(Medical Kink) My Dr. House Fantasy

I woke slowly, the air thick with the sharp, stinging scent of antiseptic so strong it burned my nose and stung the back of my throat. My eyes fluttered open, but everything was a blur, swimming in and out of focus. The edges of the room shifted, blending into the harsh white walls, until I finally realized what was wrong.

I was strapped down.

It wasn’t just my arms and legs everything about me felt wrong. My body was held tight, restrained in a way that made every movement feel impossible. My elbows were locked behind me, bound to touch each other in a cruel, painful angle. Soft cuffs, deceptively gentle at first, were so tight that every attempt to move made me feel just how exposed I felt, I could feel my forearms sandwiched together, my body all contorted and helpless.

But it wasn’t just the cuffs.

The tube.

I could feel it, in me. Down my throat. It was so invasive, so filling and thick. The tube wasn’t just sitting there, it was sealed into my mouth, locked into place by a panel that pressed tightly against my lips, keeping me completely silent. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe the way I wanted to.

The head harness. I could feel the tight straps digging into my scalp, my jaw, forcing my head upright, forcing me to remain completely still. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t even turn my head. The strain on my neck was excruciating, and I realized that every movement I tried to make only intensified the discomfort.

The worst part? I couldn’t swallow.

The pressure of the harness, the tube, and the tightness around my neck prevented any movement in my throat. My body wanted to swallow, to push the air out of me, but the machine kept control over my lungs, dictating the rise and fall of my chest. I felt it all every shallow breath, every forced exhale.

My chest felt tight too tight and every gasp I tried to take was shallow, suffocating. The machine controlled me now.

I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t move.

I was completely immobilized.

I tried to take in more air, to break free from the suffocating grip of the machine, but each movement was futile. My arms were held so tightly that they burned with the effort of struggling against the cuffs, my elbows pressed so hard together that I thought my skin might tear. But no matter how much I fought, the pressure only built, pushing against me, forcing me to submit to its will.

I was utterly powerless.

A slow, mechanical hum filled the room an artificial sound that made my heart race. The machine was breathing for me, controlling my every inhale, my every exhale. My lungs were no longer my own. I was at the mercy of the machine.

How had I gotten here? How had everything gone so wrong?

I remembered the hospital. I remembered him the doctor. He had seemed kind at first, reassuring, like everything was going to be fine. But then, the needle. The syringe that had entered my arm so quickly, so smoothly. The promise of a “routine check-up,” the gentle smile on his face as he guided me to a sterile examination room. I should’ve known something was wrong.

But I didn’t.

The next thing I remembered was waking up here this place, in this cold, clinical room. The sterile smell, the artificial lights overhead, and the machines that surrounded me. I was trapped.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps. Slow. Measured. I froze.

Who is it?

The footsteps paused outside the door. I felt a chill as the door creaked open. The figure stepped into the room, tall, draped in white. The harsh light above cast long shadows, obscuring his face.

It was him.

The doctor.

He looked down at me, his eyes scanning me as if I were just another procedure to be completed. He didn’t speak at first. His presence filled the room, the air heavy with his control.

He moved closer, his eyes lingering on the tube, the panel tightly secured against my lips, the head harness pulling my face up to meet his gaze. I could feel his fingers brush against the straps of the harness, tightening them just slightly, testing the restraints. I felt the pressure increase.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, almost in amusement, his voice low and calm, as though I were simply another patient in his care.

But I wasn’t just a patient. I was his his property, his experiment.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe without his permission.

The machine hummed louder, the subtle whirring sound filling my ears. He ran a gloved finger along the edge of the restraints that held me. I wanted to scream, to beg for him to stop, to let me go. But I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t even move my lips.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, though I didn’t believe him for a second. “But this is what’s best for you. For both of us.”

His voice was calm, soothing, like he truly believed he was helping me. But deep down, I knew the truth. He wasn’t here to help me.

He was here to control me.

“You’re mine now,” he said, leaning in closer. His breath brushed against my cheek. My body went still. I could feel his eyes on me, measuring every inch of my restraint, my helplessness.

I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t move.

I was his.

Click.

I felt a sudden suction as the machine powered down, the air baffle sunk to the bottom of the tube as my lungs deflated. I sucked as hard as I could but I was already so tired, it was no use.

"I'm going to hookup this blood oxygen sensor to the machine, I have it programmed to stop pumping air once you awake and to start pumping air ass you start to feel sleepy, don't worry though Kitty I'm a doctor, the machine is calibrated to keep you calm, not hurt you or cause any permanent harm, don't worry I got you."

As he is saying all this I'm feeling calmer. The machine ran me to a calm pace of breathing, my hear rate lowers and my binds feel a bit less tight now.

He threw a blanket over me and rolled me out of the room.

In my new relaxed sate I found myself floating out of the room, but the jumps and jostles of the gurney slamming the doors quickly reminded me that I was actually just bound and throat gagged in the basement of a hospital.

At least my adrenaline wasn't through the roof anymore.

Zipping through the hospital halls I could hear the bustle of the busy clinic as we rolled to a stop and entered a room.

Beep. Up we went.

"I'm taking you to my office."

My stomach knotted knowing that he probably wasn't planning on letting me go anytime soon, if he could so easily and confidently handle me through the busy hospital without anyone else noticing, what else was he capable of.

My throat tensed up as I tried to scream. Not a sound, despite my efforts you could hear a pin drop as we entered his office. The rustle of the blinds falling sent a sharp shiver down my spine.

Not a sound.