None of the nurses knew who patient 746 was. Not that it mattered to them: The small woman was just part of their job and daily routine. They would unlock her cell, check on her straightjacket, hood and gag. They would use the small valve in the gag to feed her a nutritious sludge. She would choke, cough, sputter and complain with unintelligible sounds. Sometimes she whined and gargled and struggled and they would have to hold her down with more force. But restrained, hooded and gagged as she was, she was fairly easy to handle.
They would then lead her to the toilet. The patient would get a chance to release herself before the plugs in her anus and vagina were reapplied. They would make sure that the strap, running from the front of her straightjacket downwards, would be very tight, so that it sank between her cuntlips and pushed the plugs deeper into her.
In her cell she would often lie very still, except for the rhythmic movements of her lower body. She was reacting to the vibrating plugs, trying to and sometimes managing to orgasm several times a day. At other times she would fly into a rage, trash around and try to hurt herself on the padded walls. She was often bruised, but was never capable of inflicting any significant damage on herself.
Patient 746 stayed unwashed for days, but they would occasionally undress and clean her. She was always administered a strong dose of rohypnol before this was done, so that her slack jaw and clouded brain would not allow her to speak one single, comprehensible word. Cleaning her often took mere minutes, and she was quickly restrained, gagged and hooded just as she had been before.
Every six months a stranger would arrive at the facility. Patient 746 would be cleaned and then brought into a windowless room with this man. She would be strapped to a special chair, then her hood and gag would be removed.
She had once been a very pretty woman. There was something elvish about her, and her brown eyes were soulful and intense. But she also had dark rings under them and they told a story of utter despair.
"There you are, my beautiful darling." The man would take his time, study her features, then stroke her cheek and kiss her. "This time, I nearly forgot that it was time for another visit. But here I am, like clockwork."
She would plead with him, her voice weak and barely audible. She would try to explain that she never wanted to hurt him, never wanted to betray him.
"I made a mistake," she would whisper, crying. "Please, George, don't punish me anymore. Please release me."
"Oh, darling," George would smile and stroke her bald head. Sometimes he would kiss the tip of her nose. "Release you, after more than five years in this place? No, that would be a shock to many people. All your friends believe that you are dead, you see. They have made their peace with the fact. let's not unsettle them."
Then the stranger would activate the special chair that she was strapped into, and the chair would begin to warm up, vibrate and stimulate patient 746 in a way that made it impossible for her to resist. She would cry, moan, sob and finally cum violently, shaking, bathed in sweat, protesting even while she orgasmed.
"See, darling? You have not changed at all." The stranger would give her a last kiss before he would put the gag back in her mouth and then pull the hood over her head. He would take his time securing it as strictly as possible, and he would leave some instructions for how patient 746’s therapy should be adjusted during the next six months.
His limousine would not even be back on the freeway before the nurses would, one after another, enter the cell of patient 746, to begin with her new, more rigid therapy.
The End