As promised, Dr Kepler returned an hour after he had left, and he had another copy of the treatment form for Courtney to complete.
He unclipped Courtney’s hands from the bedhead and let her hold the paper and pen, but as soon as he let go of her hands, she crumpled the form into a ball, and threw it at him, followed by the pen.
She wanted to yell at him – to tell him to take his stupid, degrading “treatment form” and shove it up his ass – but she didn’t want to be gagged again, so instead she just glared at him.
He sighed, and re-cuffed her to the bedhead. Then he went between her spread, restrained legs, took out his cock, and pushed it into her pussy.
“I see that you are still suffering from uncontrolled bitchiness,” he said, as she started to rape her. “It’s a very terrible condition in a woman. We will keep testing to see if you have regained control of yourself each hour. Hopefully you will show signs of improvement.” He paused, and then added, “If you have not improved by tomorrow, we can always try the electric treatment.”
Courtney’s eyes widened. The electric treatment?
“Oh, you wonder about that?” said Dr Kepler, thrusting into her cunt. (Once again, Courtney’s pussy was traitorously wet and ready to be raped, and the violation of her fuckhole felt frustratingly pleasant.) “It is a simple treatment. A series of painful shocks to your tits and cunt, rather like being repeatedly Tasered. I find it helps reset the attitude of even the most unhealthy and recalcitrant bitch. If necessary, it can be followed by electric treatment of the brain.”
Courtney began to buck against her restraints. “Please, no!” she gasped. “That’s insane. You can’t do that! It’s illegal – immoral…”
“The only insane one here is you, my dear,” said Dr Kepler. “And the only immoral one is the slut who keeps orgasming like a whore from having simple medical procedures performed on her vagina. It’s really quite disgusting. In any case, if you show some improvement and are able to fill out the form correctly, none of that will be necessary.”
He kept fucking her – thrusting faster now – and despite her terror, Courtney found it difficult not to buck her hips against his cock.
“If I may give you some advice, my dear,” said Dr Kepler, “try just thinking with the ‘cunt’ portion of your brain. A female brain is really designed for only one purpose – to make babies. It exists solely to help her get men to ejaculate into her cunt, and then grow and birth the infant and make milk for it. It’s really quite a simple organ, not unlike that of an animal.”
He reached out and teasingly stroked her clitoris as he fucked her.
“All those other thoughts in your head are just noise,” he continued. “They’re the pollution of trying to live in a society designed for men. Your brain really isn’t equipped to handle them, and when you allow them to drive your behaviour it results in confusion, unhappiness and – yes – bitchiness.”
He pinched her clitoris, and Courtney moaned.
“Just let the noise drain away, and concentrate on your cunt thoughts, and you’ll find it quite easy to fill in the form,” said Dr Kepler. ‘Your cunt knows what treatment your body needs.” He laughed. “Or at least, I hope it does, or we shall have to explore the electric treatment.”
He pinched her again – and, like the embarrassing slut that she was, Courtney orgasmed. The spasming and shuddering of her body brought Dr Kepler to his own orgasm, and he ejaculated inside her, pulled out his cock, and then used the metal clamp to once again painfully clamp her pussy shut, trapping the sperm inside.
He left her alone again. Half an hour later, the big-titted nurse Cutie returned. She wordlessly knelt between Courtney’s legs, removed the clamp, and licked the sperm from Courtney’s twat – provoking yet another orgasm – and then left again.
Courtney spent all that time picturing “the electric treatment”. Her body shook with fear. And by the time Dr Kepler returned with yet another form, she was ready to cooperate.
She took the form from him and filled out the top section quickly. Her “preferred” name was clearly supposed to be the humiliating name that was now tattooed on her breast – “Courtney Cumsock” – and she filled that in, even as she internally spat hateful curses at Dr Kepler for putting her in this abusive, demeaning position.
She had to think about “occupation”. The correct answer was “secretary” – but did Dr Kepler want her to write something else? She ended up splitting the difference and writing “secretary / bitch”. And for “condition requiring treatment’, the answer was clearly “bitchiness”.
The remaining questions were multiple choice. The first read, “I require treatment for the following symptoms of my condition,” and the choices were:
> Feminist opinions
> Delusions of importance
> Cockteasing behaviour
> Social role dissonance
Her lips formed an angry pout. She wanted to screw up the paper and throw it away again.
