Karen – Strict Therapy


“The Kuyper Syndrome,” began the woman in front of the group of medical doctorate students, gathered in front of a large table, “Is a disease where the patient is taken by strong convulsions, similar to an epilepsy event, but much more severe. It is believed that those convulsions are triggered by hair follicles moving in a specific pattern, which pattern is not yet understood.”

She walked backward, toward the rather large table, covered with a black rubbery mattress, with a multitude of straps attached to it.

“Doctors Phil and Lynda have developed this unique table, which is used to restrain the patient in a safe manner, so he doesn’t hurt himself or herself, during one of those event.”

“But how…” asked a young man, raising his hand, in the front row, “… do they know that an event is going to happen and thus, when to… fix the patient to the table?”

“Very good question, Jeremy. The illness starts with a high fever, followed by red spotty rashes, where the hair follicles turn either black or white. Generally, within a week, the patient will suffer the convulsions, and all will disappear after a few days only to come back a few days later. It could do up to 10 events in one attack. It generally lasts one to two weeks, although I believe the longest one on record is a little over a month.” 

“Oh, and that’s it? I mean, the disease does not reappear?”

“Well, it is a very rare disease. On some patients, it did reappear. On others, no. Only one person out of 2 millions is affected by it, most of it mildly. The hard cases, nrequiring this kind of equipment are even rarer.”

“Then… why spend that much money on research where it could be used where it could save thousands, even millions of people?” asked a young woman.

“Because a rich benefactor to this university had been hit with this disease. He’s paying for it… Here, let me show you.” she said, approaching the table and inviting the students to form a line around it.

She took what looked like a large deflated black balloon.

“This is the isolation suit.” she said, moving around, revealing it to be a complete suit, with attached hood, hands and feets, with only a few holes at the crotch and the mouth and nose. “This suit function is to isolate the body hair from any air current, so the convulsions are not triggered. Then the patient is held down on this table with these straps. Like I told you, the convulsions are extremely violent, so these straps, that looks like standard leather restraints, have a core of kevlar and titanium meshing, rendering them practically indestructible.”

“But… “ asked Jeremy. “If the suit isolates from air movements, why all the restraints? With the hair follicles isolated, there wouldn’t be any convulsions triggered, or did I miss something?”

“No, Jeremy. That’s a very good observation. Like I said earlier, the pattern isn’t known or fully understood. The isolation suit has been used for a while and even with it, some patients did suffer the convulsions… Anybody… wants to try it?” asked the teacher.

All nodded no, and the group turned toward a woman, slim, brown hairs, standing tall on incredibly high heeled sandals, with jeans so tight one would wonder if they weren’t painted on. She was looking at their cell phone. She raised her head.”

“Say what?”

“Were you listening, Karen?” asked the teacher.

“What? Yeah, why?” she said as she put with difficulties, her phone in her back pocket. “What…what was the question?” she said, turning to her fellow students, who were all giggling.

“The question was: anyone wants to try it?” said the teacher, holding the strange looking suit.

“Cool, sure!” said Karen, walking forward, taking the suit off the teacher’s hands who looked at her with a stunned expression. “Feels strange. I like it. It’s like… rubber.” she said, putting the suit on the table and taking her tight T-shirt right off, revealing firm breasts, climbing down from her high heels and pulling her jean down, in fact, struggling to pull them off, revealing the imprint of every seams on her skin, and also revealing that she had been going commando… and fully shaved. Many gasps. She stopped and looked at them puzzled. She was obviously not shy of her body.

“What? We’re medical students. Don’t tell me you never saw a naked body before.” she said, taking, no, peeling her jeans off and taking the suit, turning it over and over and over.

“How the hell do you put this thing on? Was this all a joke to see me naked?” she said, looking at the teacher who seemed to be in some sort of daze.

“What, oh, no. You’re supposed to put it through the neck.” she said, stretching the neck with her hands to an incredible size.

“Cool!” said Karen, sitting on the edge of the table and feeding her legs through the small, stretched opening.

The inside of the suit appeared to be very slick, like lubricated, and was relatively easy to put on. When the suit reached her thighs, she stepped down, only to almost fall face forward.

