The Porcelain Doll

"Keep still!" she insisted, wriggling the now well-sheathed finger against the soft-tissued walls of Fred's rectum, much to his delight.

As she held the finger in place, she reached into her pocketbook and quickly located a small but painful multi-stranded leather whip, an ideal device to use upon a man's ass, or his cock, or his testicles, or between his legs. For the next half-hour, Fred came to know the delightfully exquisite torture that Susan knew so perfectly how to dish out over all of these areas.

The first blows reigned down on Fred's ass. There was little mercy in Susan's whippings, not that he would even want to be shown leniency. Pain was the purpose of her visit--his, not hers. Sometimes even she was amazed at his capacity for what to most people would be genuine suffering. Yet Fred often never even whimpered.

His first spending, about forty-five minutes into his "treatment," was as good as it had felt in a long time. It was not long before he was hard again, and it was time for the grand finale. Susan carefully tied the pieces of rope to Fred's arms and legs as he bent over an arm chair, defenseless now against this strange but oh-so-wonderful woman. He turned his head long enough to see her tightening the strap-on dildo between her legs and behind her back.

His mouth was still gagged, but he pleaded for mercy with his eyes. "There, there....." whispered Susan as she placed her hands on his buttocks and pried them apart. As she brought her hips closer to the about to be impaled supplicant, she thought how nice it would be to leave him tied to the chair like that when she left. Oh, he would free himself in time, but not before he came again. She was sure of that.

For the briefest of moments, she wondered what Janice would think if she saw her now, about to take a bound man with an ominous-looking dildo. Wouldn't it be nice if she could hide from Janice. That way, Janice would never know. "There must be somewhere to hide," she thought to herself.

The death of Frederick Oliver Matthews only served to bring an entire town to its proverbial knees, fueling a frenzy of fear. In a city that had had two homicides in eight years, there were now three in less than four months. Again, the scrawled message on the mirror served to prove that one person was committing these crimes. This detail concerning each of the crime scenes had not been released to the press. When Janice picked up the newspaper she broke out in a cold sweat.

Her mind flashed back to the guy in blue station wagon, the leering son-of-a-bitch who called her "Phyllis." Why was this guy following her? And why was he apparently killing Susan's tricks? What was it about this odd-ball stranger? Suddenly, Janice's mind slipped back--almost 20 years ago.

CHAPTER 5 June 18, 1958

Harvey knew just how to take care of this girl, known as Janice to her schoolmates, but who preferred to be called Phyllis whenever she met this strange dude named Harvey. He knew about her reputation. She was a slut. She deserved anything she got. He had enticed over to his parent's house while they were away on vacation. He knew she would come. She was easy. Tonight he would take her further than she'd ever been before. She was in his basement, alone and scared. She was standing up, balanced precariously on the balls of her feet. By force of will, the naked girl tried to remain absolutely motionless. But to do that was almost impossible. It was the point of her bondage, of course. She stood erect, her legs spread wide by a metal bar strapped between her ankles forcing them wide apart. Her arms were pulled behind her back, strapped together at the elbows and wrists forcing her conical-shaped, pink-tipped breasts forward.

Her long blonde hair cascaded down her bound arms all the way to her slim waist. She was gagged, her mouth stuffed with a rubber penis and covered by a thick leather strap. Otherwise, she was completely nude. That was the standard stuff, in and of itself arousing as it silenced and commanded her naked body, offering her charms in wanton invitation.

Harvey stood in the doorway watching her writhe in pain and pleasure. She blushed in shame when he entered, then lost her concentration and slumped forward. She arched beautifully and cried in desperation.

Phyllis groaned deeply in frustration and agony. It was hard to stay on her toes with her legs spread so wide. Her torso arched. But she had to try. Soon he was fingering her pussy. Harvey admired the naked beauty before him. Her head was thrown back, and she shook it back and forth as she came. Her blonde mane floated behind her. Her eyes were closed, and a deep, low moan came from her gagged mouth. Her breasts heaved and jiggled. She was a spectacle of unbridled eroticism. She was beautiful. She was his.

He let her down, took her to his bedroom and finished what he had started. Phyllis felt terrible. It was something she would always try to forget.

"Please let me go home," she pleaded when it was over, her voice a small whimper.

When he finally let her go, she was drained. She could never tell anyone what had happened to her.

June 8, 1990

It took a while, but Phyllis finally came out.

Dr. Rogers looked into the woman's frightened eyes. "Phyllis, I want you to look through this yearbook. Can you find the man who drives the blue station wagon?"

Her brow furrowed. She seemed almost afraid to look. "I.... I don't know. He'll do bad things to me when he gets me alone."

"He won't get you alone, Phyllis. I'll protect you. They'll put him away for a long, long time."

Phyllis began at the back of the book and worked forward. She fingered each picture with her index finger. It was around the tenth page when she suddenly froze and threw her head back, eyes wide open and mouth agape. "THAT'S HIM! THAT'S HIM!" she cried.

