Silicone Fingers and a Painful Paradise
"Nngh... hhk... ah, it hurts..."
The examination room had been cleared of the doctor's headless corpse, but Na-bi was still bound to the rust-red exam chair, sobbing like a wounded animal. Between her legs was nothing short of a disaster zone. The vaginal opening, forced wide by a large speculum, was torn and swollen, unable to close; from within it, a mixture of the cold artificial semen the dead doctor had poured into her and the blood left by the uterine curette trickled out in a ceaseless drip.
Every time that cold fluid sloshed in her belly, goosebumps crawled across her skin. It felt as though her insides were freezing solid. But what frightened her more was the silence — the stillness left in the wake of violence.
Click. Click.
White silhouettes emerged from the darkness, shattering that quiet. The Nurse Mannequins. Those grotesque dolls that had, mere moments ago, twisted the doctor's head off with smiles on their faces were approaching now with empty hands.
"Eek?! P-please, spare me... I'm sorry..."
Na-bi's body trembled on instinct. The leather straps chafed her bound limbs raw, but terror drowned out the pain. What were they going to do this time? What were they going to put inside her now?
Their reaction was nothing she expected.
They giggled — a light, cheerful sound of plastic scraping against plastic. There was no bloodlust in that laughter, no madness. A strange, almost friendly warmth hung about it, as if they were greeting a companion. They began undoing her restraints.
Click. Slither.
The leather straps that had bitten into her wrists and ankles went slack. The strap around her throat came loose. Na-bi's arm dropped limply to her side.
"Huh......?"
She stared up at them, dazed. Instead of dragging her down, they carefully supported her and lifted her from the chair. Her feet touched the floor. Her legs had no strength left in them, and as she started to collapse, two Nurse Mannequins caught her from either side.
They were warm. Nothing like the doctor's cold corpse, or the hard plastic of the male mannequins. These nurses were sheathed in a soft silicone, and a warmth close to human body heat radiated from them.
"Th-thank you... thank you..."
Tears burst from Na-bi's eyes. A scrap of kindness offered in the depths of terror was enough to paralyze her reason. She threw her arms around the waist of the mannequin supporting her. Smooth, yielding silicone pressed against her cheek. It felt like a mother's embrace. They looked like the only angels she had found in hell.
"Can't you... let me out of here? Please... I want to go home..."
She buried her face in the mannequin's chest and pleaded. Instead of answering, they gently stroked her hair. Then they scooped her up in their arms, their touch careful, as if they were carrying an injured child.
Na-bi closed her eyes in relief. Is it over now? But then her heightened senses caught something off — something that didn't belong. They weren't carrying her outside. They laid her down on a slightly softer-looking bed in the corner of the examination room.
"Huh...? This is..."
Before she could even voice her confusion, their hands grew busy. One of them reached between her legs and took hold of the grotesque large speculum still lodged inside her.
Clack. They unscrewed the mechanism and folded the spread blades shut. Sliiide... pop.
"Ahhhnn..."
The heavy mass of metal slid out of her belly. The space the speculum had occupied yawned empty, and through that gap the pool of cold semen that had collected inside her gushed out — a sensation both relieving and hollow.
"Haa... thank—"
The moment she started to thank them again, the nurses gripping her limbs tightened their hold. It didn't hurt. But it was a grip she could never shake — a firm, unyielding lock.
Slip. Slide.
The Nurse Mannequin positioned between her legs moved its hand. Its fingers were long and slender, made of exceptionally soft, high-grade silicone, and it slipped one of them into Na-bi's raw, ruined opening.
"Ah! That hurts... don't scrape..."
At first she thought it was cleaning her. It hooked its finger like a claw, making a show of scraping out the residue clinging to her vaginal walls. But gradually, the motion began to change.
A wet squelch. A grinding press. A sucking pull. It wasn't scraping. It was rubbing. The wounded inner walls, the hypersensitive mucous membrane the uterine curette had raked across — the mannequin's soft silicone fingerprints caressed them with relentless persistence.
"Nngh... unh...?"
Na-bi's brow furrowed. It should have hurt. It should have stung. But something was wrong. A tingling current raced up her spine. Had her nerves shorted out from too much pain? Or was there some aphrodisiac coating those silicone fingers?
"Don't... do that... it feels weird... nngh!"
She twisted her hips. A suppressed moan slipped from her lips. That sound was the signal. The other Nurse Mannequins surrounding her lunged in at once, giggling, snickering, and stripped her clothes off completely — they were already in tatters. Then white silicone hands covered every inch of her body.
Kneading. Pinching.
"Aahn! Ah! Not there!"
One of them seized her breasts. Soft silicone palms kneaded her flesh, fingertips pinching and flicking her nipples. Another bit at the nape of her neck and behind her ear. Not with sharp teeth — the sensation of being chewed by yielding gums was unnervingly, disturbingly erotic.
