The Doctor's Casebook Pt. 03 Ch. 01

"Oh, yes. Deeper and deeper."

"Good girl. Very good." I parked the arm of the metronome, took its case out of the briefcase, and put it away. Then I got up and explored the bathroom. Great! There as a small coffeepot with some individual, cup-sized servings of ground coffee to perk. I was surprised to see it, based on the level of upkeep of the place. I started brewing a cup. I thought I'd heard something outside during Loretta's little induction. I turned off one of the little lamps to darken the room, and took a quick peek at the side of the tattered curtain, revealing Rodrigo, the bouncer, leaning back in a metal folding chair on the narrow porch, smoking a cigarette. Back at the briefcase, I set aside the hypodermic needle charged with Lorazepam, and instead picked up a bottle, shaking out three flunitrazepam tablets. I took them into the bathroom and ground them into a powder, wondering if good old Rodrigo had ever used the date rape drug on any women in the Tacoma area, and I stirred the powder into a cup of coffee while brewing a second one. Next, I took off my coat and tie, then my shirt. At the mirror, I tousled my hair a bit, and then put the coat back on to protect myself from the cold night air. Making sure to note which cup was which, I opened the door and carried the two coffees outside.

"Whew!" I exclaimed. "Round one really wore me out!" I handed a cup to Rodrigo and sat down on the porch step. I'd left the door open long enough to let him get a good look at the sleeping nude on the bed. "Hope you drink it black. You going to be here all night?"

He raised the cup and took a sip, then blew on it to cool it down. "Gotta protect the assets, dude." He took another sip. "Candy can really clean your pipes, huh?" Another sip. "Hey, I heard something strange when I first came up. Like a ticking or something."

I shrugged and frowned. "The bed squeaks." That made him narrow his eyes and wrinkle his brow, but before he could comment further, I asked "How's the girl inside? She probably should have gone to a hospital for a couple stitches, but I figured ... based on her other scars ... that doctors' visits aren't really in your business plan."

He nodded. "It happens. The guy who done it probably needed a stitch or two after I got through with him! Can't let 'em get away with shit like that, know what I mean? I saw what you done with Gwen. Nice. Candy usually handles that sort of thing for us. She used to be a nurse."

"I didn't know this area was so rough." I stood up and stretched. "Well, enjoy the evening. Time for me to get back to work with Nurse Candy."

He barked a laugh and tossed the empty Styrofoam cup into the yard. "I'll be here," he muttered, as he dug a pack of cigarettes out of his hip pocket.

Once inside, I shrugged off the coat and put my shirt and tie back on. "How deep are you, Loretta?" I asked.

"I am very deep, doctor. I am like I used to be with you, in your office. I knew, when you woke me up, we would have sex, and you'd make me cum." She sighed. "Are we going to do that again?"

"I'd love to do that tonight, but I'm afraid we're going to have to wait. Please sit up now. Yes, that's it. And now, we're going to do something. It's going to work like this: I'm going to snap my fingers, and you are going to wake up. But you are going to know, without any doubt at all, that I will only be allowing you to stay awake for a very short period of time. Just a few seconds. You will be looking into my eyes, and you will be unable to look away, even if you try. But ... you won't try, because, deep down, you know that you love it when I hypnotize you. In fact, you WANT me to hypnotize and control you. You want it more than anything else. And you will know that when I count to three and tell you to sleep, you will come right back into this wonderful, relaxing trance, feeling just like you are right now, only twice as deep. This will happen often tonight. Over and over. Do you understand?"

She sighed. "Yes, doctor."

I snapped my fingers and her eyes blinked open. "Oh, no. Oh, gosh, I can't do this." She shook her head slowly from side to side, but she kept staring directly into my eyes.

"It's going to be alright, Loretta. One two three. Sleep now." Her eyes closed down immediately. I reached out and gently stroked the side of her face with my palm. "Good girl. You're doing so well. Surrendering to me is the greatest joy you have in this world. It makes you feel happy and safe. It is the best thing you can ever do. And now, we are going to do that again. In fact, we're going to do it over and over." I snapped my fingers.

