She’d seen the ad on the noticeboard, ‘Clinical trial volunteers wanted, $1,000 a week, accommodation provided’.
Better than being stuck at home this vacation she thought, as she went online to fill out the forms. The pictures of the accommodation looked nice, finally she could catch up on all that reading she was behind on and get paid to do it!
A couple of hours after arriving, extra paperwork and NDA forms signed, she was sat with the unreasonably handsome doctor, as he put the pill box on the table. She listened attentively as he explained it was like Viagra, but for women. That part of it was working very well, almost too well, it was going to make her incredibly horny, more aroused than she’d ever knew possible. But there was a problem, that these trials were hoping to resolve. Somehow it blocked the ability to climax, you could get right to the edge, but no matter how good it felt, that final release was prevented.
Clearly this was a major problem so this trial was to see if anything could get past that orgasm block.
He opened the pill box and put the little pink tablet on the table. She paused for a moment, knowing there was no going back once she took it, but his charming smile convinced her to reach over and pop it in her mouth. ‘Good girl’ he purred.
Because the clinical trial required strict controls, he explained, they’d have to restrict her ability to stimulate herself, . In fact she already thought she felt the effects and had been looking forward to touching herself as soon as she got back to her room.
Chastity belts were a little archaic, she was told, so they’d devised something simpler. Two young nurses came in and he asked her to take her top off and stretch out her arms. Confused, but intrigued, she complied, and watched the nurses roll a purple sleeve up each outstretched arm, her fingers and thumbs extending from the end like some fingerless glove. It felt oddly warm for a few seconds and then she cried out in surprise when she found she couldn’t bend her arms at all.
‘Simple isn’t it, you’ll find with a straight arm you simply can’t effectively masturbate’, he smiled. ‘Of course it restricts the ability to eat and and, umm, use the toilet too but don’t worry, your nurses will do those things for you now’.
The first day she was pretty much left to her own devices. Not that she could really do anything. Her clinically plain room was devoid of all surfaces she’d hoped to rub herself against in her attempts to alleviate the now growing need between her legs. Even the bed was sunk into the floor to deny her the mattress edge.
She discovered that her Kindle had been replaced, and all her planned reading material gone, in it’s place erotic books without number. And the television, she already knew after just a few channel hops, 200 of them, every one of them porn, from soft to catering to kinks she’d never even heard of.
But in all honesty it was hard to be upset. The pill was already having its effect, the ache between her legs had turned into a raging inferno of need, her vain attempts to grind against her encased wrist doing nothing but making it worse.
It was the longest day, and having to ask for help to go to the toilet was the hardest part. The nurse came and removed her panties,and hugely embarrassingly, inspected them, and then put them in specimen bag. She could feel how slick the paper was as she was wiped and when the nurse ‘accidentally’ rubbed the paper over her inflamed clitoris it made her gasp. But it was the cupboard stacked from top to bottom with more pairs of clean white panties that she couldn’t get out of her mind as she tried to sleep.
She awoke in a puddle of her own juices, having to call for help just to get up with these stupid arm sleeves, but she knew they were right, were it not for the fact she had to virtually dislocate her arm even to touch, she’d have been masturbating as much as she could, the pill was still working it seemed.
Morning ablutions finished (with help), she was led to a room simply labelled ‘Testing Room 12′. Inside, a gynaecological chair with an array of equipment around it. The burning need between her legs caused her to throw her usual caution to the wind, as she begged for them to do something to help, The doctor responded by stripping her and sitting her on the chair, everything exposed, and explained the device as he placed monitor patches on her skin.
It would suck on her clit, varying speed and strength, to try and find the best combination to pleasure her. And OH the relief when he put it on, it felt so good, better than any vibe, any mouth, anything she’d ever felt. All that tension ebbing away as the pleasure built and built and then, torment. Right on the edge, that release so close and yet, unreachable. The pleasure just kept coming, wave after wave, finally she begged for them to turn it down but as soon as they did she begged for it to begin again.
The rest of the day was a blur of tortuous pleasure, the doctor taking meticulous notes from all the readings. He’d given up trying to get verbal feedback from her early on, he seemed to expect that. The nurses, giving her drinks and food sachets, and wiping up, always wiping the mess she was producing on the chair.
