Mental Hospital Horrorbyjoe doe©
Joyce and I had gone through medical school together, so naturally when I attended the seminar back East, I called her up to see if we could do lunch. She was busy, but we agreed on a quick lunch, with me meeting her at her at the mental hospital where she worked. That way she could give me brief tour before we ate.
The security at the mental hospital was tight, and I had to go through several gates to get to the reception area. At the first gate I had to present a photo id. My name was on the visitors sheet, so they gave me a badge, which I clipped to the inside lapel of my trench coat. As per my request, the badge identified me as "Dr. Linda Watson." In hospitals, I always wear identification as a doctor, just to let people know who is in charge. The guards quickly buzzed me through.
I walked down a large steel mesh hallway to get to the second gate, which, in addition to two armed guards, also had a metal detector. They checked my badge again and told me to put "any personal items, metal objects, and my purse" in the lockers that corresponded with my badge number. Although I thought it was a little bit silly, it was a mental hospital, so I did what they asked. Since I was kind of warm, and, since the trench coat had metal buttons, I put the coat in the locker, too.
I passed through the metal detector, and the guard buzzed me into the next hallway. I walked down a long, sterile hospital corridor and approached a steel cage at the far end next to a sign that said "RECEPTION." The crone in the cage buzzed me through the door to the other side and asked me to "state my business."
I explained that I was here to see Dr. Joyce Winston for lunch, and she said rather curtly that she didn't know anything about any appointment. Then she asked to see my visitor's badge. After several moments of panicked search, I realized that I didn't have it...I had left it clipped to the trench coat that was now resting comfortably in the locker! I tried to explain what had happened, but she left and came back with another nurse, a big fat bull dyke with a crew cut, who looked like a prison guard in some B movie.
"Is your name Linda?" she said curtly.
"Yes...ma'am", I replied. I don't know why I added 'ma'am.'" but, given her general demeanor, it seemed appropriate under the circumstances.
She buzzed me through yet another door and told me to follow her. Upon entering a large tiled shower room, she placed a cardboard box at my feet. The box had the name LINDA JEFFERTS and a serial number on the side. But my name, of course, was Linda Watson. What was happening?
The dyke nurse looked at me and smiled. "OK, Jefferts, strip down to your birthday suit. Every stitch...undies too! Put it all in the box."
"Look, this is a mistake. I'm not a patient; I'm just here for lunch! I don't know what that nurse said, but I'm not who I am! I mean, who they said I am! I need to get that damn badge!" I started to walk past her, but she gruffly pushed me back, so I pushed her. It was a big mistake! She glared at me and muttered, "You're gonna regret that, meat." Then she pushed a red button on the wall.
Two large black orderlies walked in. They were both over 6 foot and very muscular. Despite their white uniforms, they looked more like street thugs than medical personnel -- one even had a gang tattoo on his arm.
"Our little princess here needs some help taking off her clothes, boys," the nurse said, smugly. "Maybe you can give her a hand."
The two thugs started to move towards me, and I quickly took off my shoes. "Wait...I'll do it...just not in front of them," I pleaded.
"You're not giving the orders in here, Missy," she snapped back. "You're just another patient now, and I'll strip you down butt naked like all the rest! Now take off your jacket!"
I took off my jacket, folded it neatly, and put it in the box.
"Now your earrings!" she snapped. "Give them to me."
I took off my expensive diamond earrings and handed them over to the butch nurse. She smiled at me as she put them in her pocket.
"Now the show starts to get interesting, honey. Take off your shirt. And do it nice and slow."
I swallowed hard and slowly undid the buttons of my white silk blouse. Slow was good...maybe Joyce would find me and rescue me! In the meantime, I knew I would have to perform a slow, humiliating strip tease for the grinning nurse and the two leering men.
I folded my shirt and put it in the box. Underneath I was wearing an expensive white lace bra. I tried to cover myself, but she told me to put my arms down at my sides. One of the black men let out a little wolf whistle.
"She not too big up top, but those little peaches sure look firm and tasty, Tyrone!" one of the men said.
"Sure do," the other man agreed. "More'n a handful is jus' a waste. 'Sides, these snooty little society bitches never got big jugs. But their pussies are like rubber bands!" They both laughed, and the nurse barked out her next command.
"Now the skirt, Princess."
I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it. Now I was wearing nothing but stockings, garter belt, lacy white panties and matching bra. I've always liked sexy underwear, but, when I got dressed that morning I never imagined that I'd be forced to parade around in my scanties in front of these hooligans.
