The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Please help Jennie. Those three words haunted Richard Sanderson like nothing else ever had in his life. They haunted him on the days following the night organized by Gutierrez. He had two days off, the first of which he spent recovering from that night’s events, nursing a headache that had to be a consequence of whatever drug cocktail they had given him. He spent that day in the semi-darkness of his apartment, his roommate thankfully gone for the day.

The following day he indulged in remembering the events of that night, and the arousal he had experienced. Because there was no way he could deny that it had been an incredible experience, something that even in his wildest fantasies he could not even begin to imagine. And the sex… Allison blowing him expertly… Jennie throwing herself at him… Jennie and the waif Lillian, or Mouse as everyone else called her, pleasuring each other… Those images mixed with images of Felicity, spread before him, calling him to her.

For the hundredth time since that night, he pulled out the photograph from his wallet, a small photograph that had never left him since he took it, years earlier. It showed Felicity, his ex-girlfriend, posing on a bed, her delightful body sheathed in a tight black silk slip with a deep cleavage and exposing her legs, those legs he loved so much, legs wrapped in dark stockings. She was posing with her arms above her head, her hands holding her hair up, a come-hither look on her face. She had allowed him to take the picture, a one-time thing, before fucking him nearly blind.

It was, of course, exactly what Jennie was wearing when she was hanging from her hook in that room where Cassandra had led him before leaving him alone with the stunning brunette. Sanderson wondered how they had pulled it off.

He should be bothered by it, by the invasion of his privacy—hell, by the fact that Gutierrez seemed to be using the girls in the ward as his personal prostitution service. And Agnieska was helping him. And Cassandra. And who else? But he could not face that right now. All he could hear was a voice, pleading.

Please help Jennie. Those words haunted Sanderson. Any thought he might have had to attribute them to Jennie’s bottomless craving for sex that night, to hear them as a call to help satiate her lust, was completely belied by the look on her face when she had uttered those words. For one second, there, right before whatever concoction Doctor Kiyoko Agnieska has injected into her arm had taken effect and sent her off into a peaceful sleep, the eyes that had bored into Sanderson’s soul were clear and he had had a glimpse of the actual person he knew as Jennie.

Underneath the crippling mental disorder that smothered her, there was a spark of intelligence, of warmth, of longing. Her eyes that reminded him of Felicity, eyes that he could imagine smile along with the rest of her face, cry with pain. It had been clear that she was asking for help to escape whatever hell she lived in, and not help in getting off.

Please help Jennie. Those words haunted Sanderson as he returned to work. On his first day back, everything was so ordinary that it was almost disconcerting. He did not know what to expect, but he believed that things would feel different. It was not unlike that first day after he had lost his virginity—that blissful night years ago with Felicity, on a trip to the mountains with her family, her parents gone for the evening, them alone in the cabin by the fire—when he had marveled at the fact that the world looked no different from the way it had the day before, despite the momentous event that had just taken place. People should have been able to sense, he had thought, that he was no longer a virgin, that he was now a lover. Felicity had mocked him, gently, telling him that his walk had a swagger to it that she found endearing.

And so it was this time as well. No one treated him any differently. The daily life of Blue Ward remained the daily life of Blue Ward. Mouse sat reading quietly in a corner, trying to make herself invisible as usual. Allison was talking and laughing with another patient, thoughts of blow jobs seemingly the furthest from her mind. Even Rasmussen was at his post, keeping an eye on everybody, his impassible face revealing nothing.

Sanderson made his way to Jennie’s room to check up on her, as per his duties. She was unconscious on the bed. He was almost shy to approach the bed. He remembered how she had looked, tied up by hands hanging from a hook on the ceiling in that room that felt like a prison cell. She had looked fantastic in her black silk slip, and her actions and the way her body felt had driven him wild, to the point where he had not been able to resist her advances and they had fucked. No matter how much Sanderson wanted to blame whatever aphrodisiac Gutierrez or whomever had given him that night, he had to be honest and admit that he would have given in to her advances regardless. It was fate. He had never been able to resist Felicity. He was no more able to resist Jennie, which he came to see as her reincarnation at this point in his life.

He glanced at the monitors, saw everything was normal. He took her hand. It felt soft and incorporeal in his, a far cry from the strong and willful woman he had encountered two days earlier.

“I… I don’t know if you can hear me,” he said, “but if you do, then I just want to say that… well, that I heard you. I’ll help you, Jennie. I don’t know how, but I’ll figure out a way to get you out.”

He did not expect an answer, and he received none. In the quietness of the room, he wondered why he had not asked her, when had had the chance, whether she could hear or feel him when she was in her induced catatonic state. Then again, the last thing he had had on his mind then was talking. Now, calmer, and thinking with his real head, he kicked himself.

Looking around, seeing the camera up on the wall from the corner of his eye, he leaned over and brushed some of Jennie’s hair from her face, and gave her a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

Sanderson did a round checking in on some of the other patients that were under sedation, giving a few massages here and there to ensure that limbs did not go stiff, that muscles did not lose flexibility. In many of those cases the gestures were mostly futile, as those patients would not come out of their coma, since their nervous degeneration was too advanced. But the nurses felt, as a whole, that they had to do it, if only for their own mental sanity. Somehow, giving up any hope was antithetical to their mission at the Institute, and Sanderson understood.

