Cast for Hire

Introduction

My name is Kelly. I am 32 years old, and I work for a private orthopedic surgery group in St. Louis. Originally, I started working for a local surgery center as a scrub tech, but I transitioned into a rewarding job as an orthopedic technologist. My primary responsibility is applying casts and braces after the surgeon sets fractures.

Occasionally, I change the brace or cast during follow-up appointments after surgery. When I first started ten years ago, we applied a lot more casts than braces, but with advancements in medical technology, I now only apply about two casts a day compared to the ten I used to do daily. I work for four different doctors, each with their own preferences for how they want their splints and casts applied.

Some allow the patient to choose the cast color, while others prefer we use the most cost-effective material, typically white. At times, I am needed in the operating room, and occasionally, I even make house calls for patients who are unable to visit the clinic. In addition to casting, I am responsible for ordering and fitting all orthopedic braces and cervical collars.

We have another technologist who specializes in sizing and shaping back braces, but I have always found that aspect of the job fascinating as well. Aside from the occasional fussy patient, I truly love my work, and I am grateful to be well compensated for it. Sam has been my best friend since high school.

We attended a small school just north of St. Louis. She still lives there and comes into St. Louis about twice a week. We generally get together for coffee or drinks to catch up. About six months ago, Sam called me with an interesting proposal, asking if I would be interested in making some extra money on the side.

Always eager for an opportunity, I cautiously asked her what she had in mind. I love Sam, but she is a bit more adventurous than I am, and I’ve known her to get involved in some pretty outlandish ideas. Basically, she explained that my professional skills had value outside the hospital. She asked if I could give a workshop on applying and removing casts.

Specifically, she suggested that we meet to discuss the details. She assured me that the pay would be worth my time, which made me even more curious about what exactly she was getting me into. The Morning Grind is a local coffee shop that Sam and I enjoy visiting from time to time. On this particular Saturday, we met for coffee and engaged in our usual small talk.

Sam, however, was practically buzzing with excitement, eager to tell me more about this new opportunity. Evidently, one of her coworkers hosts a monthly evening gathering at her home called "Drink n' Kink." It’s a small group of young adults who enjoy sharing personal stories and experiences over cocktails.

It all started as one of those “sex toy” parties, where a salesperson arranges for a friend to host an event at their home, selling adult novelties and basic sex toys. These parties typically feature items like oils, lubricants, generic lingerie, vibrators, and fuzzy handcuffs—just the standard fare.

Then, Sam dropped the bombshell. She wasn’t just attending these parties—she was the salesperson. I had no idea she was involved in anything like this. Apparently, she runs an entire business traveling from home party to home party, selling and educating people on adult products. She revealed that she had been doing it for four years and had made a significant amount of extra income.

I was floored. I had always known Sam to be bold and adventurous, but I never imagined this was part of her world. I stopped Sam right there. "No… I’m not interested in selling sex toys. It’s just not me. You know I’m shy, and I don’t have the confidence. Plus, my job pays me well and keeps me busy."

"Wait, wait…" Sam exclaimed, waving her hands dismissively.

"I’m not trying to get you to sell my stuff. And besides, I don’t want anyone taking my clients anyway. I have a different kind of offer."

I was intrigued. I set my coffee down and gave her a look that said, "Well then… go on…"

Sam leaned in slightly. "I was holding one of my parties at Katy’s house in [suburb of St. Louis]. We were wrapping up the night, and I had sold a fair number of items. It had been a good night for me when Katy asked if I had ‘anything else.’"

Unclear what she meant, I asked, "What do you mean?"

She quietly leaned in closer and said, "Do you have anything more… adventurous?"

Uncertain of exactly what she was hinting at, Sam responded, "We have a whole catalog from mild to wild.

What do you have in mind?"

Katy pulled out her phone and showed Sam a picture of a man dominating a woman with a crop. The woman was bound, her hands in handcuffs, a ball gag in her mouth, sitting on her knees and looking up at the man. Sam paused, taken aback. "This surprised me. I knew there was a kink for restraints, but I didn’t have much experience in that space." Determined not to miss an opportunity for sales, she reassured Katy, "Oh, I have more than you can imagine."

After leaving Katy’s, Sam raced home to do her research.

Within a couple of hours, she had not only learned the terminology but had also found a vendor specializing in BDSM products. The next day, she reached out to the vendor, struck a partnership, and promptly called Katy back. "Yes," she told her confidently. "I have a whole line of adventure toys for your group."

Sam told me that the next meeting was entirely different from the first.

The energy was noticeably higher, and the group’s curiosity had grown. She brought a bag filled with toys—various restraints, gags, harnesses—and the group eagerly placed orders. That was three years ago. Now, Sam presents at their meetings every three months or so, bringing along her wares and any new products she’s come across.

Just when she thinks she has a grasp on the world of fetishes, she discovers yet another unexpected layer. "Interesting story, Sam," I said, raising an eyebrow. "But I have to ask… how does this involve me?" I was beginning to feel a little nervous, unsure of where I fit into this picture. "Well, as it turns out, at their party two weeks ago, they started asking me if I had access to cast supplies."

Confused, I asked, "What do you mean by cast?"

Katy explained that there is a particular fetish involving the immobilization of a partner using casts or braces.

Intrigued but unfamiliar with the details, Sam had gone back to her vendor, only to find that none of them carried casting supplies. When she asked about it, they told her that medical-grade materials could only be obtained from specialized medical supply stores. Determined to explore the request, she visited a medical supply store later that week.

However, upon entering, she was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer variety of materials and casting options available. Sam met with Katy a week later and explained her difficulties in sourcing casting equipment. Then, mid-sentence, it hit her—she knew someone who worked with casts every day. "Kelly, you do this all the time," she explained.

"So, to make a long story short, would you go with me next Thursday to a ‘sales event’ and bring some casting supplies?"

"Do these people even know how to put on or take off a cast? You need a power saw to remove them, and it takes quite a bit of experience, or you could seriously injure someone," I responded.

"That’s what I learned from my quick research. But what an opportunity for you. I know they want to explore this space, and I bet they’d pay whatever you ask," Sam said eagerly. "What if you just put together a simple demonstration? I’ll be your subject."

I hesitated. The idea of putting a cast on Sam, knowing that the group had a fetish for it, made me uncomfortable.

In my world, nobody wants a cast. If they need one, they want it off as soon as possible. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of someone wanting one voluntarily. "Sam, I make $60 an hour at work. And supplies can get pretty expe—"

"Great! I’ll tell them $200 cash plus supplies. Yes?" Sam interrupted.

I could use the money, and I didn’t see any real risk. Sam was my best friend, and I trusted her not to put me in a dangerous situation. After all, this was something I did every day. "What kind of demonstration do they want?" I asked. "Katy just wants to see a regular arm cast and the process of applying it.

Can you do this in someone’s home? Do you need a special setup?"

"Just some warm water. We can do this anywhere, but we’ll need to protect the flooring—it’ll get wet. And we need to cut it off afterward. You don’t plan on going home in a cast, right?"

"Heavens, no. I’m not into that sort of thing," Sam assured me.

That made me feel better—I didn’t want any awkward vibes between us. Thursday arrived, and after a slow afternoon at work, I packed my supplies. Before heading out, I changed into scrubs—both for practicality and to maintain a clinical approach in an otherwise unusual setting. I pulled up to the address at ten minutes to seven.

Demonstration Time

I wanted to arrive early to set up before the guests arrived. Katy met me at the door. I had never met Katy before, but she was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. She was taller than me, with an athletic yet curvy figure. Dressed in sleek black athleisure wear, she looked polished and prepared to host.

She led me into the dining area, an extension of the kitchen, where a small table and about ten chairs were arranged in a half-circle for the attendees. I had been there for about five minutes when Sam arrived, looking as effortlessly stylish as ever in trendy blue shorts and a crisp white top. Katy helped me set up a table for my supplies, and we positioned a rolling stool in the center of the room for me to sit on while working.

Sam would sit in a kitchen chair for the demonstration. A few minutes later, the guests began to arrive. I was surprised. They all looked like everyday professionals—people you might see working at a bank, a bookstore, or an office. I had expected the group to have a more alternative look, perhaps with piercings or tattoos, but instead, they were well-dressed, attractive individuals in their thirties.

One man wore a polo shirt and cargo pants. The group mingled for a bit before taking their seats. Katy introduced me, and of course, they all knew Sam. One younger woman shot Sam a playful wink, causing her to blush and drop her head slightly. I began with a brief overview of casts and splints, explaining the structure of the nerves in the arms and legs and the importance of pressure points.

I cautioned that improper casting could cause permanent nerve damage if applied too tightly in certain areas. I also explained that once a limb was encased in fiberglass and dried, it would become completely immobile. Losing the ability to move an arm or leg could make even simple daily tasks—brushing teeth, buttoning pants, or scratching an itch—impossible.

Next, I demonstrated the application of a fiberglass cast on Sam’s right arm. She smiled and nodded her approval as I worked. I began by cutting an appropriate length of base tube grip, then carefully applied a thick layer of soft roll to protect her arm from heat. Finally, I wrapped her arm from her fingers to mid-bicep in fiberglass casting tape.

Once the material was in place, I gently massaged it to smooth the edges and create soft curves. After about twenty minutes, Sam’s arm was rock solid—fixed at a right angle. Her thumb and fingers were slightly spread apart, making her hand mostly unusable. She grinned and confirmed she was completely comfortable.

I invited the group to step forward and examine Sam’s arm, letting them feel the firm fiberglass encasing her limb. The presentation ended earlier than expected. We had finished casting Sam’s arm in about thirty minutes. I turned to the group and asked if there were any questions. A cute blonde woman raised her hand.

“Is there anything different about casting a person’s leg?”

I explained that the technique was essentially the same, but the nerves to watch for were different. A tall gentleman then asked how to determine the correct length for a cast. I explained that a cast needs to extend beyond the joint above and below a fracture.

Another man asked, “What if the upper arm or thigh is broken?”

I described how, in the past, doctors would cast all the way up onto the torso for upper-arm breaks or include the pelvis for a leg fracture. These were called SPICA casts, and they were extremely uncomfortable. People in them were essentially helpless, needing assistance for even the most basic tasks.

After a few moments of chatter, one of the attendees, a man named Nathan, raised his hand. “Would it be possible for me to try putting a cast on?”

I glanced at Katy, then shrugged. “We’re ahead of schedule, and I don’t have any plans after this. Sure. Who do you want to cast?”

Nathan grinned. “Can I try matching the cast you put on Sam’s other arm?”

I looked at Sam.

She hesitated briefly, then shrugged with a small smile. “Why not?”

I walked Nathan through the process of casting Sam’s left arm. She didn’t seem to mind, though she was slightly less helpful now that her right arm was immobilized. Once he had finished, another attendee asked if they could see a leg cast.

I glanced at Sam again, silently asking if she was up for it. She bit her lip for a second, then nodded. I carefully applied a black long-leg cast on her right leg, extending from mid-thigh to her toes with a fifteen-degree bend at the knee. Of course, Nathan wanted to try his hand at a leg cast as well, so he mirrored my work on her left leg.

Now, Sam was wearing double long-arm casts and double long-leg casts. She was, for all intents and purposes, completely immobilized. As the group continued to ask questions, Sam sat propped against the wall, unable to move much. I caught her testing the limits of her casts, flexing her fingers slightly, shifting her weight ever so subtly.

There was something in her expression—curiosity, maybe even enjoyment—but she quickly masked it whenever I looked her way. After about thirty minutes, I turned to her. “Ready to get free?”

