The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Adjusters IV: Running to Stand Still

Jennifer’s Plan (1)

Richard Sanderson could not sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position and failing miserably. His bedside clock shone a bright green 3:10, the glow almost mocking him with its fluorescence.

Sanderson sighed, flipped onto his back, and stared at the ceiling of his room, arms behind his head.

In the darkness, he could pick up the sounds he had grown used to hearing for the past weeks coming from the other end of the apartment: his roommate Erik and his new girlfriend were going at it. It was an almost nightly event, one that lasted for several hours, and that made Sanderson wonder exactly how much sleep those two were getting, and how they managed to be coherent at work.

Granted, Erik worked part-time and usually had his mornings free, and Sanderson had no idea what the new girlfriend did during the day but he suspected that she was still in school, and thus had a somewhat more accommodating schedule. Or at least so he hoped for her sake.

They were not particularly noisy—though the girl tended to shout out when she came—but in the silence of the night, they were loud enough.

None of which helped his wandering mind. He kept thinking back to the events of the day—the excitement of pulling Jennie out of her medically-induced catatonia, the thrill of seeing her walk around and interact with others, the surprise and fascination of following her to that room and having her fall in his arms.

He closed his eyes. He felt his dick get harder at the memories—memories of how her body felt against him, memories of how her mouth felt on his, of how her hands felt on his skin, the memories of how her pussy felt sliding down his dick, soft and tight around him, sucking him in, milking him, memories of her words worming through his mind, memories of how she came astride him.

Unconsciously, his hand had sneaked its way down into his pajamas, and he was stroking his growing erection. The feelings were so fresh, so intense, so joyful. But part of him, the responsible, practical part of him, was berating him nonstop.

She’s a patient, the voice said. She’s a patient on a mental ward, the voice said. She’s crazy, you’ve seen her, the voice said. The only reason she can function is because she’s doped up to the eye balls, the voice said.

All good points. Sanderson knew it. He was falling for a patient under his care, which was stupid, stupid, stupid. That she reminded him of Felicity was but the cherry on the sunday of his lust.

Falling for a patient under one’s care was one of the oldest stories in the medical book, but that it was a well-trod path did not lessen its impact. He wanted nothing so much as feeling her right there beside him, away from that place, away from that prison in which she was trapped.

And it was no joke. She needed to get out of there. That was clear. I think Gutierrez wants to sell you, he had told her. She had looked at him with curiosity but no disbelief. That had affected him almost as much as what had happened at the party that Gutierrez had thrown for his initiation. What must she have gone through to take the news that she was to be sold—like a slave, like cattle—so casually?

Sanderson had told her what he knew, which was not much. He had been walking around the ward a few days earlier, thinking back over what he had done, how he had talked Beatrice into asking Doctor Dante to wake Jennie up. And Beatrice had come through, informing him that Dante had indeed looked at the file and that he had come to the same conclusions they had: Jennie did need complete sedation but could presumably function under the normal drug regimen that the other patients in the ward were under.

Sanderson could not help but wonder how Beatrice had convinced Doctor Dante to look at Jennie’s file, and when he had asked, the blonde nurse had responded with a sly grin that suggested a lot more than she probably meant to suggest.

Beatrice. He had almost stopped thinking about her ever since embarking on the Helping Jennie project, and he felt guilty about it. Which was a ridiculous reaction, because not only had he not promised her anything, she was most likely not even aware of his attraction to her.

And while Sanderson was walking around the ward and wondering about Beatrice and Dante and trying to imagine how waking Jennie up might go, he overheard Gutierrez.

Gutierrez was in the break room of Blue Ward on his cell phone, speaking quietly, and Sanderson upon seeing him ducked against the wall outside the room before he could be seen. He had listened to Gutierrez’s side of the conversation.

“Well, glad you enjoyed it, really.” — “Least I could do, really.” — “Call it a combo special. The tiny one was just a bonus.” — “Yeah, she was sweet, wasn’t she?” — “No, I don’t know who Biff is. One lucky bastard, that’s for sure. Well, maybe not so lucky, since she’s here now!” Gutierrez laughed. “Yeah.” — “What?” — “I don’t know, man…” — “Where did you hear that?” — “Sure…” — “Look…” — “Wait…” — “Okay, sure, fine. Yeah, I know I’ve talked about it before, but…” — “No, I know. I understand, but…” — “I get that. But I can’t just make her disappear like that…” — “It takes time.” — “I know.” — “How much?” — “Fuck.” — “Fine. Okay. Look, I’ll think about it, okay?” — “What?” — “No way?” Gutierrez remained silent for a long time. “Okay, fine, fine. Yeah, we’ll settle the details next time. Yes. Next time.”

