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A doctor in black latex gloves takes my arm and injects me with an opiate. It travels up my arm via the bloodstream to my heart and brain, making me feel a sense of peace and euphoria while also heightening my growing arousal. The doctor puts two gloved fingers between my legs, feeling how wet I already am, and shows them to the one-way mirror. I don’t know who’s watching from the other side. Anyone who paid enough to see the show--my first and last.

Once I begin to relax, the doctor injects vecuronium bromide into my other arm. I know from my research that it’s used in anaesthesia to paralyse the muscles so that surgery can be performed. Now, unsedated as I am, I can feel the paralysis spreading through my body as my fast-beating heart distributes the drug. The inability to move starts in my extremities but moves quickly in toward my core in a matter of a minute or two. My heart, already pounding with growing arousal and fear, grows more panicked with every passing moment. I can hear it beating wildly through the speakers, its bassy thumps less and less distinct as its rate increases. The monitor beside me reads 160 bpm, 30 respirations per minute -- I’m panting as my heart accelerates and my muscles slacken.

The paralysing agent has reached my lungs. My breaths start to become labored. The doctor checks the monitor and looks down at me with dark lust in his eyes, moving his fingers back between my legs, rubbing my swollen clit. “You’ll feel as though you’re struggling to breathe,” he tells me, watching my face. “That’s because you’re suffocating. Slowly. The oxygen levels in your blood are dropping already” -- he nods to the O2 saturation on the monitor, already down to 90% -- “and I’m going to watch it continue until your chest muscles are completely paralysed and unable to expand your lungs anymore. Your body wants to breathe but it can’t.”

He moves his fingers downward, thrusting them inside my wet pussy while his thumb continues to rub my clit. My laboured breathing turns into a long moan as I get close to orgasm, though I don’t have the air to spare. Now I’m panting weakly, almost gasping as my muscles can barely be convinced to make my chest rise and fall.

“Your body wants to breathe,” he says again. “Listen to how badly your heart wants it.” I can feel it hammering against my ribs, hear it pounding through the room, echoing off the walls, the mirror. The monitor says it’s up to 200 bpm and alarms are going off, though with the volume turned low so as not to be a distraction. My heart is throwing itself futilely against its cage, while my lungs... my lungs.... I can’t breathe anymore. My chest won’t move. My mind is still active but I can feel the paralysis take full hold over my chest muscles. There’s still air in my lungs, consciousness won’t leave me quite yet, but the doctor puts his free hand on my chest and smiles at its stillness.

“Your O2 is down to 50 but I know you’re still conscious,” he says. He pulls his hand from my pussy--to my breathless, dying dismay--and wipes it absently on a surgical cloth while watching my mouth open and close a little, soundlessly. I can’t help but try and gasp for air even though I know I can’t get it.

“You only have seconds left,” he continues, “but I won’t let you go so easily. I want you to feel that heart beat for the last time.” And he reaches for something on a shelf behind my head. As my vision starts to fade to black, something presses over my mouth and nose. Air is forced into my my lungs as he squeezes the ambubag. My vision returns crystal clear. I can’t move any part of my body but my eyes now, but he is giving me air to breathe. My heart begins to slow. I can’t look to the monitor but it sounds like it’s at about 150 bpm now. 

The doctor squeezes the bag again a few more times, giving me 10 seconds or so to get my oxygen levels all the way back up. He leans in close to whisper in my ear between squeezes and I can feel his cock pressing against me, rock hard through his scrub pants. “Your breathing is in my hands now. I control your lungs. I decide when to let you breathe...and when to stop.”

He sets the bag down. I’m still not breathing. Can’t breathe. My chest is still, but my heart still pounds within it, thrashing violently. With no other movement in my body at all, it is all I can hear, all I can feel. Already, my heart rate is climbing again, my pump thrumming with life. If I wanted to stop, I couldn’t tell him--it’s too late. I’m terrified and more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.

His waist is outside my limited field of vision, but I can tell from the sound that he’s dropped his scrub pants. He comes in close again, now holding a syringe. He raises it directly in front of my face. His bare, rigid cock is against my hip, and his free hand is making small circles over my throbbing clit. A tiny moan comes from my throat, to my own surprise--the last of the air he pumped into me escaping. He smiles a deadly smile.

He shows me the syringe again and his voice suddenly turns cold, professional. “Potassium chloride is used to stop the patient’s heart. Without full sedation, this may be painful. The feeling has been likened to 'liquid fire' entering veins and snaking towards the heart.”

I’m beginning to feel the lack of oxygen again, a burning feeling deep in my lungs. My heartbeat in the room is growing louder and faster again.

“If you weren’t paralysed this way,” he continues, “Your entire body would spasm uncontrollably, because potassium sends signals to every muscle in the body to contract. When it reaches your heart, it will immediately disrupt the delicate balance of sodium and potassium ions that keep it pumping. And then... well, you’ll see.”

He takes my left arm gently. I can still feel, though I can’t move. The needle pricks into the crook of my elbow, and I can tell when he depresses the plunger, from the immediate burning sensation that begins to spread up my arm.

“There we go,” he says. “You’re on your way to complete cardiovascular collapse, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it now.”

My heart is racing, echoing through the room faster than I’ve ever heard it before.  The burning pain is spreading through my body one artery at a time. I can trace its path in my mind as it invades my other limbs, my belly, my chest.

The doctor’s eyes go to the monitor. “230,” he says, a small sigh of arousal escaping his lips. “And O2 down to 55. One more to see you through?”

He puts the ambubag over my face again and gives it a few deep squeezes, filling my chest with air and bringing me back to full consciousness to experience the end.

My heart skips for the first time as he pulls the bag away and I feel his cock twitch against me. Putting his right hand under my left breast over the pounding apical beat, he thrusts inside me, his other hand on my clit.

My heart is slamming against my ribs, against his hand, but it’s skipping now as the pressure builds in my chest and the pleasure between my legs. My pump is losing rhythm, fibrillating for a few seconds at a time before stuttering hard with palpable thumps that shake my whole breast. The doctor thrusts forcefully into me in time to those arrthymic thumps, lifting my body in the straps, shoving me hard against the gurney. 

Right hand still on my spasming apex, his left goes to my throat. Presses into my carotid, feeling the dissonant pulses there too. 

“Your heart will stop any second,” he says, and that left hand goes to my clit. 

I can’t think, can’t see, can only feel. My heart is a thundering chaos of failing beats, his cock is battering into me, my body is beginning to spasm against the straps holding me, everything is burning, but I’m climbing a wave of pleasure bigger than anything I’ve ever experienced.