Sexual Deviance
Part 1 - A Sexual Deviant
F/f, F+/f, B/D, D/S, humiliation, Serious, bondage, nc, inter-racial
Meg did not resist as she was led through the brightly-lit corridor. For one
thing, her head was swimming. Everything was blurry, the figures of her escorts
shifting and sliding before her perceptions. The pounding headache that had
greeted her uncomfortable awakening had largely faded now, but enough pain
remained to weaken her.
For another thing, she was tightly secured in a straitjacket. Apart from her
black leather panties, that was all she wore.
People were looking at her, she was sure. She could not focus on them enough to
tell who they were. They were all women, mostly similarly dressed. Some of them
called things to her, but she did not hear them. Simply walking in a straight
line was difficult.
She was led into an office, and sat down fairly roughly onto a large chair. Just
the sensation of being still calmed her slightly, and she was able, eventually,
to calm the spinning in her mind, enough at least to gain some insight as to
where she was.
It looked like a doctor's room. There was a desk in front of her, book shelves
on the wall behind it. A framed certificate hung beside them. Meg tried to
strain her eyes to read it, but the writing kept slipping away from her.
She blinked, and shook her head, trying to clear some strands of her long black
hair from her face. She usually wore it tied back, but for some reason it was
now loose. Some of it was inside the straitjacket, clinging to her sweaty back.
The itch was maddening.
Eventually she managed to focus on one object, a stress toy, the one with the
metal balls attached to a swing. The balls seemed smaller than she had expected,
unless that was her groggy eyesight playing more tricks on her.
She was still staring at the toy when the far door opened and someone walked in.
It was only when the newcomer spoke that Meg managed to look up.
"Good morning," said a breezy female voice, in a cut glass English accent. "My
name is Doctor Kavanagh."
The woman looked younger than any doctor Meg had ever seen, and better looking
as well. She had light brown hair, loosely tied away from her patrician face,
revealing a small, newish looking scar on the side of her head. Her skin was
lightly tanned. Her suit jacket was open, to reveal a loose and low cut white
T-shirt, voluptuous tanned cleavage visible. Her skirt was on the slightly short
side, and her legs were perfectly toned.
Meg nodded, idly, as the doctor sat down.
"Am I ill?" she asked, shocked to discover how dry and hoarse her own voice
sounded.
"Not in any physical way," Doctor Kavanagh said. "You are a little dizzy,
suffering from a little malnutrition, a little exposure, nothing serious. Some
vitamin supplements and a few days' rest will soon put those to right."
"Why am I here?"
The doctor leaned forward on her desk, flicking a pen between her fingers. "I'll
ask the questions, if you don't mind." Her tone was suddenly and unexpectedly
harsh, and Meg started. A moment later, the doctor smiled, revealing a set of
perfect white teeth. "We won't be long. Hopefully, we'll soon get to the bottom
of this, and we can be on to other things. You're happy with that, aren't you?"
Her throat dry, Meg nodded.
"Now, some quick questions. What's your name?"
"Meg."
"Surname?"
Meg hesitated. She didn't... She couldn't think of... Oh, God, this was
ridiculous... Her mind was swimming... "Hayden," she said, with obvious relief.
"Meg Hayden."
"Good. Age?"
"Twenty-two."
"Occupation?"
"Office temp. I work for..." Again, she had to pause. The image of a large
building, a large company, a lot of shelves with filing... "Insurance," she
said, weakly.
"That's all right. Are you not at university?"
"I dropped out. The course... wasn't right for me. I'm planning on going back
next year."
"What were you studying?" Doctor Kavanagh asked, seemingly interested.
"Psychiatry."
"Isn't that interesting? It is quite demanding study, I'll admit. Now, Meg, this
is very important. What's the last thing you remember before you woke up here?"
Meg had to struggle. There were flashes, very faint memories. Darkness,
shouting, loud music, people touching her. "I was going out," she said,
hollowly. "With... with Donna."
"Donna who?"
That was easier than remembering her own surname. "Nicholls," she said. "Donna
Nicholls."
"And who is Donna?"
"She's... my friend."
"Is that all?" There was a faintly accusatory tone to her voice.
"She's my girlfriend," Meg said, a hint of anger rising within her.
"You're a lesbian."
"It's not against the law, is it?" Meg snapped.
"Not at the moment, no," said the doctor. Then, she smiled again. "Where were
you going?"
