Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Andreabound at the Institute

by Andreabound

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© Copyright 2007 - Andreabound

Storycodes: Sbf; F/f; bond; cuffs; gag; straitjacket; hospital; asylum; cell; straps; doctor; toys; nc; XX

As long time fans of Andreabound's work may know, her website has been offline since 2007. Her earlier stories were published here on, but there were eight more stories on her own site at the time it went offline. Rather than risk the remaining stories being lost to the aether, I'm republishing them here, despite them not being submitted through the usual channels. I hope you all enjoy these lovely works, and that having them all together in one place brings more fans to Andreabound's work.

The original text for this story can be accessed here on the Wayback Machine; it is a great resource preserving many interesting stories that otherwise would have been lost. If you can then please donate to show your appreciation for the service they provide.

Part One

After my rescue from the clutches of Doctor Sara by the FBI I found myself without a job of course. In one sense this didn’t matter too much as I didn’t need to worry about finding a roof over my head or paying for the essentials. You see, Mr. Mazzoni and the Doctor had been rounded up and I was whipped away into a safe house where my basic needs were looked after and I could be kept safe until the trial. It turns out the FBI had been after him for a while and so I found myself embroiled in the middle of a high-profile trial as a key witness. One reason I needed to be in a safe house was that Mr. Mazzoni’s henchman – the guy who had taken me to the doctor’s lair - had avoided arrest and the FBI feared that he would try to silence me. Sure the doctor had been caught red-handed torturing someone and her conviction was assured, my testimony there was just to add strength to the prosecution’s case. But I was the only tangible link between the doctor and Mr. Mazzoni’s nefarious shipping activities. These, I turned out included the import and export of drugs and young women for the sex trade. At least I now knew what fate had been planned for me once the doctor had tired of her tortures and why she was at pains not to mark me too badly.

One factor the FBI had not taken into account, though, was the psychological effect my captivity had on me. Most people would be glad to be free and unrestrained after such a traumatic experience. But for me, something dark had been awakened and now it just felt wrong to be walking around without the feel of the hood and without having my wrists encircled with steel.

The FBI guys assigned to watch me were only really concerned that I didn’t go outside and expose myself to danger. And since I showed no inclination to do that, they pretty much ignored me. This provided me with ample opportunity to secrete a pair of handcuffs from one of the agents who had left his jacket lying over the back of a chair.

When the agents finally realized I was missing and came looking for me they were most surprised to find me in my bed and when I refused to get up started to get worried. The reason I wouldn’t get out of bed became obvious once the bed sheets were pulled back to reveal my cuffed hands. The agent exchanged puzzled looks and a supervisor was called. I don’t know what discussions took place, they didn’t think to invite me, but the result seemed to be a concern that I was not likely to make a reliable witness in my present state of mind and therefore something had to be done about it – and quickly; the trial was only a week away.

A doctor was summoned to interview me and as my answers weren’t satisfactory he came to the conclusion I would need further assessment and possibly treatment. I overheard the discussion between the doctor and the FBI supervisor. He wanted to place me in a hospital where they could take time to assess me carefully and recommended a long-term therapy that would bring me back to normality in a slow and measured fashion. The FBI guy needed a quick fix.

After a heated debate, the doctor finally suggested an institution he knew of that guaranteed quick results although he was clearly unhappy with the techniques they used and warned this would make my long-term rehabilitation much more difficult. But the FBI supervisor told the doctor that I wasn’t an FBI problem once the trial was over so he didn’t care about that. His job was simply to deliver me intact and with all my faculties to the witness stand. He was a man used to getting his way and so the doctor eventually capitulated and made a phone call.

Security was discussed but the doctor assured the FBI agents that the place he was sending me to was very secure and there would be no chance of me getting out or of anyone getting in to harm me.

I wasn’t too happy about being discussed in the third person, as if I wasn’t even in the room and I made this plain. The supervisor told me to be quiet and I could tell by the set of his jaw that his mind was made up, and I would soon be following the doctor’s recommendations, with or without my consent.

 An hour or so later a large white truck turned up at the house and, after checking it out and looking up and down the street to ensure the coast was clear, the FBI agents bundled me in to the back of the truck. Once in there, I was now in the care of a couple of burly men in white coveralls who insisted all those admitted to the ‘Institute’ (as they called it) had to be restrained. This involved stripping me down to my underwear before strapping me into a straight jacket and wrapping soft cuffs around my ankles. These were joined by a soft leather strap, leaving me about eighteen inches of movement. Strangely I felt safer at that moment than I had since I’d been rescued from the doctor’s torture lab.

