Consider this a prequel to my knifeplay video. Captor’s POV.
TW: dark cardiophilia, sexual cardiophilia
He got her back to his house without anyone seeing and carried her unconscious body inside in his arms. On the way, he was terribly distracted by the visibly pulsating artery in her throat – a little slower than usual from the heavy dose of GHB he’d administered.
OMFG 🥵🥵🥵 This is incredible! I love how this camera angle shows how your beautiful body reacts from head to toe as your breathing is restricted and your heartbeat begins to gallop so wildly 😍 And that heartbeat … just WOW was she really pounding hard in this one. When Dr. Sean is in a dark, kinky mood this is exactly how he likes to roleplay 😈 😉
A girl was hospitalized after ventricular fibrillation caused by a heart attack. Once stabilized, she is examined but the fibrillation resumes. In a short time the situation worsened until the girl went into cardiac arrest. Resuscitation begins. The compressions get faster and deeper. The sheet is removed and the girl remains completely naked at the mercy of resuscitation. After several cycles, her heart does not start beating again, until she suddenly resumes. But the situation is not improving. The fibrillation resumes and the girl soon returns to cardiac arrest. CPR resumes and, only after several resuscitation cycles, does the girl recover.
For lovers of long resuscitations in the hospital.
Very deep compressions, many defibrillation cycles, various camera angles.
I wrote this little drabble with @resus-girl in mind, since she said deep slow compressions were her thing! It’s in the same vein as Unetical Science but shorter!
She’s prepped – naked, equipped : monitored, cuffed, restrained, sedated. She still has the strength to wiggle around. Her complaints are mostly wimpers and quiet sobs at this point. By her side, a crash cart awaits, and an echo machine is on standby, as well as a LUCAS.
There’s me, her, and an anestheologist at her
I try to soothe her, her forehead is clammy under my palm. Her eyes are lite up with tears and fear when she looks up at me. Her lips quiver
“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. We talked about this, we agreed, remember? I didn’t lie to you you’ll get paid eventually.”
I look up at her vitals. HR 100 and RR in the 20s.
I gesture at my partner.
“Maybe she could use some more sedation.”
He agrees, and slowly pushes the plunger of another dose into her IV line.
“While it takes effects, lets go over this experiment again.”
I pull out my recorder, and speak into it, walking laps around the table.
“We’re here to observe the effect of pressure onto a healthy heart. Immediate and long term.”
“We will be administering slow, deep continuous compressions to a volunteered. Patient is healthy. No murmur, no history of heart disease or even anxiety.”
I look back at the monitor, fearing that my words had ramped up her heart rate again, but it’d come down to a steady 70, and the patient looked barely conscious, though her eyes blinked, dazed.
“I gave her betablockers.” My colleague informed, under his mask.
“Good. I think we can begin.”
I pushed the recorder once more.
“Experiment will help us understand the damage caused by pressure on the sternum and could help us catching CPR and pressure related injuries earlier.”
I stop, getting closer to my patient. I don’t look at her but at her body: my canvas. What I’m going to work with. Small frame, protruding collarbones, ribs, slightly visible under her smooth, plumb skin. My fingers go right for the breastbone, then trails a little bit down, to find the sweet spot. My open palm covers her. I interlock the other, and just rest them there for a moment. Right under there, her pump is beating hard, but still steady.
I place my knee on the table for leverage; my arms are locked in place. I look back at her, her eyes darts, she’s shaking, but can’t fight anymore.
I smile, preparing myself.
“Let’s see how you react little thing. You just relax. You might feel some pressure. Here we go.”
Slowly, I dig the heel of my hand down. Her sternum dips, bends to my will. I bare my whole weight, slowly, carefully squeezing her heart into her spine. I hold the pressure for a moment, then release. A gurgle of breath escapes from my patient’s mouth. An expression of pure shock froze on her face. Looking at the monitor, my hands did something: under my assault, the heartrate shot up before fibrillating until I let it go.
“That’s nice. Okay. Let’s start with one cycle and see where that leads us.”
My hands, once again, descend onto her, dig deep in her flesh. Her sternum flattens, her abdomen bulges out, air is pushed out from her lungs with a rattle. Her legs lightly seize, either as a last attempt to fight me off, or just her body doing… things.
Release. Watch the monitor. Watch her gasp and cry.
Push again. Slowly. Intently, while I look at her in the eyes. It’s intimate.
