Commercial Break 3 - Experimental Treatment (Part 2)

Pixie sat as still and as naturally as she possibly could – hating every second that she had to ‘fake’ being comfortable sitting like a normal person would.

The surgery waiting room was almost unpleasantly warm, especially in comparison with the bitter frost outside. The heaters were blasting on full and yet Pixie stayed firmly fixed in her refusal to even contemplate taking off her gilet as she buried her face in its thick fur collar and tried very hard not to make eye contact with anyone.

She tugged at the sleeves of her cream sweater and bounced a foot in her low slung boots as she tried to disappear. Thankfully, the handful of other patients littered around the room weren’t paying her any attention, and the girl awkwardly glanced back in the direction of the reception desk, her face flushing pink all over again as she caught the receptionist’s pursed scowl and felt another slap across her ass.

Goddamn it…

When she’d walked in, Pixie had been flummoxed upon discovering she didn’t know her own surname. Of course, she did – except not in this topsy-turvy-reality-adjacent-to-reality bizzaro world she was now in. Worse, when she’d tried to sign-in the receptionist hadn’t been able to find her, resulting in a humiliating exchange where the hapless brunette found herself **** to admit what she was there for…

“I’m… Pixie uh… Pixianna…?”

“Pixianna what?”

There can't be more than one?!

“I um… Pixianna… uh…” She had floundered, cheeks reddening rapidly, “… - to see Dr. Shaw…?”

The frumpy woman behind the desk had just looked at her nonplussed over the rim of her glasses, her fingers hovering frozen over her keyboard, “I need your surname or what it’s regarding… it’s for the system…”

“I um…” Pixie had found herself glancing around anxiously, painfully aware that there was another patient crossing the car park outside and she desperately didn’t want to have to do this with any more of an audience, “For my um… uh… succubus… um, succubus syndrome…?”

She felt the woman’s stare change, and whimpered, feeling a sudden hard slap across her ass cheeks that coaxed a panicked ‘eep’ from her lips. “P-please…”

“Succubus Syndrome…” The receptionist said distastefully, her fingers working loudly across the keys, “Pixianna Naught?”

Of course…

Pixie whimpered, nodding frantically, “Y-yes, that’s me…”

“Take a seat…”

Pixie had hurried away, throwing herself into a chair and praying that the ground would swallow her up. She kept her head down, daring only to look up at the large clock on the wall as it ticked away agonisingly slowly. It took all of her willpower not to think about all of the other subtle changes she'd discovered about her life that morning.

Like the fact that it wasn't just her bed that was different. To Pixie's horror she'd found strange little padded 'seats' in several rooms of her parents house - more raised ottomans that were obviously designed so she could kneel in the living room or at the dining table. Worse, Pixie discovered the reason her mother had even offered to drive her at all was because she didn't have a car any more, or a driving license. It had taken all her strength not to burst into frustrated tears learning that, for safety reasons, her 'condition' made it impossible for her to drive herself.

Every now and then Pixie’s quiet shame was interrupted by another unexpected and impossible spank on her ass; she presumed each time the receptionist happened to glance in her direction. She would shudder on the spot, trying to stifle her own gasps of surprise, but after one particularly firm smack Pixie couldn’t help it, the shock wrenching a pitiful gasp from her lips that sounded somewhere between shame and lust.

She heard someone else in the room cough and Pixie held her breath, trying to slump even lower in her seat.

Please no…

She bit her lip, trying to contain her weary moan of frustration when she felt something hot and hard suddenly pushing up between her breasts. Beneath her gilet, and already struggling with the heat, she could do nothing except tremble in place, trying to hold herself innocuously still.

It was a dick, Pixie knew, she could feel the familiar rigid curve, it’s almost rubbery skin, as it started to slowly stroke up and down inside her cleavage. She mewled, her eyes scanning the room as she frantically tried to identify who was looking at her.

It didn’t take her long to work it out – the younger guy in the corner’s eye flicked back down to his phone as Pixie’s gaze met his and the dick disappeared. Her cheeks reddened as she screwed up her face in disapproving disgust realising she didn't know anything about him except what his dick felt like.

“Pixianna?”

Pixie jumped, whipping her head around to where she’d been called to see Dr Shaw looking expectantly at her from the doorway.

The older woman was smiling at her kindly and yet there was still a curt directness written across her face, expecting Pixie to walk to her quickly. Her frizzy hair was curled wildly, pulled up in a familiar messy bun and she clutched a thick paper file to the chest of her sensible grey sweater. Despite her age, Dr Shaw still exuded a kind of youthful health; she was short and thin and yet carried herself with a dignified professional air that felt somehow both motherly and intimidating.