It was while walking back toward the main recreation room that somehow his mind wondered the obvious question: why did Jennie have to be so completely sedated? All the other sedated girls were in the last stages of Degenerative Sexual Compulsion Syndrome, where the nerve damage was extensive enough and had reached the spine and not only affected motor functions but the pain was beyond any measurable scale and did not yield to morphine or any other painkiller on hand. Sedation was but the most humane way to deal with those patients.

But Jennie had not been in pain. She had been out of control and prey to severe hypersexuality, but there had been no pain that Sanderson could see. From what the nurses had described, taking any of the patients that were currently sedated and waking them up would send them crashing to the ground shrieking in agony and unable to do anything but rip their own skin off to try to scratch their raw nerves. Jennie had done none of that.

“My, my, my, what a serious face we have today, Young Thing.”

Sanderson looked up into the grinning face of Cassandra, her makeup heavy today especially around the eyes making her look a little like a raccoon.

“Cassandra,” he said, carefully.

“What, no pleasant quip, no barb, no gentle tease?” She pouted, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“Huh…”

She stepped closer to him, giving a quick look around to see who was watching them. Sanderson could not help but think back to the last time he had seen her, to the way her leather corset had cinched her waist and exposed her round breasts with their large nipples. He tried hard to not let his eyes drop down to her chest. Come on, man, get a grip, he admonished himself.

“How’s your girlfriend doing?” whispered Cassandra, her hand on his chest. “Did you go see her?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Young Thing. I know you got the hots for that girl. Why do you think I arranged to get her all primped up for you? Did you like it? Was she good? I bet she was. She’s a fucking animal when she gets into it. One of our most popular girls.”

Sanderson took a step back from her, his head spinning. Cassandra had arranged for Jennie? He thought Gutierrez had arranged the evening.

He said the first thing that came to his mind, in his confusion. “How did you know—the slip—”

“That black thing? We had a hell of a time finding something suitable, let me tell you. I would have preferred something more hardcore, really: maybe a corset like the one I wore, except much tighter, you know, the kind that keeps you from breathing real deep, the kind that a woman wears only when she wants to show her man that he’s the boss and she’s just a little fuck toy ready to do anything for him.”

Cassandra laughed at loud at the face Sanderson made.

“Slimy found the picture of the girl in your wallet. Thought if you had it there then it meant something, so hey, why not? Did you like that little personal touch?”

Gutierrez found the picture in his wallet?

“Who’s the chick anyway?” asked Cassandra, and she did not wait for an answer. “She’s pretty—bet she looks good with a hard cock down her throat. Did you talk to Slimy yet?”

“Not yet,” he responded, careful.

“You should.” She winked at him. “You’re part of our little gang now, Young Thing. You should keep that in mind in case you want to blab about what you saw. Or did.”

The thought had crossed Sanderson’s mind, of course, and he had debated all day whether to make a formal complaint. But he had no proof.

Of course, that was simply rationalization. In truth, he was not sure what was going on. Talking to someone might amount to simply getting Gutierrez in trouble, or it might be kicking a wasp’s nest, where the first victim of the ensuing wasps’ attack would be himself.

Cassandra stepped up to him, and ran her fingers with their long nails down his face. “Next time,” she said, her voice a purr, “you’re mine. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll think of me every time you look at that little slut—She may be Biff’s Cunt,” she said, sneering, “but you’re gonna be Cassandra’s Cock,” she said, winking, while reaching between their bodies and grabbing his cock and squeezing hard.

Then she kissed him hard on the mouth and skipped away before he could react.

Sanderson sat in the cafeteria, his lunch getting cold before him. He was pouring through stacks of printouts and books he had taken out of the small medical library available to the staff of the Institute. He had chosen a table in a corner far from the rest of the lunch crowd, which was rather thin since it was already early afternoon.

He had spent the previous three days trying to figure out why Jennie was sedated, and no one could give him a straight answer. He kept his questions vague, as if he was just satisfying his curiosity, which did not help. The nurses deferred to the doctors, and the doctor in charge of Jennie, Doctor Agnieska, Sanderson did not want to talk to. She seemed in bed with Gutierrez, and Sanderson did not trust Gutierrez.

That Gutierrez had accosted him on his first day back at work after the Night—as Sanderson had begun to call it—and had talked to him as if Sanderson were an accomplice in the events of the Night was bad enough.

That Gutierrez had told him that he was glad he was on board and that he sincerely hoped that Sanderson would find the good points in what was being done—such as letting the girls get their wild on and possibly assuage some of their repressed desires—and disregard some of the negative points such as ethical guidelines and state regulations was almost insulting.

