Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Hoop
Title: Electrodildo
Part: 1
Summary: Anne gets some topical electroshock therapy.
Keywords: nc, bd, FF, tort

   --



   Anne had plenty of other things she'd rather do than stay in with her
brother.  It was her first night home from her first term at university,
but those were the instructions she had been given by her parents: her
fifteen-year-old sibling had invoked their wrath by disregarding his curfew
one too many times, and now she was assigned to make sure he remained
grounded for the rest of the evening.



   It slightly tainted what would otherwise be a pleasant reunion with her
family, but the tension dissolved a little while after her parents left,
and soon it became just another dull evening in.  Her brother's mood
improved while they talked - as much as was possible for a surly, teenaged
boy in the throes of puberty.  Anne thought he had changed even in the few
months since she had last seen him - his voice didn't break quite so much
now, and the hair on his chin seemed to be turning from wispy fluff into
something darker and more robust.



   In time, he tired himself of whining about their parents, and about how
it was so important that he should be able to go out and see the girl with
whom he'd recently become involved - 'Sarah', her name was.  Apparently
they had met during a detention, communicating through the medium of coy
glances and furtively-passed notes.  Her parents, he said, let her stay out
as late as she liked, and he was sure that his own mother and father were
intent on ruining his life for no good reason.  Anne managed to feign
concern throughout his rant, although she couldn't help but be reminded of
the violent mood swings that had gripped her only a few years previously,
while she was embroiled in the angst and turmoil of mid-adolescent
hormones.



   "I know what'll make you feel better," she said.

   He frowned at her, and curled his lip in a way that said "what could you
possibly know about the endless torment that is my futile, oppressed
existence?"



   Anne got up from her chair and stepped over her brother's legs, which
were outstretched to rest upon the coffee table, shoes still on.  He
flicked to the next channel on the television, and his head drooped to one
side listlessly.  Another channel-change, and he snorted derisively.  The
third held his attention for long enough that he was still watching it when
Anne walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.  There were six beers
on the upper shelf, laid horizontally.  Surely their father wouldn't notice
if they just had a couple.



   "Here, bro." She handed him a freshly opened bottle, and set about
shifting a pile of magazines from the sofa.

   "You sure this is a good idea?" he said.  "Dad probably wouldn't
appreciate us drinking his beer.  Why are you moving all that stuff?"

   "I'm sure he doesn't keep count exactly," she said.  "And I can't sit
next to my little brother with all these things in the way, can I?" she
added, transferring a stack of assorted magazines to the floor and plopping
down next to him.  He grunted, and his attention returned to the TV screen.



   Maybe this wasn't so bad, she thought.  Whatever idiotic program he had
selected to watch would probably be rendered more entertaining by further
alcohol, but she didn't want to push her luck.  She finished the last
mouthfuls, and set the empty bottle down upon the magazines.  She removed
her shoes, and then her socks, sliding down awkwardly on her seat to rest
her feet on the table in the same manner as her brother.  She could see
that the pink nail polish she had applied a few days ago was starting to
chip.



   It wasn't particularly comfortable to sit like that.  She scooted
sideways, and brought her legs around so that her feet were resting in her
brother's lap.  He gave her an unimpressed look.



   "I had to get three trains today," she said.  "My feet are tired from
all the travelling...  rub them for me?"

   "What?  Eww, no!" he said, pushing her feet from his thighs.  She had to
put her arm out to stop herself from falling off her seat altogether.

   "Mean," she pouted.

   "Whatever."

   "Come on," she said, "just a bit." She very slowly brought her foot
towards his face, poking him with her toe.

   "Stop it, Anne!  Jeez."

   "It's a chance to practice," she said.  "You know...  for when your
girlfriend wants a foot-rub."

   She managed to expertly manoeuvre her pinky toe into his ear, and he
flinched away suddenly, raising a hand to the violated orifice.

   "You're being weird," he said.

   "Aww, you're just in a bad mood because you can't see her this evening,"
she said.



