The Doctor is Sin

.....

Lauren re-emerged to the sensation of weightlessness, of strong arms around her body. She realized she was being carried into her living room, and looked up with relief to see that the man was still with her, was holding her in his arms. She noticed her husband standing in the room.

"Sit there, on the couch," said the man in his now-familiar deep voice.

Jimmy did as he was told. Gently, the man eased her down to a standing position.

"You were fucking amazing. In fact, I can't stop fucking you. Go and kneel in front of your husband."

Lauren saw the large, leather padded footrest sitting in front of the assigned spot where Jimmy had settled. She knelt on it, placing her hands on Jimmy's knees, and held her ass up in the air for her lover. She would do anything he wanted now.

"Look into your husband's eyes."

She lifted her head and looked at Jimmy. His eyes still glazed over, fascinated, confused. The familiarity of his features reminding her of their love together, a feeling of forgiveness and understanding growing inside. But the strong hands now gripping her waist, countering with a reminder of her new lover, of her desire, her need to be fucked by him again.

"Tell your husband you love him."

"I love you honey... OH GOD!" The man roughly thrusting himself into her again.

"But that you love my cock more." He thrust again, his heavy balls swinging up to spank her clit as he buried himself inside her.

Lauren struggled to make words between his brutal poundings. "OH!! I... OH GOD! I love... HUUNNNNGH... I love his.. FUCK! I love his cock so much!! FUUUUCK!"

"Now tell your wife you love her!"

Jimmy looked into his wife's eyes, now rolling back into her head with otherworldly pleasure. "I still love you honey!"

"Tell her it's not her fault I'm fucking her so good!"

"It's... it's not your fault, honey. I'm so sorry."

"That you'll still love her when she's carrying my baby!"

Lauren looked back into his eyes and caught a hint of pain, as if he was beginning to emerge from his trance, but the announcement that she was about to be filled with her lover's semen, the image of those huge nuts squeezing ungodly amounts of hot seed so deep inside her pussy, sent her immediately to the edge of orgasm.

"SAY IT!"

"I'll... I'll still love you sweety! I promise!"

Lauren looked again into her husband's eyes, relieved at the sparkle of sincerity she found.

"Tell your husband you want my baby!"

"Oh God!"

"Tell him!"

"YES! Oh God, I'm sorry Jimmy. Yes! Yes!"

The man yanked Lauren's ass to him, shoving his dick against her cervix, and began groaning deeply in rhythm. Lauren's felt herself slip over the edge again, and she cried out in a long animal groan as her pussy muscles squeezed hard, almost as if they were trying to suck his juices deeper inside. She blacked out.

.....

Jimmy sat there, dazed and wordless as Sergei collected his things. No acknowledgement from the man who had just fucked his wife into oblivion as he donned the clothes he had arrived in. Disappearing for a moment into the bedroom and re-emerging with a tiny flash drive, Jimmy just then remembering the tiny camera he had set on the bedside table to record the night of kinkiness he'd planned. Was he removing evidence? But how could he? At that very moment, millions of pieces of evidence were furiously coursing their way to his beautiful Lauren's womb. Her ass still arched in the air as if to aid their progress, her body still quivering. Then the front door closed, and the man was gone.

**********

Mikhail stood at the designated meeting spot, the barren, lightless parking lot of a dying convenience store, watching Sergei barrel through the unoccupied spaces on his motorcycle. The young, strapping buck eased up and rolled to a stop in front of him, stepping off the bike with a big shit-eating grin.

"Micky, my most excellent benefactor! Where on earth do you find them?!"

Mikhail chafed inside at this Americanization of his name, but betrayed no irritation. "It went well then, I trust?"

"My God, man. You should have seen her. So fucking adorable. I could bang that girl every night."

"No!" Mikhail sternly warned. "You know the rules. If you want to keep doing this, you must never deviate from the instructions."

Sergei looked at him ruefully.

"I'm serious! Besides, it's not just about your continuing participation in this... arrangement. The clientele are not people you want to let down young man."

Sergei bristled at this reminder of the people he had somehow gotten himself involved with, but knew Mikhail was right. "Smut peddlers," he spit. I guess I'm a big hit in Ukraine by now.

"If the arrangement were as you imply, your youthful indiscretions would already be familiar to perverts around the world. As I've told you, the clientele is extremely exclusive -- far more so than you could ever imagine -- and just as discreet. Private, solo viewing only."

