Prison Psychologist Month 02 Pt. 02

This story continues "Prison Psychologist Month 2," which was written a while back. Part 3, which is much smuttier, is ready to go as well and will soon follow. I highly encourage you to read the two other "Prison Psychologist" entries as prelude. Please take a moment to share your thoughts when you're done. Thanks for reading.

"Reconnection"

With MCI Cedar Junction fading in the rear-view mirror, Randy Baumgardner turned to speak to his passenger. "Cindy," he said, "are you OK?"

Fighting back tears, Cindy hung her head and replied, still shaken from her ordeal. "Randy, I'll be alright. Please, just take me home. I'll show you the way." The rest of the ride from Walpole to Belmont, where Cindy lived, was silent except for the smallest of small talk. Neither of the two wanted to talk about what had just happened. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Randy explained to his passenger that he had been in Pittsburgh starting a week-long gig at "The Joker's Retreat," a downtown supper and comedy club when he'd seen her on the national news as they were reporting on a prison riot at the Massachusetts prison where she worked. He'd come as quickly as he could. Cindy thanked him but said nothing else.

Professionally, Randy was known as "The Amazing Randy- the World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist." His passenger was Dr. Cindy McCarthy, a prison psychologist at Cedar Junction, the most secure prison in Massachusetts. Located in the suburb of Walpole and formerly known as "Walpole State Prison," (just plain "Walpole" to Bay State old-timers) MCI Cedar Junction held the state's worst of the worst.

A few years back, Randy and Cindy had shared three intimate fall days together in a rented farmhouse. In that brief time, they had forged a special bond, but after their tryst each had gone his and her own way. Cindy went back to her doctoral studies in abnormal psychology at Wellesley. Eventually she had received her degree and accepted a position with the Massachusetts Department of Corrections where she had an abundant supply of the murderers, rapists, and sexual deviants who fascinated her so and to whose reformation and reconstitution she had decided to dedicate her professional life.

Randy toured the country every year, playing the supper club circuit where he had become a bit of a living legend. His shows were always sold out and his audience always got its money's worth. His act was, in fact, amazing. His shows were funny; on stage his hypnotic control of his subjects, who he called "contestants," seemed absolute. It was as if he could get anybody to do anything he wanted them to do.

Randy had been offered bigger engagements, much bigger engagements, in New York, L.A., and Las Vegas. He'd turned them all down. He didn't need the money but, above all, he didn't need the notoriety. Randy enjoyed his life. He liked the touring life and had made strong friendships with lots of different people along the way as he "rode the circuit." His life was a balance between demonstrating his skills locally but staying under the radar nationally. He had no desire for fame.

He'd first met Cindy when she had attended the final show of his tour at a small club in Boston's theater district. She'd shown up with her girlfriends to take a skeptical look at what she had believed was nothing more than rigged trickery. Randy had brought her on stage and used her for the show's final "contestant." During the show he had left a post-hypnotic "suggestion" for her to return to the theater the next day. She had, and as a result they had spent a few days together as Randy used hypnotism to allow Cindy to look inside and come to grips with her innermost thoughts and desires. They had a bond.

As they drove back to her condo in Belmont, another Boston suburb, both ruminated on the fact that this was only the third time they had ever been together. Randy could have used hypnosis to make Cindy speak, but he chose not to do so, preferring instead to have his former lover reveal her thoughts on her own schedule.

Once they arrived, Randy walked her to the front door of her building. "How far are we from the police station?" Randy asked.

"Actually, it's only three blocks down the street," was Cindy's reply.

"Cindy, I'm not comfortable leaving you alone right now, but I will if you'd like me to. What I'd like to do is to drive this car to the police station and leave it in the lot and then walk back so we can talk a bit. That would give you time to clean up, maybe take a shower. When I return, I'll buzz you three short times on the intercom to let you know it's me." Gazing at the list of names by the intercom he saw "McCarthy 2B" and said "You're in 2B, right?"

"Thanks again, Randy. I'll be waiting for you. It's almost sunrise, but... I think I'm calling in sick today. I have a Keurig so you'll be able to have a cup of coffee if you want. I'm a long way from crashing, but I may need one too. Three short buzzes, right?"