Release. She coughs. Tries to catch her breath. I don’t let her, I crush her again. She screams a low, guttural screech. She flails around, her arms and lets stopped mid-movement by the chained cuffs.
Release. Wait. Push. Wait. Release. Again and again, relentless.
“Oh, you don’t – like that – very much – do you?”
My words get cut by my efforts. Her eyes are locked on my as mine are on her. She hears me, she sees me, she feels me. She looks at me like I care, like I’m gonna stop if she gives me puppy dog eyes. But I won’t.
“Do you feel my hands on you – crushing your little heart – into submission? Feels nice, doesn’t it? Do not have to do it yourself?”
It’s delightful. I hope she’s happy, I hope she’s grateful. Though, my words seem to fill her with dread, her head tries to shake no, her mouth forms a no, but can’t get it out between compressions. A “stop” makes it out into the air.
“Oh sweety – Don’t be so – dramatic. There’s no point in – fighting it off dear. I control you. You wimping – is not going to change anything”
Push again. Deep. Slow. I take my time, I shift my weight a bit more. She still breathes – barely – cries – gurgles – and writhe like a little worm. Tears run straight down her temples and into her damp hair. Her heart is getting tired between compressions and won’t really get back to a sinus rhythm now.
“You know, you could be nice – and just relax. You’ll have to stop fighting – at some point. Your heart is going to stop soon, and my hands will be – the only thing keeping you alive. Be glad I’m doing – what I’m doing.”
As compressions goes, her torso feels more souple, like knitted dough. Her ribs haven’t broken yet, they’re very…pliable. My fingers leaves red marks on her skin.
Every time she tries to take a breath, I just press, push, and deflate her like a balloon. All of her air comes out as a rasp. Her flailing looks more and more involuntary, more and more uncoordinated. Twitches, spaced out.
“There you go – that’s a good girl, just take the compressions in, my dear.
She has to be unconscious by that point: eyes wide open, unfocused. Her head lolls from side do side everything I push my hands into her.
I push my heel onto her heart with force, until I feel resistance, hold it there. Release.
“Come on girl, give me something, it’s no fun without you.”
Maybe she hears me, maybe her brain is getting its last effort out, her mouth twitches open, her eyes blinks: it’s sounds like agonal gasps. I take a look at her vitals again, her sat is unexpectedly concerning, in the 40’s. My compressions surely helped getting some air in and out but not enough to oxygenate her.
“Bag her while I finish this, will you? We don’t want her to die so quickly.”
Swiftly, an oral airway was inserted, and an ambubag hugged her face tightly. Air was squeezed in her lungs. First, he hyperventilated her to get her stat back into the 90s, there steadily gave out breath every few seconds. With my hands still ready on her chest, I watched her torso rise up and down. She coughed, moved – now very conscious and alert, but the anesthesiologist kept her still, one hand cupping her chin and locking her neck and head in place.
The patient didn’t take the airway or the forced airflow well now that she was awake, I could hear her moaning inside of the mask. Her legs banged on the table in protest. Me not pummeling her heart into nothingness certainly help her regain spunk. The monitor showed tachycardia with skips and arrythmias, but she was alive and well.
“Sssh. Calm down. It’ll be over soon, but I need to finish the cycle honey, it’s okay.”
I straighten my arms again, lock the position, knee on the table.
I can’t see her eyes anymore as I squeeze the life out of her. But her body rejects my touch, my compression: she twitches, squirms with energy as I squish her chest under all my weight. This one hurts, I feel it, and she feels it more now that she’s all there.
“Don’t fight it. Don’t fight ME.”
I keep pushing down. Holds it there for longer. 5 seconds. Release. As I do, my partner bags her a few times to keeps her levels up, but he’s having fun too: he keeps filling her with new air, air she doesn’t have time or strength to breath out. Her chest is full.
I have to do it, empty her. For the first time in a while, I unlock my hands. I cup the outline of her ribs on both side, where her lungs are incased, and push up her torso, down into her flesh to let the air out, slowly. The movement looks rough, painful – and it was, she grunted all the way through.
“That’s different, but nice too.”
We did this a couple of time. It took less force, and was a nice break from the compressions – with the same satisfying feeling. She could only breath in and out on our terms. Him, bagging air in, me, squeezing air out. She had no control over that anymore, for a moment.
“Okay that’s enough of that. Let’s get back to business.”
We stopped bagging – I could see her beautiful, terrified face again.
There were just a few compressions left to do.
