Chapter 1

Becca thought Wendy Carter was quite a looker, especially for a woman in her mid-40s. Becca wasn’t able to see Ms. Carter’s face clearly at that moment due to bright light beaming through the huge bank of windows behind Carter’s desk. Carter’s coppery brown hair appeared nearly angelic in the slant of blazing winter sunlight while completely shadowing her eye sockets and face. For a disturbing moment the pooling of darkness on Carter’s face gave Becca the optical illusion of a dirt-covered skull wearing a good wig.

“Becca, I’ve asked you here to discuss your prior request. You asked to be familiarized with all aspects of the Goethner-Varner Mental Health Hospital. For the most part, you have learned everything you need to be a successful Psychiatric Nurse. However, in the past I’ve refused to assign you to the Maximum Security ward. Now I find certain events have caused me to second guess myself. Perhaps I’ve been too overprotective. After all, the more you stretch your boundaries, the more your full potential is tapped. “

Carter’s words sounded halting and garbled. It was late afternoon. Possibly Carter was nearing the end of a particularly stressful day. Becca could hardly imagine the challenges a Director of Operations at a mental health facility must face. Still, she hoped one day she would know firsthand. That’s why she tried so hard to learn everything. Becca was ambitious but in a good way, just wanting to maximize her potential and her contributions to society.

“Are you sure? I can have full access? “ Up until today Carter adamantly kept her away from the Maximum Security Ward, stating Becca’s natural beauty could be a source of disruption to some patients, the ones whose particular mental dysfunctions were slanted to sexual issues. Some of them were committed to the Maximum Security Ward due to mistreatment of women. Carter did not want to fan the flames by giving them any extra fuel for their smouldering fantasies.

“You’ll have access but you’ll find you have a lot less freedom that you could imagine. I think, oh, it would be good for you to try new challenges and interact with someone like Mr. Jones. He is truly one of a kind. I think your brightness could get his attention for the better. So, I give you my blessing. Focus only on Wayne Jones for the time being. Visit him. Try to draw him out. “

“Ah, thank you, Ms. Carter. “

“Becca, from now on just call me Wendy. Equals should be on a first name basis. “

Becca felt puzzled but gratified and a little amazed. None of the Becca’s co-workers called Ms. Carter by her first name. The name Wendy seemed too soft, an incongruous fit for the highly educated and commanding Carter.

“Sure, Ms. Car… I mean Wendy. Thanks. “

“Go visit Mr. Jones. I’m sure you’ve already heard an earful about him from the media and the other staff members, but don’t be afraid. Learn what he has to say. Study him by experiencing him. Come to understand his philosophy. Find out how we can help him be happy. Be agreeable. Do not upset him. “

This all sounded pretty weird to Becca. Mr. Jones was a patient, not a valued customer. Still, she was thrilled to have access to the maximum security ward and the most intriguing patients.

“All right, I won’t let you down. “

“When you first meet Mr. Jones, be sure to immediately let him know I sent you. That’s important. “

“I will. “

 

Becca huddled against the frigid winter air and entered the numeric code Carter issued her to gain entry through the gate to Building C. A twelve-foot fence topped with barbed wire that dripped icicles circled the maximum security area one hundred feet out from all sides of the building. As Becca started along the salt strewn path leading to the guard house, her straight black hair swept across her cheek and mouth. Her hair was long, thick, fragrant, an effective scarf to protect her from the rising winds and plummeting temperature. Becca knew there would be no snowfall tonight. It was too cold for snow.

Becca entered the warmth of the Building C lobby, surprised there was no guard at the desk. Even in the Minimum Security Wards there were usually two guards unless one was making rounds, dealing with a difficult patient, doing paperwork in the office, or using the restroom. Becca relaxed when she spotted the doors to the office and restroom behind the guard’s desk, sure the guards would soon emerge.

Becca hoped Wilrey wasn’t one of the guards on duty.  She figured he’d fit better here as an inmate than a guard. Whenever she saw him in the cafeteria he always stared at her with a creepy intensity. She especially didn’t want to knock on the office door, let alone the restroom door, to ask Wilrey for help like some scared little girl.

