Chapter 3

Jacqueline Thorpe pushed wide the door leading to Dr. Arlington’s waiting room and strode inside. She stepped over to the receptionist’s desk taking long firm strides. Her apparent confidence directly contrasted the lack of confidence she felt. Jacqueline knew her body movements lied but she did not feel guilty. After all, perception was reality and everyone has an equal chance to make their own reality. It was also why, professionally, people knew her as Jacqueline while in her personal life to friends and family she was known as Jackie.

“I’m here to meet Dr. Arlington. I have an appointment. Dr. Jacqueline Thorpe. “

The receptionist was new or at least different from the one Jackie met on her first visit when she interviewed for a job as Psychoanalyst and junior partner in Dr. Arlington’s practice. The older woman she’d met then, Ruthie, had been kindly and affectionate. This younger woman seemed cold to Jackie. She was quite attractive, even gorgeous, but her face remained as expressionless as a field of snow.

“You’re early. Go sit in the waiting room and I’ll call you when he’s ready. “

Jackie noted that rather than looking her in the eyes, the receptionist appraised Jackie’s tight coils of pinned up bronzed hair and her apparel. The long look seemed to focus especially on Jackie’s ample breasts that she always tried – but with only partial success – to conceal with thick shapeless tops. From the receptionist’s nasty I’m-Laughing-At-You-Not-With-You smirk it was apparent she found Jackie’s fashion sense lacking.

Jackie felt a flash of anger. People were so superficial. Men and women too often seemed to judge others by appearance, physique, and fashion. It was the demeanour, the personality, the actions of a person that really counted. Jackie knew she was beautiful but actively worked to downplay her appearance. She didn’t want to make her way through life by depending on her beauty.

If she’d been willing to succeed in life by leveraging her beauty and her body she would have given in to the boss’s sexual advances at her previous job at Thurgood Joiner instead of quitting in outrage before she even had another job lined up.

Jackie found a seat in the empty waiting room and waited, examining the pastel paintings of landscapes adorning the walls. They were clearly meant to relax antsy patients. Of course, they were all just prints. Dr. Arlington’s patients all had mental or emotional troubles and no one would be unwise enough to risk leaving original paintings in a room with them.

Jackie grew more and more nervous about her meeting with Dr. Arlington. She had met him once already and admired the successful elderly man. Of course, since he was a Psychoanalyst, she had no idea what he thought of her. All Psychoanalysts were masters at reading the emotions of others while concealing their own. Although Jackie had only earned her PhD in Psychoanalysis two years ago, she hoped she was not the exception to the rule.

Jackie heard a sharp intake of breath and a low moan and swivelled her head to look at the receptionist. The receptionist, about twenty feet away, held up her right index finger. Two bright beads of blood spotted her index finger pad.

“A fucking staple stabbed me. It really hurts. “

The receptionist watched Jackie with a hint of predatory anticipation, waiting for Jackie’s reaction. She placed the injured finger into her mouth and sucked languidly, her ruby painted lips pulsing around her finger.

Jackie looked away, disconcerted. What was that girl’s deal anyway? Was she Dr. Arlington’s receptionist, or his patient? Jackie heard her sucking on the finger for long minutes before removing it from her mouth with an audible pop. Why did she have to suck that finger so long?

A moment later she heard the sound of a stapler in action and another intake of breath followed by a throaty and extended moan from the receptionist. The moan sounded like one of pain, frustration, and… arousal? Jackie pretended not to notice.

“Hey, look! “

Jackie glanced at the receptionist, hoping it was time for her meeting. But the weird receptionist held up her hand and spread her fingers wide. The previously sucked index finger gleamed with saliva. The middle finger had two droplets of blood beading on the tip.

“I think it wants my blood. That stapler has two little fangs just like a vampire. “

The receptionist waggled the stapler with her uninjured hand, her grin like sunlight reflecting off the field of snow, her teeth bright and perfect, “No, Little Vampire, my blood belongs to me. “

Eyes full of poisonous humour, the receptionist stared into Jackie’s shocked eyes, leaned towards her hand, and used her flicking tongue to scoop up the beads of blood.

Just then Dr. Arlington came out of his office and seemed surprised to see Jackie, “Oh, you’re here, Dr. Thorpe. Good. Good to see you. Please, come right in. “

He motioned for her to come in to his office and then looked pointedly at the receptionist. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. “

“Just a few minutes, but I was early. “

A small surge of satisfaction flooded Jackie when Dr. Arlington shot a frown of fatherly reprimand towards the receptionist. Despite Dr. Arlington’s authority the girl seemed nonchalant as she went back to stapling.