Pixie hurried over before she found herself numbly lead down a corridor towards the examination room, but not before she felt one final smack of the receptionist’s hand, and another quick stroke of the phantom dick between her breasts.

It was only once the door of the examination room clicked shut that Pixie allowed herself to take a muted sigh of relief to be, at least, in what felt like a little bubble of shelter.

The older woman turned away to step to her desk, “Ok – just pop your coat off and then hop up on the bed there” she waved a hand at the padded bench in the corner, its plastic surface covered with a roll of blue paper.

Pixie begrudgingly did as she was told, shrugging out of her gilet and hugging it in her lap before she perched herself on the edge of the bed with a defeated sigh.

“How have you been?” The doctor asked without turning around, giving Pixie the distinct impression that she wasn’t actually listening. She was rifling methodically through notes in a large file, licking her finger before turning each sheet. From this angle it was near impossible for Pixie to actually read anything on them, and yet she was still mortified to catch glimpses of page after page filled with notes apparently all about her.

“Um…” I don’t know because I haven’t been here! – Pixie swallowed down the truth, unable to bring herself to say anything except, “… fine…”

“Just fine? … Last time y-” The woman interrupted herself, glancing back at Pixie from beneath her wild mop of hair and stopping with a raised eyebrow, “Are you in a hurry?

Pixie felt the awkward confusion creep up her back at the question, glancing down at the gilet in her lap with an uneasy blush. “Uh… no…?”

Dr Shaw tapped a finger against the page she was holding half turned, “You look like you're about to rush out the door any second...?”

Is that an option?

“No... Sorry…” Pixie swallowed her own confusion, shuffling her ass backwards on the seat a little in a futile effort to earn the doctor’s approval. Her blush only grew when she looked back and caught Dr Shaw’s unmoved face.

“Could you get on the bed properly...?”

Pixie felt the burning across her ears, “I... honestly, I’m fine like this…” she insisted weakly.

“I need you in a position you can relax Pixianna.” Dr Shaw let out a sigh that was laced with a hint of impatience before she snapped the folder closed, “Why don't you take your shoes off and get comfortable...”

Pixie felt the heat growing in her face as she glanced anxiously between the doctor and the door. This was a mistake ... What if she just left? She could do that right? Just walk out of the ‘scene’ or whatever this intermission back to her real life was… run away and then… then what?

She cringed internally wrestling with the reality of her situation. She’d be in the hallway, and then the waiting room, and then the street… and then where? She couldn't hide. It didn’t matter what she did or where she went – she couldn’t escape this. The show had given her 'Succubus Syndrome' - it didn't matter that it didn't exist, she had it, and there wasn't going to be a better opportunity than this to find out what that meant.

All she had to do was take off her shoes, kneel on the bed, and play along with whatever the doctor wanted… she didn't have a choice.

“I… ok…”

Reluctantly the brunette set her gilet aside and slipped out of her shoes, letting them tumble to the floor of the examination room before she drew her legs up beneath her, sitting taller as she hesitantly knelt on the padded bed.

Dr Shaw approached, her stethoscope poised, and Pixie blushed, catching the delicate scent of the older woman’s perfume as she drew overly close, “OK – and relax…”

Pixie blushed, eyeing the instrument before she reluctantly complied, letting her back ease into its humiliatingly obscene arch, thrusting out her breasts and letting her arms fall behind her back. Each of her hands found the opposite elbow, her toes pointed, and the brunette whimpered as she let her head lower into its natural submissive bow.

“Good” Dr Shaw gave an encouraging yet dispassionate nod before reaching inside the collar of Pixie’s cream sweater to press the stethoscope against her chest, “and deep breaths – in… and out… that's good. And just tell me if you feel anything during this exam ok?”

“Y-you mean?” Pixie stammered between breaths, her already burning shame getting hotter by the second.

“Mmhmm - any unusual sensations or compulsions to speak...?”

“N-n-nothing right now...” Pixie stammered, grateful for the respite.

“No phantom hands? Penises? Mouths?” Dr Shaw asked casually, swapping the scope to the other side of Pixie’s rapidly reddening chest.

“N-n-no!” The kneeling girl bit her lip, squirming uncomfortably on the spot.

“And in...”

