Author's Note: Inspired by the works of Coco.


"So, if I could just get some clarification, then I'll be able to file my report in good conscience." Adele Trumble concluded, addressing the smartly dressed woman sitting on the other side of a low coffee table.

The woman in question was Dr. Sylvia Forsett, Clinical Director for the Institute of Behavioral Studies and Treatment, which was basically a farmed-out mental institution. As a candidate for federal grants, Adele had been tasked with examining the hospital's books, making sure that all was on the up and up. All had seemed in order, until she found that the hospital spent almost as much on "Equipment" as it did on foodstuffs. Spending so much on such a vague subject hadn't sat well with the 42 year-old auditor.

Adele sat back and sipped her tea from the service provided by a male inmate/trustee, leaving the two women alone when finished. She tried to read the doctor's expression. The administrator showed no sign of angst caused by Adele's query. As a matter of fact, she appeared to be enjoying some sort of private joke. And, if the auditor didn't know better, got the odd sense that she was the source of that joke and was being "checked out" from head to toe.

That notion, odd as it sounded, caused the accountant to feel flush. She made to set her cup down on the tray before pressing for an answer, but found it inexplicably difficult to lean forward and accomplish the task. A strange buzzing formed in her head and grew rapidly louder. Her vision began to blur around the edges, and before her muddled brain could ascertain something was wrong, slumped unconscious in her chair. Doctor Forsett tapped a key on her iPhone and moments later, the trustee came in pushing a wheelchair.

"Isolation Room 12 please, Robert." She instructed, after they'd wrestled the pleasing plump woman into the chair. "I'll be along directly to see to the patient's intake."

Robert answered with a nod and left with his charge. Sylvia went through Adele's purse and pulled out her smartphone. As she expected, the phone was not encrypted, why would it be? After going through the auditor's files and phone logs, she no reason not to proceed with the plan.

Adele's return to consciousness arrived with a jolt, as if splashed with cold water. A swirl of unfamiliar sensations assailed her, leaving her momentarily disoriented. The first sensation to make it to the forefront of her awareness was a stretching, aching discomfort in her shoulders and jaw. Nanoseconds later, Adele realized that the source of this discomfort, or rather, pain was because she was tied up!

Her arms were trapped behind her, a stiff, incessant pressure squeezing her wrists, forearms and biceps. That same pressure was mimicked around her ankles, which she was able to identify as a pair of black leather cuffs connected by a permanently affixed strap about 10" long.

'hhrmmmfff!!!" Her confused cry of shock dribbled out in a whisper.

Something massive was filling her mouth, prying it open to the point of creating the pain she'd first felt (and continued to feel). Over top of this, the bottom half of her face, from nose to chin, was positively crushed by an unrelenting pressure. She shook her head dazedly, but the pressure remained, showing no sign of easing or slipping.

Reflexively, Adele tried to reach up and rip off the offending object, but her arms remained locked behind her. As near as she could tell, and her diagnosis was spot-on, each wrist was anchored to the opposite bicep. Having no prior experience of this type of treatment, she did not know that this position was a cross between a box-tie and a hammerlock. What she did know, was that with her hands locked fluttering out past her arms, her elbows were drawn closer, placing a modest and constant strain on her shoulders. This in turn, forced her to arch her spine, which unavoidably thrust out her chest.

In addition, what she couldn't know (and made little difference at the moment), was that after the dual straps of all four cuffs had been drawn tight, each received their own little padlock. Larger padlocks insured that the wrist to upper arm connection remained unassailable.

All of this was alarming to be sure, but at the moment, was not the issue that caused her the greatest anxiety. Adele realized that she was STARK NAKED! Her first fuzzy glance at her legs had been made under the presumption that her skirt had simply ridden up. The cobwebs now swept away, she saw with horror that her skirt was in fact missing; as was her blouse, hose and intimates!

"HHRRRRMMNNGGHHHH!!!!!" She roared with shock, confusion, indignity and no small amount of fear.

Slowly, Adele's blur of panic cleared, allowing her to see that she wasn't entirely naked...of a sort. Defying explanation, her feet were shod in a pair of supple, tan leather booties. More like a pair of doeskin socks, their tops disappeared under the ankle cuffs. The ambient air didn't seem all that cold (although it did make her nipples poke out in a semi-rigid state), so it didn't make any sense for a pair of foot warmers. Wriggling her toes, she could detect a slightly sweaty state, accompanied by an odd tingling sensation.