That Gutierrez had finished with the remark that they were all in this together now, and given that all interactions were recorded—for the safety of the girls, of course, you understand—well it might prove detrimental to anyone on such a video were it somehow land in the authorities’ hands was a clear threat. Sanderson had understood and had carefully smiled at Gutierrez, nodding his head. Gutierrez had slapped him on the back, and asked him how he had found Jennie. Sanderson wanted to kick the little prick, but bit his lips and grinned knowingly and said something vague along the lines of “You know…”

Sanderson did not trust the man. Nor did he trust anyone associated with him. Which included Cassandra, Agnieska, even Rasmussen. He had gotten his hands on all available information, including Jennie’s official files, which included blood work and various analyses. He had even gone as far as extracting some of her blood himself and run it through an analysis by a laboratory technician he had befriended.

Her files included the original admission report, that she had been found in Buffalo, in a motel room, kept chained to her bed by the owner of the motel, selling her body. The report listed vaginal and anal tearing as well as a long list of ailments including malnutrition, as part of the initial physical assessment and emphasized the state of severe confusion in which Jennie was found. The report noted that the symptoms were suggestive of Degenerative Sexual Compulsion Syndrome, and blood work confirmed the diagnosis.

Sanderson was pouring all over this data, and despaired to find a solution to help Jennie. All he had to go on was that she did not exhibit any of the symptoms of advanced DSCS warranting induced catatonia.

“Mind if I join you?” The voice rang clear and true with the joyous smile and sing-song quality that he had come to love.

He looked up to find Beatrice smiling at him, holding a tray. He stared dumbfounded for a few seconds at the beautiful blonde and her radiant smile.

He nodded, and rushed to clear some space in front of him to let her put her food down. He picked up the papers and slid them into one of the folders. It did not matter what went were; he had no organization to start with.

Beatrice sat down, and Sanderson’s breath caught, as it often did when she was close. Despite taking care of beautiful women on Blue Ward, and despite the memories of Jennie dancing about in his mind fucking him within an inch of his life, he still reacted that strongly to Beatrice’s presence. Richard, you’re like a fuckin’ teenager.

Beatrice looked at him weirdly for a few seconds, while arranging the food on her plate.

“So, are you okay?” she asked.

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“You missed our lunch date this week.”

“What? Oh fuck! That was earlier this week!”

“Yup.”

“I’m so sorry! I’m such an idiot…”

She laughed. “It’s all right. No big deal.”

“Well, it’s a big deal to me.”

“Really?” The smile and the expression on her face was as girly as anything he had ever seen, and he knew she was teasing him.

He stammered. “Sorry…” He shook his head. “I’ve been out of it lately. Something’s been… bugging me.”

“Anything to do with this?” She nodded towards the files and the books he had pushed away to the side.

Caught by surprise, he did not know what to answer. He weighed how much to tell her. But he had no one to open up to, and part of him wanted to talk, to bounce his ideas off someone.

“All right, fine.” He lowered his voice. “But this stays between us, okay?”

She nodded. She looked around, buying into his cloak-and-dagger tone of voice.

“I came across something earlier this week, and I’ve been trying to figure out ever since. There’s this patient in Blue Ward—how much do you know about Blue Ward patients?”

“A fair amount. The Syndrome, right? What is it… neuro degenerative—”

“Degenerative Sexual Compulsion Syndrome. Right. Well, the advanced patients we keep sedated, for a bunch of reasons—”

“Hold on. Lemme try to remember.” She closed her eyes, and recited, as if reading from an internal manual. “The degeneration is too advanced and affects their motor and cognitive functions, but most importantly their pain receptors.”

He was surprised. “Exactly. Well, there’s one patient that doesn’t match—she’s kept sedated, but, I don’t know, her numbers are off. And I’m trying to figure it out.”

“Why not talk to her doctor?”

He did not want to say why he did not trust Doctor Agnieska.

“It’s complicated. You know how doctors are—they don’t like it when we, mere nurses, step on their toes.”

She nodded knowingly. “You’ve got hard data?”

“I don’t. That’s what I’m trying to gather. But this is way beyond what I know how to do.”

“Mind if I have a look?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”

She picked up one of the files, eating, frowning. He noted that even her frown was cute. He did not miss the irony of having one of crushes looking over the file of another crush of his.

She looked at the files, comparing a few sheets. “Well, the numbers are pretty similar,” she said. She was looking at the blood analyses of Jennie and those of a few other advanced stage patients.

“Well, that was the blood work in her file, but I had another test run,” he passed her another set of sheets, “and this is the result.”

She looked at them, then frowned further. “That’s pretty close, but—”

“But different.” He leaned over, pointed at a few peaks on the graph provided. “That suggests no nerve damage, at least in the sympathetic system and the spine, although there is a strong spike for the brain—the pattern is different than the other patients, even if you take into account the medication she’s given to keep her under. ” He patted a pharmacology manual next to him.

“So what do you think—?”

“I don’t know. It’s similar, but different. Like what she has is a variant of the Syndrome. But there’s no indication of nerve damage, and therefore there should be no need for sedation. But I don’t have the authority to take care of anything right now.”

“You should talk to her doctor. I mean, this is hard data.”

He made a face.

“Why don’t you want to?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Gutierrez.”

She made a face as well.

“What do you know about Gutierrez,” he asked, carefully.

