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acapelladitty · 4 hours ago

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operant conditioning

Summary - Awaking in your bed, you realise three things very quickly. The first is that you are blindfolded, the second is that you are unable to move, and the third is that you are not alone as the very present voice of Dr. Easterman tells you exactly what he needs.

(tw for: drugged sex, paralytics, vaginal fingering, forced handjobs, teasing, non-con, orgasm, verbal humiliation, blindfolds,)

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You awaken with a start.

The familiar nightmares which mark any sleep you manage to achieve within your private room are quick to fade away in the light of your sudden consciousness; the sound of grinding bones and wicked laughter pairing with the now-recognisable scent of melting flesh and exposed viscera slowly melting as your eyes remain squeezed shut and your body perfectly still.

After a few moments, you decide to grab some water from the nearby sink. Taking a deep breath as you open your eyes, you find your sight opening to absolute darkness and quickly realise that that your eyes have been blocked by a blindfold. Fear rocks through your body and it only amplifies in an instant as you find that you cannot move.

You mentally pull frantically at your arms and legs, attempting to force any kind of movement from the limbs which feel as though they are made of solid concrete. Not even a toe or finger moves an inch as you find that your head is just as trapped. But you can tell that you are definitely in your own bed, the paralysis of your frame somehow not having robbed all sensation as you feel the weight of your thin pyjamas and the rough sheets which touch your heels and the back of your head.

“You’re panicking, I can feel it. No need to panic, little lamb.”

Easterman’s voice rolls across the room and despite the surprise which it initially sparks, with it comes a cruel soothing quality, his praises and encouragements some of the only positive regards which you’ve ever been afforded in this hellish place.

Unable to speak, confusion sits in your chest. It was rare for Easterman’s voice to come through the room speakers, his speeches typically saved for more personal moments where no others were present to hear what was being said.

“No need to panic.” His soft voice repeats and absolute horror tears through your mind as you feel the heat of breath on your cheek as the repeated words are muttered directly into your ear.

He was here. In your room. The blindfold. The paralysis. All him.

But why?

Perhaps sensing your fear, or perhaps seeing the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to regulate your breathing, Easterman pulls away and you can feel his presence fall back slightly as the unusual scent of masculine cologne grows less intense.

“Why? I hear you ask. Well, you have impressed me.” Easterman purrs, his voice wrapping around the words as he audibly paces the length of your bed. “I have watched, with awe, at how beautifully your horror has dwindled to practicality. How you have taken my learnings, held them in your heart, and grown to be something damn near perfect. They say that a teacher should never love a student, but you?”

A hand comes to rest on your stomach, the physical feeling of its weight making your throat clench as his praises take on an almost intimate edge.

“You’re perfect.”

Despite yourself, you flush at the words.

“I often feel like a father, one who has to use love and discipline in equal measure to ensure that my teachings are understood. To ensure that failure is not an option. But you, you have become an inspiration, not only to the others who lurk in your brilliant shadow, but to me. I give you everything and you give me it back in spades, you take my sadism and humiliation and give me brilliance and perfect results. You have complicated my feelings.”

Barely able to comprehend what he’s saying, you don’t miss the way in which his hand ghosts across your stomach to push up the hem of your pyjama top and allow his fingers to press into your exposed hip – the physical contact making his words stutter slightly as he continues.

“A proud father should not possess these feelings, a fact one of our prime assets could learn from, but I cannot help what you have inspired. A perfect masochist, aching for the touch of their sadist and desperate for that connection. It’s almost shameful how I have been driven to give it in to it.”

His hand shifts across your hip, teasing the elastic of your waistband and you only manage a soft whimper as he slowly pulls your pyjama shorts down, his hooked fingers carrying your cotton underwear with it as he exposes your entire lower half to his unseen gaze.

Shame flushes hot across your skin and you can feel the blush rising on your cheeks. Everything feels wrong and filthy, the thumping of your heart pairing with a traitorous heat which also sparks in your groin as you imagine his attention, undivided and as focused as his praise.

“So willing to thrust yourself into danger, into self-discovery. All to become the best possible lamb that you could be.” Easterman mutters, his hands pressing against the inside of your thighs as he spreads the soft skin there, taking stock of your most intimate area while a gentle groan slips free of his lips. “Beautiful.”

Heat pours into your gut as calloused fingers graze across your pubic hair, tickling the skin as they press down your slit, almost testing the skin there. Your breath quickens, body stiff and unmoving as all you can do is open and close your eyes behind the blindfold, darkness the result either way. Easterman shifts his approach, spreading you folds with his fingers as he audibly gasps at what he finds.

“You deserve to be shown how special you are.” A finger drops to trace your hole, the ease with which it swirls across the skin letting you know how damp you already are as Easterman hums at the discovery clearly pleased. “Afraid of nothing. You take pleasure where you know it will be given.”

Easterman presses two of his fingers within your cunt, the digits curling against your walls as he explores the soft wetness which greets him. His thumb slides higher, the thicker pad of it tracing gentle shapes across the hood of your clit in such a way that you feel your mouth go dry.