"Look," Meg said, angrily, part of her awareness starting to return. The image
of the doctor had stopped swimming by now, and she was able to focus on her. She
didn't look that old, no more than twenty-eight or -nine. "Where am I? What is
this about? Why am I...?" She thrashed at her straitjacket.
"I said I would ask the questions," Doctor Kavanagh said, firmly. "But, if it
will help you, you are in Edgeton Mental Health Facility."
"What? Why? What... what happened? Is this a joke?"
"This is no joke, Miss Hayden, and as to what happened, we are trying to piece
that together. What is known, is that you were found lying on a main road at two
o'clock in the morning, wearing only the slightest of leather underwear, clearly
drugged out of your mind, and suffering from mild exposure. You were found by a
passing motorist, taken to a regular hospital for treatment, and then
transferred here."
"Why here? Look, I don't know what happened, but..."
"This is the country's leading place for treating disorders of a sexual nature,"
the doctor explained calmly. "It is clear from what I've seen and observed in
talking to you that you are some sort of sexual deviant. You are in the right
place for treatment. Fear not, you will be cured in no time, and ready to be
released back into society."
"Deviant? That's... that's insane. I demand you let me ring my parents... or my
lawyer! You can't hold me here."
"We can, Miss Hayden, and we will. It is a shame you are not co-operative, but
we are not unused to this. You will thank us in the end, when you have been
cured." She pressed a button under the desk, and sat back in her chair, crossing
her long legs.
"Cured? There's nothing wrong with..."
The door opened. "Ah, Kara," the doctor said. "Take Miss Hayden to Treatment
Room 3. Begin Programme 5B, I think. Moderate level only, for now."
Meg was ready to protest again when she was pulled up from her chair and forced
from the room. The woman was one of the guards who has escorted her here before,
but it was only now that she could see her clearly.
Kara was an amazon, black skin, almost six-foot tall, rippling with muscles, but
still shapely with all that. She was wearing a nurse's outfit, but it was the
shortest, skimpiest, most open nurse's outfit Meg had ever seen. She remembered
hiring a similar outfit to surprise Donna with once, and hers had been less
revealing than this one.
The amazon led her back down the corridor, past various doors, down a flight of
stairs, and into a corridor containing five doors. Meg flinched at the sound of
a scream coming from one. Kara looked up.
"Stupid bitch," she muttered. "Meant to keep the doors closed when in use. Doors
are soundproof, see?" She reached out and pulled the door shut. Donna looked a
it, and saw a sign reading Treatment Room 1.
They stopped at the door reading Treatment Room 3, and Kara pushed her inside.
It was an empty, square room, three of the four walls padded, and the entirety
of the fourth a large mirror. Meg looked around, puzzled, and eventually spotted
a small chest in one corner, and a set of restraints hanging from the ceiling.
She paled at the possibilities here. She and Donna had enjoyed all sorts of
kinky activity in the past, but this was different, and creepy to boot. She was
still partly convinced this was all a big joke, and if she could remember a
little more of the night before, she might be less worried. As it was, her heart
was pattering swiftly as she was forced inside.
Kara roughly removed her straitjacket and Meg stretched her arms. Her muscles
ached from the forced position. As she stretched, she was embarrassingly aware
that her breasts were now completely open for the amazon nurse to view -
although why should she be embarrassed? She had good breasts. Great breasts.
Donna certainly thought so, and she'd lost count of the number of guys who'd
spent time talking to her chest.
She paused, noticing red marks around her wrists. Rope marks. She'd been
restrained in some way last night, but where? She wished she could remember.
Donna and she were always too careful to leave marks, and they tended to use
handcuffs anyway, not rope.
She cried out as Kara grabbed her, and fixed her hands into the manacles. She
tried to struggle, but the nurse was far stronger than she was, and in no time
at all, she was dangling there, stretched out, balancing precariously on her
tiptoes. Meg was not tall, although she was quite graceful, and it took an
effort to keep herself balanced. After only a few moments, her arms were
beginning to burn.
Kara was studying her, running her dark eyes over Meg's helpless body, a sly
sneer on her full lips. Meg thought the obvious lasciviousness in her gaze
unusual in a clinic that claimed to cure 'sexual deviance', but then so was that
outfit.
"Please," Meg said. "I haven't done anything wrong... Please, let me down." She
still held out some hope this was a joke, but that hope was fast fading.
"Should have co-operated with the doc, shouldn't you?" Kara said, in an earthy
voice. "You'll have time to do that later, but for now... time for your
treatment. We'll start you off easy, like."
She went to the chest, and pulled a few things out from it. Meg couldn't quite
see what they were,but she had a feeling she wouldn't like it.