Dr. Arlington ushered Jackie into his office. It seemed more like a home library than an actual office. There were three beautiful antique lamps and a huge cherry wood desk. Thousands of leather-bound books lined the fourteen-foot tall floor to ceiling bookshelves. Jackie sat in one of two high backed chairs lined in front of Dr. Arlington’s desk as Dr. Arlington sat in his executive leather swivel chair.

Dr. Arlington noted her awed perusal of their surroundings, “You know, Dr. Thorpe, the empty room next to this one possesses the same dimensions and features. It is just waiting for an occupant to fill it with décor suiting their own personality. “

“Yes, you showed me last time and it’s been on my mind. Please, call me Jacqueline. “

“You also, of course, should call me Robert. We’re both doctors and titles between doctors are tedious. Especially given that I’d like to work in partnership with you for as many years as I have left before I retire. “

Jackie felt a surge of glorious happiness. Dr. Arlington, Robert, had chosen her! After all the candidates he must have interviewed he selected her to become a junior partner in his psychotherapy practice.

“Thank you, Dr. Ar… ah, Robert, I’m looking forward to…”

Robert raised a hand to intercept her words. “I want to make you a partner in my practice, and I anticipate doing so. However, we’re not quite there yet. “

Jackie’s elation turned to dismay. “Robert, I promise to be the perfect partner. I’ll work hard and represent you and your therapeutic philosophy in every way. “

“You must realize though that every applicant either has said or would say much the same. Some are truthful and would do as they say. Others are truthful but are unable to actually do as they say. Still others just plain lie. This is a crucial decision that will impact my practice and my legacy. I must be absolutely certain of making the correct choice. “

“Robert, how can I reassure you? “

“You embody the right attitude, Jacqueline. I want to hire you on a temporary capacity as a consultant. I will pay you generously to perform one challenging but rewarding task. Successfully complete the task as professionally and competently as I envision, and I will make you a long term junior partner in my practice and assure your professional reputation in the field. “

“I am intrigued, Robert. “

“Are you familiar with the Wayne Jones case? “

“Wayne Jones, “The King of Rapture? “

“So you are familiar with him, at least enough to know his media nickname. “King of Rapture” indeed! It is ridiculous to treat a serious mental condition with such flamboyance and disrespect. In the future, please be professional and refrain from using the media’s moniker for him. Just Wayne Jones or Mr. Jones will be fine. “

Color stained Jackie’s her cheeks and she wished she could take back her unprofessional words.

Robert perceptively noticed her discomfort, “Don’t worry, no harm there, Jacqueline. Please speak freely in private with me. Don’t let my irritation with the media disconcert you. Not your fault at all. It pains me how insensitive the media, and the public in general, are to mental illness. When a criminal suffers from mental illness they should be pitied as much as their own victims. “

Although Jackie doubted the victims would agree, she concurred with the point of view that the mentally ill victimizer was also a victim.

“The nickname “King of Rapture” is inaccurate and unfair. Firstly, the word rapture is normally used to refer to the penultimate religious experiences. To compare the effects of anything Jones did to a religious experience is offensive. For that matter, calling Jones a King is offensive to royalty of all nationalities. The focus should be on the criminal act and on the man’s mental condition. “

Jackie recalled the origin of the nickname. When a neighbour reported hearing screaming from inside his residence, police discovered Jones in the middle of a sexual act with a beautiful 22-year-old woman named Cassandra Zane. The woman claimed to be a victim of rape, contradicting Jones’ assertion that the sex was consensual. The fact that the police found the woman bound and covered with painful welts lent believability to the woman’s story. Complicating matters for Jones, the young woman was the daughter of an old money tycoon. The tycoon’s money and celebrity, combined with the sexual factors, ensured the case became a media magnet.

As the media investigated, they found Jones had a number of female followers or fans. One fan interviewed on video stated that sex with Jones was like experiencing the rapture and that Jones was “the King of Rapture. “Quickly all the newscasts saturated the airwaves with the quote, creating both a nickname and a media star. The youth, beauty, and high social standing of the young woman should have sealed the deal in convincing everyone Jones raped her, especially since Jones wasn’t much of a looker. But Jackie had always sensed there was far more to the story than what the media uncovered.

