One Flew Over The Cockoo Nest

Imagine a mental hospital - not the realistic environment, more like what you see in movies like "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest." There was a large room where the inmates could gather. The nurse's station was next to it. There was a wire fence over the window, so the nurse was protected, but could see and hear what went on. Next to her station was a wire gate, locked.

It was night and the lights in the room were all out. A little light came in through the small windows high on the walls. The nurse - young, blond and wearing a short starched uniform - was brand new on the job and had been assigned the night shift. The ward room was filled with female patients, and the nurse sat at her desk filling out reports by the light of a desk lamp.

The place was deathly quiet. Occasionally, she would hear whispering voices and sounds from the room. She knew the room contained a dozen or so patients, all with hard core "addictive" disorders she was told. She had come on after "lights out" and had not yet seen any of them.

As she worked, she began to notice the whispering had stopped, replaced by a low, but steady moaning. She recognized it as one of pleasure, not pain. She glanced out through the wire. The disparity in light made it impossible for her to see into the room. She tried to concentrate on her work and ignore the sounds. If it got worse, she would call security and ask for assistance. She had been instructed not to enter the ward room without an escort. The instructions had offended her. She was well trained. She was a professional, but, she thought, she needed to prove herself to her employers and that was alright.

In the utter silence, her ears could not help but hone in more and more on the sound. It was rhythmic. She could tell by the sounds it was a woman and that her mouth was open at times, the moan was gaspy, and at other times almost a hum. She knew that sound. It was the sound of a woman masturbating. "Well of course they did that, didn't they?" she thought. A mental picture entered her mind of a woman's hand sliding under her hospital gown in the darkness. Instantly, she tried to put it out of her head.

She couldn't. The moaning increased in intensity. She tried to focus on the forms in front of her, but the sound now reverberated in her head. She stood and peered into the darkness. She noticed light coming out of the Treatment Room, but could not see inside. She could see women in cots all lined against the walls. They all seemed still and she couldn't pinpoint the sound. "Maybe she should call security" she thought, "but what would she tell them?" She decided not to.

She went back to her work. The moaning continued and even picked up in intensity. She began to feel it affect her. She thought back to the sight of a woman's one hand caressing her breast, the other stroking her pussy. She imagined the sight of the gown being pushed aside, its tie-strings slipping loose. "Work" she thought, "you're a professional. You can handle this."

She convinced herself to ignore the sound. She went back to her forms. She crossed her legs. She ignored the sensuous feeling of her white stockings sliding by each other as she did so.

The phone startled her. She picked it up, "Third Floor, Nurse Reynolds" she answered.

"Everything okay up there?" the security guard asked.

She hesitated. "Yes, everything's under control," she said wondering if she was lying.

"Okay, well call me if you need me. It's 2:00 o'clock, and we normally settle down about this time. We'll still be down here if you need us, but we don't make any more rounds until in the morning." The tone of his voice and the sound of a TV sports show in the background emphasized security's idea of "settling down."

"Okay, fine. I'll call if I need you," she said as professionally as she could and hung up.

The volume of the phone and the conversation temporarily adjusted her hearing and the moaning seemed to have stopped. "Maybe she's finished," she thought and she smiled.

She went back to her work. Now paying attention to the charts in front of her, she began to notice the background information on one of the charts: "Transfer from Garden State Correctional Facility." She looked at another: "S.C.C.I. Inmate." She flipped back in the chart to find more records. She went through several criminal histories. There were convictions for kidnapping, sodomy, rape. These were bad women, whose mental problems deprived them of their ability to control themselves. She hadn't known that when she took the job. Knowing it now made her feel slightly nervous. She looked at the picture of the inmate in an open file. Her hair was cropped short, military style. Her eyes were dark and penetrating. She glanced at the wire fence and wondered if it was enough to protect her. She reminded herself she was a professional.

Going back to her work, she heard it again, the moaning. No, this time it was slightly different. Another inmate? Again, she tried to put it out of her mind. The moans became more intense. Was this one closer to the window? She looked in again. She walked around to the gate and stared into the darkness. No movement. She sat back down.

