

I felt pressure at the back of my head. As this pressure grew, two straps at the side of the panel against my cheeks were pulled tighter and tighter, and the soft padding of the panel that encased my mouth and jaw pressed hard against my face. This was going to be an incredibly effective gag; surely it would totally silence me. Again I tried to scream, and this confirmed my worst fears about the gag. Not a single breath of air could escape from my mouth now that it was completely sealed shut with the thick padded muzzle, and the space inside was filled with this leather lump. My upper and lower jaws were forced firmly together and held shut by the gag. I could make some sound through my nostrils, but it was no more than a weak unintelligible squeal.

Silenced and unable to speak to Dr. Grant, I tried to make eye contact with him, to try and plead with my expression, but his gaze was now focused on the back of my head. I felt another series of straps begin to tighten. There were two, one on either side of my nose, joining together somewhere between my eyes into one strap, then further up and over the top of my head. The panel that cupped my jaw and cheeks tightened now in a new direction, from bottom to top, completely immobilising my jaw by clamping everything even more tightly together. I felt the pressure of additional straps being tightened around my face and behind my head. This was another set on the sides of my face, one set under my chin, encircling around to the back of my neck and locked together with the other straps. The Director brought his hand around when he was finished and clamped it over the panel covering my face in different spots, ensuring that it pressed against everywhere on my face. Every scrap of my flesh that was sealed into the brutal thick muzzle was being punished by the stiff padding.

He shifted away some of his body weight that was pinning me to the soft padded wall and took a firm grip of my cocooned arms. He put his leg in front of mine and then pushed me across it, taking my legs out from under me and throwing me chest first onto the cell floor. I crashed down with a dull thud and immediately felt the Director scramble on top of me, straddling the small of my back on his knees, pinning me down. I wanted to turn my head around and try and get a look at what he was doing, but he put a powerful hand against the back of my head and pressed my face into the padded floor. This made it almost impossible to breathe. Every fibre of my being screamed bloody murder, but I might as well have had my vocal chords removed as my protests were barely audible. I lost track of time and nearly blacked out before he released me and the air rushed back into my lungs.

The Director slid off my back and onto my thighs. I began to struggle, but all that I could do was raise my virtually naked bottom into the air. He placed both of his hands on my bottom, one on each cheek. I squealed uselessly as he played with it for a moment before undoing my crotch strap so that he could tighten it further. A savage tug, and it was done. The strap was now quite painfully wedged right inside me, almost cutting me in half and crushing against my pussy.

As I lay there, I felt his hands around my ankles. He had fastened a leather strap tightly around them. He did the same at my knees. "I'll send some orderlies to bring you to the treatment room," he said, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

I was now far more helpless than before. I was virtually perfectly silenced, and with these straps around my legs I probably couldn't stand up, and certainly couldn't walk anywhere. Escape was totally out of the question. How long could they keep me a prisoner? Who would care? Not my family; I was an only child, my mother was dead and my father had scarcely contacted me since he remarried. Not my employer, of course. I would certainly be here for six months, it seemed. By then, I might really have gone insane.

Who knows how long I waited, helpless, gagged, immobile and terrified? Eventually, the door swung open and a trolley was pushed in. It was followed by three tough-looking men; with the trolley, they almost completely filled the cell.

"Careful with this one; she might be violent," said one of them. I almost laughed. How could I be violent, all trussed up like this? I couldn't kick, I couldn't punch, I couldn't bite and I could barely struggle if I wanted to. Even so, they approached me with caution, picking me up and laying me face down on the trolley. Innumerable canvas straps were fastened tightly across me at my calves, thighs, waist, back and neck. My face was pressed uncomfortably against the trolley, but somehow I could breathe. No way could I now twitch a muscle beyond wiggling my toes. Once I was totally secured, they wheeled me out of the cell, clattering along some corridors and into a white-walled room. Jenny was there. What I had thought of as her cute, sexy nurse's uniform now took a new cast; she seemed to be a ruthless domina.

"OK, take her off the trolley and put her on the frame," she ordered. Three pairs of hands soon had me free and then I was picked up and placed facing a solid metal frame bolted to the ground and walls. A wide collar with a leash attached was buckled around my neck and I was forced to bend right over, almost doubled up. The leash was fixed inside the frame, holding me bent down. My bottom was now really on display. My legs were released; they then pulled them wide apart and secured them to the frame at the knees and ankles. A strap, pulled very tight, secured me at the waist. I was held quite immobile.

"Right, she's secure; it's safe to leave us," said Jenny. They all obediently trooped out.

Jenny unbuckled my crotch strap. That was some relief. The tight belt around my waist and the strap there meant that the straitjacket still gripped me firmly. She ran her hands over my bottom. "My, your bottom is so glorious and round and smooth," she murmured. "It must be the best I've ever seen. It seems such a pity that I have to do this." Do what, I wondered. Bent over as I was, I could not see what she was doing.