Whilst curious in its apparent lack of purpose, Adele's attention was drawn to the more alarming "garment" she'd been forced into. "Chest Corset", was the nearest description she was able to come up with. The 10" wide piece of supple black leather was deceptively strong. It circled her upper torso and was tightened by the criss-cross of black leather laces between her breasts; tightened to the point of denying her more than a ¾ breath. Dangling over the tight intersection, was what looked like part of a blood pressure cuff. The accountant somehow knew that it was used to inflate the monstrous blockage in her mouth.

Unsettling as this was, the truly appalling aspect of the corset, were the two cutouts from which her breasts protruded. The holes, which looked as well as felt, too small, were augmented by 1" straps affixed to the fringe of each hole. These had been buckled tight, greatly increasing the constriction around the base of each breast.

Now, Adele's 42 year-old, 44 D-Cup bust had succumbed somewhat to the ravages of time and gravity, but were by no means pendulous, and this unwanted constriction did not transform them into jutting lightbulbs of flesh. It DID however, force them into firmer, more rounded globes that exhibited a rose colored blush and a tingling that was relentless. The accountant instinctively knew that she'd have to be very careful rolling on to her stomach (if the need arose), to avoid mashing her now semi-strangled boobs.

She struggled to rise up off the floor, astonished at how much effort it took to wriggle from a prone to seated position. Accomplishing this task left her with no sense of triumph, rather, it left her a bit breathless and placed an exclamation point on her helplessness.

Adele gazed down at her nude form with the eyes of someone not quite believing what they were seeing, irrationally hoping it was someone else's body she was examining. But as the certainty of her condition became irrefutable, there was yet another gut-wrenching discovery.

"SOMEONE HAS SHAVED MY PRIVATES!!!" She noted disbelievingly.

It was true. Although Adele maintained the hygiene necessary for the business world, she hadn't bothered with an established grooming practice of her naughty bits for almost six years. What was the point? She wasn't in a relationship and no one but herself cared one way or another if, "the forest grew a little dense".

Now, her sex had been completely denuded but for an inverted, 2" triangle of fur, which hovered over her womanhood. The residual tingle through the crack of her bum told her that it hadn't escaped the razor either. With the false hope of an amputee hoping their arm had grown back, Adele parted her knees. There, in all its unmasked glory, were the soft petals of her sex. She'd been rendered as hairless as a newborn!

"NNNNNNNGGHHHH!!!!" She screamed in violated comprehension.

Terrified and angry at what had been done to her, Adele twisted her torso violently whilst wrenching her arms with every last ounce of strength, and flailed her legs against the tether. Sweat burst from her pores and the room filled with the grunts of her effort. One minute passed, and another, until finally her struggles waned. With her last, desperation-fueled surge, she lost her balance and ended up prone on the floor once more, her swollen breasts slapping against each other as she hit. And not a Goddamn thing had changed!

The mature, attractive accountant lay there catching her breath, praying this was all some sort of nightmare, but knowing it wasn't. She supposed now would be a good time to lapse into a hysterical crying jag. However, with a previously undiscovered resolve, and the very real fear that if her nose became clogged she might perish, the tears did not come. Adele was down, but not defeated. There had to be some way out of here!

Once more, requiring even greater effort this time, she gracelessly worked her way back to a seated position. If she couldn't defeat her restraints, there might be some way out of this room. She could, after all, still use her hands, even though they were pinned behind her back.

Her focus having been on her body up to this point, Adele took the time to examine her surroundings. Initial observations were far from promising. What she'd first mistaken as a bland paint scheme, turned out to be grey canvas; more accurately, padded grey canvas. The curvy bleached-blonde was sitting in the middle of an honest-to-God padded room!

She swiveled her head around, trying to spot the door that surely must be there. She found it, not by the outline of the door itself (for it was also padded), but by the keypad mounted alongside it. The door had no knob, latch, keyhole or any other type of mechanism. The keypad was housed beneath a clear plastic dome which was padlocked shut.

"So much for just turning a knob and walking out of here." Adele thought, trying to keep her panic at bay.

"Maybe a window or air vent." She hoped, knowing she was grasping at straws.

A window turned out, not surprisingly, to be nonexistent. She was relieved to note that this was also true of any kind of observation portal. That was until she noticed the four cameras located in the top corners of the room, their red eyes glowing. Adele growled angrily, twisting her torso to expose the restraints, her message clear, "Get me the HELL out of this!" Her demand was met with continued silence.

Further examination did reveal a pair of ventilation grills, as well as a light fixture. However, these were mounted in the ceiling 9ft above her and impossibly out of reach. And if she could somehow levitate to within reach, all were no larger than a shoebox and shielded behind heavy metal grills.

