Head Nurse
by Tammy Houston


FOREWORD 

Anne looked up at the man. It was incredible. She'd have never believed the 
truth, if she hadn't witnessed it with her own eyes. 

There he was, lying in bed... 

But the focus of her attention was riveted on the cock ... that legendary 
cock. Was it really capable of everything they said it was? 

Could it possibly be out of commission now? 

She moved into the room. 

He was sleeping ... should she wake him? 

Of course she should. There was no way out of it. She'd damn well have to 
wake him, because what she had planned, no man could sleep through. 

She stared down at him, saw that he was flaccid, and then, with one more 
amazed look into his face, she turned back to his enormous cock, and began 
to stroke it ... softly, gently. 

He stirred in his sleep. 

But he didn't wake up. 

And then ... and then ... she felt the faint stirrings of life throbbing 
through that hose-like organ. And her cunt began to tingle. 

-The Publisher 


CHAPTER ONE 

The soft ping of the intercom sounded in the hushed corridor of Halflife 
General Hospital. 

"Dr. CASEY. CALLING Dr. CASEY. PLEASE REPORT TO THE ELECTRONIC GAME ROOM." 

Anne Bresto scarcely noticed the sound. The daily noise in the hospital was 
scarcely loud enough to be noticed ... the place had been designed that way, 
perhaps to reduce the tension one naturally tended to feel when shrieks of 
pain echoed through the corridors. 

Yes, there were those ... more than she'd have liked. For the sad truth was, 
that in this day, when modern science was supposed to have evolved to its 
highest expression in the history of humankind, death and dying still 
existed in abundance, and the great majority due to causes that should be 
curable, but thus far were most decidedly not. 

It was depressing, to watch patients fade away daily, people that one came 
to know, to love ... one day, gone. Wheeled out beneath a sheet, reduced to 
another numbered entry in the computer's data banks. 

Depressing to the point that she felt an overpowering need at times to try, 
in whatever ineffectual way that might be available to her, to reverse the 
flow, paddle against the current, spread life amid the death. 

There was so little to be found, too. Among the other residents and nurses, 
the notion that they were dealing with 'people' had long since been numbed 
by the reality that while it hurts to lose a person, losing a 'patient' is 
simply one of the aspects of the job. A cold, callous attitude seemed to 
pervade the staff, one that she, as a young nurse still in her first year, 
couldn't accept. It hurt her. There was so much misery, so much suffering. 
How could you ignore it? 

"How can you open yourself up to it," Judy Thyghler said to her. Judy was 
also a first year nurse, and the two of them had become fast friends. "If 
you start with one, there's no place to draw the line. You can't let it 
affect you personally. That's not our job. We can't heal if we have to be 
social workers and ministers too." 

"Damn it, Judy, we can't heal as it is. They die. They all die." 

"Oh, they do not. We do good things here, Anne, and you know it. You need to 
be more professional. You need to get your attitude on right." 

"You're saying I need to get colder. I need to be less human. Like 
Ludmilla." 

"No ... not Ludmilla. She's an automaton." 

"Right, which is why she's the perfect head nurse. You're telling me that I 
need to be more like her if I want to make it in this profession." 

"God ... I hope not." 

"Okay ... then where do you draw the line?" 

It was a common argument, one they knew was unresolvable. They both knew, 
somehow, that Anne would continue to try her best as a nurse, and at the 
same time, that she would continue to suffer with, and sometimes for, her 
patients. 

Just now, she was wheeling a wash pan filled with hot water into room 209. 

Ernie Cravitz was in there. He'd been in a bad accident several months ago, 
and was still forced to stay in traction. 

The poor boy, it was a common joke among the staff that he was the horniest 
patient they'd ever seen. 

"You know," Meridith Ainsley said in the cafeteria the other day, "I caught 
that Cravitz boy whacking off the other night. It was funny. I tried not to 
laugh, but he looked so embarrassed, I finally couldn't help it. I had to 
run from the room, and I think he heard me laughing as I ran." 

They'd all gotten a good laugh at that. 

All except Anne. 

The poor boy, she kept thinking. All banged up in a strange town. He'd been 
working here, with a moving company, and had been so badly banged up that 
they didn't think it wise to move him. The insurance paid for everything, so 
it really wasn't a problem ... but his girlfriend was still back on the 
other side of the country. She'd visited once, but he'd been wrapped in an 
full body cast then, and so all she'd been able to do was shake her tits in 
his face, which the night resident had politely turned her back on. It was a 
surprising touch of humanity. 

