Chapter 9: The New Protocol
The machine’s relentless rhythm felt like a ticking countdown in her veins. Each thrust nudged her closer to the precipice they had forbidden her to cross. Lily clenched her jaw, her knuckles white on the table edge, holding the desperate, shaking need at bay through sheer force of will.
Suddenly, it stopped.
The silence was a vacuum, swallowing the hum, the creak of the rope, the sound of her own labored breathing.Dr. Webb stood and, with a soft click, disengaged the attachments.He withdrew them slowly, a sensation of hollow emptiness following in their wake. Her body felt used and open, a raw conduit.
“Up you get,” Derek said, his voice strangely cheerful. He moved to her side, his strong hands under her arms, lifting her before she could muster the strength herself.Her legs buckled as her feet touched the cold floor. A sharp, hot ache bloomed deep in her pelvis.Derek held her upright, his grip impersonal and firm. “Whoa, there. Steady.”
Webb was wiping the attachments with a blue sanitizing cloth, his movements methodical.“Your capacity for restraint is improving.The crying stopped. That’s good.” He tossed the cloth into a hazardous waste bin. “But true control isn’t demonstrated in a controlled environment.It’s proven amidst distraction. Under societal pressure.”
Lily shivered, the air-conditioning chilling the sweat on her skin. Derek released her, and she swayed, forcing her trembling muscles to lock.
“Your education progresses to its next phase: conditioning.” Webb opened a drawer and pulled out a small, black, bullet-shaped vibrator. It was sleek, innocuous.He held it up.“Remote controlled.Waterproof. A common enough item.” He then produced a thin, flesh-colored remote from the same drawer.“You will insert this. Then you will go and sit at the reception desk.You have patients to check in. A normal afternoon’s work.”
Derek grinned, folding his arms. “Think of it as a pop quiz.”
“The rules are simple,” Webb continued, his tone that of a lecturer. “You will perform your duties.You will not alert anyone to your state.You will not climax. The machine will be active, and the clamps will remain. If you fail—if you make a sound, if you lose composure, if you succumb—there will be a consequence. A remedial lesson.”
“A party,” Derek translated, his eyes gleaming. “With a few more friends.”
Webb ignored him, placing the vibrator and the remote in Lily’s limp hand. “Go to the restroom.Prepare yourself.Then report to your station. We’ll be watching.”
The short walk down the hall felt like a mile.The bathroom was quiet, echoing. She fumbled with the device, her fingers slick and uncoordinated.The insertion was a cold, mechanical violation. It sat inside her, a dormant threat. She splashed water on her face, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror.Pushing through the door marked ‘RECEPTION’, she entered the modest front office. The large window overlooking the street was there, but the vertical blinds had been drawn tight, slicing the outside light into thin, golden bars.The usual swivel chair was gone.
In its place, bolted to the floor, was the double machine.
It was oriented vertically, the two phallic attachments pointing upwards at a slight angle. The base was broader, more industrial-looking, clearly modified to replace the chair. A small control pad sat on the adjacent desk, next to the computer monitor and the phone.Her heart hammered against her ribs.This was the distraction. This was the pressure.“Don’t just stand there, kid. Clock in,” Derek’s voice came from a small intercom speaker on the desk. She looked up and saw a discreet black dome of a camera in the corner of the ceiling.Swallowing hard, she approached the obscene piece of furniture. The instructions were clear. She hitched her skirt up and, with a painful slowness born of dread, lowered herself onto the cold, lubricated attachments. The fullness was immediate, stretching the fresh soreness.She settled onto the base, the machine now supporting her weight. It was shockingly steady.She heard a soft electronic whine from the intercom. “Nipple clamps, too.Can’t forget those.” It was Webb’s voice, calm, instructive.
Reaching up with trembling hands, she attached the cold steel to her own nipples, tightening the screws until she gasped.The familiar bite anchored her, a sharp counterpoint to the deep, invasive pressure below.
“Good.” Webb’s voice crackled.“Now, turn on the computer. The first patient is due in four minutes. Let’s see some professional diligence.”
The computer booted up with a soft chime.As the login screen appeared, the machine beneath her juddered to life. It wasn’t the slow, deep pace from the exam room. It was a hard, fast, punishing rhythm, designed to overwhelm. The attachments drove up into her with a brutal efficiency that stole her breath.The clamps jangled with the vibration.
Her hands shook as she typed in the password.The patient schedule bloomed on the screen: Mrs. Eleanor Gable, 2:30 PM, routine follow-up.The door to the clinic clicked open.
Lily froze, the machine hammering into her.An elderly woman with a blue raincoat and a cloth tote bag shuffled in. She glanced at Lily, offering a polite, pained smile.
“Hello, dear,” the woman said, her voice frail.“I’m here for my two-thirty with Dr. Webb.”
Lily felt a wave of nausea.She forced a smile, her voice trembling only slightly. “Of course… Mrs.Gable.Please, just… have a seat. He’ll… he’ll be with you shortly.”
She had to look down to find the check-in button on the screen.The motion made her vision swim. The machine’s tempo seemed to increase, the whirring sound masked perfectly by the hum of the computer fan and the soft piped-in music from the ceiling speakers.She clicked the mouse, her knuckles white.
“Can I get you to… confirm your address?” Lily managed, reading from the script on the monitor. Every word was a Herculean effort, a small stone placed carefully on top of the seismic pressure building inside her. The remote control for the vibrator sat next to the keyboard, a silent promise of worse.Mrs. Gable recited her information, her voice a distant murmur under the roaring in Lily’s ears. The machine was relentless, a piston in a soulless engine, and she was just the housing. She felt a warm, treacherous flush spreading through her, a gathering storm they had taught her to feel, to name, to fear.
She finished the check-in, her body trembling subtly with the strain of holding absolutely still from the waist up.“Thank you,” she whispered, the words thin. “Please, wait just… a moment.”
As Mrs. Gable settled into a chair with a magazine, Lily stared blankly at the schedule screen.The next patient wasn’t for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of this.The peak was approaching, a familiar, terrifying crest.She couldn’t. She couldn’t let it happen here, with someone three feet away.
She glanced at the black dome camera.She could imagine Derek’s smirk, Webb’s analytical gaze.
The intercom on the desk emitted a tiny, almost inaudible click.
Then, a new vibration started, a different, insistent buzzing from the device inside her. It was turned on low, a persistent, maddening tease layered over the machine’s brutal pounding.
Webb’s voice was a ghost in the speaker, a whisper only she could hear.“Remember the edge, Lily. Hold it.No noise.”
Mrs. Gable turned a page of her magazine, the sound like a gunshot in the silent room.