The Doctor's Casebook Pt. 05 Ch. 03

I strengthened my grip on her breast in an attempt to keep her from rocketing off the couch, but I kept my fingers between us, reveling in the slippery feel of this new plaything. Her hands were on my chest as she quaked and shook, but she finally reached down and grasped my wrist. "Please! Too much! Too much! Oh, please, Master!" I pulled my soaking fingers away, and she collapsed onto my chest, her breasts ballooning as she pressed her body into mine. Her gasping eventually steadied into deep breathing. "No fair," she murmured. "You made me SO horny ALL day long! And when I finally, finally got you where I wanted you, I went off like a stick of dynamite in thirty seconds flat!"

"And you still called me 'Master,'" I chided. "I thought the doc changed all that back."

"Doctor Herringwick didn't change anything. I just told him what he wanted to know. Once I told him my name, I could SAY my name again. But nothing has changed ... Rory. And when I say Rory, I mean Master. I will ALWAYS mean Master." She rocked her crotch forward and back against mine. "Oh, gosh, you're so big. You're going to fill me up SO much!"

She grasped me in her slim, strong fingers and raised her body up and up until she was poised above me. "Lauren," I groaned.

"Hush!" she ordered. "You may be the master, but I'm in charge now!" I felt the head of my dick surrounded by what felt like hot liquid velvet, and she slowly began lowering onto my shaft.

"Oh, my God! I ... I think that maybe I'm not going to be able to challenge your thirty second endurance record."

"Wait until you're all the way in! Wait until you're ... deeeep!" She ground herself into me. "Oh, Rory! Oh, gosh, Rory!" She rose four or five inches above me, then settled back again hard. I cried out. SHE cried out. She moved up and down again; then she squeezed me with her inner muscles, forcing another sound from me. "I can hold you!" she groaned ecstatically. "I can hold you from inside! Can you feel that?"

"AAAGH!" I screamed toward the ceiling, and I grasped her by the waist and pulled her savagely downward onto me, making her cry out again, as well. I throbbed and erupted, and our voices merged into an unintelligible harmony of shouted passion.

She fell forward again and threw her arms around my body, clutching me hard to herself and shaking violently. Slowly, slowly we calmed but didn't come down from our high; and I realized that I had never felt so utterly connected, mentally, emotionally or physically, to another human being. I stroked her, from the back of her neck to the crack of her butt; and I felt her respond by working herself even further into my body.

After a long time, I told her softly: "Well, I hope you're satisfied. You've done it. You've made me love you. Completely and totally. I'm yours. What do you intend to with to me?" But she surprised me again by issuing a soft snore. Cripes. Another tender moment shot to hell! Oh, man she felt good in my arms!

"There's got to be a better place to sleep than THAT!" the doc commented from the doorway. I jerked awake and Lauren screamed a little "Eeek!" followed by a fit of uncontrolled giggles.

Groaning, I sat up and spun her around to sit, as well. Then, while I busied myself with the task of pulling my pants back up, she scurried around the room picking up her scattered clothing. "I'm famished!" I shouted at the doc's retreating figure.

"So, what are you doing in THERE, then?" he yelled back. Then he followed it up with: "Oh. No ... never mind. You don't have to answer that." And Lauren started laughing again.

In his kitchen, we discovered that he'd purchased WAY too much food; but rather than asking us to sit down and share it with him, he divvied it up and loaded a bag with Sesame Chicken, Moo Goo Gai Pan, egg rolls, dumplings and other things to take to the apartment downstairs. He was concerned about Loretta, he explained, and planned to have his in their bedroom and try to coax her into eating something. He said that he believed it would take several days for her body to get over the effects of the Thorazine she had been given, but he thought that she would make a full recovery.

In other news, Doctor Prokonov had been picked up by an ambulance crew from the house we had raided that day, and he was now residing in a hospital in Newark. He was still suffering from arrhythmia, and it was assumed by the professionals there that a heart attack had led to some sort of brain damage. Our detectives, operating on records they had taken with them, had discovered two girls in another house in Trenton that had been waiting patiently for their "masters" to show up and take them away. Their families had been notified.