She pushed open the door, and looked in. 

He was lying there, as usual, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Ernie, how's it going?" she asked with a sunny smile and a lilting 
sing-song voice. He turned and gave her a disinterested stare, and then with 
a sigh, stared back up at the ceiling. 

His eyes were the saddest eyes she'd ever seen. She couldn't blame him. 
People suffered serious depression in hospitals, even when they had family 
and friends to visit them every day and knew that they'd be getting back 
out. Ernie had none of that, although there was talk of finally moving him 
back to his home town. If the doctors would agree that it was to hasten the 
healing process, raising his spirits by placing him back in his familiar 
environment, then they'd be able to get the insurance to pay for it. As 
usual, the doctors were lagging, and there was no way to speed up the 
bureaucratic process. 

She pulled open the blinds. 

"Come on, let's get a little light in here," she said, still trying to be 
cheery, but it was hard. The boy was so depressed that it was almost 
infectuous. 

She turned back to him. 

"Are you ready for your bath?" she asked. 

Walking over to him, she pulled back his covers. That's when she noticed 
that he seemed to be very uncomfortable. 

"Are you alright, Ernie?" 

"Um ... yeah, sure, Nurse Bresto ... but do you think I could do without it 
today?" 

"Well, I don't know, Ernie. You said the same thing to Nurse Collins 
yesterday, according to your hygiene chart. What's going on? You have to 
stay clean." 

"I know ... but do you think we could maybe forget it today?" 

She looked down and ... hey hey ... what was this? One of those famous Ernie 
Cravitz erections that were the topic of such lively discussion. 

She smiled, and tried to make her voice sound as understanding as possible. 

"Ernie ... I think I might know what's got you so upset." 

"I doubt it. Look, could you pull the covers back over me? I'm cold." 

"It's not all that chilly in here, Ernie." 

"I don't care. I'm cold. Could you pull the covers over me?" 

He wouldn't even look at her. The poor boy. It must be humiliating to have 
to lay on your back, not even able to turn away from someone. There was no 
privacy ... no way to express your true feelings... 

"Ernie," she said softly, leaving the covers down, "I'm here to help you. If 
you let me, I think I can." 

He kept his head turned away from her, but she saw his cock jerk a couple of 
times, and noticed that there was a clear droplet of liquid forming in the 
material of his gown, right above his glans. 

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?" 

He bit his lip. He was starting to shake. She was purposely making her voice 
as sexy and seductive as she could now. 

She waited a moment longer, and then reached over to his face and turned it 
to her. 

There was a momentary tug of resistance, and then he let his eyes meet hers. 
They were intense, pleading almost... 

"How old are you, Ernie?" 

"Um ... twenty-two." 

Only five years younger than she was," thought Anne. Not much of a 
difference. He was right at that age when his balls were boiling almost full 
time. It must be awfully uncomfortable. 

"You seem to be awfully tense, Ernie." 

"No, Ma'am, not really. I been laying here a long time, so like, I'm pretty 
relaxed." 

"I see. Well, I was referring to something a little more specific, if you 
know what I mean." 

He looked up at her again, this time with such a serious look of questioning 
in his eyes, she wanted to smother him with hugs and kisses. "Ernie, you 
need something, and I can give it to you." 

He said nothing, but as her fingers touched him on the top of his leg cast, 
she felt his whole body jump. 

The cast came about halfway up his thigh. Beyond that, she knew, he was 
naked. 

"You've got a nice looking bulge there, Ernie," she said suddenly, wondering 
if she was being too blatantly overt. 

His eyes opened wider and wider. 

"Wh-whaaaa..." 

She touched the head of his cock through his hospital gown. He jumped. 

"Oops," she said teasingly, "don't be making any sudden moves like that. 
You'll break your leg again and that wouldn't be good, would it? You'll just 
have to stay here all that much longer, and I know how much you'd love to 
get out of here. 

The sunlight through the blind slats cast a pattern of slanted parallel 
lines across his face, almost like a mask. 

But it couldn't hide the full, wanton lust that was etched there. She could 
feel it, radiating from every pore, from every point on the surface of his 
skin. 

She began to press harder against his crotch. 

He shuddered. 

"You've got a lot of tension, don't you think?" 

"I- I- I guess s-so," he stammered. 

She smiled lovingly at him. Not really a bad looking boy, she thought to 
herself. Get him a haircut, clean him up, let him stand on his own two legs 
... get rid of that hang-dog expression. 

