The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Lauman was perturbed. She tapped one bootheel against the floor as she re-read the report on her desk. It bothered her.

It bothered her that it bothered her. The report was very positive. It gave the Millwater Institute good grades for patient care and professional calibre of the staff, and recommended renewing certification for another two years.

Dr. Lauman was gratified by the report as a whole. It proved that all her hard work had payed off. When she had first taken over as director of the Institute, the examiners had returned a list of deficiencies four pages long. Now, seven years and three reviews later, there was only a handful, and those she was working on. She had achieved this improvement despite the chronic underfunding that plagued so many psychiatric facilities. Millwater still wasn’t the top mental ward in the country, or even the state, but Dr. Lauman felt she had done her best to turn this aging, neglected hospital around.

But she was still perturbed. One of the examiners had seen fit to attach a footnote to the report. Dr. Lauman did not like footnotes. Footnotes were used to express personal reservations of the examiners. Too often, they subtly undermined the findings of the main report. They were a way of suggesting, “That’s all very well, but....” All the more perturbing was that this footnote concerned just one person: Patient 614.

Dr. Lauman’s frown marred her attractive face, still youthful and bright-eyed at 42. She read the offending passage again.

“Whether through conscious psychological manipulation or through some as yet unexplained mechanism, Patient 614 appears to elicit an unusual level of concern and attention from caregivers and visitors to the hospital. This reviewer noticed that all personnel that had regular contact with Patient 614 responded to the patient in a manner that often went beyond professional interest. Some appeared to be quite emotionally involved, to the detriment of high-quality medicine. ”

“This is a matter of some concern, because it is impossible, in the present state of the patient, to discern his intentions, or even whether he is aware of his effect on those around him. Nevertheless I am convinced that, should he choose to do so, Patient 614 could eventually persuade the hospital to permit his early release. Since the patient is clearly incapable of caring for himself, this would be hazardous both to the patient and the larger community.”

Dr. Lauman drummed her fingers on the top of her oak desk. Like the Institute as a whole, it was sprawling, old, and very clean. Three weeks had passed since the examiner’s report had come in, and that footnote still bothered her. She had examined the treatment records for Patient 614 and found nothing remarkable. She picked up the background file and read it again.

Patient 614 was Professor I. William Konstanov, until recently a senior scientist at the Mulgrave Institute for Psychiatric Research, with a cross-appointment at the State School of Medicine. A world leader in his field, he had been the director of an ambitious, ten-year project to map the physical location of consciousness within the human brain. It was an undertaking that many people believed was simply impossible. There had been rumors lately, however, that the Institute was on the brink of a major breakthrough.

Dr. Konstanov had a breakdown instead. He had been in Millwater for more than two months now, with little improvement in his condition. Curiously, there were no unusual stresses in his personal or professional life that would account for his nervous collapse. His attending psychiatrist, Dr. Strong, had come up with a bizarre theory.

“Maybe Konstanov stumbled on something,” he suggested over coffee one day, “something big, really big, but completely different from what he expected. Maybe it was just too much for his mind to handle.”

“Such as?” Dr. Lauman asked.

He shrugged. “Well, his group was working on the nature of consciousness. Maybe they discovered consciousness isn’t real. Maybe they disproved the theory of free will. Maybe he found a way to control people’s thoughts. The shock was too much for him and he snapped.”

Dr. Lauman was a practical person. She had little patience for philosophy. “Phil,” she said, “That’s an interesting diagnosis, but how does that account for the examiner’s report?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe he’s still doing it,” he said. “Maybe he can’t stop. Maybe it’s automatic, unconscious, like turning in your sleep. He wants to elicit a particular response from those around him, so people around him change to produce that response.”

“Then why would the external examiner notice this and not us?” the director persisted. “You told me you haven’t noticed any strange behavior around Patient 614.”

“Ah, but we wouldn’t, would we,” Dr. Strong said mysteriously, sipping his coffee. “If he were really influencing everybody around him, he would be influencing us too—so that we would still think everything was perfectly normal.”

Dr. Lauman disliked speculation too. “Have you any evidence at all to support this wild conjecture?” she demanded, amused.