She was right.
The amazon nurse fixed two clamps to her nipples. They were painfully sharp, and
in no time at all the pain from her breasts was warring with the agony in her
arms.
"Please," she said, her voice almost breaking. "I haven't done anything wrong.
I'm not a deviant. I just... I just want to go home."
"You talk too much," said Kara flatly. "Tongue out." Meg simply stared at her,
unable to understand what she was being told. Suddenly, deliberately, Kara
curled her hand into a fist, and drove it into Meg's stomach. The girl lost
balance, gasped for breath, and when she opened her mouth, Kara caught her
tongue.
The poor girl tried to speak, but she could barely make any sounds at all as the
amazon fixed another clamp to her tongue, this one longer and thicker than the
last - although mercifully not as sharp.
Kara stepped back to admire her handiwork, as Meg tried to bite the clamp away
from her sore tongue. Her efforts were in vain, but the girl was maddened by
pain, thrashing around in her bonds. The realisation of her fears that this was
no joke were coming to her now.
Kara then moved forward, and, to Meg's horror, reached for the waistband of her
leather panties. Then, she stopped.
"No, that's enough for now. This is just basic training."
She then pulled something else from the chest. Meg strained through her
struggles to catch a good look at it. Strange, it looked almost like a TV
remote...
Meg's eyes widened, and she let out a strangled scream as a jolt of electricity
ran into her, into her nipples, into her tongue, shaking every inch of her
lovely body. There was a moment's pause, and then another jolt. Another pause,
and then another one.
"Lowest setting only," said Kara smugly. "I won't leave you here long. An hour
or two. That's enough for initial treatment. This makes a lot of them more
co-operative. I'll be back and see you then."
She left. Meg heard the door close behind her, and then she was alone, writhing
in agony to random bursts of electricity. She shook and issued gargled screams,
caught in pain such as she had never known, with the promise of worse to come.
This was no joke. This was no nightmare. This was terrifyingly real. But what
could she have done to deserve this? What had happened to her?
During those brief pauses between jolts, she looked at her own reflection in the
large window opposite her. She saw a pretty young woman, not tall, not skinny,
pleasantly rounded, with a pretty face, long dark hair - writhing all but naked
as bursts of electricity struck her body.
What could she have done?
She tried to think, desperately. Anything! She and Donna had gone out, first for
a drink, and then to a club. A fetish club - The Power Point. They had met
someone there, hadn't they? But who?
Meg abandoned the train of thought, concentrating solely on enduring the pain.
She would not be here forever. Someone would look for her. Donna, or her
parents, or the person who had found her. Someone must know she was here. She
would be out of this nightmare soon.
Soon.
She could not be free soon enough.
Tears rose in her eyes, and she watched herself cry, moaning piteously, a
helpless prisoner.
When Kara finally returned, turned off the electricity and brought her down, Meg
was a whimpering wreck, barely able to form a coherent thought. She was still
shaking and trembling with remembered shocks, ashamed of just how quickly she
had been reduced from the intelligent and strong-willed young woman she had
always believed herself to be, into this... girl.
She did not resist as Kara fixed the straitjacket back around her, although she
did whimper as her tender nipples came into contact with the rough fabric. Once
that was done, she simply lay there, waiting for whatever her amazon nurse may
choose to do with her next.
She moaned as Kara prodded her lightly in the side with one foot. "Pretty little
bitch, aren't you? I like the way you scream." Meg moaned. Kara prodded her
again.
"Kiss my foot," she ordered.
Meg hesitated, unthinkingly. Kara kicked her again, and still she did not react.
"Half an hour not long enough, eh? Maybe I'll leave you for an hour this time."
"No!" Meg cried, her heart almost stopping. "Please, no!"
"Then," Kara said, drawing out each word for emphasis. "Kiss. My. Foot."
Meg did, on her belly on the floor, pressing her lips to the black woman's dark
shoes, touching her sore tongue to them, in a gesture of utter humiliation. She
remembered kissing Donna in this way, but that had been entirely different. That
had been a gesture of love, and sexy fun. This was just about power.
"Hmm," Kara muttered. "I think we've got a few moments before the doc's
expecting us back. Roll over, bitch."
Meg obeyed, flopping about awkwardly in her restraints. She looked up as Kara
undid her short skirt, and let it fall. There was no underwear beneath. Meg's
head swam as the amazon lowered herself to the poor girl's face, pressing her
pussy downwards.