I kept that routine up for another fifteen minutes. By now, she was exhibiting no reluctance at all to anything I told her to do, and I felt that ... just maybe ... I was going to be able to pull this thing off. Leaving her in a trance, I had her get up and stand there while I put my coat on her. I picked up the briefcase and opened the door without checking, knowing full well that nobody could still be conscious after the dosage I'd watched Rodrigo consume. He was quite a sight, leaning back precariously in the chair, his head tilted back until it was almost perpendicular to his body, his arms hanging limply down behind him. I got Loretta seated in the front passenger seat, then went back to him and pulled him over to one side, leaving him curled up on the floor of the porch. I didn't want him to aspirate and choke. Chances are that he wouldn't even be able to remember our little talk when he woke up in twelve hours or so.

I drove to a residential area that I'd seen while driving to the whorehouse, one that was darker than most, and I had Loretta get out and then into the back seat, while I rooted around in my suitcase in the trunk. The skirt I'd packed for her was too large, but I'd wisely purchased one with a belt, and I could make it look acceptable with a little effort. I'd packed two pairs of shoes, one size six and one size eight. The larger one fit better. But the two bras I'd purchased, one 36C, the other 38C, were both impossibly small. Likewise, I couldn't even begin to get the blouse to button. I put one of my own dress shirts on her, and even then, it was tight and straining around the chest, and I had to roll up the sleeves to make it appear a bit fashionable. Somewhat satisfied, I put her back in the front seat and programmed the map app on my phone to lead me back to SeaTac.

It was only a thirty-minute drive, but I spent it awakening her, then putting her back into trance, deeply suggesting each time that she was comfortable with my company and that she would follow my instructions without hesitation or question. I left her in her trance state while I went through the process of turning in the rental car, but in the van going back to the terminal, I gently brought her back out of it. I thought I could get her around okay while she was under, but getting her past security in a trance was a bridge too far. I'd have to try to handle her while she was awake. I had worked hard to program her to stay calm, and thankfully, she followed me docilely through the terminal.

"Here," I told her as we were nearing the front of the line at the security checkpoint. She took the documents I proffered and studied them. "Boston?" she asked dully from the ticket. When I didn't comment, she looked at the driver's license. "Rhode Island? Where did you get this picture of me? And who is Letty Jackson?"

"For the next six hours, you are," I told her sternly. "And ... I've looked at that picture of you every day for the past five years. I've got the original four-by-six on my desk. It's all of you I've had, up until now." I suddenly had an inspiration. "Undo one more button on that shirt. Quick."

The TSA agent barely looked at me before waving me through. And fortunately, he seemed completely unable to scrutinize anything above Loretta's barely-restrained mammaries. Within four minutes, we were walking down the concourse toward our redeye flight to Boston.

"He's going to catch us, doctor," she said morosely, walking at my side. "He's going to find us, and he's going to kill us."

I shrugged. "Maybe. I'll protect you the best I can. We'll be safe for awhile, anyway. In Providence, I have a pretty sophisticated security setup, and I've hired a private investigation firm that can give us some advice. But ... this is it. I'm not going to live another day without you." She didn't comment further until we'd reached the waiting area at our gate. I chose two seats well away from other people. It looked as if it was going to be a very sparse passenger load, which made sense. Spring break was still a couple weeks off.

"Why do you want me?" she whispered. "Don't you know what I am? What I've become?" But, par for the course, a woman with two loud children sat down in the row of seats behind ours, and I couldn't really respond to that.

Half an hour later, we were settling into our adjacent first-class seats of the United Boeing 737-800. I ordered us both Champagne, but she could barely meet my eyes as I offered a toast, and she downed the glass quickly, probably hoping that I wouldn't notice that her glass was shaking.

"Doctor ... Jim ..." she whispered.

"Actually, I've legally changed my name to Randy," I told her quietly. "Randall Herringwick."

She looked as if that little piece of information just might tip her over the precipice into full-blown insanity. She set her glass down, only to have it immediately refilled by an overzealous male flight attendant who seemed to enjoy hovering at a constant altitude of eighteen inches above her cleavage. She leaned toward me again. "I will not call you Randy."

I turned toward her, our faces less than a foot apart. "It IS my name."

