Risk Versus Reward Ch. 12

I became more convinced of this every time I caught a glimpse of her eyes starting to roll back into her head as she absentmindedly dug around in in her pocket. I imagined her plunging her finger into her dripping folds, the object of her need cleverly hidden behind the shroud of a lab coat, much the way that my suffering was cleverly hidden behind the guise of science. I think she actually got off on the idea of watching me writhe in pain.

"Miss, please?" I was beginning to get a little worried. No, not worried, I was well past that. Fucking panicked was a much better way to sum it up. I began tugging at my bonds, cursing myself for ever falling for this woman's charms and letting her lead me to this house of horrors. "Please?"

That was the last word to cross my lips. Doctor Moreau, the woman formerly known to me as Miss Spiced Latte the goddess of my dreams, had just jammed a leather bit into my mouth and was in the process of securing it behind my head. I certainly did not make it easy for her. I writhed and twisted and pulled against my bonds, and at one point I actually succeeded in ejecting the foul thing from my mouth, but my victory was short lived and she quickly had me subdued.

"Shh." She trailed her fingers over my forehead again. She was trying for comfort as before, but this time it only served to enrage me further.

"Shh, Kitten," she said. "You were doing so well and now this." Doctor Moreau turned to me frowning and shaking her head.

I wanted to scream, but I was gagged. I wanted to kick her in the face and run, but my feet were bound to the stirrups. I wanted to do anything but stay here and be part of her fucked up psychological experiment to create the ultimate submissive. I tried to get control over my emotions and think. I began taking slow, deep breaths in a bid to not waste all my energy on senseless panic so that I could more readily channel it into some serious motherfucking rage when the time came to make my escape. But all that sort of went out the window when Doctor Moreau pulled out yet another one of her custom instruments of terror and held it in front of my face as she switched it on.

It was a clear glass cylinder, maybe an inch or so in diameter with a black handle on one end and rounded glass on the other. It hummed a bit and began to glow with an eerie purple color as soon as she switched it on. I tried in vain to crawl up and out of the chair, but the straps quickly put an end to that plan. All I could do was wait.

I struggled to control my breathing, to turn my ragged gasps back into slow the measured breaths so that I was ready to unleash the spring of rage that I had coiled inside me. Rage that would be directed squarely at Doctor Moreau. The longer I watched her hovering that humming glowing wand of pain a mere six inches above my body, the harder it became. I tried to think logically, to tell myself that the device itself might not hold unspeakable horrors, that she might just be using it to sterilize my skin for the next phase of the experiment. But then what unspeakable horrors would follow this cleansing? And that's when I lost it. I screamed against the bit in my mouth, yanked against my bonds and squeezed my eyes against the tears.

And then my world exploded in a bright light of pain.

Well, actually I think it was my right nipple that exploded, because that's where the doctor touched the device to my skin. I could still see the afterimage of the arc, it seemed it would be forever burned on my retina the same way I couldn't seem to clear my head of that ozone smell. What the fuck!

"Darling Kitten," she cooed, stroking my hair. "You're so much better than this. Now please relax so that we can continue."

"Pleashe Missh, I'm done," managed to say around the bit in my mouth. I looked down at my right breast, through the tears in my eyes and my nipple was still intact, not even singed, though it still tingled quite a bit even now.

"Done? No, you most certainly are not done my dear kitten." Doctor Moreau's eyes were wide and her jaw was clenched tightly when she wasn't spitting out words at me. "You will be done when I say we are and no sooner. Is that understood?"

"Yesh Missh." I took a different tack. Knowing that I wasn't going to force my way out of this situation, I thought that maybe I could talk my way out -- like specifically getting Doctor Moreau to talk about her work. I had to be slow and deliberate about it, to get my words out around the gag in my mouth, but I was determined to keep my left nipple -- and the rest of my flesh for that matter -- free of the pain she had just visited upon me. "I -- I just wanted to know what the exshperiment was for that's all Missh."

"Oh Kitten." She was back to smiling and stroking my hair again, and I'm really not sure which of her two faces unnerved me more. "You're a smart girl, an adventurous girl, a girl with chutzpah. I thought you would have figured it out by now. It's the same reason I created The Academy actually. I've always been out to create the perfect submissive partner for myself and those like me. A well-mannered young woman who will dedicate her life to serving her superior. And more importantly, a young woman who can not only endure the trials of the flesh, but who possesses the ability to transcend the pain and see it for what it truly is."

"And what ish that Missh?" I was beyond scared now. I had to keep her talking or I was doomed, I could see it in her eyes, that crazed look. I could also feel the tip of that device she held in her hand. It was de-energized, I only knew that because I was not currently writhing in pain, straining against the straps that held me until I thought I might break a wrist or an ankle. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared shitless while she kept dragging it over my skin, up and down the inside of first one thigh and then the other while I quivered and sweat. I had a pretty good feeling where she was going with her dastardly device -- and when I felt it competing for space with the metal-clad egg already inside me I had assembled all the pieces to her plan.

"Won't it throw off the readingsh on your instrumentsh?" I begged around the cursed gag. "Overload shem? Blow shem out?"

"Oh Kitten," she said, "this was never about recording the electrical conduction of your fluids. That was just an excuse for me to shove something metal up inside you and not have you even think to fight it. Something to amplify the glorious sensations that you're about to experience as you transcend. Are you ready to transcend, Kitten? To become my perfect submissive pet?"

No, I'm not ready to fucking transcend you psychotic bitch! But I couldn't say that around the gag this time because I was too busy biting down on it as she shoved hard on the handle she held pressed between my legs until I was stuffed to bursting.

"Pleashe, Missh?"

But it did me no good. All I could do was to squeeze my eyes shut and bury my teeth into that leather bit gagging my mouth. I couldn't even manage to let out a scream, because when she energized the device I was too busy convulsing and straining at the bonds that held me in that chair. Every muscle tensed, every nerve singing out. My vision started to wash out, first too bright and then almost black. I felt my fingers curling into claws and the chords of my neck stand out as I groaned.

And then it happened.

I didn't want it to happen, I really didn't. I didn't want to believe that there was even an ounce of truth to the crazy theories put forth by Doctor Moreau and her quest to create the perfect submissive partner. But we don't always get what we want now do we? And the last thing I wanted at that moment was to have an orgasm, but my body betrayed me -- or as the doctor would say, I fucking transcended -- and only then was I able to scream out. I screamed with sick twisted masochistic pleasure as that orgasm hit me like a freight train. And as I peered through tear stained eyes in an attempt to cast daggers at Doctor Moreau for pushing me there, I could see her hand moving in one of those pockets that wasn't really a pocket and watched her mouth going slack and her eyes rolling back into her head.

At that moment, watching her pleasure herself while I suffered, I hated her. But I hated myself just as much. Hated myself for getting wrapped up in her psychotic plans, and for proving her theory with my inability to stop myself from coming. That feeling of hatred lasted only another few seconds before my world went black.