She nodded, but there was a slight hesitation. “Yeah. Though the old saying is true—once you have a cast on, you suddenly need to scratch everywhere.”

One of the attendees helped lift Sam back into a chair while I put on my N95 mask and goggles.

Unexpected Trouble

I started cutting into her right arm cast with my handheld cast saw. I had only made it about four inches down when the saw suddenly quit. Frowning, I examined the blade, unplugged and replugged it, but nothing worked. I had never had this happen before. We had multiple cast saws at work, but I had only brought one.

Embarrassed, I looked at Sam apologetically. “This is… not ideal.”

Sam sighed. “So, what now?”

“I need to run back to the office and get another saw,” I said. “It’s about an hour there and an hour back.”

Sam glanced around. “You live about two blocks from the office, right? That’s three hours of driving just to get me out of these.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.” I grabbed my keys. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

“Wait,” she said suddenly. “Take me with you. You can cut the casts off at your office, then drop me at home.”

I hesitated. “Would you be okay riding in the car like that?”

She gave a small laugh. “It’s the same as sitting here. Plus, I’d get free an hour earlier.”

I couldn’t argue with her logic.

Turning to Nathan and another attendee, I asked if they could help me get Sam into my car. They jumped at the chance. Sam, now completely encased in fiberglass, was stiff as a board, making it awkward to lift her. We transferred her to a rolling chair, then wheeled her out to my car. Getting her into the passenger seat was a challenge, but with some maneuvering, we managed it.

Once she was in place, I buckled her seatbelt securely across her lap. As I shut the door, I noticed her flexing her fingers again, pressing lightly against the cast material. She caught me watching and quickly looked away, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. I ran back inside to grab the remainder of my gear.

As I was heading out, Katy called after me. “Hey, Kelly! Don’t forget your money.” She handed me an envelope with six $100 bills. This was double what I had expected. As I took the envelope, she leaned in and asked, “Would you be willing to come back next month and put some casts on some of the group members?”

I hesitated for a moment, then handed her my business card with a small smile.

“Give me a call. We’ll talk.”

As I hurried back to the car, I noticed Sam sitting peacefully in the passenger seat, her limbs fully confined in fiberglass. She could only shift slightly, her hips and shoulders providing the only real movement she had left. Her arms were fixed in angles that prevented her from even touching her own face.

I had to brush her hair out of her eyes several times on the way home. We talked the entire drive. The conversation felt unusually intimate, maybe because she was relying on me for everything at that moment. At one point, she glanced at me and quietly said, “I think I understand what those guys at the party like about this.

It’s a strange sensation—to be completely at someone else’s mercy but, at the same time, feel so… liberated from making decisions.”

I had never really thought of it that way. To me, casts were simply medical necessities, not something to be experienced or enjoyed. But hearing Sam describe it that way made me pause.

Then she turned to me, her voice a little softer. “Would you… take me back to your place? I’d like to stay in the casts overnight. Maybe we can cut them off in the morning?”

I glanced over, trying to gauge her expression. There was something in her eyes—curiosity, intrigue, maybe even a hint of excitement—but also a flicker of hesitation, like she wasn’t sure how I would react.

I didn’t want to disappoint her. After all, she had just helped me make $600. If she wanted to spend the night in casts, who was I to say no? I switched lanes and took the exit toward my apartment. “Alright,” I said casually. “But it’s going to be a bit tricky getting you inside.”

She smirked. “Yeah, I figured.”

Once at my apartment, I grabbed my office chair and reversed the process from earlier, wheeling her inside.

Admittedly, it was a lot easier when I had two helpers. As soon as we got through the door, I realized just how much assistance she was going to need. I started by getting her a glass of water with a straw. Then I fed her a chicken sandwich—not an easy task for either of us, but we made it work. The next challenge was getting her out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable.

I dug out some oversized scrubs from my hospital stash, figuring they would be the easiest option. Getting her out of her shirt was… an ordeal. With both arms immobilized, she couldn’t help at all. The fabric got stuck around her head, and I had to gently work it off, trying not to make it awkward. As the shirt finally slipped free, she sat there in just her bra and panties, looking up at me with an unreadable expression.

I swallowed hard and turned my gaze away, focusing on getting the scrubs over her head as quickly as possible. “There,” I said, clearing my throat. “That should be more comfortable.”

She let out a small laugh. “I appreciate the effort.”

Once she was changed, I set her up on the couch, surrounding her with pillows for support.

She leaned her head back, completely relaxed, and let out a deep sigh. “This is actually… kind of amazing,” she admitted. I smirked. “You look ridiculously comfortable.”

“I am,” she said, closing her eyes. “This has been the weirdest but best night I’ve had in a long time.”

I stood there for a moment, just watching her.

There was something different in the way she was looking at me tonight—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Finally, I flipped off the light. “Holler if you need me.”

As I walked toward my bedroom, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between us. And, for the first time, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

The next morning, I woke up early and made a light breakfast for Sam and me. I knew she had places to be, but I felt obligated to make sure she wasn’t starving. After all, it’s not like she could get up and fend for herself. I moved her over to the kitchen table, and since she could only use one arm, I helped feed her.

She managed to eat toast with her free hand, using her casted arm to stabilize the plate. “I sort of get it,” she said, pausing as if collecting her thoughts. “I can at least see what those groups enjoy about being in casts. It’s not for me, but last night, lying on your couch, I realized just how helpless I was in the situation.”

“Sam, I would never—”

“Stop,” she interrupted. “I know. I’m not worried about you. I know you’d never take advantage of me. You’re my best friend.” She gave me a reassuring smile before continuing. “But laying there, unable to do anything for myself, made me start to understand how being in a medical cast can create that feeling of vulnerability. After all, I sell some pretty strict medical supplies in my adult toy store, so I know there are people with medical fetishes.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t really understand why someone would want to be immobile,” I admitted. “I mean, isn’t the whole point of sex about ‘having’ something? How do you even… you know, if you can’t move?”

Sam tilted her head, considering for a moment before looking past me, as if staring out the window.

“I’m not sure,” she finally said. A moment of silence passed between us before I started clearing the table. As I stacked the dishes, Sam began shifting, trying to stand up. I turned just in time to see her wobble dangerously. “Wait a minute,” I yelped, rushing to her side. “You’re going to wind up in one of these for real if you aren’t careful.”

She huffed a laugh as I caught her and steadied her.

With her legs still partially stiff from being casted all night, I helped her into the rolling chair. After gathering her things, I wheeled her out to my car, and we drove to the clinic. Since it was Sunday, the clinic was empty. I ran inside to grab a wheelchair before returning to help her out of the car.

Once inside, I powered up the reciprocating cast saw and carefully removed Sam’s fiberglass outerwear. As the last piece of fiberglass fell away, Sam ran her hands over her bare arms and legs, stretching and flexing as if waking up from a deep sleep. When she looked up at me, our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

The glance lingered just a fraction longer than usual before she looked down and started putting on her shoes. “Thanks again for helping me with my side job,” she said casually, but her voice was softer than usual. Life carried on as normal. I didn’t hear much from Sam for a couple of weeks. We usually checked in with each other at least once a week, but I knew she was busy with work.

Still, something about that morning, that look, stayed with me. And I had a feeling it was staying with her, too.

Revisiting the Past

Several months passed without much contact between us. Work kept me busy, and I assumed Sam was equally wrapped up in her business. But one afternoon, as I was leaving the gym, I nearly ran straight into her.

She was just stepping out, her hair pulled into a high ponytail, her skin glowing from the workout. “Kelly!” she said, surprised but clearly happy to see me. “Sam!” I grinned. “Look at you! Still making time for the gym, huh?”

She laughed. “Trying to. What about you? You’ve been MIA.”

I shrugged. “Work’s been crazy, but yeah, it’s been a while.

We should catch up.”

Sam nodded, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Absolutely. You free for dinner sometime soon?”

“Name the time and place,” I said without hesitation. A few days later, she texted me. Sushi next Friday? Usual spot? Sounds perfect, I replied. And just like that, we had plans.

I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt a little nervous about seeing her again, but something about this dinner felt… different. Over sushi, Sam filled me in on how her business had taken off in ways she hadn’t expected. Her monthly sex toy meetings were still going strong, but to her surprise, she was selling more casting material than anything else.

“I’m making almost four grand a month just reselling casting supplies,” she admitted between bites of her spicy tuna roll. “It’s wild.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? They’re buying that much?”

She nodded. “Yeah, and they’re getting more and more creative with it. I show up with new colors, and they go crazy for it.

Some of them are even getting into braces and orthotics now.”

I took a sip of my sake, shaking my head. “I mean, good for you, but I still don’t get it. Every patient I’ve ever had complains about their cast. They’re hot, itchy, and annoying. And the worst part? Not being able to do basic things like scratch your nose or brush your hair.”

Sam smirked.

“Maybe that’s part of the appeal.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “You really think so?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But hey, it’s making me money, so I’m not questioning it too much.”

We shared a laugh, and she leaned back in her chair, stretching slightly. “Anyway, we need to catch up properly. What are you doing tomorrow?”

I never turned down an excuse for an afternoon drink with a friend.

“No plans. Why?”

“Meet me at Roosters on Beltline for cocktails after work,” she said with a grin. “It’s been too long since we had a proper night out.”

I lifted my glass in a small toast. “Sounds like a plan.”

The next evening, I walked into Roosters and immediately spotted Sam. She was already there, comfortably seated at a high-top table, nursing what looked like her second cocktail of the night.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she was wearing that familiar, mischievous smirk—the one that usually meant she was feeling bold. As I got closer, my eyes drifted down, and for the first time, I truly noticed her figure. She had dressed up for the night, and it wasn’t lost on me just how stunning she looked.

The black dress she wore hugged her frame perfectly, accentuating her toned body and curves in a way I had somehow never paid attention to before. Her small frame contrasted with her full, prominent chest, and the dress left just enough to the imagination while still showing off the best of her. She grinned as I slid into the seat across from her.

“Took you long enough,” she teased, her words a little looser than usual, thanks to the alcohol. “I was starting to think you stood me up.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Please. Like I’d ever pass up drinks with you.”

She lifted her glass toward me. “Damn right.”

The night was just getting started, but already, something felt… different.

Maybe it was the cocktails, maybe it was the way she was looking at me tonight. Either way, I had a feeling this was going to be a night to remember. As the drinks kept flowing, Sam leaned in a little closer, her voice quieter now, more deliberate. “Kelly,” she started, swirling the last sip of her cocktail in her glass, “I think I want to try something.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“That’s never a good preface.”

She grinned, then bit her lip slightly before continuing. “I want to try being casted. Like… really casted.”

I set my drink down and studied her expression. “You mean, like before?”

She shook her head. “No, I mean… full-on. Both arms, both legs. Strict. The real deal.”

A slow realization settled over me.

She wasn’t joking. There was something in her tone, a hint of nervous excitement, like she had been thinking about this for a while but hadn’t found the right moment to say it out loud. I exhaled, leaning back. “Sam… are you sure?”

She nodded, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I know it sounds crazy, but ever since that night at your place, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

About what it felt like. About how I couldn’t move, how I had to trust you for everything.” She glanced up at me, and for a second, I swore there was something deeper in her eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but… I liked it. More than I expected.”

I wasn’t blind. I could see this was more than just curiosity—there was something about this that excited her.

Maybe even turned her on. I swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “You really want this?” I asked. She nodded, her confidence growing. “Yes. And I want it done right. No shortcuts. I want to be completely immobilized.”