I could see one of the orderlies had a ball gag in his hand but he obviously decided he wasn’t going to need it and put the thing back in his pocket. She’ll be needing it soon enough, the other orderly said and they exchanged knowing glances.

Locked in the back of the truck I had no idea of where we were headed. It felt strange to be taken somewhere unknown again; strange but also oddly familiar and comforting. At least this time I could see the building as I stepped out of the truck. It looked foreboding and the Victorian architecture seemed to fit with the image I had conjured up in my mind. Now the straight jacket made sense; I could see this was a institute with very serious intentions. Even the FBI guys, who I assumed had been following the truck, were nowhere to be seen. They obviously trusted the security of this place and looking around at the bleak high walls and the razor wire I couldn’t blame them.

There was a lengthy registration process which I won’t bore you with and I was taken down a long corridor decorated from floor to ceiling in old white tiles. Many were cracked and discolored adding to the gloomy and oppressive atmosphere of the place. In addition some of the strip lights were flickering and combined with the echoing of our footsteps down the empty corridor and the occasional scream, heard from far away, the sense of menace was almost palpable.

So I was almost glad when our journey terminated at a small steel door and I was pushed inside the small room on the other side of the door. The orderly with the clipboard checked his notes. Priority case he said, at least you won’t be stuck in here too long. With that he slammed the door with a loud clang and I was left to my own devices.

The room I found myself in was no more than six feet on a side; more like a cell really. There was a metal bed fixed to the floor with a thin mattress on top of it. No blankets. No windows either, the only light was provided by a dim bulkhead light fixed far above me in the ceiling even then it was protected by a metal grill. They were taking no chances in here I reckoned. There were no sharp corners and no items that could be used to cause self-harm. Not that I wanted to harm myself but I guessed that might not be true of all the Institute’s residents. In any case, I was still wearing the straight jacket so there was little chance of me coming to any harm in here. I looked around the cell but apart from the bed and me it was empty. At least the tiles in here were intact. Probably maintained to ensure there were no sharp edges of broken tiles to cause injury. I examined the door but it was just a featureless slab of dull gray metal. No handle on my side and the small spy-hole obviously had a shutter that had been closed on the other side of the door.

Nothing to do, but sit on the edge of the bed, and wait. I reflected that I had been doing a lot of that recently; sitting, standing, laying, but always waiting for a coming torment. I wondered what torment awaited me this time.

At least I didn’t have to wait long. It can’t have been more than an hour before the orderlies came back. They made a great show of reading the clip board again and reading aloud a lot of medical jargon. I must have looked as confused as I felt because the orderly not reading the clipboard simply said that I would call it aversion therapy. Well I’d heard of aversion therapy; but for what? I needed comforting after my ordeal, not a close encounter with a huge hairy spider or whatever happened in these aversion therapy sessions.

In any case still wearing the straight jacket gave me little choice and grabbing a handle on each side the orderlies marched me off to my next appointment. This time our journey took us down a flight of worn stairs into a basement corridor that looked even more dilapidated than the first one, if that were possible. Here there were rusty pipes and old wires running along the walls and ceiling to add to the run down feeling this place already had in spades.

We stopped at another featureless door that looked like it ought to creak when opened. It didn’t creak, though; in fact the whole room looked unsettlingly as if it were used regularly.

Part Two

I looked unhappily around the large room. In the middle was a metal bed frame and attached to it at various points were straps, the purpose of which were clear enough. I noticed a couple of large clips that were connected to wires. The wires led to a console that sported a bank of knobs and dials whose purpose was less clear.

The whole set up and indeed the whole room looked like it was a left over set from an old Vincent Price horror movie. There was a person in a white lab coat bent over the apparatus and as I entered the room the figure turned. I froze; it couldn’t be, surely? For the person in the white coat was the spitting image of the Doctor who had so recently tortured me.

“No, no, let me go!” I cried, trying to back out of the room.

“That always happens when they see the wires” the doctor said, giving the orderlies a look that told them to tighten their grip on me. They already knew their jobs, though, and so I found myself pulled further into the room, despite my struggling.

“Don’t let that witch touch me” I shouted “she’s going to kill me!” 

“For fuck’s sake, Sakowicz, how many times do I have to tell you to gag these cunts before you bring them to my sessions?” the doctor snapped “I’m trying to concentrate here, this is delicate work!”