But the image of having her pussy and breasts Tasered came to her, unbidden.
Unhappily, she ticked all the boxes.
The next question read, “I authorise my treating doctors to give me the following treatments, and use necessary force to implement them.” And the list read:
> Any medication my doctor thinks necessary, including via implant
> Breast augmentation
> Any and all dietary changes my doctor approves
> Laser hair removal
> Rape therapy
> Impregnation and fertility treatment
> Any necessary restraint, including gags and spit hoods
> Cannulation, catheterisation, and enema
> Physical discipline including slapping, beating, caning and punching
> Hypnosis and conditioning
> Inducement of lactation and expression of milk
> Electroshock and electroconvulsive therapy.
Courtney felt like she might cry, reading the list. But she ticked the boxes. Her hand hesitated over the last one. She definitely didn’t want to authorise them to shock her pussy – but, paradoxically, if she didn’t tick the box, Dr Kepler would likely do it to her anyway, relying on the existing forms she had mistakenly signed, whereas if she was a good girl who ticked the box she might escape the punishment.
She realised as she thought this that, to an extent, Dr Kepler had been right. Part of her absolutely did know exactly what Dr Kepler wanted her to write on the sheet, and another part of her was getting in the way of doing that. She didn’t want to think of it as “the cunt portion of her brain” – but it was absolutely going to be easier to do this if she just listened to that part of her mind, and tuned out the other part.
The next question read, “I prefer to be addressed by the following terms.”
She felt her body shake with anger and humiliation, and once again, she almost rebelled. She had to cut off that portion of her mind that insisted on her dignity and rights. It wasn’t helpful right now. She was helpless. She just had to do what the doctor wanted, to avoid getting her pussy Tasered. She forced herself to go blank, and suppress her emotions, as she left the boxes with the normal titles unchecked, and instead put ticks next to “cunt”, “bitch”, “cow”, “slut” and “fuckpig”.
Next was, “I would rate my intelligence as:”
> Substantially lower than average
She felt herself flush with anger at the question – and hastily buried that part of her, and let the sensible part (“the cunt part”) of her brain take over. She ticked the box for “substantially lower than average”, knowing it was what Dr Kepler would want.
There was a contingency box connected to her answer. It read, “Due to my low intelligence, I require male assistance and/or guidance in the following areas:”
> Dressing myself
> Managing my finances
> Feeding myself
> Bathing, toileting and hygiene
> Basic logic and reasoning
> Navigation and map-reading
> Dating and sexuality
> Finding and maintaining employment
She didn’t even let herself think about it. She just followed “the cunt part” of her brain, and ticked all the boxes.
And the final question: “I believe I am good for the following purposes.”
> Sexual gratification
> Domestic chores
> Skilled professional work
It almost caught her – she started to just tick every box, but then listened to the note of alarm from “the cunt part” of her brain, and carefully avoided ticking “decision-making”, “leadership” or “skilled professional work”.
And then she signed her name at the bottom.
After she was done, she started to cry, because the reality of what she had just said about herself, and what she had just agreed to, came home to her. She had just given Dr Kepler permission to slap her, rape her and impregnate her to treat her “bitchiness” – along with a host of other degrading admissions. She may have accidentally signed forms to that effect in the past – but now she had done it deliberately. Because she was bound naked to a hospital bed, being repeatedly raped by strangers, and she wanted to keep her rapists happy so that they would let her go.
How had her life come to this?
In time, Dr Kepler came back, and took the form from her. She was still crying, but he ignored her tears. He looked the form over, and smiled.
“Good girl,” he said.
Then another man came into the room – not even a doctor this time, just a random man in street clothes – and he stood between Courtney’s legs, took out his cock, and began to rape her. He didn’t care that she was crying either.
When he was done, Dr Kepler didn’t clamp her pussy shut this time. Instead, he stood between her legs himself, holding something.
“I need you to urinate for me now, Courtney,” he said.
Courtney didn’t want to piss in front of Dr Kepler. But as he said those words, she realised that her bladder was very full, and she hadn’t pissed since she woke up. And in any case, what could she do? She was firmly restrained in the bed. If she didn’t relieve her bladder now, she would end up doing it all over the floor later.
So she relaxed her bladder and did as she was told.
And it was only later, after Dr Kepler had once again told her that she was a good girl, that she realised what Dr Kepler had been holding, that she had pissed on.
It was a pregnancy test.