Heart shaped Box
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Heart-shaped Box: Act One free porn video
Warning: I write cruel stories of humiliation (although I'm not into
physical pain). If this isn't your particular brand of vodka, there are
many other fine authors on this site to turn to.
The following story is based on real people as described to me by a fan
requesting to be inserted into one of my twisted fantasies. This is my
first strictly TG fetish tale.
heart-shaped box
By tainted x
Case #345-98A66
CONFIDENTIAL; Nondisclosure 15C; Clearance lvl 5; USERnAME: CAYCEC;
PASSwORD: *********; ACCESSgRANTED; DECRYPTING.......
//RUN_*//
File Ia (letter_Ia.txt)
January 15, [DATE_REMOVEd],
Dear Sarah [NAME_REMOVEd],
I am pleased to inform you that the application submitted on Nov 9,
[REMOVEd] has been accepted. You and your husband, Chad [REMOVEd], are
invited to participate in CDQ Behavioral Health Clinic's couple's
therapy test group starting Jan 28, [REMOVEd] at 7:00 PM. Please arrive
an hour early to fill out the necessary paperwork. If you are unable to
make it at the scheduled time, please call our offices during business
hours (8:00 AM - 5:30 PM) at (505) 956-2[REMOVEd] to reschedule. As
stated in the advertisement, you will not be charged for the initial
consultation or subsequent treatments associated with the study.
I look forward to meeting with you and your husband.
Sincerely,
Cayce Champion, Ph.D, MD.
Psychiatrist
CDQ Behavioral Health Clinic
Ninth Avenue and C Street
[REMOVEd]
(505) 956-2[REMOVEd]
//ENDrUN//
Part One. signs of a storm
You find it in the bathroom. You're sitting on the toilet. One hundred
five pages. Plain white book jacket titled in plain black font: ARIEL.
The last collection of poetry by Sylvia Plath. Sarah must have bought
it, you think. Odd. The back of the book tells you it was written in
the months before her suicide.
The back of the book does not mention Sylvia's jealous rage.
The back of the book does not say that her suicide was preceded by her
husband leaving her for another woman.
More strange than the book or the verse is the bookmark stuck between
pages eight and nine:
"CDQ Behavioral Health Clinic
Finding Better Ways to Better Mental Health
Each and Every Day"
The picture on the pamphlet shows a huge multistory complex, all steel
and silver tinted windows offset by black tar parking lot and burning
sunset sky; no trees, no grass, and the flaming clouds beyond offer no
clue as to what time of year the photo was taken.
Right now, though, it's early October. This is before your wife shows
up with the application. This is before the argument that is concluded
with, "Maybe we should call Kristin and ask her if our marriage needs
work." This is all before Dr. Cayce Champion. And when you ask Sarah
about it she says, "Oh nothing." She says, "Just something they were
handing out at the mall."
And somewhere in the middle of the night asleep and dreaming in bed
next to Sarah, she turns and looks at you and smiles and mouths the
words from the bottom of page nine:
"Herr God, Herr Lucifer,
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air."
(Author's Note: In a story there are three possible conflicts: Man vs.
Man; Man vs. Nature; Man vs. Himself. In a courtroom there is only Man
vs. Man. This is true too for the senate hearings following the
investigation of Y-Tech Incorporated and its subsidiary, CDQ Behavioral
Health. What becomes clear when watching the thirty-two days of C-Span
coverage, or, even more so, when reading the full transcript of the
hearings, is that what was sold as an inquiry was in actuality only a
witch-hunt with expensive suits and rehearsed smiles. This is the
action movie solution. No matter how heinous or complex the crime, it
all boils down to one evil mastermind who will ultimately get shot by
the hero and fall a very long way to his death at the end of the third
act. There is no need for understanding. No cause for details. Only
blame, a shot and a long fall. Roll credits.
Sarah, lying in bed next to her husband, quoting the last few lines of
"Lady Lazarus," this is how you setup a villain. Man vs. Man. Or Man
vs. Woman, if you like. But to include the scene without comment, as I
originally intended, would be an injustice to those who lived it. I am
forced to remind myself and the reader that this is not a piece of
fiction, this is not an action movie: This is real life. Every scrap of
evidence I've managed to salvage and archive is only the surface of
what really happened. The skin, the bra size, the shape of her face and
curve of her ass. The girl in the bar you have an immediate hard-on
for. The most beautiful girl in the world. Surely the love of your
life, who later stabs you to death with a screwdriver in a cheap motel
and cuts out your tongue to keep as a trophy. In any situation we can
only speculate what lies beneath.
