The Facility

The beginnings of my shifts always start the same way. I’m vibrant, cheerful, a pleasure to be around…

But after twelve hours of blood and guts, human emotion, grief and anguish… it takes a toll on me, more than I sometimes care to admit.

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I got home around 6:30 PM, exhausted but wired.

My shift had been one of the longest I’ve had in months. The car crash call still lingered in my head — that beautiful dark-haired woman I’d pulled from the wreckage, the one whose vitals had been so fragile on the way to St. Joan’s. Andrea, I think it was. Even when rendered unconscious, she had this… presence. And then that girl Jessika showing up, completely devastated, curling into the bed with her like she belonged there.

I shook it off, kicked off my boots, and stripped out of my paramedic uniform in the laundry room. I tossed the navy polo and cargo pants into the hamper, then reached into the pocket of the pants out of habit.

My fingers brushed something stiff.

I pulled out that sleek black business card with elegant gold lettering:

The Facility…

I stared at it for a second, then laughed softly and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. “Shit,” I muttered. Probably something I should have return to her purse. I poured myself a large glass of chilled white wine and tried to forget about it.

Two glasses later, I was curled up on the couch in my comfy outfit — dark blue denim overalls over a white tee, pink fuzzy socks on my feet — scrolling mindlessly on my phone. But my eyes kept drifting back to that black card on the counter.

Curiosity finally won.

I bit my bottom lip, feeling a little silly and a bit naughty, and grabbed my laptop. I typed in the web address.

The site loaded.

My mouth fell open.

The homepage was… stunning. Beautiful, high-production photos and videos of elegant women and men in every kind of BDSM scenario imaginable. Elegant spanking benches, intricate rope work, disciplinary scenes that looked both artistic and intensely sexual. And right in the center of the featured content…

Mistress Andrea.

The same woman I had treated. The same woman currently lying in a hospital bed with a breathing tube. Here she was — tall, commanding, breathtaking — dressed in leather and lace, flogging a submissive, posing with authority, her eyes staring straight into the camera like she owned the world.

I kept scrolling, heart pounding.

There were videos of her spanking someone over her knee. Photos of her in full dominatrix gear. Galleries of collared submissives kneeling at her feet. And then… Jessika. That sweet, devastated girl from the hospital room. Here she was on all fours fully naked, being used, collared, blushing, clearly in ecstasy.

My face was burning. My breathing had gotten shallow.

I told myself I should close the laptop. Instead, I clicked deeper.

A long video started playing — Mistress Andrea spanking a beautiful brunette over her knee with a wooden spoon. The sound of wood meeting flesh, the whimpers, the lecturing… it hit something deep inside me I’d buried for years.

I clenched my thighs without thinking.

I was soaked.

“Oh my god…” I whispered, cheeks flaming with shame.

I’ve had this fantasy since I was a teenager — being put over a strict woman’s knee, spanked until I cried, completely helpless. I’ve never told anyone. Never dared to explore it. And now here it was, right in front of me, starring the woman whose life I’d fought to save just hours earlier.

My toes curled hard in my pink fuzzy socks. My nipples were stiff against my tee shirt. I rushed to the bedroom, laptop in hand, kicked off the denim overalls, and lay back on my bed in just my white tee and panties.

I shoved my panties down in one motion, kicking them off so I was sitting there in just my white tee and pink fuzzy socks. My fingers found my clit instantly and I started rubbing in tight, desperate circles. I squeezed one of my tits hard through the thin fabric, pinching my nipple until it hurt in the best way. I was deliberately being rough with myself… in the spirit of what was displayed on my laptop.

“Fuck…” I whispered.

The video kept playing. Mistress Andrea was now fucking that Brandy girl in the bum with a strap-on, while the girl cried and begged. I slid two fingers inside my pussy, pumping them roughly, then pulled them out and pushed one slick finger straight into my asshole. I gasped at the sudden stretch and started fucking my own ass while rubbing my clit faster.

It felt filthy. It felt perfect.

I was so worked up I grabbed the panties I’d just taken off — still warm and wet — and stuffed them into my mouth. The taste of my own arousal filled my tongue as I gagged myself. I moaned loudly into the soaked fabric, the sound muffled and desperate.

I added a second finger into my ass, stretching myself open while my other hand attacked my clit. I imagined myself over Mistress Andrea’s knee, bare ass getting spanked bright red while she called me a dirty little paramedic slut. I imagined Jessika watching me, smiling.

I came so hard my back arched off the bed. My scream was completely silenced by my own wet panties stuffed in my mouth. My asshole clenched around my fingers, my clit throbbed violently, and I kept rubbing through it, drawing out every spasm until I was shaking and whimpering.

I lay there panting, panties still in my mouth, pink fuzzy socks twisted around my ankles, and stared at the ceiling.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I just came harder than I have in years… to the woman whose life I saved today.

And the worst part?

I already want to do it again!

Sincerely,

Julie the medic.

Disclaimer: All text prompts going into A.I. systems to create some of the content of this story along with requests for A.I. images appearing in this story, clearly state that everyone involved is an ADULT, above the legal age of consent.