#injection kink

[lingrimmart]

needle dirty talk

[littlebimboprincess]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[grogumaximus]

Clarkson: Whose shines brightest do you think of the names I've just mentioned [Schumacher, Alonso, Vettel, Verstappen] ?

Wheatley: I think like many things it's the latest one, the newest one that you're working with is the one where you would naturally feel. So for me, I think Max embodies everything that a racing driver needs, you know.

I've loved working with him. It was an incredible journey at Red Bull. We didn't get everything right. you know, he and I have had some tough conversations over the years as well, but I've been astounded by some of the things he's done in a car, and I still am.

You know, I still sit there and watch it sometimes and go, "Wow, I don't know if anyone else can do that."

Clarkson: I mean, even Suzuka just a few races back.

Wheatley: Yeah, it was a pleasure. I messaged him straight after the race and he came straight back as well.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

The thing about medicine in Star Trek is that it's really hard to sexualize given that tricorders and hyposprays and laser technology eliminate much of the intimate handling and puncturing of human(oid) bodies. Hence why that scene in Past Tense where Bashir feels up a guy to check him for broken ribs makes me feel like a Victorian seeing a bare ankle

[dearcervus]

Does me being a sadist scare you baby? Just because I’m a sadist doesn’t mean I have to be mean to you darling… I want to overstimulate you while holding you tightly in my arms… praising you as you whimper and cry. Maybe I’ll tie you to an exam table… seeing you get all scared and nervous about what I’ll do is so cute. I could run so many fun experiments on you… I wonder how much I could fit inside you before you cry. maybe I’ll give you a little shot in your butt, it would be so cute to watch you whimper and squirm… then I’ll gently massage the area to make you whine even more, I’m sure it’s sore but you make such cute noises 🖤

[cervusbites]

Doctor, can you help me with my T shots? I can’t do it :( I really really wanna be able to do it myself, but I just can’t.

I feel like I just need someone to hold me down and do it for me so I don’t chicken out. Can you? Please? I’ll try to be good, I promise.

Oh my poor darling… I’d love to do them for you… holding you tightly in my arms… cooing over you as you whimper and squirm… telling you how good you’re being while I inject you… what fun 🖤

[littlebimboprincess]

🍬 paulina j candy 🍬

[redfilledfantasies]

First Sight (Chapter 7 of 7)

The syringe felt precisely weighted in Carmella's hand as she turned back toward Audrey, the clear Adenosine solution catching the examination room's fluorescent light. She approached the reclining chair with measured steps, her clinical gaze assessing the naked form before her with practiced detachment that grew more difficult to maintain with each passing second. The electrodes remained attached to Audrey's freckled skin, the wires creating a technological tether between her exceptional physique and the steadily beeping monitor that continued to document each perfect contraction of her heart.

"I'll need to access a peripheral vein," Carmella explained, her voice maintaining its professional timbre despite the flutter beneath her rib cage. "The medication requires direct venous administration for accurate pharmacological stress simulation."

Audrey extended her right arm without hesitation, her musculature shifting beneath freckled skin with elegant precision. The movement highlighted the exceptional vascularity along her forearm—prominent vessels mapping pathways that Carmella's trained eye followed with inappropriate appreciation.

"Perfect," Carmella murmured, the word escaping before she could contain it, its clinical assessment compromised by the warmth in her tone. She applied the tourniquet with practiced efficiency, the blue latex band contrasting vividly against Audrey's skin as she secured it at the precise tension required to restrict venous return without compromising arterial flow. Audrey's veins responded immediately, rising to prominence beneath her skin—a testament to her exceptional hydration status and minimal subcutaneous fat.

Carmella's fingers palpated along the antecubital fossa, identifying the optimal insertion site with unconscious precision. The median cubital vein presented as an ideal target—straight, well-fixed, with sufficient diameter to accommodate the catheter while minimizing the risk of infiltration. She cleansed the site with methodical circular motions, the alcohol swab leaving a cool path that evaporated quickly against Audrey's warm skin.

"You'll feel a slight pinch," she warned, the standard phrase falling from her lips automatically as she positioned the needle at the optimal angle of approximately fifteen degrees. The venipuncture was flawless—first attempt cannulation with minimal tissue disruption. Carmella observed the immediate flashback of blood into the catheter hub, confirming perfect placement within the vessel lumen. She advanced the catheter with gentle precision, withdrew the introducer needle, and secured the IV line with a transparent dressing, all while maintaining sterile technique despite the tremor that threatened her usually immaculate control.