And while we are on the subject of speculation, allow me to offer my
own quote to juxtapose the Plath poem. Not to imply that one is truer
than the other, but rather to say one is perhaps deeper--the cause of
the first. This is the real story of Chad and Sarah:
"When the boy was a boy and the girl was a girl, they found each other
in a wicked world."*
So then here we have a tale of Man vs. Nature. Or, to be more precise,
Men and Women vs. Nature which, also too, through a causal chain
becomes Man vs. Himself. A story without heroes or villains. Even Cayce
Champion, whose past was a cold trail and whose suicide ensured her
motives and motivations would forever remain a mystery, left clues that
despite all her cruel infamies, on another day, in another account, she
would have played the part of the victim.
*10,000 Maniacs, "Eat For Two")
//RUN_**//
File 0206 (audiolog_0206.wav)
CAYCE: Nervous?
CHAD: Just wondering why I'm the only one strapped to a chair.
CAYCE: It's for your own safety. If you move around too much the
machine can cause damage to the brain and motor functions.
CHAD: Not really my point.
CAYCE: The helmet produces a fair amount of heat. You may also feel a
slight tingling sensation in your frontal lobe. Some people find it
uncomfortable, but it's best to just relax and not struggle.
CHAD: Struggle?
SARAH: Isn't this moving a little fast?
SILENCE. THE MICROPHONE'S HISS.
SARAH: I mean, we've only had one session...
CAYCE: People spend their whole life in therapy and never get any
better, Sarah. It's the treatment, not the diagnosis that's always
proven ineffective. That's what this study, this procedure is all
about.
CHAD: Why do I get the feeling you're about to drill a hole in my head
to let the evil spirits out?
THE CLICKING OF SWITCHES. THE LOW, DULL HUM OF THE MACHINE.
[Part Two.1. a crack of thunder
The helmet warms. You're reminded of all those women in beauty parlors
sitting under huge beehive dryers flipping through fashion magazines.
Sweat beads down your forehead. The tingle Dr. Champion mentioned isn't
really a tingle at all, but more of a distance. The voices around you,
the room you're in; the office with the brown leather couch Sarah is
sitting on, the desk Cayce Champion sits perched behind adjusting her
thick glasses with the black rims, flicking back her brown hair as she
flips more metal switches, occasionally glancing at her laptop--this is
all so very far away. But not so far away as your own thoughts. In your
mind, what was clear moments before, the voice inside your head, is now
only the indecipherable shouting of someone down a deep well.
"I don't like this," maybe you hear yourself say.
You are ignored.
This is Dr. Champion talking to Sarah, reassuring her. The far off
words are heard but not comprehended. Not right now.
Dr. Champion is reading from a book: "Melissa Schemell explains it
best." She flips a few pages. Then a few more. "Ah, here it is: 'The
adolescent boy's primary identification lies with the mother. The
subsequent realization that he is unlike her (he has a penis; she
doesn't; he is different) results in an intense feeling of displacement
and loss.'" She closes the book. "The devastating psychological
implications of this loss are later explored by Camille Pagilia." She
is flipping through another book now. She puts her finger on the page.
"'Men are haunted by that infinite hollow and its sense-making allure,
and so they crave it, desire it, desire its end, its knowledge, its--to
use here a Strangelove-ian phrase--its essence. They must penetrate,
invade, conquer, destroy, inhabit, impregnate and if necessary even be
consumed by it. It really comes down to what men lack. They lack the
hollow, the uterine cavity, any creative life-yielding physiological
incavation. The whole thing's about womb envy or vagina envy, whatever
you prefer.'"
Cayce Champion looks up from her book and right at you, and, at that
moment, she is very clear, very close, and she says, "Chad needs to be
reimbursed for his loss. He needs flowered dresses and pretty pink
panties. He needs to be immersed in the feminine. Everything he has
futilely tried to stick his dick into throughout his entire life--as if
that could ever offer any true contentment or solace--he needs to know,
to experience, to become. He needs to know what it's like to spread his
legs."
