"Don't worry, success is guaranteed," she said. My head spun as she leaned forward smiling. Deep red lipstick. Too-white teeth. Cruel eyes. A shark's smile. Her black gloved hand hit me like a bolt of lightning. Pain seared from my abused thigh into my agitated brain.
Her rapturous giggles complemented my howls of torment.
Cutting off mid-giggle, she leaned forward. Breath hot in my ear she whispered: "Don't fight it."
I felt something solid click shut around my cock.
She moved back, pointing a small remote at me.
"We'll sing this symphony of agony together," she said, pushing a button.
Agony overtook rational thought. The haze of pain forced my mind back to the beginning.
***
Tick. ´
Tick.
Tick.
Each tick of the antique mantel clock reminded me of my therapist's extravagant hourly rate. The silent struggle to find words was getting expensive. To cut costs, I resorted to a cliché.
"I'm at my wits end."
Eyes on my dossier, the therapist nodded. He continued his silent reading for about a minute, then looked up at me. Sympathy in his eyes, he sighed, steepled his fingers and furrowed his brow.
The clock kept ticking.
Silently, I lamented the price of his gestures.
"I have good news," he finally said. "We can help. Best of all, our program guarantees success."
I nodded. The 'Succes Guaranteed' line on their brochure sounded too good to be true, but I was desperate enough to suspend my disbelieve.
"But how?"
"Technology," he replied. As if one word explained everything.
Sensing my confusion he continued.
"Integrated Virtual Reality Therapy. IVRT gives you direct access to your core personal values. We use it to help you accept difficult emotions and reframe your personal narrative. It allows you to make positive behavioral changes in record time."
Tipped off by my dubious expression, he quickly changed tack.
"I'll be blunt," he said, leaning forward. "By law I have to say that one hour in an IVRT-Sheath is equivalent to ten hours of therapy. In truth it is much, much more effective. One hour in the Sheath works; even in cases where ten thousand hours of therapy wouldn't make a dent."
I don't know if it was him reading my reactions so well, the sudden honesty or the burning conviction in his eyes. Maybe it was all three. Before I knew it, I had signed the dotted line on every waiver and contract he pushed towards me. There were lots of them. The last one was a payment plan. IVRT was not cheap.
***
His phone rang as I signed the last stack of documents.
He looked askance at me. "Do you mind? They wouldn't disturb me if it wasn't important."
I waved a hand that I didn't as I pushed the last of the papers over to him. Clutching the horn of his classic handset between his shoulder and ear, he gathered the papers and stuck them in a brown folder.
Knocking without waiting for an answer, a nurse in white scrubs, bristling with efficiency, entered. The therapist was deeply engrossed in a conversation that seemed to revolve around him saying ´umh', 'yes' and 'no'. She looked at him, then motioned me to follow her. The richly carpeted hallway outside the stuffy office led to a mahogany clad elevator. The push of a stylish copper button sent us to the basement.
***
In no time at all, the bell dinged and the doors slid open.
"Follow me," she said. Her white sneakers squeaked as she left the elevator's dark green carpet and stepped onto the basement's off-green linoleum.
I followed.
The elevator's outer doors slid shut behind me, cloaking the out of place, vintage interior with sleek metal doors. I looked around the brightly lit hallway. The off-green floor was the only color on display. The ceiling, lights, walls and a dozen of unmarked doors where all white.
We took a corner. It revealed another white hallway and even more doors. The contrast with the richly carpeted, vintage offices upstairs was stark. I felt lost, floating on an off-green river in a bright white landscape.
"This way," she said, giving me a bland, corporate smile while holding a door open. The door, seemingly picked at random, revealed a square, white room dominated by a polished metal frame. A shiny, oversized, synthetic sleeping bag hung from it, suspended by clusters of cables. Distracted by the chunky, heavy duty zipper running along its front, I almost missed the plastic chair behind the sleeping bag. For some reason it was bolted to the floor.
"Place your clothes there," the nurse said with a perfunctory tone. She waved an arm in the general direction of the chair.
