Commercial Break 3 - Experimental Treatment (Part 4)

Pixie hugged the towel tightly around her body for warmth, her brunette hair slick and still dripping over her shoulder. She knew she was leaving wet footprints in the carpet – it was the kind of thing her mother would’ve scolded her for as a child – but in that moment she didn’t care. All she cared about was that she was warm, alone and safe.

The mile walk back from the surgery was one she’d done thousands of times before, but it hadn’t made it any less awkward to be walking feeling so freshly molested, embarrassed or cold this time. She’d just left the heat of a Mediterranean summer – to be dumped back into the frosty depths of autumn by contrast made her already flushed cheeks even pinker with cold.

Pixie knew her own mind was making it even worse, as her paranoia and frustration played on a loop. She had expected to be ‘blipped’ back to the studio immediately, so worrying about how she was going to get home after being dropped off by her mother had been an after-thought. The fact that the show apparently wasn’t going to give her even that luxury only raised more concerning questions for her – Are they doing this on purpose? Just to prove I have to live with actually living this life?

Half expecting to be blipped back to the studio the moment she opened the front door to her house Pixie seethed, knowing she was starting to second guess herself, and she got the distinct impression that Jack or the show or someone was just doing this to keep her off balance. So she couldn’t ever get comfortable trying to predict anything…

It could be hours… days … weeks?!

She’d shaken off the thought and, the moment she was inside, Pixie had run to the bathroom, thrown off her clothes and locked herself in the shower, turning the temperature to the hottest she could stand - both to get warm and to feel some sense of control in washing off what was happening to her. If they weren't going to send her back immediately then she was going to try and get the most out of it that she could.

The roaring of the water drowned out the world. It drowned out the humiliating raw memory of getting fucked by Dr Richards even if her body continued to betray her, her hypersensitivity still sent unwanted sexual thrills through her core whenever the water caught her in just the right way…

Pixie stayed under the jets until the hot water ran out. It was only then that she felt even the strength to move again, reluctantly wrapping a towel around herself and hurrying to the sanctuary of her room, cursing the cold, and slamming the door despite there being no one else home.

She went to retrieve her hair dryer from her dresser only to stop when she noticed a small well-read book resting on the edge of her desk. She didn’t recognise it and it was buried under some junk unopened letter that Pixie tipped aside, without her glasses she had to bring it close, her eyes growing wide as she caught sight of the cover:

IT’S A PLEASURE:
Living with Succubus Syndrome

Beneath the humiliating title was an illustration of an obscenely detailed cartoon woman, naked, on her knees, her face pink, eyes crossed and tongue hanging from her mouth like a begging puppy.

Even the idea of her mother catching her with a book with a cover like that made Pixie's heart stop in abject horror... The fact that it looked like she'd apparently had the book for years and it just sat openly on her desk made the feeling a million times worse.

Frantic, Pixie couldn't help but flip to a random page, her damp trembling fingers sticking to the well worn paper as her eyes scanned the words;

"...Navigating the ebullience of Succubus Syndrome in public is an art in itself. When you feel the pleasure of an orgasm surge within, consider these practical steps to discreetly relish the moment without drawing unnecessary attention. First, practice subtle expressions – a serene smile or a gentle nod of gratitude to your viewer can convey your happiness without making it the center of attention. Secondly, divert your focus to an object or task at hand, such as pretending to check your phone or engage in a brief activity, allowing you to savor the pleasure privately..."

It made Pixie seethe. In any normal world where her ‘condition’ was real the book would’ve been beyond insensitive – worse, she felt a creeping horror knowing that she was the only person in the world with ‘Succubus Syndrome’, which made the very existence of the book impossible – Right? Who wrote it?! Why?!

Horrified, Pixie swept the book off the desk as though just touching it more would burn her. Her hair whipped with the ****, sending a smattering of water droplets all around her and Pixie scowled spitefully, knowing it's degrading insensitivity was exactly why it existed.

The details didn't matter - the show had made her condition real; it didn’t matter that it only existed as an excuse for all of her embarrassing changes, it didn’t matter that she was the only case in the whole world, and it didn’t matter how much it embarrassed her…

I have Succubus Syndrome.

With a petulant squeal Pixie turned, intending to throw herself into the comforting embrace of her bed in frustration before she caught herself, again **** to face reality with the sight of her demeaning little sleeping pad in the corner. She still couldn’t decide if it looked more like a very low ottoman or a dog bed…

Why...

It was all too much and Pixie let out a choked sob, refusing to approach it and instead just dropped to her knees in the middle of her rug. She barely registered the way she automatically thrust out her chest, straining the knot on her towel.

This was meant to be a reward!

Everything was stacked against her… everything was tainted… corrupted by the whims of the audience, the jurors, the whole show. She didn’t have any control, she wasn’t allowed any control… she would be changed when the show wanted her changed, she would be sent back to her life when the show wanted her sent back… she would be fucked when anyone wanted her fucked…

I don’t even get to decide that for myself…

Pixie sniffed, parting her thighs and reaching a hand down beneath the short length of the bath towel. She touched herself with a soothing, cooing whimper – as though it was some kind of protest, a reassuring touch to prove that she could.

Her body responded instantly, the heat and need she’d felt all morning was overwhelming and her time in the shower had done nothing to quench the fires, ignored but still burning inside her, no matter how much she tried to deny them.

A helpless mewling sigh escaped her lips as she fell, unable to stop her fingers as she gently started to stroke herself. Her body relaxed further and further into its prescribed lewd pose – but Pixie didn’t notice, or care. She was alone, she was in control, she was doing this because she wanted to, and it felt good.

Her fingers moved in soothing circles, like she was petting herself, her flustered need stoking her heat higher and higher. Her eyes fluttered opened and closed as her body yearned to relieve the crippling, almost overwhelming stress and she quickly lost herself in the growing pleasure.

This is for me. Pixie told herself with a soft moan, her sighs growing in pitch as she started to feel the coming sparks. Her mind was blank - her regular fantasies pushed aside as she just rode the wave.

Holding her breath, her fingers working more frantically – unconcerned that all morning her arousal had been so painfully high that it had barely taken her two minutes to reach her rapidly building climax...

“Y-y-yes…!” Pixie gasped, “g-god… mmnnghff!”

Pixie’s other hand found her wet hair, her fingers latching into it and tugging on it wantonly. Between her legs her fingers became more frantic, dancing rhythmically as the sound of her beating heart roared deafeningly in her ears. She lost all sense of herself, uncaring that she was kneeling on her bedroom floor still wet, uncaring of any sounds she made.

She gasped for breath, coming in faster, sharper, higher squeals until the electric stars started to spark.

The orgasm caught her suddenly.

Pixie gasped, her breathing hitched, squeezing her eyes closed as the pleasure washed through her with immediate and euphoric rapture. Her thighs shuddered, her hips trembling in place as she held her fingers still, grinding her pussy against her rigid hand to ride each shuddering jolt of ecstasy for as long as she could.

It felt so good. To just be. To just take one quiet private moment of control for herself and-

“Aaaannnd we’re back!!”

Applause drowned her.

N-n-noooo!