“So tell me when you realized you were a lesbian.” The question held no overtures, as the doctor, in his pressed khakis and sweater vest, sat poised with his pen held above his clipboard.
Across from him, I was strapped naked over something very akin to a sybian machine, watching girl-on-girl porn flow in front of my eyes at blinding frequency.
Every once in a while, I thought I’d catch the quickest glimpse of some words… Obedience. Crave. Fucktoy.
“I’m not… gay,” I managed to choke out. Thinking was so hard, I couldn’t even remember how long I had been here. Hours, I think.
I heard a soft tut from the doctor as he made a note. “I see. Well, then I’m going to have to prescribe a week in the reeducation suite. I’ll go ahead and book our next appointment.” Again, the tone was professional, detached. Almost like he didn’t have a nude, dripping, sweaty woman across from him. If I had been more lucid, I probably would have been offended. But then again, had I been more lucid, I probably wouldn’t be here at all.
It might have that fourth drink I had at the party… I don’t remember anything afterwards. I was just there, and then here. Strapped to this device. Had I left my drink unattended? I could hardly remember now.
Some nurses came in to wheel the whole contraption, with me included, out of the room and down the hall.
One Week Later
“So tell me when you realized you were a lesbian.” Again, the question was entirely devoid of tone, except the bland kindness that therapists sometimes acquire.
I, on the other hand, was a wreck. Only the fact that I knew it, made me think I wasn’t entirely broken. I had spent what I guessed was the last week (although time had no meaning in this place, whatever it was) being subjected to a continual stream of flashing porn, helpless stimulation of my pussy, nipples, and clit, and those repeating words. Always those words. I could pick them out easier now… Obedience. Crave. Fucktoy. Owned. Those words were like an anchor to my mind, and saved me from being washed away in the deluge of sex. All the same, I hadn’t slept, barely been fed, and on the verge of complete mental exhaustion. I must have looked a sight, strapped to this machine across from the unassuming doctor.
I moaned involuntarily as the rapid pictures flashed before my eyes. My cunt seeped freely. I felt so weak, except for when I saw the words. The words gave me a kind of strength, allowed me a tenuous hold on reality.
“I… I don’t know,” I tried to answer his question. He seemed so far off, though, like looking through a pool of water. “I think…think I am, though. Umm, I… might be.” Images of beautiful pussy flowed through my mind. I needed them. Fuck, I needed to taste them. I needed to bury my face into beautiful, wet pussy. I needed it like I had needed nothing before in my life.
“And what do you think is the genesis of your homosexuality?” the doctor continued dryly.
I might have been able to laugh, had I not been so terribly close to crying.
The genesis? Was he serious? Could it be, oh, I don’t know, a week’s worth of relentless porn and orgasms, that probably violated the Geneva Convention? Even now thinking about it, I could picture the words, too, in my mind… Obedience. Fucktoy. Owned. Obedience.
“I don’t know… I just… need it.” My voice sounded like it was about to break.
He let out a long sigh as he made another note in my file. “I see. It sounds like another week in the reeducation suite is, once again, warranted for your case. I’ll book our next appointment.”
I blinked, trying to process what he had said. The nurses came in and started wheeling me out. If no wasn’t the answer, and yes wasn’t the answer, then what the hell did he want to hear?
One Week After That
“So tell me when you realized you were a lesbian.”
If I had thought I was exhausted before, I hadn’t known what exhaustion was. I had no thoughts anymore, except… Rest. And the ever-present words. Obedience. Owned. Fucktoy. Obedient owned fucktoy. Obedient owned fucktoy. Obedientownedfucktoy.
I couldn’t think of anything to say, I just wanted to be an obedient owned fucktoy. “I don’t know. I’m … sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know.” I started to cry, I felt so lost and broken. “I’m… not, but I don’t know, maybe. I’m … Whatever. I’m whatever…” Suddenly I looked at him. Insight lit up my brain.
I understood.
“…I’m whatever my owner wants me to be…”
He looked at me like I’d finally made the breakthrough he’d been waiting for. “Good girl. And what is the genesis of this new feeling?”
“I… want to be an obedient owned fucktoy. I just want to be an obedient owned fucktoy.” I grinned through the crippling exhaustion, because I couldn’t help it. It all fit together, I got it. Finally, I got it. I craved to be an obedient fucktoy, whatever that meant. It wasn’t for me to decide, or to care. Only to please.
“Good girl.” The doctor was smiling, now, too. “I think we can now start on the next phase of your training.”
Photo by Mia Harvey on Unsplash