Revelations Ch. 04

Seated next to him was his beautiful loving girlfriend; herself a suffering victim of the sordid infidelity; a stupid foolish spouse who'd cut out and run off with some flippant bimbo half his age. The only difference between the two; hers was nearly ten years old, his was still fire new. He noticed her crotch was wet; pubic hair peeked from the sides of her string bikini.

Her body, like his wife's was soft, not fat or flabby, but soft and feminine. She kept her patch well-trimmed; her vagina was always clean and fresh, ready for his tool. He should have asked her to go in the water before he shot his load. They could've fucked right there in the shallows. Damn the barracudas; full speed ahead! He felt himself start to get hard again, must be the sun, the warm tropical sun.

She'd dyed her hair; it was a soft light brown, so typical of women in their late fifties, not yet ready to accept the grey, not ready to go to blue, but still clinging to the past, a past when she was as young and desirable as any of the very young 'kept' women who traipsed about the island during the day. He wondered what it would be like to fuck some old broad with blue hair.

Yes she was beautiful; light sandy hair, deep blue eyes, pink skin she kept well protected from the powerful tropical sunlight. She stood maybe five four; she weighed not more than 120 lbs. Beautiful perfect white teeth, probably all capped. He loved it when she nibbled on his cock with those exquisite teeth.

She had a small, what he considered a perky nose, smallish ears, and a cute dimple at the center of an exquisite little chin. He could still remember the glorious sensation of that sweet nimble little nose as it pressed up his ass the night before.

Her breasts had gone through their share of medical maintenance, but one couldn't tell. They still looked as fresh and healthy as a girl of twenty, and her ass; her ass was perfect, certainly the result of several surgical procedures. There might have been a little liposuction once, and her clear thighs were an indication of some work regarding spider or varicose veins.

He loved it when she let him push his nine inch meat wagon up her rectum. Oh the absolute delight when she licked her own filthy shit off the head of his log!

Her name was Elizabeth, Elizabeth Montgomery; he suspected she, like him, had changed her name somewhere along the line, probably for the same reason, to keep relatives and old friends from finding her.

She was good to look at. She was good in bed, but like him, her energy and eagerness had as much to do with the supplements she took as with any natural inclinations. They were two older people, people with the time and money, two people struggling to cling to something they'd long since lived through. It was the same old story; the constant quest for that ephemeral fountain of youth.

He still couldn't decide; Viagra or Cialis, which worked better? He loved them both equally. They were like his own children. He wondered if Karen were here would she let him fuck her? What about James? He had a great ass.

He loved Elizabeth in his way. She made him want to feel and act young, but she wasn't Vanessa. He loved being with Elizabeth, but no matter what she'd done; he'd always be in love with Vanessa.

Elizabeth looked out across the horizon at the yachts, the catamarans, and other pleasure craft that zig zagged across the water. Some woman was getting a double penetration on that white yacht, lucky bitch! She checked her watch; it was close to 2:00 p.m. and time for her afternoon nap. She smiled over at Gary, "Guess I'll go up now," she started to pack up her small tote. She made a mental note; she needed some more fresh bananas.

Gary leaned forward, "Here let me help."

It was the same procedure they'd followed for weeks. She'd go rest. He'd go to the outdoor bar and start his Jack Daniels therapy. Later they'd meet in the hotel lounge. They'd eat something, they kept it light, salads were out; the raw vegetables passed through too fast. Maybe later they'd dance a little, and perhaps go up to her room and cuddle.

Once in a while the cuddling led to something, when it did it was nice, not great, not earth shaking, but nice. He relied on the blue pill and an assortment of testosterone creams; she had her estrogen shots and her special vaginal ointments. Oh the sex was good, but for him it was more a reminder of something he missed; a time in his life when it was all he could to keep his hands off... 'Her'. He missed 'her' so. He hated 'her' too. He wished 'she' was here now; he'd fuck the shit out of 'her'.