I let out a slow breath. This was definitely uncharted territory, even for me.

But as strange as it was, a part of me wanted to indulge her. To see where this went. “Alright,” I finally said. “Tomorrow. My clinic. Ten AM.”

Sam’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Perfect.”

As the night went on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had just crossed a line—one that neither of us fully understood yet.

But for better or worse, tomorrow was going to be an experience unlike any other.

Meeting at the Clinic

The next morning, I met Sam at the clinic promptly at 10 AM. She arrived looking excited but slightly nervous, dressed in comfortable athletic wear that would soon be replaced by layers of stiff fiberglass. I prepped the materials, laying out the casting tape in different colors, ready to encase her fully.

I started with her legs, carefully wrapping the soft padding around her skin to protect her from the heat of the fiberglass as it set. The moment the first roll of fiberglass tape touched her skin, Sam inhaled sharply. The material was warm as it activated, soft and pliable at first, but rapidly stiffening as I smoothed it into place.

She flexed her toes slightly before they disappeared beneath the layers, her movements growing more restricted with each pass of the tape. The fiberglass hardened quickly, and within minutes, her legs were completely encased from mid-thigh to her toes. I made sure her knees were set at a 90-degree angle, allowing her to sit comfortably.

“How does it feel?” I asked, glancing up at her. She bit her lip, shifting slightly in her seat. “It’s… different. Really different. The warmth is kind of comforting, but it’s strange how fast it goes from soft to solid. I can already tell—I can’t move at all.”

There was something in her tone—curiosity, maybe even a hint of enjoyment.

Next, I moved on to her arms. I repeated the process, carefully padding her limbs before applying the casting tape. This time, I decided to make things more restrictive—I covered her hands completely, forming them into useless fiberglass fists. Sam let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Wow… no fingers at all?”

I smirked.

“You wanted ‘strict’.”

She wiggled her arms slightly, testing the resistance, but the fiberglass was already setting, locking her limbs into place. I secured her elbows at a perfect 90-degree angle, ensuring she wouldn’t be able to extend or straighten them. She let out a slow exhale, sinking slightly into the chair.

“This is… intense.”

I watched as she shifted experimentally, her body adapting to the newfound immobility. Her breath had deepened slightly, and I couldn’t help but notice the way she was reacting—not just with curiosity, but with something deeper. I knelt beside her, checking the casts, making sure everything was secure.

“You’re completely locked in now,” I murmured, pressing gently against the firm fiberglass. She swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yeah… I really am.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air felt heavier, charged. I knew she had wanted to experience this, but I was beginning to realize just how much she was enjoying it.

And I wasn’t sure what that meant for either of us. Once I was finished, I made a place for her on the couch, figuring we could talk for a bit and I’d keep her entertained before eventually heading into my office to catch up on some work. There was no way she actually wanted to stay in the casts for 24 hours—at least, that’s what I told myself.

I carefully helped her onto the couch, arranging pillows to support her fully immobilized limbs, then moved her bag and shoes to a nearby chair. Just as I was about to sit down, my phone rang. Glancing at the screen, I saw it was my dad. I hesitated for a moment before answering, motioning to Sam that I’d just be a minute.

She nodded at first, but as I stepped toward my office, I caught a flicker of panic in her eyes. Her expression shifted—not exactly fear, but something close to it. A deep, instinctual unease at being left completely alone, unable to move. I paused, putting my hand over the mic. Leaning down slightly, I whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t leave.

I’ll be right back.”

She let out a breath she had been holding, nodding slightly, but the tension in her posture remained. I stepped into the office, keeping the door open, still able to see her out of the corner of my eye. As I spoke with my dad, my mind kept drifting back to her—trapped, helpless, and yet, completely absorbed in the experience she had asked for.

And I couldn’t help but wonder just how far she wanted to take this. I visited with Dad for about twenty minutes, and when I finally returned to the PT lab, I expected to find Sam relaxed, maybe even a little bored. But instead, she was in the exact same spot on the couch—only her entire demeanor had changed.

Her face was flushed, her breathing uneven, and her eyes were wide with a strange mix of panic and something else… something dangerously close to pleasure. She barely managed to look up at me before quickly pleading, "Kelly, I need your help… quickly, please?"

I was beside her in an instant, heart pounding at the desperation in her voice.

"What’s wrong?" I asked, scanning her over for any sign of pain or discomfort. Sam bit her lip, looking completely humiliated as she struggled to get the words out. "Kelly, I’m so embarrassed, but I need you to get into my bag. There’s a remote control inside, and I need you to turn it off. Please don’t ask questions… just help me."

Confused but unwilling to prolong whatever torment she was experiencing, I grabbed her oversized bag and started rummaging through it.

It was large, almost like a beach tote, and as soon as I glanced inside, I felt my own face flush hot. The bag was filled with an assortment of items from her side business—vibrators, restraints, bottles of massage oil, and other things I couldn’t even begin to process at that moment. Fumbling, I dug through the items, feeling my breath hitch as I finally located a small pink remote.

I held down the power button, watching Sam’s face intently. Her entire body sagged in relief, her eyes closing as she exhaled a deep, shaky breath. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice laced with exhaustion and residual pleasure. I stared at her, still gripping the remote as my mind worked overtime to piece together what had just happened.

Sam, seeing my expression, knew there was no way out of it now. She swallowed hard, then gave me a sheepish look that screamed, Okay, I’m busted. I might as well tell you everything. With another deep breath, she confessed. "Before I drove here this morning… I, uh… I inserted a vibrator that we sell in my shop.

It’s remote-controlled, and I had planned to turn it on myself when you weren’t in the room. Just for a little… extra sensation while being in the casts. But when you moved my bag earlier, I think something must have hit the remote, and it turned on by accident."

My eyes widened as her words sank in, my pulse kicking up a notch.

"Wait… so you mean—"

"Yes!" she interrupted, her voice a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "It’s been buzzing inside me for the last twenty minutes while you were on the phone, and I really thought my head was going to explode. I tried everything to reach the bag, but I can't even stand up. My hands are useless!

And I just wanted to push against it, but my arms are stuck at these damn right angles, and I can’t even get my useless fiberglass fists to my own lady parts!"

She groaned, closing her eyes, mortified. I stared at her, my mouth slightly open, my mind struggling to keep up. The idea of her trapped like that, helpless, unable to move, growing increasingly desperate with every passing minute, was… undeniably provocative.

My throat was dry, my fingers still clutching the remote a little too tightly. Sam, still recovering, finally cracked open an eye and caught me looking at her—really looking at her. And that was when the air between us changed. There was no going back now. And we both knew it. We stared at each other.

I think I was supposed to say something, but my mind was completely blank. I didn’t know whether to console her, tease her, or simply admire her sheer audacity. Sam’s face was still flushed, her breathing slightly uneven, her body trapped in the rigid fiberglass. I could tell she was mortified, the mix of helplessness and exposure leaving her vulnerable in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

She glanced down at her encased hands, flexing her fingers inside the hardened shells, her frustration palpable. But there was something else there too—an unspoken thrill. As my mind replayed everything, a realization hit me. Those toys in her bag—they weren’t for sale. They weren’t just inventory from her shop.

They were hers. Without thinking, I grabbed the bag and tipped its contents onto the table. The sound of silicone and metal hitting the surface filled the room as an array of items spilled out before us. My eyes flickered over them—two or three dildos of different sizes, a ball gag attached to some kind of harness, electrodes, nipple clamps, a blindfold, bottles of cream and lotion, and other things I couldn’t even begin to process.

I turned back to her, wide-eyed. "Are these yours? Do you play with these? Wait—" I glanced back at the items, my stomach flipping at the realization. "Were you wanting to play with these today?"

Sam’s face burned a deeper shade of red. She kept her eyes down, shifting in her spot, her bound limbs making even the smallest movement an effort.

She hesitated, visibly torn, before finally lifting her head and meeting my gaze. "Well… it’s not much of an option now, is it?" she muttered, motioning toward her useless fiberglass fists with a stiff shrug. The helplessness in her voice was laced with something else—something undeniably intoxicating.

She quickly looked away again, swallowing hard. I watched her, piecing it all together, and then it clicked. "Wait…" My voice was slower now, more deliberate. "I’m in control of you now, aren’t I? That’s exactly what you wanted."

Sam kept her head down, her breath shallow. Then, after a pause, she nodded—slowly, deliberately.

Complete Control

And just like that, a new line had been crossed, and neither of us could pretend otherwise. I spent the next two hours taking complete control over Sam. Although I was well-versed in orthopedic casts and limb immobilization, I had far less experience in the world of kink and bondage. The closest I had come was a few years ago when an ex-boyfriend introduced me to rope bondage.

He had been fascinated by the precision of intricate knots, and on occasion, he would tie me up in ways that left me utterly helpless. At first, I found it unnerving—the sheer loss of control, the inability to move—but once I relaxed into it, there had been something undeniably thrilling about the vulnerability, about surrendering to the moment.

I could only assume that was the same feeling Sam was searching for now. And I had no real reason not to grant her this experience. I wasn’t necessarily into women, but indulging her curiosity cost me nothing, and part of me was intrigued by the dynamics at play. She had already started this journey with the arm and leg casts that locked her limbs in place, but with minimal effort, I could take her immobility to an entirely new level.

I began by placing a 20-inch wooden brace between her elbows and securing it to her existing casts with additional layers of fiberglass. The rigid support locked her arms together in front of her, limiting her movement to only slight up-and-down motions. Next, I repeated the process between her wrists, ensuring that even the smallest flex of her arms was impossible.

Sam tested the restraints briefly, her fingers clenching inside their fiberglass prisons, and I caught the way her breathing deepened as she realized just how little she could do. Next, I moved to her legs. A 24-inch brace between her knees and a 30-inch brace between her ankles ensured that her lower body was just as restricted.

The spread position rendered her completely dependent, her entire lower half locked in place with no way to shift, twist, or press her legs together. Finally, I connected a 30-inch brace between her elbows and knees, completely fixing her into a squared position—her body molded into a rigid structure with only her spine able to arch or shift.

Through it all, Sam remained mostly quiet, watching me with wide, uncertain eyes. I tried making small talk, attempting to gauge her mood, but she offered little in return. Her silence wasn’t discomfort—at least, not in the way one might expect. It was something deeper. It was focus. She was lost in the sensation, in the slow process of losing every last bit of control over her own movements.

Her breathing had changed. It had become slower, more measured, like she was sinking into an almost meditative state. But when I moved her onto the floor, positioning her on all fours, I noticed something else. The moment I turned her away from me, so she could no longer see what I was doing, her body language changed.

She flexed slightly, testing her restraints, her breath catching as she found no give. She was truly at my mercy now. I left her there as I turned my attention to the items she had brought. The table was still scattered with the contents of her bag, an array of items that spoke to a much deeper level of curiosity than she had ever let on before.

As I picked up and examined each object, I could feel her presence behind me—straining slightly, trying to turn, desperate to see what I was doing. After a few minutes, her voice cut through the quiet. “What are you doing back there?”

I didn’t answer immediately, dragging my fingers idly over the selection in front of me.

Among them were multiple vibrators, restraints, and a set of clamps that made me pause in curiosity. But what stood out the most were the dildos—three of them, in wildly different sizes. The smallest was barely six inches long, modest in both shape and width. The second was more average, something that wouldn’t be out of place in a typical shop.

But the third…

The third was excessive. Fifteen inches in length, with a girth that was almost intimidating. The exaggerated veins along the shaft, the pronounced curve, and the oversized base made it look more like a novelty than anything practical. I held it in my hands, turning it over, marveling at the sheer size.

