#trager fic

Naked as a babe, the torn, padded medical chair which Trager had so 'delicately' bound you to feels itchy against your back and ass but the sensation is so mild compared to hell of your other injuries that you try to focus on it with what remains of your frantic mind.

“So, where were we, ah yes. Let the good doctor take a closer look.”

Trager’s face swims into your vision once more as he walks from behind you. His bald head and torn body bring with it a now-familiar fear and you focus on the filthy marks which stain the apron that is messily tied around his waist – concealing his obvious nakedness from sight. Having now held you in place for well over an hour, the earlier ‘assessments’ which he had already subjected you to as he hunted you through the asylum hung heavily in your heart, humiliation and pain making your skin feel dull yet terribly heightened as you struggle to keep control of your trembling body.

He had cut your clothing from you as you sobbed, made sick and twisted remarks about your body as he freely commented on any little imperfection he discovered; from the winding scar which falling from your bicycle had given you over a decade ago to the slight stubble which decorated your legs as he rubbed his palms over the skin there.

Disgusting hands, fingernails either caked with dirt or completely torn off, wrap around your throat and you squeak out something pathetic as he continues his assessments by using your neck as a base to swivel your head around and take a closer look at your features. Your left brow feels heavy, the skin there inflamed and flaking with dried blood due to the heavy blow which Trager had delivered with the edge of those terrifying fucking scissors of his, scissors which now lay off abandoned to the floor.

“Pretty little bitch.” Trager mutters as he tilts your head back, the sharp motion so sudden that you feel the muscles in your neck protest the movement. “Just like those whores who worked the secretary jobs around here and flashed thigh to the higher-ups for an easy raise while the rest of us worked like dogs.”

Absolutely no idea what he was rambling about, you remain silent as another frantic bubble of terror burns in your throat.

“Hmm, not an awful lot to sell here, sweetheart.” Trager drops your neck and instead wraps his hands around your restrained wrists as his eyes rove across your naked skin from behind smashed glasses. “No jewels, no gold, no nothing. Maybe we need to be thinking about an alternative to put some coins in the good doctor’s pocket. Nothing is free in this whore of a life.”

There’s something lewd in his eyes, his expression turning predatory in a slightly different way than it had been only a moment before.

Your eyes fall to the filthy apron which covers his groin and you swear you feel your heart stop in your chest as you take in the visible tent which now pokes at the material.

“No! You can’t- fuck. You can’t do that. Let me go! Let me go!”

Pulling hard against your restraints with no care for the damage which it will do to your skin, you quickly feel the blood begin to trickle from your wrists as you continue to pant and scream your defiance.

“Don’t you- don’t you fucking touch me!”

“It’s the world’s oldest profession, honey. Gotta give to get, yeah? You give, I’ll get, and we’ll maybe afford some proper medical equipment in this shithole.”

Trager’s hands drop to your chest, blood-streaked fingers pinching at your left nipple painfully as he speaks with a casual, almost teasing tone. It’s so evil, so utterly wrong that you feel nausea rising in your chest and you momentarily fear throwing up over your own naked skin.

“Please-please, don’t.” You bite down the sick feeling with sheer force, wanting to remain as focused as possible as you plead with a man who is clearly beyond reason. “Don’t touch me, don’t let any of them touch me. I can’t-”

“Just gotta check everything’s working.” Trager interrupts as he releases your chest and places his hands behind his back to survey you for a moment longer. “I’m a trained professional, so don’t worry about anything.”

Trager’s hands drop to your thighs. With your ankles restrained to the chair, you are unable to do anything but push your thighs together which as much tension as possible to deny him entry while you choke out some more desperate denials, the words sounding inhumane to your strained ears.

The punch which rocks your skull sends stars flying across your vision, pain exploding in your jaw as fresh blood fills your mouth from your now-split lip. With the blows already delivered to your skull from early assaults, it only adds to the constant throb of discomfort which pairs with your heartbeat as you continue to attempt to resist him.

“Stop being such a fucking whore and let the doctor commence his examination!” Trager explodes, his anger terrifying in its suddenness and you’re so disorientated from the punch that you can’t hold yourself together any longer. The tension leaves your thighs as you sink into the chair and the assumed submission makes Trager grin as he spreads your upper thighs and stares openly at his prize.

Shame and terror make your skin crawl and tears form at the corners of your eyes as they burn with the sheer humiliation. Drinking in your obvious distress, Trager makes a show of tilting his head and humming as he releases his death grip of your left thigh and brings his hand to your cunt.

“Hmm, not the prettiest sight…too much unsightly hair…labia majora and minora appear healthy…doesn’t seem overly used…maybe the groom would pay…maybe not...”