Which was what she was accomplishing at this very moment, if her guess was 
correct. 

The stain over his glans was larger now, and a little darker. 

He was getting very very aroused, and in a very short time. Should she just 
go ahead and give him a quickie? 

No ... that wouldn't be much different than if he simply masturbated. 

Why not... 

She slowly raised up his gown and stared at his cock. 

It was beautiful. Huge ... with thick purple veins running up and down the 
sides, twisting around each other like vines. 

"You're very well endowed," she said to him. 

"I ... I am?" 

Anne laughed. 

"You aren't going to tell me that you didn't know, are you?" 

"Well.- I mean ... it's been a long time since anyone noticed. 

"Oh, don't fool yourself, my friend. We've noticed." 

"You have?" 

"Of course. We've all had a turn at bathing you once or twice. We've 
noticed. Let me assure you of that." 

His face slowly turned a deep crimson. 

"I surely wouldn't let it bother you. I promise you, it doesn't bother us. 
As a matter of fact, it's the kind of thing we admire ... to be perfectly 
honest." 

"Well ... not everyone." 

"Mmmmmmm..." she said, frowning. "I know what you mean. I heard about that 
nasty little incident..." 

She kept up a steady stream of chatter, all the while stroking his cock 
softly with her fingers, slowly letting them drift up and down over the 
surface of the swollen organ. 

She kept away from his glans, knowing that would be his most sensitive part. 

Instead, she placed her finger and thumb around the base, and slowly started 
to squeeze. Gradually, some of the fire went out of his eyes, as the 
pressure on his nerves at that point reduced the immediacy of his need to 
come. 

"Wow ... why'd you do that?" he asked. 

"Because you need a little more time. That's why. Because I've got something 
that I think you'll enjoy." "What's that-!" 

His eyes opened wider and wider. He strangled on a word, that came out 
"Ulp!" and watched her hike her skirt up, pull her panties down and move up 
next to his face. 

"Now, Ernie, I don't want you to think you're going to be in here the rest 
of your life. When you finally get out, you're going to want to sample the 
pleasures of female flesh ... I would think." She glanced nervously at the 
door to his room, knowing that Nurse Ludmilla Shank made spot checks of the 
new nurses on their rounds. She'd hate for her to discover this little 
scene. 

Ernie was staring at her pubic bush. 

"When that happens," she continued, "I'd hate for you to have been here so 
long that you've forgotten what it looked like..." 

She slowly spread her legs, opening the pink lips to her cunt. With the tips 
of her fingers, she started to run them through her slit, spreading her 
juice around the outside of her lips and down her thighs. 

"...or what it feels like," she continued, taking his hand and placing it on 
her open gash. Glancing back at his crotch, she saw that there was a thick 
accumulation of clear liquid at the opening in his glans once more, and she 
reached back down and squeezed him gently again, right below the ridge at 
the base of his mushroom shaped head. He gasped, his hips jerked slightly, 
and then, he was still again, and his cock shrank just a little bit. 

She touched his fingers, and gently pushed them up inside her pussy. 

"How's it feel, Ernie?" 

"Damn," he said, his voice soft with amazement, "I sure don't ever remember 
it feeling this good." 

His cock was already back to its full erection. 

She reached back down to him once more and again squeezed him. 

Then she said, "We don't want you to forget how it tastes, either," and with 
that she placed one foot on the side of the bedsprings. 

She mounted the bed, placed her other foot across him, and let her pussy 
open to its fullest directly above his mouth. 

He was staring up at her totally amazed now. 

"You like looking at me, Ernie?" she said. What she was thinking, however, 
while he stammered his assurances that he did, was 'why the fuck am I doing 
this? A simple jerk-off job, sure. Everyone tries that once in a while. 
Sometimes the guys need it, and they deserve it. 

But this? This would get her fired, plain and simple. Was it worth it? 

Well, there seemed to be the godawful tingling inside her cunt, and for the 
life of her, she didn't think she'd be able to concentrate on the operation 
this afternoon that she was to assist Dr. Holcomb with, if she was so 
preoccupied. Yeah ... that's it. That's why it was so important for her to 
do this. It wasn't just for Ernie, though God knows the poor kid needed 
something. But it was for the good of Dr. Holcomb, her job, the hospital, 
humankind... 

She was lowering her quivering snatch down on Ernie Cravitz's yearning, 
hungry mouth for the good of humankind, by golly, and that surely made it 
right, didn't it, and my GOD that tongue of his was going crazy whipping 
back and forth between her lips... 