One of the men told me to put my hands on top of my head and turn around, nice and slow. I did as I was told, and they whistled and hooted at me. I felt like some cheap little slut at one of those sleazy lunch-time lingerie fashion shows. I could actually feel myself blushing, a fact that the nurse noted with obvious delight as I took off my stockings and garter belt.
"Okay, honey, time for the moment of truth," the nurse said. "Slip off that bra and show the boys those cute little titties." I took off my bra. Again I was ordered to put my hands on my head and turn around slowly.
"Well, she won't work at Hooters, but them nipples sure are nice and pointy," Tyrone said.
"I'll bet you 25 cents she ain't no natural blonde, Tyrone!" the larger man said.
"You're on!" Tyrone said, with a laugh. "Did you hear that, white girl? You gonna have to slip outta them 'spensive, pretty WHITE panties, to he'p ol' Tyrone win 25 cents!"
Reluctantly, I turned around and pulled down my panties, unfortunately giving them a rather lewd view of my upturned bottom. With tears in my eyes, I placed my hands on top of my head and slowly turned around, exposing my naked crotch for all to see.
"WOO-HEE! A natural blonde! You owe me two bits, Roscoe!" Tyrone shouted. The tears started streaming down my cheeks as I stood there, naked and humiliated, while Roscoe tossed the grinning Tyrone a quarter. Stripped of everything, for 25 cents!
"Don't feel bad, honey," Tyrone said. "Nigger girls had to strip for their massahs down on the plantation! Makin' you show us yo' pretty white pussy's jus' a bit of racial justice! Jus' be glad I can't put yo' fine white ass up on the auction block!" Their laughter burned in my ears.
"Okay, let's go, boys," the nurse said, gruffly. "We don't have all day to process the princess." All three of them put on rubber gloves and face masks. This was not a good sign.
The nurse turned and left the room, and the two orderlies quickly advanced on me. They grabbed my arms, led me over to a pair of cuffs dangling from the ceiling, slipped my wrists into the cuffs, and adjusted the slack so that my toes were barely touching the floor. The nurse walked in, carrying a scrub bucket and an ancient-looking pair of electric shears. Putting down the bucket, she turned on the shears, which came to life with an evil hum.
"You don't have to shave her," Roscoe said. "Ain't no way a fine uptown piece of ass like her got lice."
The nurse replied, "I'm the one who decides who gets shaved, and I say that we shave her bald as a billiard ball." She ran the clippers roughly down the front of my crotch, and I winced as a large swath of my beautiful blonde bush was sheared away. "Besides, that dirty little snatch of hers is just going to collect a lot of filth." She ran the shears between my legs again, and I started to sob. Looking right into my eyes, she smiled and said, "I said you'd be sorry you pushed me, honey!"
The two "boys" took coarse scrub brushes out of the bucket and started roughly scrubbing me down like I was some filthy sow. The chemical solution they used burned and stank, quickly overwhelming my expensive perfume. I would be reeking of disinfectant for weeks.
Of course, they used my "scrub down" as an opportunity to squeeze my breasts and bottom. At the nurse's suggestion, they both took time for a "cavity search," which involved fingering my helpless pussy and bottom hole. Roscoe, in particular, enjoyed the experience and assured me that he'd be visiting me later on that night....
The cruel nurse, in the meantime, shaved my pubic area bald and then turned her attention to my head. "You won't look so high and mighty after I shear off that fancy society hairdo. But I'm probably doing you a favor, honey. You're gonna be so ugly, nobody's gonna want to fuck you."
"I'll still fuck her," Roscoe said. Tyrone quickly agreed.
"Well, except Roscoe and Tyrone. But they're probably just gonna do it 'cause they remember what a fine bitch you were when we brought you in here."
After my head was totally bald, she used a pair of clippers to trim my manicured nails to short stubs, and then she roughly scrubbed off the nail polish. When the work was complete, Tyrone hosed me down like I was a dog, taking particular delight in directing the freezing stream of water against my jiggling breasts and up between my legs at my freshly denuded pussy.
"Did you bring a gown?" Tyrone asked the nurse.
"No, I figured we'd dress her in the supply area. We better restrain her first, though."
They unhooked me from the ceiling cuffs, but then fastened my hands behind my back using a cheap pair of plastic handcuffs Tyrone had on his belt. He roughly grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pushed me out into the hallway, stark naked!