The doctor looked down at the black and white pictures on the page. Phyllis' finger was over one of seniors, "Roger W. Hinton."

"His name is Roger. You said...."

"We called him Harvey," she nterrupted. "Harvey was his nickname. See his ears. Harvey the Rabbit. Everyone used to laugh at him."

"Are you sure, Phyllis? Are you absolutely positive?"

Her brow was now filled with tiny beads of sweat. "I'll never forget the fucking bastard!" She began crying uncontrollably.

After bring Susan back, Dr. Rogers let his patient sleep after the ordeal. He went to the outer office and dialed Sergeant Fusco. "Sergeant, the guy in the blue station wagon--his name is Roger W. Hinton. Come on over and I'll show you what he looked like 20 years ago."

It was the big clue Fusco had been looking for. His heart started pounding inside his chest. He felt like a cat about to pounce. It wasn't long before Roger W. Hinton was located in the phone book. Fusco scrambled to get three detectives together.

"When Susan went to Gregory's and Robin's and Frederick's house, she did bad things. They made her do bad things. So I...."

"Yes, Phyllis."

Her face grimaced again, as if she were in deep pain. "So I killed them!" she cried. "I killed them! Do you hear me? I killed them! I killed them!"

At first, the true extent of Phyllis' confession had little meaning to the Doctor. They were the words of a crazed lunatic. Then, for the first time, he realized she was referring to the deaths that Sergeant Fusco had talked to him about. Still, he surmised that the apparently insane woman inside of Susan had picked up on the newspaper accounts of the murders and decided to confess as a way of making Susan's guilt disappear.

"How did you kill them, Phyllis?"

"Shooting. Stabbing!"

These were facts that the newspapers had glorified in banner headlines. The poor girl was confessing to some bastard's hideous crimes. Thinking she had committed them must have caused her a great deal of pain and guilt. No wonder Susan didn't want Phyllis to come out.

"Phyllis, I can help you if you let me," said the doctor in a soothing, clinical manner.

"Yes, please. I need help so badly." Her voice was pleading from the depths of her soul. "I've done very bad things. I don't want to do them again." Her eyes were closed tightly, her head cocked to the side. Beads of sweat covered her forehead. Her face grimaced, as if in pain.

"Phyllis, you must understand what I am about to tell you very carefully. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes."

"Phyllis, do you know who Susan is?"

"Of course."

The doctor chose his words carefully. "And do you understand that the things she does, the sexual activities specifically, concern her greatly."

"She doesn't want to be like that. She wants to be normal, like Janice. And I do, too."

"Good. The you must also realize that Susan holds a great deal of guilt inside her."

"Yes."

"Phyllis, you are Susan's guilt. That's all you are is manifestation of her culpability in all the things she does. I can assure you that you don't exist. You are only a feeling in Susan's mind."

Phyllis shook her head from side to side. Her face was now grotesquely contorted. Her whole body seemed to spasm and shake uncontrollably. Dr. Rogers became concerned that he had brought her too deep into the trance. Here he was, not only inside Janice, but inside Susan. He had never delved this deeply into a hypnotic subject.

"Why did I do those terrible things!" she blurted. "Those terrible, terrible things!"

"Phyllis, you didn't do those things. Janice read about them in the paper and somehow imparted that knowledge to Susan. You are only a reflection of Susan's feelings." Now came the most difficult part. "When I count to ten, Phyllis, you will release all of that guilt." He paused. "Phyllis will no longer exist."

This was a gamble he had to take. He was destroying another soul, just as if he were stabbing her in the heart. But it had to be done to protect Susan.

Phyllis' scream pierced the acrid air. "Don't make me go yet, doctor. I have to confess. Please let me confess!"

"All right, Phyllis. What do you want to tell me?"

Her breathing was ragged now, as if she were going through a prolonged period of painful labor. What would be born of the delivery?

"After I killed them.... I.... I..."

"Yes, Phyllis, tell me."

She took a long, deep breath. "I wrote on their mirrors--'Please stop me before there are others.'"

For the briefest of seconds, Dr. Rogers considered interjecting a question, then decided to let her go on of her own volition. Her hands were shaking horribly. She brought them together, as if she holding something round in her palms. "I tried to warn them, doctor!"

She began to cry uncontrollably. The doctor sat back in his chair, dumbfounded. Sergeant Fusco had provided him details of the crimes not reported in the newspapers in the hope of obtaining a psychiatric profile. One of the things mentioned by Fusco, known only to investigators, was that the killer had left a note on the mirrors of each victim. That fact was never reported in newspapers. Phyllis had just recited the words on mirror, in precise detail. Only the real killer would have known it.

The doctor was now painfully aware that the murderer of three people was seated across from him, and he was conversing with her. It was an eerie feeling. His heart was pounding in his chest. "I am counting to ten, Phyllis. When I reach ten, I will be talking to Susan and you will be gone forever. Do you understand?"

The woman's face reddened beyond belief. Her whole body shook spasmodically. "Yes, YES! I want that. Please make Phyllis go away."