The sound was continuous now. It filled her mind. She thought of an inmate stroking herself again, bunching her gown up between her legs and humping herself with it. Again, she crossed her legs. She wondered, without realizing it, what these women must think about while they masturbated. She imagined scenes involving blindfolds and leather and helpless, bound women. Her high heeled foot began to move back and forth slowly. The moaning had a hungry sound that captivated her. Her hand unconsciously moved down and brushed her uniform just over the lace of her stocking.

The thought of being that close to danger did excite her. Her mind drifted back to the images. The victim, bound and blindfolded, being forced to submit to the desires of her kidnapper. She closed her eyes and thought of it, played it out in her mind - the struggling, the vulnerability. Allowing herself, she saw herself as the victim, saw her uniform ripped open in front, her arms tied to the arms of her chair. She rubbed her thighs together and enjoyed the feeling. The sound of moaning seemed to react to her fantasy. She dismissed it as coincidence. She twirled a pencil in her hands. She imagined the woman inmate whose picture she had seen dressed in dark leather standing in front of her, unzip a vest and push a tit toward her mouth. She raised the pencil slowly and slid the eraser over her lips. She saw the face of the inmate. The moaning became even more urgent. She could hear only it, and the sound of her stockings rubbing together. The intensity of her own fantasy surprised her.

Her eyes closed, she moved her hand even lower under the desk. Even with her training, she couldn't deny the pleasure the sounds brought her. She also began to hear a faint cry of "noooo, noooo" mixed in with the moans. It played right into her fantasy. She "saw" the inmate unfasten black leather pants, grab the victim by the hair and pull her mouth toward her pussy. "Nooo. Nooo!" The urgency of the voice brought her back to reality. One of her patients might be in trouble and she was after all responsible.

Again, she stood and looked in. She strained her ears for any sound of distress. She heard only a faint whisper. "Maybe they were just talking" she thought. After all, she liked to speak out loud when she was alone in bed and enjoying her own body. These women would be no different, and, given their backgrounds, their fantasies might involve some protesting. She didn't want to appear frightened and decided against calling security. She settled back down in her chair.

Soon the familiar sound returned. She tried to concentrate, but she found her mind drifting constantly into the pleasure she was hearing. Then she heard another voice, faint at first, but unmistakably engaged in the same act. It made sense, didn't it? If it had an effect on her, a normal woman with normal self-control, wouldn't the sound of one stimulate another. Now slightly aroused, she couldn't distract herself from the sounds. Another voice joined in. She began to imagine them all lying in their beds rubbing themselves, squeezing their breasts to simulate the style of sex they all enjoyed. They were after all criminals, women who took what they wanted from other weaker women, who made their victims do unspeakable things, terrible things, lecherous things.

She closed her eyes again. The sounds took her back to her fantasy. She was there in her chair, her face being forced between a woman's legs. She imagined the feel of leather pants straddling her cheeks. She imagined how she would struggle, how she wouldn't cooperate. Her hand slipped under the desk again to the slit in her uniform just below the last button. She felt the silkiness of her stockings and thought of how sexy she looked in her white merriwidow, how it made her look innocent, even Victorian. She was barely conscious of her fingers unbuttoning the bottom button. The moaning was all so rhythmic now. They had infected each other with their pleasure, and all of them seemed to be doing it to themselves. It was "professional" for her to ignore it, wasn't it? Her fingers slid over her thigh. It was under the desk. No one could see. No one was there. No one would know, would they? And that moaning. It was driving her to it. No one could just ignore it, could they?

Her legs were crossed and she slid the top one up slightly, just enough to slide her fingers down the side of her thigh. She sat posed with the pencil. If someone saw her, they'd just think she was working? Those moans. She slid her hand deep up against her pussy. She felt its wetness. She began to move slowly and steadily in her seat, pressing her pussy against her fingers. Her foot was pumping back and forth under the desk now. She stifled all the sounds she wanted to make. "Oh, I shouldn't," she thought, but she knew it was too late.

She was breathing heavily now. She tried to maintain her posture, to maintain the illusion she was working, but . . . it . . . felt . . . so good. Women in the ward were moaning loudly now, all of them. She heard some of them saying "yesssss, yesssss."

They couldn't know how they were encouraging her, could they? "No," she though, "to them I'm just working and ignoring them."