Not so fast, not so hard, she thought, pulling up a little, so that as he 
stretched his tongue out all the way, he'd still only be able to make 
contact with the tip fluttering like a hummingbird's wing, back and forth, 
back and forth, a velvet buzz-saw slicing right through her brain... 

"Oh Ernie ... that's so good ... so good." 

Then, she remembered his cock. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that 
it was once again totally stiff and throbbing, and so, she turned around on 
the bed, still keeping her cunt over his mouth, only this time, she was 
facing his crotch. 

Now ... careful ... have to lean over ... just like this ... support myself 
with my hands ... can't fall, break the little bastard legs and back again, 
can't have that, Lord knows how would I ever explain it to Ludmilla ... and 
oh yes oh yes oh yes you mad crazy boy you, whip that thing all up and down 
through my cunt, oh yes yes, whip it good, whip my clit, lick it good, 
please yes yes yes... 

Of course, she kept her outward attitude placid and unaffected. Oh, perhaps 
there was a little pressing of her hips, jamming them down onto his face 
every now and then when an uncontrollable spasm ripped through her muscles, 
but for the most part, she was totally oblivious to everything ... except 
for his cock. That big, thick, throbbing piece of pulsating sexual meat. 

She opened her mouth, kept her thumb and forefinger firmly planted around 
the base of his glans, and then she began to lick. And oh, how good it 
tasted. Salty, but so delicate and soft... 

He began to groan, and his tongue raced through him like a blizzard. Again 
and again he attacked her soft flesh, ripping through it with a 
determination that was demonic. 

She felt herself rising up to a peak of arousal, one that she hadn't 
expected to achieve. 

Again and again his tongue raced over her clit, and finally, she could 
contain herself no longer. 

She took her finger and thumb away from his glans and let his whole cock 
plunge into her mouth. 

At the same time, she started to stroke his balls, gently, massaging the 
soft round globes, letting her fingertip drift lazily over his asshole that 
was puckering shut, then opening, shutting, then opening. 

She continued to caress his buttocks, harder and harder, and then, she felt 
him starting to shake and quiver. 

"Gently, gently, easy on yourself," she told him. She would have said more, 
but suddenly, she had her mouth full, and with a lot more than his cock. 

Ernie blew a load that nearly sent her sprawling. She had a quick image of 
her head rocking backwards from a cannon shot. 

She started to swallow, trying to get every little bit down her throat, but 
he kept on shooting, faster than she could gulp it down. 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," she gasped, trying 
to breathe, trying hard not to scream out loud. 

He shot wad after wad, again and again, until the inside of her mouth was 
coated. She could feel thick stringy strands glued to the roof of her mouth, 
to her teeth, to her tongue ... dribbling down from the corners of her 
mouth. 

"Oh God, that's wonderful," she said to him, softly, "don't stop." 

He didn't. She was talking about his tongue on her clit, which went crazy as 
he hit his orgasm, but he continued to shoot as well. 

He kept licking her, letting the tip of his tongue home in on her cunt, 
running back and forth wildly now over her clit, and finally, she felt 
herself suddenly swept up in the rising sensations of her orgasmic fury, 
waves rolling up out of her cunt now, shaking her body, shattering her, 
ripping her apart. 

Her nerves sizzled. She felt her brain explode. 

Her muscles contracted, and suddenly, in the midst of shaking from one end 
of her body to the other, she lost her footing. 

No, she thought to herself. No, you can't. You can't. Don't fall on the kid, 
you'll never be able to explain it to Nurse Shanks. 

So, as she felt herself literally tottering at the brink of total collapse, 
she did what any dedicated nurse would do. She put her patient's welfare 
ahead of her own, and seeing that she was going to fall anyway, she allowed 
herself to topple onto the floor. , Right on her ass, and did it ever hurt!' 

Ernie was almost going to spring out of bed, until he realized how foolish 
that would have been. 

"Nurse Bresto, Nurse Bresto! Are you all right?" 

"I ... whew! I think so. I don't know..." 

She felt herself all over, trying to determine whether or not she'd broken 
anything, trying simply to figure out if she was still there at all. She was 
dizzy still from her intense orgasm, and didn't have any real grip on 
herself yet. 

Then, she heard something that sent a chill through her blood. 

The door knob turned, and with a click, the door started to open. 

She jumped up, and stared in horror at the door, not yet opened, and at 
Ernie's cock, still hard and throbbing, though finally going back down. 

A voice called outside. 

"Nurse Shanks ... Oh Nurse Shanks!" 

