Last session of the weekend. It's four o'clock in the morning and I'm beat, but I've managed to stay awake to monitor 2301 through the peephole in the cell door. My patient has been very still for the past half an hour, and I hope she was able to get some sleep. I like for her to sleep, if only for the sense of disorientation her awakening will give her. So I had given her the opportunity, but the vibrators strapped tightly in place may have prevented any real relaxation on her part. Besides that, sleeping in the straight jacket is none too easy, but I know for a fact that she's done it in the past.
Quietly sliding the dead bolt back, I open the door and step inside the heavily padded room, lowering my gear bag to the floor next to me. My special patient is wearing foam earplugs under the thick white leather hood that is buckled snugly over her head, so I'm not too concerned about making noise. But there's no sense in taking any chances. I keep well away from her, too, as I make my way further into the cell along the wall. She would feel my presence on the padded floor if I were to approach too closely and cause the mat to depress near her.
I want to observe her for a moment, before I let her know I'm back. Back to fuck with her.
I wonder again who this woman is. I've had her for months, and that question never ceases to come up when I look at her. I've had several patients over the years that have suffered from amnesia for one reason or another, but never one who was such a blank slate as Patient 2301. I have some theories, and at the top of the list is that this brown haired beauty was someone's slave, but whose? And what could've happened to cause this amnesic episode? Maybe it was just a fantasy for her, but if so, it had to be a very vivid fantasy. But I've practically discounted the fantasy theory. No, her total submission to me could not be conjured up from some fantasy life she had before the slate was wiped clean. Too, she is the most sex-starved woman I have ever met. Who needs to be fucked this much? I'm seriously considering calling in the reserves - Army Reserves, Navy Reserves, Air Force Reserves - would that be enough for her?
Not that I'm complaining. The past several months have provided me with sex I could never have imagined before meeting Patient 2301. And it had all started so innocently. She had simply wandered into my office and sat down in the chair next to my desk. Behind in updating patient files with personal observations, I had not looked up, nor had she spoken. She just sat there waiting patiently. Really, I had hoped she would go away, to leave me to my work, but she remained.
Finally, finished with the more complex portion of my reports, I looked over at her. Her long curly brown hair hung loosely over her shoulders, her brown eyes cast downward towards her slender hands crossed in her lap. She wore a simple dress that day, with a light floral pattern and a rounded neckline that showed very little cleavage. Her ample breasts pressed against the fabric of the dress, though, her chest rising and falling slightly with each breath.
She was beautiful. But in her presence I felt an air of mystery, and the mystery unveiled itself with her first spoken words.
"I don't know who I am, Sir."
Sir? "Excuse me?" I had replied, moving my chair back to look more closely at her.
"I... I can't remember anything."
We had chatted for awhile as I made some preliminary notes on a yellow professional pad. There was no doubt that I would have to take this woman under my care. What was I to do, open the door and tell her 'good luck'? Not a very professional thing for a clinical psychologist to do. No, she was committed that very day.
I hear the buzz of one of the vibrators kicking in, and 2301 stirs. She begins to groan, softly at first, but as she awakens her groaning grows louder. She rolls onto her back, her bare legs spreading as she does. Her arms are tugging at the straps, but the ends are well secured to rings attached to the sewn in strip that runs down the back. She knows this, but she tries. She tries because she likes to try; she likes the verification that she is trapped within the tight canvas jacket. It makes her hot to know this, to know she is at my mercy. Fuck, it makes me hot, too.
A loud click fills the small room and Patient 2301 screams behind the large ball gag that is wedged between her jaws. I hear the hum of the vibrator, the one that fills every inch of her vagina, and I can only imagine the sensations that are assaulting her at this moment.
Oh, poor thing, and then there was none. What's that? Oh god, the sounds you make, 2301, when you can't cum. You're still trying, though, I'll give you credit for that. I watch as the woman grinds her hips to create pressure on the strap that is pulled tightly against her crotch. But her ankles are tied with straps so that they are pressed against her upper thighs, thus depriving her of any real means of achieving this pressure. But it's fun to watch her, I'll admit it.