"Okay, Phyllis. You are free to go. One...two...."

At the count of ten, he spoke. "Susan?"

"Yes."

"Phyllis is gone."

"I know."

"I am going to count to ten again. When I finish, I will be talking to Janice. One... two... three...."

Janice came out of the hypnosis bleary-eyed. Dr. Roger's image painted a faint impression on her mind. As her eyes focused, she became acutely aware that he looked pale and wan, as if he had been through a long battle... and lost. She immediately sensed that something had happened during the hypnosis session that maybe she didn't want to know about.

"Doctor, are you okay?"

Was it a dual personality or a triple personality? Susan inside of Janice; Phyllis inside of Susan. Simultaneously. But Janice was cured now. Totally. Dr. Rogers was absolutely positive of that. He was also absolutely sure there would be no more murders.

Dr. Rogers led Janice out of the room, able only to whisper to her with tear-stained eyes that belied his professionalism, "It's all over, Janice. Everything will be okay now."

"I, I don't understand? Is Susan gone?"

There was a long, pregnant pause. "No, but something that was hurting the both of you is. You don't have to be afraid to be Susan anymore. Susan had a secret that she confided in me. I know everything will be all right now."

"Please, tell me, I must know," pleaded Janice.

"Then it wouldn't be a secret, would it? And besides, I don't think you would really want to know." His face was pale and wan, his brow furrowed. He opened the door for her and shook her hand.

She noticed immediately that his hand was trembling. But he was smiling compassionately, and than comforted her tremendously. She didn't know why, but at this very moment she felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of her shoulders. It was such a pleasant feeling. She looked deeply into his eyes. "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Okay. I don't ever want to know the secret. I feel like a different person now."

He smiled again. "You are a different person now, dear Janice. You have no idea how much different you are. In fact, I would have to say that you are much better mentally than you have been in twenty years."

"I know...." she whispered as she closed the door behind her.

The dilemma for Dr. Rogers was as complicated as anything he had ever known. Yes, he knew the identity of the serial killer. Should he go to Sergeant Fusco and report it? In reality, the killer had been buried in his office that afternoon. The murderer could never be put on trial. A polygraph examination of Janice would prove her innocent beyond any shade of doubt. After all, Janice was a loving, innocent, housewife. How could she possibly be a murderer?

A loud ringing of the phone brought Dr. Rogers out of his reverie. Of all people, it was Fusco. "Hey, Doc, how about this news. That guy in the blue station wagon--Roger Hinton. We located him today. Guess what? The bastard shot himself in this head the minute he opened the door for the detectives. Only thing is that we turned his place upside down for clues. Not a damn thing. Can your patient I.D. him?"

"You're not going to believe this, Sarge, but my patient went over the hill, too. Lost the patient completely. Not a chance of recovery. But I can tell you this--the killings are over. When you bury that bastard, you can close the case. Just throw enough hints in the paper that he was seen at each of the crimes and that he killed himself just as he was getting caught. You're home free, I promise."

"But that evidence is circumstantial. Maybe he followed the killer; maybe he helped the killer."

"Bury him, Sergeant. He knew he had done something terrible, and he was finally getting caught."

Case closed. No more murders. A sense of quiet finally hung over a small town.

Janice looked down at the black and white picture of the man who had committed suicide. For a peculiar moment the picture vaguely familiar. Above his face, the headlines, "PRIME SUSPECT IN KILLINGS COMMITS SUICIDE". She tossed the newspaper into the trash.

"I'm so glad they got him," said Tony as he poured himself some coffee at the breakfast table.

"Me, too," said Janice. "I was afraid to walk the streets day or night."

"You look so much calmer today than I've seen you in a long time," said Tony.

Standing with her backside leaning against the sink, wearing a white terry-cloth robe, with only panties beneath, Janice smiled sexily. "Do you have to go to work today?"

"What do you mean?"

She looked straight into his eyes as she brushed the left side of the robe away from her leg, exposing the smooth, alabaster skin of her upper thigh and the white crotch of her panties. It had been a long time since she felt this way. Tony arose from his seat and moved in front of his smiling wife.

"Well, the kids are in school," he whispered, running his fingertips over the smooth fleshiness of the exposed thigh, then over the delightfully soft front of the silky panties.

Janice giggled. "And you have a day of leave coming," she said, cocking her head back to let her long blond hair drop away from her shoulders. She could feel his erection growing next to her thigh.

"And," Tony said with a bright smile and a slightly husky voice, "you should never waste a hard-on!"

In an instant, he pulled the sash to Janice's robe and it parted lazily from top to bottom. Quickly, he drew the panties down to her thighs. It had been a while since he had seen his wife's golden-haired fleece, and she hummed slowly, deep from within her throat, as his fingertips grazed through the fine curls.

"What would you like for breakfast?" whispered Janice, gently nudging the top of his head downward until he came to kneeling position in front of her, his head inches away from her pussy.

He smiled as he stared at the view. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "Just give me a little Janice, she was gone for a while," he whispered.