Introduction - Roya

 

It wasn't like she was waking from a normal sleep

Her mind regained consciousness slowly, at a glacial pace, one part at a time as if it feared an overload. When she finally opened her eyes, all she could see was darkness, a stygian blackness in which all hint of light was absent; even her memory of light seemed clouded and indistinct. Nor did any sound, or sense of touch, or feelings of cold or hot register. She was alone, without any sensory input, floating...

She suppressed her panic sure that there was a reason-there was always a reason-she was dreaming or sick or insane or blind... Even though nothing seemed to fit the evidence yet, it would. Her family was devoted to science and she had faith in God, in his physical laws, in the idea that everything happened for a reason.

Blinking furiously, she stared back hard into the blackness, straining to see something, to feel something, anything, but there was nothing to see or feel, nothing but the soft leather on her skin. Soft leather tight on her skin, on her face...?

Focus...! She forced herself to concentrate...something was covering her eyes, her head. She could feel it now; she could feel cool air entering from small holes under her nostrils, feel the tightness of the leather on her cheeks, feel her long hair on her neck, her back...

A hood...was there a hood over her head! How...why...?

She forced herself to think, to remember. She had been lying in bed thinking about school, about her upcoming tests, about Ahmed, the boy who had spoken to her after midday prayers. Hidden under the covers, she had moved her hands to her forbidden place and...and masturbated. There were no other memories after that; she had slept.

It wasn't such a terrible sin, she thought, it was natural. Other girls her age, other girls from her college, did much worse. She heard them talking in the halls and the stairways, retelling stirring secrets about bare skin and furtive touching...by boys. She didn't believe most of it, but they made it seem real, okay...a natural process for normal people.

Natural or not, her parents would punish her if they discovered her sin. They were intellectuals, both professors at the university, but not the free-thinking kind. They used their intellectual gifts to serve God and their country. They were following in the footsteps of her famous grandfather, Professor Ali Reza Freydooni. As she would one day.

She turned her head and felt a pain in her neck. Pain...in her neck...she did remember something more-the pain in her neck! She had awoken with a terrible pain in her neck. Someone in a black mask was holding a needle, injecting her with something while she slept. She had tried to scream but had drifted off into unconsciousness almost immediately. Someone in a black mask...

Someone...in a mask...!

Franticly, she tried to move her arms. They were stuck, tied; there were ropes attached to the manacles on her wrists, holding her arms out to the sides. Her legs...? She tried to close her legs, but the same restraints on her ankles held them open. Why was she tied this way? Why was she...in bondage?

She dreamed of bondage sometimes, of ropes and chains and dungeons and whips, of heroic rescues by boys like Ahmed who would come sweeping in to free her naked body from... This was no dream. Someone had drugged her while she slept, put a hood over her head, and bound her limbs. She tried to shout, to scream for help, but could not-there was something in her mouth.

Stay calm...

She forced herself to take long deep breaths through her nose, through the holes in her hood. There was an explanation for this; there was always an explanation. Things like this didn't just happen. Perhaps she had been abducted; there were crazy people everywhere especially in the Middle East, even in modern Iran. Her parents would be looking for her, frantic; her famous grandfather would rally the police, the army to search. The search for her would be exhaustive, thorough. They would find her...

A noise...!

The sound of shoes moving across a cement floor. Cement...she could feel the rough material on her bare ass, on her feet. Her bear ass...she was naked? She buried the thought; she couldn't handle it at this moment. There were no cement floors in their house only rugs, expensive authentic Persian rugs. They were wealthy by Iranian standards; they lived in...

She heard the noise of a crank. Someone was turning a crank and...suddenly, the ropes on her wrists began to pull her arms, to lift her body off the ground. She jerked her head back and forth, screaming noiselessly into the wad in her mouth, making sounds of terror with her throat.