She heard one voice, caught in a fantasy, say icily "yeah, that's right, bitch, lick it. Lick my pussy." The image caused her to slump back in her seat. The pencil rolled out of her hand as she gave in more to the pleasure.

"No one is watching me" she convinced herself. "No one will know." Her free hand came up slowly to her breast. She caressed the underside of it, and thought back to her kidnapper.

The imagined woman in black leather this time stood directly in front of her. Her uniform was gone. She was in her lingerie only. She was no longer blindfolded or tied. She looked up into the dark eyes. They moved slowly down her body. They stopped on her breasts. The woman brought out a shiny steel knife. She touched the tip to the nurse's chin and slowly trailed it down. She felt the razor sharpness of the knife and could not move. She had to let her do what she wanted.

The nurse was now more in the fantasy then in her office. Only the sounds of the women's pleasure penetrated the fantasy. She remembered them for an instant. She imagined that, now, they had probably begun to turn on each other. She thought of the stronger ones moving on to those too weak to resist. Her hand began unbuttoning her uniform. Her head was spinning now. She imagined the feel of the knife blade coming slowly down her chest. She leaned her head back and pulled her uniform open. She uncrossed her legs and pushed herself back from the desk. Her legs tangled in electrical cords, but in her mind she imagined them as bindings. She rubbed her stockings together as if she were struggling against leather straps.

"Yes, yessssss" the voices were calling to her now. She heard them and she obeyed them. As she imagined the knife slipping under the edge of her lingerie, her hand slowly pulled it down. Her fingers slipped to her nipple and she felt her uniform slide open and down her sides. The voices were so loud now. She imagined them at the window, watching her, clawing at the wire, wanting to get to her. Her fingers slipped inside her panties and she began to ravage her own pussy. She pinched her nipple hard. Yes, she wanted them there. She wanted them to see her, to watch her. She imagined their tongues poking through the wire. They were turning on each other for pleasure, for something to satisfy them while they watched her. She rolled her head from side to side.

The next sound she heard was that of a door closing. It was faint, but it was enough to bring her back from where she had been. She sat back up quickly and frantically fastened two buttons. It took her a second to realize she was still alone. Even the noises had stopped. She stood and looked through the window. Nothing. She was finishing the last button when she noticed the door to the training room was now closed. She realized it must have been the one she heard close. And that meant someone had gone in there. She knew that they could hurt themselves there. It was mainly used for calming therapy, massages, but there were also tools used for treatment which could be very dangerous.

She called security, but no one answered. She tried again. "Settled down?" she thought to herself. Just then, she heard a whimper from the treatment room. She peered into the ward room. All the bodies were still. She judged the distance from the gate to the treatment room as 20 feet. She could make it in and out in ten seconds she estimated. She thought of the criminal records. "But they are your patients," she thought "and you are responsible". She tried security again, but again got nothing. She reached into the drawer and found the keys. "This will be easy," she told herself. "They're all asleep."

The gatelock made no noise as she turned the key. She looked at each bed again before lifting the latch. She stepped inside and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She felt the danger as she stepped on the balls of her feet, keeping her sharp heels from striking the floor.

She was almost to the door when she saw the first body stir. She froze and stifled a scream. She watched the blanketed figure turn and come back to rest. She lifted her leg to take another step when she felt an iron grip on her hair pulling her backward. This time, she did scream. She tried to turn and run for the gate, but another arm came around her holding her in place and covering her mouth.

"Oh no, baby," came the whisper in our ear. "It's not time to go. It's time to play."

Her struggles increased as she saw the other beds come to life. Blankets flew off as the inmates circled around her. "Lookie here ladies, Nurse Reynolds wanted to check and make sure we were safe." It was clearly the voice of someone mentally disturbed. The others smiled. "We sure did enjoy your little show." With that, the hands released her and went down to her uniform. She tried to get away as it was ripped open, but the others caught her. She felt their hands all over her. She felt them pressing in on her. They were like animals, tearing her uniform the rest of the way off. Her arms were pinned behind her.

"Now, now, ladies, let's all take our turn," one of them laughed.