"That's right, Cindy. Don't answer the door for anybody, especially the police. They'll be coming today to talk to you. You might want to call them preemptively and let them know that you're home, safe, and going straight to bed. Tell them that you'll be down to speak them this afternoon. If they resist, insist. I'll deal with them if they come anyway. Don't let them in."

"OK."

Randy left to return the unmarked cruiser to the police while Cindy let herself in. Once upstairs Cindy took a minute to do a quick tidy-up job and then moved on to the bathroom. She was a mess. Her hair was matted with dried ejaculate. Her make-up was smudged beyond repair. Her loins were sore from the sheer number of times she had been penetrated, both vaginally and anally, by the rioting inmates. Cindy turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature. Just the sound of the shower alone was comforting. Opening the medicine cabinet's mirrored door, she took a small bottle of over-the-counter pain reliever and quickly swallowed a double dose. Finally, she took off her prison shirt and tossed it into the hamper. She stepped over the tub and into the shower.

The beautiful, blonde psychologist quickly washed her hair and douched before soaping herself from her forehead to her feet. After a few minutes of rinsing and then just savoring the warmth of her shower Cindy turned off the water and toweled off. Wrapping herself in a robe and her long blonde hair in a smaller towel, she moved back into the bedroom and dialed the police.

Nobody at the station was in a hurry to see her in person and the night duty sergeant told her that an afternoon appearance would be fine. No sooner had the receiver hit the cradle than Cindy heard three short buzzes from the intercom. She pushed the transmit button and let Randy into the building. Moments later there was a soft knock on the door. Cindy let him in.

"If it's not too much to ask I could use that cup of coffee," said Randy.

"Sure," said Cindy as she went about gathering the K-cup and mug. "You take it with cream, but no sugar, right?"

"That's right, but if all you have is milk, I'd rather have it black," said Randy as he took a seat on the living room couch. Cindy puttered in the kitchen while Randy took a moment to get the lay of her condo. The living room was good-sized, but not expansive. Looking past a center kitchen island, he could see Cindy at the sink in the kitchen. He looked down on the coffee table and picked up one of Cindy's medical journals. The American Psychological Society's bimonthly journal had an announcement of their annual conference in the form of an insert. It was scheduled to be in Boston early in the fall. "Are you going to this conference in October?" he asked as he held up the journal so she could see it.

"Oh yeah," said Cindy as she walked into the living room carrying two simple white mugs. She sat on the couch, took a moment to get comfortable and took a sip. "The A.P.S. conference is a must for me. Believe it or not, hypnosis is actually one of the featured topics this year. It forms the basis of my practice and my work, Randy. I'm even offering a paper on the preliminary findings of my work at the prison, but it's mostly anecdotal. Data collection and analysis will take more time, but with the meeting in Boston, I couldn't resist submitting. "You should come."

"I'm not the academic type, Cindy. Are you sure that you want to draw attention to yourself? This thing is only beginning, you know."

"I know, but I've worked so hard, Randy. I don't want to cut and run. Come anyway. Randy, you are an expert on the actual practice of hypnotism. Aren't you even the slightest bit interested in the way the academic world sees what you do? You're due to be around these parts in October, aren't you?"

"Well," Randy said, "yes. In fact, my tour ends the previous weekend. I'm at "The Laugh Inn" on Tremont Street until the nineteenth. Your conference begins the following Saturday."

Cindy moved closer on the couch and looked Randy straight in the eyes. "You know, Randy, I owe so much to you. You've saved me twice already. First, at the farmhouse, by trusting you I gained genuine insight into my own nature. So much of my own mind was revealed to me with your help. Then, just yesterday, you saw that I was in trouble and immediately moved Heaven and Earth to come to my aid. We both know that I wouldn't be sitting here now if you hadn't been my white knight. I probably owe you my life."

"Cindy, you don't owe me a thing," replied Randy.

"That's not true and you know it," Cindy said with mild indignation. "I'm the daughter of a working-class Irishman, Randy. You may choose not to accept my offer of thanks, but I'll be damned if you'll stop me from making it. I acknowledge my debts."