"Excellent vein," she noted, her clinical observation undermined by the slight elevation in her voice. "The Adenosine will circulate rapidly through your system." Audrey smiled, the expression transforming her already striking features. "I've been told I have exceptional circulation," she replied, the casual comment carrying suggestive undertones that registered in Carmella's nervous system with the precision of an EKG.

Carmella connected the prepared syringe to the IV line, her fingers brushing momentarily against Audrey's skin in the process. The brief contact sent another jolt of awareness through her already heightened nervous system, but she maintained her professional facade with desperate determination.

"The effects will manifest within approximately thirty seconds," she explained, her voice steadier than her pulse as she began the injection. "You'll likely experience flushing, possibly shortness of breath, perhaps a sensation of chest pressure. These responses are expected and temporary."

The clear solution disappeared into Audrey's vein with metronomic precision as Carmella depressed the plunger at the exact rate specified in cardiovascular pharmacological protocols—6 milliliters per minute, neither too fast to trigger hypotension nor too slow to compromise test efficacy. She monitored the injection site for any signs of infiltration, though the perfection of her venipuncture technique made such complications highly improbable.

The ECG monitor registered the first pharmacological effects within twenty-three seconds—precisely within the expected timeframe. Audrey's heart rate began to accelerate from her resting 72 beats per minute, climbing steadily as the Adenosine triggered massive peripheral vasodilation. The monitor's beeping increased in frequency, documenting the progression with electronic precision.

Carmella observed the physiological cascade with clinical fascination that barely masked her deeper interest. A flush spread across Audrey's freckled chest, the capillary dilation creating a visible map of the drug's systemic effects. Her respiratory rate increased to approximately 18 breaths per minute, her chest rising and falling with greater amplitude as her body compensated for the increased oxygen demand.

"How are you feeling?" Carmella asked, her clinical question standard procedure during pharmacological testing. "Warm," Audrey replied, her green eyes brightening with an internal heat that seemed to transcend the medication's physiological effects. "My heart is racing, just like when I first saw you watching me at the gym."

The statement hung between them, its directness stripping away another layer of professional pretense. Carmella's cheeks flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the examination room, the capillary response mirroring Audrey's drug-induced flush with uncanny symmetry.

As the Adenosine reached peak effect, Audrey's chest began to rise and fall with visible force, each heartbeat creating a perceptible movement beneath her sternum. The freckles across her skin seemed to dance with the rhythm, creating patterns that drew Carmella's gaze with magnetic intensity. She found herself tracking the pulse with inappropriate fixation, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she counted the visible contractions.

Audrey noticed the focus of Carmella's attention, her eyes narrowing with knowing perception. "My heart is pumping so hard now, doctor," she said, her voice dropping to a sultry tone that sent vibrations through Carmella's already heightened nervous system. "You should hear it in action."

The suggestion triggered an immediate autonomic response in Carmella—her pupils dilated fully, her own heart rate accelerated to approximately 110 beats per minute, her peripheral blood vessels expanded with a rush of warmth that defied her attempts at professional distance. The stethoscope around her neck suddenly felt heavy with potential, the instrument both a symbol of her medical authority and a conduit for the intimate connection she desperately desired.

"Yes, I should auscultate your heart during peak effect," Carmella agreed, the clinical justification transparent in its inadequacy. Her hand rose to the stethoscope, fingers curling around the familiar tube with unnecessary force. "It's standard protocol during pharmacological stress testing."

Before she could position the earpieces, Audrey's hand closed over hers, the contact sending another jolt of awareness through her nervous system. With deliberate slowness, Audrey took the stethoscope from Carmella's trembling fingers, the transfer of the instrument representing a seismic shift in the power dynamic between them.

Carmella's professional mask cracked visibly, her expression betraying the conflict between desire and protocol. "Please give me back the stethoscope, Audrey," she demanded, though the authoritative tone she attempted was undermined by the breathless quality of her voice. "I need it to auscultate your heart during this te—" "No," Audrey interrupted, the simple negation carrying more force than its single syllable suggested. "You don't need this to hear my heart." Her green eyes locked with Carmella's, the pupillary dilation signaling arousal rather than pharmacological effect. "And we both know this isn't really about the test anymore, Doctor Hill."

"Please place your ear against it, against my chest," Audrey suggested, her voice a husky whisper that seemed to vibrate through the clinical air of the examination room. "You know you want to." The words hung between them, stripped of any pretense, laying bare the truth that had been masked by medical terminology and professional distance. The stethoscope dangled from Audrey's fingers, the instrument that had served as Carmella's shield now held just beyond her reach, forcing her to confront the desire that had driven her to this moment.