Punching out of the call with a swear words, Gutierrez had stood and started pacing the room, and Sanderson had walked away as quietly as possible, thinking hard about what Gutierrez could have been talking about, feeling sick to his stomach.

And now Sanderson stood awake in the middle of the night, trying to figure out how to get Jennie out of the crosshairs she was in. And was not making any progress.

The obvious route was to convince people that Jennie was cured, or at least, able to function on her own. But that route was not available: it required a doctor to sign off on it, and while Doctor Dante might be persuaded that Jennie did not require sedation, there was no chance he could be induced to give Jennie a clean bill of health. Because Jennie was not healthy. He had seen first-hand what happened when she was left untreated. And his dick twitched in response at the memories of Jennie, a few weeks earlier, going crazy over him in the throes of the most delightful lust-filled psychotic episode Sanderson had ever witnessed.

The other possibility was equally obvious—to somehow get Gutierrez arrested, or fired. But he had no proof, no evidence of what Gutierrez was doing, and moreover, if what Beatrice said was true, he had friends in high place in the Institute. Collecting evidence would take time, by which point Jennie will have been sold.

Sold. Such a terrible, incomprehensible word. Sanderson could not wrap his head around it. That human beings could be traded like any other commodity was insane. Not that he was necessarily surprised that someone might want to purchase a girl like Jennie, or what he would purchase her for. She would probably be used to satisfy some old rich man’s lust, kept at hand as a concubine to warm his bed, perhaps wake him up with a blow job, and serve him naked, or perhaps dressed to the nines as some high-class escort forced to satisfy his every perverse desire. The image stuck in Sanderson’s head and could not be dislodged no matter how hard he tried.

Jennie in a short revealing evening dress, baring her long legs, a plunging neckline nearly exposing her round breasts, her hair up, on her knees in a fancy limousine dutifully and obediently sucking on her owner’s cock while he conducted some business on the phone, hardly paying attention to the beautiful woman servicing him.

Sanderson shook his head, disturbed by the images, and by the effects they were having on him. His dick was hard, and demanded attention. At the other end of the apartment, his roommate and his girlfriend seemed to be reaching a climax.

Sanderson got out of bed. He was driving himself crazy. He headed to the living room, in the dark.

No, the only approach that remained, really, was to break Jennie out. But how? Sanderson could not think of anything. No, that was not true: he could think of plenty of ways, but they all sounded like bad plots to over-the-top heist movies. He not only had no clue how to pull off anything like that, it was pretty clear that any of those plans were way too complicated.

He settled down on the couch, and turned on the television, keeping the sound off. He needed distraction. And then he needed to sleep. His exhaustion would be of no help to anyone, least of all Jennie. He found a baseball game, the Cincinnati Reds visiting the Atlanta Braves, a game that had been played earlier that day. He had not followed the Reds since he was a teenager, but those memories of a better time served to calm him down.

In a gesture that he had been repeating too often these last few weeks, the way someone else would caress a worry stone, he pulled out the photograph of Felicity he carried with him, that photograph of Felicity posing on a bed with a black slip and dark stockings, her arms above her head. The same clothes that Jennie had worn that night when Gutierrez made her available to him.

That Gutierrez had offered her to him the way he was planning on giving her to some rich bastard did not escape his notice. At least, he tried to convince himself, I’m not taking advantage of it.

“Ah! I thought I heard something.”

Sanderson spun his head around so fast he thought he would get whiplash.

“Oh! Did I startle you?” His roommate’s girlfriend—Shondra, he finally recalled with a flash—strode into the living room, illuminated by the glow of the television set.

She plopped herself down on the couch next to him, clutching a small container of ice cream and a spoon. “Got the munchies.”

Sanderson muttered a simple “It’s okay,” giving her a quick glance but then averting his eyes.

Shondra was a garrulous young woman with an easy laugh and an unrestrained personality. Sanderson had no idea where his roommate had found her, but he could easily understand what had attracted him.

Shondra was the template of his roommate’s type, from what he had gathered—she was short and curvy, and sported a pair of enormous breasts. His roommate had a fondness for abundant flesh. Said enormous breasts were currently barely hidden underneath a man’s shirt, but the shirt had no chance. The material was tented, and the one button closing it off struggled under the weight of her cleavage. At least, Sanderson noted with a wry internal smile, she wore panties.

