Untying the Knot: Ally's Story
Copyright© 2026 by FyreFoss88
Chapter 01: Admitted
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 01: Admitted - A promiscuous young woman is committed to a controversial sex addiction clinic where she must contend with both the staff and patients (or should that be ‘inmates’?). Untying the Knot is an examination of erotica, submission, and the terrible things people do to each other when seeking meaning in their lives and in their actions; both at a personal and institutional level.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Blackmail Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Sharing BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Gang Bang Group Sex Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Enema Exhibitionism Fisting Flatulence Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Sex Toys Spitting Squirting Voyeurism Water Sports Public Sex Cat-Fighting Revenge Violence
Garth dropped me off just before dawn. He seemed sad. Sad and yet angry. Here we were again.
I’d traveled in my pajamas but they made me take them off in a room just beyond the front desk. They gave me gray sweats, a white tank top and a gray hoodie.
They also found the bullet vibe I’d put in my suitcase.
These people were serious, but at least they let me keep my chocolate.
I eyed the great beast of a woman processing me and wondered what her gloved fingers would feel like probing about inside me; whether she could make me come.
I didn’t have to wonder for long.
They took me down the hall to a quiet tiled room filled with damp air. She put her fingers up inside me, digging in both of my holes. It did nothing for me, which honestly, surprised me. Maybe if she put fingers in each hole at the same time I’d have at least gotten something out of it.
After that, they dumped me in my dorm room and slammed the door. There was a bunk in each small room, kinda like in all the cells in prison movies. The clinic was a mixed facility but the sleeping arrangements were kept to the same sex for what should be mostly obvious reasons.
Trix was my “cellmate”. She had the bottom bunk.
I asked her if it was short for Trixie.
She said no - it was because she was a hooker.
She was pretty, for a street hooker. She had this great big fizz of curly brown hair.
Why did a hooker need rehabilitation and treatment for sex addiction? Wouldn’t that be detrimental to business?
She laughed when I asked.
After a while it stopped mattering whether they paid or not, she said.
She would fuck guys all day for money and then go out at night and pick them up at clubs and fuck then for free. She’d fuck them in club toilets or lift her skirt on crowded dance floors or go home with them.
It made my own shit seem like rookie numbers. She blew fifteen guys at a house party and three of them ran a train on her. They fucked her ass raw and she got chlamydia in her butt. That’s when she knew she had to stop. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to share my own story in return, but I chose not to.
Trix had been at the facility for two weeks. I knew this because kept talking, all motormouth, as I unpacked my stuff and laid it all out on the top bunk; measuring the meager items that would mark the sum of my existence for the coming weeks or months.
You like chocolate, huh?
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