Randy could tell that Cindy was being sincere. Anyone sitting on that couch would have sensed the same thing. It didn't require special hypnotic powers to see that she was being genuine.

Cindy was right but only to a degree. Randy was not only an "expert" on hypnosis, he was the greatest hypnotist who had ever lived. Randy had the power to compel the truth from anyone he touched. As soon as flesh met flesh he was in total control of his subject. He could read minds. No secret, no matter how deeply buried in the subconscious, was safe. His hypnotic powers also included the power to dictate behavior, in the present and in the future. He had yet to discover a limit to the number of people he could hypnotize at once. Randy Baumgardner had spent a decade carefully teaching himself both the extent of his power and, most importantly, it's prudent use.

Professionally, Randy was supremely comfortable in the spotlight, but that was because when he was on stage, he was the one in control. The Amazing Randy had no illusions about what would happen to his life if his true powers were revealed to the world-at-large. He had a lot to lose.

Cindy continued. "Why don't you let me get you credentialed? You could attend whatever sessions interest you. We'll give you an alias if you'd like. I think that you will really enjoy the evening parties. You could come with me as my 'significant other.' I could get us a room in-town, anywhere you'd like- my treat." Having made her pitch, Cindy nonchalantly reached up to pull the towel from her hair and shook her head while she finished the job of towel-drying her hair. After a few seconds she stopped her gyrations and threw her head back as she tried to close the deal.

Returning her gaze to her guest with a smile framed by a naturally beautiful face and stunningly beautiful long blonde hair, she delivered what she hoped would be a knock-out blow. "C'mon, Randy," she pleaded. "We could look for "level four" together."

Randy knew that Cindy was referring to their previous encounter in Carlisle (chronicled in "The True Professional" series here on Literotica) when together they had drawn out Cindy's deep sexual need to be dominated and controlled by violent men. In a series of three levels of increasing intensity, all controlled by the hypnotist, their lovemaking had been extraordinary for both of them.

In the end, it turned out to be a pretty simple sale. Randy knew that he was connected to this beautiful woman and remembered their time together fondly. "Why not?" Randy said, convinced that with care he could manage any issues that might arise. "OK, I'm in. Use my real name, "Randy Baumgardner." When you get my credentials, you can list my profession as "Stage Hypnotist." It's all true. Why wouldn't I be interested in the subject matter?"

Cindy bounced up and down on the couch clapping her hands in obvious delight. "It's a date. I'll make all of the arrangements."

Randy smiled and reached out to grasp her hands. Instantly his mind was connected to hers. Randy wanted to know if Cindy truly was OK after her brutal ordeal. After all, it had been less than a day since she had been gang-raped at the prison. She was sore from all the abuse, but Randy sensed no deep psychological damage, no trauma. Randy was privy to Cindy's deepest secrets and he knew that behind the cool, clinical bearing lay a woman who yearned to be taken violently and forced into sexual submission.

"Cindy," he said, "I will call you when I come to Boston in October and get the lowdown on our arrangements. I look forward to spending both the days and the nights with you. Now I want you to listen to me and obey. Do you understand?

"Yes, Randy, I understand."

When you speak with the police you will say that you never met me before tonight, that I drove you home and saw you safely in, and that I said I was going to return the cruiser. Other than that, our conversation was limited to my asking you if you wanted to go to a hospital and your request for me to bring you straight home- There was no small talk between us."

Randy continued. "They're going to ask you about what happened when you were held captive. You may tell them anything you'd like. I suggest the truth; there is a ton of forensic evidence all over that dining hall. When I entered, you were passed-out and remember only that I woke you and offered to take you out of there. It's all a little fuzzy and all you want is to put it behind you. Talking about it is both painful and embarrassing. Insist on your privacy."

Confident that his identity was protected and that Cindy was going to be fine, Randy kissed her goodbye and hopped on the T headed inbound for Logan Airport. He needed to get to Pittsburgh and pack his gear for his next gig, which was in Buffalo. Randy didn't have to be there for a few days, but he wanted to get his things, make things right for the owner of The Joker's Retreat, which he would do by offering to schedule two weeks at his club instead of his usual one on next year's tour, and then he wanted to spend his newly created found time just decompressing. He needed some alone time to work out his thoughts about what he'd just done and whether or not he really wanted to re-connect with Cindy and attend the A.P.S. conference.