Elizabeth drifted up to her suite. She liked Gary; she liked him a lot, but she knew they were just about through. She'd gone through it several times before. She wanted to find a man, a man she could count on, a man she could trust and lean on. But she was too old, too savvy, too impatient to play games, and the men available were either still in denial, still pretending to be something they'd stopped being twenty years ago, or they were like Gary, a member of the walking dead. Besides a Portuguese fishing vessel had put in that morning; those Portuguese boys, they knew how to deliver.

Oh Gary was a wonderful caring, considerate man. He was a good lover; she said to herself he was good, not great, in bed. He was everything a woman could want; the problem, he wanted someone else. He wanted the woman who'd broken his heart. Yeah, poor Gary, he could remove himself from the scene of the disaster, but he could never remove the shrapnel that was still lodged in his heart.

Damn she hated herself. She'd fallen in love with a man who was still carrying a torch for a woman who'd broken his heart and probably smashed every rib in his chest when she went in there to get at it.

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The hospital: like it was happening to somebody else.

Vanessa felt trapped. She couldn't explain exactly why, but she knew she wasn't supposed to be where she was. Had she gone insane?

She was seated in a soft comfortable chair; a cushioned vinyl chair. It was made of some kind of pliable plastic. In the places where her skin touched it felt clammy; it clung to her the way that kind of material often did.

She wasn't allowed regular clothes, or at least they'd never provided her with anything she considered regular. She longed for the opportunity to put on a bra, some real panties, maybe a skirt and blouse or a dress, and anything with color. She missed her steely Dan. Someone had stolen her butt plug. She missed putting on makeup, but that didn't matter so much, there weren't any mirrors here. There weren't any clocks either, no radios, no television, and no nothing; just the walls, the floor, the ceiling, a chair, a small table, and a bed.

That was one thing that sort of upset her. Her room was a perfect clinical white. The carpeting, the walls, the bed, the bed spread, and sheets were all white.

There were no windows. That wasn't completely true. There was a window, but the glass, actually plastic, was frosted, frosted white. She could tell when it was day or night; or she thought she could, the window was black then she supposed it was night and when it was white it must be day, but that was only if the cursed window actually looked out on the outside world, if it did then she was able to tell day from night, if not, then she had no idea.

It was like she was in some kind of time capsule. She knew nothing, heard nothing, felt almost nothing. Actually that wasn't true, not true at all. She could feel, boy how she could feel. Otherwise there could have been nuclear war, she wouldn't have known.

Her bed, such as it was, was pressed against the side of the wall; it was fixed there, affixed to the wall and the floor with white metallic, maybe plastic, bolts. Each evening a nurse, always dressed in a beautiful white uniform came in, and after a brief undressing and redressing, she'd pull down the coverlet and top sheet and help her glide into the bed. Though the top of the mattress was slightly raised there was no pillow. She was used to having a pillow. She used to take her arms and wrap her head in her pillow to blot out any light or noise. She couldn't do that now.

Both the top sheet and bottom sheets were made of the some kind of cloth-like plastic material. It was waterproof so if she had an accident in the evening the morning nurses would be able to clean it and her up with no difficulty.

Before being tucked in the nurse would take her to her bathroom. Vanessa wasn't allowed to go to the bathroom herself. Three times a day, morning, noon, and night, a nurse took her to the toilet. The nurse would quietly stand by while Vanessa voided. And always, after each expulsion the nurse would take a soft Kleenex and wipe her vagina and rectum. It didn't matter if she pooped or peed, both got wiped. It made her feel self-conscious to have someone watching her while she pooped, but the nurses were all so nice and they were patient too. They never said anything; they just stood by and smiled. She liked her nurses.

No being wiped wasn't the correct phrasing for what happened to her. After each visit to the bathroom, and after that first wipe with a Kleenex, the nurse took special care to gently wash both her vagina and rectum. The washing was an extended affair; the nurse being careful to use her small well-manicured fingers to inspect and clean each orifice.

