The Fantasy of Plague Doctors
I don’t know what it is about those masks…
Perhaps the complete inability to read intention, emotion, reactions. A cold, clinical lack of feeling causing inappropriate arousal with a darker twist. Not knowing who or what someone is except for vague bodily form; the anonymity only adding to lethal curiousness. The juxtaposition of the nightmarish foreboding of death with the insistence to completely trust a doctor. Despite the rising instinct that something is wrong, they’re supposed to be safe and helping, right?
An instructional voice through treatment giving no hint of end result. Gloved fingers sliding across bare skin for nothing more but study. Glass expressionless eyes staring into an exposed soul and unseen sadistic smirking from within the shadows; the imagination creates more horrors out of nothing. One ends up with a trembling hope to be helped and not harmed, with little choice but to comply in order to survive.
An amusing daydream around dumb puns of being “injected” or “fed medicine” can become so terrifying the more it’s slipped into, until even the thing you’re craving is to be feared. By the time any revealing of an erection is presented, framed by the smart black suit, such a hint of humanity is welcomed… until its ability to inflict pain is clear.
… perhaps I should create an audio fantasy some time ^.^