My thanks both to Donnylaja, who invented the Mark 1 Retainer, and
to Artyeleven, who produced the Mark 2 version, for so freely
permitting me to borrow (and further modify) that fiendish device.
CADUCEUS CLUB
by
C. Lakewood
"So, what do you think?" Carol grinned at me while the waiter
was still serving us the entrée.
I waited until he'd gone back to leaning against the wall and
looking bored. I sipped my wine.
"Well, I'm not really interested in that sort of thing...."
"By 'that sort of thing' I suppose you mean public nudity,
embarrassment, voyeurism, exhibitionism, humiliation, dominance
and submission, bondage and discipline, etc., etc., etc." She
chortled. "Don't forget I know what you download from the
Internet; that's exactly the 'sort of thing' you're actually most
interested in."
Carol Willis is my best friend, but she's 4 years younger than
me and much more of an uninhibited free spirit. She can be quite
annoying at times -- especially when she's right. I could feel
myself blushing.
"Be that as it may, I've got my reputation to consider.
I mean, there is a Morals Clause in my contract, and I'm sure
school officials wouldn't tolerate a teacher who v-volunteered
to...model...for this...um...this...."
"Caduceus Club." Carol finished my sentence, as she often
did. "Selected medical students and their advisors, interns,
residents, etc., as I said. All quite respectable...well, maybe
a little risqué, but basically respectable. And you know you're
dying to do it. Aren't your nipples stiff? Isn't your pussy
drooling at the very thought?"
I squirmed in my chair and looked around the restaurant
nervously, hoping no one was eavesdropping. Carol did keep her
voice reasonably low, but she went on and on and on in the same
vein, until I finally agreed just to shut her up (as she knew I
would).
She even stuck me with the check.
***************************
Several times during the following week, I thought about
calling Amy Robyns, my 20-year-old niece, to see if she knew
anything about this Caduceus Club. But she and I had not been
on good terms for more than a year, ever since she'd announced
she was going to forego college and enroll in nursing school
instead. (I'd disdained the idea as foolish, and she'd retorted
by characterizing my alma mater as a "third-rate teacher's
college.") In the end, I decided just to let sleeping dogs lie.
At last I was called in to the Caduceus Club headquarters for
an interview. It was conducted by a nice looking young man in
his mid-20s, wearing a white lab coat (of course). He introduced
himself as Guy Guisburn, current president of the Club.
After I filled out a questionnaire, he looked it over and
smiled. "'Constance Leland Moss, divorced, age 34....' I see
you had a complete physical exam less than 4 months ago, so we
can waive most of the standard tests. However, there are a few
things we'll need to do today. So, if you will please take off
your clothes...."
"But, Dr. Guisburn, why...?”
"Please don't quibble, Connie. I don't wish to be impolite,
but I do have a busy schedule. We can take care of these
formalities much more efficiently if you just go ahead and do
as you're told."
I guess I blushed, but I nodded and stood up.
"Where? I mean, a changing room...or at least a screen?
Please?"
"That's hardly necessary." He made an impatient gesture.
I didn't argue. Red-faced, I took off my shoes, blouse, and
skirt, hesitated a moment, and then stripped off my pantyhose,
too. After that, I just stood there, nervously, half-hoping I'd
be able to keep my underwear on....
He looked up from his desk, raised his eyebrows, and gestured
again. I felt like a dilatory adolescent, but did manage to
whine, "A gown...?" He merely looked askance and shook his head.
So I hurried out of my bra and panties -- now unable to hide my
stiffening nipples and moistening pussy....
First, he told me he was recording the interview and exam so
he wouldn't have to bother taking notes. (Naturally, I assumed he
was referring to audio tape.) Next, he had me sign a contract and
a waiver of confidentiality. Then he measured my height (5'6")
and weight (131 pounds) and blood pressure (normal). Finally, I
had to crouch on the examining table while he put on a latex glove,
greased me up, and took my temperature -- with a fancy electronic
rectal thermometer. By the time the thing finally beeped, I was
so turned on that my pussy was a swamp. I was surprised the
thermometer didn't show I was feverish.