Adele was, for the unforeseeable future, trapped. It was a situation that was as much foreign, as it was frightening. She, like most everyone else on the planet, had grown accustomed to the unfettered use of her limbs; the ability to move them, and to travel wherever and whenever she wished. To be so suddenly and bizarrely robbed of these freedoms was a blow to her senses.

The attractive middle-aged accountant sat there, trying to digest these unimaginable developments. And when things seemed to be at their worst, she had a TRULY unsettling thought.

"I don't know where I am!" She realized.

Oh, she knew where she was (with a reasonable amount of certainty), but had no way of pinpointing her location. Having arrived on official business (though not bothering to notify her superiors), she'd parked in front of and entered the aging brick structure that served as the administration wing.

She remembered the building as being quite large, thinking at the time that perhaps it had been home to a long forgotten railroad tycoon or something. She'd read in the Institute's "Bio" that this building alone housed 40+ rooms. The treatment center itself, where the patients resided, had 114.

Having had no need to tour the facility, Adele was clueless as to the layout of the "Secure Wing". She could be trapped on the top floor, or somewhere down in a sub-subbasement. The thought left her with a crushing sense of isolation. She thought about screaming for help, but doubted her muffled cries would escape her cushioned confines, let alone reach sympathetic ears.

Yet again, in this relatively brief time of unimaginable bondage and violation, Adele had to fight down the rising panic. Although it would have been a perfectly natural reaction to her condition, the accountant instinctively knew that it would be a waste of energy and could only lead to serious health risks (i.e. asphyxiation.)

"If no one knows I'm here needing to be rescued, then I'll just have to find a way out myself." She surmised.

Deep down, she knew she was just trying to drum up courage where there was little to be found; but the alternative was to curl up in a ball and abandon hope. She believed herself to be made of stronger stuff. So, it was time to get moving and find some way out of this nightmare. Her first obstacle, she concluded, was getting mobile and that meant getting to her feet.

As with most plans, Adele's began to unravel immediately upon implementation. The 10" hobble strap didn't allow her legs enough freedom of movement to simply position themselves under her and stand. It was clear that she was going to have to use the wall for leverage.

Theoretically, her feet should have had ample traction on the coarse, padded canvas. However, the slick surface of the leather booties' acted like grease on a cushioned skillet. Contrastingly, her bare shoulders grabbed the fabric covered wall like glue. The comely accountant deduced that she might have better luck working in a corner.

With a ridiculous amount of awkward effort and the grunts that accompanied them, Adele finally worked herself up to her knees. During the process, she'd used the wall for support, at one time inadvertently mashing her breasts into it. It had been more disconcerting than painful, but definitely something she didn't want to repeat.

Stymied once again by the hobble, there was still no way for her to rise to her feet. If she was going to get herself to a corner of the room, she was going to have to do it on her knees. Trying her best to ignore the humiliating implication of such a task, as well as the multiple cameras bearing witness, she set off for the corner closest to the door.

Once she got there, she had to turn and once again, drop gracelessly on to her butt. However, the mildly degrading act and her efforts that followed, paid off. In a few minutes' time, she found herself standing...sweating like a pig and sucking in air, but standing.

Adele moved to the door and examined it more closely. Her inspection did not reveal any apparent weaknesses. As she'd first thought, there were no knobs or latches. It appeared that even the hinges were mounted on the other side. She gave the keypad cover a nudge with her shoulder, hardly surprised when it didn't budge.

Next, she leaned against the padded door. It gave every impression of being as solid as the walls around her. She tentatively pressed her shoulder into it, then gave it a more solid strike. Nothing. With a commendable amount of willpower and common sense, Adele resisted the urge to launch herself at the portal. Things were bad enough now without adding a painful injury to the mix.

With nothing better to do, the armless, silenced and half-striding accountant scanned the interior of the austere chamber once more. There had to be something that she could use to help her situation. Her eyes landed on the only item other than herself (and the cameras) that hadn't been here since the room's first construction.

The metal pail sat in the opposite corner and for one long moment, Adele couldn't comprehend its function. A timely impulse from her moderately swollen bladder brought things to an instant (and repulsive) clarity.

"I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to use that thing!" She vowed.

About the only thing she could do to uphold that promise, was to stay busy. How she was going to do that, whilst trapped in a monochrome room of padded uniformity, was going to be a challenge. She first walked around slowly (running obviously not an option) examining every stitch and button in the canvas. Tiring quickly of this, she went back to the door and gave it another push. Still nothing.