Behind me, Sam shifted, straining against her bonds. “Kelly?” she tried again, her voice tinged with something I couldn’t quite place—nervousness? Excitement? “Are you still there?”

I smirked slightly to myself before finally stepping back into her view. When I crouched in front of her, holding up the largest of the dildos, her eyes widened instantly.

I watched her reaction closely—the way she inhaled sharply, her gaze darting from the object in my hands to my face, as if deciding whether to deny or explain. I tilted my head, arching a brow. “Sam,” I asked, my voice calm but questioning. “What exactly do you use this for?”

Her face turned an even deeper shade of red.

She lowered her head, her usual boldness stripped away as she was left completely exposed in more ways than one. I had found her limit. The moment she had to explain her own desires—to actually say them out loud—was the moment she found herself unable to speak. And for the first time since this started, she was completely, deliciously powerless.

As I knelt there, watching her struggle with her embarrassment, I felt something stirring inside me—something unfamiliar, something I had never associated with my work before. Casting had always been clinical, professional. It was my job, a routine part of my day. But this? This was different. Seeing Sam like this—completely bound, helpless, her body rigid in the glossy fiberglass, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts—was something else entirely.

She looked stunning, her normally confident and teasing demeanor replaced by raw vulnerability. The way her toned figure curved in the rigid casts, the way her lips parted as she fought against the emotions coursing through her—it was undeniably sensual. I had never looked at her like this before, never even considered the idea that watching someone submit so completely could stir something deep inside me.

But now, as I ran my fingers lightly over the firm fiberglass encasing her, as I saw the way she shivered slightly at my touch, I realized that something had shifted. This wasn’t just about her anymore. I was enjoying this, too. As I returned to the table behind her, my eyes flicked back to the pink remote still resting among the scattered toys.

The vibrator was still inside her, nestled deep, lying dormant—but that wouldn’t do, not if I was going to make the most of this experience for her. I picked up the remote and, with a deliberate press of my thumb, set it to a randomized pattern, adjusting both the intensity and the rhythm to fluctuate unpredictably.

The moment the vibrations kicked in, Sam’s entire body tensed, as much as it could given her constraints. A sharp inhale filled the quiet space before she let out a helpless moan. Her fingers flexed instinctively inside their fiberglass prisons, her toes curling as much as they could inside the rigid encasement.

She turned her head as far as she could, her voice breathless and filled with shock and pleasure. "What are you doing back there?!" she gasped, her voice laced with both excitement and frustration. The randomness of the pulses left her with no control, no way to predict when the next wave of pleasure would hit.

A new idea sparked in my mind. If I was going to strip away all of her control, I might as well take it as far as I could. I left her there, writhing as best as she could in her rigid fiberglass prison, and made my way to the supply room. My heart was pounding as I scanned the shelves, searching for the perfect addition to her restraint.

Add-ons

My fingers brushed over the selection of orthopedic supports before I found what I needed—a rigid cervical collar. Grabbing it, I hurried back to the lab, my pulse thrumming in time with Sam’s increasingly desperate sounds. When I returned, she was still struggling against her unyielding binds, trying to shift her weight, arch her back—anything to create friction to chase the pleasure that was so close yet so frustratingly out of her control.

I climbed astride her, straddling her back to keep her still as I fitted the neck brace around her slender throat. She gasped as I tightened it, forcing her head into a perfectly neutral position, no longer able to turn or lift it. "No more looking around," I murmured, securing the brace snugly in place.

She let out a shuddering breath, her body quivering beneath me. "Kelly—"

But I wasn’t finished. I reached for the fiberglass wrap, the same material that held her limbs in place, and began wrapping it around the brace itself. Layer by layer, I reinforced the collar, ensuring there was no way she could dislodge it.

Sam let out a soft, helpless whimper as she realized what I had done. Her world had just gotten infinitely smaller. She could no longer move her head, could no longer see what I was doing, no longer anticipate my next move. Her only view was of the floor beneath her, her world reduced to the feeling of rigid fiberglass locking her in place and the relentless, unpredictable pulses deep inside her.

The vibrator continued its work, sending jolts of pleasure through her, keeping her right on the edge, but her body—her entire frame—was utterly motionless. She tried everything to move, to grind against something, to create some form of stimulation that might tip her over the edge, but it was impossible.

Her only movement was the faint flexing of her back, a futile effort that only emphasized just how little control she had left. I had never had total control over another person before. The realization sent a strange thrill through me—one part power, one part responsibility. I was in charge of her pleasure, her experience, her safety.

I was the architect of her helplessness. And it wasn’t just affecting her. I could feel the heat pooling inside me, a slow-building arousal that I hadn’t anticipated. Sam let out another frustrated moan, the desperation in her voice impossible to miss. "Kelly, please—"

Her words were cut off by a sudden shudder as another unexpected vibration coursed through her.

I watched, mesmerized, as she bit her lip, trying to stifle her response. But then, as the weight of her predicament settled over her, her voice shifted. The teasing edge was gone, replaced by something that sounded dangerously close to panic. "What time is it?" she blurted out. "What are you going to do now?

You can’t just leave me like this!"

I smirked, running a slow hand down the rigid fiberglass coating her spine. "I thought you wanted the full experience?"

She swallowed hard, flexing her fingers again, as if testing—confirming—just how trapped she was.

I tilted my head, studying her, feeling the weight of the moment between us. "Talk to me," she pleaded. "I need to hear your voice."

She was entirely at my mercy. And now, we both knew it. I knew exactly what she needed right now. There was a tension in her voice, an unspoken plea hidden beneath her flustered words.

Whether she realized it or not, she was sinking deeper into the experience, teetering on the line between resistance and surrender. And I was the one holding her there. Moving back to the table, I scanned the scattered selection of restraints and toys, my fingers landing on the large black O-ring gag.

It was sleek, sturdy, and unforgiving—the perfect tool to strip away the last bit of control she had left. I returned to her and once again straddled her back, pressing her more firmly into the floor. The rigid fiberglass held her in place as I reached for her jaw, my fingers tilting her chin just enough to part her lips.

Her breath hitched, and though she made a muffled sound of protest, she didn’t fight me. “Open,” I murmured, as if she had a choice. Slowly, I worked the ring between her teeth, feeling the resistance of her jaw before it finally gave way. I tugged the leather straps behind her head, pulling them tighter, forcing her mouth open to its limit before securing the buckle at the nape of her neck.

There was no way she could work the gag out now, no way to close her lips, no way to form anything more than garbled, unintelligible sounds. Immediately, a thick string of drool slipped past her lips, trailing down her chin and dripping onto the floor below. She tried to swallow, but the sheer size of the ring made it impossible to manage her saliva.

The effect was instant—she was reduced to desperate, garbled mumbling, her eyes flickering between pleading and arousal. I had seen O-ring gags before, but never like this. Never in practice. Never on someone completely bound, unable to move, unable to do anything but endure. I couldn’t help but wonder.

Why would someone willingly put themselves in this position? What was the true purpose of a gag like this? The answer was obvious. It was designed to make the wearer usable. To turn their mouth into something accessible. Vulnerable. I had to test the theory. My eyes drifted back to the table, and I selected the medium-sized dildo from the collection.

I positioned myself in front of Sam, sitting directly before her, ensuring that she could see what was coming even though she could do absolutely nothing to stop it. “I think we should see how well this works,” I said softly, tapping the tip of the phallus against her lower lip. Her eyes widened immediately, her body stiffening as she let out a muffled whimper.

She tried to shake her head, but the rigid neck brace rendered her completely immobile. The only response she could give was the frantic flicker of her eyes, her muffled noises lost in a pool of saliva. I took that as a sign of curiosity. Slowly, I pressed the tip past the O-ring, watching as her lips stretched around the girth.

The phallus slid effortlessly through the opening, her mouth left completely defenseless to the intrusion. Her breath hitched as it advanced deeper, her body trembling beneath the constraints of her fiberglass prison. At a critical moment, I noticed the shift in her expression. Her eyes went impossibly wide, her throat convulsing as she reached the limit of what she could take.

A choked sound escaped her, her attempts at protest swallowed by the sheer helplessness of her position. I withdrew slightly, then eased back in, repeating the slow, deliberate motion. Each thrust was met with another flood of saliva, dribbling down her chin in thick rivulets, pooling onto the floor beneath her.

Her body tensed, flexing futilely, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t pull away. She couldn’t resist. She could only endure. The power of it sent a slow, intoxicating shiver through me. I continued for another moment, watching as she teetered between resistance and surrender, before finally easing the phallus away and reaching behind her head to unbuckle the gag.

The second the leather straps came undone, her jaw slackened, her chest rising and falling as she sucked in deep, ragged breaths. For the first time since this began, she was quiet. I crouched in front of her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her damp forehead. “Are you okay?” I asked, my voice softer now, the intensity of the moment settling between us.

She didn’t speak right away. She swallowed, her throat bobbing as she regained her composure, then finally—finally—lifted her gaze to mine. Her voice was hoarse, but undeniable. “Yes.”

A pause. Then, more softly: “…Did you enjoy that?”

A thrill ran through me at the question, at the realization that this wasn’t just about her anymore.

“Yes,” I admitted, my pulse thrumming. “I think I did.”

And that was all she needed to hear. Sam needed a moment to rest, her body slackening against the rigid bonds as she caught her breath. I could hear the soft, uneven rise and fall of her breathing, could see the way the last remnants of tension trembled through her muscles before fading into exhaustion.

Reflections

She was completely spent, her body still locked in fiberglass, but her mind floating somewhere between surrender and satisfaction. And yet, I couldn’t focus on her right now—because my own body was betraying me in ways I had never expected. I couldn’t believe how turned on I was. My pulse was erratic, my skin hot, a slow, insistent ache blooming deep in my core.

This was different—completely different—from anything I had ever experienced. It wasn’t just about control, wasn’t just about the power dynamic. It was her. It was Sam, bound and vulnerable beneath me, her helplessness radiating an intoxicating energy that I couldn’t ignore. I felt a flicker of shame twist inside me.

Was this wrong? She had wanted this, had asked for every layer of restriction, but now she was at my mercy—completely dependent on me. And yet… I couldn’t stop the way my stomach tightened with arousal, couldn’t ignore the way my thighs had been pressing together in a subconscious search for friction.

Needing a distraction, I turned my focus back to her table, scanning through the remaining items strewn across the surface. My fingers trailed over the smooth silicone of a small, discreet device, barely larger than the palm of my hand. A clitoral vibrator. The moment my fingertips brushed over it, a sharp jolt of curiosity pulsed through me.

What does this feel like? I had seen plenty of vibrators before, had even owned a basic one at some point, but this one looked… different. Sleek, powerful, designed for precision. And right now, standing here in the charged silence of the room, my body aching for relief, I was desperately curious. Before I could overthink it, I slipped the vibrator into my panties, nestling it snugly against the most sensitive part of me.

My breath hitched at the initial contact, but it wasn’t until I grabbed the remote and flicked it on that the real shock hit me. The sensation was instant. A gasp tore from my lips as an intense, pulsing vibration surged through me, sending my knees trembling. My body jerked at the sudden stimulation, the pleasure so sharp and immediate that I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.

Oh my god. It was too much—too sudden, too overwhelming—but at the same time, it was exactly what I needed. I bit my lip hard, stifling a moan as the vibrations sent shockwaves through my core. My legs squeezed together instinctively, but the pressure only intensified the sensation. I had never felt anything this powerful before, never experienced a toy that could unravel me so quickly.