“Who’s playing?” she asked, as she dug into the ice cream and brought the spoon to her lips.

“Huh, Cincinnati against Atlanta.”

“Hey, my home team,” she said. “Love those guys.”

The last thing Sanderson wanted was to have a middle-of-the-night discussion with his roommate’s girlfriend. She did not seem the type to help him figure out how to break Jennie out of the Institute. And he was still sporting a stubborn erection—not helped in any way by the flesh on display within arms’ reach.

“Woha, who’s the babe?” Shondra had slid up next to him and was looking at the photograph of Felicity in his hand. He made to move it away, but she grabbed his hand. “Your girlfriend? Smoking hot!”

Sanderson had no ready reply. “She’s—”

“Man, I’d kill to have those legs!”

“Huh, you’re not so bad yourself,” he said. Small talk at four in the morning when having almost not slept was particularly difficult.

“Not in her class, I’m not. I mean,” she said, pressing a hand on one of her breasts. “I got the girls here, but that’s not the same, is it?”

Sanderson muttered something unintelligible. Shondra remained close to him, as she licked a spoonful of ice cream with an agile tongue. You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought.

“You a Reds fan?” she asked, not looking up.

He nodded. “I’m from Indiana,” as if it answered the question, which in a way it did. “Though to be honest I’m more of a hockey fan.”

“They got hockey in Indiana?”

“No, but they’ve got hockey in Chicago.”

“Wait—you go to Cincinnati for baseball but Chicago for hockey? That’s fucked up.”

Sanderson shrugged again. “What can I tell you?”

Shondra remained silent for a while, still licking her ice cream. She spread her legs, and Sanderson confirmed that she indeed wore panties, though their seemed almost translucent in the glow of the television set. His dick stubbornly refused to go soft.

“Is it true what they say about corn-fed midwesterners?” Shondra asked after a pause.

“Huh, what do they say?”

Shondra turned her head up and looked at him, giving a last teasing lick to the spoon. Given their respective positions, her cleavage was extravagant.

“Wasn’t Superman from Indiana?” she asked.

“I think he was from Kansas.”

“Meh, same thing.”

Only if you consider seven hundred miles the same thing, he responded in his head. He turned his attention back to the television, willing Shondra to go back to bed.

“You can look at them, you know,” she said instead. “I don’t mind”

“Huh, look at who?”

“The girls, silly. They love the attention.” Before Sanderson could say anything, she put the ice cream down on the floor, and unbuttoned the shirt. “They sure like you,” she said, pulling out and caressing her large breasts with hands that looked way too small. “You can touch them if you want. They’d really like that.”

Sanderson looked at her. She was leaning back on the sofa, her hands on her breasts, her legs spread, one of them folded back beneath her. Her blonde hair was pulled back from her face, and she was grinning. He could not avoid looking at her breasts, which were the biggest he had ever seen on this side of a computer screen. Her nipples were puffy, her areolae large and dark.

“Shondra,” he said, using her name for the first time. Don’t be an idiot, he wanted to say, but he could not. Last thing he needed was to piss her off and have a running back to his roommate claiming he tried to rape her or something. He was in a Hollywood frame of mind, clearly. “This is really a bad idea. Erik—”

“Erik’s in the other room, passed out, because I screwed the shenanigans out of him. He won’t hear a thing. Come on, gimme your hand. They’re real, you know? Ever pawed real big boobies? They feel real nice. If you want I’ll let you stick your dick in and screw them real good. You like booby-fucks?”

Sanderson was thinking fast, trying to find a way out of this mess. His love life was getting complicated enough that adding a fling—albeit it a middle-of-the-night no-strings-attached fling—with his roommate’s girlfriend was possibly the stupidest move he could make. It was late, and he was tired, and he was horny, but even he was not that stupid.

Shondra was still looking at him with a come-on look in her eyes, one hand on a large breasts twisting the nipple, her legs spread wide enough to expose the crotch of her panties. On the television screen, the Atlanta Braves scored three runs on a blast over the left field fence that just cleared the outfielder’s glove despite an impressive leap.

“Shondra,” he said, and he tried to use his best serious voice. “Look—you’re a very desirable girl, and I’d love to put my hands on those big boobies of yours.” He figured he would try to flatter her the way she seemed to want to be flattered. “But I’ve got a girlfriend, and if she ever finds about this, she’s going to rip out my balls and feed them to her dogs.” The lie came off his tongue too easily.

