This story has strong non-consensual themes and requires suspension of disbelief. You have been warned.
***
You open your eyes blearily and struggle to think clearly.
Where are you?
What happened?
It comes back to you in flashes -- the library's car park -- a van -- two men in suits -- official-looking badges -- a gag -- a blindfold -- unconsciousness. You shiver as the gravity of your current predicament slowly dawns on you and you look around the room.
You're strapped against a wall through several chains holding your body in an X-shape, arms high and legs wide. You're still wearing your job's uniform; the rough shirt itches painfully against your back and stomach, and the tight skirt rides up your legs due to the awkward position you're held in. (Librarians by all rights shouldn't have a uniform, but you digress.) There's a door on the opposite wall to you, a table next to an adjacent wall, and a ceiling light illuminating the room. Possibly most strange is the machine next to you, loose wires intertwining before raising to loop around your neck, like a collar. You can't tell what it does just by looking at it, but it definitely scares you.
On the wall to your left is a terrifying amount of equipment and your throat dries up in horror as you finally realise why you're here. Sex toys of all kinds -- dildos, vibrators, nipple clamps, ropes and butt plugs -- line the wall, just waiting to be used.
You open your mouth to scream and realise quite suddenly that you can't -- tape binds your mouth, and despite all your efforts, your loudest screams sound like a helpless whimper. You struggle futilely for a few minutes before giving up, panting and slumping back against the chains.
You don't know how long you're left there when the door opens. You gulp as not one, not two, but three tall men walk into the room, eyeing you over maliciously as the last one locks the door behind him.
"We've been very busy looking for you," says a blond man, the bulkiest of the bunch with a rough and gravelly voice. "Such a naughty girl, hiding yourself away like that."
One of the two brunets walks up to you and rips your gag off, and you open your mouth to scream before he holds a knife to your throat. "I think you know better than to do that," he warns softly, patting your head condescendingly. You gulp and nod as best you can, and he puts the knife away.
"I -- I don't understand," you manage to squeak, and they chuckle at you.
"Missie, we work for an energy company called Corday. Heard of it?" the blond continues. You nod uncertainly.
"We heard you were an interesting case," the third man takes up the monologue, "so we decided to test you out."
Before you can even start to say, 'What are you talking about?' the man with the knife cuts your shirt and skirt off of your body in two fluid motions.
"Hey!" you cry, but your gag is replaced. "MNGGH!!!!" you protest as they laugh at you, and the blond walks forward to caress your arms and collarbones. You shiver under his delicate touch.
"I believe," the third man continues, "that recently you volunteered to be part of a scientific study surrounding the female orgasm. Patient 382, Maria Darlinghurst." A rush of adrenaline hits you and leaves you dizzy -- because he's completely right. They laugh at the shocked expression on your face. "That's a statement and not a question because we know it's you. Corday's CEO has paid a lot of money to keep this under the table, so to speak."
The details of the study rush through your mind. You've always had extremely powerful orgasms, so when the study reached out on social media for volunteers, you jumped at the chance -- perhaps you'd find out what was wrong with you, why doctors couldn't explain the intense strength and length of your climaxes.
But the results shocked everyone -- literally, as your skin would shock people if they touched you too soon after. Your nerves went so crazy with the powerful orgasms you had that a strong electrical impulse was generated.
"The lightbulb moment arrives!" the second man laughs, rubbing a hand up and down your bare thigh. "We did the numbers, and keeping you captive here and fucking you relentlessly is incredibly profitable for the company!" He toys with the collar, grinning.
"But only," he says, his voice lowering as he draws closer to whisper into your ear, "if we give you at least twelve orgasms a day."
You shudder at his words, feeling your cheeks growing hot as heat pools between your legs in delicious, humiliating anticipation.
"After all, we'll feed you and shelter you, you need to earn your keep by taking our cocks." The knife slices its way through your bra, a cold rush of air hitting your exposed breasts. He reaches out with one hand and cruelly twists a nipple as it hardens until you gasp into the gag, then follows with the other. He reaches down and rips at the final piece of fabric until your legs are spread, fully exposed and bound for the three men before you, your clothes in tatters on the floor.
You whimper helplessly through the gag, your desperate pleas at odds with your arousal. The man with the knife steps aside to place it on the table as the other brunet eyes you, walking forward to caress your cheek and hold your jaw. He forces you to look him in the eye.
"Hold still, pet..."
He trails his other hand down your bare chest, barely pausing to flick each nipple before travelling down to your exposed pussy. Surprisingly gently, he strokes you between your folds with a finger, bringing it up to his face so he can inspect it. Grinning, he licks the taste of you off of his finger, forcing you to watch him revel in your obvious arousal.
"She's wet and ready for us, boys." Try as you might, you can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the words, though some sane part of your mind protests against the intense lust you feel at the thought being bound, gagged and taken against your will.