She eyed him, and looked around again, this time more seriously.

“I don’t know much about him. But there are rumors. And they all have something in common: he’s bad news. Be careful around him.”

“You told me that already.” And she had, on one of their first lunches together in this same cafeteria, when he had told her that he was working fairly closely with Gutierrez.

She dropped her voice. “People have a tendency to… disappear.”

“Disappear, as in, disappear?”

“No, no, no, no! But, they get transferred, sometimes let go. There’s like this aura of protection around the guy. You look into him too much, and you’re out.”

“Why?”

She shrugged “Don’t know. Anyway, you think Gutierrez is involved in this?”

It was his turn to shrug, and he did not answer her. He did not know. But someone was involved. It did not look like an honest mistake. Someone had gone to some trouble to provide fake tests to put in the file.

What did I get myself into? Jennie’s words still rang in his head. Please help Jennie. And the look in her eyes, the pleading, the desperation, the fear.

Beatrice handed him back his files. “So what are you thinking?”

“I don’t—”

“Come on, you have a plan. I can tell.”

“Well,” Sanderson hesitated. He did have an idea, and it involved her. “This patient is sick. She does have some of the symptoms from the Syndrome, but not all of them. And this shows that she doesn’t need to be sedated. So I think she should go to a drug regimen closer to the other girls have. Or something. I mean, sedation is heavy, and it has side effects. Muscular, and so on.”

She nodded. “Makes sense.”

He hesitated again. “I guess I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I’ve heard—” He took a deep breath. “I’ve heard you’re close to Doctor Dante. Doctor Michael Dante.”

“You did, did you?” She gave him a look, but she smiled.

What he had heard, of course, was that Beatrice was happy to spread her legs for the doctor.

“I did. And, well, I was hoping you could talk to him and tell him to take a look at these files. Without telling him where they came from.”

Beatrice looked at him a long time, her face serious but for her small smile that Sanderson could not interpret.

“And what do I get out of it?”

“Huh… I don’t know. What do you want?”

She leaned back in her chair, and her smile widened. For a second, she reminded him of Cassandra, and he shivered. “You’ll owe me a favor,” she said.

“I guess I will.”

“And I will come and collect.”

“I expect no less.”

She nodded, the smile never leaving her face.

“Okay then. Just get me a copy of these, and I’ll get Mike on board. And then we’ll wake your sleeping beauty.”

For a second, Sanderson feared that she had read his mind, and knew exactly why he wanted Jennie awake. Of course, he wanted to help her, but there were more selfish reasons as well. It was a second chance. It was a second chance at love with Felicity. Well, someone like Felicity.

The rest of their lunch was pleasant, and Sanderson started to feel human again, talking about movies and television and the little meaningless things that pepper one’s daily life. Beatrice was easy to talk to.

At the end of lunch, as they were packing up their things, he felt eyes on him and turned his head to find Doctor Michael Dante staring at him from one end of the cafeteria, looking angry. Sanderson swallowed, and nodded in the doctor’s direction. The doctor stared at him for a few extra seconds, then turned away.

Doctor Michael Dante looked around anxiously as he walked down the deserted hallway. He had a bit more than forty-five minutes to go before the beginning of his shift, and the text message he had received from Beatrice earlier today said to meet him two minutes ago in a supply room that was rarely used. It was a supply room that they had put to good use for the past year.

When he saw Beatrice and that new nurse, Sanderson, lunching together the previous day, Dante had been overwhelmed with jealousy. That Sanderson was young and unattached made him dangerous. Dante worried, not for the first time, that Beatrice would find in that young man what she could not find in him: a man able to spend time with her in the open, a avowed and recognized lover.

Of course, she denied it, every time he lamented the fact that he himself could not be that man. He could not endanger his marriage. He had no intention of endangering his marriage. And Beatrice had always laughed at him for having such worries, telling him he was being silly, that she did not mind the secrecy, that in fact the whole covert aspect of their affair added a thrill to their trysts, that she was not looking for anything long-term anyway. Dante was not convinced.

But Beatrice had asked to see him, in private. Usually, when they met, it was via common accord, after a glance exchanged in a corridor, or after a quick lunch. Not this time. This time was different. She wants to break it off with me, he thought, and the ugly thought made him even more anxious. His hands clenched.

She was going to break off their affair in order to be with that new nurse. Who did he think he was, that little squirt, with his little smile and his easy collegiality with the patients of the ward? An easy two-penny charm, that those little sluts in the ward would of course fall for because, let’s be honest, they fell for anyone with a dick between their legs.

He felt his anger simmer. He was a doctor, dammit, and a damned good one at that. He had a family that loved him and needed him. Who does that little bitch think she is to tell him what to do, to use his lust for her to snag him into her trap? She was obviously using that bastard of a new nurse to get him, Dante, to commit to her once and for all. He could almost hear her. Leave your wife and be with me, or I’m going to give that Sanderson guy all the sugar that I used to give you. I’ll do stuff for him that I never did for you. He could

Dante could not verbalize what that tantalizing stuff might be, but it made him hard, and it made his head spin. Who does she think she is?