"Make it quick," Kara ordered. "You've got experience, I'm told, so you should
be good."
Meg did have experience, and some of her happiest moments with Donna had been on
her knees, tongue extending, bringing her lover to a quivering orgasm, but
again, this was different.
Shaking, tears in her eyes, knowing full well the fate that awaited her should
she refuse, Meg opened her mouth, and extended her dry tongue. She kissed and
licked and nibbled at the amazon's swollen clit, acting mindlessly, like an
automaton. There was no emotion there, save her own pounding fear. There was no
love, no affection.
This was simply her submission before someone vastly more powerful than she was,
the representative of a place that held her prisoner.
Kara came quickly, with a minimum of noise, and she roughly slammed Meg's head
back to the floor, dressing again. "Have to get better than that, bitch," she
spat. "The doc won't put up with that. Now, come on."
Meg weakly followed Kara as she was led back through a dizzying range of
corridors and stairs, back towards Doctor Kavanagh's office. The doors to the
other treatment rooms were all closed, and while she could hear no sounds from
beyond them, she could only shudder at what must be going on there, and imagine
herself trapped inside one of them.
Doctor Kavanagh was there, wearing small glasses that accentuated her sly
beauty. She did not look up from her paperwork as Kara and Meg arrived, and she
simply continued reading her report, occasionally making marks in the border.
Meg stared at the stress toy, imagining the balls clicking against each other,
hearing the slow and rhythmic noise, trying to calm her pounding heart.
Finally, the doctor looked up, and smiled warmly. "Miss Hayden. Good to see you
again. Are you ready to be more co-operative now?" Weakly, and dumbly, Meg
nodded. She could not bear to be sent back to that place.
"Perhaps I had better explain a little more about what we do here," Doctor
Kavanagh said. "I may have been remiss in leaving you a little in the dark,
earlier. If so, I apologise. You see, Miss Hayden, even I am not perfect. May I
call you Meg?"
Meg nodded.
"Good. Well then, Meg. We are one of the country's foremost centres dealing with
matters of sexual deviance. Unlike most other hospitals, we exclusively focus on
women. All our staff and patients are female. Introducing men to a place full of
women struggling with matters of a sexual nature would be highly inappropriate,
don't you agree?"
Meg nodded, again, her head feeling very heavy on her neck.
"Now, we want very much to work at curing you of your own deviance. We do not
see abnormal sexual behaviour as a sin, but rather as an illness, and we believe
it can be cured. Such work will not be easy, and it will require a lot of
co-operation from you, but we believe we will be able to return you to a normal
state of mind."
"May I..." Meg rasped. "May I ask a question?"
"Of course," the doctor said, smiling. "Although I would prefer it if you
addressed me as 'Doctor Kavanagh'. Some of us did not just abandon our studies
the moment they became too hard."
"Why am I here? I'm not a deviant. I've done nothing wrong."
The doctor sighed, tutting to herself. "Meg, one of the most important steps to
curing your problem is for you to recognise you have one. You lie with other
women, you are clearly involved in fetish activities. Don't you see that these
things are wrong?"
"But..." Meg stopped.
"Now, I will not give up on you, but you will have to work at this. It will not
be easy. Now, you must be hungry, yes?"
"Yes." The doctor frowned. "Yes, Doctor Kavanagh."
"Good. Kara will take you back to your room, and have some food and drink
brought to you. I'll prepare another approach to your treatment. Subliminal
subsconscious reiteration, we call it. I think that will provide a valid
approach to your care here. Perhaps later, you can answer some more of my
questions. There. Is everything all right, Meg?"
"Yes, Doctor Kavanagh."
"There's a good girl. Go on with Kara now. She'll look after you."
Meg dared not look at the smirking amazon as she was taken back to her room, a
small cell padded on floor, ceiling and all four walls. She was left there,
lying still in her straitjacket, her body moaning for food and drink, and still
shaking with the aftereffects of the first session ofher 'treatment'.
I haven't done anything wrong.
She wanted to scream that aloud, but she dared not. They might be listening in
on her. If she was ever to get out of her, she would have to co-operate. They
would not have forever. Eventually, she would be traced back here, and let out.
Eventually.
She realised she was crying when the nurse returned with her food. Trying to
compose herself, Meg scrabbled up to her knees. The food was a mushy paste,
place in a bowl on the floor. Kara made no attempt to remove Meg's restraints
and the ashamed girl had to eat as if she were an animal, head down, under
Kara's arrogant stare.