And that brought us back to Lauren. The two of us needed to have a serious talk, the doc told us. He believed that, through a period of extended therapy, he could completely eradicate any and all "programming" that she had undergone. It had taken almost two months for Prokonov to get her to the point that she was ready for her new owner. Deprogramming would not be so intensive, but it would take time, assuming that she desired to undertake such a course of action.

"Oh, and by the way," the doc said, handing me a bottle of white wine to go with the food, "it's come to our attention that Lauren was suppose to be sold to her new 'master' this afternoon. Prokonov had brokered a deal through the Russian Mafia. Seven hundred thousand dollars. Very impressive, my dear. But now, the client is really pissed off. The Russian Mob is really pissed off. Prokonov never knew what hit him. And nobody else has a clue that any of it ever happened. However: Tomorrow, you, my dear lady, are going to call your parents. Enjoy your meal ... and your night. In the morning, let me know what decisions you've made."

Carrying the large paper bag, I led her out to the hallway toward the stairs that went down to my abode. I glanced back at her over my shoulder. "I suppose now is the time to tell you that I lied back in that house when I told you I was your master," I said.

She was studying the label on the bottle of wine I'd handed her to carry. "I kinda' figured that out about the time I saw the limousine you were taking me home in," she stated offhandedly. "But ... by that time, you were already 'him.' I can remember, back in that house today, thinking that my whole goal in life was to meet my Master. Those other guys showed up and wanted to take me with them ... but I COULDN'T do that! I had to keep away from them! I could only go with Master! Somehow, I had to both hide from those men and stay in the room until my Master showed up. And finally ... there you were. It was like there was a switch in my mind that needed to be turned to the 'on' position. And you did it." She barked a laugh. "You turned me on. And now that I'm 'on,' nobody can ever turn me off again. Off of YOU, I mean." She gave me her full attention. "Doctor Herringwick can be sort of dense sometimes, can't he?"

I stopped on the stairs and turned back to face her. "What do you mean?"

She continued forward, smiling, pleased that I stood my ground; and when she was on the step above mine, she leaned forward into me. I was holding the bag of food in my arm at my side, and she had ample room to settle herself against me, thrusting her breasts into my face. Her right hand, the one not holding the bottle, came up and held the back of my head, her fingers in my hair. "Does he really think I would jeopardize this feeling I'm having? Does he actually believe that, now that I've found the love I've always dreamed of having, I would want him to 'deprogram' it out of me? Is he really that naive?" She pulled back enough to kiss my forehead, and she looked deeply into my eyes. "No," she mused, "now that I think about it, he's not. But YOU are, aren't you, Master? You are so obsessed with doing what's 'right,' that you would give me up and send me back to a life that I always dreamed about leaving." She leaned down and kissed me very, very tenderly on the lips. "I can tell that I'm going to have work hard all night to convince you otherwise."

I retreated back a step away from her and put on a stern face. "Now, see here, you little minx!" I raised a finger to make a point, putting it up on the same level as my face. "If you keep thinking of me as your master, you'd better start ..." But in a quick move I hadn't anticipated, she bent forward and captured the finger in her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked on it. I tried to act shocked, but lost all composure instead, and I started laughing. The suction on the finger abated as her lips parted in a seductive smile, but then she doubled her efforts, raising and lowering her face, clearly fucking the finger with her mouth. I groaned loudly. "Oh, shit. I don't have a chance in hell, do I? I don't have any say in this at all!"

She finally stopped and used her free hand to gently turn me so that I could continue leading downward. "I'll try to make it as painless as possible, my darling Master."

Oddly, the food was still relatively hot after I gave her a tour of the building's bottommost level. She squealed in absolute glee at the exercise equipment the doc had set up, even when I pointed out the crimes against architectural coding he had committed in the rooms when he had installed them. She begged me to work out with her the next day, but when I asked if we both had to be naked, she reluctantly agreed that we had to make another excursion to get her some clothes, first.

We didn't make it all the way through the meal, though. She claimed the food didn't have the right quantity of sauce, and demanded that I give her some of mine. She then demonstrated that she was capable of sucking on more than just my finger. After giving her all the sauce I had, I insisted on sampling some of whatever she had to give, and I licked her to a crashing, screaming orgasm.

