Teasing Kimber

What started as a basic gynecological exam, seemed to go awry when my regular doctor turned me over to a doctor and nurse I had never seen before.

The nurse was extremely beautiful and the doctor was ruggedly handsome. Without saying a word, the nurse slid my wrists into a set of cuffs attached the side of the exam table. The doctor reassured me, as she strapped my ankles into the stirrups which held my ankles a few feet above my waist.

The doctor stepped out from behind my legs and asked if I had been experiencing any problems.

I told him that I hadn't, that everything was fine, normal.

The doctor and nurse traded looks.

"Well, Kimber," the doctor continued, "everything is not normal. We don't think it's normal for a girl to have her fingers in her pussy and often as you do."

"What?" I protested, squirming trying to free my wrists and ankles.

"You have been monitored for the last six months, we have recorded every time you have masturbated," the doctor told me, holding up a large file. He showed me records, dates, times, a few photographs of me with my hand down my pants, even one in the bathtub.

"The condition," he continued, "is called chronic onanism. Chronic masturbation. You average 3.2 times a day. One month your average was 4.5 times a day. We've never seen a case this severe, but we think we can help you. Our treatment requires severe reconditioning."

"Right now," he explained, "when you feel even the first sensation of excitement, your impulse is to touch yourself and give yourself an orgasm." The nurse pulled out a small syringe. "This drug will block that."

"The excitement?" I asked.

"No," he smiled, "the ability to achieve orgasm." The nurse smiled cruelly as she injected me.

"This drug will block the signals your brain sends to your body that allow you to have an orgasm. No matter what you do, or more to the point that we do, nothing will make you cum."

"You mean I won't want to anymore?" I asked.

The doctor and nurse laughed and the nurse pulled out a second syringe. "Oh, no, this second drug has the effect of increasing your sexual drive. In fact, all you will think about is cumming. The therapeutic dosage for most people is 10cc. You will receive 100 times that amount. The combination produces what we can only describe as a desperate state of absolute sexual frustration. I'd tell you not to worry, that you'll get used to it, but our research indicates that it isn't true. In fact, it tends to get worse with time, not better. We'll have to tranquilize you to sleep, in fact."

The nurse stroked my hair as she administered the second injection. Almost immediately, I felt myself begin to lubricate.

"Unfortunately, you have to remain bound for the entire treatment," the doctor continued, "Otherwise, we are afraid you might hurt yourself. Our last patient, we were afraid, would commit suicide after three days of treatment. Since then, all patients are restrained for the duration of their stay."

"Duration?" I asked.

"You are a special case," he explained, "usually two to three weeks. But your stay has been marked as indefinite."

I shivered and I was suddenly overtaken by an incredible urge to touch myself. I tugged at my wrist cuffs. I looked at the doctor and begged softly, "Please?"

"Awwwww, you poor thing," the nurse said softly, "it's not going to help. It won't make it better, it will just make it worse, sooner."

Still I whispered, "Pleeeeeease?"

Her hand slid down between my legs and touched my tender pussy lips. She expertly touched me, sliding her fingers in and out, and gently rubbing my clit.

The sensation welled up inside me, it grew and grew, as she touched and rubbed.

"Oh, God, yes," I cried.

I twisted and turned as the orgasm grew, starting in my belly, slowly crawling down, just about to reach my pussy, to make me explode in a furious, intense orgasm--the most intense of my life. She rubbed faster, harder, slower, roughly, gently--the feeling just hung, not moving. So close, so very close, no longer building, no longer moving.

The nurse laughed gently, "It's not going to happen dear, and that feeling--being right on the edge, it isn't going to go away."

I looked at the nurse with wide, desperate eyes.

"The first few hours are going to be really bad for you, but I'd like you to keep quiet. I know you want to scream, cry, beg, but I'm asking you not to, to just sit quietly."

I felt my breathing increase beyond my control.

"Now, dear," the doctor continued, "we also have to do something about your attitudes toward sex. The report indicates you have issues with exposure."

I could barely hear, my head was throbbing in rhythm with my pussy.

"One of the things we do here, Kimber, is public exposure and use. Do you understand?"

I woke slightly out of my daze, "What?" I asked panicked.

"Well, hundreds of people are going to see, and in some cases use your pussy. It's all part of the treatment. Part of what we need to do here is completely strip you of your dignity and self-esteem. Some really funny things are going to happen to you here. Things you will remember for the rest of your life."

The doctor and nurse looked at each other knowingly. "One of the benefits of reconditioning, it that we can help you make new associations. Your boyfriend, now your owner, has selected humiliation therapy. By the end of the treatment, you will, or rather your body will, have learned to find feelings of shame, degradation, and humiliation incredibly erotic. You will crave them and come to need them."

It was all so much to take in. Boyfriend? Did they mean Bobby? The sensation inside me made it impossible to concentrate?