“She doesn’t need to find out,” purred Shondra, who was edging her free hand down toward her crotch while at the same time leaning toward him.

“She doesn’t need to, but she will, because I can’t keep a secret for shit—and if I do put my hands on your… girls… then I won’t be able to keep myself from shouting it from the roof tops.” He made a leery face, and thought for a second he had pushed too far.

But Shondra merely giggled, and shook her head, and leaned over and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek before standing up. Her shirt was wide open, and her breasts bounced with her movements in a way that seemed to defy physics. “Your loss,” she said. “I’m going to go and see if Erik’s recovered. He loves to screw the girls.”

I’m sure he does, Sanderson thought, as Shondra skipped out of the room. And I’m nowhere close to solving the getting-Jennie-out problem. And, he added, as if it mattered, Cincinnati is losing.

“By the way,” Shondra said from the entrance to the living room, looking back at him, “did Erik tell you? There was a call for you earlier. A woman. Left a message. She wanted you to call her back whenever convenient. Beatrice something. She said she was calling in the favor you owed her. Her number’s on the fridge.”

There was a question in Shondra’s voice. Sanderson thanked her.

“Beatrice—is that your girlfriend?” Shondra asked. “The hottie in the photo?”

“No,” Sanderson replied automatically, before mentally kicking himself. Last thing he wanted was to open himself up to more questions he would have to dodge.

“Oh,” said Shondra, a smile in her voice. “I see. That’s the real reason why you’re passing up on the girls, then. You’ve got a little birdie on the side. You’re like that guy, there, the seducer guy…? What’s his name?”

“Casanova?”

“No, no. That Italian guy…”

Sanderson bit his lip. “Huh, Don Juan?”

“That’s it! Don Juan! You’re like Don Juan. A girl in every port. Don’t worry,” she added. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He saw her exaggerated wink in the glow of the television screen, and watched her disappear down the hallway toward his roommate’s room. Sanderson sighed.

Ten minutes later, Shondra’s moans and bed creaking came from Erik’s room. None of which helped Sanderson’s with either his arousal or his escape plans.

* * *

Sanderson called Beatrice back the next day.

“Huh, hey—it’s me. Returning your call. What’s up?”

“Are you in today?” she asked.

“No. Off until Wednesday.”

“Are you busy Friday night?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“You owe me a favor. For getting that patient file to Michael.”

“I remember. What’s Friday?”

“I’ve got a dinner thing.”

“Huh, okay. Sounds mysterious. So what’s the favor? You need me to babysit your dog?”

“No, silly. I want you to accompany me to a dinner.”

“Huh… wait—your favor’s for me to be your… date?” Sanderson did not add that she should not have wasted her favor on something he would have done with pleasure anyway.

“Well, it is a black-tie affair.”

“Oh, well, that changes everything. You’re lucky I owe you a favor, then. Fine, I’ll be there.”

“Perfect,” Beatrice practically purred into the phone. “I’ll text you the details on Friday.”

“Anything I need to know beforehand?”

“Nope. Just make sure to bring your usual charming self.”

“That might be stretching the favor I owe you, but sure, I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

Sanderson felt some amount of trepidation on Wednesday when he returned to the Craven-Wilford Institute for his shift in Blue Ward.

He had spent the previous days trying to come up with a plan to get Jennie out of the ward, but could not come up with anything vaguely reasonable. He did make headway on getting a supply of the medication that kept her from becoming the ravenous beast he saw at Gutierrez’s party.

He knew the exam drug regimen from having looked at her updated file. A quick phone call to an old friend from nursing school—a friend who ended up ditching the program and going into pharmacology—confirmed what he already guessed. Most of those drugs were prescription only, but could be obtained on the black market for a reasonable fee—at least according to the man. Sanderson figured that in the worst case he might be able to steal a supply from the Institute, but he would only consider such an approach if nothing else worked.

Sanderson, in the bright light of day, asked himself what he thought he was doing exactly. Helping Jennie escape would spell the end of his career, one that had just started. He would never be employed as a nurse ever again. He might even be facing prosecution. What he was doing was dumb, there was no doubt about it. Yet, it looked like he was doing it.

Felicity.

He almost laughed out loud at the silliness of it all. Because he still had a crush on his first love, because he still obsessed about her, he was ready to sacrifice his life for this perfect stranger, this mental patient. He should go to the authorities, expose Gutierrez, do something, anything, but not get involved in what he was getting involved in.

