tagNovels and NovellasDoctor of Desire Ch. 03

Doctor of Desire Ch. 03

byLargoKitt©

Chapter 3: Guardian Devil

She wasn't Sister Mary Aloysius when he met her. Hadn't been for several years. Actually, her real name was Gerta. But even though she had left orders because she had 'impure thoughts' that grew and grew until they erased her ability to spend quality time in prayer, she was unable to develop a real intimate relationship with anyone. Casey spoke with her 'ex' Mother Superior, confessing that his role was to help her develop her normal sexuality.

He did not detail that his was "hands on" therapy, but the woman was not dumb. He could tell that she knew there was something more than classic doctor/patient in his treatment of Gerta. Still, the Mother Superior was candid with him.

"I don't think she had any real sexual abuse when she was a child. Yes, there was an uncle who kept her a little too long on his lap. There was a cousin who liked to play "show me" games. I don't know about girls. She had a crush on a teacher.... I just don't know. Her dreams, her fantasies were about devils, rough, hairy creatures with horns and tails.

She couldn't stop imagining herself in all sorts of compromising positions with these creatures. They were always making her do things. We would come into her chamber in the morning and she would be sopping wet, her hair in strings, her nose running. We had to change mattresses; they were just torn up. We don't know how she did it.

"Many nights we stood outside her door, helpless, helpless to do anything because the door was just jammed shut. None of us could force it open, while inside, inside there were the most godawful sounds, you should pardon the expression. It sounded as though she was being ravished, ravished by some huge animal. Her cries were at once fearful and pitiful and at the same time full of ecstasy and joy. I can't explain it.

"However, I confess that one reason she left orders was the effect she was having on the other sisters. Oh, none of them seemed to be possessed in the same way, but still...they would gather outside her door, like moths to a flame. You could see that the noises in that room reached right into their souls and shook them to the ground, some literally.

Sister Angela had a fainting spell right there. Others clutched at themselves in a manner unseemly for the religious. I forbade them to leave their cells at night. Yet in good conscience I could not lock them in. I knew they disobeyed me, because, because...I disobeyed myself and found them outside her door.

"We had Father Eric and Father Paul in to attempt an exorcism but it failed, failed miserably. At first they could not even get into her room at night to perform the ceremony. So we had them attend her during the day until the evening. When sister came in the evening to deliver their suppers the door was locked, though there was no lock on the door.

The awful sounds commenced, yet this time intensified. Their cries filled the entire convent. The sisters ran about shrieking and fainting. And in the morning the priests emerged changed men. They had aged years and could hardly speak. Their garments were ragged below the waist.

Sister Mary Aloysius had no memory of the events; said she had spent a peaceful night without dreams.

"We tried again by placing sister Mary in the infirmary with Fathers Donald and Pierre. There was no effect and it was hard to believe that this angelic person could be possessed. But as soon as she returned to her chambers it all began again.

"I had to let her go.

"So good luck, young man, but watch yourself. I fear this is not just some mild neurosis or depression to be cured by drugs. I believe you have a genuine adversary here."

This cast a whole new light on the problem. In simplest terms, Gerta was not interested in new lovers because she already had one, a very powerful, fulfilling lover, and one not easily discouraged.

Gerta and Casey met for coffee. He hardly knew how to address the problem.

"Gerta, your friends, your sisters think you need to find a companion to share your life, now that you are no longer a religious. Do you feel the same way?"

Gerta didn't look at Casey right away but took the time to form her answer. She wasn't conventionally pretty. Some might call her 'plain' and 'heavy', but it was really the sturdiness of a strong woman of Germanic stock with generous hip and modest bust, beautiful hands, fine gold blond hair pulled simply to the back of her neck and a clear ivory complexion that absolutely glowed. Her best features were her pink dimpled cheeks and her rosebud mouth.

"I am rarely lonely," she enunciated carefully. "My teaching gives me a warm sense of fulfillment. I enjoy outings with friends, both married and single. I am easy with the men in the church choir, though none seems to desire me. And...I have a feeling of being needed...by...by...something greater. I also know for some reason that this, in time, will change."

"Do you know why you left the convent?"