My head spun as I adjusted the settings, switching through the pulsing patterns, experimenting with the depths of pleasure they offered. I could feel the wet heat pooling between my thighs, my body responding so eagerly, so helplessly, that it almost embarrassed me. Almost. But then I turned and caught sight of Sam—still bound, still panting softly, still unable to do anything but listen.

And somehow, that made it even better. With Sam still locked in complete immobility, I reached for the soft silk blindfold, carefully positioning it over her eyes. Her breathing hitched the moment the fabric settled against her skin, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her world faded into darkness. It was one thing to be unable to move, but now she couldn’t even see what was coming next.

Her body shuddered beneath me, instinctively reacting to the complete sensory deprivation. I knew that taking away her sight would intensify everything—the anticipation, the helplessness, the raw vulnerability of being at my mercy. And yet, I wasn’t done stripping away her control. I retrieved the red ball gag, letting my fingers trace over the smooth, silicone sphere before pressing it gently against her lips.

“Open,” I commanded softly. She hesitated, but with her arms and legs already locked in fiberglass, she had no choice but to obey. Her lips parted just enough for me to slide the ball past them, filling her mouth completely. The moment the gag settled between her teeth, she let out a stifled sound of protest—muffled, desperate.

Her jaw stretched wide, and I pulled the leather straps behind her head, buckling them tightly, deliberately securing them to the last hole. I wanted her to feel it—to know that this wasn’t just for show. The gag forced her to submit to it fully, her lips stretched around the unyielding sphere, saliva already starting to pool at the corners of her mouth.

A deep, shuddering exhale slipped past her nostrils, and for the first time, she gave a small shake of her fists, testing the fiberglass. She wasn’t fighting me—she couldn’t fight me—but I could tell she was feeling the full weight of her situation now. Completely blind. Completely silent. Completely mine.

I stepped away from her for a moment, giving myself space to think—to breathe. My heart was racing in my chest, and as I turned back to the table, I couldn’t ignore the heat pooling low in my stomach. What would it take to make Sam come? The vibrator alone wasn’t enough. She needed more. I let my fingers skim over the selection of toys before settling on the smallest dildo.

It was simple, modest—nothing like the monstrous size of the largest one still lying untouched on the table. This would be a test, a way to gauge exactly how her body would respond under such extreme conditions. I coated the smooth surface in a thick layer of lubricant before moving back to her. She twitched slightly as she felt me kneel behind her, her breath coming out in short, sharp bursts.

She had no idea what was about to happen—she couldn’t see, she couldn’t ask. She could only feel. I started slow, dragging the tip of the dildo over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, teasing the delicate surface of her panties. Even through the blindfold, I could tell she was trying to process the sensation, her body tightening instinctively with every light touch.

Her muffled moans deepened, and she flexed her fingers inside the casts, helplessly searching for something—anything—to ground herself. I kept the teasing slow, deliberate, brushing the rubber against the soaked fabric between her legs, pressing just enough to make her ache for more. Then, without warning, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugged them to the side.

Sam let out a sharp inhale, her body tensing, and I didn’t give her a chance to prepare. I pressed the tip inside her, sliding the small dildo deep with one smooth motion. Her reaction was instant. A choked gasp broke through the gag, her body jerking against the rigid fiberglass, but she had nowhere to go.

She couldn’t pull away, couldn’t resist—she could only take it. I moved it inside her, pressing it deeper, twisting the angle, watching the way her body responded to every shift. Her moans turned to desperate whimpers, her thighs trembling against the restraints, her body arching as much as she was able.

But as I worked the toy inside her, something felt off. She was taking it too easily—too comfortably. She could handle more. I withdrew the smaller dildo, setting it aside, and reached for the medium-sized one instead. This would be a better test, a better fit. Coating it in a generous amount of lubricant, I positioned the head at her entrance, teasing her for only a moment before pushing the thick shaft just past her lips.

Sam screamed. The sound was raw, muffled by the gag, but unmistakable. Her entire body stiffened, every muscle tightening in response as the new size stretched her open. The fiberglass held her firm, allowing no retreat, no escape—she was completely helpless to take whatever I gave her. Her breath came in short, frantic bursts, her moans dissolving into desperate, needy sounds as I kept the slow, deep rhythm.

I could feel the way she clenched around it, her body betraying her, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation despite her helplessness. I had never seen anything like this before. Never felt anything like this before. And god help me, I never wanted it to end. I wasn’t entirely sure if Sam had just come, so I paused, watching her closely, listening to the rapid rise and fall of her breath.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was her muffled whimpers, the erratic way she tried to steady herself. She was utterly lost in the experience—trapped in her own body, unable to do anything but feel. Then, she started to move—or at least, tried to. Her back arched in a slow, desperate rhythm, the only movement she could manage given that her shoulders and hips were locked rigidly in fiberglass.

It was subtle, restrained, but unmistakable—her body was begging. Sam had never felt anything like this. Every nerve in her body was on fire, her senses heightened by her complete lack of control. The blindfold kept her in darkness, forcing her to rely only on sensation. The gag silenced her, making her desire completely inexpressible except through helpless whimpers and moans.

The fiberglass kept her limbs utterly useless, denying her even the smallest amount of relief. And now, this—this deep, filling pressure inside her, holding her in place at the very edge of pleasure, making her entire body ache for more. Oh god, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. She was trying to tell me, but she could only arch her back, a futile attempt to push herself further, to take more, to chase something she had no way of controlling.

I took the cue, gripping the base of the toy and thrusting the entire length deep inside her, burying it in one firm, deliberate motion. Sam gasped—a sharp, choked inhale that never turned into an exhale. She held her breath, her body tensing, her fingers twitching inside their fiberglass prisons. The pleasure was unbearable, overwhelming, so intense that she didn’t dare move—like she was trying to hold onto the feeling, to stretch the sensation for as long as humanly possible.

And then I started moving again. Slow, then deep. A steady rhythm. Each thrust sent a shuddering jolt of pleasure through her immobilized body, and this time, she whined. Soft at first, but with every stroke, it grew louder, more desperate. It wasn’t just sound—it was pure frustration, pure need. Her head wanted to fall back in surrender, but the rigid brace denied her even that.

Her fingers clenched into useless fists. The chains between her legs rattled slightly as she tried to grind against something, anything, but there was no escape. No friction. No relief. I could feel it—Sam was close. So close that she was trembling now, her moans rising in pitch, her body begging for release.

And then—just as she was at the peak—I pulled the dildo out. A wail tore from her throat, muffled by the gag but unmistakable. A raw, desperate cry that echoed through the room as her body convulsed, her entire form jerking in protest. No no no no NO—

I heard the muffled sound of words—something barely decipherable through the gag—but as I listened closely, I caught it.

“Eaaase…”

She was pleading. Please don’t stop. Please don’t do this to me. Please let me come. I smirked, watching her squirm, watching her body flex against the restraints in a futile attempt to reclaim what I had just stolen from her. But it was no use. She was completely mine—helpless to do anything except endure.

I turned my attention back to the table, running my fingers over the array of toys, contemplating my next move. Some of the equipment I didn’t recognize, but one item stood out—two small silver clips connected by a delicate chain. I knew immediately what they were for. Sam was still wearing her bra, the expensive black fabric supporting her in a way that, under normal circumstances, would have been beautiful.

But now, with her body trapped in fiberglass, her chest was forced downward, the position pushing her breasts forward, making them look almost like they were spilling out of the delicate material. I moved behind her, carefully sliding my hands inside the cups of her bra, feeling the warmth of her skin as I reached for her soft, sensitive nipples.

Sam gasped against the gag, her body twitching at the unexpected contact. She was already so sensitive, already so on edge. I attached the first clamp with a sharp click, feeling her body jerk violently against the fiberglass. A high-pitched whimper escaped her lips, her breath ragged as she tried to adjust to the new sensation.

Then, the second. Her entire body tensed—a shudder that rippled through her, her chest rising sharply before she let out a slow, broken moan. She couldn’t move away. She couldn’t even flinch properly. The clamps held firm, tugging at her delicate flesh with every tiny motion, amplifying every sensation, sending sharp pleasure and pain coursing through her nerves.

I traced a finger along the dangling chain, feeling the weight of it against her skin before giving it a slow, deliberate tug. Sam yelped. The sound was immediate, raw, a delicious mix of pain and arousal. I smirked, running my fingers over the taut chain again. This was going to be fun. I didn’t want Sam to orgasm too soon—we had so much time left.

She was already teetering on the edge, her body wound impossibly tight, the clamps, the fiberglass, the unrelenting denial keeping her in an exquisite state of frustration. It was tempting to keep going, to push her past that threshold, but we weren’t even close to finished yet. Instead, I retreated to the table, letting my fingers brush over the scattered collection of toys, my mind swirling with possibility.

Self-awareness

My body was still thrumming, still electrified with the residual pleasure from earlier, and I found myself craving that sensation again. My hand instinctively reached for the small remote resting beside me. I flicked the vibrator back on. The moment it surged to life, a sharp, intoxicating pulse spread through my core.

My legs tensed, my breath catching in my throat as the vibrations settled into a relentless rhythm. It felt different this time—heightened, charged with the undeniable thrill of everything unfolding in front of me. And then, it hit me. This—this feeling—was what made bondage so intoxicating. I had control right now.

I could turn the vibrator off, adjust the speed, choose when I wanted pleasure. Sam couldn’t. Sam had no say. She was completely at my mercy, trapped in an experience she had willingly surrendered herself to, and that lack of control must’ve been exhilarating for her. And yet, in a way, I was bound too.

I wanted to feel it—to understand what Sam was experiencing. Without even thinking, my hands moved to my breasts, massaging them through my thin shirt, rolling my nipples between my fingers, heightening the pleasure vibrating between my legs. My mind was buzzing, my body alive with a sensation I had never experienced before.

Why was this so good? Why did the idea of being restrained—of losing that choice—make the pleasure even sharper? My eyes drifted to the collection of gags on the table. Slowly, hesitantly, I picked up the large red ball gag, the same size as the one currently stuffed between Sam’s lips. It felt foreign in my hands—heavy, sturdy, unfamiliar.

My fingers trembled slightly as I brought it to my mouth, my lips parting as I pushed the ball past them, stretching my jaw uncomfortably wide. The moment it settled against my tongue, I understood. The vulnerability. The power shift. The helplessness of it. I buckled it tightly behind my head, securing it snugly into place, my breath coming in shorter, sharper bursts as my body adjusted to the restriction.

It was a strange, intoxicating sensation—one that made my heart race with something dangerously close to exhilaration. And the best part? Sam would never know. She couldn’t see me. She had no idea that I was just as bound as she was now, silenced, gagged, vibrating with pleasure as I stood just feet away from her.

The thought sent a delicious shiver down my spine. I wanted to explore this. And now, I was going to. It was time. The largest of the dildos rested heavily in my palm, its sheer size almost comical compared to the first toy I had used. But I wasn’t laughing—this was a test, a challenge, a final push to see just how far Sam’s body could go.

I coated the massive tip in an abundance of lubricant, watching it glisten under the dim light. I had no idea if it would fit, but there was only one way to find out. Without warning, I pressed the thick head against her slick entrance and pushed. Sam’s reaction was instant. A muffled, startled scream tore through her gag as her body fought to accommodate the sudden intrusion.

I felt the resistance, the tight, trembling hesitation of her body trying to adjust. But then, just as I thought I might need to ease back, something shifted. Her body gave in. The moment the swollen head breached her, she sucked it inside, the first eight inches disappearing into her with a wet, obscene ease.