At this point utterly uncaring whether anyone saw him anymore, he headed down the hall with a heavy step, his whole body stiff. He stopped in front of the supply room door. He wanted to kick it open, and his foot had already left the ground when a cool and rational voice—that same cool and rational voice that guided him through some of his most intricate medical procedures—spoke up and told him that he was acting like an imbecile, a horny teenage imbecile.

He put his foot down, breathed until his shaking stopped, then he knocked in the two-three-one pattern that let Beatrice know that it was him about to unlock and open the door. Both he and Beatrice had the key, as did the janitorial staff. But the supply room was used only by the evening shift janitors, or in case of a heavy-duty chemical spill.

The room was dark inside but for a small lamp in one corner, half hidden by shelves of supplies and boxes with content he had never investigated. He walked towards the lamp, which illuminated a recessed cleared out area around a work bench.

Dante stopped, looking around. “Bea?” he stage whispered. “Honey?” He could hear the tension in his voice, and he cringed at the undertone of worry he heard. He tried to summon up the anger that he had felt a few minutes earlier.

“Hey Mike,” came the response from behind him.

He jumped, turning around to see Beatrice looking at him, her hands behind her back. Covering most of her blonde hair she wore an old-fashioned nurse’s cap, the kind that one only saw in movies anymore. She had a long white lab coat on from the bottom of which peeked her lower legs clad in white nylons and a pair of white high heels. Beatrice, like any nurse in her right mind, did not wear heels to work. Which Dante, right then, thought was a fucking shame, because she looked good in them. Very good.

He resisted his impulse to go to her and embrace her. It felt too needy. He was still hurting from what she did to him, and was getting angry all over again about what she was about to do. Does she wear heel for that little bastard?

“I’m glad you could come,” she said, when he did not speak. “I know we don’t have much time, so I’ll come right out with it. I’m gonna to ask you for something.”

“Ask me for something?” He did not expect her to say that.

Beatrice nodded. “But I’ll make it worth your while…” she said, her voice suddenly throaty.

He wanted to say something in response—how dare she ask him for a favor when she’s about to dump him like a wet rag—but whatever response he might have planned remained stuck in his throat.

She untied the belt holding her lab coat closed, and pulled it off. In one smooth motion, she tossed it toward a nearby stool, and then she posed.

Dante looked on with wide eyes, letting his gaze roam all over her body once more, taking in all the details. She wore what he could only described as a naughty nurse fantasy outfit, of the kind one finds only in porno movies or in specialized Halloween shops. The white uniform was too short—barely reaching the top of Beatrice’s thigh, exposing her long legs sheathed in a pair of thigh-high stockings. The lace band on her upper thighs were fully visible. The uniform was skin tight, and Beatrice had left it unbuttoned down almost to her belly button, revealing a glaring absence of bra and a large expanse of breast.

Dante swallowed. She was a fantasy come to life.

Beatrice took a step toward him, putting one foot directly in front of the other, the movement baring her thigh all the way to her hip due to a concealed cut in her uniform. She was sexy that even though Dante had seen her naked, he craved to see her strip off the flimsy garment and expose herself.

A favor, she had said. I want you to leave your wife, he feared she would say. Would he be able to say no?

Beatrice ran a hand down her chest, following the opening of her uniform, down between her breasts, sneaking to caress her exposed cleavage. She looked down, keeping her eyes on her hand. A finger sneaked underneath the material of the uniform and seemed to play with a nipple, a nipple that Dante imagine hard and begging for attention.

She looked up at him from beneath her half-closed eyelids, looking coy. “You’ve told me about your fantasy of having a slutty little sexpot nurse at your beck and call, eager to do anything to satisfy her big strong doctor.”

Dante grinned, and once more gave her a look over, lingering on her breasts, and on her thighs.

“What does the big strong doctor want?” she asked with a soft voice.

Dante closed his eyes, savoring the moment. This was indeed a long-held fantasy of his. One which Beatrice instantiated perfectly. This meeting was taking a turn he had not expected.

“I don’t know, nurse,” he said, trying to keep his voice serious and stern. “There are so many possibilities. What are you offering?”

Beatrice shrugged, still looking at him from below, her hand now fully grasping her breast under the uniform, hidden from sight, although her movements provided tantalizing glimpses of her flesh underneath. “I’m just a dumb little nurse, doctor. Just a dumb horny little nurse.”

She pushed aside her uniform, and her breast, her perfectly round breast popped out, covered by her hand. “And dumb horny little nurses, dumb horny little nurses only every think of fat cocks pumping juicy cum all over them.”

Dante swallowed again. Another of his fantasies: seeing Beatrice with his cum all over her face.

“I think that can be arranged,” he said. He took a step toward her. That close, he could smell her. Her hand was kneading her breast. He wanted little else than rip Beatrice’s uniform from her body and take her, just like that.

“So what do you want your horny little bimbo nurse to do, doctor? Do you want your hot slutty nurse to suck your big strong doctor’s cock?” she asked, her voice tantalizing. Almost unconsciously—though Dante knew full well that it was a conscious premeditated act—Beatrice ran her tongue over her lips. The woman, so carefree and self-confident and secure in her own sexuality, something that has driven him crazy with jealousy in the past, was playing submissive, and he liked it, a lot.

