Touched
Up the creek: They pay for one impulsive moment

Copyright© 2011 by Starscape

Science Fiction Sex Story: Up the creek: They pay for one impulsive moment - In the future, humans have "outgrown" the need for physical contact. Although a very few, the genetically defective, still crave the touch of others, skin-to-skin contact is forbidden. Astrid is a defective, struggling to survive in a society which forces her to deny her identity and suppress that which comes naturally, until a chance encounter changes her life forever. (Note: Story codes are added as the plot progresses)

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   NonConsensual   Science Fiction   Post Apocalypse   BDSM   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Slow  

"I said, hold her down!"

"Let go of me!"

"I'm trying, but she's fighting me like a wild animal."

"What did you do to him? Grant!"

"Three cc's Kalmital, stat."

"Get off me, you fuck!"

"She's too small for such a high dose."

"Where's Grant?

"Gahhh! She spit on me!"

"WHERE IS HE?"

"That filthy little pervert spit on me!"

"Get that damn sedative before she tears my arm off!"

"No! No! Don't touch me! GRAAANT!"


I woke in the light, a world of white upon white, unable to move my head or limbs.

Where am I? I swallowed, trying to contain the bile rising in my throat. Why can't I move?

A wave of nausea slammed into my gut as the realization hit.

We'd been caught.

Straining against my bonds, I struggled for freedom in vain. What happened to Grant? Did they get him too?

What have I done?

"Oh Grant," I rasped, my throat raw and dry as my vision blurred with hot tears. "I'm so, so sorry."

I heard a door slide open and footsteps approach.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice, strangely familiar, said. "Good. We were starting to become concerned."

"Please. Let me go."

"We were forced to administer almost double the dose of Kalmital to make you pliant enough to put into restraints. You're quite strong for someone of your size; clearly you come from sturdy genetic stock."

A face came into my field of vision. Two eyes, so light they seemed to be a mistake, came into focus, staring down at me.

I flinched. "Please, Dr. Blake," I croaked, hoping that calling him by name might make some difference. "Please let me go."

The man smiled, a cold smile which moved only the bottom half of his face. "It's funny, when you call me that, I have to remind myself that you are talking about my pod-sibling and not me. Records confirm he examined you in June, for ... possible post traumatic shock. Some minor symptoms of emotional disturbance. His notes indicate you were cleared to return to work after a two-day medical leave. For a general practitioner, Donovan's never been much of a diagnostician." He chuckled.

"Yes, Astrid, my name is Dr. Blake, though certainly not the one you had in mind. I am Dr. Marcus Blake, Ministry of Health, department of psychiatry, specializing in—well, individuals such as yourself."

Recognizing my efforts were futile, I stopped fighting against the restraints. "Why are you doing this?"

"Now, now Astrid, surely you already know the answer to that question. You and your ... companion were observed engaging in unnatural, not to mention unlawful, activity in broad daylight."

"Grant; where is he?"

"In a room very much like this one, awaiting treatment." He paused and cocked his head. "Don't worry; he's safe. I'm afraid we were forced to use ... harsher methods than we prefer to make him compliant, but there should be no permanent damage. The men tell me he fought savagely, trying to help you escape our custody. They found his ... commitment to your safety at the cost to himself quite disturbing. I must admit I find it somewhat ... noble, admirable even, in a misguided sort of way."

"Please. We haven't done anything wrong."

"It's funny how often I hear that from the genetically defective. 'I haven't done anything wrong.' 'I was born this way.' 'I wasn't hurting anyone.' All of it said quite sincerely, as you did just then. Yet in time those protests changed into pleas begging me to free them of their psychopathy. I'm sure you won't be any different.

"Now, I would like very much to remove your head restraint before conducting my examination. I find full range of motion allows me to make a more accurate assessment of your response."

I gulped. "Response? To what?"

"Why, before I can proceed with a course of treatment, I must first evaluate the extent of your deviancy. Greater degrees of perversion require more aggressive treatment. Clearly, since you and Mr. Devlin were caught engaging in public, skin-on-skin facial contact, you have already progressed to a higher level. Still, components of the treatment can be quite painful, and it would be inhumane to subject you to more ... distress than is necessary to achieve the desired result."

He must have seen the terror in my eyes, for he went on. "There, there, Astrid. There's nothing to fear but your own weakness. I've done this many times before to great success. Now, will you help me help you? Will you behave yourself if I remove the head restraint?"

I flicked my eyes downward, signaling my acquiescence.

"Good. I think we're going to get along just fine. Now, before I do that, I need to remove your hospital gown." I cringed at the sound of the hook-and-loop fastened seams tearing apart. The cool air caused my newly-exposed skin to rise, as if it shared my mortification.