She would not let the amazon see how degrading this was. Likely this was all
part of some little game by Kara, some personal pleasure she took from
humiliating her patients. Meg would not give her the satisfaction. She wouldn't.
The food was followed by a drink she had to take through a straw. She had no
idea what it was, but it was refreshing enough. Kara then wiped her face clean,
as if she were an old woman unable to care or herself. Meg wanted to scream at
the nurse, but she did not. She would maintain her composure, however shameful
her treatment. She would be released sooner or later, and then she would not be
quiet about this.
Kara left, and Meg settled down on the padded floor. There was no cot, or
indeed, anything at all, so she rested there. Her full belly had calmed her
slightly, and she was able to approach the situation with a calm manner.
What had happened to her last night? She had a feeling something had happened
which Doctor Kavanagh was interested in. If she could remember, that might get
her in good stead with the doctor. Pretend to co-operate, maybe remove this
blasted straitjacket. She certainly wouldn't be put back in that treatment
room...
Just the thought cased her to shudder. It was a very effective deterrent, but it
was in the past now. The soreness in her body remained with her, but if she did
what the doctor asked her to, she would not be sent back there. The experience
would remain a bad memory, something to tell Donna about, sobbing on her
shoulder. In fact, now that she thought about it, the experience had made her
quite hot. Perhaps the two of them could replicate it - under less painful
circumstances.
Meg shook her head angrily. Think, idiot! What happened last night?
She and Donna had gone out, first for a few drinks, and then to the club, the
Power Point. Donna had been looking incredibly sexy, Meg recalled, in a very
short, latex skirt, black bra, fishnet top and stockings, high boots. Meg
trembled lightly at the image.
Donna had been flirting with everyone, the boys at the pub, who had all no doubt
thought themselves well in. And with the women at the club afterwards. It drove
Meg mad, both with passion and with jealousy when Donna did that.
Meg shifted her legs awkwardly. She'd been wearing her new leather bra and
panties, a gift from Donna. She'd been shaved as well, although Donna didn't
know that. A little surprise.
God, she was hot! Remembering that scene, Donna looking so sexy, her wonderful
breasts straining against her low cut bra. Meg had just wanted to grab her and
fuck her right then and there on the dance floor. The air had been smoky and
warm. She'd taken off her top, tying it around her waist.
Donna had been dancing with someone, an older woman, gorgeous, really playing up
the flirting, kissing her, rubbing her arse, everything. Meg had been watching,
nearly insane with jealousy.
The woman had come over and talked to them later, said something about a private
party at her house. That had been it.
God, Donna had looked so gorgeous. Meg wanted to throw her to the ground and
press her pussy against her mouth and...
Meg squirmed in her restraints. She was hot, burning, her pussy dripping into
her panties.
Oh, God!
There was something in the food.
They'd drugged her with something.
She struggled, trying to free an arm, or slip out of the jacket, trying to reach
down and caress her burning cunt. Frantically, her heart pounding, she rubbed
herself against the floor.
"Miss Hayden," said a voice from nowhere, and Meg froze. It was Doctor Kavanagh,
her cut glass vowels carried over a mechanical buzz. "Such behaviour will not be
tolerated here. It is wrong. Remember, you are here to be treated for your
deviance. Willpower is essential, as is recognition of what you are."
Meg wanted to scream, but she bit her lip, drawing blood. She sucked at the cut,
tasting the coppery tang of her own blood, anything to distract her from the
agony she was experiencing.
"You see, Miss Hayden, you are a slut. A tease. A disgusting little whore. We
will cure you of that here. We can do it relatively easy, or we can do it very
hard indeed, but we will do it. Your deviant behaviour will be removed and you
will be returned to society, a useful and productive member.
"Recognise what you are, Miss Hayden. That will be the most important step in
your treatment. You are a slut.
"You are a disgusting little whore.
"You are a slut.
"You are a disgusting little whore."
The same words continued, over and over again, evidently a recording. Meg
listened and, however much she wanted to deny them, she could not. She was
rolling around and around, wearing only a straitjacket and leather panties, her
body burning for release.
In no time at all, she was screaming, tears pouring from her eyes, crying out
until her throat was hoarse. It didn't matter how loudly she screamed. The voice
kept coming, repeating those two sentences.
"You are a slut.
"You are a disgusting little whore."
As Meg realised what a picture she must present, vainly thrusting her groin up
into the air in a desperate bid to gain release that was never coming, she had
to shamefully conclude that the doctor was right.
She was a slut.
And she was a disgusting little whore.
Next: A Slut, A Disgusting Little Whore