Becca spun the Visitor Log Book around, signed it, and entered the time and the patient she intended to visit. Everyone, even staff, had to sign in and out on the log. This was a security measure to ensure no patient could escape by pretending to be a staff member or visitor, and also to avoid forgetting a visitor and locking them in with the dangerous crazies. One of the guards was supposed to co-sign. Becca figured Wilrey or whoever could play catch up and do that later. If they bitched then she’d point out it was their fault for not being at their assigned station.

Becca skimmed the entries and noticed Ms. Carter spent the previous afternoon in the ward, reason given as visiting Wayne Jones. What would they have discussed for three hours? Becca flipped through the pages, realizing Ms. Carter had seen Jones every day including this past Sunday. How odd. Perhaps Ms. Carter took a personal interest in Jones due to all the media attention. Becca inwardly scolded herself for being cynical. Ms. Carter was a professional and wouldn’t let salacious gossip influence her work habits.

Becca peeked behind the desk and realized the lock mechanism was the same as in the Minimum Security Ward. Pushing a button at the guard’s desk released an electronic lock on the double doors, automatically opening them as a person approached. The guards also had controls which locked and unlocked each patient suite.

Becca figured she would run into Wilrey or another guard walking the ward hallway. Failing that, she would visit with Wayne Jones through the window in his suite door. She wanted to get started and didn’t feel like waiting around.

Becca buzzed herself in, slid through the double doors, and started down the hall. Anticipation kicked up her heart rate and flushed her face pink. She found every patient interesting but these dangerous ones were especially fascinating. She’d discussed many of the most extreme cases at length with the staff assigned to the Maximum Security Ward. She’d pored over case files and studied pictures of all the resident criminally insane. However, none captivated her attention as much as the legendary media sensation Wayne Jones, also known as “The King of Rapture. “

Becca wanted to make a difference and chose to work at Goethner-Varner Mental Health Hospital because of its constructive outlook. It was reflected in the name of the facility. The founders, now long dead and buried, believed mental health issues were no different than ailments of the body. If an organ was faulty, you fixed it and got the patient back on their feet and back into society. They believed the same was true of any and all mental health issues. To reflect their philosophy and encourage society to be more accepting, they named the facility a hospital.

Becca glanced at the chart hanging on the door of the first suite she passed. Radavich. His proclivity was necrophilia. They’d arrested him “getting busy” in a graveyard. Ick. She tiptoed past the room, ducking under the window. She didn’t even want that guy looking at her… maybe imagining doing unspeakable things to her dead body. That would be bad luck.

Passing a cell with a chart for a Lilly Hopkins she perked up her ears. Little holes in the cell door windows of each suite allowed sound to pass into the hallway. These were closable in case the patients made too much noise. The meal slot below the window also allowed some sound through despite the metal hinged flap on it. This was for meals to slide in to the patient if they were acting too violent for dining with the other patients. Hadn’t she heard some of the other PA’s talking about Lilly Hopkins?

Becca heard what sounded like sex going on in the suite. She paused, frowning, about to look through the window but then remembered Lilly was a chronic masochistic masturbator. No way did she want to see that spectacle.

She thought about Lilly’s case, wondering what she could learn from it. Although nearly always dishevelled, Lilly was pretty and blond. If she was normal she’d have her pick of men, but Lilly favored masturbation over normalcy. She’d heard Lilly even managed to masturbate while restrained in a straitjacket by rubbing herself all over inanimate objects. Worse, she often simultaneously harmed herself by scratching and pulling at her flesh, usually in the most tender of vulnerable areas. Poor Lilly! She probably climaxed two dozen times a day!

Obviously what Becca heard was not sex – at least not sex between adults – just another one of Lilly’s lonely orgasms. Becca wondered about Lilly’s limited but extreme experiences. She’d turned her back on having a role in society in return for never-ending sexual gratification. Becca shivered and felt a tightening in her lower abdomen. Her interpretation of Lilly’s fate, she had to admit, really didn’t sound as bad as it should. Becca maintained her decision to refrain from observing Lilly and moved to the next suite. She had no desire to view troubled Lilly in mid-act.