Carmella's heart skipped a beat—a literal premature atrial contraction that she identified with automatic clinical precision even as her consciousness registered the significance of the arrhythmia. Her pulse accelerated immediately afterward, compensating for the momentary disruption with a rush of tachycardia that sent blood pounding through her vessels with such force she could hear it in her ears.

"That's not—" she began, the protest dying on her lips as her medical training battled with the raw desire that had crystallized within her. "The protocol requires instrumental auscultation for accurate documentation of—"

"Forget the protocol," Audrey interrupted, her green eyes bright with challenge. The electrodes on her chest moved with each accelerated heartbeat, the wires swaying slightly with the force of her cardiovascular response to the Adenosine. "This isn't about documentation anymore. We both know that."

Carmella drew a deliberate breath, attempting to activate her parasympathetic nervous system through controlled respiration—four counts in, hold for seven, eight counts out. The technique had calmed countless anxious patients throughout her career, yet now it failed to regulate her own autonomic responses. Her diaphragm seemed to resist her conscious control, each breath shallow and rapid despite her efforts at modulation.

The examination room's fluorescent lights cast Audrey's flushed skin in stark relief, highlighting the visible pulsation at the base of her throat where her carotid artery throbbed with pharmacologically enhanced force. The ECG monitor continued its frantic beeping, documenting a heart rate of approximately 155 beats per minute—well into the target range for stress testing, though the stimulus had become something far more complex than simple medication.

"You've been wanting this since you first saw me," Audrey continued, her voice steady despite her elevated heart rate. The flush across her freckled chest deepened as the Adenosine reached maximum effect, the capillary dilation creating a vivid landscape of physiological response. "I could see it in your eyes, in the way you watched me move. All the medical language, the research protocol—it was just an excuse to get close to my heart."

The truth of the statement struck Carmella with physical force, weakening her knees as if her quadriceps had suddenly lost innervation. She gripped the edge of the examination table for support, her fingers whitening with pressure against the cold metal. The professional distance she had maintained throughout her career—the careful boundary between clinical interest and personal engagement—dissolved completely under the weight of Audrey's accurate assessment.

Carmella's eyes remained fixed on Audrey's chest, where the effects of the Adenosine created a hypnotic visual display of cardiovascular force. The trainer's heart pounded with such vigor that the movement was clearly visible through skin and muscle—a rhythmic pulsation that created waves across her sternum with each powerful contraction. The freckles that mapped her skin seemed to dance with the beats, creating patterns that Carmella's brain tracked with the same attention she gave to complex cardiac arrhythmias.

The sight was mesmerizing, transcending clinical appreciation to become something primally compelling. Carmella found herself leaning forward unconsciously, reducing the distance between them by approximately twelve centimeters before catching herself. Her glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of her nose, and she made no move to adjust them—her usual meticulous attention to appearance abandoned in the face of overwhelming fascination.

"I can see you fighting with yourself," Audrey observed, her perceptive gaze noting the subtle tells in Carmella's face—the tension at the corners of her mouth, the rapid flutter of her eyelids, the dilation of her pupils to approximately 7mm despite the bright clinical lighting. "The distinguished doctor versus the woman who's been obsessed with my heart. Which one will win?"

The internal battle intensified, Carmella's ethical training waging desperate resistance against the tide of her desire. She had built her reputation on exceptional control—over her practice, her research, her physiological responses—yet that control unraveled with each beep of the monitor, each visible pulsation beneath Audrey's freckled skin. Her professional boundaries, once rigid and uncompromising, now bent like wire under the heat of her fascination.

Somewhere in the analytical portion of her brain, Carmella registered that they had reached the optimal recording period for the Adenosine test. Under normal protocol, she would be documenting waveform changes, measuring cardiac output, calculating ejection fractions. Instead, her clinical mind had surrendered completely to the primal appreciation of Audrey's exceptional heart, beating powerfully before her without the mechanical interpretation of medical instruments.

A tremor developed in Carmella's hands—approximately 9 Hz, visible evidence of her autonomic arousal. Her breathing had synchronized unconsciously with the ECG monitor's beeping, each inhalation coinciding with the electronic confirmation of Audrey's heartbeat. The irony registered dimly—that she, a cardiologist who had spent years interpreting the mechanical translations of cardiac function, now longed for direct, unmediated connection to the living organ itself.