She raised a forefinger and tapped me on the tip of my nose six times as she punctuated her next throaty sentence. "I. Will. Never. Call. You. That." I shrugged, and, flustered at our intimacy, she turned away from me, faced forward and sat back in her seat. "Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this? You can't possibly still love a ... a whore." She wiped a palm across half of her face, smearing tears. "I ... They ...." She used the back of the same hand to swipe moisture from the other half, and she took a deep breath. "They make me take drugs, doctor. They gave me injections. Now they give me pills. I ... I ... don't think I can live without them anymore. I'm a drug addict, and I'm a whore."

I leaned sideways to get closer to her, and she sighed and leaned into me to hear my response, the sides of our heads touching. I put a hand over hers on her glass, and I whispered: "One two three. Surrender. Sleep." And she slumped onto my shoulder, out cold. Smiling, I asked the leering flight attendant for a blanket, and I let her sleep the entire flight, which was scheduled to last from 11:00 pm Pacific Time to 7:30 am Eastern Time: five and a half hours. Eventually, I put my arm across her body, which meant, of course, snuggling it between her breasts; and I was the most contented pillow in the skies that night.

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 71 - DAY 2

Okay, I admit that in no way is drug rehab a fun undertaking. However, as is the case with so many things, Hollywood sort of overdoes it. Let me put it this way: there are an awful lot of drug addicts out there. But there are a whole hell of a lot more ex-addicts. Would you believe one-in-ten Americans? (And that's not counting alcohol and tobacco!) Once again, don't get me wrong. It ain't easy. But people get clean all the time. Every day. Millions of them.

Loretta followed me docilely off the plane, through the airport and onto the bus to the long-term parking lot. She barely said a word on the long drive home, her forehead against the cold side window, looking out at the woods and the traffic and God knows what. We were just joining the congestion going into Providence when she finally decided to speak. "Why?" she asked pointed. "Why do you love me? Why do you care?"

"I care BECAUSE I love you. And ... after I get you healthy again ... if you tell me that you don't want to be with me, then I'll let you go. I love you that much."

She nodded, but said no more about that. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Clean you up." She nodded and looked out the window again. "What are you on?" I asked. "Do you know? Have they even told you?"

She didn't look at me. "I'm a nurse, remember? They don't tell me, but I know. They started me on horse, five years ago. When my arms blew out, they injected me behind my knees, my ankles, between my toes ... even behind my ears. After a year, they weaned me down to every other day ... then twice a week. They knew ... I knew ... I was beaten. I never even thought about running. Running meant death. It still does, probably." She shrugged. "Last year, they switched me to cotton."

I nodded. That made sense. OxyContin ... hillbilly heroin ... was flooding every city in the country right now. And half the addicts were being supplied by their primary care physicians. It was so prevalent that some of the drugs with the fastest growing sales in the country were the ones designed to counteract constipation in oxy-users.

There was a parking spot right in front, and I stopped and let a long sigh escape my lips. I'd been gone less than twenty-four hours. I carried the briefcase and suitcase up the front steps. Loretta studied the brass plaque by the door carefully, smiling: Doctor Randall Herringwick, MD/Psychiatrist. I opened and held the door for her, then followed her inside. "I own the whole building," told her; but it sounded boastful and flat, and I grimaced, embarrassed, when she didn't respond. I pointed, then followed her as she walked down the hall toward the apartment. Once again, I opened the door, then followed as she wandered inside.

She ignored the living room and walked straight to the kitchen, where she snatched up the coffee pot and started making a pot while I hurriedly told her where the filters were, then the coffee, which I keep in the refrigerator. When the coffee was finally cooking, she began looking for something to fix to eat, and I sat at the kitchen table and just watched while she explored.

Finally, she spoke. "Are you going to pick a treatment for me?"

"I'll let you decide ... but I'll make you stick with it. I could prescribe methadone if you ...."

"No! I won't do half measures. Cold turkey."

"Good girl." I tried to sound encouraging, but I think I failed.

She spun around to face me, and I couldn't figure out what she wanted for a moment. There was a sort of fixed grimace on her face as she reached up and began unbuttoning the shirt. She pulled the tail of it out of the skirt, and when she had finished, she pulled it back off of her shoulders and let it fall onto the floor. "Did you get enough of them last night while I was hypnotized?" she asked. I couldn't read her voice, but it wasn't friendly. I stared at her chest, but I felt tired and sad and woozy from lack of sleep. She advanced on me.