Click. It's a faint sound, a very low setting, but I think it's the same vibrator starting up again. Uh-huh, that's the moan I love to hear. Leaning back against the cushioned wall, I watch her gyrate her hips, the flesh of her bare ass flexing and relaxing as she moves her bound legs. Further up, above the canvas encapsulated arms that cross to hug her waist, her breasts bobble freely, red splotches randomly adorning them from where they've been rubbed repeatedly against the floor matting.
Another moan escapes from the corners of the ball gag, along with a fresh stream of foaming saliva. The area of her face from the narrow bridge of her nose to her chin is uncovered by the hood and the spittle seeps out in little gushes as she tries to speak. It's one word, over and over. "Please!" And said with such emotion, too. I love it when she begs. For whatever reason, it makes me forget that I would surely lose my job if my peers were to find out what I did with Patient 2301 on the weekends. No, the way she begs to be fucked takes my mind right off the stern looks and head shaking I would receive from the very conservative Dr. Beverly Ritchlund, Ph.D, as she hands me my separation papers. The good Doctor would definitely frown upon this type of sexual activity, even in the privacy of one's own home. Scandalous, I tell you! I might have some recourse, but to be viewed as a detestable deviant by my co-workers would sour the air around the clinic.
I push those thoughts out of my head as ones I hope never to deal with, and return my attention to my patient! Her pleas are getting increasingly urgent. Clunk! Now that's the distinctive sound of the anal intruder kicking in.
"Aaaauuuurrrrg!" her left knee comes up, bringing her bent leg with it. She crosses it over her body and manages to propel herself onto her side, mashing her right breast into the mat beneath her, probably giving herself another mat burn, while still trying to apply pressure to that vibrator in her pussy. My hand goes down to the strap between her legs and I feel the wetness there. Hot bitch. God, she's hot tonight, and after all she's been through I'm truly amazed she has the strength to move.
The modified straight jacket was my idea, but quite a bit of what led up to it has been hers. Improper as it is to become sexually involved with a patient, I feel as though I had little choice when it came to 2301. I've always been the dominant partner in past relationships, but with her, she's led the way. Maybe that's why this one has been so exciting.
"What shall we call you, 2301?" I had asked during one of our weekend sessions. "We can't continue referring to you by your patient number."
"Why not?" she replied, laying down on the leather couch in my office, pointing her toes to show off the exquisite muscle tone of her legs. "It's more an individual designation than if you were to call me Sue, or Jane. I like the sound of it when you say it, anyway. Twenty three-oh-one." She looked over at me and asked, "don't you like my number? You gave it to me, Sir."
I brushed the comment aside. "Do you think you were in the military, 2301? Why do you call me sir so naturally?"
It was our fifth meeting, and she hit upon my theory. "Maybe I'm someone's slave. I want to call you Master, and have almost slipped a couple of times. Can I call you Master?"
"No, I don't think that would be a good idea. Besides, what do you know about being a slave? Why would you suggest that?" I looked at her expression, trying to see any glimmer of realization in her eyes. "Do you have any memories of that?" I picked up my legal pad and pen and idly doodled as I waited for her response.
The lovely brunette swung her long legs off the couch, and sunk to her hands and knees to cross the short distance to where I was sitting. "No, nothing comes to mind, but... but this feels right somehow, to be kneeling by your side, to touch your leg and caress you, to feel your..."
I pushed her hand down. "Stop," I hissed. "We can't."
"It's late, Master, no one is here, you know that." She didn't let up. "I wonder if any memories would come back if I helped you with that hard cock that's straining to come out?" Now her hand was on the bulge in my slacks, rubbing me gently.
"I wonder...." I said, knowing already that I was a hopeless idiot for allowing it to go this far, but my brain had already ceased to follow logical protocols.