“What the f… I can’t put my feet flat on the ground, it looks like it had (giggles) embedded high heels!” she said, all joyous.

“I believe it’s made so that the wearer can’t walk easily with it.”

“Child play.” she said, stepping back on her high heels sandals. “There, better.” she said, pulling the tight latex garment up her body, stretching it wide to go over her ample breasts. 

She quickly figured out the way to put her arm in, and into the sleeves, helped by the teacher, until both hands were fully inserted into the attached gloves. In fact, they were gloves inside fingerless mittens. The suit made a strange sucking sound when the collar rode up, as what was left of the air, rushed out. The only thing left was the hood, attached at the back of the collar. The teacher stretched it and pulled it over Karen’s head, pulling it carefully in place, aligning the tinted lenses over the eyes, and the little holes over the nose and mouth, feeding the yoke portion of the hood under the collar of the suit, sealing her in.

Karen raised her hands in a “ta da!” manner, and made a few turns on herself, to show all sides.

She was stunning to see, a gleaming black, curvaceous, sculpted body, the harsh lights of the lab reflecting on her shiny curves.

The suit was very tight, and she could feel it. She ran her hands along her sides, her waist, her hips, her buns, feeling the single crease the suit was making on her buns. She was smiling. The only disturbing thing was the cold air she could feel through holes at her crotch.

“These should be plugged” she said under her hood.

“They’re for the intubating.” said the teacher.

“Intubating?” asked a student.

“Yes. I mean, since the events could last one to two weeks, even a month, they had to provide a way of keeping the patient fed and cleaned. So, the suit has holes to allow catheters, enemas, feeding and breathing tubes to be inserted.”

“Wow. That’s extreme.” said Karen.

“Dare to try it?” asked a woman.

Karen looked at her. It was Suzy, and she hated Suzy. She was not hot at the idea of being intubated, but just to shut off Suzy…

“Yeah, I’ll do it. Why not do the whole procedure? We’ll have a better look at it, right?” she asked the teacher, taken by surprise.

“Well… Err… I don’t think Phil and Lynda would mind, after all, they gave me permission to show it to you… well… okay, gang. Go get the necessary equipment.”

A few students ran off, to fetch the tubes, catheters and the other stuff needed for it, and were back less than fifteen minutes later. Karen was enjoying the tight suit as they came back, even wondering if she would have been able to put her jeans back on over it, and seriously thinking about ordering one of those fetish latex catsuits.

“Okay, Karen, lay on the table.” said the teacher as the students, a devilish look on their faces, were preparing to insert the urethral tube and enema.

Karen moaned. It was not exactly pleasurable, altho… being probed and poked in that area was not totally unpleasant.

“Okay, now for the restraints, “ began the teacher, taking Karen’s left leg and wrapping the ankle cuff, which was large, about the width of a hand, “you will notice that there’s no buckle to fasten them. Instead, you insert the tab here.” she said, pointing at a slot on the table.

She inserted the tab and a mechanical winding noise was heard as the strap was getting grabbed and pulled in, tightening the cuff.

Karen let out a muffled happy grunt, and tried to move her leg. The winding noise was heard again for about half a second, as the cuff was seen getting tighter.

“That’s what I wanted to show you, students.” said the teacher. “The reason the straps are mechanically tightened, is that they sense where there’s some slack and tighten them. As I said, the convulsions are rather violent, so those straps have to be tight to prevent chafing, or other problems. Jeremy, you can proceed with the other ankle strap.”

The young man wrapped Karen’s ankle and fed the strap in the slot, which tightened the cuff. Karen wiggled her legs, feeling them getting tighter, giggling.

The teacher with Jeremy then tightened the knee straps, two of each, one below and the other over the knee,  which pinned Karen down further, and then the thigh straps.

Karen moaned even more, her moaning pitch getting higher with each straps.

Then it was the waist strap. A very large strap, covering her from the hips up to just below her rib cage. There were four separate straps going into as many slots, and finally, a fifth one, at the crotch, going down.

As that corset-like device tightened, Karen wiggled and moaned, and made wide eyes, hopefully hidden by the dark lenses, as the crotch strap tightened, pushing the tubes inside, which was… surprisingly interesting. The strap had some kind of bump that was intriguing, although she couldn’t figure out its purpose.