Tyrone, Roscoe and the nurse walked me slowly down that long hallway, making sure that everyone got a good look. I endured their winks and rude comments, barely able to look up at them. One of my fellow patients even slapped me hard on my bare ass as I walked by, and Tyrone just laughed! I looked back at the leering patient, and he winked at me and rubbed his crotch. On his robe he was wearing a yellow tag that said "SEX OFFENDER." I prayed that they wouldn't put us in the same ward.
I had come through the gates as a respected member of the medical profession. I had come here for a guided tour! As a doctor I knew that everyone I met would treat me with deference and respect.
But, in less than 30 minutes, I had been stripped of everything. My ID, my medical degree, my legal rights, my expensive clothing, and my dignity were all taken away. I was no longer a successful career woman. I was now just another mental patient: bald, shackled, stinking of disinfectants, and forced to parade down the hall in my birthday suit to everyone's obvious amusement.
We finally got to the room at the end of the hall, and they laid me out on a gurney. The lesbian nurse lovingly rubbed baby oil and baby powder on my backside...and then slipped me into a diaper!
"I don't need a diaper," I said. "I'm not incontinent."
"Don't worry sweetie, it's for your own good. The machine we use is kind of old, and most girls lose bladder control during treatment."
"Treatment!" I yelled. "What treatment? I don't need any treatment."
"That isn't what your file says, honey buns. Just relax and let the nurse take care of everything."
To my relief, they uncuffed me and slipped me into a short white gown. Although there were no ties in back, it didn't really matter, because they quickly strapped my arms and legs to the gurney. And then they added more straps across my chest and abdomen.
She put a large, foul-tasting ball gag in my mouth and secured it. I was now totally helpless. Tyrone and Roscoe left, both promising to "visit" me later that night -- and giving my breasts a final, playful squeeze. I shuddered at the thought of what they would do to me.
The nurse wheeled me down the hall to the nurse's station. There was no one there, so she used a red magic marker to write something on my forehead. Smiling at me wickedly, she laid my chart on my chest and walked away, whistling a merry tune.
I lay there helpless for a good ten minutes, but, fortunately, the crowd in the hallway had dissipated, and the few other patients who were there left me alone. Finally, I heard two nurses coming down the hall. As they approached, I caught some of their conversation.
"Anyway, Dr. Winston called and said that she was expecting some other doctor to meet her for lunch. But she came down with the flu, and she won't be in for the rest of the week. So if that other doctor shows up, apologize for Dr. Winston and ask her if things can be rescheduled for next week."
MY GOD! JOYCE WASN'T GOING TO BE HERE UNTIL MONDAY!
"Who's baldie?" the other nurse said, picking up my file. "Linda Jefferts! I thought they called and said that her transfer had been cancelled."
"Well, obviously not, because here she is," the first nurse replied. "Don't worry about it, they screw up these transfers all the time. As long as we've got her and her paperwork, we're fine."
"What does the big red 'ES' on her forehead mean?" the second nurse asked, running her fingers over the writing on my forehead.
"It means that we're supposed to give her electroshock therapy."
OH, NO! SHOCK TREATMENT! I started to struggle and scream into my gag. Someone had to listen to me. It was a mistake! IT WAS A MISTAKE! TAKE OFF MY GAG! SOMEONE HAD TO LISTEN! I'M A DOCTOR!
"Looks like someone doesn't want to take her medicine!" the older nurse said, with a laugh. She produced a large jar of lubricant, which I eyed with horror. "Just smear plenty of this goop on her head and attach the electrodes. I'll be in to help to help you throw the switch in a second."
"But I thought the machine was broken."
"The new one is. But we got the old machine out of storage. It really shocks the piss out of them -- literally -- which is why we use the diaper. But it does the job. Just make sure you use plenty of lube, or we'll burn that chrome dome of hers."
"Should we give her a sedative?" the younger nurse asked.
"No. We used to...it kept them from pulling muscles. But now we just strap them down real tight. It's a lot cheaper that way." I struggled helplessly in my bonds. This couldn't be happening to me.
The nurse wheeled me into the "treatment room," and hooked me up to the huge machine. I knew that I would have to take whatever they dished out until Monday. But, on the brighter side, I knew that after this "treatment," I'd be too senseless to care when Tyrone and Roscoe came back to use me tonight....
Edited by C. Lakewood