Becca was pleasantly surprised to pass another occupied suite. According to her colleagues who worked in Building C, usually half the suites were empty. There were many competing facilities nowadays and better treatment programs so Building C was usually slow. But business was booming at Goethner-Varner for some reason.

Becca passed another suite, observing the name on the chart was “Tillings”. Becca was amused by the coincidence. It was the same last name as a psychologist who visited Jones a while back to determine if his evaluation was correct. Becca knew there were whispers that Jones was not at all insane and that some political and legal manoeuvring had committed him to Goethner-Varner.

The ward hallway turned ninety degrees up ahead leading to the longer arm of the L-shaped wing. Jones’ suite was right before the turn. Becca figured a guard was just around the corner. But before she spoke with the guard, she intended to visit with Jones through his window. She could do this without disturbing other patients, as Jones was not known for loud outbursts. He was, in fact, known for his unearthly calm.

Becca was shocked to find Jones’ cell door wide open with Jones alone in the suite. His back was to her while he looked out the barred window at the grounds of the Goethner-Varner Mental Health Hospital. Becca noted with alarm that Jones’ arms were completely free and unrestrained. She stepped just inside the door and glanced in every corner of the room to confirm Jones was indeed alone and unguarded.

Jones spoke without turning and looking to see who had entered, “Welcome. Most welcome. You are wearing heels so you must be a woman. You have a quick soft step so I’d guess you are quite slim. Using my more special power I can tell you are most attractive and I’d guess a brunette. “

Becca was startled for a moment before she realized he could see her reflection in the window. This guy wasn’t going to fool her with little tricks. She may only be 20 but she wasn’t born yesterday either.

Jones spun in place, his eyes zeroing in on her. Light from the fading sunset gleamed off his shaved skull. He had light hazel eyes and a deeply lined face. Becca thought he looked a lot younger than his 51 years of age.

Jones spoke, “Yes, you are very attractive. Beautiful. Ravishing. Do you know beauty is like a weapon? “

“Ah, Mr. Jones, why are you alone in here? “

“Aren’t prisoners usually alone in their cells? “

“Yeah, of course, but not with their door unlocked, arms free, and no one in attendance! Besides, you’re not a prisoner, you’re a patient. We’re here to help you. “

“As far as my relative freedom at the moment, I’ve made known and persuaded those who needed to be persuaded I pose no risk of escape. Rather than cause any harm I plan to do most of you a great deal of good.

“As for naming me a patient instead of a prisoner you are completely mistaken. I am not a patient because I require no aid and have no mental or physical aberrations. Ironic that being a patient makes me so impatient. It is also ironic that my enemies were impatient to make me a patient. Since, despite my freedom of movement, I am not free to leave, I most logically am a prisoner.

“As for being here to help me, no, you are not. You, like others, are here to help yourself to me. Wanting to mentally poke and prod, dismantle my Id and my Ego to see what makes me tick, before putting them back together ticking in a way you find more satisfactory and less alarming. You seek to make me normal, average, to destroy what makes me special. You are not here to help me but, in the end, yes, you will be a help to me. “

Jones’ eyes fixed on her, calculating and anticipatory. Becca didn’t know what to say. She felt like she might be in danger and that tightly wound Jones was about to make a move. But she was frozen in place, afraid any twitch on her part, any sound, would trigger him. Where were the guards when she needed them?

“Come closer, Little One. Tell me your name. “

She made no move but responded verbally, “Becca. “

“Why do you think you are here? What has brought you to me other than my own good fortune? “

“Ms. Carter asked me to visit you. You know; understand where you’re coming from. In fact, she insisted I tell you she sent me. “Becca hoped dropping Ms. Carter’s name would disarm Jones and put this unsettling meeting on a more secure footing.

“Mmmm, Wendy sent you. Good work. Goooooood work. When you see her next report back that I am satisfied and tell her the following ‘Master Jones says, ‘You’re a good little girl, Wendy, good girl. “

Becca was shocked by Jones’ disrespect, but fear tempered her response. “I’m not comfortable telling her that. Maybe you’ll have to discuss it with her yourself. “
Despite her dislike and fear of the man, Jones had somehow managed to move closer to her without her noticing. His proximity made her feel like running away.