Incredibly, in a reasonably short amount of time, Adele began to feel a peculiar sense of boredom. She should be terrified, which she was, but maintained a steady vigilance against panic. Thrashing wildly would needlessly use up the reserves she'd need if an opportunity to escape arose. She could try to take a nap, allowing at least some "time" to escape, but was understandably too worked up to succeed at even that. All the while, the need to "go" grew more urgent.

And there it was. The second acknowledgement of her need to pee, placed it squarely in the forefront of her consciousness. Adele found herself unable to shift her focus away. Faced with the inevitability, the middle-aged blonde made a decision; one that she hoped would demonstrate that not everything was out of her control.

She strode purposefully (as best the hobble would allow) over to the bucket. During the short trek, she couldn't help but notice how sensitive her exposed and artificially swollen breasts had become as they bobbed and oscillated. Then, staring at the opposite camera with a look of angry defiance, spread her feet to the limit of the strap and squatted. She had to admit, she was quite proud of herself for her show of stoicism...until the first sounds of hot urine struck the rolled steel. The hollow echo seemed to fill the room with a splattering announcement of humiliation. Adele's resolve cracked and she could feel her cheeks burn with blush. She couldn't stop her head from dropping in shame, where her gaze saw that even her swollen breasts had also become inflamed with embarrassment. This time, she was unable to stop the sobs.

The tears stopped shortly after the last drops of discharge, but the psychological damage had been done. Willfully relieving herself in such a crude fashion (and not being able to clean herself), no matter how physically necessary it had been, had cast a spotlight on just how helpless she was. Climbing from these doldrums was going to take more resolve than she currently possessed.

Rising awkwardly to her feet, the soft-curved, dark blonde shuffled over to the corner facing the door that wasn't occupied by a pail full of piss. Adele eased herself to a seated position and tried to get comfortable. She'd started to draw her feet in closer, but stopped, when she realized this splayed her thighs wide, exposing her recently denuded sex. She settled for keeping her legs straight, one crossed over the other.

"I don't need to give the cameras any more of a show than I already have." She thought dejectedly.

It was clear that her condition was not going to change until someone changed it for her. All she could do was wait, wonder what the hell was going on and occasionally test her bonds for any non-existent weakness. Time slowed to a crawl within the eerie sameness of the room. Adele slipped into a state of lethargy, then slowly drifted into a fitful doze.

She didn't know what startled her awake, but by the time she blinked away the stickiness left by her residual tears, Dr. Forrest and the trustee who served them tea, had entered the cell and were closing the door behind them. The doctor ignored Adele's outraged harrumphs to be set free, while she punched the code into the keypad and re-secured its cover. The trustee, on the other hand, leered openly at the restrained and all-but-nude accountant.

Her garbled protests thus far ignored, Adele started to get up, until she realized there was no good way to do this without giving the man some very intimate glimpses of her anatomy. The bound accountant continued her muzzled tirade, cranking up the intensity as the doctor turned to face her, an amused look pasted on her face.

"MMMRRRPHHH! GGRRRRMMMFFFFF! NNNNGGHHHHH!"

"LET ME OUT OF HERE THIS INSTANT!" Adele bellowed. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TREAT ME THIS WAY!"

Although the venom in her tone was evident, the accountant's hushed grunts and mumbles dribbled out in an indecipherable buzz. The loss of her voice hit her harder than the loss of her limbs. Not the violent type, Adele had always relied on the power of speech to convey her stance on a subject. Now, with what felt like a rubber bag full of wet concrete in her mouth, ALL means of assertion had been stolen from her. It also didn't help that she was launching her protests at the hospital resident and its director whilst bound, sitting on her naked ass in a padded room.

"Fuck modesty!" Adele thought, and began struggling to her feet. "Better to negotiate eye to eye."

Unfortunately, the moderately plump blonde scored few style points, as her struggle to stand was no less graceless as her first attempt. Upon standing, Adele held off her rant as she sucked in several deep gasps. She settled for "stomping" across the room and standing before the be still smiling administrator.

"HHHNNNNGGHHH!!!!" The restrained Miss Trumble screamed at the subject of her financial investigation.

Upon seeing the sparkle of mirth in Dr. Forrest's eyes, Adele lost it. She threw herself at her bonds, bending and twisting her torso in every direction, tugging on arms that refused to move. She was acutely aware of how this made her blushing, meaty orbs oscillate and jounce like party balloons; but that was nothing that freedom (and a heavily underwired bra) couldn't fix. In a fit of frustration, she tried kicking the doctor, her attempts easily stymied by the hobble.