He flicked doughnut crumbs off his beard. “Well, no, I’m afraid not. Evidence just gets in the way of really good theories. But the man does write interesting limericks. Dozens of them every day, mostly erotic. Some of them are quite intriguing....”

The conversation came back to her as Dr. Lauman examined the next page in the file. The little poem was hand-written:

Ivan William, whom people called Bill

Fucked Joanna, Joleena and Jill

The girls thought it OK

Having three girls to lay

Because they’d do whatever I. Will

Dr. Lauman got to her feet decisively. She would have to look into this herself. Pausing for a moment to smooth down her white nurse’s uniform, she picked up her purse and headed out the door.

Tabitha, her young and marginally competent assistant, was working in the outer office, updating patient files with great concentration. She was also dressed in a nurse’s uniform, though hers was blue. The thin nylon strained over her generous bosom. One of Dr. Lauman’s more recent innovations was to insist that all female staff, even non-medical personnel, wear uniforms to work. It instilled a sense of camaraderie and projected a professional image. Tabitha had chosen to hem her uniforms up quite high. Sitting at her desk she displayed an eye-catching expanse of white nylons between the bottom of the dress and the tops of her tight white boots.

Dr. Lauman said, “Tabby, I’ll be out for the next hour or so. Have me paged in the east wing if anything comes up.”

Tabitha looked up and bestowed her dazzling smile. “Of course, Doctor,” she said cheerfully. Her eyes were big and blue. Dr. Lauman’s bootheels clicked on the hardwood floor as she made her purposeful way to the east wing.

The east wing housed Patient 614.

She stopped at the security desk to sign in. The young duty nurse was sitting at her desk with her legs crossed, shining one white stretch boot with a cloth. She was humming to herself.

Dr. Lauman asked the nurse to pull up the logbook so she could see who had been visiting lately. There were quite a few names listed for Patient 614. Dr. Lauman recognized many of them; they were staff at the hospital. That was good. It was important in a long-term facility like this that the patients be made to feel like they mattered.

She signed in herself and waited while the duty nurse de-activated the electronic lock on the heavy door to the ward. Glancing back as the door swung shut behind her, Dr. Lauman noticed that the nurse had already returned to polishing her gleaming white boots.

The ward itself was a series of long hallways painted in bright, sunny colors. One of Dr. Lauman’s first actions when she arrived here had been to have the entire place repainted, doing away completely with institutional white. There was also art on the walls, another step in the Director’s crusade to make the hospital a more livable place for the patients. The pieces were mostly inoffensive landscapes.

One piece caught Dr. Lauman’s eye as she went by. It was a surreal depiction of a man and a woman, nude, embracing in what could only be an intimate act of love. That must be new, she decided, studying the painting. She rather liked it. There were several others farther down the hall, all cheerful, artistic and equally explicit. The building supervisor was in charge of art acquisition. The attractive director made a mental note to compliment the woman on her expanding taste.

At this time of day the ward was an active place, with nurses and assistants passing to and fro, all looking sharp in their uniforms and slick white boots. The uniforms were color-coded: nurses in white, assistants and support staff in sky blue, janitorial staff in sunset red. They smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Dr. Lauman as they went by.

She noticed a pretty young nurse pushing an old man in a wheelchair. The nurse looked like she was about to pop out of her uniform both on the top and the bottom. She had a contented smile on her face as she shuffled along. Dr. Lauman wondered momentarily if she needed to tighten up the uniform rules a little. If the nurse wanted to wear her uniforms thigh-length, she should at least make sure they covered her stocking tops.

Dr. Lauman liked the east wing. There was something upbeat and optimistic about the mood of the place, a sort of positive energy that radiated from all these dedicated people working together. Morale was terrific. The staff was making a real effort to provide a helpful, supportive environment for the patients. As she made her way down the hallway, Dr. Lauman felt like snapping her fingers to the rhythm of her bootheels against the floor. The east and west wings were pretty much identical in layout and function, but there seemed to be much more life on this side.