"Well, people say things about possession, but I have never felt this. I think perhaps I have sinful dreams and it disturbs the other sisters. Only this."

"You understand why I am here?"

"My friends say that you will help me grow over my fear of men. Only I don't feel I fear the men, only that, for now, they are not so interesting. And my body, it does not respond so much, because...because I have no energy for this. Though I am no longer a religious my energy is more toward heaven and the good works."

"But you are willing to let me try to help you."

"It seems a bit silly. But yes, you are a nice, attractive man. Of course it is a sin, but my sisters are thinking I need maybe a little sin to stop a bigger one. They think I should make a good mother and I am thirty-four, not so young any more. So, yes, help me to enjoy the men."

She lived in a very small house at the end of a quiet street, an almost clichéd rose covered cottage. Apparently she had to have her own house because she had been asked to leave her mother's home and an apartment because of her nocturnal "carrying on." I asked to sleep on her couch.

She made me a simple meal of soup and bread and salad and we read a while like an old domestic couple, listened to some Bach and then it was time for bed.

"You want, perhaps, to share the bed?"

She almost had a twinkle in her eye and Casey was tempted to see if she had just been a bit shy. But he thought, given her history, that he should scope out the scene a bit. And something about her just turned him off, but he could not say what it was.

"That's alright. I think tonight I will just be your guest. We can get to know each other a bit better. Pleasant dreams."

Tiny lines appeared around her mouth.

"I hope so."

Casey stretched out on the couch, which she had made up with a thick comforter. Soon he was dozing.

He woke to the sound of loud whispers from Gerta's bedroom. There seemed to be distinctly two voices, one, Gerta's high Germanic, and the other a lower more gravelly tone. It was almost an argument, and then the Gerta voice began to whine and choke. The bed shook and creaked. Soon Gerta began to moan and cry rhythmically. The other voice echoed hers a beat later.

Casey beat on the door and cried, "Gerta! Gerta!" but there was absolutely no response. He could not open the door. And strangely, he did not want to open the door. He found his cock in his hand and it was so hard it ached. His balls were squeezed up against his body and he found himself beating his meat as hard as he could.

Inside the room Gerta's voice dropped into her belly and merged with the lower voice. She was moaning for release and Casey wanted nothing more than to fill her with hot juice. As she gave a great cry he came hard, shooting a creamy splatter all over her bedroom door, convulsing until every last hot drop was on the floor.

Suddenly he was terribly sleepy, staggering back to the couch before he collapsed in a deep slumber.

He awoke with a throbbing in his temples but otherwise rested. The smell of bacon and eggs and hot biscuits came from the kitchen. Suddenly he remembered his actions of the night before, but when he got up to pee he saw that the door was clean and the floor was scrubbed.

At breakfast neither mentioned the previous night for some time.

Finally he had to ask.

"Did you have a visitor last night?"

Gerta blushed.

"You can see my dreams?"

"Not really, but surely some have said that you...speak...in your sleep?"

"They have said this...and worse. They suggest I consort with the devil. They...like you...I am sorry...make the messes outside my door, I think to insult me. Do you wish to insult me? I am thinking you are a friendly man here to help me."

Casey was hard put to explain his behavior, but he felt he should try.

"Gerta, I do not wish to insult you in any way. And I wish I could say what happened was purely accident. What I believe is that your...dreams...how can I put this...give you the voice of a siren while you are sleeping. That voice can touch a man in a place that is very basic. It is not your fault."

"Oh, but it is my fault. Even my prayers do nothing. I am at wit's end. You must help me!" She reached across the table and gave him a huge kiss, a kiss she tried to make deep and passionate, but it became sweet and sisterly the minute it left her lips. He felt wrong embracing her and she knew it.

"Oh, I am so sorry. I know I disgust you."

"Not at all. You are sweet and loving and deserve to be fully loved and I will help you do that. I promise."

"You can do this?"

"I will try with all my might."

That night he set up a video camera in Gerta's bedroom and ran the cable under the door to a monitor. He had her leave a bedside light on.

A loud noise woke him and he glanced at the monitor just in time to see Gerta sit bolt upright in bed, eyes wide. Then one hand knocked the lamp to the floor and something kicked the camera tripod over. The noises began. Casey darted for the shower but even with the door shut and the water on full blast he came, twice, all over the tiles. At least this time he could clean it up himself.