"Just let go," Audrey urged, her voice softening though the intensity of her gaze remained unchanged. "There's no one here but us. No protocols, no professional boundaries. Just you and me and what we both want."

The words penetrated Carmella's final defenses, dissolving the last fragments of her professional resolve. Her breath escaped in a soft sound that might have been surrender or relief, the distinction meaningless in the face of her capitulation. The weight of her desire—carried for days through careful observation and clinical pretense—finally overcame the counterbalance of her professional ethics.

With a movement that felt both inevitable and shocking, Carmella lowered herself to a squatting position before Audrey's chair. Her knees bent with unusual lack of grace, her normally precise movements compromised by the tremor that now extended to her larger muscle groups. Her hands found Audrey's thighs, fingers curling around the perfect musculature with desperate need for stability.

The contact sent another surge of awareness through her nervous system—Audrey's skin warm beneath her palms, the exceptional quadriceps development palpable through her fingertips. Carmella's grip tightened unconsciously, the pressure leaving momentary blanching that quickly refilled with blood as her fingers dug into the firm tissue.

"That's it," Audrey encouraged, her voice dropping to an intimate register that seemed to bypass Carmella's ears and register directly in her nervous system. "Listen to what you've been dreaming about." With a final surrender to her fascination, Carmella leaned forward, her head descending toward Audrey's chest with the inevitability of gravity. Her ear pressed against the warm skin just left of Audrey's sternum—the optimal position for appreciation of mitral valve sounds, a placement she had performed thousands of times with stethoscope diaphragms but never with her own flesh.

The contact was electric, immediate, overwhelming. Audrey's skin felt impossibly warm against Carmella's ear, the temperature differential triggering thermoreceptors with unusual intensity. Beneath this superficial sensation lay what Carmella had truly craved—the unmediated sound of Audrey's exceptional heart, no longer translated through stethoscope tubing but transmitted directly through tissue and bone to her waiting consciousness.

The sound consumed her completely. Carmella's world contracted to a single point of focus—the powerful, rhythmic pounding of Audrey's heart against her ear. The sound was unlike anything she had experienced through the clinical remove of a stethoscope, the intensity unfiltered by rubber tubing and metal diaphragms. This was primal, immediate—the raw force of Audrey's exceptional cardiac muscle transmitted directly through flesh and bone, filling Carmella's consciousness with its perfect rhythm.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she pressed closer, surrendering to the sensation with unprecedented abandon. Each contraction reached her with perfect clarity—the mitral and tricuspid valves closing with the distinctive "lub" of the first heart sound, followed by the sharper "dub" as the aortic and pulmonic valves snapped shut. The intervals between them, the subtle variations in amplitude, the exceptional force of ventricular contraction—all registered with a visceral impact that transcended clinical appreciation.

At approximately 160 beats per minute, Audrey's heart produced a metronomic cadence that seemed to override Carmella's own cardiovascular rhythm. She felt her pulse shifting, synchronizing unconsciously with the powerful beat beneath her ear, their hearts finding alignment despite the different rates. The Adenosine's effects created a cardiovascular symphony more complex than any she had previously documented—increased contractile force, shortened diastolic filling periods, subtle third heart sounds audible during rapid ventricular filling.

"It's beautiful," Carmella whispered, the words vibrating against Audrey's skin. "So strong, so perfect." Her clinical vocabulary had abandoned her, replaced by simpler terms of appreciation that felt strangely adequate for the intensity of her experience.

Her lips parted with each accelerated breath, moisture gathering at their edges as her autonomic arousal manifested in multiple systems simultaneously. The flush that had begun at her cheeks now spread down her neck and beneath her blouse, capillaries dilating across her chest in patterns that mirrored Audrey's drug-induced flush. Her nipples hardened visibly beneath the fabric of her bra and blouse, the sensitive tissue responding to autonomic signals with embarrassing transparency.

Carmella's grip on Audrey's thighs tightened unconsciously, her fingers pressing into the exceptional musculature with force that might have been uncomfortable if not for Audrey's remarkable conditioning. The contact grounded her as the intensity of the auditory experience threatened to overwhelm her nervous system's capacity for integration.

"I knew you needed this," Audrey murmured, her voice a physical presence that Carmella felt through her chest as much as heard with her ears. "The moment I saw you watching me, I knew exactly what you were craving."