"Bobby," I mumbled, "is Bobby here? Oh Bobby! Please help me, Bobby," I pleaded desperately.

The nurse petted my head. "I asked you to be quiet, dear. Don't make me ask you again."

The doctor explained further, "Bobby is the one who signed you up for this treatment. He now owns you. You should only refer to him as 'owner.' If after your treatment he still wants you, you will call him Master."

Now the nurse's hand slid back between my legs, causing new and even more intense sensations. I squealed softly as she touched me. "For this to do any good," she said matter of factly, "you need to cry."

The feelings grew, but the orgasm wouldn't come. The more I needed it, the further away it seemed to grow. Then in waves . . .almost, almost, almost, over and over again.

I screamed in incredible frustration.

Without a word, I felt large cotton pads being inserted into my mouth, packing it full, followed by several strips of wide adhesive tape, sealing my lips.

My breathing increased through my nose as I let out a pathetic wail into my gag.

"See, I told you to be quiet," the nurse told me as she continued to rub my aching pussy.

I started arching my back and pressing harder into the nurse's hand.

She laughed quietly watching me. As she continued massaging my pussy, she looked me dead in the eyes as a cold, devious look came over her. "I am going to love watching you suffer," she said as she slid her other hand under her skirt.

"Watch me, Kimber," she taunted, "I want you to see what you can't have." She took her finger, wet with my free flowing juices and rubbed it along her pussy lips.

"Watch how easy it is," she said, as she sat back and slowly masturbated herself to orgasm. After, she removed her fingers from inside herself and wiped them on my face. I could smell her all over me, driving me crazy.

I tried to concentrate, to bring myself to orgasm. Nothing helped, every moment just seemed to inch me closer, but leave me on the edge helpless. From behind the gag, I made whimpering sounds, unable to do anything except feel the intense need and frustration wash over me and fill me. It was all I could think about, no matter how hard I tried to think about something else.

The nurse watched, "You can try that," she told me, as if she was reading my mind, "but you won't be able to distract yourself for very long. Maybe a minute or two now, soon you won't even be able to do that." The nurse was laughing wickedly now.

"Kimber," she said, holding something behind her back, "this should help give you some perspective." She hung a large clock on the wall. I watched as the second hand clicked unbearably slowly. "Just try to think of something different," she told me.

I let my mind wander, back to home, my friends, old friends, my best friend. What was her name? Oh, Mmmmmmmmm, oh god, oh, my pussy, oh, please help me.

"10 seconds," her voice said. "Did you even last 10 seconds?"

I looked at her horrified.

"You didn't did you?"

Did what? Oh, god, the tingling, the feeling, Mmmmmmmm, I need help, relief, Oh please. It is all I can think about, how bad I need it. What was she saying? I can't remember, Oh, God! My pussy. Why can't I concentrate? What is happening to me? Oh, waves of sensations, almost but not quite there, over and over and over.

The nurse turned to the doctor. "She's in her own little world now. What do you think? Time to start her reconditioning?"

The doctor, watching silently, spoke. "No, we need to wait for the tears, I think. She needs to understand how truly desperate her situation is. The humiliation will work much better once she has given up any hope of relief or of getting free. Help her understand."

The nurse sat down and started talking. I paid as much attention as I could.

"OK, Kimber," she said, "You need to understand a few things. And I know you are in no condition to hear it, so I will have to demonstrate."

The nurse placed her fingers over my nose and pinched. She held it as I desperately tried to inhale, to breathe through my mouth packing and tape gag. Her two little fingers cut off my breathing. I writhed and twisted, trying to pull away and free my nose from her pinching fingers. She easily kept it shut. Soon I stopped squirming, feeling faint, weak and helpless.

Suddenly she released her fingers. I inhaled madly, snorting and wheezing for air. After a few intense inhalations, she pinched it again, holding it until I was nearly unconscious. She repeated it over and over. With each time, I resisted less and less, finally lying still and letting the tears flow from my eyes as I felt her complete control over me, over life and death, the power of her two slender fingers to make me miserable. And then, all I could think about was my pussy again. But this was different. All I could think about was how helpless I was to give myself relief, how hopeless my situation was. The thought made my desperation grow and my pussy ache more then ever. And now the tears were flowing.

"Doctor, " the nurse called, "she's ready!"

Ready?, I thought, ready for what? And then all I could think about or feel was the incredible desire to be stimulated and my pussy, Oh, my pussy. It was like it had become the center of my being.

Slowly, I could feel my legs being spread, at the knees and at the ankles. The sheet that had been covering me was removed and I found myself, naked, stretched out, vulnerable, exposed. The cool air felt good between my legs at first, and then slowly turned into stimulation, like everything else around me. Gradually, the cool air was turning me on. At first, it was just pleasant, then it started to become more, an irritant, something that was teasing me, tickling me. I wanted more, needed more. I wanted to feel it inside me, going through me, consuming me. No matter what was happening, it wasn't enough.