And the one between her legs now had three fingers inside her. It wasn't a mechanical piston motion. It moved like a living person — no, more technically skilled than that. It curled its fingers inside her, found her most sensitive spot, and pressed and rubbed her G-spot with relentless precision.
"Ah! Ah! No! I don't want this! Ahhngh!"
Na-bi's head fell back. Her pupils began to unfocus. This wasn't pain. This was pleasure. But to her, this pleasure was a terror more horrific than torture. The fact that she was feeling it in the same place the doctor had raped her, the same place the uterine curette had scraped — the fact that her body was responding to this nightmare by pouring out arousal — was a shame she could not bear.
"No... I don't want to feel this... stop... please...!"
She shook her head, wailing. But her body responded in the opposite direction. Her inner walls clenched down, biting into the mannequin's fingers. Her hips bucked of their own accord.
The Nurse Mannequins reveled in that reaction. They spread her opening wide to either side, exposing the inner flesh, then brought their mouths to it. A cold tongue? No. A silicone tongue, warmed to body heat, descended on her clitoris.
"Kyaaaaah! I'm— I'm coming! I'm cominggg!"
Na-bi's toes curled. Her brain felt like it was burning white. Unbearable pleasure crashed over her like a tsunami. Her bladder clenched, and urine leaked in spurts around the urethral tube still inside her.
The first climax. Her vision flashed white and she gasped as if drowning. Normally, this would have been the stopping point. But they did not stop.
"Haa, haa... that's enou— AAAAH!!"
Before the aftershocks had even faded, the fingers inside her drove deeper, faster. The tongue lapping at her clitoris ground against it even more roughly. It felt like her oversensitized nerves were being assaulted. Once the pleasure crossed a critical threshold, it transformed into a sharp, cutting pain.
"It hurts! It feels good! No, it hurts! Gyaaahn!"
She convulsed, drool spilling from her mouth. A second climax, then a third, crashed over her in succession. Her legs trembled so violently they were on the verge of going numb. The nurses giggled and switched places — the one that had been fondling her breasts moved between her legs; the one that had been licking between her legs climbed up to her face.
An inexhaustible hell of pleasure. Na-bi's consciousness shattered into fragments. I am not human. I am a meat doll that feels pleasure. Even her shame wore away and vanished, and only bestial cries of ecstasy filled the examination room.
How much time had passed? She no longer had the strength to twitch a single finger. Her eyes were half-rolled back, unfocused, and foam-flecked drool spilled from her mouth. Her entire body glistened, soaked in sweat, arousal, and urine.
The Nurse Mannequins seemed to decide they had had enough. They scooped up her limp body once more and, this time, truly headed outside. They passed through the cold hospital corridor and opened a heavy iron door.
Creeeak.
The damp, musty air of the lobby washed over them. They carried Na-bi toward the lobby entrance. In the distance, the faint lights of a convenience store were visible. But they had no intention of taking her that far.
Thud.
"Ugh..."
They set her down on the cold tile floor like a piece of cargo. No — they dumped her. Her cheek pressed against the cold marble, and that chill brought a sliver of her mind back.
"I... I have to go..."
Na-bi opened her hazy eyes. The Nurse Mannequins were already retreating, vanishing into the darkness. All that remained was her wrecked body.
She tried to get up. But her lower body wouldn't obey. Dozens of forced orgasms had completely undone the muscles in her legs. Her hip joints throbbed, and her raw, ruined holes stung as if the air itself were blowing through them.
"Nnngh... nnh..."
She stretched out her arms and planted them on the floor. If she couldn't use her legs, she would go on her arms. She hooked her nail-less fingers into the gaps in the floor like claws, and dragged herself forward. Her lower body trailed behind her, heavy as a dead animal. In her wake, a mixture of sticky, translucent fluid and blood leaking from her vagina left a trail like snail slime.
"Just a little... a little further..."
Her vision flickered. Sleep crashed over her. This wasn't simple exhaustion. It was the precursor to a blackout, her body and mind pushed past their limits. The convenience store lights blurred into a hazy fog.
At last, the strength left her arms. Her forehead struck the floor. She could move no further. Face-down on the cold lobby floor, Na-bi let her consciousness slip away into the deep dark.
Silence settled over the lobby. Around Na-bi's fallen form, the darkness stirred.
Scratch. Scratch.
It was not a perfect stillness. At the entrance to the hospital zone, in the deep shadows where no light reached, dozens of gazes were watching her.
Mannequins. Not doctors, not nurses — the curious ones that had first captured her. They did not rush at her. They simply crouched in the darkness, or stood behind pillars, observing. Their gazes lingered on her raw, ruined holes, on the joints that had been broken and reset, on the eyelashes that trembled, soaked in pleasure and pain.
Wait.
Until she wakes.
I want to hear her scream.
I want to see the look of despair on her face.
Their smooth plastic faces held no expression, but the grotesque atmosphere radiating from them was unmistakably burning with excitement. They were waiting, holding their breath in the dark, for the moment their prey opened her eyes again, realized she was still in the heart of hell, and screamed.