And yet, even as he told himself that, he knew it was already too late. He would help Jennie. Was it love? Was it lust? Was it guilt? Was it a helpless hope for the One That Got Away? He did not really know. All he knew is that he felt alive, felt like he was doing something, unlike when Felicity left him, when he just stood there and did nothing.

Beatrice was not at the admission desk. He found Jennie in the recreation room, sitting quietly in a corner, a small tablet computer on her lap, typing away methodically.

He did not go to her directly despite his wish to do so. He first walked around the room, greeting the patients and the other nurses, making conversation. He hesitated a second before approaching the patient named Allison—he remembered her distinctly from the Gutierrez party.

He felt a surge of arousal shoot through him as he thought about her on her knees in her evening dress, sucking him off with skill and expertise. He had not had many blow jobs in his life, but he doubted he would ever have one again that was so great. Fucking Jennie when she was lust wild and the other day when she was back to normal had been incredible, but what Allison could do with her mouth, it was indescribable.

She looked up, a lollipop in her mouth, and smiled at him. He smiled back, waved. He felt self-conscious around her ever since that night, but she did not seem to remember anything. None of the girls, including Jennie, seemed to remember anything about that night. Cassandra had said, at some point during Gutierrez’s party, that when their medication were removed, the girls would be swallowed up by their lust and whatever delusions their illness would force upon them, and that swallowing up was so complete and so thorough that it overwhelmed them and they remembered nothing, except possibly as dreams or as flashes of fantasy.

“Good morning, Allison.”

“Good morning,” she responded, looking up at him. She was reading what looked like a mathematical book. He chatted her up a little, making sure she was okay, and then continued making the rounds. The image of Allison’s tongue swirling around the lollipop in her mouth made it impossible not to imagine her tongue swirling around his dick before she engulfed it wholly, her red hair swaying with the back and forth movements.

He shook his head as he walked, trying to clear it. Sex was on his mind like nothing else since he took this job, it was scary. Of course, he was working in a ward for hypersexual patients, so that was perhaps hardly surprising. But between Gutierrez’s party, between Allison, Cassandra, Jennie, even his roommate’s girlfriend the previous night, things were getting out of hand. And later this week, Beatrice. He did not know just where to pay attention.

By the time he circled all the way to Jennie, Mouse was seated next to the tall brunette, quiet and still, her hands between her knees.

“Hello Lillian,” he told the waify woman.

“Hello, sir,” said Mouse in response, watching him from below.

Jennie looked up Sanderson, her eyes lost in some internal world. She had a frown on her face that made Sanderson’s heart ache. “Jennie’s looking for a word that means sisterhood, or something like that. The name of a community of religious women. Needs to start with a C.”

Sanderson, caught by surprise, pondered for a second. Nothing came to mind.

“Covenant?” Mouse’s voice was soft.

Jennie thought about it for a second, then smiled. “Perfect.” She continued typing away on her tablet, once in a while cursing at the lack of response from the touch screen.

“Huh, what is she doing?” Sanderson asked Mouse in a conspiratorial tone.

“Jennie’s writing a story,” responded Jennie, without looking up form her tablet.

“It’s very good,” said Mouse in her soft voice.

“Huh, can I read it?” asked Sanderson, curious. Of all the things Jennie could be doing, he thought, writing a story would not have been high on his list of guesses.

Jennie look up at him, with a twinkle in her eye, and a flirty smile on her lips. She eyed Mouse, and winked at her. “Maybe when it’s done,” she said. “If you’re good.”

Mouse let out a little giggle at the notion, and she blushed, sharing a glance with Jenn.

What is she writing? Sanderson wondered, and he reminded himself to ask about it again later.

After a few minutes, with Sanderson standing silently and almost awkwardly, Jennie spoke up again, without looking up from her tablet.

“Jennie’s had an idea. A plan.”

“You did?” He gave a glance toward Mouse, unsure they should be having this conversation here.

“Don’t worry,” said Jennie. “She knows.”

“She does?”

“She figured it out.” Jennie looked at Mouse. “She’s quite sharp.”

Mouse blushed again, and Sanderson could swear her head disappeared into her neck.

“And she promised not to say anything.”

Mouse nodded.

“Okay then,” said Sanderson, sitting down next to Jennie, opposite Mouse. “Tell me, because I’m stumped. Though,” he added, proud of himself, “I think I figured out how to get a supply of the meds.”

