Christy and I have had an interesting relationship over the years. She tends to be the dominant one, while I have tended to be somewhat submissive. That’s not to say that I roll over and do whatever she says; in fact, we frequently switch roles. It’s just that I spend more time giving in to her than she does to me.
Several months ago she noticed me looking at another woman in the mall. After we got home and assumed our “roles”, she started to give me hell for it, insinuating that I didn’t think she was good enough. I explained that no, I had no intentions of seeing another woman; it was just that the woman in the mall was wearing a neck brace (a Philadelphia collar, to be exact). It was at that point that I explained to Chris my fascination with “recreational” orthopaedics, especially neck and back immobilization. Figuring that I was “in for a penny, in for a pound”, I proceeded to show her my collection of collars and braces. I explained that I would frequently wear them around the house, and on those occasions when I drove to some nearby town to explore pawn shops and thrift stores. She asked what kind of brace the woman at the mall was wearing, and I pointed out my Philly. Asking how it was applied, she placed it firmly around my neck, and announced that I could not remove it before 5 p.m. the next evening (Sunday). She also announced that we would be spending the day perusing antique stores on the west side of town. That evening I experienced sex with her as I had never before, and the next day, as she had said, we went around various antique stores with me wearing the collar, and her holding my arm as if I had been recently injured and needed the support. Fortunately we encountered no one that I knew.
In the months since then I have worn all of my collection for Christy, most of it out in public. And, after obtaining some examples properly sized for her, I have dressed Christy in a few implements and taken her out to movies, dinner, and just general moseying around. I think she likes to wear them almost as much as I do, if for nothing else the fact that I frequently nibble on her ears while she’s in them.
In addition to showing Christy my personal collection of orthopaedic accoutrements, I also showed her my library of mostly older medical books. I pointed out the items I had, the items I would like to get someday, and the items I figured I’d never get (I wouldn’t mind 2 or 3 weeks in a halo, but the thought of 12-18 weeks in one is a bit much). Among other things I pointed out the casts, and stated how much I’d like to have one put on me, and how much I’d like to put one on her. She seemed taken aback by that one, and when she left early that evening I thought I’d taken matters too far. Much to my surprise she showed up a week later with a birthday present for me – a genuine cast saw with vacuum attachment. She said she figured it was the first thing I’d need in my quest to cast – a way to get the cast off. She then led me out to her car, and had me help unload the cases of plaster rolls, stockinet and padding she’d purchased. She allowed that I could apply the first cast on her, but that I’d better be careful, because the second one was being put on me by her, and she took payback very seriously.
I was in heaven. After placing a drop cloth on the floor, I hung a traction pulley from where the dining room light was supposed to be, and set her in a chair under it. Utilizing a good deal of the cast padding she’d gotten (as well as some foam rubber I had for other projects) I placed her in a modified Risser cast. It extended from her hips to just below her lips, under her ears, and sweeping upwards in back to completely cradle her head. I used some extra foam padding under and around her chin, so that there was lots of “give” in that area, allowing her to chew food without much effort. I didn’t apply much weight on the cervical traction (only four pounds), so that the cast didn’t push up on her head when the weight was released. After it was finished and setup, I helped her into a pair of sweat pants, then helped her stand up and walk to the mirror to look at herself. She didn’t say anything for a long time, instead moving around, sitting, getting up, turning, getting a feel for how much the cast was going to limit her motion. After about 20 minutes, she walked up to me, kissed me passionately, and asked, “So, what do you have in mind for us this weekend?” I knew then that she approved. We spent the weekend going to movies, sitting in the park, swinging on the swing set (not a good idea in a body cast – motion sickness sets in real quick), strolling through the mall, and making passionate love like two newlyweds. When the time came to cut it off on Sunday evening, she asked if there was any way to make it so that it could be put back on. I said I’d do what I could, and the by the next weekend large Velcro straps were securely fastened to the shell.
Over the next few weeks I put casts on both of Christy’s arms and one of her legs, insisting that she wear a collar also (I tend to have a single-track mind). I noticed that she very carefully watched what I did, even asking questions about the procedure. I figured she was trying to learn enough to feel confident about switching rolls. I was right.
One Friday I came home and was surprised to see Christy’s car in the driveway. Normally she got off work after I did, and got over to my place much later in the evening. Having a key, she was able to let herself in. I walked in the house, calling out as I shut the door. “Lock it”, I heard her say from the dining room. The tone was one she used when she assumed authority. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I trusted her. The deadbolt slid into place with an audible “thunk”. “Come here”, she commanded. I walked into the dining room, and my heart skipped a beat.
The dining room table was gone. In it’s place, resting on top of what looked like very thick plastic sheeting, was a contraption I recognised from some of my old medical books. A casting frame. My briefcase and jacket landed on the floor. Then I saw Christy, and my jaw landed on the floor beside the briefcase. She was dressed in white surgical garb, not the “scrubs” that are so common today, but an old-time gown that dropped all the way to the floor, and was tied at the waist. Heavy, beige rubber gloves extended up to almost her elbows, pulled over the cuffs of her sleeves. A white cotton hood was pulled down onto her head, and held her long, brown hair. A white cotton surgical mask covered her face, leaving exposed only cold, green eyes.