She was dragged, then, toward the treatment room. The door was opened and she was shoved inside. She came to rest against a stainless steel and black leather table. She looked up quickly and gasped at the face of the inmate in her fantasy. She had been waiting for her, waiting to give her her treatment.

The inmate smiled at her. She was standing naked. The nurse could see the many scars and tatoos on her hard body. She also saw the huge strap-on dildo hanging at her waist and wondered for a second how it had been smuggled in.

"Ju like my little friend, da?" she says in a heavy European accent.

"No, not at all. You're not supposed to have that in here" the young nurse says trying to regain her composure. She can get out of this she thinks. She is trained for dealing with mental patients. She just needs to be firm.

"Vould ju like it more in jour mouth?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Let me go now, and I will consider not reporting all this."

"Oh, has jour mood changed so much?" the inmate says sarcastically, "Vell, ve'll just haf to change it bahck. Vere is Tonja?" Two inmates depart.

The nurse hears another scream from the ward room. "No! No! Pleeeease!" They bring in a young woman, an inmate who had not participated in her attack, a small, but big-breasted brunette. She is resisting uselessly.

"Let us see if Tonja can help ju," the leader says. The nurse stands impassively trying not to display the awkwardness she feels in her sexy outfit. The door is blocked. She curses herself for her lingerie. Her training tells her that, no matter what, she must ignore the patients' actions. The leader steps close to her, her mouth inches from the nurses ear as her hand trails down the front of the nurse's merriwidow. Her fingers slide under the strap of her thong. The nurse holds her head high, biting her lip. With one swift snatch, the strap burns, then gives way. The nurse closes her eyes for a second and stifles a whimper.

"Dis is Tonja. She vill make ju better. She makes us all better." The leader steps away.

"Do not do this" the nurse commands as Tonya is brought before her and forced to her knees. The two inmates step to the sides of the nurse and hold her wrists. As Tonya raises her head, the nurse looks straight ahead, her face is as calm as she can muster. She won't show them anything. They will tire of this, then she can talk her way back out.

She still jerks slightly as Tonya, who has obviously learned to obey, first slides her cheek against the inside of the nurse's leg. The nurse composes herself. She focuses on the situation, clinically. Tonya's fingertips come slowly up the backs of her ankles as lips press against the front of her thigh. She can handle this she tells herself. It is after all not sexual. She feels the flick of a tongue on the inside of her thigh. Fingernails slide over the silk on the backs of her knees. She refuses to look down.

Suddenly, Tonya stops. "No, we shouldn't do this" she says meekly.

"Oh but vee must Tonja" the leader hisses "Somevon please help motivate Tonja." On command, one of the other inmates eagerly steps forward, a massage vibrator in hand, and switches it on. The nurse doesn't watch as the inmate leans down to Tonya, but can tell the inmate has grabbed her hair and slides the vibrator under her.

"No, no, please, not that" Tonya protests "noooo-ahhhhh". After a few seconds of the vibrator humming, Tonya's pleas slowly subside. After a few more, the nurse feels the gentle kiss of lips back on her thighs.

The nurse refuses to admit her own reaction to the thought of Tonya's reluctance, but the sight of the inmate's shoulder moving up and down and the image of the vibrator roaming over Tonya's ass and pussy will not leave her mind. Tonya's hands move up to her ass. The hum of the vibrator intensifies and subsides. Tonya begins to lick up and down on the inside of her thighs. "Stop this!" the nurse tries to command. She pulls against those holding her. The vibrator is now making Tonya even bolder. Her hands begin to squeeze the nurse's ass in rhythm with her tongue.

"Jes, Tonja jes. Ju like de nice nurse, don't ju?" She feels Tonya's face nod as she licks and remembers how weak minded some of these women are.

The other inmates are all watching intently. They begin to massage themselves. Tonya's tongue feels soo good . . .. No! She won't allow herself to give in to this. She regains her composure. She pulls against her captors. "Stop this . . . now" The vibrator is whirring now. The other inmates are starting to moan. Some are giving each other deep kisses, there tongues moving in and out of their friends' lips, like wet dicks. The nurse closes her eyes. When she does, she immediately becomes even more conscious of Tonya's tongue now moving high on her thighs, slipping under each strap of her garters. The nurse let's out her first gasp.