“You like sucking cock?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. His cock was getting hard—how could it not?—and he was forgetting his earlier worry and anger. All he could think of was the beautiful creature in front of him giving herself to him.

She nodded her head, taking another step towards him, while unbuttoning the rest of her uniform. “Oh yes. That’s all we’re really good for, you know, us slutty dirty nurses—looking pretty, showing some leg, shaking our ass, and sucking off big strong doctors whenever they want. Not to mention other stuff too...”

Dante, getting into the game, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. “Mmm… Like what?”

Beatrice managed to look coy, while pulling her uniform completely open, fully exposing her round breasts and her taut stomach. She had on a pair of tight boy shorts, white like her uniform and her stockings and her shoes. “Well, really, anything you want. You’re a doctor—you get to tell us dumb little horny nurses what to do, and we get to do it—we are here to please…” Again, she let the sentence in suspense.

She was maybe half a head shorter than he was in her heels, and she looked up to him from beneath her long lashes, and her mouth was half-open as if expecting a kiss, although she did not take the initiative. Most of the times she did—she could be quite aggressive when aroused—but today, she was quiet and subservient.

“Would you like me to suck your cock, Doctor Dante?” she asked in a low voice before running her tongue over her lips once more.

Dante looked at her, at her heaving breasts, at her gently swaying hips, at her long legs that he loved to feel wrapped around him, and grinned. He loved to feel her mouth on his cock, taking him deep and sucking with the enthusiasm she put into everything she did. And he would feel her mouth on his cock before this session was through—but he had something else in mind now.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Of course, Doctor Dante.” And she did turn around, slightly arching her back to thrust up her ass, an ass that was half exposed by her shorts. Somehow, he found the visual even more arousing than if her cheeks were fully exposed. Beatrice knew him well.

“Bend over,” he told her, pulling down his pants and stroking his cock as it emerged from underneath his shirt, ready for action.

She did, leaning on the workbench, and thrusting her ass back. He looked at her for a long time, and ran a hand up the back of her thigh and over her ass, eliciting a moan for the young woman. He contemplated what to do.

“I think I’ve been a bad nurse, Doctor Dante.” She looked at him over her shoulder, batting her eyelashes.

He pulled her shorts down to her knees, appreciating the curve of her hips and of her thighs as he did so, and left them there, forcing Beatrice to keep her legs together.

“Oh yeah? How so?” He lifted a hand to her ass, and ran it between her cheeks, the tip of his fingers lightly caressing the soft skin of her anus.

“I’ve been fantasizing about being taken by big strong doctors,” she said, pressing her ass back against his hand. “Over and over again, lots of them, two and three at a time.”

“Well, well,” he said. “So what are we gonna do about that?” His fingers dipped down to her pussy, finding it hot and wet and sensitive, as she shivered at the contact and pressed back again to force his fingers to enter her.

“Whatever big strong doctors believe is suitable,” she said, her voice caressing, and she looked at him straight in the eyes over her shoulder and that look made him feel taller and stronger. She wanted him to possess her, to make her his. It was just a fantasy, of course—his fantasy—but it felt good. It felt right.

He caressed one of her cheeks, and then without warning slapped it, the palm of his hand hitting squarely and giving out a resounding dry slap. Beatrice yelped, but did not move away. He spanked her again, slap, slap, slap, three hard blows that left a red handprint on her white flesh. Beatrice wiggled, but the boy shorts around her knees kept her from moving away.

After running his fingers through her pussy again, making her moan and struggle to spread her legs, Dante spanked her once more, one hand after the other, slap, slap, over and over again, until her moans turned to groans and then to whimpers, the skin of her ass reddening under the assault.

Slap, slap.

He was not faking it—he felt the need to punish her, not simply in the fantasy they were enacting, but also to pay her back for the worry she had put him through, for the jealousy she stirred. He was punishing her for teasing him and making him feel small.

Slap, slap.

He spanked her until her whimpers turned to small yelps of pain, and she tried to actually struggle away. Whether she was acting or not, Dante did not know, and did not care. He was lost in his own world.

Slap, slap.

“Michael!…” she said, her voice breaking, small and vulnerable, as she tried to avoid his slaps.

While one hand pressed on her back and pushed her down onto the workbench, he used the other to guide his rock-hard cock between her thighs and, finding the slick crack of her pussy, drove in hard, forcing his way into the hot warm opening made even tighter by her inability to spread her legs.

Beatrice groaned and grasped the sides of the workbench as Dante’s cock slid inside her. Dante himself had to suppress a groan as the feeling engulfed him. He loved the way her pussy squeezed him, the way she swayed back and forth in response to his thrusts, the way her ass looked slapping against his lower abdomen.

He fucked her like that, his hands on her hips pulling her against him, as she moaned and groaned and encouraged him with cries of “Fuck my little slutty nurse’s cunt.”