“Remove your clothing and we can start your treatment”, she said. “Just place everything on that chair.” She pointed to one of the dining room chairs set against the wall. I said nothing, and proceeded to undress rapidly, but not hurriedly. I had an idea of what was in store, and I was going to savour every minute of it. Stripping down to my briefs, I stood there waiting for directions. Christy pointed to them and said, “everything”. The BVD’s landed in the pile on the chair. “Put this on”, she commanded, and handed me a large wad of stockinet. Unravelling it, I found myself staring at a body stocking made of two layers of stockinet. There were fingers in the hand sections, and even a small ‘sock’ for the part between my legs. I quickly slipped into it, smoothing out all the wrinkles as best I could. A long section that obviously went over my head I left rolled up ay my neck. I turned to Christy, and she pointed to the frame.
There was a canvas strap, about 10 inches wide, that ran from the head to just beyond the middle of the frame. I laid down on it, and Chris guided my legs to waiting slings at the foot of the frame. Looking at me with those green eyes, she reached under the frame, and produced a pair of leather wrist restraints, the heavy institutional type. When she held them up, I obediently raised my arms and allowed them to be locked on (we’d played with such things before, and I knew what she wanted to do with these things). My arms were then fastened to the sides of the frame. A similar pair went around my ankles, and attached to the foot of the frame. Christy then leaned over me.
“I have something in mind for you for this long weekend.” (Long weekend? Oh yeah, I forgot this was a holiday weekend that I’d attached some vacation-time to – a week, to be precise.) “For the past few weeks you’ve had a pretty good time keeping my plastered up, and I must admit, I have really enjoyed it, so much in fact that I think I prefer being plastered to the other way around. However, we cannot have it one way all the time, and lately I’ve been feeling a bit repressed.” (I knew what that meant – she was feeling the need to be dominant.) “I know how much you really want to be casted, and I know of a way to satisfy both of our urges, but”, and here she leaned close to my face,” you may not like all of the things I have in mind for you. You see, I’ve been doing a little research of my own at that medical bookstore down by the hospital, and I’ve found a few things that I think I’d like to try out on you, but as I said, you may not like them. So….” her eyes turned even colder than before “…. here’s the deal. You let me, er, ‘treat’ you for the next seven days, after which the remaining two days I’m all yours, to do with as you please.”
“And if I decide this is a little too scary?” My voice sounded somewhat tiny.
“I undo this get-up, and we never play with plaster again.”
Well, fair’s fair, I thought, I’d tolerated lots of stuff she’d done to me, and while some of it really didn’t strike my fancy, I’d survived, and our relationship and grown stronger because of it. After so much time together, I figured I could trust her. There was just one thing I wanted to know. “Anything permanent?” I didn’t want to end this weekend (week?) with a tattoo on my butt.
“Okay”, I said.
The smile that was obviously under the mask caused her eyes to squint. “Excellent. Oh, and by the way, I found someone to assist me.” With that the bedroom door opened, and in walked another woman, also clad in old-time surgical garb, pushing a large cart, followed by another woman similarly dressed. “What I have planned I could not do alone, and besides, it required some expertise that I did not have. I want you to meet Ms. Rogers. She is a registered nurse, and will be here to help me take care of you during your ‘treatment’. The other woman is Ms. Davis. She is an anaesthesiologist. I thought her skills in particular would come in handy.”
With that a syringe was jabbed into my hip, and as the plunger was pushed, the room started spinning…….
I woke up a short time later (it was still light outside), to find myself still on the frame, but unable to move. Trying to say something, I found my mouth filled with something soft yet firm, and something scratching the back of my throat. Something else made my nose hurt, and crossing my eyes, I saw a pair of plastic tubes, one large, and one small, snaking away from my face. The large tube could only be an endotrachial tube, something used to help patients breath when they cannot do it on their own. There was now one going into my mouth, down my throat, and into my windpipe. Whatever was filling my mouth was apparently there to prevent me from biting down on this tube. The second tube, I was guessing, went through my nostril, down my oesophagus, and into my stomach. Feeding tube. I was going to be on a liquid diet for a while. It made sense, since I wasn’t going to be able to eat via my mouth.
The stockinet had been pulled up over my head, and an area for my face had been cut out, but there was nothing else done yet. I tried to turn my head to look around, only to find that it wasn’t responding. I could feel that the leather restraints had been removed, yet I could not move my arms or legs, either. About that time Christy walked into my field of view.
“How are you feeling?”, she asked, gently running her gloved finger over my forehead. I raised my eyebrows in my best ‘Eh, it’s okay’ response. I wasn’t really frightened by what was going on, just a little bewildered. “I know you’ve wanted to be casted for a long time, and I figured you’d want to be treated as a real patient at the same time. So, I enlisted the help of my two new friends.” About this time the other two women came into view. One had red hair, with eyes greener than Christy’s; the other had blond hair with blue eyes – that was all that could be seen because of the surgical garb. “Ms. Davis here”, Christy said, indicating the blond,” has administered a drug normally given to patients who have undergone heart surgery. The drug tends to paralyze only the voluntary muscles, so that there is less stress on the heart during recovery. The only problem is”, and here she fingered the endotrachial tube, “that breathing is affected. That’s why we had to intubate you, and hook you up to a respirator. Also, you’re going to be tube-fed during the duration of this little ‘episode’. But don’t worry – the paralysis is temporary, there’ll be no adverse side-effects once it wears off, and you’ll have at least one of us here at all times to take care of you. Oh, and the paralysis only extends to the muscles – as I’m sure you’ve discovered, your sense of feeling has not been affected.” And with that she gently squeezed my private parts. Another one of those grins. “And now, my sweet, on with the show….”