And then I had to wipe the excess lubricant off my bottom,
while he supervised.
After I'd done that -- to his satisfaction -- and deposited
the tissues in a "hazardous waste" bin, he had me stand next to
his desk and answer some additional questions. I was very
self-conscious about all this. But he was an authority figure --
and I was naked -- so I felt compelled to obey and to tell him
the truth. Besides, I HAD volunteered..., and I did find it
exciting.
"Before your divorce, Connie, how often did you have sexual
intercourse in an average month?"
"I-I suppose...um...8 or 9 times. My husband -- ex-husband
-- often...um...couldn't get an erection...."
"And since your divorce?"
"Oh, well...none.... I haven't been...um...'intimate'...with
anyone."
"No men, no women?"
"No."
"While married, did you engage in anal intercourse?"
"Oh, no, neither of us wanted to do that.... Well, he
didn't."
"Oral sex?"
"Yes."
"Was it mutual?"
"No, I just did it to him...."
"And did you swallow or spit it out?"
"I...um...s-swallowed...."
"You always swallow all of it?"
"Y-yes."
"Do you like the taste?"
"I-I don't see why you n-need that...."
"Please don't be childish. Just answer the question."
"Well, n-no.... It really didn't have much taste, but I-I
didn't like what it did have."
"Then why did you swallow it?"
"Well, I just...thought I should."
"Did you engage in extra-marital sex?"
"Oh, no."
"Did you ever fantasize about having extra-marital sex?"
"Y-yes."
"Often?"
"Yes."
"What else do you frequently fantasize about?"
"Oh god...about...being forced to do...th-things...humiliating
things...made to m-masturbate while people watch and not being
allowed to cum...or having to cum over and over and over...being
naked and d-disciplined...and...and...oh god...." I climaxed,
just talking about it. Caught on tape.
"Do you 'surf the Net' and download pictures and stories?"
"Yes."
"On what subjects?"
"Ex-hibitionism, humiliation, bon-bondage, s-spanking....
Um...um...wa-water-sssports...."
"While married, did you masturbate?"
"Y-yes."
"How often?"
"Maybe...um...half a dozen times...or so...a w-week...."
"And now?"
"More...probably 12 to 15...possibly...um...20...."
He regarded me for a moment, then nodded. "Good," he finally
said. "Now, stand over there against that blank wall, and we'll
take some "Posture" photos for the file."
Oh, god...naked pictures of me....
He positioned me with my back to the wall, arms at my sides.
"Stand up straight, but relaxed, natural. Face me. Right." He
spoke peremptorily while smoothly setting up tripod, camera, and
lighting. "Now, a neutral, passive expression...no smile, no
frown. Okay, that's good."
I marvelled that I could stand up at all. And then....
CLICK! Full frontal.
CLICK! Again.
"Now a quarter turn to your right."
CLICK! CLICK!
"Turn again, so your back is to me."
CLICK! CLICK!
"Another quarter turn."
CLICK! CLICK!
Then he did a number of shots, full-length and medium and
close up, in various poses: in an "X" position, in a "T,"
squatting, and, worst of all, "bending and spreading." (I
wondered how many sets of these pictures would be printed....)
And then it was over, at last.
"You'll be assigned a supervisor, who will meet you here,
latish Saturday afternoon -- about 4:00, okay? -- to finish
prepping you for your debut. She'll also work out the scheduling.
The Caduceus Club thanks you for what I'm sure will prove to be a
mutually satisfactory experience," he said, as I was getting
dressed again.
"She...?"
"Oh, yes, a female...of course." He gave me a look of
dismissal, so I stuffed my pantyhose into my purse and left.
******************************
On Saturday, I made a point of being exactly on time. I was
promptly escorted to another, similar, exam room and told to
undress.
It was a little easier, stripping when I was alone in the
room. I found exhibitionism just as exciting in real life as it
was in my fantasies, but also a lot scarier. I sat on the exam
table, the stiff paper liner crinkling under my bare bottom, and,
after a few minutes, began to fidget. At last, the door opened,
and there, complete with lab coat and clipboard, was my niece, Amy.