Vanessa didn't mind the cleansing; in fact she enjoyed it......that was...... up to a point. It was always the same; the nurse's soft fingers would carefully wipe around her anus, gently caressing each cheek, and finish her behind with a pleasantly warm penetration by one or two fingers. The nurses always got real close to her rectum and they'd look at it, like they were inspecting it. She could feel their warm breath while they did that. It always felt good. Sometimes she thought she felt the nurses nose softly press against her anus. She really liked that.

Her vaginal cleansing was even more thorough. The nurse took care to see that she remained completely free of hair. Always hairless, the nurse's careful ministrations with her fingers all around her labia and inside her vaginal wall filled her with a heightened sensitivity of her sexuality. Sometimes the nurse curled her fingers up and around inside her vagina, always seeming to find that mysterious place they called the G-spot.

Then last, there was the application of some moisturizing cream. The nurse was always so thorough, she was always sure to smoothly rub the cream around her mons, over her clitoris, against her labia, and just inside her vagina. Often she'd take one set of fingers and push them carefully against and sometimes slightly into her rectum to hold her in place, while her other hand applied the cream. Each application always ended with a gentle tapping on the tip of her clitoris, then a soft rubbing of the lower most part of her abdomen just at that most sensitive hillock slightly above her vagina. Occasionally the nurse would give her navel a quick wipe.  

Following this excruciatingly delightful cleansing; a cleansing that always seemed to bring her to just the edge of sexual fulfillment; just the extreme point just prior to orgasm the nurse would produce her evening wearing apparel.

Her sleeping apparel never varied. First a comfortable, but slightly tight cloth, perhaps silk, collar was affixed around her neck. It had a small metal ring attachment at the front. Then a pair of panties was pulled in place.

The panties were composed of some transparent rubbery material that had a thick seam that ran from the front just where the material touched her navel down the center under her crotch and up the back always exactly between the creases of her cheeks. The stitching of this seam always found its way up against and nearly inside her vagina. All night long she'd feel the soft insistent pressure of this accursed stitched seam. All night she'd be forced to furtively move this way and that hoping to achieve some sexual relief from the pressure caused by the perverse panties. The panties were held in place by a tight, but not uncomfortable, elastic band.

Of course, since her hands were held firmly but gently in place at her neck by the collar and two thin wrist bands they placed just below her hands she was unable to reach down and give herself any relief. It was as though she was always in an advanced state of sexual tension, near orgasm, but never quite there. It was a delightful, but frustrating feeling to sense of the imminence of fulfillment, but never quite reaching that elusive moment.

Her top was little better. It was a loosely fitting bra top, but again the stitching of the pieces that covered her breasts always seemed to find her aureole, and they always wanted to tease her nipples into erection all night long.

Of course both top and bottom were of the purest but most transparent white

Once Vanessa was placed in bed the nurse always performed the same pretty little ritual; she'd lay her on her back, pull her hands up near her neck and clip her wrists to the soft band, the cloth that embraced her neck, they kept it this way all night. The nurse explained they kept her hands up and away from her privates so she wouldn't inadvertently touch herself at night. It was a kind of delightful agony. She wanted to touch herself, to relieve the sexual tension, but she also exulted in her inability to do so, a kind of sexual agony, it was a sense of helplessness of total dependency on others that kept her forever alert and forever on edge.

The nurse was always so kind, and always with the softest phrases explained she mustn't be allowed to sexually abuse herself. The nurses, she wasn't sure just how many; all the nurses caressed her head, tenderly, almost lovingly wisped their fingers around her cheeks and her neck.

Always every night, the last thing before departing the nurse tenderly, caressingly, leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, and always with the gentlest reminder telling her how much they loved her and cared for her. They'd say things like, "Be a good girl now. Good girl's get their rest. Good girl's never worry they fret about things. You're a good girl; you must never worry, things are never all that bad." It was relaxing to hear such nice things.

After her hands were fixed near her face the nurse would turn her so she laid on her side, then she'd pull the coverlets up and around her neck and head. Last she'd zipper up the sides of the coverlets. Vanessa wouldn't be in the least bit uncomfortable, but she was totally incapable of getting out of bed. She'd curl up in a fetal position and feel so comfortable.