With that a plastic mask was fitted over the two tubes, and was fitted against my face. I noticed it was thickly padded around the edges. My head was then lifted, and a disposable head halter was fitted first behind my head, the under my chin. I felt something else being fastened around my waist – a traction belt, no doubt. My suspicions were confirmed when I felt a simultaneous pulling on my waist and my head. As it increased, I heard a clicking sound at both ends of the casting frame – ratchets. When it seemed as if my spine was being lifted off the canvas strap it had been resting on, the ratcheting stopped. Someone appeared at my head and started wrapping padding around my forehead, working down. With three sets of hands it went quickly, and before I know it I was in a thick layer of padding over the stockinet. Large pieces of felt were placed over my shoulders, behind my head, under my chin, around my ribs, and on my hips, and then another layer of padding held them in place. As I was taking all this in, I heard water being wrung out of something. They were already applying the plaster! This was going very quickly. They started at my waist and worked up, quickly encompassing my neck. As they proceeded over my chin, they wrapped the plaster over the facemask! I was truly being encased in plaster. The first layer finished, wide plaster splints were then placed over my shoulders, around my hips, behind my head to my lower back, under my chin to my chest, and around my neck. A second layer of plaster rolls was used to tie all this together.
As this was being finished, I felt my legs being lifted up, and spread apart. Padding was then being wrapped around both legs, starting at the groin, and extending to my toes. Felt padding was placed at my ankle and knees, and another layer of padding held that in place. Soon the wet feeling of the plaster was on my legs, starting where the body cast stopped and working down. My hips and knees were flexed at ninety degrees, just as if I were sitting in a chair, only with my legs spread apart about forty-five degrees. It seemed as if a lot of plaster was applied there, almost as much as the rest of the cast.
Almost as soon as I thought that, they started working on my arms. My shoulders and elbows were held at ninety degrees, just like the old airplane splints that some of my medical books showed. First the padding, then the felt, then more padding, then the plaster. I noticed that both of my thumbs and all of my fingers were encased in plaster, with each digit individually wrapped in padding. They were all held in a curving position, like I was holding a baseball. One layer of plaster, some splints, and then some more plaster finished off the casts, incorporating them into the rest of the body cast. Short sections of wood poling were then attached from wrist to waist, and these covered in plaster. All the edges of the cast were finished then. There was an opening for my eyes, the tops of my toes were exposed, though there was a rigid shelf under them, the cast was likewise cut away from the back of my fingers, leaving a padded, curving shelf for them to rest upon, and, most importantly, the area around my genitals was finished and left open.
With the cast finished, the traction ropes were cut loose, and the canvas strap I had been lying on was removed. One of the women went into the bedroom, and returned with a patient hoist and a large, high-back wheelchair. The canvas sling of the hoist was placed around me, and I was lifted off the casting table, and into the pillows on the wheelchair. “I want you to see what you’ve gotten yourself into”, said Christy, a slightly evil tone in her voice. With that, I was wheeled into the master bathroom, the one with the mirrors.
I was in a monster of a cast. I couldn’t have moved an inch, even if I were able. As I said previously, only my eyes, fingers, toes and crotch were visible – the rest of me was buried somewhere inside a large, very thick plaster cast. In addition to the bars supporting my arms, another bar connected my legs just below the knees.
About this time I noticed something that the drug they had given me did not affect – and Christy noticed it too. “Time to get you to bed,” she said, grinning again.
“I see there’s something else the drug hasn’t affected”, Christy said with a smirk. She was staring at my crotch. “I think it’s time we got you in bed.” With that the wheel chair started moving again, but not towards the big bed in the master bedroom. Instead, we headed down the hall, into the guest bedroom. Mrs. Rogers and Mrs. Davis joined us.
Sometime during the day, between the time I had gone to work and the time I had gotten home, these three ladies had apparently been doing some redecorating of my house, for the guest bedroom had had all of its furniture removed, and had been turned into a de facto hospital room. Two genuine hospital beds were set in the room, each with its own overhead table, and several carts with hospital-looking equipment were placed against the wall. I wondered why there were two beds, but couldn’t have asked at the moment, even if I had wanted to. Wheeled up beside one of them, I was again lifted with the patient hoist, and placed onto the mattress. I noted that a sheet of sheepskin padding had been placed on top of the mattress. It was tickling the exposed part of mu butt.