“Sorry, doctor, its just she was quiet before…” his excuses tailed off at a glare from the doctor. Out came the gag again and, this time, I fought like a wild cat, but resisting two trained and experienced hospital orderlies while wearing a straight jacket was never a good idea and it was only seconds before the huge ball was forced behind my teeth and the thick leather strap painfully tightened at the back of my neck. “Get her on the table, I haven’t got all day” the doctor was still cross with the orderlies and they almost fell over themselves to comply with her wishes. Through the fog of terror I was feeling, I managed to wonder at the power this doctor must wield to have such powerful men so eager not to displease her.

In short order I found myself cuffed to the four corners of the bed frame; naked, once the orderlies had removed the straight jacket and roughly torn my undergarments off. I lay there quivering with fear, hoping this was a terrible mistake and that the FBI would come bursting into the room again to rescue me in the nick of time.

But they didn’t come and so the doctor was able to continue uninterrupted with her preparations for whatever she had in mind for me. I couldn’t imagine what she had planned but I certainly didn’t like the look of all this apparatus. Of course, like all good movie villains, the doctor obliged by describing to me, in great detail, what was planned for the next few hours.

Apparently, I had a condition the doctor described as Bonditis. This meant I had a need to be bound up at all times. The cure for this was to tie me up and then make the experience painful so that I would always associate being bound with the pain and, therefore, I would never desire to be bound again. Simple enough in theory, but in my case a process that normally started gently and increased in intensity over many weeks or months would have to be accelerated to just a few days. The doctor explained she would therefore unfortunately need to start me on the maximum therapy. I noticed she didn’t look too put out at having to deviate from her normal procedure.

So here I was, lying on the metal frame of a bed in the middle of a laboratory run by a woman who was clearly demented. Any normal person would have run a mile from this mad scientist setup, but that option was denied me by the wide leather cuffs and straps that kept me pinned down to the bed frame and the gag filling my mouth that even prevented me from trying to talk sense into my would-be torturer. Not that anything I could have said would have made the slightest difference, I suspect. After checking my bonds were tightened to her satisfaction (she said that she didn’t want me jumping around and hurting myself – how thoughtful of her!), the doctor went back to fiddling with her dials and switches.

“Ready” she said approaching me holding a mean looking clip in each rubber-gloved hand. The clips looked vicious and as she opened them and closed them again so that each clips bit into one of my nipples, I could verify they really were as vicious as they looked.

I screamed through my gaga but what worried me the most was the thick wires that protruded from the ends of the clips and snaked back along the floor to the console. The doctor came near again and held up her hands to show off two other devices. One looked like a regular dildo but had a wire coming out the end that also snaked back to the console. This she explained was to help measure my enjoyment and therefore tailor my aversion therapy experience for maximum effect. The other device was metal and shaped like a large bullet. The doctor said this was for my ass and was the most effective part of her treatment. Needless to say, this device was also wired back to the console.

The doctor inserted the devices in my pussy and ass after covering them with a gel out of a tube she produced from her pocket. She stood up to look me over for one more time and then seemed to notice the orderlies, standing silently by the door.

“You still here?” she asked them. “It’s institute rules, we have to be in the room at all times” one of the orderlies said hesitantly, clearly reluctant to incur the doctor’s wrath.

“Do I look like I need your help?” the doctor asked in a voice that dripped with sarcasm.

The orderlies looked at each other for help, but found none.

“Get out, you oafs!” she thundered, and there was the sound of running feet and a door being slammed shut.

“Now those imbeciles are out of the way, we can really get down to business” the doctor said turning to address me. “So you’re the bitch who thinks she can put my sister behind bars? We’ll see about that. The directors know this therapy is risky, especially when the timescales are accelerated, so I can’t possibly be held responsible if you were to accidentally receive a fatal shock, can I. Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to do that…just yet. I’m going to have fun with you first. Can’t miss this chance to advance our understanding of the human tolerance for pain now, can we?”

I’m sure I heard a mad cackle but I was so frightened I can’t be sure if I just imagined it or not.

“Let’s begin” announced the doctor, returning to her console and holding her hands above the console as if she were about to start a piano concert.

Her hands descended to the controls and so started my ordeal. At first the pain was only in my ass and it tingled in a way that made me desperate to reach down and scratch myself but at least it was bearable.

The doctor said something I didn’t catch; I assumed she was talking to herself, she certainly seemed absorbed in her work.