Pixie drew in a final shuddering breath of shame, mortified at the effect breathing this deeply seemed to have on her already lewdly thrust out chest.

“Okay good.” Dr Shaw stood back, returning her stethoscope to around her neck as Pixie’s sweater sprung back into place, “You're still feeling these things regularly?”

“I guess...” Pixie stammered, unable to meet the doctor’s gaze. How was she supposed to answer questions like that? Sorry – I wasn’t here so I don’t actually know...

Dr Shaw leant over her and Pixie felt hands gently taking hold of her elbow, “Okay, hold out your arm for me...?”, she reluctantly complied, “Do you think the frequency is increasing? You're feeling these things more often?”

“More than I used to...” Pixie groaned sarcastically, biting her tongue.

“And relax...” the doctor let go of her wrist and Pixie reluctantly allowed her arm to ‘rest’, her own dizzying humiliation only growing when instead of her arm dropping from gravity to her side it reset behind her back like it was on a spring.

“Very Good.” Dr Shaw said casually, as though Pixie’s arm snapping back behind her arched back was perfectly normal, “Do you think it's gotten worse since it started on Holiday?”

“I... Don't know...!” Pixie snapped in exasperated response, she couldn’t hope to explain why she didn’t know, but she was also floundering as she tried frantically to give answers that didn’t make her sound completely insane.

Pixie closed her eyes and tried not to think about what had happened to her in that Greek bar. To her it felt like it had only happened that morning, which only set off even more disconcerting and worrying anxiety knowing for everyone else it was months ago…

Dr Shaw’s moved away from her, the woman walking across the room to retrieve the folder and notepad she’d left on her desk, “And when did you last have an episode?”

Pixie cringed, blushing with a combination of shame and relief that it was a question she could actually answer, even if it made her cringe, “I uh - in... The waiting room?”

“Before you came in here?”

“Y-y-yes...”

“Did you feel something or was it an invitation this time?”

“An invitation?” Pixie’s eyes snapped up, confused.

“To use your mouth for oral sex?” Dr Shaw explained with a casual nod of her head.

Pixie gasped, “N-no!”

“Okay – and what did you feel this time?”

“A… um... I guess, a penis... between my breasts...”

“In your cleavage?” The doctor pointed her pen at Pixie’s chest and the brunette whimpered in embarrassment, unable to believe she was discussing this with her doctor.

“Y-y-yes…”

“And it was thrusting? Like someone was pleasuring themselves with your breasts?” Dr Shaw made the motion in the air with her pen.

Pixie’s mouth hung open as she nodded feebly.

“Good...” Dr Shaw sighed, writing rapidly in the notepad again, “And did it reach completion? Did you feel any phantom emissions on your chest?”

The sight of her own humiliation being documented so thoroughly set Pixie aflame, “I... don’t… I don't know... I didn’t… Is this necessary?!”

“Pixianna, Succubus Syndrome presents extremely rarely... You might be the only known case in the world... These details are important; you don't need to feel embarrassed...”

It’s important to know if the ghost dick came on me…?

She moaned softly, shaking her head as her frustrations started to boil over. This was all insane, it was a charade, she didn’t actually have ‘Succubus Syndrome’ – it doesn’t exist! It's just an excuse, a humiliating false story to explain away the degrading things the show was doing to her. She was living in a nightmare, and the fake ‘help’ of her own corrupted doctor wasn’t helping!

“It’s not real” Pixie snapped with an irritated huff.

“Pixianna… we’ve been over this… denial of your condition wi-”

“I don’t have a condition!” The brunette complained bitterly, holding up her hands in exasperation, “This is all just…”

“…Made up for a stupid cosmic TV show that I’m trapped in – it’s transforming me and ruining my life!”

At least, that’s what she’d tried to say, instead, Pixie felt her cheeks growing redder, and her eyes growing wider as she heard her own mouth run away with itself, unstoppably;

“This is all just… because I masturbate every day to erotica on the internet! I can’t stop! I love to finger myself while fantasising about dark things happening to me!”

She gasped. Her hands clamping over her mouth in horror as she stared at the doctor, mortified. Dr. Shaw just stared back, seemingly frozen by the outburst. To Pixie, it felt like the oxygen had been sucked from the room and her vision faltered as she fought the urge to faint from embarrassment. Rule 13… rule 13… rule 13…!!

“I didn’t mean that! I mean… it’s…”

Pixie’s protests were interrupted by a stifled gasp as she felt phantom fingers suddenly pinch her nipples, twisting them painfully and betraying that, behind her professional demeanour, her outburst had had an effect on the doctor’s opinion of her...