Sam yelled—a sound so raw, so desperate, that I immediately paused. My hands froze, my body tensing as I watched her closely, checking for signs of discomfort. She squirmed as much as she could in her restraints, her muffled cries turning into frantic whimpers. “Are you okay, Sam?” I asked, my voice softer now, waiting for a signal.

Her reply came quickly, her voice high-pitched and breathless through the gag. “Es! Es! Es!”

Then, a long, helpless whine. That was all I needed. I gripped the thick base and thrust. Her entire body jerked within the fiberglass prison, her breath catching violently as the massive phallus stretched her wider than anything before.

Every stroke sent the symbolic black balls slamming against her most sensitive places, the rhythmic smack filling the room alongside her frantic, muffled screams. Her cries followed a pattern now, a desperate, high-pitched wail with every deep push, each thrust dragging her closer to the inevitable. She was losing herself completely.

I could see it happening—the way her body trembled, the way her fingers twitched inside their hardened casts, the way she fought against her restraints in the most primal way possible, despite knowing there was no escape. She needed this. And I was going to give it to her. I quickened the pace, my movements precise, relentless, watching as her muffled screams climbed in intensity, her body locking up in response.

The moment was coming—I could feel it in the way her moans grew erratic, her sounds turning from rhythmic to uncontrolled, to pleading. Then, it happened. Without warning, her muffled cries shifted into one long, unbroken scream. A sound so raw, so guttural, it sent a shiver down my spine. She had hit the edge, and now she was free-falling, her body locked in a climax so powerful that she couldn’t even fight it.

Her entire form tensed, her back arching high despite the fiberglass keeping her trapped. The scream lasted impossibly long—thirty seconds, forty, a minute—as her body convulsed helplessly, pleasure overtaking her completely. She had no control. No escape. No choice but to surrender. And god, she did.

Finally, her breath gave out, her body collapsing as the scream faded into a soft, shuddering whimper. Her back sagged, her muscles relaxing in exhaustion, her entire being spent. I held still for a moment, letting her come down, watching the way her body trembled in the aftermath. Only then did I slowly, carefully, retract the massive phallus.

She let out a final yelp, her body flinching slightly as it left her. And then, silence. Just the sound of her breath—deep, slow, satisfied. I had done it. And now, I wasn’t sure who had enjoyed it more. I let a minute pass, allowing the room to settle, the intensity of the moment still lingering in the air between us.

Sam’s body remained slack within her restraints, her breath slowing, her muscles trembling from the aftershocks of her release. She was completely spent. A wave of something—tenderness, maybe—washed over me. I reached for the warm blanket draped over the couch and carefully spread it over her bound frame, tucking it gently around her to shield her from the cool air.

Even though she couldn’t move, I wanted her to feel cared for, wanted her to know that I wasn’t just some merciless captor. This was about her, about what she had needed. And now, she needed rest. Moving to kneel in front of her, I reached for the straps of her ball gag, carefully unbuckling them and sliding the rubber sphere from between her lips.

A string of thick saliva followed, and she instinctively swallowed, flexing her sore jaw for the first time in what must have felt like hours. Next, I pulled off the blindfold, watching as her eyelids fluttered, blinking slowly as she adjusted to the dim light. She was still dazed, still floating somewhere between exhaustion and euphoria.

I wanted her to see me. Gently, I lay down on my back, positioning myself beneath her face so that when she opened her eyes fully, I would be the first thing she saw. “How are you doing?” I murmured, my voice softer now, intimate. She let out a deep, satisfied sigh, her lips parting as she collected the excess saliva that had built up in her mouth.

Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled. A slow, sleepy, completely content smile. She didn’t need to say anything. The way her eyes softened, the way her entire body seemed to relax as she exhaled—it told me everything. She had gotten exactly what she wanted. And now, she was completely safe.

Her eyelids drooped, the weight of exhaustion pulling her down. I had never seen Sam like this—so raw, so vulnerable, so completely given over to something greater than herself. And as I lay there, staring up at her, it hit me. This wasn’t just about casting. This wasn’t just a curiosity, a fetish she wanted to explore.

Sam needed this. Somewhere deep inside her, she had been craving this—desperate to be taken, to be helpless, to have every ounce of control stripped away until she had no choice but to surrender. I had always heard that people with control issues often gravitated toward bondage. Some sought to dominate, to own the power, while others longed for the opposite—to be forced into submission, to give their control away.

And Sam? She needed to be owned. I watched as her breathing evened out, her eyelashes fluttering closed, her body melting further into its rigid confinement. She was on the brink of sleep. But as much as I wanted to let her rest, reality was creeping back in. It was going to take every bit of an hour to cut her free from all the casting we had created.

And honestly? I had never removed someone from such an intricate scenario before. I wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take, or what state she would be in when I was finally done. Still, I knew she needed to be freed, and it was better to start now than wait until she was completely unconscious. Reluctantly, I stood and made my way into the supply closet, retrieving the cast saw and the necessary tools.

When I returned, I began setting up, placing protective cloth beneath her and checking the oscillating blade. I flicked the power switch. The high-pitched whirrrr of the saw filled the room, a sharp mechanical contrast to the quiet intimacy that had settled over us. And then—

“Wait, wait—!”

Sam’s panicked voice broke through the moment, her body jerking as much as the fiberglass restraints allowed.

I immediately shut the saw off, my heart pounding as I moved toward her, scanning her face for distress. “Sam?” I asked gently. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips parted, her breathing suddenly shallow. I watched her for a second, waiting. And then I saw it. That look in her eyes. The need. The longing. The sheer, unfiltered desperation.

She wasn’t ready to be free. Not yet. “Yes… are you okay?” I asked, my voice softer now, searching her face for any sign of distress. Sam took a slow, shuddering breath, her body still trembling from the intensity of what we had just shared. Her lips were slightly parted, her expression raw, exposed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Well… not fine, but I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice unsteady but determined. There was something fragile about the way she said it—like she was still processing, still adjusting to the reality of her own choices. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers twitching inside their fiberglass prisons before she spoke again.

“Listen… I made a pledge to commit to 24 hours in these casts. I had no idea what you were capable of, and I never imagined I’d be in this kind of position, but if possible… I’d really like to try to make it the whole time.”

I blinked, glancing at the clock. We had started this journey in the late afternoon—four o’clock, maybe—and now, it was nearly midnight.

Fiberglass Support

The clinic would open at 8 AM, meaning she wasn’t even halfway through the 24-hour challenge. I studied her carefully. She can’t possibly make it. Not like this. Not when exhaustion was already setting in, her muscles aching despite the rigidity of the casts keeping her in place. But then I saw it in her eyes—that unwavering, stubborn determination.

The same look she used to give me in high school when she refused to back down from a dare, when she wanted to prove something to herself. And I realized… this wasn’t just about endurance. This was personal to her. She was begging me to help her succeed, and how could I deny her that? “Aren’t you tired?” I asked gently.

“Yes, of course,” she admitted, her voice small. “But I think I could rest like this… maybe for just a few hours. My arms and legs are fine, but my back is so tired.”

I ran my fingers softly over her shoulder, tracing the edge of the fiberglass, feeling the faint tremble in her muscles. Of course she was tired.

Every other joint in her body was locked in place—her arms, her legs, even her neck—but her spine? Her back muscles were doing all the work to keep her upright, to hold her entire weight. She must have been aching. An idea clicked in my mind. I can fix this. “I have an idea,” I said softly, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Let me take care of you.”

She gave a small, weary nod, trusting me completely. I ran back to the cast room, my mind working through the logistics. If she really wanted to make it until tomorrow afternoon, I needed to make some serious modifications. I grabbed enough fiberglass to extend her cast into a total body cast—one that would not only immobilize her further but support her spine completely, allowing her to rest rather than strain.

I spread the materials out in front of me, formulating the plan. The extensions would cover her torso, locking her upper body in place, giving her a solid platform to relieve the pressure from her back. It would support her chest and abdomen, distributing her weight evenly, allowing her muscles to relax for the first time since this began.

But as I set everything up, more questions filtered through my mind. If she was truly going to try to last until tomorrow, what was I going to do with her while I was at the clinic? She would need basic care—water, food. Should I get her something now? Could she even sleep in this position? And lastly…

I glanced over at the coffee table, still littered with sex toys.

What the hell do I do with all of this? I looked back at Sam, her exhausted but determined face resting on the floor, the rise and fall of her breath slow and steady. She had given herself over to this completely. And now, it was my job to take care of her. The first step was care. I fetched Sam a glass of water with a straw, kneeling beside her as I guided it to her lips.

The moment she tasted the cool liquid, she let out a deep, relieved sigh, drinking greedily as if she hadn’t had water in days. I had vastly underestimated how thirsty she must have been, how completely dependent she was on me to tend to her most basic needs. This wasn’t just play anymore. This was something more.

Once she had her fill, I moved on to the next step—preparing her for the long night ahead. I scanned the table of toys and devices, considering my options. Which of these would she enjoy most over the next sixteen hours? What could I do to ensure she experienced the full scope of helplessness and pleasure while keeping her safe?

But first, logistics. I helped her use a bedpan, a delicate and somewhat awkward process given her lack of movement. But it was necessary. Once she was clean and settled again, I moved to the next step, making sure every detail was perfect. I selected a stunningly crafted, polished metal butt plug with a soft pink jewel at the base.

The sheer elegance of it made me pause for a moment, admiring its design. It was both functional and beautiful—something that would serve a purpose but also serve as a symbol of her submission. With considerable lubrication, I inserted it slowly, carefully, watching for any signs of discomfort. Sam moaned softly through her gag, her body trembling slightly, adjusting to the intrusion.

Next, I attached electrode pads to the most intimate places—two on either side of her sex, another pair on each breast. I hadn’t used electrostimulation before, but I knew it could provide constant, rhythmic pulses of pleasure or light tingles of torment, depending on how I set the controls. How does it feel to have no control at all, Sam?

I thought, my own heartbeat racing as I watched her body react to each addition, each new layer of restriction. Then came the next phase—true entrapment. I worked methodically, wrapping her torso in soft cast padding before applying the fiberglass layers. With each wrap, I sealed her further into the unyielding cocoon, encasing her in a shell that would not yield, would not bend.

Hour by hour, I transformed her. By the time I was finished, it was 2:00 AM. She was fully encased, sealed from the neck down with nothing but her head exposed to the air. Every muscle, every limb, every inch of her from the shoulders down was solid. Her body was locked in fiberglass as firm as concrete, helplessly sealed within her rigid prison.

And I wasn’t done yet. Thinking ahead, I casted a small loop into the fiberglass at her back—something that would allow me to lift and transport her using a standard patient transport lift. After all, she couldn’t move. If I needed to reposition her, I would have to move her entirely. But the final touch?

As I sealed the last few layers around her waist, I casted her Magic Wand in place—pressed directly against her clitoris. Sam was fully, utterly helpless. She was both my victim and my responsibility. I took a step back, looking at my work with a mixture of satisfaction and awe. I had never done anything like this before.

And yet… It felt natural, intuitive. I enjoyed it. But there was still one last adjustment. She couldn’t sleep like this—not in the rigid all-fours position she was currently in. I needed to shift her into something more comfortable. Using a simple strap secured to the front bar between her arms, I gently lifted her into the air, tilting her backward until she was suspended at an angle.

The shift naturally positioned her face-up, reclining her body to a 30-degree horizontal angle—something resembling a floating recliner. The result was strange but effective. Her rigid limbs stuck out in the air—both arms and legs frozen in their casted positions—but she no longer had to support her own weight.