“Great,” said Jennie, putting her tablet to sleep and laying it down on her lap. Sanderson looked in her grey eyes, luminous and full of life, and felt a surge of desire. His mind went back to the last time they were together, in that room off on the second floor, on that bare mattress, their bodies close together, a moment of tender love as opposed to the animalistic fucking at Gutierrez’s party. Both were incredible experiences, and Sanderson, if he were honest with himself, would have a lot of difficulty deciding which Jennie he preferred: the loving girlfriend, or the hungry slut.

“The Pig’s party,” Jennie said, which made Sanderson blush. Does she know what was thinking about? He still felt bad about having taken advantage of her during the party, while she was under the influence of whatever ailed her, even though Jennie herself told him that she did not hold it against him, that she could not hold it against him.

“What… what about it?”

“That’s when Jennie and you can make your move.”

Sanderson looked at her without understanding. “Isn’t that dangerous? I mean, there’s going to be lots of people around.”

“Think about it. You told Jennie that Gutierrez invites people over for his parties, and that they happen here.”

Sanderson nodded. There was no easy way to move the patients to another location, and therefore it made sense that Gutierrez would hold his parties somewhere in the Institute.

“Well, those people that he invites over, there has to be a way for them to get in and out of the building, without passing through security.”

Sanderson’s eyes lit up. Of course. If they could find out how Gutierrez’s guests got in, it would provide for a way out.

Jennie saw that Sanderson understood, and continued on excitedly. “And in fact, when there is a party, that entrance that the guests use will not be guarded, while it might be at other times. So if Jennie and you time your escape during a party, there is a chance that you can get out.”

Sanderson frowned at the obvious flaw in Jennie’s plan. “Wait. You mean you want to try to do this during a party? How are we going to know where the party is held?”

“Jennie and you join the party.”

“But if you join the party, that means that you’re going to be off your meds, and… you know…” He did not want to point out the obvious. Without her meds, Jennie would be reduced to a creature of lust, living only to satiate her needs.

Jennie shrugged. “If you give Jennie some meds before the party, then she will attend the party without losing her mind.”

“But you’re going to have to act like you’re… like you’re crazed even though you’re not!”

Jennie made a face that Sanderson could not read. “Jennie can fake it.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, I mean, it’s REALLY crazy.” Sanderson looked around with a worried glance when he realized that he had nearly shouted that last statement. He lowered his voice, and leaned in toward Jennie. “You’re gonna go in there and act like the only thing you’re living for is to fuck and get fucked.” He hoped his crassness would emphasize his point.

Jennie looked at him calmly, and merely repeated herself. “Jennie can fake it. She’s had a lot of practice.” The way she said it made her sound much older than her age.

Sanderson shook his head, not knowing what to say.

“The only thing left to figure out is when the Pig’s next party is.”

“Next week,” said Mouse, glancing at both of them before looking back down.

“What?” asked Sanderson, trying to keep up. Everything was moving too fast.

“Gutierrez is having a party next week.”

“How do you know?”

“Cassandra told me last night.” Her voice was nearly a whisper at the end. She did not add any detail.

“Great,” said Jennie. “So next week then. And you need to talk to the Pig and make sure you’re there too,” she said, looking at Sanderson.

He nodded, unsure about the whole thing, but unwilling to contradict Jennie’s irresistible drive. He was about to voice some further hesitation, when a voice from behind them made him almost jump.

“What are you three conspiring about?”

Cassandra circled the couch and plopped herself down next to Mouse. She put her arm around the small woman, crossing her legs. Her eyes were lined out with dark mascara as usual, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, a smile that was almost a smirk on her face.

Sanderson blocked, wondering how long Cassandra has skulked behind them, and how much she had heard.

She revealed nothing, merely looking from him to Jennie, completely ignoring Mouse aside from having her arm around the woman’s shoulders.

“Hey Brown Eyes,” she winked at Sanderson. “You’re looking good, Biff’s Toy,” she told Jennie, a little smile on her face. “Being awake agrees with you.” Before Jennie could retort to the implied insult and challenge—through the obvious reference to the tattoo she harbored over her pussy, the origin of which the object of much rumors—Cassandra continued as if nothing had happened. “Still writing, I see?” She nodded towards the tablet on Jennie’s lap.

“Keeps Jennie sane,” Jennie responded, shrugging slightly.

Mouse remained silent.