"You have me now ... you own me now. Why are you keeping your hands off the prize?" I looked up into her eyes, but suddenly everything appeared blurry. "Is this what you want, doctor?" she chided. "Is this what you've dreamed about all these years?" She advanced another step, then reached out toward me, grasped the back of my head, and pulled my face into her breasts. I couldn't think of anything to say. There was no answer to her question, so she continued. "Am I what you really want? Is a whore what you've really wanted all these years?" She pulled my face back and forth between the two pillowy mounds, from the left to the right and back again. They slipped wetly from one to the other, made slippery from my tears. She slid one hand upward and ran her fingers through my hair, and I was surprised to discover that the low, mournful moan that surrounded us was coming from me. I wound my arms tentatively around her bare waist while she lowered her forehead to the top of my head. "Oh, doctor, my doctor," she sobbed.

I stood abruptly, but she wouldn't loosen her arms around my neck, and she was now more than a foot off the floor; so, I swept her into my arms and carried her toward the bedroom. The panties I had purchased for her were too large, and when I unfastened the skirt and pulled it down her hips as I plopped her onto her back, they came along with it, and she was completely naked. Her shoes had seemingly vanished into thin air (though we would find them later in the kitchen). She watched with tear-sparkling eyes as I tugged my clothing off, toeing my shoes from their feet, pulling socks and sending them flying. Nude myself, I joined her, her arms snaking into their former position around my neck; and at long, long last, I took her mouth with my own, crushing her to me with my arms, her breasts ballooning between us, while she suddenly shivered uncontrollably with some emotion that I desperately wished was desire as strong as my own.

We broke the kiss after a long, long time, gasping for breath and seeking other things to kiss: cheeks and necks and chins. But I was stronger, and I had my way, pulling away from her clutching arms far enough to kiss her neck, her shoulders, and that sensitive place where the two meet. I pointedly skipped over those massive tits ... I'm sure they had been paid sufficient homage by others in the past ... and I kissed my way down her lower chest and stomach. I spread her legs easily, though she made me force them, and she cried out as I attacked her clitoris, her labia, her clit again, and then delved deeply into her vagina as far as my probing tongue would reach before going once more to the top of her hairless furrow. I made the trip again, but didn't make the rounds a third time before her body tensed up like a drawn bow and the orgasm claimed her. Her hands had found my head, and she clutched me with all the strength she could muster, grinding my face into her sex as she screamed out her passion and her body bent and twisted and trust against me. The movements didn't stop, but abated slowly, slowly, until her body finally stilled, though it kept twitching rhythmically in my grasp.

I kissed my way back up her body, including her breasts this time (but I didn't dwell overlong), until our faces were level and our noses were touching. Her eyes had changed like her body had ... soft ... pliant ... almost liquid. "I am yours again," she said, her lips brushing mine. "You have rescued me, just like you tried to do before. You have claimed me once again. Please, please. Use me if you want me. Discard me, if it's your wish. It doesn't matter anymore. I am a possession ... and I belong to you again."

She began weak-but-insistent efforts with her hands and arms, trying to pull my body atop her own, and I smiled and obliged, moving into position between her widely spread legs. She reached down with slender fingers, grasped me and pulled my cock to its target, then released me as I entered her and she arched her body up toward mine. Once again, her breasts were in the way and kept us from getting together as closely as we wanted; but it had become a rather pleasant obstacle, and one that I felt inclined to accept. I stroked in and out of her as deeply as I could, and I was amused ... and a tad overwhelmed ... when, with each downward stroke, her inner muscles gripped and squeezed me. I moaned loudly.

"I ... I can't hold on very long if you do that," I gasped, panting. But she continued to do it, every time I thrust.

"Oh, please," she whimpered. "Give it to me. Please." She grasped my shoulders and pulled herself up until her lips were against my right ear, and she breathed directly into it. "Now, doctor. Fill me up now."

Oh, God, I came hard!

She refused to let me slip out of her, and even when I rolled away from her, she rolled with me, gripping me gently with her kegel muscles. Her head was on my right arm, and she was tracing circles on my chest with a fingernail, sighing frequently and making little humming sounds of satisfaction.