The pressure on her back had been relieved, allowing her muscles to finally relax. I stood back, hands on my hips, admiring my own ingenuity. I made this possible. I had taken her body, her desires, her needs, and crafted something entirely new—something I never imagined myself creating. And then I realized—she had no idea what she looked like.

It was important to show her. I retrieved a mirror and held it up in front of her, watching as her expression shifted. First, she was overwhelmed, her lips parting in disbelief as she took in the sight of her own body—her own helplessness. Then, slowly, her expression softened into something else. Gratitude.

She blinked up at me, eyes filled with something deep, something I felt more than understood. When she finally spoke, her voice was hushed, reverent. “Promise me you won’t leave me. Promise you’ll take care of me.”

My breath caught for a second, the weight of her trust settling over me. I nodded, brushing a stray hair from her face.

“I promise.”

Although I was exhausted, Sam wasn’t ready to sleep. Even after everything, her mind was still racing, her body still processing the overwhelming sensations she had experienced. And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to sleep yet. Maybe she wanted to hold on to this feeling a little longer, to savor the weight of her helplessness now that the intensity had settled into something more introspective.

She wanted to talk. I sat beside her, still amazed at the sight of her—completely encased, utterly immobile, yet still so present. Her eyes searched mine as if she were trying to read something deeper, something unspoken. I decided to press her first, hoping to keep the conversation away from me. “How does it feel?” I asked softly, running my fingers lightly over the smooth fiberglass encasing her arms.

“To be this helpless?”

She inhaled deeply, shifting slightly—or trying to—before letting out a soft exhale. “It’s… hard to explain,” she admitted, her voice still laced with residual pleasure and exhaustion. “It’s frustrating, but also freeing. Like, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to do anything.

I just have to be.”

I nodded, fascinated by her honesty, but I wanted more. “And when you had no control? When I forced you to orgasm and you couldn’t stop it?” I pressed, watching her carefully. She shivered. Her fingers flexed inside the fiberglass, a slow, involuntary motion that told me exactly what she wasn’t saying.

She swallowed hard before answering, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. “It was… intense. Scary, but in the best way. Like I was… claimed.” She hesitated before adding, “It made me feel small. Safe. Completely at someone else’s mercy.”

Her words settled over me like a weight, and I realized how deeply this experience had affected her.

It wasn’t just a kink. It wasn’t just an experiment. This was something she had needed. And then, before I could say anything else, she turned the tables on me. Her lips curled slightly, her tired eyes sharpening just a bit. “And you?” she asked, tilting her head as much as the rigid collar would allow.

“How did you feel?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wasn’t expecting that question. I hesitated, feeling my cheeks flush as her gaze locked onto me. “I—” I swallowed, forcing myself to answer honestly. “It was… different. I didn’t think I would feel anything like this, but…” I bit my lip, looking away.

“I was turned on.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly, and I watched as a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Really?” she breathed. “That’s… interesting.”

I hesitated, then decided to go all in. “I even tried the vibrator,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “And the ball gag.”

That got a reaction.

Sam blinked, genuinely surprised. Then, after a moment, she let out a quiet, pleased hum. “So you do get it now.”

I exhaled a short laugh, shaking my head. “I think I do,” I murmured. She studied me for a long moment, as if debating something, then finally asked the question I should have seen coming.

“Would you ever consider being in a cast?”

I froze. My stomach did a little flip, my pulse quickening just enough for me to feel it. I should have just laughed it off. I should have shut it down, told her no, played it cool. But instead… I dodged the question. Because deep down—deep down—I wasn’t so sure anymore.

And the curiosity was already there. Before she drifted off to sleep, I wanted to test some of the attachments I had placed before sealing her inside the full-body cast. There was something almost scientific about it—like checking the integrity of my work, making sure every element functioned exactly as intended.

But deep down, I knew that wasn’t the only reason. I wanted to watch her lose herself again. With a flick of my fingers, I activated the vibrating egg nestled deep inside her. Sam’s eyes snapped open instantly, locking onto mine with a mixture of surprise and raw anticipation. The exhaustion from before was still there, lingering at the edges of her expression, but something else had taken over—need.

She was ready for another round. I didn’t break eye contact as I reached for the Magic Wand, plugging it in and pressing it firmly against the cast that held it flush to her most sensitive spot. The reaction was instantaneous. Sam’s entire body shuddered within the fiberglass, a helpless moan slipping past her lips, melting into a soft, rhythmic hum with each exhale.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her head tipping slightly as she fully surrendered to the sensation. She didn’t fight it. She couldn’t fight it. She simply let go. Her moans deepened, slow and drawn out, rising in intensity with each passing moment. It wasn’t rushed this time. It wasn’t desperate. This was different.

This was mindless bliss—pure pleasure rolling over her in steady, relentless waves. Then, finally, a long, deep “Ooooooooooooooh.”

That was my cue. With a satisfied smirk, I switched everything off, leaving her body humming in the lingering aftermath. She exhaled slowly, her lips parting, her muscles slackening under the unyielding grip of the cast.

She had melted completely—helpless, fulfilled, content. She needed rest now. I stretched out on the couch beside her, letting the quiet settle between us. In the dim light of the clinic, I could hear nothing but the soft rhythm of her breathing, the occasional sound of her shifting just slightly against the fiberglass shell encasing her body.

I knew she was completely safe, but still…

I set my alarm for every half-hour, forcing myself to wake up and check on her through the night. I had spent years surviving on little sleep—between school, working in the emergency department, and the endless hours of study, exhaustion had become an old friend.

This was nothing new. And every time I woke, every time I checked, she was still sleeping soundly, completely lost in the security of her confinement. By the time morning arrived, I was already up, washing up and slipping into a fresh set of scrubs. The clinic would open soon, but Sam still had hours to go if she wanted to complete her challenge.

I decided to wake her slowly. I knelt beside her, running my fingers gently through her soft blonde hair, letting the warmth of my touch coax her awake. Her breathing shifted, her lashes fluttering before her soft blue eyes peeked open, still hazy with sleep. “Good morning, little lady,” I murmured, smiling as her gaze found mine.

She blinked sluggishly, adjusting to the light before offering a small, content smile of her own. “Good morning,” she whispered, her voice still heavy with sleep. I held up a small glass. “I made you some juice—I understand you have quite an exciting day ahead of you,” I teased lightly, watching her lips twitch into a drowsy smirk.

She took a small sip, swallowing with effort as she shifted slightly, testing the absolute lack of movement her body allowed. “By my estimation,” I continued, tapping the rim of the glass, “you’re two-thirds of the way through your challenge. Are you still up for making it to the end?”

Sam let out a slow, exhausted sigh before nodding.

“Yes,” she murmured. Then, with a small, helpless laugh, she added, “But I’d give anything to stretch my arms.”

I smirked, tilting my head as I traced my fingers lightly along the smooth surface of the fiberglass at her shoulders. “Maybe so,” I mused. “But that’s not really an option in the shape you’re in, is it?”

She let out a weak chuckle, her voice still sleepy.

“No, I guess not.”

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to something more mischievous. “I have a whole plan for you today. And let me warn you—it’s going to be a little devious.”

Sam’s lips parted slightly, her expression shifting, eyes flickering with anticipation. “But,” I added, my voice softening just a little, “at any time today, if you need out—if it becomes too much—just say the word, and I’ll take care of you.

Okay?”

She swallowed hard, her breath catching just slightly before she nodded. “Okay.”

And with that, the day began. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pair of noise-canceling AirPods, pressing one into each of Sam’s ears. She twitched slightly, reacting to the new sensation, but she couldn’t do much more than breathe through it.

Her body was completely bound, reliant on me to do whatever I pleased. Once the earbuds were snug, I followed up with a pair of heavy-duty hearing protection headphones, adjusting the padded band until it sat firmly over her ears. The effect was immediate—she had no idea what was happening outside her own body now.

No sound, no environmental clues. Just silence. Next, I turned my attention to her sight. I retrieved the black bondage tape from her bag, the roll feeling smooth and flexible between my fingers. I unspooled a long strip and began wrapping—layer after layer—sealing her entire head in thick, suffocating blackness.

The first layers only covered her eyes, but I kept going, winding it over her temples, her forehead, and the sides of her face, ensuring not a sliver of light could creep through. When I was finished, I stepped back and observed my work. Sam was now completely severed from the outside world. Her vision, gone.

Her hearing, gone. Her body, utterly numb inside the fiberglass cocoon. She had nothing to ground her. I exhaled, feeling the weight of what I had just done settle over me. She was mine. There was nothing she could do—no way to anticipate what would happen next. She had no idea where I was standing, what I was planning, or even if I had left the room.

She couldn’t even feel my touch unless I pressed deep enough to move the solid fiberglass surrounding her. And yet… she trusted me. The realization hit harder than I expected. She had given herself over to me so completely, so willingly. How would I feel in her place? For the first time since this had started, I let myself truly imagine it.

What if it were me sealed inside that cast? Unable to move, unable to hear, unable to stop anything from happening to me? What if someone else had full control over my pleasure, my helplessness, my fate? The thought made my stomach tighten, heat rushing through my body in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

I swallowed, forcing myself to focus. Later. Right now, I had work to do. With slow, deliberate movements, I lowered her from the patient lift, adjusting her position until she was back on all fours. I tested the stability of her cast—perfectly solid—before rolling her toward the far corner of the room.

Once there, I carefully arranged various pieces of physical therapy equipment around her. Large exercise balls, foam rollers, storage bins—anything that made the area look cluttered enough to ensure that no one would notice her. The last thing I needed was a patient or nurse spotting the casted figure buried beneath my carefully arranged camouflage.

With Sam hidden, I took one last glance at the day’s schedule. Monday’s Clinic Appointments:

• Three patients: Cast application for wrist fractures.
• Four patients: Cast removal.
• Three patients: Cast replacements. That meant a lot of saw work—and saw work meant a lot of noise. And that gave me an idea.

The Ultimate Predicament

I reached for an extension cord and plugged it into the cast saw vacuum system. The vacuum system was designed to automatically activate whenever the saw was turned on, keeping the fiberglass dust from filling the air. But instead of plugging the vacuum into its usual port, I rerouted the connection to something else entirely.

The Magic Wand vibrator. Which meant—whenever I turned on the cast saw, Sam’s clit vibrator would activate as well. I grinned. Every time I worked on a patient, she would feel it. But not for long—just quick, teasing bursts of pleasure each time I powered up the saw. And the best part? No one would hear a thing.

The humming of the Magic Wand would be drowned out by the loud whirring of the saw, making it impossible for anyone to notice. She would be entirely alone in her pleasure, forced to endure it, second by second. I exhaled, steadying myself, but my heart was racing. I wasn’t done yet. There was one more addition—one final element to seal her fate for the day.

I turned back to the table and grabbed the TENS unit remote. It looked exactly like a regular TV remote, the kind every patient absentmindedly fumbled with while waiting in an exam chair. I left it near the TV, casually placed on the side table next to the exam chair, where it belonged. But this remote didn’t control the TV.

It controlled her.

• Each time a patient tried to enter a channel number and hit Enter, the remote would send a corresponding shock to Sam’s breasts or clit, depending on the number chosen.
• The up and down volume arrows? They didn’t raise or lower the TV volume.
• Instead, they controlled where the shocks landed—breasts, sex, or both.