Last the nurse would gently take her hand and caress her head and neck. She'd tell her what a wonderful person she was, and remind her she needed to only relax and obey. It reminded her of the children's hymn she'd learned while in Sunday school, 'trust and obey for there's no other way.' They treated her like she was a child; she enjoyed it.

Then the nurse would quietly leave the room. She'd very quietly close the door, the white door. From where Vanessa lay she couldn't tell where the door differed from the walls.

Her room was never completely dark. There was always the softest glow, a sheen of light that emanated with the lowest strength of fluorescence around the floor and across the corners of the ceiling where the walls and ceiling met.

Her morning and daily routines never varied. Each day included the same three or four step procedures.

First each and every morning, after the nurse took her to the toilet, there was the morning shower. She would stand in the shower while the nurse bathed her; always using her hands to smooth in and rinse off the soap they used. She'd wash her hair. She'd take a brush and carefully groom it out; then she'd braid it into a single pony tail. The soap had a delicious lilac scent, and she'd smell of lilac all day. She learned to love the aroma.

Following her bath they'd attire her in her daily wear. It was always the same, always white, always the softest silk pajamas. The nurse would ask her to stand, and with one hand on her nurse's shoulder she'd pull up and then button her pajama pants. The nurse was always careful to make sure the seams and cuffs of her bottom were neat and tidy. They'd move her around and fudge with the cloth to make sure she never had a wedgie. It felt good; sometimes they'd have to reach inside her rectum or her vagina to make sure nothing was caught. They'd take their hands and fingers and smooth down her front and her rear cheeks.

Then she'd help her in her pajama top. It was always a short sleeved, slightly capped shoulders, peter pan collar, with several mother of pearl buttons the nurse would button up for her. They were careful to button each button one at a time. They'd fluff and smooth the front of the blouse carefully. They smooth their hands over my breasts so softly and gently. Their fingers played gently with my neck and face while they straightened the collar.

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I think I was starting to feel better. I felt like sometimes I was starting to come out of a dark fog.

I often could feel my vagina moisten while they dressed me. Sometimes they'd gently scold, "Now Vanessa look at you." They'd have to pull my bottoms down and wipe me dry. Then of course they'd have to rub in more cream. One nurse had a habit of looking in real close. She'd take her fingers and push up inside my vagina to make sure I wasn't still wet. That only made me wetter. Then she'd say, "Oh Vanessa what are we going to do with you?" I would just smile and press my pussy against her hand.

This bathing was followed by the first of her three meals. Each morning breakfast was a combination of a bowl of almost tasteless porridge and either a banana or an apple.

The nurses always peeled the banana for me. They'd have me sit at a small table on what best could be described as a student's plastic chair. The nurse would hand me a small plastic spoon, and a container of nonfat milk. The nurse always put the straw in the container for me. I'd sip the milk spoon up the porridge, and bite the apple or banana.

Lunch and dinner varied only in the foods I was given. Always the foods were boiled or broiled; nothing fried or microwaved. Chicken without the skins, fish with batter, and occasionally a piece of beef, but always stewed. There would always be a small parley potato, a container of iced tea, unsweetened, some carrots, or peas, and a cup of Jello or vanilla pudding.

I enjoyed mealtimes, I enjoyed bedtimes, I especially enjoyed my bath times and my bathroom times. The occasion each day I liked the least were my times with the doctors. There was never more than one doctor, and there was always a nurse, but I learned to dislike, even dread the times when I was asked questions and asked to talk about my life, my childhood, my marriage, and occasionally some of the things I did with my employer. It was funny I remembered everything about my discussions regarding my husband, raising my children, and my growing up years, but more often than not I remembered almost nothing a but our discussions regarding my work or my time with my employer. In fact I barely remembered his name.

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I'd just left another meeting with Dr. Mengele. He said they'd had good progress with his mother. They'd watched the videos several times; never in her presence. The doctor hoped Vanessa would never have to be exposed to the content of the videos or the pictures she'd received again, as they were a big part, a very big part of her problem.

I remembered my last conversation with Mengele quite clearly.