The ropes continued to pull into the air. In her panic, she didn't notice her feet and only realized she was fully suspended when the ropes began to pull her legs to the sides. Anchors...in the floor...her legs were tied to anchors in the floor which were spreading open as her body rose. She could feel air on her labia, on her bare lips. She tried to scream again to jerk away, to pull her joints from their sockets if necessary, but the ropes were too strong, too tight.

The ominous cranking continued until her naked body was taut, her limbs spread open to the sides in the shape of a flat X.

Her naked body...? She was naked...in front of a man who was not part of her family? The realization that she was exposed in front of a man froze her blood. Faithful Islamic girls did not reveal their bodies to any man other than their husband...for any reason. She had committed a terrible sin by allowing this, this terrible sin, a sin for which she would be severely punished. It didn't matter if she was at fault or not; she had somehow allowed it to happen.

The thought of her terrible offense was paralyzing. She had never felt so terrified, so helpless. Where were her parents? Had they been killed during her abduction? Had she been abducted? Why...? Where was her grandfather? The Freydooni family was well off, but not rich by any stretch of the imagination. What did these monsters want?

Why was she naked and bound like a...?

The whip struck her flanks without warning leaving a burning line on her bare skin. Inside the hood, her eyes bugged out and she screamed in her mind, her young supple body twisting frantically. The screams and tears and jerking were instinctual, reactions to burning pain, the futile attempts of her mind to extinguish the searing flames...the pain. Intellectually, she knew that these flames could not be extinguished by her frantic writhing, but she could not stop.

After a few seconds, the searing pain subsided, and she began to unclench her muscles. The second stroke landed a few centimeters below the first, and she repeated the process...as she did with the next and the next and the next, until blessed oblivion.

In the back of her mind random images flashed like fleeting ghosts. She could not see anything, but her imagination provided insight into what was happening. Someone-probably enemies of her outspoken grandfather-had abducted her; they were now whipping her for some unknown reason; she was naked and suspended, spread-eagled with her private parts visible to anyone who cared to look.

Her grandfather was a powerful man, a reclusive scientist who made enemies easily. Her abductors knew what they were doing; her abduction had been meticulously planned and well-executed. Even her torturer was competent-he knew exactly when and where to place the whip for maximum agony.

After an infinity, the whipping stopped, and she heard the faint click of a video camera's monitor closing. Video camera...? Someone had videotaped her whipping. Why...?

For the ransom demand, stupid girl. The voice inside her head was mocking her, but the explanation made sense. A shocking video would spur her family into immediate action. She would be free soon...free!

Suddenly, she realized that her nude and writhing body would be seen by everyone. She suddenly wanted to warn her abductors that they were doing the wrong thing. A tape like that would make her a jendeh, a whore, in her family's eyes, in her grandfather's eyes. They needed to cover her, to hide her face with a khimar, to treat her with respect and with...

Everyone knew this. This was no simple kidnapping. They wanted to shock her family; they wanted them to react with gut-wrenching intensity.

She began to scream silently again inside her hood.

 

Introduction - Amy

 

"Would you like to assist, Dr. Carter?"

She was concentrating on the surgery and didn't hear the question.

"Would YOU like TO assist, DR. Carter?"

Everyone in the OR laughed at Dr. William's use of iambic pentameter. Amy blinked, embarrassed, then nodded with gratitude. It was unusual for a third-year resident to be invited to assist with a CABG, a cardiac artery bypass graft.

Dr. Lloyd, the surgeon officially assisting, smiled knowingly and stepped back allowing Amy to move into his position. Gingerly, she took the suction wand from his hand and began to track Dr. Williams' moves. Williams was the lead surgeon for this procedure and the chief surgeon of the cardio-thoracic department at Whitney.

"Thank you, Dr. Williams," she whispered with appropriate reverence.

"You deserve it, Carter," he answered regally without looking up. "You are an extraordinary doctor and you will make a great surgeon one day. I am just doing my part."

"Thank you, sir," she said again, blushing inside her mask.