You should be angry, furious even, that your body was being taken advantage of in such a perverse way. Easterman had robbed you of your sanity, your health, your dignity, and now he had even robbed you of your choice. And yet-

“I have seen it. Heard it. Those nights you’ve spent masturbating within these walls as you accept the memory of the day’s horrors within your mind. You have found the beauty in such depravity. I can feel that now.”

His hand pulls free of your cunt, the emptiness somehow worse than anything, and your strained ears vaguely pick up the telltale sounds of his mouth. He was tasting you and the knowledge of that made your clit throb, desperate for more attention.

“So sweet. So…understanding.” Easterman hums, returning his hand to your aching cunt. This time his fingers move faster, pumping within your hole with purpose as he pushes you towards your peak.

Paralysed, the way in which his fingers stroke along those sensitive spots within your walls have your breath coming in short, sharp bursts as your chest moves in tandem. You wish you could speak, could do anything, because if you had your voice then you would tell him to squeeze your chest – your nipples always painfully sensitive when aroused.

But no, your voice was as locked away as your other choices and it was all you could do to try and control your breathing as the band of tension within your gut grew more intense, hips desperate to roll and press down harder into his hand but unable.

Before too long, you come hard against his fingers and the silence of your body feels wrong compared to the fireworks which spark off behind your eyes as wicked waves of pleasure roll across your flushing skin. Your cunt spasms and you feel your release as it coats his hand, the tension in your groin almost unbearable as you can’t do anything to satiate it until the high of your orgasm begins to ebb away.

“Look at what you are capable of!” Wiping his hand off on your thigh, the open wonder in Easterman’s voice pairs with the undeniable arousal which makes his tone sound lower as you hear him shift from your lower half to stand closer to your side. “Absolute perfection. Paralysed and accepting that you have no choice.”

You blink in surprise as a cool hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your arm from its paralysed position by your body to rise into the air and angle out from the bed which holds you. Your arm feels impossibly heavy and your eyes widen behind the blindfold as Easterman manipulates your fingers into a makeshift fist and you realise what he’s planning to do with you. His cock snakes it way between your fingers, unseen but undeniable, and you can feel the length of him as he slowly uses your hand to jerk his cock.

He’s hard, warm, and there’s a vein running on the underside of his cock that grazes your palm with every stroke as you picture what that might look like – the unknown quality of what you were working with surprisingly erotic as you wish you had a little more control over your hand to pleasure him more fully.

“Just like this.” Easterman moans, shockingly vocal as he whimpers and whines while he pleasures himself with your hand. “So good! So perfect. So,” he pauses, “mine.”

Something damp touches your fingers and you realise its his pre-come, no doubt leaking from his cockhead as he breathlessly runs your hand along his shaft and presses your palm into his cockhead.

He’s insistent and your focus is split between the sensation of his cock in your hand and the feel of your release as it’s allowed to trickle free of your hole, cool against your heated skin.

A sharp gasp escapes him and his cock jerks within your palm as Easterman whines out his release, his cold hand stuttering over your own as it messily jerks him off to completion. Warmth travels across your fingers and you can feel his release as it sits stickily on your skin while he slows down his pace and wrings every drop of pleasure from his cock.

His cock wilts quickly, pulling free of your hand with an obscenely slick noise which would make you cringe if you could. But your hand stays clasped within his as something soft comes to rub against the soiled skin. A tissue. One which he uses to clean each of your fingers diligently, removing any trace of his being there with an almost clinical precision.

Your mind whirls with everything which has just happened. Uncertainty and arousal swirling into a dangerous mess which threatens to unravel another thread of your sanity as you lie there, a passive party to your own free use.

“Sweet little lamb.” Easterman purrs, his breath still slightly elevated as you feel him move closer to your face. Chapped lips drop to press against your forehead, the kiss oddly intimate as the scent of wooden cologne tickles your nose with its intensity. “Now, remember. Not a word of this to any of the other students or I may need to lay on a punishment which will still that disobedient tongue forever.”

The whiplash of the sudden threat throws your mind into fresh chaos, especially when you know – when he knows – that you have no way of agreeing to his words. It is just another power play, another chance for him to show that he holds every possible control he can over your sanity and your life.

“Sweet dreams.” A final parting shot, and you feel Easterman’s presence growing less oppressive as his footsteps grow fainter – a quick click of your door announcing his exit as the door closes behind him with equal care for silence.

Still unable to move, you lay there with unsteady breaths. Your cunt feels abandoned, still exposed to the cold air of the sleep room as your release feels even chillier against your skin – all warmth having fizzled away quickly. Your hand tingles, dry and holding no evidence of the filthy use it had been put to. You want to sleep, but a bigger part of you knows that your whirling mind would never allow it until you at least had control over your limbs again.

Sweet dreams.

Blinking against the blindfold which remains tight against your eyes, you find it impossible to focus on anything but the vague scent of cologne which clings to your nose.

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