Pain Management

Chapter 4: Chronic Condition

It was almost alarming how little it took for you to slip into a state of acceptance, how little it took for you to give yourself over fully to the respite that Law provided you, the relief only he could give you with his gifted hands.

Between sessions, the ones that quickly started moving closer together—first six days apart, then five, as your compassionate doctor insisted you see him more often to keep you from even the most remote possibility of suffering—you found yourself dissolving slowly, becoming consumed with the thought of seeing him again. You longed for the tacky bits of vinyl sticking to your thighs as you sat and waited for him on the exam table, your limbs tingling with every beat of your anxious heart, listening intently for the sound of footsteps outside the door. You missed the flicker of the fluorescent bulbs, a steady hum buzzing in your ears like a distant swarm of bees, the bright light highlighting your surrender. You needed the soft crinkle of paper under your prone, barely-covered body as you twisted and contorted in pleasure, orgasms being wrenched out of you by his expert manipulations—his sturdy hands pulling apart your swollen, slick-smeared lips, running his fingertips along them, remarking how wet you were, how needy you must be, how much you must ache.

And oh, how you ached—you ached for relief, you ached for him.

It was unnerving how much room Law had started to occupy in your mind, how he filled all the empty spaces between your thoughts. It wasn't the first time he'd found his way into all the dark corners of your mind—you'd been utterly infatuated with him during the brief time he'd been aboard the Sunny, an innocent crush at first that soon bordered on unhealthy preoccupation. You tried to keep it from your crewmates, lest you become a target for relentless teasing, and kept your display of affection limited to longing glances and hanging on Law's every word whenever you were in the same room. This, though—this was something altogether different.

You found yourself caring less and less that he kept a close watch over you, finding ways to insert himself into your conversations and observe you from nearby while you went about your work; he was your captain, after all, it was only natural that he'd want to keep an eye on his newest crew member. You didn't even mind that he started to closely monitor your workload, despite your initial protests, and limit how long you would work or what type of work you were allowed to do—he had make sure his obedient patient wasn't being worked too hard. You tried not to think too hard about how easily you had let him defile you, how you were ever more willing to choke down your feelings of disgust at how you'd been sullied by the man you were supposed to trust the most—Law had used your condition as an excuse to corrupt you, and the more and more you let him, the less and less it really mattered. He was the only one that could fix you, you told yourself—he was the only one who knew how to give you relief, and really, wasn't that what you came here for in the first place?

Night after night, you laid in bed in the quiet of your quarters, thoughts racing at speeds too fast for sleep to possibly catch up. Your hand would idly roam down to the juncture of your thighs, fingers lightly touching the soft fabric of your panties, feeling a warm, damp spot beginning to form as your thoughts wandered away from you and you heard his low voice echoing in your skull.

Don't you want to be good?

Your fingers moving faster, pulse pounding in your ears.

Don't you want to be good... for me?

Your legs tensing, hands shaking, breaths coming in hiccups and gasps.

That's my good girl...

A white-hot heat, a hushed cry of satisfaction, every muscle clenching and releasing in perfect rhythm. And then a sudden and profound emptiness in the small space, your chest hollow and wanting, your body knowing exactly what it desired, what it was craving. You gripped your sheets in silent fury, chewing on your tongue while you told yourself "no": no, you didn't want it and no, you didn't need it and no, he had no power over you. You repeated it over and over again, even while you closed your eyes and imagined how his body would look hovering over yours, how his tattoos would flex on his sinewy chest while he buried his cock deep inside you, whispering what a perfect little plaything you were for him.