I just sat there, stunned.
"Good afternoon, Connie," she said, briskly.
"Omigod, Amy, b-but...."
"Let's get started off on the right foot, shall we? I'm your
supervisor, and, as long as that's so, I'll call you 'Connie,' and
you'll call me 'Miss Amy.' Okay?"
"O-okay, M-iss Amy, but...."
"Things will go much more smoothly if you will just pay
attention and follow orders. You will be 'modeling' a device
first developed as a possible means of controlling dangerous
prisoners in transit. (There is a male equivalent.) But its
usefulness in the study and treatment of orgasmic dysfunction
quickly became apparent. What you need to know will be explained
to you in due course. Now, the first thing to do today is to get
rid of all that hair between your legs."
No. This was just too much. I slid off the table and started
for my clothes. "I'm sorry, AMY, but I've changed my mind."
"Well, that's not a decision to be made lightly. You realize
that there are SEVERE financial penalties for breach of contract
-- not to mention the bad publicity...."
"What?"
"Oh, yes -- compensatory damages, punitive damages, legal
fees, court costs..., and, of course, the media will lap it all
up. What will the school board make of it, I wonder?"
Oh, god. I could envision being ruined -- assets, reputation,
and career destroyed. But I could prevent that if I just obeyed
orders. How bad could it be?
And I might even enjoy it some. Oh, god! How could I even
think that?
"Okay, NOW shall we get on with it?" Amy sneered.
Outwardly, she was businesslike, but it was clear she was
thoroughly enjoying our reversal of status, as she marched me
through a number of preliminary steps.
She proceeded to trim my pubic hair quite close with scissors,
and ordered me into the adjoining shower, with instructions to
scrub my crotch clean. Then she shaved me close, afterward
applying some sort of thick green goo (an "inhibitor," she called
it). While the goo was working, she gave me two large enemas --
a soapy one followed by a saline rinse. Then I had to shower
again, to wash off the green goo. Next, she found my "G-spot"
and carefully noted its exact location. (I hadn't even been
sure that I had one -- but was convinced when she put her
fingertip on it.) And, finally, I suffered through the rather
complicated process of having a urinary catheter installed.
During this entire time (well over an hour), my clitoris was
fully erect, and Miss Amy, who had her fingers in the vicinity
continually, often "accidentally" brushed against it, nudging me
to the brink of orgasm, again and again -- but never quite over
the brink.
(That was the laundry list of what happened physically. But
it doesn't even hint at how devastating it all was. Little Amy,
my big sister's child, whom I baby-sat for years, was now in
authority over me -- and exercising that authority with relish
-- rendering my pubes as bald as a pre-adolescent's...preparing
me to receive my enema by giving me a "lube job," goosing me
more than thoroughly with her damned greasy fingers...watching
with a smirk as the water flowed s-l-o-w-l-y into me and I
labored to retain it...later, essentially finger-fucking me to
distraction...and then, merrily worming that catheter tube up my
pee-hole...little Amy, precocious and disdainful, my supervisor.)
All the preliminaries at last concluded, she set a slim
cardboard box on the table beside us, opened it, and took out a
thick, flexible piece of transparent plastic, shaped much like
the crotch-piece of a thong bikini. Its inner surface was covered
with an array of nodules (of various sizes and shapes), as well as
a prominent probe both fore and aft. The front probe was a
slightly contoured cylinder, about 4" long and almost 2" in
diameter; the rear one looked like a standard flared butt-plug
design, also about 4" long, more than an inch in diameter at the
flare, and then necked down to half that.
"The Mark 2* Retainer," she beamed. "You'll be demonstrating
this tonight. The original...."
"T-tonight?"
"Yes. Shhh! As I was saying, the original 'Retainer' was
developed by a group of doctors and engineers, under the direction
of Prof. Nevada McMasters. The Mark 2 version was refined and
significantly improved by Dr. Arthur Leven. McMasters' device
was opaque, for example, but this is quite transparent, as you
can see. That not only makes it easier to fit the device properly,
but also allows us to monitor physiological changes visually when
it's in operation. Dr. Leven also re-designed the electronics and
incorporated additional functionality. In turn, we've made a few
relatively minor additional changes in this Mark 2* model (which
I'll explain at the proper time, as needed)."