   Anne shifted closer to her brother.  He took another sip from his
mostly-full bottle, eyes fixed straight ahead on the television.  She was
sure she felt him go all tense when she rested her head on his shoulder. 
Something in either his deodorant or aftershave gave his neck a manly scent
- warm and subtle, but with a slight edge to it.  The muscles in his arm
were firm as she leaned against him, and she found herself thinking about
how safe and protected she'd feel with those arms around her.



   "It sucks that you're grounded and can't go out with your girlfriend..."
she said.  She allowed her hand to wander onto his thigh.  "Maybe I could
be your girlfriend tonight?"



   The screen went dark as he operated the remote control with a
white-knuckled hand.  She felt his fingers around her wrist as he gently,
but firmly, returned her hand to her own lap.



   "What."



   The word came out flat, with no hint of inflection that it might even be
a question.  He turned to look at her with a look of utter incredulity.



   "You know, I-I mean it's just the two of us tonight," she stuttered, "I
don't know, I, uh, I thought we could, t-that is, if you wanted..." she
could feel her cheeks flushing hot and red.  She couldn't believe what she
had just said to him - it had felt so right with the warm mass of his body
alongside her, but now, suddenly separated by a vast gulf of sofa, things
felt distinctly different and terrible.



   Her brother stood up fast, mumbling something about going to check his
e-mails.  He stared very carefully at the floor as he left, tossing the
remote control into her lap on the way out.  There was a loud clink as he
stumbled over the empty bottle, but he didn't look back.  The door closed.
Anne found that she was feeling cold for no discernible reason.



   What had she been thinking?



   She sat in silence for long minutes, in the fading warmth of the place
her brother had occupied.  She shook her head suddenly, as if it would
dislodge the thoughts from her mind, and flicked the television back on. 
She needed to find something mindless, some dumb programme that would help
her to turn off her brain and forget what had just happened.  "No sense
letting this go to waste," she said to herself, picking up the bottle from
which her brother had taken only a few sips.  She raised it to her lips,
but paused for a moment.  She returned to the kitchen, and came back with a
glass to pour the beer into.



   The rest of the evening disappeared in a blur of repeated game shows
spaced around an hour-long documentary about some kind of whale, she didn't
care which.  Halfway through her drink, she decided that she still didn't
like beer after all, and tipped it down the sink when she cleaned away the
rest of the evidence.  Her parents eventually returned, and half an hour
later she was in bed with her face buried in the pillow, trying to sleep so
hard that she'd forget all about the evening's events.



   Of course, it didn't work, and the first thing in Anne's mind the
following morning was what she'd said to her brother, and how he'd
responded to it.  Maybe he would have already forgotten, she thought.  A
silly little offhand comment, that's all it was.  He probably didn't even
notice, or thought she was joking.  It was all fine.  They'd laugh about it
one day.  She pulled on her dressing gown over pyjamas, and headed
downstairs.



   She heard murmurs of conversation as she neared the kitchen.  Both deep
voices.  It sounded like her father and brother were up early.  She went
inside.



   "Morning!" she said, trying to sound cheerful.

   Whatever conversation had been going on ceased immediately.  Her brother
looked at her for a second, before diverting all his attention to the bowl
of cereal before him.  Her father took a sip of coffee.

   "Morning, Anne," he said.  He looked solemn.

   She went about preparing her own breakfast, and leaned against the
worktop after inserting two slices of brown bread into the toaster.  "What
are you guys talking about so early?" she said.

   "Oho, well, yes, well," her father said, "we were just talking about,"
(his eyes flitted ever so briefly to the newspaper that lay folded beside
him), "about that new office development out of town.  Thirty five thousand
square feet, eh?" he said.  "Imagine that.  That's what, I mean, it's quite
big, wouldn't you say?"

   "I guess-," she began.

   "We were just trying to work it out, weren't we son, and if that were
all in one place it's, let's see, the square root of thirty-five...  but
it's an odd power-of-ten, so that's..."

   "Sounds pretty fun," she said.

   "Mm," he replied.