She was surprised. Such acclaim was typically reserved for board-certified fellows and other attendings, not lowly residents. She refocused on the operation, but her antenna was raised. Williams wanted something; people like him always wanted something from someone like her.

Someone like her... She had long-ago reconciled to the fact that she was different.

She was pretty; more than pretty, she was super-model beautiful and sexy. When she started at medical school, she assumed that people would look beyond that and focus on her intellect and ability. Wrong...! Doctors were just as horny, just as shallow as everyone else. Every step of the way, she had had to fight this additional battle. She had never used her looks to get ahead nor to encourage any special advantage, but it didn't matter. Some doctors just took her appearance as license to act like assholes.

"You have excellent technique, doctor," Dr. Williams said quietly. "Hopefully, once you are board certified, we can work together more closely."

It was a subtle reminder that he was responsible for evaluating her application for a Whitney fellowship. First comes the threat, she thought, then the "ask."

She could not wait to get her boards behind her. Board certification was her ticket out; it was entre into the upper echelon of the medical community; it was recognition that she was a fully qualified cardio-thoracic surgeon not a piece of resident ass. Once she was certified, she would have the right to tell people like Williams to get lost.

Normally, the certification interviews were grueling and technically difficult-many residents failed-but she wasn't worried. She was at the top of her class, and she had researched every one of the NBME (National Board of Medical Examiners) doctors. She knew what they were most likely to ask, and she was prepared. She was a prodigy, one of the youngest doctors ever admitted as a Whitney surgical resident; she never left anything to chance.

Dr. Williams looked up and exercised his neck. The strain of performing such delicate surgery was enormous. Surgeons took frequent breaks to avoid making mistakes.

"Perhaps we can have dinner, Dr. Carter, to celebrate you passing your boards, and discuss your fellowship application."

There it was...the ask.

She looked up and raised her eyebrows. Doctors hit on her all the time, but not in the OR. Such nonsense was forbidden in the operating room...except of course for "the gods" like Williams. The rules did not apply to them.

She knew Dr. Williams was twice her age, married with children, a member of all the right medical and civic group, and on the hospital's board. He was even a deacon of his church. This was, plain and simple, an abuse of his power over her. If she said no, she could kiss goodbye to an offer of a fellowship at Whitney-Hathaway.

Fuck it...

"Thank you, Dr. Williams," she said clearly so everyone in the OR could hear, "...But my parents are flying up to celebrate, assuming I pass of course..."

William's, embarrassed that everyone in the room was now aware of his coercion, nodded curtly and dropped his head down to resume his sewing.

"Suction," he ordered curtly.

He was annoyed, not used to anyone rejecting him. The idea that a mere resident would turn down a dinner invitation from him, a department head, for any reason, was galling! She could almost see the steam rising off his head. He waited a few minutes then delivered his angry response.

"Step back, Dr. Carter. I need a more experienced hand assisting me right now."

Amy smiled under her facemask and made room for Dr. Lloyd to resume his position as assisting. She knew exactly what Dr. Williams wanted--first dinner and drinks, then an invitation to discuss her future in his downtown apartment, then an "unplanned" kiss culminating in them lying naked together in his bed.

The approach was not new. She had had the same invitation from a score of egotistical surgeons, randy residents, and even a few eager interns. It was one of the reasons why she assiduously avoided socializing with hospital colleagues. Being this pretty, especially when you were brilliant with a promising career, wasn't the smooth sail most people thought.

Her parents were not coming to the Whitney-Hathaway Medical Center to celebrate with her; they barely acknowledged her or her achievements. They were both doctors with astonishingly successful, full-time careers. They expected her to excel as a doctor, as a surgeon, and did not consider it anything special when she did. Amy had decided when she was a kid that they were cold and incapable of a normal emotion. It was okay, she didn't need their love, only their money to get her through, and once she passed the boards, she wouldn't even need that; she would be free.