After I was situated in the bed, the head and foot sections were raised, and in short order I was in a reclined, sitting position in bed, encased in a body cast that had to be at least two inches thick all around. The endotrachial tube was disconnected from the portable respirator attached to the wheelchair, and was hooked up to a large respirator unit on one of the carts next to the bed. Large gas cylinders next to the cart hinted at things to come. While Mrs. Davis was doing that, Mrs. Rogers pulled an IV stand next to the bed. Hanging from it was a bag of milky liquid. With sure deftness, she connected the bag to the small tube that had been threaded though mm nose and down into my stomach, and started the fluid dripping. I was being fed. This done, the two healthcare professionals left the room, closing the door. Christy walked around to the end of the bed, where I could see her. “My, but you do look delicious”, she said. With that, she removed the surgical hood that had contained her hair, and let it fall down around her shoulders. The gloves came off next, followed by the surgical gown. Underneath, she had on one of the old-fashioned black-silk corsets I had bought her a few months before. Eight garters on each leg held up sheer black stockings. Tightly laced, the corset squeezed her waist down to a scant 19 inches. She had apparently been wearing this during the entire time I was being casted, and, remembering how much she liked it and how much it turned her on, I imagined she was in a very excited state at the moment. Walking around to the side of the bed, she straddled me, and much to my amazement, everything fit into place, even with the thick cast. As she gently started rocking her body against mine, she traced her finger along the cast around my neck and head, touching the skin around my eyes that was still exposed. Leaning back against the leg casts, her rhythm increased, and she grabbed my hands, running her fingers between each padded finger.
Not being able to move, all I could do was watch and experience it. Of course, I was also enjoying the hell out of it, and could feel her hot wetness, and at the same time realized there was nothing I could do. In fact, a sensation in my stomach reminded me that I was being fed at the moment. Fed and fucked, both at the same time, and I wasn’t moving my body an inch. Even my breathing was being done for me. I was totally at the mercy and control of other people, my body encased in a thickly padded plaster prison. Then, suddenly, Christy stopped moving.
Beads of perspiration were beginning to form on her forehead, and she was breathing heavily. I knew that look she gave me, a look that said “I’m close, but I want something else added before I come”. Leaning forward, she kissed the exposed bridge of my nose, and then leaned over to the cart holding the respirator. I heard some clicks as knobs were turned, and then things changed. The volume of air forced into my lungs with each breath increased, as did the exhale cycle. I was now breathing hard and heavy, like I’d just run a mile. Christy gave me a devilish smile, and did something else to the unit, and my world started to slowly spin. “I thought a little nitrous-oxide would help you relax, and enjoy this more.” With that she started her rhythmic rocking again.
I lost all track of time, but for what then seemed like hours she rocked, twisted and grinded herself against the cast and me. As the nitrous worked its way into my system, it seemed my sensations were heightened, and as she rode the throes of ecstasy, I also climaxed, of such intensity and duration as I had never experienced. As I rode down the back of that great tidal wave of sensations, blackness surrounded me, and the night took me into its soft, warm arms.
Well, I guess it hadn’t been hours after all, for when I awoke, I guessed it was still early evening (the window in that room faced west, and red and yellow light was still coming through the curtains). A warm, wet sensation between my legs reminded me of what had (apparently) just happened, and I looked down to see Mrs. Rogers bathing my crotch. A glance up at the feeding bag showed it was nearly empty. A thought occurred to me then; how was I going to get rid of all this liquid that was being force-fed to me? Was I just supposed to wet the bed? Or would they hold a urinal up to me at strategic times? Mrs. Rogers already had the answer.
Finished washing me, she pulled the over bed table into place above the bed. A plastic tray was there, but I couldn’t see what was in it. Mrs. Rogers then turned to another of the carts beside the bed, and pulled out some disposable gloves, which she then donned. Noticing I was awake, she smiled at me, but said nothing. From the one of the cart’s drawers, she removed a large, heavy vinyl bag that had tubing attached to it. This she hung down at the edge of the bed, and brought the exposed end of the tubing up and rested in my lap. I knew what was coming next, and would have cringed if I could have. Mrs. Rogers lifted a long tube from the tray on the table, and squeezed some clear jelly-like substance on it from a tube. Using her gloved fingers, she smeared the jelly along the length of the tube, evenly coating its entire length. Setting the tube down, she picked a syringe (minus needle), and filled it with water. This she then attached to a pigtail on one end of the tube, and slowly pushed the plunger. The other end of the tube was rounded, and had two eyelets on the side just behind the tip, which opened to the obviously hollow interior of the tube. As Mrs. Rogers pushed on the syringe plunger, the surface of the tube behind the eyelets suddenly swelled, forming a balloon. Apparently satisfied, she then pulled the syringe plunger back out, deflating the balloon. She then turned to me. “I understand this is your first time for this”, she said. Her voice had an Irish accent to it. It went well with her red hair. “I’ll go very slowly, and be as gentle as possible.”
Reaching down, she took my penis in her left hand, and with her right, slowly started threading the catheter into my urethra. From all I had heard about this procedure, I was certain I’d experience excruciating pain from the onset, and for as long as the device was in me. That’s not what happened. While I wouldn’t say it was a pleasant feeling, the burning sensation the catheter induced was not very bad, and I had felt worse burning before from a bladder infection. As the tube progressed in, I felt it pressing against my prostrate as it went past it, as for a moment I tried to decide of the feeling was actually pleasant or not. Then it reached my bladder.
The sphincter valve on the bladder is normally closed tightly, and only opens when certain muscles are flexed. I had wondered if the drug they had given me would have paralyzed that muscle too, resulting in temporary incontinence, but apparently it hadn’t. Now, the catheter’s rounded tip was force through this tightly-closed orifice, and for an instant I felt a strong, unpleasant cramping sensation. Just as quickly, though, the feeling was gone, and all I felt was the catheter being pushed in further. It didn’t hurt, in fact it no longer burned. It was simply something felt.