After five minutes, as he felt his balls engorge, he pulled out. He felt bad about the spanking, about losing control, if only for a few seconds, and he wanted to make her feel better. Not that she seemed to be complaining, but he knew what she liked, and he wanted to make her happy. He could fuck any good-looking girl he wanted—being a doctor and being tall and handsome did offer some advantages in that respect—but how many good-looking girls had Beatrice appetite and gusto for mind-blowing sex?

Beatrice slid her boy shorts completely off her long legs, balancing on one stiletto heel after the other as Dante lied back on the ground over a large blanket that had just pulled down from a high shelf, a remnant of a previous encounter in this very same room.

Beatrice then lowered herself onto his hard shaft, but not in the slow careful process that girls usually employed. Rather, she lined his cock up against her pussy lips, and then slammed herself down, embedding his cock deep inside her all at once, a move that seemed to take her breath away. A smile breaking on her face, her eyes closed, her hands on Dante’s shoulders, she pumped her ass up and down on his cock, her hips shifting with every move, and all that Dante had to do was sit back and let her ride him.

“That… thing… I want to ask you….” she said panting, looking at him, her hair half coming out of the nurse’s cap she wore.

Dante’s eyes shifted up from her breasts, and he stared at her for a few seconds before nodding, unable to focus effectively. “What… Fuck! What about it?” He grabbed her bouncing breasts with his hands and played with them, relishing their heft and their softness.

“I have… oh!… a file… that I need… oh!… your opinion on… Oh! Yes! Fuck! Just like that!”

“A file…?

“A file. Mmm…. a patient… Blue Ward… weird case…”

“What… what are you—fuck that’s nice! What are you doing… with a Blue Ward patient file…?”

Beatrice smiled at him, and squeezed her pussy around his battering cock , and Dante nearly blew his load right then and there. “Not… important. What’s… important is that you should… have a look… Fuck! Oh!… And… tell me what you think.” She slowed down, catching her breath, and sliding up and down on his cock at a pace that he considered merely teasing.

“I just need your opinion as a doctor,” she said, serious this time.

Dante groaned. He pushed his hips up, and Beatrice matched his movement, timing it so that she sank on him slowly, no matter what he tried to do. It was infuriating, hot, and nearly drove him out of his mind.

“Jesus, Bea!” He growled, and went to push her down on his cock but she preempted him and slammed back down, all the way down, squeezing her pussy as she did so and he fell back and closed his eyes and relished the waves of pleasuring rippling through him.

“I have the file right here,” she said, grinding her ass on his lap, his cock embedded deeply inside her.

“What, now!?” He opened his eyes, and saw both the playful grin Beatrice’s face and the file folder she was holding with one hand, waving it in the air.

“Why not?” she said, unperturbed, as if she was not in the midst of fucking him, as if she was not riding his cock and edging him like he had never been edged before.

“How about this?” she said, leaning forward, and licking his lips with a cat-like tongue. “You look at the file now, and I suck off my own juices off your cock. Your wife doesn’t do that, does she? Probably thinks it’s nasty. And then I’ll let you spew your load all over my face. I’ll let you paint my face with your sticky cum. Another thing your wife won’t do, right? It’s demeaning… it’s something big strong doctors do to little cum-guzzling nurses that need to be put in their place…”

Dante groaned. While his wife was, indeed, not big on oral sex, Beatrice seemed to enjoy sucking him off, but she almost always had him finish up deep inside her—she always said that she loved feeling him spurt into her, that it made her come.

“Come on, Michael, just a look,” she said as she lay the file on his chest and pulled herself up. His cock slipped out, and the cool air made him shiver. Before he could protest, Beatrice was sliding down his body, rubbing her wet pussy against his leg and finally letting it rest on his foot, as her hand grasped his sensitive cock and stroked it slowly.

Looking down and meeting her eyes, shiny with pleasure—she’s enjoying this, he thought, she’s playing me, as usual—and seeing her stroke his cock and gently blow on it, her ruby red lips puckering in expectation, he sighed and growled in the same breath. “Fine! FINE! Fuck you’re a manipulative bitch Bea!”

“Not a bitch, Doctor Dante. I’m just a nasty little cocksucking nurse…”

He gasped as he felt her mouth slowly slide over his glans, and then she took him into her mouth, slowly and deeply.

Hardly able to concentrate, Dante thumbed through the papers in the folder. He was shaking so hard that the only reason those papers did not fall down all over place was that they were stapled together.

Dante considered himself a good doctor. Granted, he was having an affair with a nurse, something that might be considered ethically debatable, and he had sometimes—rarely, exceedingly rarely—not quite reacted as quickly as maybe he should have when a Blue Ward patient came on to him with an inappropriate touch or a fleeting kiss, but through it all, he considered the care he gave to be the best that he could in fact give, and his best was pretty good.

Which is why, despite Beatrice’s expert blow job, despite Beatrice’s lips sliding up and down his cock, despite Beatrice’s tongue twirling over his sensitive skin, Dante spotted almost instantly what Sanderson had himself noticed, that the patient in the file—patient A056639, she was not one of his—was not suffering from Degenerative Sexual Compulsion Syndrome, despite being run through the drug sedation regimen of advanced DSCS therapy.