“So what’s new, Cassandra?” asked Sanderson, taking advantage of his arguable position of authority on the Institute’s staff to help reduce the friction, and also to move the conversation away from what they had been discussing.

“Nothing much. Just wondering what it’d take to steal you away from your new girlfriend.” She looked him in the eyes, her smile widening and the tip of her tongue gingerly touching the tip of her upper lip. Her hand was caressing Mouse’s upper arm suggestively. “I bet I’m tighter,” she said, her smile widening. “If you manage to subdue me enough to get it inside,” she said in a teasing and challenging voice. “Perhaps we can even get Allison to join us. She’s got one sweet mouth, don’t you think?”

Sanderson shook his head, and stood up. “Well, it’s been fun, ladies. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.” He hesitated for a second. He felt bad leaving Jennie with Cassandra when the latter was in such a mood. He did not doubt that Jennie could take care of herself, but he could make things easier. “Come on, Jennie. Let’s take care of your meds.”

As Jennie followed him, clutching her tablet, Sanderson could feel Cassandra’s eyes following them, her smile still on her lips. Mouse was still silent, in the dark brunette’s arms.

* * *

After making sure that he could afford to take ten minutes out of his schedule, Sanderson headed out to find Gutierrez. But even though he knew the older nurse was on shift, he did not know where to find him. The nurses he passed had not seen him.

Sanderson headed to the main desk, with the hope that the administrative nurse in charge could direct him to Gutierrez. He also hoped, because more complication to his day was just what the doctor ordered, to find Beatrice there, to chat her up a little bit, and question her about their mysterious date in two days.

When he turned the corner, even before reaching the admission desk, he stopped and retreated back behind the wall.

Around the corner, Beatrice and Doctor Michael Dante were arguing. At least, Dante was arguing. Beatrice was spoking in a calm voice, but her crossed arms and head held high belied what looked to Sanderson like anger.

“I told you I had a good reason!” Dante was almost shouting, his hands moving rapidly.

“Keep your voice down,” Beatrice hissed. “And yes, you told me you had a good reason, and maybe it is actually a good reason. I’m not mad. Well, I WASN’T mad...”

“Then why are you going with that… that…”

“He’s a friend, Michael,” Beatrice said, a stubborn tone creeping into her voice. She sounded like she was speaking to a petulant child. Which Dante did resemble at the moment.

“A young, attractive, and unattached friend.”

“Okay? So what? Look, it’s you that said that this, us, was just for fun.”

“But why him? I mean, him? Bea, come on.”

“Oh that’s priceless. You’re jealous? You? YOU? You’re something special, Michael Dante. Go to your meeting, or to your wife, I don’t fishin’ care. And listen to me—no, listen to me: I’m going out with Richard this weekend. You can be happy about it, or unhappy about it, or uncaring about it. That’s on you. But you’re not going to bug me about it, or you and I, it’s over. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

Beatrice’s tone of voice admitted no retort, and she walked away with a decided step, leaving Dante speechless and somewhat fuming, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides. The poor man looked lost.

Sanderson waited for Dante to move away before moving himself. They had been talking about him, that was clear. Attractive? he savored the flavor of the word on his tongue. Beatrice had not confirmed, but she had not denied either. Which Dante must have picked up on. Sanderson certainly had.

When the coast was clear, Sanderson headed to the main desk, was a bit disappointed not to find Beatrice there, and enquired as to Gutierrez’s whereabouts. The nurse in charge pointed Sanderson toward the induced-catatonia wing of Blue Ward, and asked him whether he wanted her to page the older nurse, but Sanderson thanked her with a smile and said not to worry, he would find him.

Gutierrez was in a room with a catatonic woman in her mid-forties that Sanderson had never interacted with. Like all the women in the ward, she was beautiful, with an elegance about her that overcame even the merciless fluorescent lights and the apathy of sedation. She must have been a stunning woman in her prime, and Sanderson wondered what her story was.

“What do you want?” Gutierrez asked upon seeing Sanderson enter. He was replacing the pillowcases. His voice was abrupt—he sounded nervous, bothered, worried. There was a frown on his dark face, and Sanderson was pretty certain it had nothing to do with linens.

“Hey,” Sanderson said, raising a hand. He had thought about the problem of how to broach the topic of the next party to Gutierrez, but at the last moment, sensing the man’s trouble, he decided to follow his gut instead.