Oddly, it had been the west wing that had given her so much trouble lately. A few weeks earlier, when she first brought down the new uniform rules, the east wing staff had embraced the idea whole-heartedly. Many of the west wing staff had been much more reluctant, some of them openly rebellious. Dr. Lauman remembered the painful episode in her office, when one of her more senior therapists stormed in and angrily refused to have any part of it. She told the director in no uncertain terms that go-go boots looked ridiculous on a woman her age, she was a health-care professional not a cheerleader, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the pantsuits the staff had worn for years and what the hell had gotten into her anyway. The exchange had become heated, with Dr. Lauman threatening to fire her and the therapist promising an ugly wrongful dismissal suit.

Dr. Lauman came up with an idea. She began rotating staff appointments, moving the doctors and attendants around from day to day between the east and west wings. She had hoped that some of the enthusiasm and co-operative spirit of the east wing would rub off on the difficult staff in the west wing.

It worked better than she had hoped. After less than a week the strident opposition melted away and the west wing staff began to wear their new uniforms proudly. A few days later the senior therapist came back into Dr. Lauman’s office, looking sharp in her snug white dress and tall boots, and apologized sheepishly for raising such a fuss. She confessed that her opposition to the uniforms had been mostly fuelled by her embarrassment at carrying a little extra weight, but the new diet she was on should fix that soon enough. Dr. Lauman remembered seeing that woman’s signature on the logbook. She had made several off-work visits to Patient 614.

Dr. Lauman stepped into a short side corridor where the medical offices were. A young woman in the orange-red uniform of the cleaning staff was standing along one wall, leaning on her dustmop. The zipper down the front of her uniform was undone quite a long way, and one hand lingered just inside. She had a happy, dreamy look on her cute face.

Dr. Lauman cleared her throat deliberately. The woman started, apparently noticing her for the first time, and immediately returned to work, looking guilty. The director wagged a finger at her as she went by. She noticed that the cleaner was wearing full make-up and big red earrings that matched her uniform. She had neglected to pull up her zipper.

Dr. Lauman came to a door marked “Dr. P. Strong”, and stepped inside. The outer office was empty. Mandy, Dr. Strong’s ditzy new secretary, was not at her usual place in front of the computer, typing earnestly with two fingers. Mandy had been hired at about the same time as Dr. Lauman’s secretary Tabitha, in response to a couple of early retirements. Both girls were not the most qualified applicants, unless good looks and stunning sex appeal counted, but the hiring committee had felt it appropriate to give the young things a chance. Dr. Lauman could hardly fault the committee for that; after all, she had been on the committee too.

The frosted-glass door to Dr. Strong’s office was closed. “Hello,” the director said, raising her voice a little. “Is anyone here?” There were sounds of commotion from the inner office. A moment later the door opened and Mandy stepped out, smoothing down her sleek blue uniform. She looked flushed.

“Oh! Director. Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. Phil was, uh, just helping me find something.” Mandy wore her thick tresses of blonde hair in a deliberately wild pile that kept falling across her big, round eyes. Her short blue uniform looked to be about a size too small, especially on top. It was coincidence of course, but it seemed that lately all the new women hired on had big tits.

“Is he busy?” Dr. Lauman asked.

“Oh, no. Please, uh, like go right in.”

Dr. Lauman knocked once and stepped into the inner office. For some reason the words “big tits” resonated in her head. “Suppose for a moment that I believed your preposterous theory about Patient 614,” she said without preamble. “I don’t, but suppose I did. How could we possibly tell if he was influencing us, if everybody here was under his influence?”

Dr. Strong was seated behind his big desk, quickly tucking in his shirt. His hair was askew. He considered her question while he straightened his tie. Finally he said, “Possibly through conformity. That would be the key. If Patient 614 were truly exerting an influence, people around him would all come to share some beliefs or behaviors or even fashions that he happened to like.”

Dr. Lauman perched on the corner of his desk with one booted leg extended. “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Interview the staff and see if everybody votes the same way? Or find out if they all wear pink underwear?” She knew that wasn’t true, at least, since the new microfiber thong she was wearing was bright yellow.