   Anne tapped idly against the worktop with her hands while she waited for
her breakfast.  Despite knowing exactly what was going to happen next, the
sudden ejection of the toast still startled her.  She speared both slices
with her knife to extract them, transferring them to a plate so that she
could apply chocolatey, hazelnutty spread to both slices while they were
still hot.  She poured herself a glass of juice, and pulled a chair out
from the table.



   Her brother excused himself shortly after she sat down to eat.  Her
father, too, mumbled something about having things to do, and Anne was left
to leaf through the newspaper alone, reading nothing in particular apart
from the TV listings.  Later, on her way to the shower, she noticed that
the living room door was closed.  That almost never happened.  Her father's
voice was just audible on the other side.  She supposed he was making a
phone call, and didn't want to be disturbed.



   She was greeted with a strange sight at the foot of the stairs after
getting showered and dressed: her brother and her parents were all standing
there, as if they had been waiting for her.  She made her way downstairs.

   "What's going on?" she said.

   "We thought we'd go and visit your grandmother in the home," her father
said.  "You know how much she misses you both."

   "Isn't she coming up tomorrow, though?" It was a firmly entrenched
family tradition that they would all eat together on Sundays.  Surely
nothing could disrupt that natural order.

   "Exactly," said her mother, "so she won't be expecting us.  It'll be a
nice surprise."

   Anne shrugged.  It made enough sense.  Something didn't feel quite right
about the way her parents were looking at her, though.

   "Okay, sure," she said.



   The atmosphere in the car was a little awkward.  She was sitting in the
back with her brother, who was staring intently out of the window.  She
couldn't bring up the events previous night with her parents around.  Come
to think of it, they were unusually quiet as well.



   The car cruised past a familiar motorway sign at a much faster than
usual speed.

   "Wasn't that the turning?" she said.

   "They're changing the road layout further along," her father said. 
"This way is faster."

   "Huh.  You'd think they'd put a sign, or something."

   "Bloody highway maintenance," he said.  "Ha.  Ha.  Ha," he added.



   It seemed to be taking an unusually long time to reach the retirement
home.  The dual carriageways eventually gave way to single-lane roads
leading through villages Anne had never seen.  There were a lot of trees
around here, she thought.



   A big, old-looking building came into view, something like a sprawling
country manor with red brick walls and a surprisingly large car park,
surrounded with a wire mesh fence.  There were wrought-iron letters set in
an arch over a large gateway, and she got as far as reading "St.  Hilda's
Hospital for Mentally something-or-other" before they had driven inside.



   "This isn't grandma's place," she observed.

   "I'm afraid there's some bad news," her mother said.  "We need to go
inside, OK?"

   "Is it about grandma?"

   "Just wait until we get inside, she said."

   The car came to a stop in a space close to the entrance.  Everybody
disembarked.

   "Oh gosh, she's OK, right?  Please tell me she's OK." The word
'mentally' in that sign had Anne wondering if her grandmother had finally
succumbed to dementia, or something worse.

   "She's just fine," her mother said.  "But we need to go inside now."



   The family walked through two sets of sliding glass doors that were
quite out of place amongst the Edwardian brickwork.  Anne sat with her
mother while her brother and father went to speak with a bespectacled,
middle-aged lady behind a reception desk.  The empty waiting room was a
strange synergy of modern fixtures and old architecture: the aged, wooden
floor had been scuffed by the legs of mass-produced plastic chairs, lined
up in rows.  A poorly-stocked vending machine stood between two brick
pillars, offering for sale its inventory of three chocolate bars and a
single upside-down packet of crisps.  Anne stood up to wander over to a
large painting of a stern-looking man brandishing a pair of callipers, a
plaster cast of a human head set on a table before him with different areas
of the skull coloured like a map.  A brass plaque beneath it read:
'FOUNDER: Dr.  T.S.  Gulik'.