The machine hums.
"I'm not sure I agree with you," Sarah says. "It sounds like a bunch of
sexist propaganda."
"He's cheated on you." Dr. Champion's voice is not unkind, nor is it
sympathetic. She speaks, as always, with the dry confidence of a woman
quoting an encyclopedia.
Sarah stiffens. "That's over now."
"Is it?" Now the sympathy shows in Cayce Champion's meager smile.
"Treating the symptom is not the same as curing the disease."
"What do you mean?" Sarah's brow furrows. That look of suspicion.
"I'll show you," Cayce says, typing on her laptop. "I'm going to bring
memories and thoughts of the girl in question to the surface of Chad's
brain." Her fingers pause and she looks up from the screen. "Now tell
me if this looks 'over' to you." She hits Enter.
Now you feel the slight tingling in your head. So mild, so soft, hardly
noticeable. And your mind wanders. No longer trying so hard to focus on
the unfocusable room, but instead your thoughts are flooded with
Kristin. Your mind is vibration; an all encompassing two syllable beat.
It gets in your blood, the thumping of your pulse: Kristin, Kristin,
Kristin. You're sweating. At the brow, your armpits stained.
And Sarah sees the erection straining your jeans and fumes. But you
don't notice her. Your dick aches. There is nothing but Kristin:
Kristin's tits, Kristin's ass, Kristin naked, her cunt, her nipples,
her hair her eyes her lips, her voice, "Do you like me down on my hands
and knees like this, Chad?" Kristin yelping like a French poodle as you
fuck her from behind. So many dirty, naughty Kristin fantasies racing
through your head. "Do you like me in pigtails and dressed as a
cheerleader, Chad?"
"He's stuck in a loop now," Dr. Champion says. "This is how we force
patients to deal with an issue they'd rather keep buried. We make it
impossible for them to think about anything else."
She flicks several switches and the humming clicks off with a boom. The
arm and leg restraints snap open and the helmet rises.]
CHAD: Kristin, Kristin, Kristin, Kristin...
CAYCE: How do you feel, Chad?
CHAD: Kristin, Kristin, Kris...uh, what?
CAYCE: Chad, are you aware that you're masturbating right now?
CHAD: I'd watch Kristin masturbate. That would be hot...
CAYCE: That's nice Chad, but right now we're watching you masturbate.
You've pulled your pants and underwear to your ankles and you're
sitting there jerking off in my office. This isn't acceptable behavior.
CHAD: If Kristin pulled her underwear down I'd grab her tight ass and
stick my dick in her slick--Oh..ohhh...mmph!
SILENCE.
CAYCE: Well, Chad, now you've gone and made a mess all over yourself.
(Author's Note: Because most of the program records were destroyed
before the police could secure the facility, it is unknown exactly what
Dr. Champion's so-called treatments entailed, particularly in the more
subtle cases of behavior modification where multiple scenarios could
theoretically yield the same result. Was Chad's extreme behavior merely
a result of digging up memories of his past infidelity, as Dr. Champion
claimed? Or did she use stronger methods of mental manipulation in
order to put on a show for Sarah? Whichever the case, his little
performance had the desired effect.)
[Part Two.2. a crack of thunder
Sarah is red-faced, biting her lip. Through clenched teeth she says,
"Lock him in the chair."
This is all a blank to you. The world around you is gone. Time has no
meaning. To try and recall it now only brings a blur of perversions all
revolving around your former fling, all crashing into one another,
mixing together, none of it in any particular order, none of it making
any sense. Sarah later tells you how you had fallen and curled up on
the floor. How you had laid bare-assed on the green carpet playing with
yourself, drooling, and muttering the forbidden name over and over
again. She tells you how it took both her and Dr. Champion to get you
back in the chair, to pry your hand away from your rock hard cock.
Later, Sarah bitterly recounts how, once restrained, Dr. Champion asked
if Kristin was really that attractive and how you answered by squirting
all over yourself a second time, this time without any prompting from
your secured fists.
But you don't remember any of this.