“See?” said the teacher as Karen’s waist was getting crushed, “the tightening will stop where it will be okay for her to be comfortable.” she said as the winding noise stopped. Now, if there’s anything loose… Karen, can you suck in your stomach a little?”

Karen did, and the small motors went to work again, tightening the waist belt even more. Karen let out a low grunt noise, repressing from reaching for her crotch with her hands.

“Are… are you okay?” asked a puzzled teacher.

“Oh… Yes, I’m perfectly fine.” said Karen, with a wide smile on her face, under the rubber hood.

“Ah… okay.” said the teacher, looking at the waist strap. “That looks awfully tight. Sure you’re okay?”

“It’s fine. Almost as tight as my jeans.” she said with a wink, which made the class laugh. Her reputation was well known.

“Okay then. Now the arms.” said the teacher, wrapping Karen’s wrists in the cuffs, then the elbow cuff then the upper arm, each time, the strap pinning them tightly to the table.

“Before going with the chest strap, we should do the feeding and breathing intubation first.

That, she didn’t like. The feeling of tubes going up her nose and down at the back of her mouth, then the feeding tube going down her throat, down to her stomach were not a pleasure. A wide flange from the feeding tube was covering her mouth.

“Now the straps. If she was to bump her head hard against the bed, concussions could ensue, or the tubes could fall off. That’s why there’s that strap with that mask that goes over her mouth and nose, pinning those hose in place.” said the teacher, feeding the strap and the mask over Karen’s mouth. The strap was then put into the slot and tightened, pinning her head down.

“Now, we can put her chest strap on.” she said as she fed the large strap, located at her armpits, into the slots for tightening.

It was followed by the collar which, as explained by the teacher, was there to prevent any neck injuries, protecting her entubed throat.

Karen couldn’t move at all from her ankles up to her head.

“Now that the patient is secured, if an episode of violent convulsions is triggered, she will be well restrained.” said the teacher.

“Karen, if you would…”

“Err, Miss, what about those straps?” said Jennifer, pulling on straps over Karen’s head.

“Oh, those are additional restraints. They go like that, if needed.” she said, feeding the straps over Karen’s forehead, with a central one going over her head, and down, which, once inserted into the slots, all tightened up, pinned down Karen’s head, rendering it totally immobile.

“There. The patient is as secured as she can be. Now, Karen, could you… convulse?” asked the teacher, giggling.

Karen tried to move, to shake, to wiggle her way out, but she was held totally immobile. She was struggling hard, very hard, almost enough to make the table move. Her breathing was getting faster. The students were amazed at how she was trying to get free, not letting go, her body tensing up, straining against the straps, giving the impressions that they were about to rip open any moment now, followed by rapid and violent motions of her hips, of course, securely maintained on the table, until her shaking slowly subsided and she calmed down.

“Wow… that was… impressive.” said the teacher, shocked by such a demonstration. Some of  the girls of the group were looking at Karen with a grin, knowing perfectly what had just taken place.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Karen tried to nod yes but nothing  moved. She tried to moan but the tube down her throat prevented any sound to be produced.

On a last resort, still panting, she raised two thumbs up, then let go a long shigh, relaxing.

The winding motors were heard.

“What happened?” asked the teacher.

“I… I just saw the waist belt tighten.” said Jeremy.

“Well,” said the teacher, suddenly proud, “I told you that those would adjust when something loose would be sensed.”

As she said that, Karen sucked her stomach as much as she could, and the whining noise was heard again, tightening the corset-like belt even more.

Karen moaned.

“Oh my gawd! Karen! Sure you’re okay?” asked the teacher.

Karen answered by two thumbs up and slowly wiggled in her bonds, well, in her mind she was wiggling. In reality, she was not moving much, firmly held on that table.

She could feel sweat building between her skin and the layer of latex, creating some kind of lubricant layer, making the suit slide, creating a very interesting rubbing.

She had never experienced anything like that, and would be eager to try it again, but to her disappointment, the teacher calls it quits.