Jones spoke low and earnestly, “You think Wendy would be offended by my words? You are wrong. She will be thrilled, filled with pride. Be honest, wouldn’t you like to be told the same? That you are a good girl who has succeeded in pleasing her Master, her soul’s King? “

Hearing his demented words, Becca’s sanity reappeared, chasing away her fear and restoring her confidence. This was just another crazy patient, and there was most definitely a guard just around the corner. It was time to take control back. “Not at all. Especially if that “Master” was you. “

“Are you here to understand me? “

Becca lifted her chin. “Yes, exactly. “

“To understand me you will need to understand what I can do, the effect I can create. The effect I can achieve in the emotions and sensations of a woman. “

“Just what are you saying, exactly? “ Becca’s confidence deflated as fear raced into the empty places once occupied by enthusiasm. She desperately wanted to flee, but sensed any move would trigger his attack all the sooner. Unfortunately, doing nothing was obviously not a solution either.

“Tell me. One way or the other, do you, in fact, want to understand me? “

Becca could tell by the weight in his tone that this was a crucial moment. Could she deny her mission? Was she willing to fail in her new responsibility? Would understanding Jones be dangerous or would it be more dangerous to back down and show fear to this predator?

Becca braced herself and stood a little taller, “Yes, I want to understand you and I will. “

Jones smiled broadly, triumphantly, “There it is, my pretty little new toy. The invitation was all I morally required. “

With that Jones’ left hand lashed out to grab her right shoulder and pin her up against the wall while his right hand plunged down just below her skirt, hooked up, and roughly slapped her pussy through her thin panties. His fingers cupped and squeezed her vulva with the base of his inverted palm, rubbing her panties harshly against the top of her slit.

Becca yelped, eyes wide. Despite bracing herself for action she was not ready for so bold a move. She had no strength to fight him, no idea how to escape the situation, and little prospect of being able to form an idea while his palm pummelled her pussy. One of her hands went to his hand on her shoulder and the other raced down to grab his right forearm. They didn’t stop him. They didn’t even slow him down.

She tried to close her legs but he already had one of his own between them. His hand was rubbing. Rubbing. . .

She thought to knee him in the crotch but he seemed to be aware of that possibility and was standing sideways. His fingers rippled pleasurable pressure back and forth across her pussy. Incredibly, Becca could feel her labia plumping with blood flow.

Becca stopped trying to kick him realizing it could escalate the situation into violence and potentially place her in greater danger. The kicks weren’t working anyway. He seemed to have a strange strength while she felt weaker than usual.

Through her panties Jones’ fingers gathered and pinched the flesh around her clitoris. Becca felt a spike of unexpected sexual pleasure through the discomfort.

She had to act. Pinned and immobile with Jones’ hand having its way with her sex, her prospects didn’t look good. The hand was getting rougher, gripping the bunched pussy flesh through her panties and jiggling up and down. As it got rougher Becca was surprised the pleasurable thrills increased, pulsing higher and higher. What he was doing was intolerable. So were her reactions to it.

Becca was feeling a sharp urgency. She had to get away. Didn’t she? She gasped and shook her head. Her panties dampened with her fast flowing juices. She moaned. This bald nut was turning her on! What was wrong with her? She had to make it stop. The logical part of her brain shrieked in protest, but her body yearned for more. She bucked her hips, making his fingers pull viciously at her sweet secret flesh and then ground forward for firmer contact with his leg and fingers. Was she trying to get away by shaking his hand loose? Oh, what was wrong with her? She hadn’t meant to do that, her hips had just acted.

It was all she could do to bite her lower lip and embrace the pain as an island of sanity and control in order to stop the lusty moans that wanted out. She knew she had to rein in her pussy before it just bucked and bucked and bucked right into some kind of orgasm. My God, she thought, I can’t let this freak bring me off!

The self-inflicted pain in her lower lip suddenly reminded her she had another possible course of action. Her voice! She could call for help. It was her best hope for rescue, but she hesitated, embarrassed by her situation and wondering what the guards would think if they found her in a sexually compromising position with a patient. Ms. Carter had fired staff for sexual relations with patients in the past. Would Ms. Carter blame her? Jones’ fingers released her bunched pussy flesh, allowing an influx of blood to rush the area and that caused an increase in unsettling pleasure and a flood of fluids. His confident fingers rolled and brushed the soaked panty to the side of her slit, divided her damp pubic hair, then slid down and up firm and complete into her vagina.