Robert continued, “Justice in the Jones case took a path that avoided the courtroom. The young woman’s family abhorred the media circus, plus a trial would have exposed the young woman’s every act and every previous entanglement. There were questions about her honesty after reports surfaced indicating she’d flirted with Jones and was seen willingly accompanying him around town. The prosecution tried to bargain with Jones for a lesser conviction but he refused. At one point, they almost dismissed the case, but then Mayor Harrell became involved. Few know this but the girl’s father, Wilford Zane, is George Harrell’s number one campaign contributor. Harrell, motivated by his interest in pleasing Zane, is the reason Jones was committed. “

“That’s incredible! If you know this, why doesn’t everyone? Why isn’t that in the media? “

“News people around here are told what to care about. Harrell wanted them to ruin Jones’ reputation. He didn’t realize the media frenzy would turn Jones into a celebrity. With the quote “he’s the King of Rapture” Jones became a hit, earning a multitude of weak-minded females desperate to experience the sexual rapture of “King Jones”.

“Harrell’s break came when police searched Jones’ residence. They found homemade pornography, instruments of sexual torture, and Jones’ diary detailing his exploits and twisted thoughts. The diary outlined beliefs such as women being objects to be used, pain as equal to pleasure, and Jones considering himself “King” of all persons he selected as subjects. Turns out the King title was not something the follower conjured on her own. The search revealed Jones was both a deviant and insane. “

Jackie questioned the validity of Robert’s last statement and had to interject, wondering whether he was testing her, “Not necessarily. Egomania and narcissism are dysfunctions but not insanity. A truly insane person, the type who would need to be indefinitely committed, cannot function in society and is a threat to themselves or others. “

Robert paused and studied her. She could see his tongue working inside his mouth as if trying to taste an expensive wine. He almost said one thing, but decided on a different direction, “Yes, you’re right. The thought process is only dangerous if acted on through violence. Jones had no history of that at all. But in Jones case he did qualify as a danger to society. It wasn’t the arrogance expressed in his journal, his philosophy that all others existed to serve his curious sense of pleasure, or even his belief he was King in a world populated by peasant women ripe for the harvesting. No, Jones became a threat to society after his population mushroomed and he attracted so many like-minded followers. Did you know his followers sold thousands of T-shirts that read “I bow down to the King of Rapture”?

“No, I hadn’t heard that. “

“If free, a notorious man like Jones could exert enormous influence over a community, particularly young impressionable men and women. Harrell convinced the psychiatric board of review assigned to Jones’ case to diagnose him as mentally deranged and a threat to society. That led to his indefinite committal to the maximum security ward at the Goethner-Varner Mental Health Hospital. Jones’ committal neatly avoided an actual trial. He’ll likely be confined longer this way, perhaps his entire life.

“Now, six months after Jones’ committal, there is a small problem for which I require your assistance. A few of Jones’ deluded followers are lawyers. They appealed Jones’ diagnosis through state channels where Harrell’s influence doesn’t stretch. As a state consultant I’ve been tasked to assess Jones’ mental condition and formulate an opinion on whether he should be released into society. I would like to handle the case, as the fee involved is most attractive, but I have strong social connections with Harrell and Zane. This obviously raises questions about my objectivity, so I’m turning the task to you. This way Jones is treated fairly in the eyes of the public and my practice gains the fee. “

Jackie had a sudden realization, “You’re leaving something out! Whoever declares Wayne Jones sane will be seen as a laughingstock. Their career, my career, would be publicly ruined. I’d never be able to overcome the reputation as “The woman who freed the maniac Jones”! “

Robert sported a sly smile. “Smart girl, you’re right about that. If you approve his release I would most certainly decline to take you on as my partner due to the media embarrassment. “

“I refuse to flush my career down the toilet! “

“That is not my intention. Look, Jones is insane, at the very least a threat to the community. Simply interview him a few times, review his records and case file, and make an assessment that agrees with the original determination. Spend a couple weeks, be thorough, and make it look good. Document all of the hours you spend with him in the visitor log so no one questions your judgment. I can’t make this next point strongly enough. To be freed, Jones requires three state assessments that recommend overturning the state board’s findings. He has already acquired two. Whoever those doctors were, they must have been fans or otherwise off kilter to submit such preposterous findings. Luckily, your third and final recommendation will ultimately decide Jones’ fate. “

“I don’t believe in deciding an outcome before completing an assessment. It isn’t professional. “

“Powerful people will be indebted to you. You’ll have a junior partnership with yours truly. I’m in my sixties, how much longer can I last? You’ll inherit this practice in just a few short years. Besides, Jones is a fascinating case doctors would kill for. His mentality is fascinating. You’ll be able to publish articles in the best mental health journals. “