Mikhail held out the envelope of cash to Sergei, who replaced it with the recording. Before Mikhail could disappear entirely into the confines of his sedan, Sergei called out in a laughing voice.

"Seriously! Where do you find them?"

"The world is stranger than you know my friend. Far stranger." And he was gone.

.....

Mikhail pulled up in the empty lot, the light from Gladjo's window still peeking through the blinds as expected. He entered through the back door and walked down the hall to the office. The doctor was sitting back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head in a posture of repose, listening to light classical music.

"Mikhail, so good to see you. I trust everything went as planned?"

"He seemed happy."

"Good. And he did not come to you bearing only a smile I hope?"

Mikhail set the chip down on the table and took the envelope of cash. "Sergei does as he is told."

"He does indeed."

.....

Alone in the room now, Ivan popped the drive into his laptop and saved the video in his special, triple-encrypted file, then opened it. He sighed at the smallness of the frame, the poor sound quality, but if he could only see one small vantage point, he was glad it was the profile of her face. The faces he always liked best. The slow and now familiar progression from terror to lust to rapture. He sat back, devouring the image of the beautiful woman who'd adorned his patient's chair, his cock stiffening.

Ivan grew wistful watching the tape. This used to be him, he thought. Imagining himself in Sergei's place. Himself a different kind of lover -- agile, creative -- Sergei more of a brute-force artist. But it didn't matter -- they always loved it. They always came. But for this one, he thought, staring into those doe eyes, maybe I should have allowed myself one last foray.

No, no, he had promised himself the receptionist would be the last. Even she a post-retirement present to himself, though it truly was the last time he told himself afterward. He had taken enough, was getting older. The establishment of total control required vigilance, mental agility. What if his libido somehow outlived his sharpness? Besides, had he trained Sergei for nothing? Sergei who was doing so well -- eight women now, and not a single foul-up.

Thinking now of his last conquest, the receptionist. He had hired her with only professional intentions in mind, but anymore he found he could not be trusted around young women. Their failure to immediately see the graying man as a sexually potent presence chafed against him, when he could so easily have them. Finally he had convinced her to undergo a "relaxation therapy" -- "people walk around their whole lives having no idea of the tension and stress they carry around!" With his skills and experience, it only took one session to ensure the women would come back for more, and only four, at most five sessions to do anything he wanted with them. He had planned to take her right there on his desk, but, no, this was his last. It had to be special. He had to get the man involved -- it made it so much richer. Programming her to pester her fiancé to within an inch of his life, the man finally walking in one day, tentative and irritated.

Yes, he had made that one very special. A vacation event, even. The newly married couple walking into their honeymoon suite to find him, triggers he had implanted placing them immediately under his control. He thought fondly of her orgasmic screams as he held her legs apart, the half-on wedding dress spread all over the bed, her tits bouncing up and down wildly, just pounding her tight, young pussy. New hubby staring on dumbly. But, all in all, he had gone easy on them. He could have programmed her to love the first child more than any future ones. And he had sublimated them fully, so well that she still treated him normally around the office, as if nothing were amiss, his baby growing inside her. The husband too. Memories of the honeymoon outrage soon melting into happy remembrance of a kinky end to their wonderful day, his own presence there finally disappearing in their minds entirely. No love lost for the happy couple. He had done the same for Lauren and James -- she was too sweet not to.

Nor would he impregnate her again. He thought of Mr. and Mrs. Carlton, the blonde Mormon couple with the seven black-haired, little Ukrainian beauties. Returning once every two years to their home, leading the housewife by the hand to her matrimonial bed. Loud music to prevent his own children from experiencing the trauma of their mother's wailing cries of pleasure as the mysterious stranger gifted them a new sibling.

Yes, he had lived a full sex life, taken more than his share. And for so long now, occasionally catching a local twenty-something with his own blue eyes and Eastern European facial features -- could they be his? Time to let Sergei take over. Sergei would be good - trained to avoid his own initial mistakes. But at least Ivan had been cautious in the beginning, merely watching the women wriggle in his chair as he titillated their subconscious minds. But not so good at the sublimation. The one woman he'd had to convince of some dredged up, forgotten molestation to explain the images she remembered after the trance, the other who'd simply walked out and, in a massive stroke of fortune, had not reported him. Necessary missteps on the path to mastery.