At one point one of the nurses leaned in close and whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, they shouldn’t be allowed to do this’.
The worst part of it though, was simply when they stopped. No matter how intense it had been, how frustrating being on the edge with relief, the need it left her with when there was no stimulation was unbearable. She begged them to put it back on her, but was told she’d be sore anyway, no more today. She barely slept that night, grinding into her soft pillow was the only tiny release she could find, the nurse on duty took the pillow away after she’d watched her do it for a couple of hours.
The next day they introduced the nipple pumps, which, incredibly, made the need for stimulation even greater. They let her cry for 20 minutes before they attached the clit pump she had been begging for.
The following day ‘the penetrator’ was added, a half day of just that, lubricated by the nurses, not that she needed it. They’d had to put her on a drip as she simply couldn’t drink enough water to replace what she was leaking day and night. Then the other pumps were added, and it wasn’t long before she was on the edge, the only place where she felt any kind of relief, despite the insatiable need to orgasm, she could find a peace there denied her anywhere else.
It was only on day five when perhaps her only coherent thought of the day was to ask why she’d not taken any more pills. She was still trying to process the answer she’d been given, that ‘another problem’ with the drug was it only stopped working when a user had an orgasm.
‘But, but I can’t cum, nothing works!’
‘We’re trying our best, we still have lots of things to try’ he assured her.
But come day seven, when she was due to leave, he broke the news, ‘It would be medically irresponsible to allow you to leave now, I’m sorry. But we just can’t let you go until we’ve made you orgasm.
That was five weeks ago. Her parents had made the long trip to see her, threatening to sue the trial company for her condition. It wasn’t the bullet-proof contract that put them off, but their daughter’s desperate pleas. She wanted this, it was okay, she was, happy. The fact she’d refused to be disconnected from the machine even when they visited, talked to her, shocked even the doctor. But that’s how she wanted it, she was attached full time now, she couldn’t bear even a minute away from the machine, ‘her lover’ she jokingly called it now.
And she’d miss her friends if she left. They’d moved her to the ward where 11 other women shared her experience. They didn’t talk much, they didn’t need to but they seemed to enjoy the soft moans and occasional sobs of the others.
Occasionally their cries would seem to merge, lifting together, a tortured melody of unrelenting pleasure, all living in hope that perhaps one day, one of them, would cum.
theres a new product by verzion called “hum” that allows your parents to track your car and places you go, if your parents are controlling like mine please check under your steering wheel to make sure that they havent installed this
here is what it looks like installed:
you can read more about it here, and here– this excerpt sums up what information Hum will send:
“a car’s owner will be able to get notified on their phone when the vehicle leaves a pre-determined area or drives faster than a set speed… [Hum] will enable location tracking and a driving log, which measures travel times, engine idle times, and average speeds.”
People in abusive relationships, please check your cars.
DO NOT TRY TO UNPLUG IT BY YOURSELF!
To add to this nightmare, I’ve just heard of a thing called ForceField where people get to monitor and block internet sites that you’re going on if they don’t approve.
It tells the user what sites/apps you’re going on, for how long you’re on them, and WHERE YOU ARE ON AN UPDATING MAP.
So you know if you’re in an abusive household and use sites like tumblr to escape and talk to friends, you could be cut off from that.
They say “it’s not spyware” but it sure sounds controlling and creepy to me.
signalboost
God. Fuck. That’s scary.
Life 360 is another tracker. My parents have used it on me, not allowing me to delete it from my phone, and sometimes even demanding selfies to prove I was where the map said. (As if I’d go anywhere without my phone)
SpectorPro is another one. Afaik it can’t track location, but it takes screenshots roughly every 20sec to allow the installer to watch a video of your computer activity. It also tracks all keystrokes, so passwords aren’t safe, and records any website you visit + the duration. It’s incredibly creepy and a huge violation of privacy, and was one of the cornerstones of my abuse as a kid.
even if you’re not in an abusive relationship/family, please spread this because you might have just saved someone’s life
Uie's Cage 