   The lady behind the desk was speaking to somebody on the telephone now.
She glanced over at Anne, and then scribbled something down on the papers
before her.  Her father, leaning against the counter with one hand, rubbed
at his eyes, scrunching them shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.  Her
brother was kicking his foot against the desk, head slouched between his
shoulders in typical, surly teenager fashion.



   The phone went 'click' as it was returned to its cradle.  The lady
smiled amicably at Anne's father, and shuffled her papers.  A few of them
floated down to the floor, misplaced, and her father stooped down to gather
them up and hand them back to the embarrassed, profusely apologetic
secretary.  Double doors on the other side of the waiting area swung open,
and a pair of large men in blue hospital scrubs walked in.  Neither could
have been much less than six and a half feet tall.  As they strode in, Anne
realised they were heading straight towards her.



   She took a step back as they came closer, their arms held just away from
their sides, palms open.  "Hey...  what's going on?" she said.  "Dad?  Hey!
What are you doing?"



   One of the men had grabbed her by the shoulder.  The other seized her
wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.  "Ow!" she cried.  "What's going
on?  What the hell is this?"

   "I'm sorry, Anne," her father said.  He came close enough to rest his
hand on her shoulder.  His lips were quivering ever so slightly.  His eyes
were watery.  "Your brother told me about last night.  About what you
said."

   "Oh god...  Dad, I didn't- it was just some stupid thing."

   "Sure.  Sure it was," he said.  "Look, Anne, it's obvious you're not
well.  The people here are going to help you get better."

   "I don't need to get better!  Jesus Christ, Dad!  I just wasn't
thinking, is all!  You can't..." her breath caught in her throat, "you
can't do this!  Mum!  Tell him!"



   She looked down to see her mother holding a handkerchief to her eyes. 
She wouldn't look back at her.  She stood up, and hurried towards the door.
Her brother put his arm around her.



   "Look, Anne, you need to try and understand," her father said, "I know
the administrator here.  They helped your aunt Lucille.  You remember her,
don't you?"

   "She was a fucking schizophrenic!" she screamed.  She barely noted the
hurt expression that flickered across her father's face - it was the first
time she had ever sworn in front of him.

   "If they could help her, then think of how much good they can do for
you," he said.  "I'm sorry, love.  I hope you'll come to understand. 
Goodbye."



   The last word trailed off into a stifled sob as he turned away, hand
clutched over his mouth.  None of them looked back as they left Anne to be
dragged, heels pattering against the floor ineffectively, through the
double doors at the room's far end.

   "NO!" she screamed, "You can't do this!  There's nothing wrong with me!"

   "Keep it down, please," one of the men said.

   "I will not!  Let me go right now!"

   "Sshh!"



   The single, hissed sound felt like it bore an immense power coming from
the lips of one of the burly men.  Maybe she should be quiet, she thought,
at least for now.  Perhaps they'd more easily see that she was completely
healthy if she was co-operative.  She allowed herself to be dragged onwards
in silence.



   Anne spent the next three hours in a sterile-feeling room, the walls
covered in thick, cream paint that had dried in rivulets around some of the
fixtures where it had been inexpertly applied.  There was a bunk bed, each
mattress covered with a pale blue sheet tucked in so tight that there was
neither crease nor wrinkle on the fabric's taut surface.  A neatly-folded
set of clothes was arranged on the thin pillow - a large, grey t-shirt, and
a pair of loose-fitting trousers of some soft material, almost like
pyjamas, with a drawstring around the waist.  A pair of grey carpet
slippers had been arranged on the floor, at the foot of the bed.



   There was a single window, overlooking neatly-tended gardens with gravel
paths that wound between blocky hedges and small flowerbeds.  Anne could
see a group of five people sitting in a circle on the grass - four figures
clothed in formless, grey garments like those on her bed, and a fifth
wearing a long, white coat, and apparently reading to the others from a
book.



