Thread by @Trauma_Posting

Doctor Ashford's Personal Project

#medfet #implant #mindbreak

"Ah. You're awake. Excellent." A familiar voice pulls you out of your groggy state. It takes you a further few moments to become fully aware of your surroundings. Your body feels strange, off somehow. There's a-

dull ache in the back of your head too.

You feel a rising sense of panic when you realise that you're in the office of Dr Ashford, the bitch that's keeping you in this horrifying place and experimenting on you. It doesn't help that you're also firmly restrained to a chair.

Strangely, the anxiety is cut off before it can reach any sense of fruition, leaving you with an unsettling calm.

Noticing your confused expression, Dr Ashford smiles. "It's good to see your implant is already working. I didn't want you having a panic attack and interrupting my-

schedule." The Doctor's voice has an unnerving calm to it. She knows she's the one in control. You had expected some cartoonishly evil, moustache twirling villain to be the director of the Ashford Institute before you met the good Doctor.

She remains the most intimidating person you've met, without ever having laid a finger on you herself.

"Fuck you, bitch. Let me out of these an-"

"You will speak when spoken to." Dr Ashford calmly speaks over you. As she speaks, her gaze rises from her notes and onto you.

You attempt to launch into a series of insults. No words leave your mouth, however. You feel the sentence forming in your head, but as you go to speak the words don't form. Your anxiety spikes for just a moment, before it's suppressed to an eerie calm.

Despite normally maintaining a level of clinical professionalism, you feel a sense of satisfaction coming from her. "This prototype is going to make your treatment significantly easier." The Doctor stands from her desk and steps over to you, holding her hand out in front of you.

"Do you know what this is?" She gestures to a large bruise around the base of her thumb.

"I bit you." The words slip out of your mouth without you even meaning to speak.

"Yes, you did. Do you want to bite me again?" She cocks her head.

The closer she gets the more you can feel her presence washing over you.

"Yes." Once again you answer without intending to.

"Well, why don't we do something about that?" The Doctor pulls a small tablet from her coat pocket. "Normally I'd keep this kind of thing secret from-

patients, but you're a special case." The faintest hint of malice creeps into that last statement. Doctor Ashford would of course never allow spite to interfere with a patient's treatment or her judgement. That doesn't mean she can't enjoy putting someone in their place, however.

As she adjusts dials and pushes buttons in an unfamiliar app, she explains to you that with the implant in your head she can alter almost all of your bodily functions, and even your thoughts given enough tweaking. It all sounds extremely technical, yet the Doctor is an excellent-

educator. She makes sure you fully understand that your mind is no longer your own, before she moves onto an active demonstration.

When Dr Ashford hits the confirm button, the first thing you feel is a crushing wave of guilt. How could you have hurt her?

She's a perfect angel who can do no wrong. You want her. No, you need her. No, more than that, you love her, adore her. Even though you know, logically, you despise this horrid witch of a woman, you can't help straining against your restraints just to be a few centimetres closer-

to her. Your mind begins jumping through hoops to justify how you felt, how part of you is still clinging to.

Never one to shy away from personal testing, Dr Ashford pushes the thumb you bit against your lips. Her touch sends shudders down your spine. You let out an involuntary moan as your lips part and her thumb pushes into your mouth.

Part of your mind screams to bite her, to sink your teeth in, to rip the cunt's thumb off. You couldn't possibly hurt her, though, she's perfect. She horrible. But perfect.

As you suckle on her thumb, she cups her fingers beneath your chin. A quick tilt of your head makes your eyes meet hers.

"Do you want to know my favourite thing about this particular implant, pet?" You can only answer with a needy moan, still suckling as you strain to be free.

"You're still in there. We both know this is the implant, not the real you. Not yet, anyway. You're going to be a silent spectator for every debasement I put you through. You're going to endure everything, completely unable to stop yourself because the only truth of your life is-

that I am in control. And my favourite part of all of this? Eventually, you're going to break. You won't be able to tell where you end and my control begins. Beyond that point, I could disable this implant and you'd remain my mindbroken plaything."

The horrible, beautiful, awful, amazing Doctor considers something for a moment.
"Although, perhaps breaking you completely would be too kind. I think I rather prefer the idea of you perpetually trapped in the back of your own mind. Always on the brink of shattering. Never quite

going over that final edge into ego death. I think that will be a fitting fate for someone like you. I hope you enjoy your new life as a passenger in your own mind. After all, I think a mind hanging over oblivion by a thread presents far more interesting research opportunities-

that a broken puppet." Dr Ashford pushes two fingers into your mouth as she speaks, watching you greedily suckle and gag when she pushes them to the back of your throat. You can't help whining with need when she pulls them out, rubbing your own spit over your face.

You genuinely can't tell if she is getting some perverse pleasure out of this, or if it really is in the name of science. In your case, it's not like it matters.

You seethe and scream inside your head. It feels as though you're just a hair away from seizing control. Yet, the more you struggle, the more out of reach it becomes.

You hate Dr Ashford. You love Dr Ashford. You would kill her if you got the chance. You would do anything for even the slightest hint of affection. You need her.

"I hope you're ready for a long few months. I need to test every aspect of my prototype."