The chastity belt goes high-tech.
Amy made some adjustment to the vaginal probe and applied a
lubricant to the inner surface of the device and to both probes.
She told me to stand, with my legs spread, knees slightly bent,
and feet well apart. She knelt and eased the thing into position,
threading the end of the catheter through a small hole in the front
panel.
Lining up the probes properly required some dexterity on Amy's
part. But the vaginal probe slid into me quite smoothly, and the
clitoral stimulator settled into position. Next, she had to
fiddle with my vaginal lips to make sure they were well-separated
and slotted into their intended grooves on the inside of the
device. This was the worst yet. I blushed hotter and trembled.
I was so humiliated...and so aroused.
Amy sniffed loudly and smiled. The smell of my heated pussy
drifted up to me.
She then pulled up the back-strap and pressed the tip of the
anal probe against my cringing pucker.
"Push," she said. "Like you're trying to pass a turd."
I obeyed her and sighed as I felt the probe slither into place
and my sphincter embrace it.
After a few minute adjustments, she had me hold the device in
place while she removed a heavy plastic belt from the box, slid it
through loops on the device (two on the front and one on the rear),
tightened it to fit, and locked it closed.
I stood up straight and groaned slightly as I felt the probes
shift within me. Even naked, I was less exposed than now. And I
was not just exposed...and invaded; I was also subject to the whims
of others. How much so, I had no idea, but was about to learn.
Amy picked up a small remote control, pressed an orange button,
and the retainer went live.
It suddenly felt as though I were carrying a melon inside me.
It didn't hurt, but it just seemed to be touching me everywhere.
Meanwhile, Amy went on, didactically.
"The inside of the device is lined with electrodes. These
carry both sensory information to the CPU (located in the anal
probe) and stimulus pulses from the CPU to the wearer's primary
erogenous zones. You will have felt the vaginal probe extend and
open out into a sort of pine cone shape, to ensure close contact
with the cervix and other areas within the vagina, including the
one commonly known as the Graffenburg (or 'G') spot."
She switched the thing off, and I felt the probe subside.
"De-activated, it's waterproof," she explained. "I won't
trouble you with too many technical details, but, if you're
wondering, it is quite independent of any external power source.
It uses body heat and movement to keep the internal batteries
charged.
"It's very flexible now, but it'll stiffen up quite a bit once
we're through here. Each person is different, not only in gross
size, but also in minute contours, so there is an initial fitting
process, and then the device is customized for an individual; the
plastic material is 'set' by using the shower spray. As long as
you're careful and thorough, it's really not difficult. You just
have to get the water temperature over 40° centigrade. That's
about 110°F.," she added patronizingly. "And make sure the water
gets all over, inside and out.
"So get in the shower again -- you should know your way
around it by now -- and I'll spray you down." That shower was
very up-to-date; it even had a thermostat to control the water
temperature. Amy set it to 45°C/120°F., waited a moment, and
started to spray.
She was pretty skillful with that spray -- but I couldn't
help wriggling when the hot water flooded my crotch. It wasn't
too long, however, before Amy nodded and shut off the water.
Drumming her fingernails on the outside of the device, she was
satisfied it was done.
"Hardened nicely," she observed. "Now we dry it off (and you,
too, of course). At this point, we could fit a set of nipple
stimulators -- there are several different kinds of those -- but
we'll leave that until later and just re-activate and calibrate
your probes."
I stepped out of the stall, and she played valet, though she
seemed a lot more conscientious in toweling the device than in
doing me.
"We need to wait a while, to make sure all the water inside
has a chance to drain out, so I'll continue your briefing.
"The retainer can be turned on and off either by a switch on
the device itself or by this small remote control. On the remote
here, the power button is this orange one; the little light beside
it is an on/off indicator. There are also six buttons in three
rows, each button corresponding to a different level of arousal,
0 through 5." She pressed the orange button, the light began to
glow, and I got the stuffed sensation again.