“Objectivity and fairness don’t matter? “

“The odds of you finding this patient sane are astronomical. Make your own judgments, but you are right that your reputation is at stake. “

Jackie sensed a trick, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Do you accept, Jacqueline, or shall I call one of my many other eager applicants to offer them this life-changing opportunity? “

Hearing footsteps out in the hall, Becca glanced at the locked exit to the suite she now shared with Jones devotee Lilly Hopkins. “Jail cell” was more appropriate than “suite”, although the food was pretty good and the suite was much larger than the prison cells she saw in movies. Still, if given the option she would immediately trade her suite for an actual prison cell, or at least she hoped she would. With a bitter, hopeless laugh she realized this experience might actually make her a better Psychiatric Assistant. She finally understood the powerlessness and frustration her patients felt with incarceration.

Sharing a cell with the sexually hyperactive and insistent Hopkins woman – Doll – had drained her physically and emotionally. She glanced nervously over at Lilly in the other bed, relieved she seemed to be sleeping.

Four days of imprisonment had been hell so far. All of the degrading sex…All the orgasms she hated herself for enjoying…It was just a living hell! At first she thought obsessively about escape, then about being rescued, but now she just wondered what would happen next.

Like right now. Becca got up and pressed her ear to the meal slot in the door, listening to the echoing footsteps grow louder and louder. Who was it? Would they stop at her suite? What would they do to her and what would they make her do?

She straightened, stared through the square window in her cell door, and waited to catch sight of the owner of the footsteps. Again for the millionth time she cursed that the window was Plexiglas, not real glass. She knew because Day Two she’d spent an hour bouncing a chair off it trying to break it.

The footsteps stopped and the head of a black guard appeared in the window. He leered at her, his lascivious expression a jarring contrast to the distinguished band of white hair at his temples. Even though she’d never met this guard, Becca didn’t bother pleading for help. They never helped her. Instead they helped themselves to her.

Damn her curiosity! Why did she look through the window? Why hadn’t she thrown the covers over herself and pretended to sleep? It was her best and only defence. Sometimes they didn’t want sex from a groggy girl with morning breath.

“Power up, Pretty Toy, time to play. “

He stared at her and waited for acknowledgment of his command. What was she supposed to say? The word “no” was useless. When she acted “against the manufacturer’s specifications” they “fixed her” using pain.

“I don’t have time to come in there unless you malfunction. If it isn’t broke I won’t need to fix it. “

“How may I please you from in here, Sir? “She’d found showing obedience was a sure-fire way of acting in accordance with Jones’ specification. She had to admit being their little actress and assuming the submissive role turned her on, especially when they forced her to vocalize her subservience

“Simple. I don’t have to enter the room to get serviced by you. I’ll push my cock through this here little opening for food trays, and Pretty Toy will suck it. Don’t worry; my dick belongs there because it is food for you. I won’t touch you any, but you’ll make me happy. Playing with Pretty Toys is meant to make people happy. But first show me your working parts, Pretty Toy. Make my cock stiff. “

She knew what he wanted. She moved back five feet from the door and spread her legs wide, hands under each breast, plumping and displaying them to advantage. She was, of course, completely naked.

The guard’s eyes centred on her pubic mound, her black pubic hair untrimmed but not thick enough to conceal and protect the modesty of her pussy. She shivered, feeling his eyes, hot and wet, invade her most tender place.

“Pretty Toy has a nice little pussy. If Pretty Toy sucks me real good, I’ll give her permission to pet her pussy. “

These people made her so angry! Talking to her like she was some kind of inanimate object. She’d heard of the objectification of women but this was ridiculous. Suggesting she would want to finger her pussy while she sucked him off. Like he was kindly giving her a present!

“Pretty Toy, switch into blow job mode. “

She tried to keep the outrage and resentment off her face and failed miserably. She glanced up at the camera mounted in one corner of the room. He’d probably made a bet with another guard who would be watching her performance on the cameras. But, she had already donned her Pretty Toy role and that meant following instructions, whatever they were. He just wanted an unusual blow job, nothing worse than what she had already done.

Becca’s poor abused body protested as she squatted until her mouth was level with the metal shelf that stuck out from under the tray opening in the door. Squatting caused her little ass to clench and spread under the window for his viewing pleasure.

The guard pushed his stiff black cock through the opening until it rested on the cool stainless steel shelf. She looked at it with a hollow feeling in her stomach, then opened her lips and made contact with his dick.