“Pixianna… masturbation is perfectly normal…”

The fingers squeezed on her nipples as though punctuating the words.

“… though, that does sound very frequent, and you mentioned these are dark fantasies…? Do you find them concerning? Do you think maybe you have an addiction, or perhaps that these fantasies are a symptom of your condition? That they have manifested because of your… limitations?”

No! You’ve got it backwards! My fantasies have manifested the condition…!

“I…” Pixie bit her tongue. Don’t protest. Just get out of here. Hesitantly, she nodded her head, cheeks burning, “Maybe…?”

The pen scrawled, “That’s very interesting, thank you for being honest. I want you to know that this is a judgement free zone...”

Pixie groaned, feeling the phantom fingers twist her nipples further… Liar…

“… Your condition is unique, and it’s important that you feel comfortable being completely honest and open about what you’re feeling in these sessions. I know that this might be scary and embarrassing, but it’s important to remember that it’s not your fault… Succubus Syndrome doesn't have to define you...”

Pixie whimpered as she suddenly felt breath on her lips, like someone was breathing impossibly close to her. Before she could react she felt a hot mouth kissing her forcefully. The fingers on her breasts tugged, pulling her closer to the unseen, phantom version of the doctor that was molesting her.

“Mmmhmm…” Pixie moaned, heart racing with shame, losing track of what the doctor was saying.

“… We want to make sure that you’re safe, comfortable and accommodated for in everything. Your needs are unique, and it’s important that we factor in everything that we can so that you're on an effective treatment plan…”

Pixie felt the Doctor’s tongue plunge into her mouth, dancing across her own.

“Y-y-you can’t… cure it!” Pixie gasped in defeat.

Because it’s not real! The show is only going to keep making things worse… my ‘symptoms’ are just going to get more and more complicated…

Dr. Shaw sighed, “We will do everything we can to make sure you can lead a full, happy and comfortable life – your condition doesn’t define you. You’re much more than… that…” She coughed and caught herself.

The phantom fingers released her nipples and the mouth withdrew. Pixie blinked in relief, before she felt a hand lightly slap her cheek. The doctor’s ghostly fantasy seemed satisfied for now and Pixie realised she was probably riding a line in the doctor’s opinion between ‘patient’ and ‘slut’.

“Right then -” Dr Shaw announced pragmatically, putting her notepad aside and reaching into the top draw of her desk, “are you ready for the tests?”

She smiled with encouraging warmth and a familiarity that made Pixie feel immediately unnerved. The way Dr Shaw had spoken made it apparent to Pixie that she was meant to know exactly what 'tests' she meant; that this was all routine, as though they’d done this dozens of times at dozens of appointments before… Because we have...

“Oh... yeah... the… um?” Pixie frowned, confused, eyes flicking desperately between the doctor’s face and her rummaging hand for any clues - What tests?!

Her already glowing cheeks turned an even darker shade of crimson when, a moment later, she saw the black silk blindfold dangling from the doctor’s fingers. It was handed to her without ceremony and Pixie took it numbly, balling it tightly in her hands, “You want me to…?”

Dr Shaw gave a casual encouraging nod as she calmly retrieved her notepad, “Mmhmm, if you just pop your top off and put on the blindfold, same as always…”

“M-m-my top?” Pixie gasped, instinctively clutching at the hem of her sweater in muted pleading, “W-w-why?”

Dr Shaw gave her a quizzical frown, “You know it helps stimulate the necessary perception of you for the test… Besides, I can’t test your somatic responses with your top on…”

The kneeling girl squirmed awkwardly, floundering for excuses, “Um… my bra?”

“Oh yes, if you’re comfortable removing it – it would help…” Dr Shaw said with clinical dispassion. Behind her back Pixie felt phantom hands sliding over her shoulders as though reaching for her bra strap.

“I… I’ll keep it on…” Pixie whimpered before she started to unwillingly remove her sweater, her body urged into motion by the hands stroking across her skin.

“… whichever makes you most comfortable”

Pixie tugged the garment up from her waist, revealing the plain cotton bra that held the swell of her little breasts beneath as it swept up her body, her bare skin paled by the cool air in the room. Her hair cascaded from the sweater as she eased it over her head, tugging her arms free before holding it in her lap, blushing in the cool air of the room as the phantom hands mercifully disappeared again when Dr Shaw coughed.

