Doctors ordersmedgurl

His patient stepped into the hotel suite, dim lights casting long shadows on the walls. The invitation had been clear come for drinks, a little talk, maybe more. But the moment she saw the gleam in his eyes, she knew this was something different.

Dr. was already pouring the drinks sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to give him that dangerous edge. “Drink,” he said simply, handing her a glass.

She obeyed.

The alcohol hit fast , was that all that was in there she thought, he knew exactly what he was doing. Her limbs grew heavier, thoughts foggy, clothes feeling too tight. She didn’t remember when her dress slipped off her shoulders or when he pulled the blindfold from his pocket.

Darkness. A click. The sound of medical gloves snapping on.

“Shh,” he whispered. “You’ve had too much. I need to examine you now, don't worry your in good hands now.”

She tried to speak, but he guided her back onto the bed. Restraints,already waiting—wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Her breathing quickened, but not from fear. Anticipation.

The sheets beneath her were cool. Then came the sounds—clinking metal, the crinkle of sterile packaging, water trickling into a basin.

“Your body is mine for the next few days,” he murmured. “No control. No modesty. Just obedience.”

She gasped as the enema nozzle pressed against her tight asshole—firm, invasive. Her muscles tensed up and he forced it and snakex it inside her far up inside, then released the clip as warm fluid filled her slowly, deliberately.

“You’ll hold it,” he ordered. “Until I say otherwise.”

Moments later, he was at her side again, gloved fingers parting her gently, clinically. A catheter slid into place with practiced precision, and the sensation of being emptied, of surrender, sent her deeper.

He explored every inch of her body with meticulous intent—gloved hands, smooth instruments, murmured observations. She was exposed, completely. She was Controlled. Devastatingly erotic.

By the time he leaned close, brushing lips against her ear, she was deep in subspace—lost in it, floating.

“Perfect little patient,” he whispered. “You’re mine now. Just like we agreed.”

Part 2: “Submission Protocol”

She floated, suspended in a haze of warmth, restraint, and control. Her body was no longer her own—it belonged to the dr. to the methodical precision of his gloved hands, to the low hum of clinical instruments set just out of reach.

The Dr. checked her restraints once more, fingers brushing her skin as he tested their hold. She shivered—not from cold, but from the realization that there was nothing she could do but feel.

“Vitals steady,” he murmured. “Response excellent. You’re slipping deeper now, aren’t you patient?”

She nodded—or thought she did. Blindfolded, helpless, she wasn’t sure anymore where she ended and his control began.

He returned with something new: a wide syringe filled with a creamy, sweet nutritional blend.

“You’ll need your strength,” he said softly, brushing hair away from her face. “And you won’t lift a finger for it.”

Instead of the normal eating routine, the invasive route she feared was going to happen, he tilted her head back gently,inserted a long slim yellow ng tube into her nasal cavity and down her throat she gagged and tried to resist but she wad unable ,she had to give in, he the. Continued placing the syringe above her lips and connections it to the ng tube and pushing it allowing it to drip slowly, steadily, into her ng tube and into her stomach directly.

“you don't need to Swallow just lay there and take it like a Good girl. You don’t need to think—just receive.”

Every movement was slow, deliberate, reinforcing her place. She was the subject, the patient, the body under his command.

Then came the oxygen nasal tube—smooth silicone strapped over her face. It hissed gently, feeding her lungs. Not because she couldn’t breathe, but because he wanted her to feel it: that even her breath came on his terms. He then got out the intubation tube and tilted her head back she tried to struggle and refrain but it was evident that she had no choice and she was going to endure that tube wether she liked it or not!

She moaned softly and then , pulse fluttering as his hand slid over the intubation tube and started inserting it into her throat even lower again,afyer much struggling gagging and some choking it was now inserted, the dr was now going to continue inspecting her, teasing her—still gloved, still detached in the most delicious way.

“Do you know what you are now?” he asked, voice a low rumble.

She whimpered in reply.

“You’re my patient. My case. My living subject. And until I release you at the end of our agreed upon session, you’ll stay exactly like this.”

Bound. Blindfolded. Fed through a tube. Controlled urethra.controlled breathing. Controlled bodily waste.

And utterly, willingly his.