"Until an arousal level is selected, the device will simply
collect data; it won't issue any stimuli. Press one of these six
buttons, however, and it will take you to the corresponding level
-- and hold you there until another command is input.
"Level 0 is really a misnomer; even switched off and completely
inert, the retainer is still mechanically stimulating to a degree.
Level 1 is "slightly aroused"; levels 2-4 are low, medium, and high
plateaus; level 5 is orgasm.
"The only other control is concealed." She opened a sliding
cover to reveal a small red button. "This starts the retainer's
self-test and calibration routine. You have to trigger this the
first time you fit someone new. The process takes about five
minutes.
"In the first phase (the 'self-test'), each separate
stimulation device and electrode, one by one, will start up at
its minimum stimulus setting and rachet slowly up to its maximum.
This phase will last 2 minutes and include both positive and
negative stimuli.
"In the second phase ('calibration'), the device will bring
you to orgasm three times, each time refining its control of your
erogenous zones. The first orgasm will be achieved very quickly
and will be of short duration, followed immediately by a flurry of
small, precise electrical pulses that will drop you back down to
level 0. The second 'calibration orgasm' will plumb the depths of
your responses -- and it will be incredibly intense. Then back to
0 again. The third one will be the ultimate test of the device's
control over you. It will step you through each arousal level,
holding you for 10 seconds at each stop from 0 through 4. When it
goes to level 5, though, it'll keep you there for a long 30
seconds."
Her tone was dry, but there was an undertone of barely
repressed glee.
She paused and smiled sweetly. "Oh, yes. I must also tell
you that, once the device is on, it's almost impossible for the
user to be affected by any external stimuli -- either positive or
negative. Therefore, it will keep you at whatever level and for
however long it is commanded to. So my advice is: don't try to
fight it; just go with the flow. Now, lie back on the exam table."
She winked at me and pushed the red button.
As she'd said, each separate component activated, one by
one, starting at its minimum output and accelerating until the
stimulation became somewhat painful. For the most part, I was
able to remain stoic, not wanting to give Amy any satisfaction;
but when the clitoral and urethral stimulators kicked in, I
couldn't help doing some gasping and twitching. All in all,
though, the 2-minute self-test was tolerable...barely.
The calibration phase hit me like a thunderbolt. It took me
from 0 to orgasm in much less than half a minute, and then it
zapped me back down to 0 in an instant. It was a breath-taking
experience.
Then it started building toward the second orgasm. This one
was more insidious, serpentine, wriggling through the very guts
of my arousal. It seemed to go endlessly on and on, though it
couldn't have been much more than 60 seconds. I became incapable
of coherent thought. The orgasm, when it came, was devastating.
If I'd been able to, I'd have pissed myself.
When I bottomed out at 0 again, I felt physically and mentally
drained...and totally humiliated. But there was still one more
"calibration orgasm" to go.
The retainer held me at 0 for 10 seconds, and that was painful,
because the thought of another climb up the scale was itself
arousing, and the device had to keep zapping me to keep me down.
Level 1 was pleasant, almost idyllic, with an occasional fairy
kiss from the device.
Level 2 was more intense, and I began to have some difficulty
concentrating. Rational thought started to blur into fantasy.
Level 3 was all fantasy...black, with crimson flames, as an
army of sex-fiends attacked me in all the ways I hated...and
loved....
At level 4, thought gave way entirely to pure feelings; my
formless fantasies overwhelmed me, even more powerful now that
I could no longer visualize them....
The 30 seconds of level 5 were heaven and hell in equal
measure. When I finally went back to 0 this time, I was dazed,
but, even so, I realized that I'd enjoyed the trip...in a perverse
sort of way.
Eventually, I sat up, dizzy, and let Amy towel off my sweaty
body.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Very tired."
She eased me back down onto the table. "You can sleep for a
while."
Was the little bitch concerned...or envious? I smiled...and
went to sleep.
******************************
I must have slept like the dead. Too soon, Amy was shaking me
awake again. She thrust a large glass of some thick orange liquid
into my palsied hands and ordered me to drink it.