“Oh, youuu. . . “ Instinctively she stood as high as possible on her tiptoes, trying to rise up off the invading fingers but they simply followed, stuck firmly in her saturated but still tight vagina. Some analytical part of her standing to the side of the situation noted Jones did not plunge his fingers up and down like a mini-cock but was actually twisting them to and fro in semi-circles like a washing machine. The motion kept his fingers deep and allowed him to continuously roll the ball of his thumb against her clitoral hood. The thumb pressed deeply and released pressure again and again, inducing blood to rush to the area and fatten the clitoris, bringing extreme sensitivity and extreme pleasure.

Instead of helping her escape his clutches, rising onto her tiptoes made her more helpless and now her voice, her potential avenue of escape, worked against her to egg him on, “Oh, ohhhh, oh, ohh. God. Fuck! “

Jones was calm, his eyes warmly analytical, his mouth twisted into a patronizing half-smile, “God of Fuck? I like that. If you’d like to worship me I will allow you. “

His fingers twisted in her pussy with extra harshness.

“Oh, you! No! Quit it. Quit it. Stop. Please! “

You’re obviously hysterical, Pretty Toy. Why would you want to stop receiving all this divine pleasure? You should embrace your new destiny. It makes no sense. Since Pretty Toy is hysterical, no, wait, hysterical is not the correct term. Malfunctioning! Since Pretty Toy is malfunctioning I’ll make the decisions from now on. I’ll make all the decisions! “

Jones’ pressuring thumb and penetrating fingertips dug deeper into her delicate folds and pinched towards each other, apparently trying to do the impossible and make contact through her flesh. It was uncomfortable, disturbing and a bit painful to Becca. It was also wonderful. It was too wonderful.

“No, no, no, no. Ohhhhhhhhh, no, ohhhhhhh,” Becca’s distress needed verbal release. What the hell, she thought, why were her hips bucking up against his hand as if… she wanted this? It seemed like her pussy wanted more contact, more of everything, even more pain. Her pussy was rebelling and making its own decision. A bad one!

Jones continued talking. He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. “With all decisions handled for you by me you will be able to focus your programming on your central missions, Pretty Toy. One, feel physical, mental, and emotional pleasure at every sensation I give you and every act I command you to complete. Two, focus on your main task which is to please me. Give yourself over to your destiny and never look back. “

This Jones guy was a certifiable lunatic, saying crazy things. On the other hand, the pleasure flowed steady and strong, commanding all her attention. It was making it hard for her to think, hard to resist. Jones’ crazy words, spoken so matter-of-fact, made them sound… almost sensible. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the ideas seeded in her brain. She knew she had to stop them from sprouting, growing into foul ideas, overgrowing her will and sense of self-determination. Could she actually just give in to him and start doing anything and everything he dictated? To Becca it was a nightmarish but tempting prospect. No! She must resist this insanity!

“Noooo. Mr. Jones, just stop. Ummm, uh, just please. Please, oh, please! “

“If you want me to stop why are you grunting and moaning and pushing your pussy on my hand? “

The words actually made her buck her hips harder. Her pubic mound smashed against his pinching thumb and fingers, “Because, ahhh. Ahhhhhhh! “

“Is it because it feels so good? “

“Yes, dammit, it feels soooo good. God! “

“Is it also because you love it? You love what I’m doing to you? “

“Yes, yes, that’s why. It just feels so good! “

“Pretty Toy, you must pay attention. I said ‘love’. “His left hand released her pinned shoulder and he mauled her breasts roughly, quickly locating one hard nipple on her right breast and pinching viciously.

“Aahgh. No! “

He added pressure to his grip through her top and bra and twisted the nipple through her clothing, thanks to how erect it had become from the hand fucking. Becca knew Jones would find it significant that, despite the pain and her cries of protest, she still pushed her pussy hard onto his fingers and made no effort to escape. She didn’t care what he thought. All that was important was the pleasure and the pain, the pain and the pleasure, the pleasure-pain.