“Is uh…” the brunette swallowed anxiously, “Is this ok?”

“You still need to put on the blindfold Pixianna…”

“Here?” Pixie whimpered, glancing down at the bed as she frantically tried to get some context clues as to what was about to happen.

Dr Shaw’s eyes narrowed sceptically, “Yes Pixianna…”

Pixie didn’t move for several agonising seconds, her eyes fixed to Dr Shaw as her chest rose and fell beneath her bra. The older woman just stared keenly back until eventually the weight of expectation became too much to bear and Pixie cautiously unfurled the blindfold, tugging the little elastic strap experimentally before she went to slip it over her head. She couldn’t help but run her thumb across the silk fabric, blushing brighter as she contemplated that the thing seemed more suited for the bedroom than a doctor’s office.

With an anxious breath, Pixie plunged herself into **** darkness.

“So, same as last time – if it gets too much just say, and we’ll stop – ok?” Dr Shaw’s voice grew louder as she approached and Pixie felt the bench she was kneeling on shift before she felt her sweater being gently but firmly pulled from her lap. She reluctantly let it go, swallowing her muted panic.

“Ok - and just breathe and relax for me…” Dr Shaw encouraged, her voice was close, and Pixie blushed smelling her perfume again as she cautiously let her body slowly return to its humiliating natural pose.

“That's good. Let the tension out of your back… that's it… and just relax and try to rest as still as you can ok?”

Pixie whimpered beneath her blindfold, trying desperately to not think about the sight she was presenting - kneeling submissively with her arms behind her back, thrusting out her breasts in just her bra for the gaze of the woman...

“... Ok, Pixianna I'm going to touch your elbow, I'd like you to tell me when you feel it?”

Pixie took a breath, feeling a single poking finger tap her left elbow, “... I feel it...”

“Very good... And can you tell me where I’m touching you now?”

Again Pixie tried to stay calm, blushing at how stupid she felt when the doctor’s finger contacted her shoulder instead.

“My shoulder…”

“And here...?”

“On my foot” She gasped, wriggling her pointed toes involuntarily.

Pixie felt the bed cushion shift again slightly as Dr Shaw’s perfume drew even closer, her voice matronly, “Good. Now, what about here?”

Pixie gasped, her lips parting and her back shuddering in unwanted impassioned surprise as she felt both of the doctor’s hands gently cupping her breasts over her bra.

“D-d-doctor Shaw…?”

“… What do you feel?” the voice was very close now and Pixie whimpered, flustered as she frantically tried to work out if the sensation was even real.

“... My breasts… Y-y-you’re… ” Pixie mewled, unable to finish the sentence.

“Good … And now?”

The girl shuddered, letting out another stifled gasp as the hands at her chest began to teasingly stroke and caress her, their cloying touch growing more insistent as they squeezed wantonly.

“Y-y-you're groping me!” Pixie gasped in alarm.

Dr Shaw’s even tone of voice didn’t change, “And now?”

This time Pixie squealed, shaking her head as a second pair of hands joined the first on her breasts – except, they didn’t. They were the same hands, on her same breasts, just, doubled. Her mind bent again at the dizzying impossibility of the signals it was receiving.

“It's... Y-y-you’re groping me twice!? P-pl-please!” Pixie moaned, her whole body aflame as she felt both sets of hands withdraw a moment before she reacted to shield herself with her own forearms.

“You’re doing very well Pixianna” Dr Shaw coaxed and Pixie was relieved to feel the woman’s presence moving away from her.

The kneeling girl whimpered, chest rising and falling in embarrassed breaths as she held herself in the dark – her own heart thundering in her ears. She’d felt Dr Shaw’s hands twice, which meant the woman must’ve been touching her and thinking about touching her at the same time… and even that idea set her into another tail spin of anxious embarrassment realising she must’ve done that on purpose…

“Ok,” Dr Shaw’s voice shattered the disquieting darkness, “Keep the blindfold on… keep relaxing... I’m just going to fetch Dr Richards for the next test…”

Before Pixie could react or object she heard the door click open and a waft of breeze and sound from the corridor carried into the examination room. She froze, not even daring to touch the blindfold, as though staying completely still would somehow help hide her from the terrifying prospect that anyone walking by in the hall would’ve had a perfect view of her kneeling topless on the bed.

Pixie didn’t breathe again until she heard the door click shut, sighing and letting her arms slip back behind her and thrusting her chest out as she instinctively relaxed in relief.

Wait… Dr Richards...?!