Dr. Strong took a moment to inspect Dr. Lauman’s nylons. It flattered her to realize that at her age she could still catch a man’s eye. She had been contemplating shortening her uniforms again, but she wanted to spend a little more time on the Stairmaster first.

“I don’t know how to answer that, exactly,” Dr. Strong admitted, momentarily interrupting his inspection of her legs. “Quite frankly, I know of only one person with the expertise in clinical psychology and the neurological basis of behavior to give you a real answer.”

“Oh? Who would that be?”

He smiled ruefully. “Dr. I.William Konstanov,” he pronounced. “Patient 614.”

“Thanks a lot, Phil,” Dr. Lauman said, getting to her feet. “You’re a whole lot of help.” She tugged down her tight uniform as she strode out of his office.

Dr. Lauman slipped into a staff washroom to freshen up. Someone had placed scented candles about the room. How thoughtful. There were cosmetics and things sitting on the counter beside the sink. She frowned at that. She disliked disorganization of any kind. Maybe if she installed a small vanity.... The bottles of blush and little tubes of lipstick reminded her that she should have freshened her own make-up before leaving her office. She opened her purse and spent a few minutes making sure everything was ship-shape.

She studied her brown hair in the mirror. It was looking a little shaggy at the moment. She had impulsively decided to let it grow out again. She had worn it short for far too long, and now she was bored with it. There used to be some silly regulation about the staff wearing hair pinned up when on duty but Dr. Lauman no longer fussed about that. Some of the nurses had lovely long hair, why should they be forced to hide it?

She used the toilet, but when she finished she hesitated as she was pulling up her tiny yellow thong. There was no particular hurry, and she felt the need for a little release. Dr. Lauman was adult enough to know that there was nothing at all wrong with a grown woman masturbating. It was a normal part of the sex life of any healthy woman. She had been feeling very healthy these last few weeks.

The way Dr. Strong had been admiring her legs as she sat on his desk had made her feel deliciously sexy. Dr. Strong was such a virile man. Though he was married, Dr. Lauman was pretty sure he had been putting the woody to Mandy since about two days after he’d hired her. The busty blonde always had that spacy, satisfied look of a woman who was getting it hard and regular. “She sure has big tits,” Dr. Lauman said out loud. She liked the sound of the phrase “big tits.”

She relaxed against the toilet tank and spread her legs wide, stretching her white pantyhose. She let her fingers dance between her thighs as she slipped into an idle fantasy. Dr. Lauman’s daydreams had always involved romantic encounters with handsome strangers. Lately her fantasies had started drifting in a whole different direction.

She imagined herself as an inmate in some barbaric prison, forced to wear the scanty prison uniform. The muscular guard arrived, wearing his black boots and carrying his riding crop. He unlocked the door to her cell. He unzipped his pants, looking at her. His face was hard. She crawled toward him on her knees, licking her lips. She hated these daily blow jobs, but he was all-powerful here and she was his helpless prisoner so what could she do? Her climax was like an earthquake.

It surprised her a little, as she came down from her second loud orgasm, that she still needed to play so often, given how much sex she was demanding from her husband lately. He wasn’t complaining, especially since she had started agreeing to all those fun little twists he had been hinting at for years. It had never occurred to her that being spanked could be so much fun.

When she had calmed down enough and checked her make-up again, Dr. Lauman continued on her way. The sound of someone singing was coming from Patient 438’s room. The song was an old Elvis tune, although the voice was a feminine soprano. Dr. Lauman smiled at that. She was ten feet past the door before she remembered that Patient 438 had not spoken a word in the past four years.

There was more noise coming from the room holding Patient 592. “Mr. Broland, please,” came the voice of a young nurse, “put your pants back on. Come on now, let’s be good. Yes, I know you’re feeling better, we’re all delighted, but come on, get dressed now. Mr. Broland? Come on now, this has gone far enough; come on, put that—What are you doing? Oh! Mr. Broland! Please, what are you—stop that! Oh! Oh.... oh my! You, you are feeling better aren’t you, Mr. Brolaaaaaannnnd....” The voices faded away as Dr. Lauman proceeded down the hall.