Without breaking the connection between Carmella's ear and her chest, Audrey raised her hand, fingers finding Carmella's hair with gentle precision. The touch was tentative at first—a questioning contact that waited for permission. When Carmella responded with a small sound of encouragement, barely audible above the thundering heart between them, Audrey's fingers became more confident, weaving through the strands with appreciative exploration. The caress sent another wave of sensation through Carmella's already overwhelmed nervous system.

Audrey's fingers traced patterns across her scalp, following the contours of her skull with the same anatomical appreciation Carmella had shown for Audrey's exceptional physique. The touch moved lower, tracing the elegant architecture of Carmella's neck, where her pulse visibly raced beneath the skin.

"Your heart is racing too," Audrey observed, her fingers finding the carotid pulse with knowing precision. "Almost as fast as mine, and you haven't had any medication." The observation held a truth that Carmella couldn't deny—her tachycardia was entirely natural, a physiological response to desire that no amount of medical rationalization could disguise. Her pulse throbbed against Audrey's fingertips with betraying honesty, each beat confirming what her professional facade had attempted to conceal.

The contrast between them became suddenly, vividly apparent—Audrey completely naked except for her athletic shoes, every perfect muscle and freckle exposed to the examination room's unforgiving lights; Carmella fully clothed in her professional attire, the formal blouse and slacks creating a boundary that seemed increasingly arbitrary as their connection deepened. The power imbalance implied by their respective states of dress had inverted completely—the naked woman now in absolute control, the clothed professional surrendered to her vulnerability.

Audrey's hands moved with increasing confidence, one remaining at Carmella's neck while the other traced a path across her shoulder and down her spine. Each point of contact sent new information through Carmella's nervous system—pressure receptors, thermoreceptors, proprioceptors all firing in complex patterns that her brain processed as pleasure. Her usual analytical distance had abandoned her completely, leaving her immersed in pure sensation without the buffer of clinical interpretation.

The ECG monitor continued its documentation, the beeping gradually slowing as the Adenosine began to clear Audrey's system. The medication's short half-life meant the pharmacological effects were already beginning to diminish, heart rate decreasing from 160 to approximately 140 beats per minute. Yet Carmella remained transfixed, the gradually slowing rhythm creating a new cadence that her ear tracked with the same entranced attention.

"Stay with me," Audrey murmured, her fingers tightening slightly in Carmella's hair as if sensing her awareness of the changing cardiac pattern. "Listen to how my heart responds to you, not just the medication." The invitation penetrated Carmella's consciousness with unexpected force. Beyond the pharmacological effects, beyond the stressed cardiovascular state she had ostensibly come to study, lay something more significant—the natural response of Audrey's heart to their shared attraction.

As the Adenosine's influence receded, this authentic rhythm emerged with greater clarity, still elevated but now driven by emotional rather than chemical stimulation. Carmella's breathing had synchronized completely with Audrey's, their respiratory patterns falling into perfect harmony despite the differences in their positions. Each inhalation expanded their thoracic cavities in unison, each exhalation released with matched timing. This unconscious alignment created a shared physiological experience that transcended their distinct bodies, binding them through autonomic processes beyond conscious control.

"I never do this," Carmella admitted, the words muffled against Audrey's skin, the vibration of her voice creating another point of intimate connection between them. "With patients, with anyone." "I'm not your patient," Audrey replied, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind Carmella's ear with deliberate slowness. "And this isn't an examination anymore. This is something else entirely."

The acknowledgment hung between them, naming the transformation that had occurred in this sterile medical space. What had begun as a thin pretext for professional contact had evolved into an intimacy neither woman had fully anticipated, though both had desired it with increasing awareness since their first encounter. Carmella felt Audrey's heart rate continuing its gradual descent as the medication cleared her system, the powerful muscle returning to a still-elevated but more natural rhythm of approximately 100 beats per minute.

The sound remained captivating, each contraction a perfect demonstration of cardiovascular efficiency, but now with a sustainable intensity that suggested possibility rather than pharmacological manipulation. "The test is technically complete," Carmella noted, though she made no move to lift her head from Audrey's chest. Her ear remained pressed against the warm skin, unwilling to surrender the direct connection even as her clinical mind emerged briefly from its sensory immersion.

"Yes," Audrey agreed, her fingers continuing their exploration of Carmella's hair and neck with unhurried appreciation. "But I think we're just getting started with our own experiments." The statement carried unmistakable invitation, suggesting continuation beyond this initial surrender. Carmella's analytical mind, briefly resurfacing, calculated the implications with surprising clarity despite her compromised state—this moment marked not a conclusion but a beginning, the first data point in what could become a series of increasingly intimate investigations.