His muted ramblings barely register, your mind reeling too much from the horrible sensation of his rough fingers tugging at and spreading your folds as he appraises you like a slab of meat. There’s no delicacy, no care for anything other than his own sadistic curiosities, and you bite at your inner lip until it also bleeds.

Without warning, he thrusts his fingers within you with absolutely no finesse and you squeal in surprise at the sudden, painful intrusion against your dry hole. His filthy digits struggle to achieve any real depth due to the lack of arousal and you try to clench down tight – to keep him from pushing any further, from taking any more from you.

“Loosen up! Stupid cunt.” Trager snaps, the words so sharp, loud, and unexpected that they make your entire body flinch. “How is anyone going to fuck you if you’re too dry and tight to take a couple of fingers? Maybe you just need some real encouragement? Something to get the juices flowing…”

Gasping as he pulls free of you with deliberate cruelty, his nails scraping along your walls, you follow his frustrated frame as he blindly turns on his heels and messily leans down to the floor to pick up the disgusting scissors which he had long since abandoned.

“No,” You moan the word as you gaze at the scissors with open terror and thrash your head, the denial quickly rising into a scream. “No! No! Fuck, fuck! Please, I’ll be good. You can fuck me- you can do what you wan- please don’t do that!”

“I’m not doing this.” Trager denies with a shake of his deformed head as he lines up the edge of the scissors with your restrained right hand, secluding the pinkie fingers between the sharpened blades as your breath comes so erratically that you quickly feel light-headed. “You did this. I gave you the chance to show me you were willing to help me so now I have to make sure I get my money’s worth, honey.”

You hear the scissors snap shut and there’s a moment – a split second- where you convince yourself that he was only trying to threaten you, that he wouldn’t cut your finger off over something as mild as not wanting him to fuck you with his fingers.

And then the pain comes.

White-hot and so intense that darkness seizes your vision for a moment, the agony is by far the worst thing you have ever experienced in your short life and you wish – again – that you had died earlier in the night so that you didn’t have to feel it any longer.

You at least have the presence of mind to tilt your head to the side as you vomit, the pain bringing up the meagre food which you had eaten earlier that morning before your fated visit to the asylum, and you hear the retching, keening, desperately inhumane noises which escape your throat as though they were coming from someone else.

After a minute, once your screams have died to animalistic grunts, a hard hand against your jaw pulls your attention back to Trager and you can see victory in his grin, his teeth disgusting and missing in places as he grips your chin so tightly that you swear you feel the bones creak.

“Look how wet you are now, whore.”

Trager drops to his haunches to rub his hand all over the spatterings of fresh blood which now lay on the dirty floor beneath your mauled hand, his fingers collecting as much of the liquid as he can as your pinkie stump slowly bleeds out.

“Caught red-handed,” Trager giggles to himself. “Here, let me show you.”

You dry heave once more, words of protest beyond your shattered mind, as he quickly leans forward to press his hand against your cunt, thrusting his two fingers back within your hole as he uses your own blood as a makeshift lubricant to replace the arousal he was never going to inspire.

It’s so vile that you can only sob, your chest heaving and falling with every desperate, ugly noise.

Abandoning you for the moment, Trager wastes no time in exploiting your current state as he pushes his hands up his apron, raising the fabric enough to expose his withered, leathery cock to the cold air of his examination room. His arousal is clear, cock rock hand and already twitching in his hand as he pants and grips himself tight.

His apron pulled high and almost tucked into itself, Trager jerks his hand along his cock with a feral intensity as he growls and snarls like a rabid dog. His blood slickened hand sits close to his nose, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the coppery scent and moans as it presses against his cracked lips.

Your cunt feels sticky, disgusting in a way that makes you want to keep vomiting even though there is nothing left in your stomach to bring up. You can smell your own blood, the pain in your finger so intense that it quickly passes into shock and your body trembles with the sheer adrenaline which pulses through your suffering veins.

Already near the brink due to his own cruelty and sadistic delights, it doesn’t take long for Trager to bring himself to the edge and push himself over. His release spatters to the ground without care and Trager grunts his way through his orgasm as he continues to tug along the skin of his cock.

When finished, he waits long enough to regain control of his breathing before scooping up a little of his spent release. Once again leaning forward, he presses it to your cunt, scoring a line across the blood painted there as though he were an artist making final edits to his latest piece.

“And now, you’re perfect.” Trager announces as he pauses long enough to take in your suffering features and slickened hole. “All I need is a little medicine to fix a few things, keep you going for as long as I need, and then we can set up shop to watch the customers roll in.”

You keep your eyes on him as he disappears from sight and the last view you are afforded of him is the slight flare of his filthy apron as his leathery ass slips around the doorway of the room as he goes to find whatever fucked-up medication it is that he plans to administer into your defenceless veins.