   With nothing else to do, she watched the scene, elbow resting on the
windowsill, head propped on her fist.  The group remained for twenty more
minutes before they all stood, and began to head back towards the building.
One of the figures suddenly broke away from the rest, sprinting off between
the hedges, and very soon pursued by the figure in the white coat.  A pair
of men, like those who had manhandled Anne to her room, entered the scene
and disappeared into the greenery.  A few minutes later, the would-be
escapee was returned, carried over the shoulder of one of the men.  Still
hanging upside-down, they received what looked to be quite a stern lecture
from the one in the white coat, with much emphatic pointing and gesturing.



   Anne jumped to her feet at the sound of the door being opened.  It was
one of the big men from before, who was now insisting that she had to
change into the set of clothes that had been provided for her before they
left.  She made some effort at objection, and the man merely glared at her
furiously.  He didn't even offer her the courtesy of looking away when she
finally assented and changed her clothes, leaving her own garments in a
pile on the floor.  Without any words of explanation, she was escorted to
another room, where a young woman wearing a lab coat and holding a
clipboard was waiting for her, black ballpoint pen poised and ready in her
fingers.  She indicated that Anne should lie down on the padded bench that
occupied the room's centre.



   "Would you mind telling me exactly what's going on?" said Anne.  She sat
on the end of the bench, but did not lie down.  The wipe-clean material
covering it felt stiff and plasticky.

   "They gave you the leaflet to read yesterday," she said.  "I'm not going
to explain it again." She spoke curtly, perhaps trying to cultivate an air
of professionalism to offset an appearance too youthful to suggest much
experience - she could not have been older than twenty-five.

   "I only got here a few hours ago, though," said Anne.

   "Sure you did," she said.  "Look, Anna, I know it's hard for you, but
just try and co-operate.  We're going to make you better."

   "I'm not Anna.  I'm Anne," she said.

   The other girl rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

   "You want me to go over all the information we have on you?" she said.
She turned some pages on her clipboard so she was looking at the first, and
began to read out loud:

   "Anna Robinson, aged twenty-two, diagnosis-"

   "But that's not me!"

   "Diagnosis," the girl continued, raising her voice, "pathological liar",
(every syllable enunciated with great emphasis), "mildly delusional,
moderate to serious nymphomania - which is what we're treating in today's
session," she added, looking up from her clipboard, "what else..." Her eyes
moved more rapidly as she scanned the rest of the page, "ah, here,
undergoing topical, corrective electroshock treatment.  See?  It's all
here."

   "But it's a mistake!  I'm not her!  Ask the reception woman, she-"

   "I don't have time for games, Anna.  I'm afraid you can't stall any
longer.  Take your trousers down and lie on the bench."

   "I'm not-"

   "DO IT," she said, "NOW."



   Anne decided to take matters into her own hands.  She leaped from the
bench, making a dash for the door before she realised the fatal flaw in her
plan: the orderly, still present, stepped in front of her and grabbed her
with his massive arms, completely immobilising her in his iron grip.  He
wrestled her down onto the bench, and there was a swishing sound as, from
somewhere beneath it, he drew out a strap like a car safety belt, securing
it over Anne's midriff and cinching it tight.  She struggled to raise
herself up on her elbows, and then the other girl's hands were around her
shoulders, pinning her down while more straps were fastened across her
chest.  A pair of cuffs were secured around her wrists, attached to the
bench with locking metal rings and holding her arms by her sides.  She
tried to kick out at the man standing at the end of the bench and he
intercepted her foot in mid-air, forcing her leg back down before securing
another set of manacles around her ankles.  By the time they were finished,
she could hardly move at all.



   "Right.  It looks like we can make a start," said the girl.

   Anne's anger was turning to desperation.  Tied down to the bench like
this, unable to move any limb more than a few inches, she was feeling very
helpless indeed.  She didn't know what they would do to her next, but she
certainly didn't like the sound of 'topical electroshock treatment.'

   "Please!" she said, "just check your fucking paperwork!  I'm not
supposed to be here!"

   "Now you're not even trying to convince me," said the girl.  "I'm tired
of hearing you complaining.  This ought to set things right."