All too soon, I found out. There was a crack, and a line of fire burnt across my bottom. I jumped as much as I could in my restraints, and a feeble shriek escaped my nostrils. Try as I might, hardly any sound could emerge through the brutal gag. Again and again, I was whipped, all over my bottom and the backs of my thighs. I could do absolutely nothing to escape or resist or even protest. This seemed to go on for eternity.

At last it stopped, but then there was a new sensation. Jenny put first one finger, then two, then three inside my bottom and wiggled them about. "Just a little gel for lubrication," she explained cryptically. Then I felt something pressing against me. It slowly entered me, a most unpleasant sensation. Deeper and deeper it was pushed in. Trapped as I was by the straitjacket and the frame, there was nothing I could do to resist, try as I might. Deeper and deeper, and it stretched me more and more. I felt that my very core would be torn asunder. Suddenly, there was a spasm as my muscles closed around its narrow end. It was all inside. I felt incredibly full.

"There, that won't be coming out any time soon," said Jenny, almost triumphantly. "Now, let's see to your other hole."

The process was repeated with my most intimate opening. It felt even worse; surely the monster that Jenny was forcing in was twice the size of the thing filling my rear. It was so long that it must have been touching my cervix. Jenny was panting by the time she finished. Was it from the exertion, or some other reason? Anyway, she then did up my crotch strap, as tightly as before.

I felt a sudden stabbing pain in my bottom. She had stuck a needle into me, but swiftly removed it. Had she injected me with something?

"Right, let's put this skirt on you," she said, wrapping something around my waist and zipping it closed. It came down to my knees and gripped my bottom and thighs tightly. "We don't want the porters to see those unsightly whip marks!"

So the porters who had brought me here didn't know what was going on and how I was being abused. If I could somehow tell them and show them these marks, maybe they would help me escape. But how could I possibly tell them?

But I was feeling very drowsy. Presumably, Jenny had injected me with a knockout drug. I passed out.

* * * *

Gradually, I came round. I was lying on the floor in the padded cell. I realised that I was no longer gagged, but I was still in the tight straitjacket. The skirt that had hidden my whip marks had been removed. I could still feel the two huge intruders buried deep inside me. Moving my legs, I found that the tight straps at knees and ankles had been replaced with manacles at my ankles. I looked up and saw Jenny there.

"Hi, Mel, it's time to eat," she said. "Don't bother to shout; I guarantee you that nobody else could possibly hear you."

"Jenny … Jenny," I said in my most doleful voice. "Why are you doing these terrible things to me? I thought we were friends."

"Have some orange juice," she said, pressing a plastic cup to my lips. I was very thirsty, and drank greedily. "Look Mel, have you any idea what it's like, living with about the most gorgeous girl I've ever come across, seeing you in your sexy nightie at breakfast most days, when YOU'RE BLOODY DEAD STRAIGHT? I've been so very frustrated, all this time, so jealous whenever you've had a date with Jimmy. Now, at long last, I can do what I like with you. And of course Dr. Grant will want his turn, too."

I digested this information as she spoon-fed me a meal of rather tasteless pap. The thought of spending the next six months, maybe longer, at the mercy of this sadist who was not at all the girl I'd lived with for over a year was awful. And the thought of what Dr. Grant might do to my helpless body filled me with dread.

"You know, you left yourself logged in to your e-mail," continued Jenny. "So I've taken it over and got your Facebook and Twitter accounts too. I've told everyone you're taking a break and having a trip round the world. Oh, and I've told Jimmy very firmly in colourful language that you never want to see him again."

I groaned. So any faint hope that any of my friends might wonder what had happened to me was extinguished. And I really liked Jimmy.

Once the meal was finished, Jenny lay down next to me and hugged my helpless body. She fumbled around and found a concealed zipper over my left breast. She opened it and my breast, forced forward by the contortions forced on my shoulders by the tight straitjacket, popped out. She repeated this on the other side.

"Wow but your breasts are a sight for sore eyes," she sighed happily. She played with them for ages, squeezing them and sucking my nipples. Despite everything, my body reacted and my nipples were as hard as bullets.

"Right, well, I have to get on with my work," she suddenly said, jumping up. "Let's just attend to a few things." She fished something out of her pocket and pulled it over my head. It was a thick hood that clung very tightly to every part of my head and completely stopped any light reaching my eyes. I leapt as much as I could in my bonds when a searing pain went through first one nipple, and then the other. She must have put sharp-toothed clamps on them. And then there was again a stabbing pain in my bottom. Was this more of the knockout drug?

"For your information Mel, that injection included a powerful stimulant. You'll be wide awake and alert for a good many hours, and you'll feel every bit of pain, and pleasure, tenfold. And there was also a dose of hormones to increase your sexual urges. You'll feel more and more frustrated, for hours and hours. I'll see you later, but of course you won't be able to see me."

With that, Jenny walked out of the cell. And a few seconds later, the two huge intruders buried deep inside me came alive and started vibrating.

To Be Continued…

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