Though there were missteps even after mastery. The problem no longer his inexperience, but his boldness, his intoxication with his own powers. Yes, excesses had been taken, lives lost even. He thought of the ultra-conservative pastor who'd come to him to finally tackle his repressed homosexuality. "Jesus and I have been fighting this thing, but we need your help!" Well, sexual preference was too hard-wired for even his abilities; at most he could have helped him accept his orientation, if not for the fact of his career and status as a married man. If any woman needed it, he had thought, it would be the pastor's wife.

A beautiful woman, but a virulent racist. She and the pastor both. He had wanted her for himself when he saw her, but over time he had decided to get creative. The religious people brought out the worst in him -- he supposed it was his fundamental Nietzschean amorality that rebelled. Confronting her with the reality that her hatred of black men was simply fear in another guise. Then building for her a reality where that fear was the fear of sexual domination. Creating for her a deeply repressed taboo that would be earth-shattering when finally broken.

It had almost been worth it. The pastor's wife sucking him as the three strapping black men he'd hired took turns pounding her from behind. Releasing his cock from her mouth and screaming with animal brazenness at each gut-wrenching orgasm until each had filled her with sperm, he himself spraying his seed all over her pretty face, made up like a Southern belle. The pastor standing by, gazed, erect at the sight of the men's powerful asses contracting with each thrust.

Well, there were things that could be sublimated and things that couldn't. No repressive hypnotherapy could overcome the shock of the congregation to the pastor's first sire -- a beautiful mulatto baby. He had taken his life, and the woman had left town with the baby, never to be seen in these parts again.

Then there was Sergei's own mother. The one conquest he could not bear to relive, the one that had destroyed the last remnants of his soul. A fiercely intelligent woman -- his toughest patient, and his favorite. A strikingly beautiful nun in her first year in the Sisterhood. He'd known when he first saw her that she must be deeply troubled -- no modern woman this gorgeous, however devoted to her faith, had the wherewithal to deny herself the validation of adoration from legions of men. And he was right -- still dealing with the trauma of a teenage rape that had driven her away from men and into total chastity. Asking him to erase it forever.

He should have. He should have tried at least. Well, Sergei had been a blessing, but still... it was too much. He just had to get creative. For her he had, over countless grueling sessions, woven a completely new theology. A sort of warped Gnosticism, worshipful of a Janus-faced God -- both good and evil merely separate manifestations of His provenance. That, to know Him, one had to experience both sides -- not just experience, but embrace. The rape as the evil manifestation, the devil literally inside her. Reliving that experience in hypnosis again and again, the poor girl. But slowly transforming it from an unspeakable trauma to an ambivalent mystery, and finally to orgiastic bliss. Convince her to relive it with him, Ivan as the devil, but to embrace it, to take control. To not be raped but to take it voluntarily. Her perfect, taut breasts bouncing up and down and she rode him, her face gazing heavenward in bliss as she came from a man for the very first time.

He had left her with nothing. A theology shattered, one that could not hold up without the constant attentions of her therapist, who had left her to after the pregnancy to her own devices. A baby and a humiliating end termination from her station in life. A child she had been trained to think of as the devil's. Considering who he was, was she so wrong?

The suicide had devastated him. He renounced his practice and took in Sergei in an act of permanent penance. But that, too, had left him with nothing. For he was who he was -- amoral, in fact immoral to the core. He could not be changed. Was he to live forever in agony over who he was as a person? No, he would not, could not. In an act of self-preservation, he stripped himself of the last vestiges of conscience, embracing the ethic of might as right. The child he kept, and, in his own warped way, loved, but he kept him as anointed one. To carry on the lineage. The young man so encumbered by layers of hypnotherapy that he would never escape his destiny. Yes, the bad boy now, thinking himself a niche porn star for the Russian Mafiya, probably scared to death of what would happen if his father found out. Ivan chuckled. No, simply training, my boy. And when he accepted the profession, as was inevitable, he would far outdistance Ivan. His subconscious already bearing all of the doctor's dark arts.

And what if Sergei too chose his own successor? He thought of the town sixty years from now, a demographic mystery of black-haired half-Ukrainians surnamed Johnson and Smith. Best for his heirs to move before every other high school couple was unwitting kissing cousins, he chuckled. Ivan sat back in his chair and watched his sire at work. His own work was done.