Dr. Blake slipped the final remaining section of fabric out from under me, leaving me naked as I lay bound to the hard polymer exam chair. "Now, just a few more adjustments." Metal joints clanked and the leg rest split in half, my lower limbs spreading wide while he locked the chair into its new position.

"You're almost there. All that's left is your arms." Dr. Blake's face came into view again. "Now, I'm going to rotate the arm rests until your hands almost meet above your head."

I trembled, gasping for breath as my arms stretched out and upward without my permission.

"You're doing wonderfully, Astrid. I'm so happy to see you cooperating. It wastes so much energy to resist, energy that can be better used toward healing yourself of that which controls you. There," he concluded, removing the chin and forehead pieces and placing them on the nearby counter. "Go ahead and stretch your neck a bit. Yes, that's it; rotate your head. Feels much better now, doesn't it?"

"Wh-what are you d-doing?" I quavered, muscles tensing when the back of his gloved hand traced an unexpected path down one of my arms.

"I see. 'Patient demonstrates abnormal response to tactile stimuli.'" Dr. Blake rolled his hand at the wrist and began stroking my breast.

Sucking in my breath, my eyes flickered closed. "Please. Don't do that."

"'Patient's verbal response inconsistent with physiological response. Raised flesh and flushing noted in and around area of stimulation. Eyes closed at moment of contact. Shallow breath, increased heart rate noted.' Tell me, Astrid, how does this feel? Please be as specific as possible."

Drawing on all my strength to ignore the sensations coursing through me, I replied through clenched teeth, "Why don't you tell me? You're the doctor."

Dr. Blake sighed. "We were doing so well, Astrid, just a moment ago. Do you really want to start down this road?"

I took a deep, steadying breath and forced myself to look into his preternatural eyes. "I won't help you. There's nothing wrong with me."

"I believe you believe that right now. I truly do. What I'm doing feels good, doesn't it?" he asked, tugging on my nipple. When I didn't answer he went on. "I'm not even touching the other one, and it's as erect as the one between my fingers."

His hand left my breast and slid down my abdomen, my skin quivering in its wake. He walked down the length of my body and around, stopping in between my outstretched thighs.

Biting my lip, I suppressed a moan when his fingers touched my genitals. I hated him for making me feel this way, for perverting a pleasure I'd come to associate with Grant.

"Now, you see, this is where my pod-brother made his biggest diagnostic error," Dr. Blake revealed, his finger cleaving the lips covering my entrance like a piece of ripe fruit. "His examination indicated swelling and wetness in the genital region, similar to what you are presenting right now. You indicated a recent session in the SxTC the likely cause of your symptoms.

"Aside from that not being particularly realistic two days after the fact, upgrade or not, it would have been a simple matter for Donovan to check out your story. If he had, he would have discovered it had in fact been nearly two weeks since your last visit to the Pleasure Center. And if he had discovered the truth, he might have discovered a further truth—that you had to have been engaging in manual stimulation within the previous twelve hours. Isn't that right, Astrid?"

"Fuck off," I groaned, gritting my teeth.

"'Fuck off'? What exactly does that mean? It's obvious you're angry, but I can't say I've heard that particular phrase before. Well, that's not entirely true. Grant—Mr. Devlin—he shouted 'fuck you' at me a short time ago, and my men reported you screamed, 'get off me, you fuck' when we took you into custody. Tell me, is this 'fuck' the latest euphemism amongst defectives?"

"Fuck off," I repeated.

"So emotional." I gasped as the tip of his finger began to manipulate my clitoris. "Don't you understand, Astrid, your emotionality is what makes you a less evolved human being? And that touching only exacerbates your weakness?

"You hate me, don't you? And yet, look at the way your body betrays you, grinding itself against my fingers, desperate for relief. How can you trust your judgment when you can't even trust your own body?

"Go ahead, let go. You might as well experience pleasure one last time. Because I promise you, beyond this moment you will no longer associate such stimulation with pleasure."

"Guhhh!"

"That's it, Astrid; let it go," Dr. Blake encouraged, rubbing my clitoris as my flesh palpitated beneath his hand, "and with it your base impulses. I'm here to help you learn how to be a modern human being, one with the discipline to control her primitive urges for the greater good."

I started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" he asked, jerking his hand away, his tone of authority wavering for a fraction of a second.

"For someone so in control of his 'primitive urges'," I chortled, gasping to speak as tears squeezed from my eyes, "your penis is awfully hard."


Repeated power outages prevented a continuation of Dr. Blake's treatment, which included liberal application of electric shocks to my genitals and other sensitive areas while lecturing about the dangers my primitive nature posed to society. I overhead the orderlies blaming the power loss on a thunderstorm, although without any windows in my room I had no way of confirming the information. All I knew was that after a few hours, the light-eyed psychiatrist finally gave up and left me alone.

 
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