"It's just what you need: fluid, electrolytes, carbs, protein,
and a mild analgesic. On your application, you mentioned a Carol
Willis as your emergency contact. I took the liberty of phoning
her, and she's agreed to attend tonight's meeting and see you home
afterward. Okay?"
I finished the foul-tasting drink and nodded.
"Well, speak up. Okay?"
"Yes..., um...yes, Miss Amy."
She smiled thinly, the look of one whose patience is rapidly
running out. It was one of my sister's favorite expressions.
The retainer was removed and my catheter drained. I was given
a hospital gown and flip-flops and led upstairs. I went docilely,
though I was seething with ambivalence inside.
At the end of a circuitous route, we entered a large room
through a side door, stage left. The place was filling up fast
-- 40 or 50 people (most of them men). A gyno-exam chair was
front and center, within a semi-circle of electronic equipment.
There seemed to be video monitors everywhere.
Guy Guisburn (the young man who had interviewed me two days
and half a life-time ago) stepped to the front and called everyone
to order. I stood there passively, only half-listening to what he
was saying -- it seemed to be an expanded and jargon-filled version
of the briefing Amy had given me. I tried to relax, but that
proved impossible, with my fantasies beginning to close in and my
pussy already swollen and wet with anticipation.
At last I heard him introduce me as "Connie X," and it was
show-time once again, time to turn back into the guinea pig that
I'd volunteered to be. And I walked out on trembling legs, my
revealing little hospital gown eddying about me, my flip-flops
slapping against the soles of my feet with each step.
I looked out at the audience, but couldn't make out individuals
-- I just couldn't focus.
I had to take off the gown, give everybody a good, long look
(front and rear), and then get into the exam chair. I had to
spread my legs really wide to fit the stirrups. I lay there,
knowing that at least two video cameras were focused on my
throbbing clit and dripping pussy -- no, I guess I should call it
a "cunt" now -- and fearing that everyone in the room would soon
know all my secrets.
There were only a dozen or so actual students in the audience,
and they were invited to come up, in groups of 3 or 4, for a
closer look and some "hands on" experience examining my intimate
areas.
They each had a turn, 9 or 10 males and 4 females. At first
they seemed cool and clinical, but I soon discovered that was a
veneer of "Dr. Kildare" over an "Animal House" carcass. In the
end, it became a sort of contest to see how often they could
ALMOST make me cum without actually allowing me to do so. The
women students were worse than the men; they already knew how to
manipulate female anatomy to the greatest effect, and I guess
they didn't want to seem less "dedicated" (i.e., "macho") than
their male classmates. It was very difficult for me to stifle
my moans as they played games with my hair-trigger clitoris.
But Act I finally ended, and we moved on to Act II: The
Retainer. I was actually relieved to be able to get up and be
put back into that fiendish device. It was quicker this time.
No need for an enema, shave, or shower, and I was already
catheterized. As I settled back into the chair and, ominously,
was strapped down, I glanced over at Amy, already fondling the
damned remote. I prayed she didn't want to demonstrate the
calibration process.
But there was a new element. Dr. Guisburn pointed out what he
termed "a Chalfont peripheral." It was a smallish grey box, maybe
8"x 8"x 4" high, sprouting two black rubber tubes, each ending in
a shallow socket a couple of inches in diameter. Amy plugged the
box into an outlet on the console and flipped a switch. The box
began to hum.
"Air is sucked in through the sockets and vented from the
control box. The sockets, of course, fit over the subject's
nipples."
My nipples, which should have been trying to hide, stayed at
attention, instead.
"The sockets are lined with bristles," he said. "Aside from
the air suction, these bristles will increase the stimulation by
gently oscillating at a variable speed."
Amy proceeded to attach the socket things. A bit of some sort
of adhesive on the edges kept them in place. She adjusted a dial
on the control box, flipped another switch, and I felt a tug on
my nipples. She twisted another dial, and the suction began to
pulsate gently. I supposed it would have a cumulative effect,
but, at this stage, it was actually quite relaxing. All the same,
I was glad I wasn't lactating.