The next thing you are aware of is Sarah's voice: "What do you
recommend?"
You are stuck in the steel chair you remember from before. But now, for
some reason, you aren't wearing any pants; you're naked from the waist
down. Even your shoes and socks are gone. Semen is drying on your
shirt, your hands, your arms. You struggle but you can't move. You feel
yourself flush.
"What is this?" you say.
Both women ignore you. Cayce is looking at your wife, the soft green
glow of the laptop reflecting off her face. She adjusts her glasses.
"You will need to be closely involved with the specifics of his
treatment. Your husband is sick, Sarah. Like most men, his desire, his
envy of the female sex has grown into a deep seeded resentment. It has
twisted him. Something no loving hand will ever cure. No, in this case,
what seems like cruelty will be the greatest kindness you can offer
him. He needs to be purged of a lifetime of masculine torture and
misconception. Like leeches draining an illness. It's bloody work. But
any doubt, any hesitation on your part will result in failure. You must
be fierce, firm and unrelenting. Can you do that, Sarah?"
Your wife's eyes briefly flicker on the semen stains covering your
shirt.
"Yes," she says.
"Sarah..." you say. But again, you are ignored.
"Good," Dr. champion says. "First, I think it's best we deal with this
Kristin issue. He's hurt you tonight. More importantly he's done wrong,
and, like a child, he needs to be spanked. Come over here and we'll
decide on a proper punishment."
You open your mouth to speak. And that's when Dr. Champion flicks a
switch on the silver panel sitting on her desk. You hear the hum. And
then the room, the people and your own mind extend off into
infinity...]
CAYCE: Hello Chad. Sorry for turning your brain off for a bit, but your
wife and I needed some alone time to talk.
CHAD: What did you do to me?
CAYCE: Nothing yet. You see, Chad, I find it best to let the patient
know what to expect before we proceed with treatment. I want you to
know and understand exactly what and why something is happening. You
running around a confused mess would be counterproductive.
CHAD: (Sneers) How thoughtful.
CAYCE: I've had quite enough of your attitude, Chad.
CHAD: You're pretty impatient for a shrink. Maybe that's something we
can work on in our sessions.
A PAUSE.
CAYCE: I think it might be best if you keep quiet during our sessions,
Chad.
CHAD: I prefer to keep talking, thanks.
CAYCE: Oh?
THE SOUND OF KEYSTROKES.
[Part Two.3. a crack of thunder
The buzzing of the machine. The electric pop and crackling of the
wires. The warmth on your forehead like a sunburn. And that strange
tickling in your brain. And then you are no longer in Dr. Champion's
office. You are kneeling inside the stall of a public bathroom. The
place is dirty and reeks of urine. The filth rubs off on your bare
knees. Your long blonde locks wave back and forth in front of your deep
blue eyes. You've pulled your top down and your large naked breasts
bounce up and down as your head bobs furiously on the dick you're
sucking; your cheap pink lipstick smearing the throbbing member. You
can't believe it. You are acting like such a slut! You barely know this
guy. His name is John, you think. You met him in the bar not a half
hour ago. He's sitting on the toilet watching you work with delight and
disbelief. He has a bit of a gut.
And being such a naughty girl is getting you so wet! You reach under
your tight black mini-skirt and pull your panties down to mid-thigh.
The cold air on your bare pussy makes you even wetter and you bob
faster.
And then you are back in the office. And Cayce Champion is there and
Sarah is there and you know who you are. Only, your mouth is wide open
and you can still feel the huge cock sliding in and out of your throat;
you can still feel the weight of your big titties as they jiggle, the
strain of your painfully erect nipplels, even though they aren't really
there; and you still feel so very wet and horny.
"Ah, much better," Dr. Champion says. "Perhaps you'll find it easier to
listen now that you're incapable of being anything but a good little
cocksucker."
You try to speak but manage only a muffled gurgle.
Sarah stares at you wide-eyed. "Is he really... Does he really think
he's...?"
"Oh yes. As real as any blow job you've ever given him, except now he's
the one with the mouthful."
"Oh my God..." Sarah says, putting her hand to her mouth as she tries
to suppress her laughter.
And when it comes, her laughter is piercing. And you hear your wife
say, "So Chad, you've never told me, do you spit or swallow?"