“Huh look,” he said, looking down, left, right, as if unsure of himself, before looking up to Gutierrez, vaguely embarrassed. “I… want you to know that… Well, that I realize how big of a deal it was for you to set up that… initiation for me a couple of weeks back, and… well…” He hesitated again, almost stomped in place, as if fighting the urge to run away. He worried for a second he was laying on the sycophancy too thick.

Gutierrez stared at Sanderson, fluffing up the pillow he was holding, and gave a sly grin. “Yeah, it was nice, wasn’t it?” He lifted the head of the woman on the bed, surprisingly gently, and slid a pillow underneath before laying the head back down. He arranged her pale blonde hair like a halo on the white linen with studied care.

“Yes, yes it was,” said Sanderson. “I… well… we… Okay, look, I’m going to come out and say it, okay?”

“That’d be nice.”

“I sorta… want another go. One of the… huh… girls, well, she sort of… I…” He stammered, trying to sound too embarrassed for words. God, he thought, if my high-school drama teacher could see me know, she’d have a stroke.

But Gutierrez did not seem to suspect anything beyond what he was seeing and hearing. “So one of the girls got under your skin, huh?” he said, his smile turning into a near grimace. “That brunette chick they just woke up? The one I introduced you to? Biff’s little Cunt? You got a sweet spot for Biff’s Cunt?” Gutierrez almost spat out the name, using it as a swear word, a whip with which to strike Sanderson. Having just witnessed a display of jealousy not a half-hour earlier, he could recognize one then as well. He had to deflect Gutierrez’s anger, move the focus away from Jennie. Does he know that I’m the one that woke her up? Why would he care anyway?

“No… Well, I mean, yes, she’s pretty sweet, and she’s… huh… well, she’s a great fuck,” he shrugged as if dismissing it, as if the act, as the word, was worthy at most of a high-school giggle or a snort, “but it’s the other one that… well… that I’d give anything to have again.”

Gutierrez looked surprised. “The other one?”

“The redhead. Allison. She… well she gave me two fantastic blow jobs and… fuck, man,” Sanderson ran his hand through his hair as if giving up, “I love her mouth. I just love her mouth. You don’t understand, I dream of that mouth at night, sliding inside it, feeling her wrap her lips around me, run her tongue around me, suck me in and out and fuck it’s driving me crazy!”

Gutierrez was smiling, and this time his smile was genuine, though it still held an edge of slyness to it. It was the smile of someone who saw an opening, an opportunity for taking advantage.

“Oh, I understand. Allison’s an expert at pleasuring men with her mouth, especially when she’s in the throes of the Syndrome. It’s no wonder you’re smacked up.”

Sanderson nodded emphatically. “You gotta help me. It’s driving me nuts. I gotta have her again. I gotta know what it feels like to.. you know…”

“Fuck her,” completed Gutierrez, now smiling fully, relishing the harsh word, as if punishing Sanderson for angering him earlier.

“Yeah.” Sanderson tried his best to sound dejected, as a man that had lost all hopes of resisting whatever dark impulses were inside him. Not too far from an accurate diagnosis, actually, he told himself, pushing the thought away for future consideration. “I’d do anything. Anything.”

“I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Soon?” Sanderson managed to sound like a kid being promised an early Christmas present. “I’ll…” he lowered his voice, looked around to make sure no one was there, more for show than anything else. “I’ll even pay if you want.”

Gutierrez laughed, a deep laugh that sent shivers down Sanderson’s spine. “No need, no need. Look, you’re lucky. I’m putting together another party soon.” He laughed again at Sanderson’s expression of naked eagerness. “It’s probably time for the second part of your initiation. I’ll show you around a bit. Show you the ropes. And, of course, we’ll make sure she’s there to take care of you.”

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Sanderson decided to dropping to his knees would be pushing the envelope.

“But…” said Gutierrez, raising a hand.

“But?” Sanderson held his breath.

“But you have to do something for me.”

“Anything.” Sanderson had no idea what to expect, and it made him nervous.

“You have to convince the doctors to put Biff’s Cunt back under sedation.”

Sanderson tried to hide his shock. “But I don’t know how… I mean, they won’t—”

“I don’t care how you do it. You just get it done.” If Gutierrez’s tone of voice had not been so unambiguous, the look in his eyes would have settled it.

“But—”

“Next party, Allison will suck you off. Maybe even strip, show you the goods. But no fucking. When Jennie’s back down under, then I’ll get Allison to part her pretty legs for you.” Gutierrez grinned. “And believe me, if you think her mouth’s hot, wait till you slide into her fucking steaming hot cunt.”