Her body responded to this realization with renewed awareness, the pleasant weight in her lower abdomen intensifying as she contemplated future encounters. The professional boundaries that had once seemed so essential to her identity had not merely been crossed but fundamentally redrawn, creating a new territory neither purely clinical nor simply personal, but uniquely theirs to explore.

As the ECG monitor documented Audrey's returning cardiac baseline with electronic precision, Carmella remained connected to the direct source, her ear still pressed to the skin that covered the most fascinating heart she had ever encountered. The rhythmic sound continued to fill her consciousness, but now carried new meaning beyond its physiological significance—it had become the soundtrack to something unprecedented in her carefully controlled existence, something that promised to transform both women with the force of its undeniable attraction.

[thecglcatalog]

Large Animal Vet Set

A special addition to animal playtime, this medical/grooming set is just what the doctor ordered for a slave who feels those animal urges.  With a Veterinarian Bag for quick access to tools and toys, plus a Steel Exam Table for more serious spaces, it lets you set just the right tone for examination, stimulation, or discipline!

 The large Veterinarian Bag is shaped like a traditional trapezoidal doctor’s bag with a snap-open, snap-closed frame top and comfortable padded top carrying handle.  A medical cross symbol details the exterior, which is made from two tones of our special latex-like Rubberina material.  Bag is lined in quilted poly-cotton, which is full of pockets that hold the essential tools of the trade.

What are the tools?  A smorgasbord of helpful, healthful, and humiliating toys for medical playtime!

Start with the Large Rectal Thermometer for a basic reading.  Open up baby with a Locking Speculum for close, deep examination – you may want to use the Penlight and the Magnifying Glass – then make them fill one of three capped and graduated Specimen Tubes so you can check their fluid output.  The Specimen Tubes sit neatly in a matching Tube Rack.  These items are made from sturdy plastic, color-coordinated to the Veterinarian Bag.

If your little animal’s anatomy is in the way, clip it back with the six Coated Plastic Clamps.  This is especially useful when you want to apply the tiny Reflex Hammer – an extra-heavy little wedge for checking nipples and genitals, not joints – or the Faux Injection Syringe, a wickedly realistic-looking tool that pierces slave’s flesh while you depress the plunger, but requires no actual filling before the “slight pinch”.   (See our medical section for real syringes.)  Working parts are hospital-grade stainless steel, as are the Wartenberg Wheel and the three Urethral Dilators.

Zoo and livestock veterinarians are responsible for animal fertility, too, so a battery-powered Electric Prostate Stim that delivers mild shocks to the rectum is a must, as is a Semen Collection Sleeve that has a hollow, textured silicone insert to stimulate the penis and gather ejaculate in a well.  This is surrounded by a “balloon” that can be filled with warm water to help the little stud animal feel comfortable … or cold water to make his task more challenging.

The bag also contains matching nitrile exam gloves, rubber bulb syringes, and nonstick veterinary bandages in three widths.

Collapsible 4’x2’ Steel Exam Table has legs that ratchet from two feet to four feet of total height for easy access to slave’s body.  If a pet is a little nervous about inspection time, then attach the Grooming Arm with its short chain for clipping to pet’s collar. All parts break down to a sleek 2’x’4’x6” package.

Order the Exam Table and Veterinarian Bag together, and we’ll combine them with a striking and useful Carrying Case, a hard-sided compartment on four full swivel wheels, which buckles closed with straps that match the Veterinarian Bag – and can be slipped through its handle to keep the play set together.  Specify case color: Matte Black, Snowy White.

And if slave wants to play along in a different way, consider the Baby Veterinarian Bag, a miniature twin to the larger version that contains a weak electroshock tool, two different vibrating wands, an assortment of colorful sticky bandages, and a set of nitrile gloves without divided fingers for a confining mitten shape.

Specify bag color: Clean White/Candy Red, Gloss Black/Candy Red,  Silky Pink/Shocking Pink, Royal Blue/Little Boy Blue.

[prettypinkpup]

The thought of having a boyfriend who gives me T shots is. So hot.

Him getting everything ready, gently wiping my thigh down with the alcohol pad, looking at me and softly asking if I'm ready, waiting for my nod, then giving my injection? So. Hot.

[medig]

Outtakes

A peek into the process used for this blog. These are some of the generated images that I culled through to get to this week's A Tale of Woe.

The last one I decided to use, but also made it black and white.

[regressioncurriculum]

Pretending Homework: Pretend you’re a bottom doctor!  