“What was it I said, Pretty Toy? “

“You… aaaah, you said I love it. “

“Good. Good girl. Now, how does Pretty Toy feel? What emotion do you feel? “

On some level, despite her aroused passions, she still noted that Jones seemed to hold his breath, waiting for her answer as if this was something crucial. Becca could feel it, too. Her eyes rose to his and cleared a little despite the potent mingling of pleasure and pain. She blinked, knowing her response was important. Not as important as continuing and increasing that pleasure, somehow getting those fingers deeper in her pussy, swallowing them with her pussy lips. Not as important as twisting her torso to and fro, not to escape, but to increase the stretch and pain on her nipples as his vice grip switched between them. Fuck it. Whatever he wanted she would just give him. He’d made it clear what he wanted to hear and it didn’t feel like a lie when she said it.

“I feel love! I love it! “

The hand at her pussy applied so much pressure she slid a few inches up the wall. She squealed like a wounded rabbit. Her hands were on his shoulders. They were not trying to push him away but her fingers were gripping him tightly. They were in this together now.

Becca realized she was getting more pleasure than pain. Jones seemed to think that wasn’t fair. She thought Jones must definitely have a sense of fair play because he sought to increase her pain to a level that would come to match her pleasure. She knew he couldn’t squeeze the nipple any harder than he already was, at least not through her shirt and bra. His right hand, soaked in her juices, was having fun wreaking havoc in her pussy. So he leaned in and down and bit her on the side of the neck.

“Ah! Ahh! Stop! No! “

Her cries seemed to delight him. His teeth clamped harder on her delicate neck skin and he even ground his teeth back and forth a little. She felt her neck muscles stiffen instinctively but she dared not pull away or the teeth could rip her skin. She knew he must be leaving a nasty bruised imprint of his front teeth on the side of her neck. She wondered how she would explain that mark to people who saw it. Was Jones trying to mark her as his territory? Was she now an added territory in King Jones’ kingdom?

“No, oooh! It hurts! Stop! “

He must have thought he was overdoing the pain because he relaxed the finger pincers on her abused nipple which allowed blood to rush back into the bud, then sawed the fingers of his right hand faster and possibly even deeper into her pussy. He was still biting her throat, though. Becca wondered for a fearful moment if Jones was some kind of vampire but knew he wasn’t breaking the skin.

“Oh, please. Please! “

Jones pulled his teeth off her neck to speak into her ear. “You are a polite and pretty toy. Since you asked so sweetly I grant your request. You may orgasm. “
His hand at her pussy gripped a handful of slick sensitized flesh and he jerked her back and forth. He pulled her groin towards him, her toes tapping at the floor and then banged her back against the wall, smashing her ass. He did this again and again. Even through the pain, her thin arms around his neck cradled the ruthless predator, her soft cheek grazing the gray fuzz on his shaved head.

His pushing and pulling hand was vicious. The harshness was painful to both her pussy and her ass. The pain was nothing compared to the sheer pleasure which was made somehow all the greater by the pain experienced. It made no sense but it was exactly what she wanted. No, what she needed and had not known she needed. It was the right combination to unlock her orgasm even in this bizarre situation. It was by far the greatest orgasm she’d ever known in her young life.

“Ooooohh, yes, yes, yes, I’m doing it. I’m coming! “

Her arms gripped him with all her power, her slim hips thrusting back rapid-fire, her verbalizations becoming animalistic. Jones kept her going, kept the orgasm growing hotter and more intense, like blowing on coals.

She rode his hand and had orgasm after orgasm, four powerful ones and numerous smaller ones. It was Becca’s first ever multiple orgasm. She was sweaty and exhausted. Her passion still flared bright but her body could no longer sustain. She wound down, writhing much less vigorously, eyelids drooping in ecstatic exhaustion.

Jones pulled his slippery digits out of her and his hand off her twitching pussy and then lifted her entirely in both arms. The chewed area of her neck was bright red and swollen. It was going to darken and bruise dramatically and would sport clear tooth marks. He’d marked her body to reflect the mark he’d left on her soul. Jones carried her to the narrow cell bed and laid her down.

A little rest before the next step in the delicate toy manufacturing process…