Satisfied that the catheter was truly inside my bladder (easy to tell – urine was pouring out of the end and into the collection bag that was hanging down from my bed), Mrs. Rogers then depressed the syringe plunger again. I didn’t know if I would feel the little balloon inflate inside my bladder; the only sensation was a feeling of my bladder being slightly full for a moment as the balloon displaced urine. that feeling went away as the my bladder emptied. Mrs. Rogers disconnected the syringe from the catheter’s pigtail, and then wrapped some soft padding around my penis. A small ace bandage held it in place. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”, she asked. “Every two days it will be removed for eight hours, so that your bladder sphincter won’t loose its ability to close all the way. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to have to use one of these for the rest of your life.” She could be so charming at times, I thought. Putting away the tray and over bed table, she pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed, looking at me.
“Please don’t think Christy’s being cruel by having us catheterize you. It’s really the most sensible thing for the situation you’re in, a situation which, from what she says, you really wanted. Don’t worry, neither myself nor Mrs. Davis think poorly of you for wanting this. In fact, she, myself and our, uh, ‘roommate’ all enjoy this particular hobby. Did you notice the second bed in this room? Christy said that, because we were kind enough to help her with you, we could bring our ‘roommate’ over here. It seemed logical, as one of us will have to be monitoring you at all times, and we didn’t want to leave Carol at home. That’s her name; Carol. She’ll be dropping by later on. I think you’ll enjoy the week we all have planned. For now, though, you’ve had a busy day, and you need your rest.” She turned to the respirator, and made an adjustment. “Sleep well”. She leaned over and kissed me on the bridge of my nose, then walked out of the room, shutting off the light, and closing the door. As the nitrous oxide again started to take effect, I felt all the tubes in me, and I felt the soft, rigid inside of the cast against my skin. I realized I was right where I wanted to be.
Normally, when I awaken, I do so gradually. Slowly displacing the cobwebs of unconsciousness and dreams with gentle rays of morning reality, my mind is more at ease when it has time to adjust to the state of awareness. That’s not what happened.
The sleep that was induced into me by the inhaling of nitrous oxide was one of the deepest, most restful sleeps I had ever known. The gas, along with my plaster cocoon, relaxed me in a manner which I’d never experienced before. Yet, when I awakened, it was as though a pail of ice water had been thrown on me, so much so that, were I not artificially paralyzed, I would have started shivering right then and there. Of course, it wasn’t ice water that had pulled me from my slumber. I later learned that, when chilled to somewhere around 45 degrees, pure oxygen will bring anyone to instant awareness from the deepest of sleep. Such was the alarm that brought me around.
The lights were on in the room, and I saw a clock on one of the carts indicting 11:00 pm. If I had been put under at sunset (I remember the red and yellow light coming through the west-facing window), then I had just enjoyed four wonderful hours of sleep. Or twenty-eight. I wasn’t sure which, but I was almost certain the three women looking after me wouldn’t let that much time be wasted, when we all had only a week or so to play. Mrs. Davis appeared at the respirator, and, seeing I was awake, adjusted some control. The temperature of the oxygen must have been changed, for I suddenly felt warm again.
“Sorry to wake you like this, but Carol has just arrived, and we all thought you’d like to meet her.” Mrs. Davis had removed her hood and mask, and the face that grinned at me didn’t look like a “Mrs” at all. She looked more like a “Ms”, or even that old-fashioned moniker, “Miss”. “I hope you’re not too modest, because Carol is going to have to sleep in here tonight. I think you’ll like her.” With that, Mrs. Davis left the room. A few moments later, Christy came in, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. She was followed by Mrs. Rogers, then by a woman I assumed was Carol. Mrs. Davis brought up the rear.
Carol was about five-foot-ten, and seemed very slender and shapely. Brownish-blonde hair fell onto her shoulders and almost down to her waist. The blue dress she wore was almost western in style, with puffy shoulders and tight wrists. It stopped almost at her ankles, where one could see black patent boots with three-inch heels. She walked somewhat stiffly, but I could understand why. Jutting up from the top of her dress was a metal bar two inches wide. It ended at a metal ring that encircled her neck, disappearing into her hair. On top of the intersection of the bar and the ring was a thick pad upon which her chin rested. The pad curved up on either side of her chin, effectively preventing her from turning her head. There must have been some upward pressure on the pad, for her head was held erect. I recognized the superstructure of the Milwaukee brace, and guessed at what was under her clothing. If it was uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. Her smile was warm and genuine, and her eyes, as blue as the dress she was wearing, were sparkling. She took a moment to examine the situation I was in, then smiled at me. She mouthed the word “Hello”, but instead of hearing her voice, I heard a strange sound, almost like she was inhaling sharply. She turned back to the other women, and the smile faded, though only slightly. I recognized willing obedience.