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENTS 187 & 188 - DAY FOUR

We awoke on the couch sometime after midnight, and I was still hungry (isn't Chinese food like that?). So, we heated it up in the microwave and had a second course ... or third, as the case might be. And then I led her into the bedroom and we made love. Holy cow, we made love. Warm and gentle and tender and emotional and slow and achingly passionate. When I awoke to sunlight streaming in from the high, narrow windows along the top of one wall, I was in her arms. I watched her sleep for a long time, and then I awakened her with a kiss, and we did it again like we'd done that last time.

I held her as she snuggled into my shoulder and we caught our breath. "Some master, I am," I groused. "You landed me like a trout."

She held me even tighter. "I'm not throwing you back," she stated definitively. "You're a keeper." She sighed deeply. "Do you have anything for breakfast besides Sesame Chicken?"

When we emerged to the world aboveground, we made our first priority a visit to the doc's apartment to see Loretta. She was sitting at the dining room table, drinking coffee, and she was still pretty much out of it. I was pleased that we were able to coax a smile or two from of her, but she appeared completely unable to hold a thought long enough to act on it, and her attention seemed to wander constantly to other things in the room.

Exasperated, I leaned back and turned to the doc, who didn't seem upset by her condition at all. "She's much better than she was last night," he told us. "Things will progress. We just have to give her time."

"Why the hell did they ever make a drug like that in the first place?" I complained.

He huffed a little laugh. "For as long as we have been institutionalizing people, we've been plagued by the problem of controlling them once they're in there. Today, we rely on various types of Benzodiazepines, or 'benzos,' as they're more commonly referred to. Anti-psychotics. But, like most things, they're being overly-prescribed. Anxiety, panic attacks, ADHD, insomnia, even PMS." He took a sip of coffee. "In the first half of the Twentieth Century, lobotomy was the preferred way to 'handle' restless inmates. But ... as you might imagine, the biggest problem was that there was no going back from that. It wasn't too big a thing, as long as it was done to the 'forgotten people;' the folks that were institutionalized for the primary goal of getting rid of family members who were ... problems. But, after Rosemary Kennedy and couple others, the press, and the public as a whole, began questioning the fact that there was so little interest in rehabilitation.

"Thorazine was put on the market in 1951. The fifties were the wonder years of rapid drug approval. If you're ever in the mood for a good horror story, look up Thalidomide sometime. Anyway, a drug that would give all the wonderful effects of a lobotomy without all the physical and emotional mess was excitedly approved. Too bad that long-term use proved to have disastrous complications."

He rose and rubbed his hands together to let us know that he had other important matters to address. "I am guessing that you have come to a conclusion about whether or not you want any further treatment from me, Lauren." He didn't wait for her to answer. "Good. I didn't think so. However, it's time to make that phone call. Are you ready?"

She reached over and grabbed my hand. "Can you stay with me while I do it?" she pleaded.

"I'll stay with you forever, if you let me," I said.

Okay, my part in this chronicle is just about over. There's not a whole lot more to report. She cried during that phone call, of course, but she was adamant that she needed a little time before she went home "for a visit." There WAS some danger before, she told them ... but it was over now, and she needed a little time to get her head together. She was under the care of a doctor, and she'd let them talk to him, if they wanted to. She told them that she'd talk to the cops, just to ease any anxieties, and that she'd make the trip back to New York in a few days. No, she explained, she had someone that would take her. She wanted them to meet him, anyway.

The doc gave us some money, and we spent the morning shopping for some clothes for her. I was a little surprised to see that the thing she wanted most was several pairs of coveralls, which she wore almost every day after that to help me, not only on improvements to the building's rooms, but on other projects, like the old abandoned dresser I was trying to fix up for my bedroom.

When we returned from the shopping trip, the cops were there. We listened as the doc told us that he had already explained to them that I had picked Lauren up on the side of the road, outside Providence, and that she had no memory of where she had been for the past two months. We had gone over that storyline before we'd left, and we stuck to it. We have ever since. Obviously, I refused to apply for the reward.