He was truly spooked and truly determined. Time to give it his best shot. That afternoon they went for a bicycle ride together all through the greenbelt on old railroad rights of way and down maple shaded bike paths, They didn't talk much but enough to develop a warm buddylike friendship. He took her to a simple Italian restaurant in the North end and they laughed and played with their food and drank lots of chianti. Gerta was glowing.

They returned to her cottage arm in arm and just naturally headed for the bedroom. He carefully undressed her, which was simple because she was wearing just a loose colorful East Indian print dress. When she was naked he was actually a bit in awe.

Her body was like a Renaissance painting, not pillowy like a Reubens but rather plump and firm. The pink and ivory that graced her cheeks flowed down her shoulders and swelled over her breasts, belly, and hips. Between her strong thighs there was a generous thatch of curling gold.

Some women might consider it an insult, but he was filled with the strong conviction that here was a body just made for bearing children. It was more than conviction, it was compulsion. At that moment he was absolutely convinced that it was his sacred duty to fill this beautiful body with his seed.

He hardly knew how his clothes came off, but in a moment he was naked and his cock was tilting up at an angle it hadn't seen in years. He took her by the shoulders and moved her toward the foot of the bed. He just wanted to empty himself into this magnificent vessel. Her shoulders seemed to burn under his fingertips.

He thrust himself against her and crushed his lips on hers...and immediately felt like vomiting. His flagstaff flopped and he dashed for her bathroom where he spent the next half hour "worshipping the porcelain goddess."

He was curious that not once did Gerta come to comfort him or even ask after his health.

When he finally emerged, weak and ashamed, he saw why. She was fast asleep in bed, the covers up to her chin. He bent to kiss her angelic face, felt a wave of nausea and thought better of it. He was tempted to head for his couch, but duty called. Perhaps later, when the effects of the bad chianti wore off, he could "go back to work."

So he crawled into the bed beside her and pulled the covers chastely up to his chin.

He snapped awake when something huge kicked him onto the floor. It had to be her, a great convulsive kick in her sleep, but it felt like a caterpillar tractor just scooped him up and chucked him onto the cold boards. Above and beside him on the bed he heard her voice as it began to choke and gasp and he tried to rise.

He couldn't. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Some dark flapping force, very strong but very female had him pinned to the floor. His head was filled with the overpowering scent of lilies. And then something began to eat him alive.

There was no pain, just the unmistakeable sensation of being devoured. Something reached into his face and sucked in his tongue. Clawlike hands clamped his chest, and a hot voracious mouth descended over his cock and balls together and began sucking them voraciously. He tried to push it off. Nothing. His whole painful body demanded that he release. A roaring moan inside his ear demanded urgently ... "Give me! Give me!"

He exploded and something flowed out of him, on and on until there was nothing left to give. He felt himself die.

He woke the next morning in her bed. Birds sang outside. The sun was shining. But he felt very, very cold and like he had gone seven rounds with George Foreman. The root of his tongue ached as though someone had tried to pull it out of his mouth. His lips were chapped and bruised and his whole face felt as though it had a wicked razor burn. There were scratches on his ribs. His penis and balls were exquisitely tender and bright red.

Gerta was positively chirpy. She was singing a sweet German song in the kitchen and then brought him a delectable poached egg, whole grain toast with current preserves, dry, crunchy bacon, and strong, fragrant coffee. She sat and watched him eat as she sipped her coffee from a large French mug with a bumblebee on it. Angelic, the picture of innocence.

He hated to spoil her mood, but he had a job to do.

"You dreamed of...him...again last night." Her face fell.

"I...yes...I am sorry...perhaps I talked loudly in my sleep. I am so sorry if I kept you awake. I was thinking...hoping...we...?

"I'm afraid not. But I did stay awake. I am pretty sure I spent my night on the floor.

"Oh I am so sorry! I hope you were not very cold." " Well yes and no. Much of the time I felt quite hot because someone, or some thing was on top of me."

"Well then perhaps we did...?