   She opened a drawer in a cabinet along one of the walls.  Anne could
move her head enough to catch a glimpse of the drawer's label, which read
'Misc.  restraints'.  When the girl turned around she was holding a length
of thin strap, which had a perforated, hollow plastic ball set about
halfway along it.  She came to stand at the end of the bench, behind Anna's
head, and held it out in front of her.



   "Open your mouth," she said.

   Anna shook her head, clamping her lips shut.  The girl nodded at the
orderly, who removed one of Anna's slippers.  Then her sock.  Then she felt
his fingers tickling against the sole of her foot, and the desperate need
to suppress her laughter made it all the more impossible.  She let out a
weird sound that was half laughter, half cry of frustration.  As she did
so, the girl shoved the ball gag into her mouth and fastened the strap
tightly, fussing around with Anne's hair to make sure it didn't get in the
way.  Then she dismissed the orderly, and took his place at the foot of the
table.



   "There we are," she said, "I don't have to listen to any more of your
whining.  It's so much more convenient when you don't have to adhere to
patient treatment guidelines."

   "Mmh!"

   "Hush," she said.  "Making pointless noise won't do you any good.  Now,
let's begin."

   The girl wheeled a piece of equipment over from where it had been
resting in the corner - a small trolley, supporting an oscilloscope which
sat on top of another box that had black fins along its edges.  There was a
bundle of wires on the trolley's lower shelf.  The girl set it alongside
the bench, and plugged one cable into a wall outlet.  A single, green line
appeared on the oscilloscope's display.



   She slipped her fingers under the waistband of Anne's trousers, and
pulled them down a few inches.  Then she did the same with her panties. 
Anne made angry noises through her gag, straining her neck to look down at
the girl and glower at her.  Her objections turned to pleading whimpers as
the girl picked up a pair of cables from the trolley, both of which were
terminated with crocodile clips.  She flexed them with her fingers, opening
and closing their serrated metal jaws.



   "Let's see if we can't bring that overactive sex drive of yours into
line, shall we?"

   "Mmnn!"

   "It's a shame, in a way," she said.  She set the crocodile clips down,
and brushed Anne's hair from over her face with one hand, resting a finger
on her cheek.  "I'm sure you'd find no shortage of people with whom to
satisfy your deviant urges.  But you were brought here to be cured, so I
supposed that's what we must do.  Just a little brain re-wiring.  It's
remarkable the sort of changes you can effect with simple conditioning."
She picked up one of the clips, and Anne cringed as she felt the fingers of
the girl's other hand against her exposed genitals.  "This is going to
hurt," she said, "so try to exhale along with the pain.  Ready?"



   She counted down from five, and Anne howled as the girl attached the
tightly-sprung clip, its metal jaws digging into soft, labial flesh.  The
anticipation during the next count-down was worse, as she knew exactly what
to expect, and then there was another stab of hot agony between her legs as
the girl attached the second clip.  The pain made her want to thrash her
limbs, but any movement at all only seemed to make it worse.  She lay
still, wishing her hands were free to wipe away the tears running down her
face.



   "It's OK, Anna," she said.  The girl tore a piece of paper towel from a
dispenser, and used it to dab the tears from Anne's cheeks.  "No pain, no
gain, right?  The worst part's over.  Well, the worst part of the set up,
anyway.  Now we just need to take care of a few other things."



   She fished something out from the tangle of wires on the trolley,
brandishing the object like a sword - it was about the same size and shape
as a cucumber, its surface gleaming, polished chrome.  One end was blunt
and rounded, while the other sprouted a bundle of wires.  She spent a few
minutes plugging it into the oscilloscope, tweaking dials and entering
parameters on the equipment's rudimentary keypad.



   Despite its shape, some part of Anna had been clinging to the hope that
perhaps the girl was just going to prod her with the implement, and deliver
a few shocks to her in various places.  Her suspicions of the device's
terrible purpose were confirmed when the girl unscrewed the cap on a tube
of water-based gel lubricant.  She applied a generous blob to the chromed
shaft, smearing it around until the front half was coated with a slimy
sheen.  Anne didn't want to watch what happened next.  She allowed her head
to droop to one side defeatedly, trying to distance herself from the
feeling of cold metal against the throbbing, sore lips of her genitals. 
She shuddered as the device was pushed inside her.  It felt like her guts
were being chilled by the cool mass of smooth metal.