Believe it or not, it's only about thirty-five miles from Providence to where Lauren's home was on Long Island ... well, at least as the crow flies; but to get there would entail a 150-mile drive along some of the most densely travelled highways in the world. Fortunately, there was a ferry that eliminated more than a hundred of that.

On Saturday, she waited for me to climb out of the pickup and take her hand before she pulled me impatiently to her front door. She hugged first her mother, and then her dad, before pulling away and taking my hand again. "Daddy," she announced, "I know how to do something that you don't."

He wiped a tear and cleared his throat before replying. "Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yes. I know how to use a router to dovetail the edges of dresser drawer. And I know how to use a steamer to strip wallpaper. And I know how to use a knee kicker to lay carpet. And I know how to mix sand to texture paint. And, oh; this is Rory. He rescued me. And then, he taught me all of that stuff, and a lot more. And he's a senior at MIT; but right now, he and I are both taking a little time off to restore an old building in Providence. And, just as soon as he tells me he wants me to, I'm going to have his baby. And, if you're really nice, I'll let you and Mommy come up and babysit while Rory and I go out to the theater or something. And, maybe we'll even find a room someplace and start working on another one. And, Mommy, is that cherry pie I smell? I am DYING for a piece of your cherry pie!"

And she hooked her arm into her mother's and led her into the house, leaving her dad and I looking after them.

"Wow," the man said, wiping another tear. "Pleased to meet you."

I shook his outstretched hand. "Please to meet you, too, sir. And, yes: wow."

We stood in silence for awhile, looking after the women. "You realize," he told me, "that you're going to be saying 'wow' for the rest of your life, right?"

"Yes, sir," I answered softly. "I imagine I am."

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENTS 187 & 188 - EPILOGUE

Patient 187, Gina Lowsman, recovered completely from her drug-induced state without complications. She and her lover, Margaret Tooey, were married in a ceremony in May. Loretta and I were invited, and we happily attended.

Jasper Reynolds walks with a noticeable limp today, but he seems immensely satisfied with the fact that he still has both of his legs. He continues to work for the agency that I employ from time to time in my ... "extracurricular enterprises."

As it turns out, after a period of one year, any person can make an application to be taken off the sexual offender list in the state that originally put him or her on it. I contracted with a law firm in Boston to do so at the earliest possible time, and Rory's case was heard and approved in June. He waited until the spring term the following year to go back and finish his degree, but he did so easily, then returned to Providence and the lower-level rooms that we had kept for them. They've both started grad courses at Brown.

Every year, on the anniversary of this little drama, I make it a point to drive down to New Jersey and visit Sergey Prokonov in a state mental facility there. As a ward of the state, there was never much interest in spending the money to learn WHY he is in the shape he is. I get in by explaining that he was once one of my patients, and nobody ever questions that. He doesn't know who I am ... I mean, he never actually saw my face when all this happened. But I am pleased to announce that he's still healthy and in possession of his memories. By that, I mean all the knowledge is still there ... he just doesn't possess the ability to do anything with it. I've never told him that I was the one who did that to him. What difference would it make, anyway? Still, he serves as an example to one of my most basic principles.

Nobody fucks with the people I love. Nobody. And ... I am at peace with that.

Patient 188, Lauren Chedworthy, now Mrs. Lauren Johnson, has become a magnificently vital part of our lives. She blows around this building like a breath of fresh air, leaving smiles in her wake wherever she goes. I've never met anyone like her, and I doubt if I ever will. She and Loretta are best friends.

And that brings me, of course, to Loretta herself. There were no lingering aftereffects of the drug, but there were from the experience. That only makes sense, of course. I gave her all the love and patience I possessed; and eventually, we got back to a semblance of normalcy. We renewed our closeness, our intimacy, our banter. The routine was back, as well. The classes, the appointments, the things that defined our everyday existence.

Three weeks later, on a Wednesday, in the middle of the first week in March, I was grading papers at my desk when the intercom came to life. "Doctor, Mrs. Donaldson, your 10:30 appointment is here."

I answered automatically, the way I always did. "Will you marry me, Loretta?"