For her part, Cindy took a week off and then returned to work, but only to participate in mandatory crisis counseling sessions with the Department of Corrections therapist. After a number of sessions, the blonde psychologist convinced her therapist that she was doing OK and arranged to return to work full-time starting the second week of November. Neither she nor the D.O.C. was interested in publicity. The offending inmates were split up and both they and their leaders transferred to MCI Concord and MCI Shirley, the state's two other high security facilities. She would not encounter them again when she returned to her job at MCI Cedar Junction.

"Doctor Duck"

Late October in Boston is generally filled with crisp clear nights. In the city, especially when you got close to the harbor, the wind off the water can bite into you unless you've dressed for it. Luckily, both Randy and Cindy were familiar with mid-autumn Boston weather. Having finished an early dinner at Mother Anna's, an excellent Italian restaurant at the bottom of Hanover Street where Boston's North End meets the Rose Kennedy Greenway, Randy and Cindy stepped into the wind, which was blustery, but a notch or two below raw. It was a relatively short cab ride to the Boston Harbor Hotel; nevertheless, they elected to brave the elements and walk the short distance. It was already dark, but the moon was full and had just risen above the harbor's eastern horizon.

They had a cocktail party to attend.

As they walked through the hotel's enormous arch, which had quickly become a local waterfront landmark, a particularly stiff wind gust knocked them back a step. Reflexively Cindy clutched Randy's arm to steady herself. For his part, Randy merely shifted his weight to his back foot and held the beautiful psychologist firmly. In front of them was a movie scene, boats bobbing up and down at their moorings, silhouetted by the full moon's backlighting. Still holding her "and one," Cindy turned her head to face Randy who returned her gaze. He took a moment to savor the beauty of his date, and as much as he was loath to admit it, it was a date.

Cindy's long blonde hair flowed out from under her fur-lined hat and down over the shoulders of her matching overcoat forming a flaxen frame around her high cheek-boned face. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, but they held a broad, inviting smile. "Kiss me Randy," she said. Randy leaned in and did exactly that. The kiss was genuine, a kiss between a couple who had been lovers in the past and who knew that within a few hours, they would be lovers again.

Randy could see the cocktail party under way in the all glass function facility which sat on a reinforced pier jutting out into the harbor. "Let's get out of this wind and closer to that fireplace, shall we?" asked Randy. The last few steps to the door were covered rapidly and Randy held it open against the wind as Cindy stepped inside. Randy took her coat and hat as Cindy wandered off into the party. As he turned from the coat check counter and deposited the stub in his pants pocket, Randy saw Cindy patiently waiting and talking with a man who must have been thirty years her senior.

"Randy, please come over here. There's someone I'd like you to meet," said Cindy, summoning him with her hand and a broad smile. Randy matched her smile with one of his own as he sauntered over to join his companion and start the process of meeting her colleagues.

"Randy," she said, "I'd like you to meet Dr. John Niemzura. Dr. Niemzura was my major professor and advisor when I was at Wellesley. This get-together is his doing."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Niemzura and thanks for letting me tag along with Dr. McCarthy," said Randy, smiling as he extended his hand to shake his host's outstretched right hand. As soon as the two men's hands clasped, Randy was granted access to the doctor's mind. What he sensed was a good man who had genuine feelings for Cindy, fatherly feelings, protective feelings, and benign feelings. He was no threat whatsoever. After a few minutes of small talk Cindy and Randy began circulating among the other guests.

While Cindy was busy "talking shop" with her peers, Randy took the opportunity to slip away and round himself up a scotch and water. Randy was an extremely careful drinker. Ever since he had recognized his profound hypnotic abilities, he had decided (with gentle urging from his parents) that the one thing he could never, ever do was to allow himself the luxury of getting drunk in public. A single slip-up in word or deed and his life, a life he very much enjoyed, would take a radical turn for the worse. This room was filled with highly intelligent professional psychologists and physicians. If any of them even suspected that he possessed such incredible power ... well, he just had to watch his step.