“Time to show you off”, Mrs. Rogers said. With that, she and Mrs. Davis pulled out a chair, which Carol immediately sat down in. Producing two brushes, they started working on her hair, first pulling it into a ponytail on top of her head, then braiding it. As they did I could see the back of the neck ring, and the thick occipital pads that cradled the back of her head. While they worked, Carol sat there looking straight ahead, the pleasant little smile never leaving her face. Christy sat down on my bed, snuggling against my arm casts, watching. The two women must have been well practised, for without uttering a word between them they had Carol’s hair into a braid almost three feet long within minutes. Finished, they stepped back, and Carol stood up. Moving the chair aside, they unzipped the back of her dress and let it fall to the floor. Christy gasped. I would have too, if I were able.
A normal Milwaukee brace is anchored to the patient’s pelvis by means of a form-fitted girdle, usually made from plastic. Carol’s wasn’t. The front upright of her brace (and the two back uprights, too) were attached to a monster of a corset. Made of thick leather, and polished like a prized saddle, it started halfway between her knees and her hips, and went up to stop just above her bust line. In between were what seemed like miles of lacing in the back, with some in the front, too. The front of the stay pockets were exposed, showing stays made of heavy steel bars. That, with the superstructure of the brace, ensured that her hips moved only a little, and above there nothing moved at all. I wondered why she walked so stiffly into the room. Now I wondered how she was able to walk at all, especially in the heeled boots, and sit and stand with such graceful fluidity. Carol had obviously worn this rig for quite some time.
Mrs. Rogers and Mrs. Davis started untying the lacing at the rear of the corset, explaining things as they did. “Carol came to our clinic four years ago, just divorced, jobless, and in pain. She has a congenital defect of her spine which causes inflammation of the nerve roots, brought on by repetitive motion. We got her into a brace, which alleviated the pain, and gave her a place to stay while she got back on her feet. It didn’t take long for us to find out she had interests similar to ours’. And yours, I might add.” Mrs. Rogers looked squarely at me. “We combined our interests with her treatment, and the result is what you see here. Carol wears this brace twenty-three hours a day, as she has for the past three years. In addition to ridding her of the pain, the shaping qualities of the corset provide her with an added boost to her self-esteem. It seems she always thought of herself as chubby. Not any more! And, since we have been so supportive of her and her desires, Carol has reciprocated by willingly submitting to whatever Mrs. Davis and I wish to do to her.” With that the lacings were removed, the rear of the neck ring was opened, and the brace was lifted off of Carol. I then understood why she had no voice.
In the front Carol’s throat, just above the top edge of her sternum, a silver metal tube emerged from her windpipe. A tracheotomy tube. It allowed her to breath without the air going through either her mouth or her nose. It also rendered her without a voice, unless it was plugged. Christy saw it also, and knew what it was. Her hand tightened around my fingers. I think she approved.
“Time for you to get into bed, Carol”, Mrs. Davis said. Carol removed her boots and stockings, and sat naked in the chair. Mrs. Rogers then produced a leather hood from one of the carts, and stood behind Carol, holding the hood in front of her face. I could see the inside of the hood was heavily padded around the eyes and ears, and had three plugs – two small ones at the nostrils, and one large one at the mouth. Carol obediently raised her head and opened her mouth, and Mrs. Rogers deftly fit the hood onto her head. All three plugs were quickly inserted, and the hood was pulled tight around her head. An opening in the top provided an exit for her ponytail. A tube exited the front of the hood at the mouth, and ended in a squeeze bulb with a small valve. The hood was laced on as deftly and quickly as the corset was unlaced, and though it covered her neck down to her shoulders, there was an opening in front for the trach tube. You could hear Carol’s breathing becoming faster. Mrs. Davis then produced a plastic vest, looking for all the world like a woman’s ski vest, complete with breast cups. This one was lined with sheepskin, and I started to wonder if they were going to apply a halo brace to Carol. The vest was tightened around her upper torso, and then an occipital bar and a chin bar were attached to a Y-shaped plate on the front of the vest. I recognized the chin and occipital pieces as being from a SOMI brace. Once secured to the vest, they effectively immobilized Carol’s leather-encased head and neck. I noted that the chin bar had a hole built into it in front of Carol’s trach tube.
Once her head and neck were immobilized, Carol was lead to the other hospital bed and laid down on it. I saw it also had a sheepskin pad on it. Settled in place, her wrists and ankles were secured into sheepskin-lined leather manacles, which were fastened securely to the bed. Another set were attached to her upper arms and legs, and these, too, were tied off. Carol was unable to move an inch. Mrs. Davis then reached to one of the carts, and withdrew a long tube which she attached to Carol’s trach tube. The other end was connected to the respirator, and, after a few adjustments, it was pushing air into and out of Carol’s lungs as regularly as mine were being exercised. Mrs. Davis then made an adjustment on one of the gas bottles next to the cart, nitrous no doubt. As she did that, Mrs. Rogers sprinkled what smelled like baby powder onto Carol’s crotch area, and deftly fitted her with an adult diaper. That done, she picked up the bulb at the end of the tube coming from the mouth area of Carol’s hood. Closing the valve, she leaned down next to Carol and said, “Because you were so good, and because you’re with company tonight, only six.” With that, she slowly squeezed the bulb, completely collapsing it before letting it refill with air. With each squeeze, I saw Carol’s cheeks bulge against the leather of her hood. I had heard of pump-gags before, but had never seen one in use. I had heard that they could be dangerous, because if pumped up too much, they cut off a person’s ability to breath. I supposed that with her trach tube, Carol didn’t have that problem. After the sixth squeeze, Mrs. Rogers gently laid the bulb down next to Carol’s head, then bent down and kissed her forehead. Mrs. Davis did the same, and then stepped over to my side of the room.
