Dr. Malphren pushed Nikita’s wheelchair through a pair of double doors. There were rooms to the left and right, each filled with three sets of simple, spartan bunk beds. Each one had restraining cuffs and belts built in, and a respirator, vr headset, and headphones hung from a hook at the head of each. Some of the beds were empty, but a fair number held patients clad in teal PVC bodysuits, their number emblazoned on the breast, shoulder, and back of each suit, a matching number hanging from a plastic tag fastened to the collar of canvas and leather around their necks. All of the patients were restrained and wore the mask, visor, and headphones, and while most lay still, occasionally moaning or twitching slightly, there was one or two who valiantly continued ever-weakening struggles.

 

“This is our Staff Ward.” Dr. Malphren explained. “Centrally located so Nurses can easily access every ward. The staff is split into three shifts, and each Nurse is selected to work two at random each day. When they’re not working, they’re kept here. The constant shuffling of schedules makes any sort of organized resistance impossible, and they work in teams of three from the moment they wake up to the moment they’re strapped back into bed. All shifts are staffed to one and a quarter of the required personnel, so that any unexpected hesitation or resistance gets dealt with immediately, by force if necessary. Their time between shifts is spent strapped to these beds, their training and conditioning continuously reinforced. Of course, this leaves them quite sleep deprived, but with my conditioning regimen, they’re able to fulfill their duties just fine.”

 

Dr. Malphren stopped outside a cell where one Nurse was frantically struggling against her bonds.
“Ah, Nurse #1313.” Dr. Malphren said wistfully. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed that you had started to slip your leash?” She chuckled. I’ve taken the liberty of toning down your programming temporarily, watering down your drugs. I hope you enjoy working shifts, fully coherent of what you’re doing, but allowed to be just smart enough to realize that if you’re going to escape...you’re going to have to be smart about it.” Dr. Malphen leaned closer, watching Nurse #1313 struggle fruitlessly.

 

“You’re not going to escape, of course.” she said matter-of-factly. “But it’ll be fun to watch you try. I wonder what you’ll do. Will you take a doomed gamble and make a break for it? Will you keep telling yourself you just need one more day, just one more day and you’ll figure it out, even though you never will? Or will the facade become too much to bear, and you’ll come whimpering to me begging for me to wipe your mind properly this time?” Dr. Malpohren’s smile widened as she whispered. “Are you sure that this is your first time breaking free of your conditioning?”

 

There was no response but labored moans. Abruptly, Dr. Malphren turned and continued pushing Nakita down the hall. “Of course, I’m not the only Doctor here,” she said, seeming to forget all about Nurse #1313. “But you’ll meet them another time, I’m sure." She leaned down, her teeth uncomfortably close to Nikita’s ear. “And when you do…you’d wish you didn’t.”
Nikita’s head whirled with the possibilities as she tried to figure what that meant, as Dr. Malphren’s tour continued.

 

 “This is our Provisional Care Ward, for short term care.” Dr. Malphren explained. “Typically a month or less. After that, they get moved to the Prolonged Care Ward, which is better suited to more efficiently provide care to our patients, or moved to a dedicated ward that specializes in their specific type of treatment. Or, if you’ve been brought here for a checkup, we test that your conditioning and training is still intact before sending you on your way. Or, if you need a quick refresher…we’re happy to provide that too.”

They came to a door for one of the Patient’s rooms, muffled sounds coming from inside. “Actually, since we’re here…” Dr. Malphren unlocked the door with her keycard, pushing it open to let Nikita see within.
Inside was a figure, secured thoroughly in a full body canvas sack, swaying from thick rings mounted to the shoulders. Every twitch, every movement, every struggle only made him sway helplessly. A rolling stand with assorted boxes fed a multitude of wires into the canvas suit and its thrusting milking machine, a breathing tube snaking up to the gas mask strapped to his face, a power cord snaking up to the visor over his eyes and the thick headphones over his ears. Once the soundproof door was open, Nikita could hear his cries clearly.

“No! No! Please! Please don’t make me cum! Please! No!”
His desperate begging reached a climax, and his moan of pleasure became a groan of dread and then screams of pain, the bag shaking madly.
“Orgasm training.” Dr. Malphren explained. “His owner thought he was achieving orgasm too easily. We force him to cum, then zap him when he does, all while his mind is bombarded with training subliminals.”
She smiled. “It's ironic…he was previously released after a stint in our surgical ward; his owner had us replace his penis with a silicone dildo. He’s only supposed to be a living fucktoy, after all.” She shut the door, leaving the patient to his fate.
“Well, when we’re done with him, he’ll never be able to cum again. But it was never about his pleasure, anyways.”
With that, Dr. Malphren wheeled Nikita deeper into the hospital.