Well, it didn't bring back any memories for her, nor did the next illicit encounter when she prescribed a good and hearty spanking to precede the relieving of my over burdened cock. Did I have any rope? No, but by the following night I did. And on it went, increasing in outrageous intensity each session, even to a point where I began to confine her to the padded cell for more privacy. 2301 nearly climaxed at the sight of the room, knowing I was confining her within its small white walls, knowing that when I came back I would fuck her.
Tonight I had brought the straight jacket again. She loved the jacket, and had started to slip out of her light blue gown at the sight of it, but had stopped herself and bent over, holding her knees with her hands and pointing her butt in my direction. "I apologize, Sir," was all she said as she awaited her punishment for acting without instructions.
I pulled up the gown and rubbed her bare ass. "I know you're excited, 2301, but you must be a patient patient, mustn't you?"
SLAP! My palm struck her tight ass, my hand cupped slightly to increase the severity of the slap.
"Oooww! Thank you, Sir!"
SLAP!! A little harder on the other cheek.
"Thank..." she breathed in sharply, "thank you, Sir!"
"You're quite welcome, 2301." SLAP!! Again in the same side, harder. Her leg buckled slightly at the pain.
"Uuuu, thank you, sir!"
"Strip," I ordered, and the woman's fingers went to the back of the gown to work the strings that held it together, letting it fall to her feet where she stood. I held up the arms of the straight jacket and she smiled, and then blushed, as she inserted her hands into the sleeves. As much as she wanted to feel the confinement of the jacket, there was still some small part of her that was embarrassed by what she was doing, and the feelings of arousal that those actions evoked within her.
That had been eleven hours ago, and I have kept the woman on the brink of orgasm much of the time since then. Now as I feel the wetness of the strap between her legs, she turns towards me, pushing her pelvis upward to meet my hand. Cupping my hand over her sex, I pat her there, softly at first, but slowly increasing in intensity. On her back again, she pushes her pubic area even higher, straining now to increase the pressure of the strap against her sex, driving the dual dildos even deeper. Fingering the strap where it goes through the buckle in front, I continue to pat her mound with my other hand to distract her from the movement of the strap.
When the strap is released from the buckle, I quickly pull it back and grab the ends of the two dildos and nudge them out of their respective orifices. Taking a few steps back to my equipment bag, I turn them off and deposit them into a large zip-lock to be cleaned later. Lying lengthwise in the equipment bag is a chrome spreader bar with straps on each end that I use to bind Patient 2301's knees, holding her legs widely apart.
Breathing quite heavily now, I sense some distress in my sex-starved patient's ventilations, and move to release the ball gag as quickly as I can. I've been watching her quite closely since I made my presence known to her. She does tend to get very excited and I wouldn't want her to pass out from lack of oxygen. That wouldn't be providing very good care for my helpless patient now, would it?
"Oww, fuck!" she gasps as her jaws fall free of the large red rubber ball. I let the gag fall to the mat so I can grip her nipples tightly between my fingers and pinch down.
"Thank you, Sir!" she cries out, but still tries to wiggle away from my grip. She can't. Now she whines softly as I twist her stiff buds.
Releasing her flesh, I stand and move back to my bag. Removing a heavy-duty pulley from the bag, I reach up to loop the solid iron ring of the pulley over a hook that has been screwed into the ceiling of the padded room. Returning to my gear bag, I sort through the contents, pulling out a battery operated vibrator and a riding crop and tossing them on the mat below the hook. My fingers snag a rope and I look in to see the rigging I spent two hours tying earlier. I use both hands now to pull it slowly out of the duffle bag, straightening out the individual ropes as they clear the opening, and then holding the long loose end so that the bulk of the rigging hangs below it.
I hold the entire rigging over 2301 so that the eight metal carabineers at the ends of the support ropes dangle over her exposed breasts. Slowly, I lower the rigging until the metal clasps brush against the bare flesh of her breasts, the cold metal catching and pulling on her stiff nipples as I drag the ropes back and forth.