Put on a white coat and do your medical research by reading a book about bottoms, spankings, poop, etc.

Use a flashlight to closely examine any toys in your room that have bottoms. Put sticky bandages on any whose bottoms are owie.

Ask your caregiver for permission to use a sharp pin.  Use it to poke your teddies’ behinds with pretend shots.

Use a clipboard to create a medical chart for your bottom.  Examine it in the mirror and poke it with different objects, then carefully record your experiments and observations on the chart.

If you have a little friend to play with, take turns giving each other rear end checkups.

Create a cure-all bottom medicine by gathering things from around the house that are good for you. Pretend to put them all in an enema bag and shake them up.  Come up with a name for your imaginary medicine and perform a television commercial for it.

​Owner or Guardian: Check off the activities your student has completed and return this signed form on Friday.

[medig]

A Tale of Woe, Ep. 72: Addendum

Continued from:

Mystique stood up. The Doctor put his hand out to block her from walking away, but without warning she violently shoved him with all her strength, forcing him back several feet and knocking him off balance. While he was regaining his feet and still somewhat surprised at the speed of her attack, she bolted out the door at a full run. He smiled to himself, "now here is a spicy one, with some fight in her. Good!"

She ran into the tiled hallway, her bare feet pounding on the floor like fists. She knew some of the layout of the hospital, had a fairly clear idea of where the exit was. Or so she thought! She suddenly realized she was not even sure which wing of the labyrinthine old building they'd taken her to.

Only the day before, she'd been interviewing doctors, nurses, and patients for her thesis project. The doctors and nurses had provided only very vague and generic info about how the patients were treated. The patients, mostly, only answered "yes" or "no" to direct questions as if they were afraid to speak to her. Something seemed off about the whole thing. Being in this creepy old building was bad enough, it all just felt like something was in the air, that no one would say out loud.

Finally, yesterday, one patient had said a bit more. She was interviewing a woman named Joanne who had apparently been there since the mid 1990s.

"Sweetie", said the patient in a thick deep southern drawl, "you need to get out of here. That one Doctor, he's got his eye on you. You better leave before he figures out a way to keep you here with us!"

"Why would that happen? What makes you say that?", the student asked, poised to note down the answer in her tablet.

"Come close, sweetie, don't worry I won't bite! Here, feel!", to Myst's surprise Joanne held up her leg to present her bare foot to Myst for close inspection. "Feel!"

Myst cautiously inspected the sole of the woman's foot. It was conspicuously soft and smooth, as if this patient had recently received a pedicure. "What's does that mean?", she wondered.

"No, honey, feel around the ankle.."

Myst felt around the woman's ankle, and to her horror detected scars, some of them quite old, from being bound tightly about the ankles many times. "Oh my god", she whispered, "what do they do to ya'll in here?", her own accent and dialect - vaguely Appalachian -slipping out from under her polished professional voice partly due to her surprise and partly in empathy with the patient.

"Haven't you seen enough?", whispered Joanne, "You already know enough to warn you away from this place. I hope I won't see you here again.."

Myst ended the interview, and as usual went to lunch with the doctors and nurses. During the meal she felt increasingly agitated. She began to feel very nervous, afraid. Her old symptoms, that she thought had been under control for years, suddenly started to come back. She felt a sense of impending doom. She couldn't breathe. She was dying! She had to flee.. no no time to run she needed help!

"Help me!", she shouted out loud, "Help me!", and suddenly realized everyone was looking at her. Including that one Doctor. Especially him. The eyes were too much. She fell. She bumped her head, she thought later, based on how her head felt. She fainted.

She awoke the next day, in the patient wards, someplace deep in the mazelike hospital, dressed only a hospital gown and underwear. And not even her own underwear! And no one would tell her how long she was going to be there or why, or really anything at all, until she'd been escorted into the exam room to be seen by the Doctor.

And so here she was, not entirely sure of her location of how to get back to known parts of the building. For a brief second, she paused to look around, looking for some landmark she recognized, but it all looked the same. No time to waste, she had to run now, one direction was as good as any other.

As she ran blindly down the hallway, she thought to herself, "those bastards! They knew! They knew about what Joanne told me, and they fucking put something in my food, or in my drink, they put something in there that fucked me up and made me relapse, made it worse than it ever was, so they can keep me here! Oh god she was right.."

Just then a male voice called out from behind her, "Stop! Miss! Stop!" and an unfamiliar man in medical scrubs tried to grab her from behind. She struck him hard in the chest with her elbow, and he stopped, stunned by her strength.