Sam’s Reality

For the rest of the day, she wouldn’t know when the vibrations would start. She wouldn’t know when or why she was being shocked. She wouldn’t know who was pressing the buttons—if it was me, or if it was a random patient trying to change the channel. She was now a silent observer to her own torment.

And god help me, I was enjoying this way too much. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, pooling in my stomach. The idea of being her—of being locked away like this, of enduring what she was about to go through—wasn’t just curious anymore. I wanted it.

And one day soon, I was going to take my turn. My first client arrived right on time at 8:00 AM—a young college student who had broken her wrist while trying to rollerblade to class six weeks ago. She was particularly excited today because she was getting her cast removed. Her fracture had been in the distal portion of her forearm, close to the wrist, so her cast was a short-arm style, wrapping from her hand to the upper forearm.

A routine removal. I invited her to make herself comfortable in the chair, offering her a magazine and a face mask to prevent inhaling any fiberglass dust. She waved off the magazine and reached for what she thought was the TV remote. Sam couldn’t see any of this. Sam had no idea that someone else was in the room.

She had no concept of time, no external cues to anchor her to reality. She was just there—floating in complete darkness, locked in silence, her body nothing more than a toy for whatever came next. She was probably wondering where I was. If I was even in the room with her anymore. Meanwhile, above her, the college girl mindlessly started pressing buttons on the remote, trying to turn the TV on.

I forced myself to remain casual, offering a small, confused shrug as if I couldn’t understand why the remote wasn’t working. But inside the fiberglass cocoon across the room, Sam knew exactly what was happening. The first jolt hit her in an instant. A sharp, crackling burst of electricity arced between the TENS pads positioned on her inner thighs, the shock surging directly across her exposed, vulnerable clit.

She would have flinched violently if she could, but there was nowhere to go. The fiberglass held her firm—unyielding, unmoving—forcing her body to absorb every millisecond of the sensation. Her breath hitched, her head rocking slightly from the sheer force of it, but otherwise? She couldn’t even writhe.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, her mind was likely screaming, but she could do nothing to stop it. And then—another press of the remote. Another shock. The pain was sharp, hot, immediate—but laced within it was something else. A different kind of torment, one that left her body betraying her entirely. Her nipples throbbed as the next zap hit her chest, sending a deep, twisting ache through her already tender peaks.

She gasped against the layers of bondage tape wrapping her head, her entire world reduced to a flickering, pulsing nightmare of sensation. The girl in the chair frowned at the remote, still confused. I calmly turned on the cast saw. A low, grinding whirrrrrrrr filled the clinic as I began slicing through the girl’s forearm cast.

Inside the fiberglass prison, Sam’s world exploded. The Magic Wand strapped against her clit roared to life, its powerful vibrations slamming into her overstimulated core with unrelenting force. Her bound fingers curled into tight fists inside their fiberglass cages, but it did nothing to help. She had no way to move, no way to thrust against it, no way to brace for the next jolt of pleasure or pain.

Her entire existence was a game of anticipation—was the next wave going to be the saw activating the vibrator, or another blind surge of electricity from the TENS unit? She had no way to prepare for it. No way to resist. No way to stop it. I spent fifteen minutes carefully removing the girl’s cast, stopping a couple of times to reposition.

Every time I turned the saw off, the vibrations vanished. Every time I turned it back on, they slammed back into Sam’s body. I knew she must be on the edge, riding a brutal, merciless line between pleasure and exhaustion. At one point, I even thought I could hear her whimpering, the sound barely escaping the thick bondage tape wrapped around her head.

The college girl sighed happily when her wrist was finally free. “That feels so much better,” she said, stretching her fingers. Meanwhile, across the room, Sam had never been so trapped in her own body. The next two patients were for cast application—meaning no saw, no Magic Wand torment for Sam. But that didn’t mean she was safe.

Both patients, like the first, reached for the remote and instinctively started poking at the buttons. And every press sent another jolt of electricity through Sam’s body. She had no warning. No idea when it was coming. One moment, she was simply floating in silence, lost in the darkness of her own mind—

And then, a sudden, blinding surge of pleasure and pain ripped through her nipples and thighs.

She would have screamed. She tried to buck her hips, to twist her torso—to escape, to do something—anything. But she couldn’t move. She had to take it. Every second, every zap, every unrelenting pulse of energy shattered through her body, forcing her further and further down into the abyss. She had lost all control.

Her nipples were on fire. Her clit was a live wire of unbearable sensitivity. And we were only three hours into the day. Sam’s world had become nothing but waves. Pleasure. Pain. Denial. She was floating—adrift in an ocean of sensation, constantly being pulled under, but never allowed to drown. Every time she came close—every time the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, right at the sharp edge of release—it was taken away.

Over and over. Her body ached for it. Every part of her was oversensitized—her nipples, her sex, her skin, her mind. The endless shocks had turned her clit into fire, a bundle of raw nerves that begged to be put out of its misery. But the moment she was left alone with silence, all she could think about was more.

Somewhere in the depths of her own mind, a thought had taken root. What if this didn’t stop? What if she stayed like this? Not just today. Not just for a challenge. What if she spent a week like this? A month? Forever? The idea curled around her like an intoxicating mist. To be helpless—fully encased, fully owned.

She imagined herself locked away, wrapped in fiberglass indefinitely, unable to move, unable to stop whatever Kelly wanted to do to her. Her lips parted against the tape, her mind spiraling deeper. God, she wished Kelly would shove the ring gag back into her mouth, force it between her teeth, buckle it so tight she couldn’t push it out.

She wanted to feel it—the way her jaw would ache, the way she’d be forced open, drool spilling uncontrollably down her chin. And if Kelly was going to gag her, she might as well fill her too. Her sex clenched around nothing, desperate, empty. She wanted the biggest dildo she had. No—two. One to stretch her wide, to fill her so completely that her body screamed in protest.

And another shoved deep into her throat, her mouth used as nothing more than an open hole for Kelly’s amusement. Her thoughts were pure filth, but she had never been more turned on in her life. She didn’t want to be freed. She wanted to be claimed. Lunchtime came, and with it, Kelly’s voice—the first real connection Sam had to the world outside her dark, silent prison.

She felt gentle hands on her face, peeling away the bondage tape. Then, finally, the AirPods were removed, and she sucked in a deep, shuddering breath as sound returned. “You’re doing amazing,” Kelly murmured, pressing a straw to her lips. Sam drank greedily—first water, then a thick smoothie. She didn’t even care what flavor it was.

All she knew was that it was cold, sweet, real. Then, Kelly’s voice shifted, turning more serious. “I can make you my next client. Cut you out now.”

Sam’s heart lurched. No. No. Not yet. She forced out a weak, rasping whisper. “No. I want to finish.”

Kelly hesitated, and Sam could feel her evaluating, calculating.

“It’s 12:30,” Kelly finally said. “You only have three and a half hours left.”

Three and a half. So close. Sam nodded. “I can do it.”

But she was suffering. The TENS shocks were turning from a delicious game of pain and pleasure into something maddening, something she couldn’t escape. “Just… please.

Stop the shocks,” she begged. Kelly’s response came without hesitation. A soft sigh. Then, a quiet but unyielding: “No.”

Sam’s stomach flipped. “There will always be pain for pleasure.”

Her core tightened. God help her, but she loved that answer. The afternoon flew by. More patients. More saw work.

More vibrations shocking through her body without warning. Every cast removal was another tease—the relentless Magic Wand pulsing against her clit, forcing her body to tighten, to clench, to need—and then gone. Again. And again. And again. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to come. But Kelly wouldn’t let her.

By the time the last patient left, Sam’s mind was a mess. She was raw. Ruined. Completely wrecked inside her fiberglass prison. And then, Kelly’s voice: “I have one more patient for the day.”

Sam had no idea what time it was. No clue if she was minutes away from being freed or if Kelly was about to push her further.

Then—something cool pressed to her lips. “Open.”

She obeyed. Something hard slid between her teeth—a handle. “Bite down,” Kelly instructed. “Don’t let go. If you do, it will ring loudly. And if that happens… well, everyone in the clinic will know you’re here. I’ll be fired. And we’ll both be very embarrassed.”

Sam bit hard, securing the handbell handle between her teeth.

It was a cruel game. Kelly was forcing her to be completely silent, forcing her to endure everything—the pleasure, the torment—without making a sound. If she lost control, if she dared to let go…

The whole world would know. Sam shuddered. Then, another layer of torment—a bondage audiobook whispered into her ears, filling her head with erotic stories as her own body suffered through one of its own.

And then—

The cast saw roared to life. And so did the Magic Wand. And then—click, click, click. The TENS shocks struck her clit, her nipples, her thighs—in a rhythmic, choreographed wave of torture. Her body jerked violently inside the cast. She tried to throw her head back—but the neck brace held firm.

She was trapped. Forced to take it. Twenty minutes. She endured. Then—she broke. Her jaw slackened—the bell crashed to the floor. The sound rang through the room, piercing, shattering. And then—

A scream. A deep, raw, soul-shaking scream that stretched out for a full minute, echoing against the walls, carrying every ounce of desperation, exhaustion, and absolute surrender inside of her.

And then—tears. She was gone. It was over. Kelly didn’t hesitate. The vibrator unplugged. The cast saw roared to life—this time, to free her. Layer by layer, Kelly worked fast, cutting her loose from her fiberglass prison, piece by piece. And with every inch of skin revealed, Sam could feel one thing.

She was empty. And already, she wanted it again. Sam was soaked in sweat, her skin flushed, her body completely spent. She lay limp and lifeless in my arms as I carefully unwrapped the layers of bondage tape from her head, revealing her flushed cheeks, her damp hair clinging to her forehead. As soon as her face was free, I wrapped her in a warm, soft blanket, pulling her close, letting her lean into me for support.

She didn’t resist—she simply melted into me, exhausted, overwhelmed, but content. She wept, softly at first, gentle, shaky breaths punctuated by quiet sobs. I checked on her, whispering to her, brushing stray strands of hair from her face, asking if the tears were from pain or joy. “Both,” she murmured.

“But mostly joy.”

I held her for a full half hour, letting her settle, letting her come back to herself. Slowly, her stiff muscles stretched, flexed, relearning the freedom of movement she had been denied for so long. Her fingers curled and uncurled, her arms extended, her legs shifted—each motion sending waves of sensation through her body, reminding her that she was herself again.

She was delighted to have her freedom back, but she was still weak, her body struggling to readjust. I fetched her water, orange juice, anything to replenish her, even digging out some peanut crackers from my desk. She nibbled on them slowly, still dazed, still processing everything. Time slipped away.

Before I knew it, it was almost six o’clock. “You need a shower,” I teased softly. “And food. Real food.”

She gave a tired chuckle, nodding. I helped her to her feet, supporting her as she tested her legs, her smile growing with every shaky step. We stopped for pizza on the way home, picking up something simple, something comforting.

The entire drive was quiet, but not in an awkward way. It was comfortable, a silence filled with understanding, a shared secret between us that no one else would ever truly grasp. When we arrived at her place, I helped her inside, guiding her carefully to her bed. She collapsed onto the mattress with a sigh, sinking into the softness as if it were the first time she had truly been able to relax.

And then—that smile. A smile I had never seen on Sam before. One of pure satisfaction, of completion, of having pushed herself to the absolute limit—and loving every second of it. We talked for a few minutes, but she struggled to find the words. “I don’t even know how to describe it,” she whispered. I hesitated, then asked softly, “Would you ever want to try it again?”

She paused.

Then, she turned her head toward me, gave me a slow, knowing wink, and murmured:

“I’d have to think about it.”

But that wink? That wink told me everything.