"Perhaps. I would like to believe it was you who was ravishing me all night. At least then we could work on...changing your style, your technique."

"Pardon?"

"You...it...was not at all gentle."

"I am again so sorry. Perhaps if you had waked me..."

"I couldn't move, and besides, I have a strong feeling it was not you...technically. Of course I may have been hallucinating, but I would swear you were on the bed the whole time, and you were very...busy."

She dropped her cup and the coffee spilled all down her clean apron. She began to cry. But when he went to comfort her the giant wave of nausea hit him and he made a quick break for the bathroom.

It would have made sense at that juncture to quit the whole business. He had not signed up to go mano a mano with Old Scratch, but rather to coax an angelic lady to kick up her heels a bit. But his fighting spirit was engaged. So he made a plan.

He went to a little shop he knew called The Beast's Den and got himself a leather outfit. Not one of the 'dungeon master" variety but rather one of the kinky slave variety. From the bottom up: heavy boots, tough leather pants, a heavy codpiece with metal studs and a lock, a one piece leather jerkin, gauntlets, and a heavy leather head cover that had only three holes for the mouth and the eyes.

At the hardware store he bought a dozen feet of heavy chain and three big padlocks. At the Salvation Army store he found a huge chair, almost a throne.

That evening when Gerta came back from teaching school he sat her down, showed her his equipment, and outlined his plan.

"Now Gerta, please help me in every detail and perhaps I can help you. Here's what I need you to do. I will put on this leather outfit later this evening. I will put this heavy chair in the corner of your room. I want you to chain me very securely to the chair with these locks. Once they are in place neither I nor you should be able to loosen them. Once I am locked up I want you to hide the key in some very distant part of the house, no, no, I insist, somewhere very inconvenient. Then you can go to bed."

Gerta looked disappointed. But a twinkle was in her eye.

"Oh dear. When I saw this I was hoping we were to play some, how you say, 'kinky' game."

"Sorry to be a party pooper but my hope is for no games at all.

Casey didn't get his wish.

Gerta dutifully locked him to the chair and went to hide the key. She laughed sweetly when she returned to see him sitting "like a licorice prisoner" in the corner of her pink and white bedroom. Playfully, she undressed in front of him, giving him a quick glimpse of her plump pink haunches as they disappeared beneath a simple white cotton nightgown.

"Goodnight, my funny guardian," she whispered as she gave him a quick peck on his leather forehead. She left the light on the nightstand on, climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep, her arms neatly folded on her bosom.

The antique clock on the cupboard chimed the quarter hour many many times before there was any change in her demeanor. He was hardly sleepy. The pain of the chains around his arms and legs kept him awake and his heart raced from time to time when a rushing of wind rekindled the memory of the night before.

Finally, the wind began to rise and whistle around the house. Gerta's head began to toss on her pillow. The sound of the wind dropped to an angry moan and Gerta began to mumble. Her hands twisted the sheet and her legs twitched.

Suddenly she sat bolt upright her mouth stretched as wide as it could go. Her eyes were turned high up into her head so nothing but the glistening whites showed. Her head jerked from side to side as though she was listening for something and then stopped still, staring sightless right at him.

She was on him in an instant, her ghastly face an inch from his, her hands like claws snatching at the chains, rattling them, shaking his whole body from side to side, clawing at the leather, leaving deep grooves in it with her nails.

She climbed all over him, looking for some way she could pry this dark casing open and get at the choice meat inside. Her hair was wild and stringy with her own sweat. She snarled from deep in her belly.

She placed her mouth over the breathing hole in the headpiece and inhaled.. All the air seemed to leave him. Finally, she stopped and Casey, on the edge of blacking out, gasped like a fish on the dock.

Turning meekly, zombielike she sat on the end of her bed. Suddenly her nightgown split down the center, exposing great welts from her red throat to her pubic bone. Her head jerked upward as though tugged by the hair. Her eyes, her nostrils and her lips stretched wide as though to accommodate some huge penetrating object.

Her head rocked forward and back, again and again. From her constricting throat came the most ghastly gagging sounds and copious drool ran over her lower lip, down her chin and dripped glistening on her breasts. Her nipples were puckered tight, deep rouge and as hard as wooden beads.

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