She rounded a corner, a middle aged female nurse yelled, "Stop her!" and a man in a dirty janitor's uniform placed himself directly in her way. "Come to Ol' Bill!", he taunted! Without stopping she kicked him squarely in the crotch, he collapsed in pain, muttering, "I'll get you for that you little bitch.."

One more corner, and she could see an exit! But between it and her were four very large men, linebacker sized guys, standing close together. She rammed into them with all her strength, but it was too much. The first one she came near grabbed her and slammed her to the floor, hard, and held her down with her face to the floor with his knee on her back. Handcuffs were procured, and placed on her wrists. With one man on each arm, and two more along for extra security, they force-marched her back down the hall to where she'd come from.

"You motherfuckers! Let me go! Let me go! You ain't go no right! No right to keep me here! Help somebody help I'm being kidnapped, call the cops! Somebody, anybody..." she cried at the top of her lungs until her voice was hoarse and sore, struggling every step of the way to break out of the cuffs and grip of her captors.

As they passed the janitor, he said, "Mind if I join you boys? I wanna see what Doc does with this one". The others ignored him, and he followed them anyway.

Back in the room, the Doctor told the men, "restrain her to the table". Her handcuffs where removed, and she tried to struggle free, and almost seemed like she was about to, but with two of them on each arm they bent her over the table and strapped her hands down tight.

She was now bent over with her hindquarters in the air. But with her legs still free, she kicked violently backwards at anyone and anything, kicking vainly into the air, shouting "you motherfuckers! You get any closer and I'll kick you all in the nuts!"

"She's kickin' like a mule, Doc!", said the janitor, amused.

"Yes she is, William, yes she is. Get her legs boys"

One of the brawny fellows grabbed each leg at the ankle, and one at the thigh, and forced her feet to the floor, where her ankles where strapped tightly to the legs of the table. She struggled in vain, screaming, "lemme go! lemme go you fuckers! I'll cut you! I'll kill you! I'll.."

"Misty, you will do nothing but get your medicine. You clearly need it from this outburst!"

"OK ok my pills! Gimme my motherfuckin' pills!", she screamed.

"I told you", he said sternly, "it's going to be this from now on!", and held up the syringe again for her to see.

"Oh no no no please please no", she pleaded, now begging like a child.

"Oh yes. And guess where it's going to go in", he asked with a smile in his voice that she could hear even though he was standing out of her eyesight.

"I-i-in my arm?", she asked dejectedly.

"No. In the buttocks."

"No! No!", she struggled more, trying to break free, desperate to escape.

"No, let's see..", he untied the back of her hospital gown, revealing plain white panties that someone had dressed her in while unconscious, at the same time they'd put her in the gown. "These have to go. I'm temporarily revoking your panty privileges.."

He took out something that could not see but she assumed might be a surgical scalpel, and cut the panties off her to remove them. He made one quick cut down each side of them, and then pulled them off of her, revealing her smooth white bare bottom.

"Oh no no..", she pleaded.

"Shh!", he shushed her, and swabbed her left butt cheek with cold alchohol.

"Please... anything..", she sobbed.

Silently, he jabbed her with the needle and pushed in the plunger. The contents burned her stung flesh.

"Ahhhhh! Owww!", she screamed incoherently at the top of her lungs.

Then mercifully it was over. The doctor removed the needle and put a bandage over the puncture site. For a few seconds she wondered what would happen next, and sat in uneasy silence except for the sound of breathing through the snot running in her nose.

Then.. oh god it was happening again! Another cold alcohol swab on the right buttock..

"No! No no another one..." she pleaded desperately.

Too late, the 2nd one went in, even more burning hot than the other. "Ahhhhh!", a scream of pure primal pain and rage emerged from here.

As the Doctor bandaged the second wound, she laid there sobbing quietly to herself for a while. At length she choked back the tears and said, resolutely, "the second you motherfuckers untie me, I'm kickin' you in the nuts and runnin' again! This don't mean shit.."

"Misty, that second injection will have you unconscious soon enough. When you awake, you will find yourself in your new bedroom, which will be your home for the forseeable future. For our safety and yours, you will be securely restrained in your bed. Your freedom of movement will be restored only when you've demonstrated that you can remain in even the most basic control of yourself. Your panty privileges, will be restored when you've proven yourself capable of good behavior.."

As she faded out of awareness, with her last strength she muttered, "stop calling me that, you son of a bitch, I go by Mystique.."