"Oooo," the woman coos, "what's that?" she whispers.
Letting the rope go, the entire bulk of it collapses on her chest and then mostly falls off onto the floor, leaving only a few strands draped over her breasts. I kneel down next to her quickly and clasp my hand over her mouth, two fingers of my other hand pinching her nostrils close. Caught off guard, 2301 is soon trying to move her head beneath me to break the seal I have created over her airway. Realizing this will not dislodge me, she puts her entire body behind her efforts to escape my hold over her mouth. My cock hardens as the bound woman thrashes below me, her bent and bound legs held rigidly apart by the spreader bar flopping from side to side as her arms, securely wrapped in the sleeves of the straight jacket pull against the rough fabric. This frantic movement presses against her exposed breasts, pushing them together and releasing, pressing right and then left. As a whole image, the sight of her is the most arousing thing I've ever seen. Finally, she comes to her senses and stops this foolishness, her body going limp beneath me.
I release my fingers from her nose and she sucks air greedily through her nostrils, her exhale snorting mucus onto my hand, still clamped over her mouth. I wait patiently until her breathing has returned almost to normal before removing my hand, wiping it on the side of her face. She has nothing to say now. No comments or questions for me. If she does, I won't mind repeating my lesson in breath control until she learns.
Pulling the rigging back on top of her crossed arms, I sort out the ropes and begin to clip each carabineer to rings sewn into the fabric of the white canvas jacket buckled tightly around her torso. The first pair clip just under her armpits, the second pair is clipped a little further down, and the third pair attach to the thick waistband. Gripping the center of the spreader bar, I pull upwards on it, lifting her knees as I do. When it's close enough, I clip the last two ropes to the ends of the bar. This done, the end of the long rope that everything is knotted to is pulled upwards and threaded through the pulley.
Standing back a couple of feet, I pull on the rope, using the pulley to lift the dead weight of Patient 2301 off the mat. Slowly, steadily, I pull the rope through, listening for any tearing of fabric and watching my rigging to ensure that all of my knots are holding, as they should. I'm still new at rigging, so maybe I'm a little cautious, but my research stressed things to be cautious of and I'm taking the advice seriously.
I stop pulling when my horizontally hung patient is a little higher than my waist, and then loop the loose end of the rope under her suspended body and up to the ring screwed into the ceiling where it's securely tied off. Whew! I finger the knots for the ropes that go to the spreader bar, and once untied, I thread them through the same ring in the ceiling and begin to pull slowly. As I pull, 2301's knees rise and her head lowers. Satisfied of the adjustment, I tie this rope off and stand back to view my work.
At a slight incline, her head hangs back. She tries to hold it up, but that gets tiresome and it falls back again. That's okay; I'll be giving her something to hold it up with in just a second. I reach down and pick up the vibrator and the riding crop and slide them through some rings on 2301's canvas jacket to hold them in place while I unbuckle my belt and lower my slacks and briefs. My cock is wet in anticipation already, and moments later I'm pressing it past my patient's lips and down her throat. I thought of using a ring gag on the woman, but she is so proficient at sucking cock that I yearn to feel those sensual lips around my shaft, sucking. Maybe I'll use one next time, but tonight I want a massage.
Damn! She hungry for my cock, too, and I withdraw quickly for fear of cumming immediately. Her mouth remains open, her tongue extending, searching for my cock. Stepping up, I allow her to find me, to tickle the head of my shaft. Her lips move in anticipation, and then emits a slight squeal when I begin to use the stiff leather patch at the end of the crop against her pussy. One more step forward and my cock slips down her throat again. I take my mind off the sensation by concentrating on the placement of the leather patch on the swollen flesh before me. The flesh is already wet with her arousal, and now it's turning from pink to red under my attentions. I stop and lay the crop down on her belly so I can explore her arousal further.