“We were sure you would have wanted to be awake to see that.” she reached down and squeezed my penis through the ace bandage and padding that helped support the catheter. There was no hiding the erection I sported. “Good. I was right. This is going to be week you’ll never forget. I promise.” With that she adjusted my respirator once more, and sleep found me as quickly as it had left me.
I spent most of the next day in a drug-induced haze. I distinctly remembered Mrs. Rogers coming into the room on three different occasions and hooking a bottle of pale liquid up to my feeding tube, and the feeling of my stomach filling up. I also remembered once when the bag connected to my catheter was disconnected and carried out of the room, only to be brought back a few minutes later, emptied, and reconnected to the catheter. Beyond that, I spent most of the day drifting into and out of consciousness, held firm in the padded embrace of the body cast, unable to move, only to feel.
The second morning I woke up, feeling more rested and refreshed than I had in years. The breathing and feeding tubes still tickled the back of my throat, and I was still paralyzed from the drug I had been given, but I felt great. As I still had five more days to go in my plaster prison, I wondered if the feeling would persist, diminish or grow. I hoped it would at least continue. I was totally relaxed.
Mrs. Rogers came into the room then, carrying the now-familiar bottle of feeding formula. With deft movements she connected it to my feeding tube, and once again I felt the warm liquid start to fill my stomach. “You will be given an hour for this to move through your system, and then the catheter will be removed”, she said. “This is so your bladder’s sphincter muscles don’t get stretched open permanently. It would be unfortunate if you had to wear a catheter for the rest of your life.” From the pleasant look on her face, I wasn’t sure if that prospect pleased her or not.
While my breakfast flowed into the tube snaking through my nose and down into my stomach, Mrs. Rogers started removing the elastic bandage and padding from around my penis. “I hope you had a restful day yesterday. Mrs. Davis and I had so much to do, we weren’t able to really spend any time in here with you, and we didn’t want you to be completely bored, so we decided it would be best if you slept the entire day. I think the rest did you better than you realize. The procedure you have been through, the paralyzing drug, the intubation, and the casting, is really very stressful to the body. It takes more out of you than you realize. That extra rest is necessary to help your body recover. Besides, we had some things to do with your girlfriend.” A wicked smile crossed her face. “She’ll be coming in in a few minutes, and I’m sure she’ll want to tell you all about it.” The smile got wider. “But, before then, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. Well, maybe bad, depending on your point of view.”
“You see, when a person is immobilized, like you are, the muscles atrophy, or grow weak, from non-use. Normally, this takes a couple of weeks of immobilization before it has any noticeable effect, but this drug you have been given accelerates the effects. I’m afraid that by the end of your ‘treatment’, when we cut you out of this plaster jacket, some of your muscles will have atrophied to the point where they will not adequately do their job. Specifically, the muscles of your neck and upper back will be so weak, you will find it difficult to hold you head up, and trying to do so will cause significant pain. Your arms and legs will also be effected, but not to the same degree. They should regain their strength within a couple of days, but your neck and upper back will require two or three weeks of therapy to get them back to their normal strength. During that time, I’m afraid it will be necessary for you to wear a brace for your neck and upper back. We have a model in mind already, one that should be comfortable enough for the extended wear that will be required. And don’t worry about your job. Christy has already called your boss and explained your ‘accident’. They are very understanding, and will do whatever needs to be done to accommodate your ‘condition’ while you recover.” A large grin once again crossed her face as she arose and left the room.
An hour later, both she and Mrs. Davis entered the room, once again dressed in surgical garb. Standing on either side of the bed, they produced a basin and washcloth, and proceeded to wash my entire groin area. Once finished, towels were placed on four sides surrounding my penis, just as if they were getting ready to perform surgery on it. Mrs. Rogers then attached a syringe to the catheter’s pigtail, and withdrew the water that had kept the balloon inflated inside my bladder. Once all the water had been removed, she held my penis erect in one hand, while Mrs. Davis slowly started removing the catheter. Once it had been placed in my bladder, the catheter had stopped burning, and after a hour or so I barely felt it. Now, as it was being removed, I felt the burning sensation again, and as the latex tube was slowly withdrawn, the burning sensation proceeded out of my bladder, and down my urethra, until at last it reached the tip of my penis, and the catheter was fully withdrawn. The sensation of feeling the tube move every millimetre through my body was exciting, but the pain was a little more than what I cared for. While Mrs. Rogers gently messaged my penis, Mrs. Davis disposed of the catheter, then retrieved another syringe. This one had a short, rubber tube attached, and was filled with a cloudy liquid. Lubricating the rubber tube, it was inserted about two inches into my already-abused urethra. Thinking I was about to be really tortured, I was pleasantly surprised when Mrs. Davis started injecting the liquid into my penis. “This is warm saline solution”, she explained, “it will removed a lot of the pain.” True to her word, the burning sensation quickly subsided, and the syringe was withdrawn. Drying off my penis, Mrs. Rogers once again wrapped it in padding, laying a towel over it when she was finished. As Mrs. Rogers started cleaning up their equipment, Mrs. Davis turned to me and said, “Now, it’s time to see what Christy has been up to!” With that she strolled out the door.
