Hand-drawn illustration of lacy underwear with pink ribbons coming off it.
This week my story for Masturbation Monday plays with a few extremely hot ideas I haven’t given enough attention to recently: namely consensual non-consent and medical-experiment scenes. Though today I think is too hot even for snuggling, so I think in reality I’d swap this fantasy for a cold shower with some cute humans…
I fight as they push me down on to the table. I try to bite and scratch and kick, but it was to no avail. They are too strong, and I can’t get away as they buckle the straps into place to hold me down and fasten cuffs around my wrists. Fighting against the restraints, I decide, will only waste precious energy. I glare at my captors, hissing at them through bared teeth.
“He’s going to like this specimen,” one of them says, as they begin to walk away, leaving me breathless and panting. “He likes it when they struggle.”
In the eerie silence that follows their fading footsteps, the words send a shiver through me… a shiver that only intensifies when someone else enters the room. As he steps closer, I crane my neck to see a doctor with a white-lab coat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks briefly at me, a sharp, assessing look that makes me feel even more naked and vulnerable than I already did, having been stripped and strapped to a table.
He presses a button, and the mechanism that my legs are cuffed to moves, spreading my legs apart. I try to squeeze my thighs together, but he merely shakes his head and gestures to his lab assistants. In their white coats and face-masks, the detached calm with which they handle my body scares me. Another set of cuffs are fastened around my thighs, pulling them out and exposing my cunt.
I can’t help wondering if it would be hotter if he pushed that button a little more, while grinning sadistically at me as I wince at the pain of having my legs spread too wide. Then I remember I’m not supposed to be finding this hot at all… and then he does it, and my legs are pulled too far apart and he’s smirking.
And I can feel my cunt getting wet, and I know he can see it.
He gives a nod of approval, and somehow the idea that he’s assessing and approving me as a specimen on his dissecting table to be experimented on makes me more turned on. He picks up a small metal object, and I tense as he approaches my embarrassingly wet cunt. I squeak as the cold metal touches my vulva and he uses it to spread my labia.
“Specimen X, appears more than ready for the experiment.” He speaks into a recording device, and then looks up at me. “And no, you don’t get to know how many other desperate sluts have been strapped to my table. Sometimes they beg for me to let them go, sometimes they beg for me to continue long enough for them to come. Sometimes their screams are of pain, and sometimes of pleasure. You’re just one of many whores who I’ve experimented on.”
I bite my lip to hold back a whimper, and struggle against the straps to free my legs as he turns around, putting down the not-quite-test-tube-holder down. He pulls on latex gloves, before picking up something from a different sanitised tray. It’s a dildo, and it’s big and made of metal and it scares me… but in a way that makes my cunt clench. There’s an ache deep inside me that’s yearning to be fucked, and it almost overcomes my desperation to escape.
Failing to hold back a moan as the tip of the dildo brushes my hole, I look up at the cruel grin on his face. He sees my eyes on him, and winks. He holds my gaze as the object is pushed inside me. You can take it, his eyes seem to say, relax and take it for me, little slut.
He fucks me deep and hard and fast with the dildo in his hand. It stretches me out in a delicious way, and I feel full and fucked. I’m sure there are measurements being taken, and my responses are being monitored, but all I’m aware of is the dildo thrusting and my cunt clenching and the sadistic grin on his face that suggests he’s getting off on the moans and whines that I’m making.
I can feel an orgasm building, and although I don’t quite understand why, as I get closer to coming I feel that I should ask first. Except, when I do, it is far closer to begging.
“Please can I come; please sir, may I come?”
My words are breathless and desperate, and when he nods his permission I come, twitching and convulsing against the bonds that hold me firmly in place.
“Good girl,” he says, and I glow with pride. “Now, let’s see how you do with the next size up…”
He laughs cruelly as I whimper.
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