Leaning forward, and withdrawing slightly from her throat so she can breath more easily, my fingers pull outward on the petals of her sex, exposing the pinkness within. Her flesh is wet with her juices and I dip my fingers in to coat them and spread her wetness across her entire crotch. I pick up the vibrator and flip on the power, lowering the large textured head to the flower before me and holding it gently against it. This elicits an incredible groan from the woman and I feel her hot gasps of breath saturating my cock.
Moving the vibrator towards me slightly, I search out her clit, using the fingers of my other hand to hold back the folds of flesh surrounding it. Unable to prevent my advances, the woman convulses in orgasm as I find her little nub and concentrate the vibrations upon it. Enough! I trade out the vibrator for the crop and begin to deliver sharp slaps to the wet flesh, making her cry out in pain while her body continues to buck in orgasm. Pressing myself forward at the waist again, I begin to gently fuck her mouth. Her lips are sealed around me as I slide in and out of her, and I feel her tongue working me, as well. God she's a good little cock sucker! Maybe she was a whore before she lost her memory, but I'm still pulling for the slave angle.
Patient 2301 stops sucking and tries to pull her head up to get a breath. I allow it, but use the time to slap her thighs more severely with the crop. When she closes her lips around my cock again I pick up the vibrator with my other hand and press it into her flesh and hold it there, the vibrations travel up the handle and shake my arm. She comes again, hard, but I don't let up. Her bound legs pull against the ropes and I watch to make sure my knots hold. They do. But I can't hold my own orgasm any longer and erupt down her throat. I'm not sure anymore whether 2301 is experiencing a third orgasm or if the second one ever ended. We climax together.
Sated, I begin to untie ropes, being careful to untie the right ones and not send her crashing to the floor. It seems to take forever, but I finally have her on the mat and work at pulling the straps to her hood through the buckles. Once off, I look into those beautiful brown eyes and see them looking back at me.
"Oh God, Darios!" she gasps. "That was fucking incredible!"
I push back the locks of sweat soaked hair from her forehead and kiss her there, and lean in to remove the little foam plugs that have filled her ears.
"You're incredible, darling," I say as I straighten up and start unhooking the ropes from the rings on the jacket. I look down at Megan, my wife of fifteen years, as she strains to see me untying the ropes.
"That was so fucking incredible, really... how did you learn to do that?"
"Internet!" I beam. "You liked it, really?"
She smiles up at me, "You know I did. It was fabulous!"
I throw the spreader bar towards my bag and quickly unbuckle the straps around her thighs. Megan stretches out her long legs and begins to sit up. I help her and get her onto her feet.
"Hurry, dear, I have to pee!" she giggles and turns so that the buckles on the jacket face me. I quickly work the buckles down her back and unclip the ends of the sleeves so she can slip out of the canvas jacket. She turns, naked now, and gives me a quick kiss and turns towards the door. Looking back, she has a wicked smile on her face.
"I'm ready to do the slave one next time, Master!"
"You're sure?" We'd talked about it, but the amnesiac role-play had been so much fun that she hadn't wanted to stop it yet, so the Master-slave one had been put on the back burner.
"Yes," she stops at the door and looks back at me. "But I want it to be twenty-four seven, not just the weekends."
"Oh." This sort of catches me off guard, and I feel silly just saying "Oh." But now she's off, running up the stairs two at a time towards the bathroom. "Okay!!" I shout after her.
"Thank you, Master!" I hear her shout back from the hallway before hearing the bathroom door slam shut.
I go back to picking up my gear, smiling. 'Master', huh? I like the sound of that. Master Darios. Definitely. Slave 2301? I'll have to think about that. I look around the padded cell I had built from scratch, and wonder how long it will take to dismantle it and convert it into a cell for my slave? Where will I find iron bars? Maybe Craig's List. Worry about that later, dude! Megan hasn't been fucked yet, so my work is not yet done! I pick up my equipment bag and head for the door. Looking back with satisfaction, I turn off the light and close the door behind me.
Copyright© 2014 by mrhungry. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org