"If your quite finished with your little demonstration," Dr. Forrest purred, "I'll explain to you exactly what is taking place."

Well Adele WASN'T finished with her demonstration of outrage and continued to incoherently berate the administrator. With a sigh of impatience, Sylvia reached into the deep pocket of her lab coat and withdrew what looked like an elongated lighter. She pressed the tip against the accountants left nipple and triggered it.

ZAP!!!

The blonde stopped mid-garble. The shock, potent as a bee sting, was already fading rapidly, but had gotten its message across. Adele split her wide-eyed attention between the doctor and the wicked device she held. Although not incapacitating, the charge had been enough as to not wish it be repeated.

"That," Dr. Forrest explained matter-of-factly, "was on a setting of 4. If you wish to experience a 10, by all means, continue your useless tantrum."

The accountant remained stunned to silence, in fact, backed up half a step and directly into the bulk of the trustee now standing behind her. Adele's first instinct was to turn to look at him, but that would mean losing track of the "shocker wand". Out of options, she let out a resigned sigh and waited for the doctor to speak.

"That's better." Sylvia cooed. "First, congratulations are in order. After deliberating with the hospital administration, which consists of myself, I'd like to welcome you as the newest member of the Institute of Clinical Behavior and Treatment staff."

Adele was so befuddled at this point, that all she could do was stare incomprehensibly at the doctor.

"Which is fortunate as it turns out, for you are no longer capable of holding your previous position. Allow me to elaborate."

"You have been sedated for more than thirty hours. During this time, you fell victim to a tragic, one-car accident. Apparently, you lost control of your vehicle on your way back from our facility. Misjudging the approach to a narrow bridge, you struck the abutment and plunged into the gorge below. The wreckage of your vehicle was eventually found, as was your blazer and one of your shoes, further down river. Authorities hold little hope of recovering your remains. If you don't believe me, read the article."

With that, Sylvia withdrew a folded sheet of newspaper. The small article appeared to have been buried in page five or six of the publication. The headline read:

"Woman, 42, Lost and Presumed Dead in One Car crash"

Adele managed to read only a line or two, its authenticity irrefutable. As if in a trance, her eyes rose to face the doctor once more.

"So, now that that's been established, allow me to fill you in on your duties here at our facility."

"99% of our patients suffer from some sort of Maternal Psychological Disorder." As you can imagine, with an all-male patient population, it is impossible to try to emulate any type of "normal" social dynamic."

"To put it simply, we can treat their symptoms, but are unable to provide them with an outlet for their mutually important physical requirements. We can teach them what to do; but they have no means with which to practice what they've learned."

"And this is where you come in, my dear. You are now this facility's primary P.E.T.T.T, or, "Patient Eroto-Tension Transmogrify Therapist". Basically, you will be the vassal in which these men can pour their pent-up physical frustrations and needs."

Adele could do nothing but stare at the doctor with disbelief and incomprehension. The true import of what she'd just been told, hardly beginning to sink in.

"Don't worry," Dr. Forrest assured her, "there's no need for any orientation. I'm a firm believer in "On The Job Training".

"Which is fortuitous, because you have an appointment with our Tickle and Foot Fetish patients in 15 minutes. That's the reason for the booties on your feet. They've been treated with a cream that softens and makes your feet more sensitive. Which, by the way, you aren't ticklish, are you?"

Sylvia read Adele's flicker of alarm for what it was.

"Oh dear. Well, you'll just have to soldier on as best you can."

"Robert?"

The yet-again forgotten aide slipped a black spandex hood over the reeling blonde's head. For a few moments, the all-but-nude, former accountant could still see Dr. Forrest through the fabric, but then the integrated blindfold slipped into place. Adele panicked, wanting to run but not knowing where. The option was taken from her, as Robert effortlessly hoisted her on to his shoulder.

The new "Therapist" thrashed like mad, not caring if she took a painful tumble. But the trustee held firm and she was carried out of the room and plopped into a wheelchair. Securing her writhing form to the transportation took less than 90 seconds. As she was rolled down an unseen corridor, crying and screaming hysterically, Dr. Forrest offered one final aside.

"And of course, in addition to your prescribed duties, you will naturally be expected to satisfy each patient sexually. We've made arrangements to accommodate this function, you won't need to do a thing but lie there."

Sylvia let go a soft chuckle and added, "Actually all you'll be able to DO is just lie there. The patients will do all the work."

"Welcome to your new career, my dear."