   Perhaps seeing her reaction, the other girl offered her some reassuring
words.  "Don't worry.  It'll warm up soon enough," she said.  "Just a few
more adjustments to make."



   Anne felt herself being violated further as the girl adjusted the
position of the implement and the clips, ensuring everything was in its
right place.  Once satisfied, she peeled a number of long strips of tape
from a roll and used them to hold the device inside her, smoothing the
lengths of tape over Anne's belly, looping them down between her legs, over
the device, and sticking them in place at the small of her back.



   "All right, we're ready to begin," she said.  Anne had been dreading the
moment.  The girl rested her thumb and forefinger around a dial labelled
'vib.' "We'll start off with some mild positive stimulation.  Negative
reinforcement comes a bit later, so for now just try and relax.  I suppose
you might even enjoy it, while your brain's still wired up wrong."



   She turned the dial and depressed a switch.  Inside Anne, the device was
roused from its inert state and began to buzz quietly.  She was cringing in
anticipation of whatever horrid sensations her body might be subjected to,
but the actual effect was quite unexpected.  Against the dull baseline of
pain from the crocodile clips, the implement's vibrations felt almost
pleasant - a sort of constant tickling sensation in certain, rather
sensitive parts of her anatomy.



   "All right so far?" the girl enquired.  "Oh, look at you blushing," she
said, "you're all flustered.  At least that means it's working."

   Anne gave a whine of protest.  The cuffs rattled against the bench as
she tested them, but there was no way she could get free.  She tensed her
legs, and the clenching of her thighs only intensified the sensation from
the device.  She was unable to prevent herself from giving a little moan.

   "Enjoying yourself?"

   "Mmuh."

   She had intended it to be a negative response.  She shook her head and
made what she hoped was a suitably pleading expression towards the girl,
who merely smiled to herself and wrote something down on her clipboard. 
Despite her protest, Anne couldn't deny the fact that, on some level, it
did actually feel quite good.



   She lay there for minutes more as the device hummed and throbbed inside
her.  She was sure that the intensity of the vibration was steadily
increasing.  The muscles in her thighs were twitching involuntarily, and
her t-shirt began to cling to her from the sweat.  The sensation of a
steadily approaching orgasm was undeniable, but the stimulation wasn't
quite enough to push her over the edge.  She only wished the torment would
finish one way or the other - either for the girl to realise whatever
stupid paperwork error had lead to her being in this situation and let her
go, or to simply be done with it, and have the electric device bring her to
climax.  It shifted inside her as she tried to change position, and there
was an unmistakeable feeling of wetness between her thighs.



   The girl inspected the point where the device interfaced with Anne, and
nodded in approval.  "Good," she said.  A more sinister kind of smile
appeared on her face, baring her teeth to an unsettling extent.  "Now we
can move on to the second part."



   Until this point, Anne had drifted into hazy, semi-lucid state of mind
where all she could focus on was the steady throb of the device, holding
her maddeningly close to release.  The girl adjusted something on the
oscilloscope, and Anne gave a cry of pain as a sharp tingling sensation
exploded across her nether regions.  There were a few seconds' respite
before the next jolt, more painful than the first, and accompanied by wavy
lines jumping up and down on the oscilloscope screen.  Her muscles tensed
out of reflex; she would have arched her back were it not for the thick
straps holding her down to the bench.  Struggling only seemed to make it
worse, but she couldn't help herself from doing so.  She thrashed her head
from side to side, whimpering through her gag as surge after surge of
electricity was delivered directly into her genitals.