The tingling slowly increased until it became an unbearable pain. I felt myself blacking out but then the sensation suddenly stopped.

“Hmm, ten point five, interesting” the doctor said distractedly and wrote something in her notebook. “Ok, moving on”

Now the pain was in my nipples the clips there came alive with electricity. Where the pain in my ass had been a sort of very intense tingling, this was simply raw agony. I jumped and jerked around the bed just like the frog’s leg I had electrified in school science lessons. My throat was raw from my constant screaming, not that much noise made it past the gag.

I felt the blackness descending again and as before the pain suddenly stopped. The doctor picked up her notebook and made more scribblings. I felt a pain in my wrists and looked up to where they were attached to the bed. My wrists were red from where I’d been pulling on my restraints. These were thick soft hospital restraints and should have protected my wrists from chaffing, but I had pulled so hard, that even these had rubbed my skin raw.

“Sorry about that” the doctor said “ I have to calibrate the settings. We can begin for real now”

Begin for real? Was she joking? I never wanted to experience that much pain again, ever. Then I thought about the doctor’s threats and realized more pain like that, and worse, might be the very last thing I ever did feel. I was so frightened I couldn’t even cry, and I just lay there, numb with shock.

The doctor flicked a switch and the dildo inside me burst into life. I jumped at first expecting more pain but this time it was a pleasant experience. I resisted the urge and for a while I managed to avoid being affected by the buzzing and gyrating of the device in my pussy. The doctor came over to me and she stroked my belly almost tenderly.

“Come on, you know you’re turned on by being tied down like this and tormented; my sister told me all about you. Every day you were in her lab, she called to let me know how you were progressing. She was very proud of you, you know, and look how you repaid her. Let it go Andrea. Let yourself go.”

Damn! I knew she was right, I had been fearful at the hands of this mad doctor’s sister but I had also been very turned on. She had awakened something in me and had played me like an artist. Combining pain and pleasure, until I had become attuned to torture in a way I could never have imagined in my, oh so dreary, previous life; a life that seemed no more than a memory of a dream, now.

And suddenly I felt waves of passion sweep over me but at the same time the shocks started again, this time in both my ass and my nipples. As my pleasure increased in intensity, so did the current until I reached a point I could go no further, and I hung there on the edge of the most powerful orgasm but, just unable to fall over into its embrace. How long I was on that brink, I don’t know; it seemed like forever, but eventually, the strain of resisting the shocks won out, and the pleasure subsided. The electric torture died with my pleasure and I lay exhausted on the bed, soaked with sweat.

“That was good” the doctor beamed making yet more notes in her little book “a record, you should be proud of yourself. My sister was right, and to think you denied her the chance to make her findings known to the world. For that, you should be ashamed”

Great, I thought. Two mad scientists in one family, what were the chances of that! “Again?” the doctor asked, and before I had time to shake my weary head in denial, I felt the sensations in my pussy start up again.

“Oh no” I groaned to myself but I was too tiered to resist and again I felt my blood race and my pulse quicken and my nipples harden and my face flush. All signs, I knew preceded sexual gratification for me.

And again as I reached the peak of my feeling, just at that moment I would normally tip over into a blissful verdant valley of desire the pain also grew to match my pleasure and again I was denied the orgasm I now so desperately craved. “Please let me cum” I mmpphed into my gag. But although the doctor clearly understood my pleading, she merely stood and watched my fight to find a balance between the pain and pleasure gripping me in their eternal battle for control of my body.

And again, the pain eventually won out, and I came back down to earth with a bump. “Wow! Even better” the doctor said, unable to hide her delight. “again?”

And so time after time the doctor pushed buttons and I was sent into a different world, where pain and pleasure vied for my heart, and I became more and more worn out until there came a time where, even the most sensual attempts of the doctor to awaken my passion, failed to lift me from the weary haze I had fallen into.

The doctor came over to me and stood over me looking into my face from what seemed to me so far away.

“On behalf of my sister I want to thank you for your contribution to science” she said. “It’s a shame because I’d really like to continue this another time, but the orderlies will be back soon and I can’t afford to have you telling anyone about this and who I am”

I managed to lift my head slightly to see what she was doing, but all I could see, was the doctor retuning to her console and turning some dials.

“Goodbye my beautiful experiment” she said and I heard the flick of a switch. Moments later, all the electrodes on my body buzzed with the full power of the console, and the darkness enveloped me. 


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