She stopped to issue reprimands a couple of more times when she found staff loafing instead of working. Dr. Lauman was not dictatorial, but she had no hesitation about cracking the whip when necessary. She shivered at the delightful phrase “crack the whip.”

A thin but pretty technician was just leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling, toying with a strand of long blonde hair. She appeared to be having a happy daydream. Dr. Lauman spoke to her sharply. She was thinking, though, that the girl would look even prettier if she got a boob job.

A little farther on she disturbed two well-figured nurses gossiping in a supply closet. The women were whispering to each other. Their mouths were so close together that they almost looked like they were kissing. One woman was wearing sexy, lace-patterned stockings instead of regulation nylons. The other wore slick stretch boots that came up over her knees.

Dr. Lauman passed the exercise room, a small gymnasium where those patients that were well enough could work out or toss a ball around. There were a few patients being lead through physical therapy sessions by trainers in bright white leotards. It was another aspect of the uniforms Dr. Lauman had instituted. One of the trainers appeared to have forgotten her sports bra.

The exercise equipment at the far end of the gym was all being used by off-duty staff, some of them getting in a workout during their lunch break. Dr. Lauman had decided that since the exercise room was under-used, there was no reason why staff could not take advantage of the facilities. She required only that female staff wear the regulation white leotards.

She was surprised to see Dr. Francis jogging away earnestly on a treadmill. Dr. Francis was a staff psychiatrist on the west wing, before the staff rotations began. A plump and pleasant middle-aged woman, she was as dedicated to keeping up on the medical journals as she was to embracing life’s creature comforts. The last time Dr. Lauman had met her in the lunchroom though, she had been nibbling on a cracker and poring over the latest issue of Figure and Fitness. When Dr. Lauman asked her how she had lost so much weight, the other woman told her that she had instituted a vigorous home exercise program. Her husband was losing weight too, she said with a wink.

Patient 614’s room was near the end of a corridor. Dr. Lauman said hello to two doctors who were puzzling over some papers as they walked along. They nodded distractedly. “...never seen anyone show that kind of improvement in just one week,” she heard one of them say, as they wandered away. “We’ll have to run the tests again....” It sounded like someone’s prognosis had just taken a turn for the better.

Noise from a side corridor distracted her. She traced it to a staff dressing room. She started to open the door but stopped when she saw what was going on inside. There was a table in the middle of the room. A leggy nurse’s aide, looking splendid in white, seamed stockings and matching high-heeled boots, was bent over the table with her legs spread very wide. She was being energetically ploughed from behind by a beefy orderly.

Dr. Lauman gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. The orderly held a clump of the aide’s long, black hair in one hand as he humped her, holding her head back like he was reigning in a high-spirited horse. She was panting and groaning, thrusting her hips back hungrily to meet each deep stroke into her wet pussy. The sounds and smells of frantic fucking filled the air.

Dr. Lauman watched for a long moment, wondering what to do. Should she interrupt them? This was hardly professional behavior! On the other hand, she reflected, watching his pounding prong disappear into her lovenest again and again, it was in the changing room, which meant by definition that they were both changing shifts, which in turn meant that they were both technically off-duty. Dr. Lauman maintained strict standards for the hospital, but she did not believe in interfering with her employees’ personal lives. She decided to leave them be.

She closed the door softly, cutting off the sounds of ardent love-making. The orderly had a lovely big dick. Dr. Lauman wiped a bit of moisture from her brow. If she didn’t get where she was going soon, she was going to have to visit a washroom again. She walked back into the main corridor and approached the room holding Patient 614.

The door to his room was open. Because it was a long-term care facility, most of the rooms at the Millwater Institute were designed like miniature apartments. Patient 614’s room was bedecked with flowers, many of them with get-well cards attached. There were so many bouquets that the larger ones had to be put on the floor. The counter over the little refrigerator was laden with plates of cookies, cakes, pastries and all manner of confection.