Amy then demonstrated some of the capabilities of the Retainer
and soon had me whimpering and writhing and sweating. After a
while, I got a breather during a much too brief question-and-answer
period.
Then came Act III, the "climax" (as it were) of the
presentation. It turned out to be one last, huge, seemingly
endless orgasm orchestrated by Amy, while she smiled down at
me superciliously. It would take a total of 20 ghastly
minutes -- 3 minutes at level 1, 4 minutes at level 2, 5 minutes
at level 3, 6 minutes at level 4, and 2 minutes at level 5!
Her thumb hovering over the 1-button, Amy leaned down and
murmured to me, "After this trip, I'll bet you call me 'Miss Amy'
for the rest of your life."
She gave me that thin smile again, momentarily, and then
thumbed the button.
At level 1, I felt an occasional feathery touch or minute
vibration. During calibration, it had been pleasant, though
rather distracting. Now, it became maddening, as the device
kept me precisely pinned at this opening level. Long before
the 3-minute period had expired, I was squirming in frustration.
At level 2, the stimulation was still gentle and intermittent,
but less so. It caressed my labia somewhat more urgently; the
probes were undulating enticingly; my G-spot began to receive
attention. Now the sensations were getting stronger, and I felt
myself rising toward orgasm -- and then, I stabilized. I had
achieved level 2 and would not be allowed to advance or retreat
until the device received a new command. I was totally helpless.
I trembled as I felt the device lick my erected clitoris and kiss
my burning urethra.
"Oooooohhh!"
At level 3, I became a sweating slave to the machine, utterly
helpless to stem the rising tide of my arousal. The fantasies
came back, legions of them, and I was the focal point. I wriggled
and moaned, consumed by lust and shame. Four minutes of this, and
I was desperate, but still almost rational....
At level 4, the stimuli were monstrous and overlapping.
Coherent thought was impossible. My mind drifted, the world
around me dimmed, and my perceptions were all centered about my
crotch and the awful, unsatisfied hunger that now dwelt there.
I was vaguely aware that I was grunting and moaning like an animal
in heat.
I just hung there, continuously tormented by that merciless
device, a prisoner on the brink, never allowed release. Sweat ran
into my eyes, and I barely noticed it. In the distance, someone
was keening piteously. It was me.
Finally, at level 5, I was helplessly swept up into an
interminable, 2-minute orgasm. Not a "serial" orgasm, for that
has peaks and valleys, and this was just one continuous peak. As
far as I could tell, there were no pauses, no valleys, no respite.
I had no breath, even to scream.
And then, at last, I began to drift downward, like snow on a
still night. Eventually, I realized that I was feeling pain --
small, painful electrical shocks. It was not like falling snow at
all, but like being dragged downstairs by the ankles, your butt
hitting each tread on the way. I was being gradually scaled down,
descending through the lower levels to a so-called "soft" landing
at 0. I saw the light on the remote wink out. I was back among
the living.
I heard applause.
When I finally revived enough, they disconnected the nipple
stims, unstrapped me, helped me out of the chair, and released me
from the retainer. I felt sort of semi-detached -- exhausted and
humiliated, but certainly well-satisfied. I glimpsed myself in a
mirror with mixed emotions; I was both giddy and dismayed to see
the slightly silly, orgasmed-out look on my face. And I was
fascinated by the reflection of my nipples. They were red and
impossibly erect -- and must have been over an inch long. I was
deformed. I giggled.
"Never mind," Miss Amy said. "That's only temporary. They
should be back to normal within a couple of hours."
I didn't even notice when she removed my catheter.
After I'd sluggishly gotten dressed, Carol helped me to the
car, gushing over the show.
"Wow! What a debut! And you've got another 5 weeks to go...at
least."
"F-five weeks? And w-what do you mean, 'at least'?"
"Oh, yeah...the club's got options. You could belong to them
for years. It's all spelled out in the contract you signed....
You did read it, didn't you?"
"I m-must have o-over-looked that part.... S-s-so that means
that...Miss A-my...she could be m-my supervisor for...oh, god...."
I shuddered...and smiled.