He looked at the blood work, at the hormonal assessment, at the various indicators, and then looked at the attending physician. Doctor Kiyoko Agnieska. Dante frowned—Doctor Agnieska was usually thorough and competent, and he would have expected her to catch such a simple misdiagnosis.

Beatrice must have sensed something, must have somehow sensed that Dante had reached a conclusion, and moreover the right conclusion, because her sucking took on a different flavor. From slow and deep, she shifted to a faster pace with a more insistent stroke, and her lips slurped on the way up in a way that became more and more distracting to the poor doctor.

When he put the folder down and looked at her, she let his cock, his hard, throbbing, needy cock, slip out of her mouth, and looked back at him. She smiled, and Dante knew he had, indeed, been played. She knew that he would recognize the misdiagnosis, and that his professionalism would not allow it to stand.

“Fine,” he said, sighing again, this time more theatrically. “You win. I’ll deal with it.”

“You are the best,” Beatrice said, before licking the underside of his cock with a gentle tongue. “But don’t say where the file came from, okay? You just came across it by mistake. I’m not involved.”

“Why?”

But Beatrice had dived back onto his cock, and she now gave him a blow job that went beyond any she had ever given him. Her mouth flew over his shaft, the sound of his cock head hitting the back of her throat resounding in the small supply room, drool began to drip down the sides of his cock from where it escaped the corners of the blonde nurse’s mouth.

He was close, he was so close—his hips had started to jerk on their own, and his hands were wandering down near Beatrice’s head as if to grab it and force her to take him deeper—when there was a knock on the door of the supply room. Dante stiffened, but Beatrice did not stop; her hand dropped between his legs and started massaging his balls.

“Bea—there’s someone!” he stage whispered.

Beatrice kept on sucking, her head bobbing up and down, as if she had not heard him. But then she looked at him, and the glint of amusement and excitement in her eyes told him that she was not at all surprised by the events.

“Bea! What did you do?”

There was another knock on the door.

Beatrice grinned—not easy with a cock in her mouth—and let the head of his cock plop out. She answered in the same whispered tone. “I told a maintenance guy you wanted to see him in the supply room. You were looking for something. You should tell him you’ll be right there, so I can finish you off.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she took him in her mouth again, and took him hard and deep, almost down her throat, a first.

“Jesus, Bea! You’re crazy!” he whispered, torn between the sensations she was sending down his cock and the knowledge that there was someone at the door about to get inside and catch them in flagrante delicto which might cost them both their jobs. “That guy is about to come in! Stop!”

Dante crunched up, and reached for Beatrice, who in one mesmerizing sequence of moves took him deep, did something with her tongue and her lips, and slipped a finger slick with her drool between his cheeks and pressed it into his ass, and all he could do was let out a loud groan and grasp Beatrice’s head and push it down on his cock and hold it there until he felt his balls burn.

“Fuck!” he growled low. “Hold on! I’m coming!” he shouted to the man on the other side of the door,

And come he did, as Beatrice sucked hard on the cock pressed deep into her mouth and sawed her finger in and out of Dante’s ass. His first jet of cum exploded in her mouth, and she quickly pulled out and started jacking him off as the subsequents jets landed on her face, long ropes of white sticky cum criss-crossing her beautiful features. She had cum on her nose and her cheeks and some even landed up on her forehead and in her hair.

Dante stared at her as he relieved himself, drinking in the sight like a parched throat. She kept jacking him off, putting the head of his cock back in her mouth to suck off the last remnants of his spent. Cum was dripping down her cheeks. She looked incredible.

As Dante shivered in post-orgasmic release, they heard a key in the supply room door. Dante pushed Beatrice off of him, and scrambled to grab his pants and slip them back on, gesturing for Beatrice to go and hide. The blonde, licking her lips and gathering the cum that had coated her face with a finger, winked at him and pointed at the file folder on the floor, and he grabbed it after pulling his pants back on.

He rushed to the door, as Beatrice, still giggling softly, gathered up her coat and disappeared in a recessed corner of the supply room.

Dante made it to the door just as it opened. The maintenance man, tall and gangly, was startled. “Whatcha doin’ here?” He stepped inside the supply room, looking around, as if not trusting Dante not to have stolen something.

Dante mumbled something until he remembered he was a doctor, and therefore, as far as he was concerned, could do pretty much anything he wanted in this hospital. He straightened up, and looked at the maintenance man with a calm superior glance. “I was looking for you. I needed something to fix an IV support for one of my patients, and I couldn’t find you anywhere. I finally came here and found the door open. You should really be more carefully with Institute equipment.”

The maintenance man looked at Dante with suspicion. He protested that he never left the room unlocked, never had, never would, and Dante looked at him without saying a word, scowling, his arms crossed.

As the man’s protests grew more vehement, Dante tried not to let any expression cross his face when he saw Beatrice, holding her stiletto heels in her hand, silently sneak her way out of the supply room behind the maintenance man. She blew Dante a kiss as she left.

Dante breathed a sigh of relief inside, never letting go of the scowling expression he directed at the maintenance man.