Brightly wrapped presents, some of them opened to reveal sweaters and shirts and robes and watches, were scattered everywhere. Someone had installed a desktop stereo in one corner, which was playing restful jazz in the background. The standard small television had been replaced by a big-screen model with stereo speakers and a built-in VCR. Dr. Lauman smiled. Patient 614 was being well cared for.

Patient 614, Dr. I. William Konstanov, was sitting in a wheelchair beside the loveseat. He was a tall, lanky man, with flecks of grey throughout his brown hair. He was wearing the loose pants and top that all patients wore. He did not look up when the director came in.

There were three other women in the room already. Loni and Barbara were nurses. Dr. Lauman remembered from the duty roster that they were assigned to Patient 614 this week. The third woman, Terri, wasn’t even assigned to this wing.

The three women greeted her a little nervously, probably wondering what had brought the director this far from her office. Maybe Patient 614 heard them, because he looked up at her suddenly. His eyes were deep blue and so startlingly haunted that she almost gasped. He had a sorrowful, far-away look on his face, like he was remembering a long-dead lover. “Director,” he said. She wondered briefly if he recognized her or if he was just remembering his own title.

“Hello Dr. Konstanov,” she said politely. Patients were always to be treated with respect. “Everyone please just carry on with what you were doing. I’m just going to watch for a few minutes.” She studied the women carefully, looking for any signs of the unnatural uniformity that Dr. Strong had predicted.

Loni and Barbara were both dressed in nurse’s whites, so that hardly counted. Barbara, a voluptuous twenty-five year old blonde, was wearing a sleeveless uniform that might have fit her when she was twelve. She kept the straining zipper unfastened a little in front. Both her bootheels and her hemline were much higher than what Dr. Lauman would have considered practical. Loni, on the other hand, was a petite, brown-haired girl. Her uniform was as brief as Barbara’s. Her tight boots had narrow, two-inch platforms that rose a couple of inches higher in the back.

Terri wasn’t wearing a uniform at all. Instead she wore a black stretch top and spandex shorts with gold embroidery around the legs. Her boots were black and calf-high. After a moment Dr. Lauman realized that Terri was here on her day off, just visiting. She was lounging in a stuffed chair, keeping the patient company. Nothing wrong with that. So far though, the director saw little to suggest uniformity of taste.

Loni was on her knees on the loveseat. She poured a careful measure of a thick pink liquid from a pharmacy bottle into a small cup and handed it to Barbara. “Billy,” Barbara said softly, leaning over the patient solicitously, “honey, it’s time for your medicine.” He ignored her.

“Oh, Billy, don’t be like that. Help me, baby. This medicine is to help you. It’ll make you feel better.” She presented the cup to his lips, twice, but each time he brushed it away.

“No,” he said curtly.

“He’s difficult about taking his anti-depressant,” Loni explained for Dr. Lauman’s benefit.

“It’s really good,” Barbara persisted. She leaned over him, her lipstick-red lips pouting meltingly. The patient hardly even glanced at the splendid offering of bountiful bosom falling out of Barbara’s dress in front of him. “Look honey,” she said, softly, “This is really good medicine. Watch, I’ll even drink it myself. “To demonstrate she downed the whole dose of strong drug in one swallow.

She beamed at him. “There, you see, it’s yummy. Oh, Loni, I guess I’ll need another.” Her partner refilled the cup and handed it back to her.

“Please, Billy, take your medicine. Please?” He responded with stony silence. Dr. Lauman watched with interest.

Terri leaned forward on her hands. “Poor man,” she whispered. “He seems so troubled. I wish there was... more... we could do for him.” She seemed to have something in mind. Her eyes were half-closed.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Barbara said. “Sometimes this works.” She slid down the zipper on the front of her nylon uniform. Her balloon-round breasts bounced high on her chest, the nipples hard and exposed by the lacy bit of fabric that pretended to be her bra.

“Billy, honey,” she sang, “watch this.” With deliberate slowness she emptied the contents of the cup onto her boobs, letting it dribble down in pink rivulets into her cleavage.

For once Patient 614 seemed interested. He smiled up at her, staring avidly at her exposed chest. She leaned over his face. “Go ahead, baby, lick it up.”