A moment later, she came back in, carefully guiding Christy. Both of Christy’s arms were in casts, and there was a wide plaster belt around her waist. Each arm was connected to the belt with a plaster-covered strut. The effect was that of a double shoulder spice, but her shoulders and entire upper torso weren’t encased. Instead, and large brace was attached to her torso. It consisted of a large, padded yoke resting on her shoulders, and extending down to her shoulder blades in back and her sternum in front. Padded straps connected these points, and passed around her torso, firmly holding the yoke in place. Extending up from the yoke was a modified four-post neck brace. In addition to the two posts attached to the thickly-padded chin pad and two more connecting the equally-thick occipital pad, two bars attached to the shoulder points of the yoke and connected to the chin pad, preventing any fore-and-aft movement. Two more bars connected the chin pad to the occipital pad. The entire brace was designed for rigidity, and held Christy’s neck, head and upper back completely immobile. In addition, a leather hood had been tightly laced onto Christy’s head, with her hair exiting in back in a ponytail. Though they weren’t on at the moment, buckles on the side of the hood suggested attachments for both a blindfold and a gag. Besides the opening for her hair, there were openings for her eyes and mouth. Two small holes also allowed her to breath through her nose.
Except for the casts, brace and hood, Christy was otherwise naked. Mrs. Davis guided her to my bed, and helped her sit on the edge of my bed. Then Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Rogers left the room.
“I’ve got so much to tell you!”, Christy beamed. “But first, please don’t be angry with me that I let them do this to me. It was a condition that I be placed like this for a couple of days in order to have those two ladies do something else for me, something I think you’ll like.”
“I spent yesterday being measured and moulded for several braces. Mrs. Rogers and Mrs. Davis said they’d do it in exchange for me being their ‘pet’ for a few days, and I thought it was worth it. I’m going to get a Milwaukee Brace! They are going to make me one that’s set up for someone with a mild case of kyphosis, so it’ll have pads on my shoulder blades, and will also have pads pressing against the front of my shoulders. I’ll be so straight and tall! In addition, they are going to make several different superstructures for it. In addition to the regular one with the plastic throat mould, there will be one with thick pads for my chin and the back of my head, so that it can be adjusted to stretch my spine! There’s also going to be one with a forehead band instead of a chin pad, so that I can eat and use my mouth while my spine is being stretched. And they are going to fit it with a padlock, so that only the key holder can let me out!” With that she grinned, leaned over and kissed the bridge of my nose. “They are also going to fit me with some leg braces, ones that can be attached to the Milwaukee brace if I want. The bottom of the braces will have shoe inserts, instead of being attached to one pair of shoes, so that I can wear them with any shoes I want. I am also going to get a plastic body jacket, with a removable section of rmy head and neck, and another for my legs. It’ll be like the cast you’re in now, but it will be modular, and removable.” She smiled broadly. “I’m so happy, there’s only one thing that could make me any happier.” With that, she called to Mrs. Davis.
The anaesthesiologist came back into the room, still gowned and gloved, carrying a small basin with a towel over it. Christy got up from the bed, and stood over to one side. “You may not like this, and I told Mrs. Davis you probably wouldn’t, but she reminded me that you freely accepted the position you are in, and will be in for the next five days, and are allowing me to do with you as I will.” With that she turned to Mrs. Davis.
Removing the towel from over my crotch, Mrs. Davis also removed the padding from my penis. Having seen Christy in her current state, I was, at the moment, semi-erect. Mrs. Davis worked the bed controls, laying me back into a supine position from the semi-reclined pose I had been in for two days. I could no longer see what was being done, but within a moment I felt something cold and slippery being spread around my anus. I started to panic, wondering what was going to happen, but knowing I was unable to do anything about it. Just then, something large was inserted into my rectum. It hurt as it stretched me, but it must have narrowed down, for the pain quickly subsided. I suddenly had the feeling of being somewhat constipated, though I knew nothing solid was going through my body. The bed was raised again, and Mrs. Davis was holding a small box with a couple of dials and lights on it. Wires snaked from the box to between my legs,
“This is something that Mrs. Rogers and I have developed”, she stated. “There is an inflatable vibrator inside your rectum, and is pressing against your prostrate. As you know, the prostrate controls male sexual function. We have discovered how to control that function for our own uses.” With that, she twisted a dial on the box, and the vibrator started inflating. Just as it seemed my ass was going to explode, it stopped. Mrs. Davis twisted the other dial, and the vibrator started dancing against my innards. Almost immediately I gained a full erection. Smiling, Mrs. Davis put the control box down, and using her gloved hands, coated my penis with a slippery lubricant. She then helped Christy to climb up on a stool, and then sit down on the bed, straddling me. My cock immediately found its way in. Mrs. Davis then made an adjustment on my respirator, and once again the world started spinning. As Christy rode me, she climaxed again and again, and I could only lay there, being used like a toy. After an hour, Mrs. Davis returned, and with Christy still rocking back and forth on my shaft, made an adjustment to the control box. The vibrator inside me deflated a little, and I suddenly exploded in an orgasm that must have lasted three minutes. Seeing my eyes roll back, Mrs. Davis made another adjustment on my respirator, and once again darkness enveloped me.