First she kept her lips together and used the tandem to skim from tip to base and back, again and again across the top of the cock. She heard him groan in delight and felt pleased with producing such pleasure in him.

“I give you permission to pet your pussy as a gift for gobbling my cock so good. Compromise, Pretty Toy, that’s what life is all about. “

She pressed her left cheek against the cool stainless steel shelf and slid it forward toward his cockhead. As she tried to guide it between her lips, a streak of pre-come created a snail trail across her chin. She popped his cock into her mouth and tasted the salty, slimy pre-come, an unexpected amount of saliva pooled in her mouth, almost as if she was starving for cock.

“Oh yes, Pretty Toy, you are definitely so compromised. “

Starving for cock? How ridiculous, she asserted inwardly as her lips, mouth, and tongue teamed up to synchronize the best possible blow job. At least, her mouth wasn’t starving for cock. She admitted her pussy was hungry for… something.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he did come in the cell. Maybe she should stop pleasuring him to incite him to come and get her.

Although her pussy longed to be fucked, she hated the idea of disappointing the guard, whoever he was. Disappointing him was not part of her programming. Part of her instructions, she corrected herself. Maybe getting fucked wasn’t in her current instruction set, but he had given her permission to “pet her pussy”.

Becca’s left hand gripped the metal shelf for balance, and her right hand darted to her pussy. Before she could get a grip on herself and reconsider, her fingers got a grip on her dripping, hungry pussy. All of her fingers strained to thrust into the heat of her tight slit, competing deliciously to gain entry.

While fingering herself, she licked all over the guard’s cockhead. Wanting the entire length of his cock inside her mouth, she slid her whole head forward and back on the shelf through a large pool of her own drool, trying to take the dick as deep as possible.

She felt slimy, awkward, and passionate. She was such a slut. Her pussy squished hard down on her fingers. What a whore she was. Her arousal spiked dangerously. The worse she thought of herself the closer she came to coming.

The guard’s cock jerked and pulsed. “Ahhh, I’m coming! All over your face, Pretty Toy, make it go all over your face! “

Becca quickly and unquestioningly obeyed instructions. She was desperate to come and was so close, her fingers frantically working in her pussy folds, but it was even more important to do as she was told.

She pulled her face off his cock and moved back about half a foot. She waited for the spray of whiteness, her eyes blinking defensively. She kept her face sideways and her previously drooled saliva dripped off her lower cheek onto the metal shelf. He blasted his climax into her face and hair, and she obediently held still for it. As the hot come dripped down her face, she quivered with lust and degradation, hoping the act and smell would take her over the edge into her own orgasm. It wasn’t quite enough. The fingers in her pussy slowed their ministrations. She could still finger herself to completion, but it wasn’t the same.

Thick white come coated her face. Some was stuck in her hair, but most of it slid off her face to pool below on the stainless steel shelf.

“Don’t you be wasting food, Pretty Toy. Eat it all up, yum yum. “

Becca went to work licking up the mixture of his warm spend and her cooled saliva. It was a twisted, shameful turn on, and her fingers picked up speed again, working to satiate her needful pussy. She was getting desperate for release.

It only took a long minute for her to polish the entire shaft, all of his sperm soon digesting in her belly.

The guard pulled his cock back, and she heard the zip of his pants going back up. Without a word he left her with only the sound of his receding footsteps and an unfulfilled pussy.

She stood up, aching, dizzy, and lusty, only bothering to clean her soiled face with a single swipe of her hand across one cheek. She would have been shocked at the heavy white dapples all over her face and hair if she looked in a mirror, but mirrors were banned from suites, as patients could break them into shards and cut themselves or others.

Seeking a solution to her desperate need, her eyes scanned the cell and found a brave volunteer. Lilly Hopkins sat in bed watching her with a wide voracious smile. She tossed the thin blanket off her nude form and patted the bed next to her.

Becca really disliked Lilly, and it made her angry to Lilly had clearly enjoyed watching her debasement, but Becca’s desperate need for completion made her grateful. Plus, Becca’s distaste for Lilly combined with the delicious idea of reprehensible lesbian acts poured gasoline on Becca’s little crotch campfire.

Becca ran to Lilly’s bed, jumped on it, and surprised Lilly by straddling her and cramming her pussy onto her mouth. Lilly’s tongue snaked in and within moments Pretty Toy finally climaxed with a yell, her come-stained face turned straight up to the ceiling.