He did as she asked. His tongue darted out and began to lick and lap the thick pink liquid off her breasts. Barbara shuddered. She closed her eyes, holding her dress open with both hands. “Oh, yes, baby, just like that,” she husked.

Loni and Terri were watching, rapt. So was Dr. Lauman, standing by the door. “She’s got big tits,” she thought, “big, juicy, suckable big tits.” The delicious thought swirled around and around in her head until she was dizzy. The room seemed very warm.

Loni was leaning over the end of the loveseat, watching Patient 614’s tender tit-tonguing. “Hey, let me help,” she said breathlessly. She reached out and fondled the nearest breast, perhaps helping the patient reach any drips of medicine he may have missed. Her movement brought her face very close to Barbara’s. The two nurses began to kiss.

Terri watched the trio wordlessly, leaning forward in her chair. Her black hair was done up in curls. She had one hand between her legs, stroking against her crotch through her shorts. Her wedding ring sparkled in the overhead lights.

Dr. Lauman slumped against the door, watching the action, looking for any sign that the nurses were acting abnormally. She could see Loni’s trim little ass, completely revealed by her shiny travesty of a uniform as she bent over on the loveseat. Her nylons had big cut-outs that bared her ass and crotch. “Well, that scuttles the pink panties theory,” Dr. Lauman muttered. She laughed to herself, feeling giddy.

The nubile nurses were still hungrily kissing and pawing one another. Someone had unzipped Loni’s uniform too. Patient 614 occasionally diverted his attention to give her smaller but perky breasts a lick or two, although Dr. Lauman doubted that there was any medicine there. Terri’s hand was now inside her stretch shorts.

Abruptly, Patient 614 pushed Barbara away. Caught by surprise, she stumbled backward, lost her balance, and half fell into Terri’s lap. Her magnificent mammaries were firm and wet. “Are you all right?” Terri asked. She helped the nurse steady herself with one hand around her back and the other over one cherry-red nipple.

Barbara’s eyes were unfocused, either from the drug that went down her throat or down her breasts. “Nooo problmmmm, I’m ffffiiinnnne,” she drawled, her head lolling about. She made no move to remove Terri’s hands.

Loni had lost her balance when Barbara was pushed away. She recovered gracefully though, turning and sliding neatly into Patient 614’s lap. One leg was still hooked over the end of the loveseat. She put her other boot on the floor, spreading her legs and exposing her bare snatch. “There now, you took your medicine after all,” she whispered in the patient’s ear. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it.” The patient rested his hand on the inside of her thigh.

Across the room, Barbara and Terri cuddled together in the big chair, watching Patient 614 lovingly. Barbara’s dress was still open. “He seems so sad,” said Terri, absently fingering one of Barbara’s protruding red nipples. Sitting in Patient 614’s lap, Loni began to squirm as his fingers stroked lightly up and down her sex.

Dr. Lauman decided she had seen enough. The nursing staff seemed to have everything under control. Patient 614 was obviously no threat to anyone. She took a last look around the room laden with flowers and gifts, noting absently that one of the larger bouquets seemed to be from the courier who delivered bouquets. Then she headed back to her office.

She had to stop into a washroom again for another hand session. The accidental view of Barbara’s big tits had somehow got her all worked up. This time there were two guards, and one of them had a whip....

Dr. Lauman returned to her desk. She passed by Tabitha, who was on the telephone, evidently having an erotic conversation with one of her boyfriends. She opened the reviewers’ report again and re-read the footnote. “Whether through conscious psychological manipulation or through some as yet unexplained mechanism, Patient 614 appears to elicit an unusual level of concern and attention....

Dr. Lauman knew when to be decisive. She had seen no evidence whatsoever of inappropriate behavior by anyone on her staff. Dr. Strong’s outlandish theory notwithstanding, Patient 614 was being accorded the same level of professional and personal care as any other patient in Millwater Institute. The footnote was clearly rubbish.

She closed the report and set it aside. She had lots of other work to do. But first she decided to call her husband at his office. If she asked really nicely, maybe he would tie her up again tonight.