And you want to say something back; some insult, some accusation. But
your twat aches and twitches and your bare breasts make smacking sounds
as they rise and fall against your chest, it feels so good, and, deep
down, you are just too big of a slut to pull this guy's dick out of
your mouth for even an instant...so instead you say: "Mmph ogh ough
mmougch!"]
THE SOUND OF A WOMAN LAUGHING IN THE BACKGROUND.
CAYCE: Now, as I was saying, the first phase of your treatment is going
to involve uploading a program into your subconscious. The application
will initiate the punishment Sarah and I agreed upon for your past
infidelity and the lewd display you treated us to earlier. Really,
though, you shouldn't blame yourself entirely for your actions. Men,
when it comes to sex, are simply too easily amused. Women, on the other
hand, are far more complex. Which is exactly what Sarah and I decided
you need: complexity.
CHAD: (Gurgle)
CAYCE: As you might have guessed based on your little bathroom
adventure, we have the minds of thousands of women completely mapped,
stored and catalogued on the CDQ database. Any part of those women's
psyche can end up in your brain with the press of a button. A few
clicks here and there, a memory uploaded and played in real time, and
you think you are a horny nineteen year old blowing some fat guy in the
men's room.
CHAD: (Gurgle, gurgle, slurp)
CAYCE: Oh, don't worry. I have it on a loop. If I left you like this
you'd spend the rest of your life dolling out a nice sloppy blow job
without ever reaching any kind of climax. Keep that in mind the next
time you feel like mouthing off or I'll make you think you got fucked
in the ass so hard you won't walk right for a week.
THE SOUND OF KEYS CLICKING.
CAYCE: What I'm about to do, Chad, is replace your sexual inner
workings with that of a sixteen year old named Beth who happened to
have a very strict Catholic upbringing.
CHAD: Mff! Mff! (Slurp, slurp, slurp.)
CAYCE: Don't worry, your libido and sexual preferences will remain
intact. You'll still be your horny old self, it's how your mind and
body reacts to those feelings of lust that are going to change. One
side effect you can expect is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and
embarrassment regarding masturbation. You're going to become very
girlish and naive on the subject. The mere thought of touching your
private parts will make you blush. And, should you become desperate
enough to actually get your hand on your cock, you won't have a clue
what to do with it. Like any inexperienced young girl, your crotch will
be a complete mystery to you. And this will carry over into sex. Once I
run this program, achieving orgasm will be nothing but a frustrating
jigsaw puzzle: the right place, the right mood; timing must be
flawless, technique exact; the right time to kiss--not too much tongue
not too little--the right time to tug here, lick there, suck and pull,
and the exact right words to say. Fucking without foreplay will feel
clumsy and awkward and leave you hot and hard and unfulfilled. Not that
you'll be able to communicate any of this to your partner. No, from now
on in the bedroom you're going to be reduced to the timid young virgin,
the good little Catholic girl, the prude who is too embarrassed even to
moan...
CHAD: Mmmfff!
THE SOUND OF THE ENTER KEY BEING STRUCK.
//ENDrUN//
Part Two.4. a crack of thunder
That night you insist on making love with the lights off. You're shy.
Sarah has been prancing around the apartment in her underwear for a
good hour now and you haven't even taken your shoes off. She's been
teasing you, you know. Leaning forward at every opportunity to give you
an eyeful of her ample chest; always dropping things--"Oopsie!" she'd
say and bend over displaying her round pantied ass. The skimpy panties.
The good kind. The kind that barely contain her cheeks. She never used
to walk around like this. She never used to squeeze her tits together
and ask if you thought they were sexy, asked if they turned you on, if
you wanted to lick them until they were all slick and wet and then
stick your dick between them.
But she likes to see you blush.
She likes that you can't maintain eye contact when she talks dirty like
that. That you look at the floor and nervously shuffle your feet, and,
red-faced you say in a stutter, "N-no, that's gross. I...I'd never do
anything like that."--you say this despite the hard-on in your jeans.
You just can't admit that you want to. You don't want to be a bad
girl...er boy.
"No?" she says, pressing in close to you, arching her back so you're
staring straight down into her cleavage. "I thought you liked my big
boobs. I thought you couldn't get enough of them. Lord knows you're
always staring at them."