"I have to get naked?"
Ignoring my question, she pulled the zipper down. The sleeping bag cracked open with a wet squelch.
She turned her attention back to me. I caught a look of disapproval, quickly hidden behind a professional mask.
"Look, there's a lot to do and we are on the clock."
I tried my most charming smile.
"Sorry, but I did not expect..."
Her eyes hardened.
"Did not expect? Don't you remember the primer?"
Did I miss something the therapist said while listening to his ticking clock?
"I know it's a lot of money," she said, "but you shouldn't take risks. This session may be non-refundable, but your health is irreplaceable. Do you want to go back upstairs and reschedule the treatment?"
Primer? Non-refundable? I couldn't afford the payment plan as it was; let alone pay for another one. To distract the nurse, I gave a vague grunt and quickly stripped, placing my folded clothing on the bolted down chair.
I felt her suspicious eyes following my every move.
I stood in front of her. Legs crossed, one hand cupping my genitals, the other hovering undecidedly between my chest and crotch. I shivered while trying to smile.
Apparently won over by my nervous stance, her bland smile returned.
"Don't worry," she said, "everyone gets nervous. It'll all work out. Success is guaranteed. Just step into the Sheath."
She held the odd looking sack open. I placed my foot in the sleeping bag, Sheath I corrected myself, and tried to find purchase for my hand. The inside of the Sheath was pleasantly warm.
Holding the contraption steady, she guided me. "No, place your left hand first. Not there! That's the right arm sheath. There. Good. Now place your right arm."
With efficiency born from practice, she helped me sink into the Sheath's warm embrace.
It took a bit of wriggling, but soon I was dangling in what felt like a large, warm hand. It clutched me ever so softly. She pulled the zipper up. The Sheath's grip tightened with a loud wet squelch. I thought it would hurt, but it actually made it even more comfortable. I sighed happily. I felt as if I was suspended in a warm, upright bath.
"This session is set for one hour," she said. "You probably didn't need it during the primer, but don't forget the pause function. Test sessions only lasts a minute, giving you a pleasant day in VR. This session takes an hour. That can easily feel like a year. Pause if gets too overwhelming. We will not distract the first three pauses from your runtime."
She started working a big hood over my head. As it closed over my ears, the last thing I heard her say was: "Good luck mister Johnson."
Mister Johnson? That wasn't my name! I tried to object as a wet squelch announced the hood had fixed itself tightly to the rest of the Sheath.
Trapped in darkness, I panicked. I opened my mouth to shout a warning, admit my lie. A warm, wet ball slid between my teeth, depressed my tongue and silenced me.
The Sheath's embrace tightened. First it pinned my arms and legs in place, then it started moving them against my volition. My attempt to fight against the involuntary movements was answered by a pinprick in my leg. A warm feeling spread from it and flowed through my body. I felt calmer and stopped fighting.
The Sheath played with my arms and legs a bit, then it pinned them in place. Tightening further its interior layer started moving against my skin. Tiny mouths crept over my body. They licked and nibbled everywhere. My fingers and toes where sucked in by tiny mouths, tongues licking. Ticklish as I was, I couldn't fight against it. The gag in my mouth made screaming and giggling impossible. I couldn't move, I couldn't scream, all I could do was moan around my ball gag.
That wasn't entirely true. I found out I could gasp and groan around the gag too. I discovered it when my balls and dick where rather forcefully sucked into mouths of their own.
After a few minutes the tickling tongues stopped. It felt as if my toes, fingers, balls and dick where in someone's mouth - well multiple someone's - but everyone involved was holding very still. Then an odd tingling sensation began. It started around my nostrils and ears, creeping into those orifices, filling them. I gasped, feeling violated by the tickling in odd places. Could this get any worse? As if in answer the same sensation started - ever so slowly -- around my asshole. Feeling the tickling move up into my pucker, I screamed into my gag.
Finally the tickling stopped. I hung in my dark floating cell, filled with dread and anticipation.
Suddenly there was a bright flash.
***