My hands found her chest again, snugged into place. Her sweat had cooled her off and she was like ice under my palms.
“Where were we, oh right, 28.”
Slow, excruciating for her, excruciatingly good for me. One inch, two inch. I like how her body shapes under my control. I’m smothering her from the inside out. Her eyes widen, her jaw locks from pain, her legs tense up. The monitors show the strain I’m putting on her. Wiggly lines get quieter. Release.
This one is quick, almost appropriate. Rough, but efficient. I want to see if it makes a difference at this point. The disturbance is shorter overall, but the aftermath is worst. There’s no alarms, no sounds, but every indicator is flashing. Pulseless activity.
Just one more.
“Here comes 30.”
For the last time, I dig my hands into her flesh. I put all my weight into it, push past the resistance a bit – I hear my first real crack. Maybe the breast-bone, maybe the longer ribs. I keep the pressure strong on her heart – I feel it struggle, watch it flutter – I hope for asystole for a moment, but looking at the EKG, that’s not on the table right now. Her heart really is that strong. As I release, her heart twitches with random electrical signals, bearly hanging on.
“Alright, first test over. Let’s shock that. Get proper oxygen in there. Tube her. Then I want an echo of her heart to see the damage I did.”
A Fake on the Ward
It had been easy to gain access to her room. The hospital was so incredibly busy, staff barely noticed who was coming and going. Donning a white coat and slinging a steth casually round his neck was all it had taken to tailgate a nurse through the security-coded door onto the ward - she had barely given him a backward glance as he followed her in.
And now, he was with her. He closed the door, hanging an ‘examination in progress’ sign on the outside, ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed. He looked down at the girl he’d decided would be his next unwilling patient…
Laid quietly recovering from recent surgery, she was lightly sedated and closely monitored. The ECG was beeping at a steady 76 BPM - for now.
He wanted her. Fuck how he wanted her. More precisely, he wanted her heart. To hear it, to feel it…. to control it. To be the one dictating her rhythm… and if she even had a rhythm at all.
He lowered her gown, exposing her petite chest….
Moving his steth slowly all over her chest, he took time to familiarise himself with the sound of her steadily-beating little pump…
The sound of her heart made him tingle. Made him want her all the more. That magical little organ, rhythmically pumping away inside that little chest… and a sound which had always turned him on. Always.
He almost took her there and then, so aroused was he by those sexy little beats. But he knew this was just the start - there would be plenty of time for that later.
He wanted control of those sexy little beats. And to truly have that… well, he needed to stop them first. Stop them dead. He wanted complete stillness in that chest of hers, purely so he could be the one to restore her heartbeat. He was going to force her into cardiac arrest just so he could manually pump her heart - nothing but the manual force of his hands keeping her from certain death.
His choice of method this time? Strangulation. Less complicated than drugs. A longer decline into arrest than a quick defib shock. Much more drama to savour - he wanted to look her in the face as he slowly crippled her heart by depriving it of the very oxygen it needed to beat.
He gently removed one of her surgical stockings - the perfect choice of item with which to choke her, almost a little comical he thought to himself as he began wrapping it around her neck and pulling….
To be continued…
(BUT I haven’t yet even thought about part two, so if anyone has ideas for how it should progress feel free to leave a comment 🙂)
I find you laying on your back, eyes wide open lifeless, I straddle you, legs spread with my body leaning over you, I feel on your neck for a pulse, nothing. I then slide my hands down and rip your silky black dress straight down the middle leaving your chest exposed, only covered by your black lacey bra.
I place my hands in the middle of your chest, right between your breasts and begin to push down pumping your heart to keep you alive.
This is my first try at this, if you want me to make a part two with defib lmk :)
And it’s a great first try!
Cardiac emergency at the gym… (Part 2)
His fingertips were gently palpating the tip of her apex as her heart finally succumbed to the lack of oxygen and ceased to beat…
“It’s ok sweetheart, I’ve got you” he quietly whispered, stroking her hair with one hand. With his other, he balled his fist and brought it down in a brutal thump directly over her arrested heart…
His fist met her sternum with an almighty, dull thud. His fingers were instantly pushed into her carotid, checking whether or not his attempt at kick-starting her heart had worked. Nothing. A clammy stillness was all that greeted his fingertips.
“Ok then sweetheart, cardiac massage it is…” The heel of his hand expertly found the centre of her chest and he began rhythmic compressions, repeatedly forcing her heart to beat with nothing more than his own strength…