“Okay, Karen, let’s get you out of that thing.” she said, reaching for the side of the bed, to lower a flap, uncovering a control panel, with a few lights, a LCD display, a white button, a black one and a round panic style mushroom button. She pressed the black button. There was a spark and everything went dark on the control panel.

Nothing happened. Karen was still stuck on it.

Frantically, the teacher kneeled to put her eyes at the panel level, and was pressing the buttons, black and white, with no avail. The panel stayed black. She pushed the emergency release, but nothing happened. She tried to pull the straps off, but no. They were firmly held.

“Oh my gawd! What’s wrong with this thing. I better call them.” she said, rushing for the nearest phone, while the students were all trying to get Karen free. But the straps were just too tight, and too strong. There was now way to loosen them.

From her cocoon, Karen had to work hard to repress going into launch mode again. With all those hands, touching her, rubbing her, pressing on her legs, her thighs, her breasts, trying to get her free. Damn! She was so hot, so horny, it needed just a small touch, just a small… then someone pulled on her crotch strap, letting it go, then pulled it again.

Karen trusted her hips upward. That was too strong, too… She exploded again, but perhaps except for whoever had been playing with the crotch strap, it went under the radar for all the others pulling on her straps, as her struggling to get free. 

“Want to do it again?” murmured a voice at her latex covered ears, a voice she recognized: Suzy. “Want your sick side to be discovered, Kar…”

But her blackmailing was cut short as the teacher was back with Dr Lynda and Phil, walking fast, preoccupied.

“What did you do, Laura? You put someone on it?”

“Well, yes, Dr. Lynda. You told me I could use it to make a demonstration.

“Yes, a demonstration, showing it, not actually putting someone on it.” said Dr. Phil. “Oh, no, no no. We’re screwed. The power module’s fried.” he said.

“What…” began the teacher, not understanding a single thing.

“I believe that’s the reason.” said Dr. Lynda, trying to put her fingers under the waist belt, but it was simply way too tight.

“What happened?” asked a student.

“Well, you all know what a prototype is, right? That’s something being developed, something that ISN’T READY TO BE USED.” said Dr. Lynda, turning to the teacher.

“What happened,” continued Dr. Phil, “is that the power module, the thing that powers the motor, fried, burned, got destroyed, if you will. We knew it was an issue, that it would probably blow up if the straps are pulled too tight. To be able to release the strap, the motor has to pull them some more to free the locking mechanism, then loosen them. Those straps are so tight that it overloaded the modules and it burned.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. You… you do have a spare module… right?” asked the teacher.

“Yes, but the same model, which means it’s gonna burn too.”

“But… you’re going to fix it, right? You’re going to put in a better module, right. You have one, right?” asked the teacher, more and more distressed.

“Yes… as soon as we received the new more powerful parts.” said Dr. Lynda.

“Oh, tomorrow then?” asked the teacher, an expression of hope in her eyes.

“Well… we only found them in China, and…” began Dr. Phil, turning to Dr. Lynda.

“You know… four to eight weeks for delivery.” she said, looking at Karen, slowly squirming, evidently enjoying it, and not hearing a thing.

“You heard that, Karen.” whispered Suzy on Karen’s ears. “Four to eight weeks. You’ll be stuck in this for two months” she said, with a tone of victory.

Inside her restraints and rubber cocoon, Karen’s mind went wild! Two months of that? Awesome!


It was three days later. Dr Lynda and Phil had brought the treatment table back to their labs, and were working on something else when Karen was suddenly taken by strong convulsions, starting slowly at first, then culminating by her body stiffening hard.

“Is she having what I think she’s having… again?” asked Dr. Phil, barely looking off his work.

“If you’re thinking of hitting the high peak, I’d say yes. Third time since lunch. That girl is amazing.” said Dr. Lynda.

“Maybe we should revisit our design,” said Dr. Phil.

“Maybe we should revisit our target clientele and our marketing strategy.” said Dr. Lynda, looking at Dr Phil, grinning.

Dr. Phil looked at her puzzled.

“Well,” she answered. “There’s a lot more fetishists in this word, than patients affected with Kuyper Syndrome.”

© Pete / monsterp63, March 28, 2019

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