   It didn't get any better with time.  The shocks began to come at
irregular intervals, always having a slightly different character - some of
them long, low-power pulses that felt like her insides were being tickled,
others coming in sharp bursts like a numbing sledgehammer blow of voltage,
which she would only just have time to recover from before the next jolt
hit her.  The implement's throbbing was much more intense now - everything
seemed to be orchestrated so that a punishing surge of electricity would be
delivered just as she felt she was about to finally achieve orgasm.  At
some point she had started to cry hysterically.  Her face was wet with
tears and snot, but even in that pitiful state, the girl was offering her
no mercy - the shocks came again and again, and endless barrage with no
discernible pattern.



   Anne could hear the girl speaking over the sound of her own cries,
although she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what she had to say.  Something
about all the parameters being appropriately balanced.  She made a few
pen-strokes on her clipboard with a flourish, and then leaned in close to
Anne, holding her by her chin to bring them face-to-face.



   "Looks like everything's nicely set up now," she said.  "I've got a few
other patients to take care of, but I'll be back in, oh...  half an hour or
so."

   "Mmuuh!"

   "See you then!"



   The girl paid no heed to Anne's futile cries as she walked away, out of
the room.  A few minutes later one of the orderlies returned, carrying with
him a stool, and a newspaper rolled up under his arm.  He sat by the door
and began to read, every so often glancing upwards to check on her.  Anne
was consigned to her own, private universe of torment, her body held in the
grasp of an unimaginable combination of agony and pleasure.  Her arms and
legs seemed to be twitching every so often, totally uncontrollably. 
Somewhere in the maelstrom of physical sensation there was the feeling of
release and relief from between her legs, and she felt a warm puddle
spreading beneath her buttocks.  It didn't seem important in the wider
context of the unending electrical torture.  She might actually have
experienced one or more orgasms during the ordeal, but it was impossible to
unravel them from the tangled onslaught of stimuli.



   Anne was a quivering, drooling mess by the time the other girl
eventually returned.  She was dimly aware of the wet, sucking sound as the
device was pulled from between her legs, and a fresh stab of hot pain as
the crocodile clips were removed.  The restraints were unfastened from
around her limbs and chest, but she didn't have the energy to move any
more. She was utterly worn out - even now, the whole of her abdomen and
lower parts were suffused with a tingling feeling, like the physical
equivalent of TV static.



   She was taken to a shower room somewhere, and scrubbed down by a pair of
nurses before being put in a fresh set of identical clothes.  There was
another girl in her room when they brought her back, sitting on the top
bunk and swinging her legs idly.  Anne nodded at her once in
acknowledgement, before curling up into a ball on top of her mattress and
burying her head between her knees.



   "Oh hey, don't be like that."

   The other girl was speaking to her for some reason.  Anne was not in the
mood for conversation.  She seemed to be talking with a quite
inappropriately cheerful tone.

   "Aren't you at least going to say hi?" she said.  "It looks like we'll
be sharing this room, so..."

   Anne offered the girl a single word of greeting.

   "So, what are you here for?" she asked.  Anne felt the mattress lurch as
the girl dropped down beside her.  "My psychiatrist sent me here.  He says
I want to fuck too much.  I think that's kind of a crazy idea, you know?"
The inflection she added to every sentence made everything sound like a
question.  "Oh, my name's Anna, by the way.  What's yours?"



   Anne slowly uncurled herself into a sitting position to regard the girl,
who was looking at her eagerly.  She also seemed to have one hand down her
pants, without particularly realising what she was doing.



   "It was a bit weird today," she said, "they took me to this room, and
shone bright lights at me, and went on and on about how incest is wrong and
bad and causes genetic abnormalities and stuff.  I don't know what they
were trying to do, I was all like, 'It's not like I want to fuck my brother
or anything!' and then they were like 'we know all about you, just be quiet
and watch the video'.  It was so weird, you know?  So, what did they do
with you today?"



   --



   Note: This content could pretty much form a chapter in one of my other
stories, 'Incarceration', (and maybe they're not entirely unrelated...),
but I wanted to write something stand-alone, which also meant that I could
submit it to /lit/'s ezine, TAR (http://www.theaprilreader.org/), who
previously accepted 'Blueberry Girl' and 'Cryptozoology'.