"C-can't we just cuddle for a while?" you hear yourself say.
And you do cuddle. Sarah holds you, and kisses you and it feels like a
thousand butterflies in your stomach. Your eyes might as well be shaped
like hearts, that's how bad you've go it. Crushing on your wife like
some sixteen year old school girl. You know that's what you're doing,
but you can't help it. You make lists in your head of how smart, and
funny and sexy she is; how much you like her lips her eyes her
toenails. And all the while you are so nervous around her you quiver at
her every touch. You've never felt this self-conscious. You spent
forty-five minutes in the bathroom trying to get your hair just right.
You wonder if she thinks you're a good kisser; if she thinks you're
smart; if she likes your hair; if she thinks your glasses make you look
like a nerd; you wonder what she is thinking right now.
When her hand finally goes for your zipper, you're tentative. You put
your hand to hers.
"Can't we just hold each other some more?" you say.
This is your wife's wicked smile. "Come on, baby. You know I love you."
The cheesiest line in history, and you melt. Sarah loves you! Your mind
is poetry and birds tweeting, your heart is every love song ever
written, you're harder than you've ever been in your entire life. You
are so hers.
And this is you asking your wife if you can be on the bottom.
(Author's Note: Although Chad was almost certainly unaware of it, it
should be mentioned that he was not the only one to spend some time in
"the chair." While he was out in Dr. Champion's office, it was agreed
that some tweaking needed to be done to Sarah as well. All accounts
suggest the treatments were far less aggressive in Sarah's case,
leaving her fully conscious throughout the procedure, while at the same
time altering her sexual tendencies to better match a stereotypical
male.)
One minute and twenty-seven seconds.
Sarah is humping you recklessly, riding you like a spastic five year
old on a hobbyhorse. It feels invasive and uncomfortable, almost
painful, but you force a smile anyway. And she's yelling, "Oh yeah
baby!" And she's yelling, "God you're so hot!" And every time she does
you feel yourself getting harder and hotter and more frustrated by her
awkward movements yet still wanted her so desperately. One minute and
twenty-seven seconds.
And it's over.
Sarah bucks in orgasm, lifts herself off your still very hard cock,
kisses you on the cheek and says, "Thanks babe, that was great."
When she rolls over to her side of the bed she does think to ask, "Was
it good for you too?"
But she's already asleep before you answer.
And the rest of the week you learn the meaning of the word "insomnia."
Sarah humps you a couple of times each day, easily bedding you whenever
she likes with a few bad pick-up lines, each instance a duplicate of
the first. And every night you lie staring at her back with a huge
hard-on. Wishing she would hold you, wishing she would kiss you some
more, fantasizing about her touching you, gently stroking your hair,
and one or two times even letting your hand drift downward, but
ultimately ending up crying in shame after only a few clumsy strokes.
(Author's Note: What made Chad go back? This topic was never brought up
during the senate hearings, the underlining assumption being once Dr.
Champion had gotten into his head he no longer had any choice in the
matter. But the recently uncovered "background noise" in file 0311X, a
recording of two orderlies talking in room 113E, reveals what sounds
like a brief exchange between Sarah, Chad and Dr. Champion:
"...[INAUDIBLE]... (Female Voice 1) own good, right?... [INAUDIBLE]...
(Male Voice) sure?... [INAUDIBLE]... (Female Voice 1)...just think that
[INAUDIBLE]...love you... [INAUDIBLE 17 SECONDS]...(Female Voice 2) or
you'll [INAUDIBLE]... little virgin the rest of your... [INAUDIBLE]..."
When combined with the silent black and white surveillance footage from
the conjoining room, 114E*, this appears to be fragments of Chad's
final exchange carried through the ventilation system before he stepped
into Booth1 for the first time.
The discovery has raised some interesting questions. How much control
did Cayce give Chad this early in her study? Was Chad merely a puppet
as was originally assumed? Or could he have escaped with only a poor
sex life to show for it? If so, did Cayce Champion gamble the entire
project on her intimidation skills and Sarah's influence? Or were there
other undocumented factors involved?
*Commonly referred to as "The Chamber.")
Part Three. objectification
Coming Soon...
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