She put her depressing thoughts of Dr. Williams and her parents aside and concentrated on the surgery. For all his bad behavior, for all his sexual misadventures, Dr. Williams was an extraordinary surgeon, a genius. She had learned an enormous amount watching him; she had learned from all the excellent attending surgeons at Whitney-Hathaway. It was an honor to have been part of the medical center's surgical resident's program. She would have enjoyed staying on as a fellow, but she already had half-a-dozen other offers that were just as good.

Once she passed her boards...

 

Introduction - Logan

 

Dr. Logan Wilder, chairman of the NBME surgical evaluation team, stared down at the girl kneeling at his feet. He had tied her wrists behind, bent her arms back, and tied them off to her lovely shoulders. She now had no way to protect her ass and legs.

This was the position he favored for oral sex when he was with someone new. He considered cocksucking a fine art, a specialty that required intense concentration and precise technique. Relying on a young woman's prior experience, which most likely was ad hoc and amateurish, always produced disappointing results. Instead, he assumed they were all oral virgins and that he needed to start from scratch.

The arm bondage and the crop accelerated learning.

He flicked the leather covered rod, testing its flexibility. The girl looked up at him and shook her head; he smiled back. She was a nubile young beauty, an OR nurse with a killer body from the Massachusetts Hospital for Special Surgery, He knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling-she was uncertain, terrified, and aroused at the same time. The uncertainty and the fear didn't matter to him; at this stage, what he needed to see was the arousal.

There was no question it was there. He could see it in her eyes, in her open mouth, in the throbbing artery in her long thin neck, in the way her tongue restlessly kept wetting her lips.

Terror and arousal...they were an incredibly potent combination, but nowhere near as powerful as the feelings she was about to experience. By the time he was finished, her brain would be pickled in endorphins, dopamine, and adrenaline; she would be whimpering, begging him to come in her mouth. If he were right about her, her body would soon be shuddering uncontrollably, pleading for release.

Treating her fear and her arousal with pain and bondage was something he had done many times. Almost always, it produced a dependence, a kind of temporary insanity that would overcome her good sense. He knew exactly how to take advantage of this window-of-opportunity to get the concessions he needed.

If successful, she would soon be a member of one of their special medical teams working in the field. Sick and injured people told their nurses, especially their beautiful nurses, their secrets, and secrets were their stock in trade.

He stepped in closer and ran his hand through her luxuriant hair. She was panting now, glancing nervously back and forth from crop to cock. He gripped a handful of blond hair and lifted her off her haunches to her knees. Her full lips parted, and he could see her tongue-she was ready, helpless, unable to resist, scared, aroused, eager. He swatted her thighs casually and she yelped with the sudden and unexpected pain. He wanted to get her accustomed to the pain before putting any part of his package in her mouth. He pushed her face into his crotch and she immediately latched onto his balls.

Stage one was always exciting for a newcomer, he thought as she masticated. It allowed them to experience, probably for the first time, the extreme orgasm brought on by bondage and pain. This would be something she had never imagined she could experience. The shock of it fit his purpose to a tea-he would use it to assess her sexual potential and to motivate her acceptance of his terms. Both were critical if she was to be effective in the field. A beautiful woman was their best means of gathering information and their most powerful weapons for exercising policy, but only if the candidate was qualified and motivated.

This was his special talent-finding such special women. He was confident that the blond, now masticating his balls with her tongue and cheeks, was one such woman. The next two days at the ranch would confirm it, but he was already thinking about the next candidate-the surgical resident from Whitney-Hathaway. She was both talented and beautiful, and she came from a background that suggested she would be sexually repressed, ripe for this kind of work. If he was right, then...

The overeager girl squeezed too hard with her mouth, and he cropped her perky ass sharply eliciting a long plaintive moan, but no letup in her mouth action, he noted.

"Slow down, love, we have all night," he ordered, punctuating his words with more cropping.

She had the kind of protruding round ass that begged to be cropped, he thought.

One at a time, he warned himself. He would think about Dr. Amy Carter when he was finished with Nurse O'Connor, not before.