Ludmilla Shanks! Head Nurse. Making her rounds, and here to check up on 
Anne, no doubt wondering what was going on. 

But someone was engaging her in a conversation. If she was lucky, Anne would 
have just enough time to cover her tracks. 

Springing into action, she pulled Ernie's gown over his cock, and pulled her 
panties up. Then, pulling the cart with the wash pan on it close to his bed, 
she began to wash him all over his face and chest. 

The door opened.... 

"Nurse Bresto." 

"Oh. Yes, Nurse Shanks? How are you today?" 

"Never mind that. Have you been dawdling again?" 

"Excuse me? I believe I don't dawdle." 

"I'm sorry, but I have to disagree. You've taken entirely too much time with 
this-! My God. What have you done to him?" 

"What are you talking about, Nurse Shanks?" 

The tall woman strode across the room with the determination of the Marines 
landing at Iwo Jima. 

"What have you done? Did you slip him an illegal drug? I won't have that. I 
tell you, I won't." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Look at that face. I saw him only this morning, and the difference is 
absolutely astounding. This man has been tranquilized." 

Anne began to laugh. 

"Nurse Shanks, please, if you're going to accuse me of such a thing in front 
of witnesses, I'm afraid I'll have to ask Dr. Schlepzid to come down here 
and personally supervise a blood test on the patient. I won't have my 
reputation so carelessly besmirched. Do I make myself clear." 

Ludmilla Shanks, all six feet three inches of her, glowered sullenly at 
Anne. Anne knew the woman despised her. She represented the 'new breed' of 
nurses, who while every bit as dedicated, made no effort to marry their 
careers as Ludmilla's generation had done, waiting in vain for some doctor 
to marry them, shriveling on the vine in the meantime. 

"Well, see if you can't be more prompt. You're to assist Dr. Holcomb in 
surgery this afternoon." 

"I'm quite aware of my duties, Nurse Shanks." 

"Well ... that remains to be seen." 

The two women glared at each other a moment longer, and then the Head Nurse 
stalked out of the room. 

"Gosh," said Ernie, "who the hell is she? I've seen her around, but she's 
never said a word to me, not even when she's come in to check my chart." 

"She's the Head Nurse." 

"Really. Well, I'll tell you what. 

"You're a damn good 'head' nurse, yourself." 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Whazzat!" 

Nurse Ludmilla Shanks sighed. "Doctor, it would make this conversation so 
much easier if you would simply try to listen to me." 

"Huh? I am listening to you. What do you think? You think I'm just sitting 
here looking at you. Good Lord, I hope to tell you, I most definitely am 
not. I hope to tell you. I'm listening. What were you saying?" 

"I was trying to talk to you about that Nurse I mentioned the other day. 
Nurse Bresto." 

"Hmmmm? Who's she? We got someone with a name like that? How come I never 
met her? I don't remember anyone like that? Who is she? What's the problem. 
Talk to me, woman! How the hell can I run this show if no one tells me 
anything!" 

"I'm trying to tell you, Dr. Schlepzig ... if you'll only listen." 

"Whazzat? We going through all that again." 

He picked up a pen and began to shuffle through a sheaf of papers on his 
desk. "How come there's never anything for me to sign around here? I'm the 
boss. That's what I'm supposed to do. Why can't I sign anything?" 

Ludmilla gritted her teeth. She appreciated that the medical community 
wanted to take care of it's own ... and that Dr. Maxwell Schlepzig, after 
forty years of dedicated service, certainly did not deserve to be put out to 
pasture simply because he was going hopelessly senile ... but the man could 
be trying at times. Oh well, she thought. It could be worse. He could make 
good his continuing threat to resume surgery. Now that would be a disaster. 

"So, what about this nurse's tits?" 

"What? Oh ... oh, I see. Yes, you mean... 

Nurse Bresto. Not her breasts. Bresto is her name." 

"Right, but she's got great tits, right?" 

Ludmilla began to blush. "Doctor, I really don't think this is germaine to 
the topic at hand..." 

"Nurse Shanks ... you really don't need to bother me about a silly nurse, do 
you? Isn't that why we made you the head nurse?" 

Ludmilla frowned. That was the trouble with senility. You could never depend 
on it to stay in one spot. There were these damned moment of lucidity... 

"Dr. Schlepzig, am I to understand that you are giving me full rein in the 
handling of the nursing staff?" 

"Well of course! What do you want? What do you expect? You're the head 
nurse! Good God, Girl, don't come to me with trivial questions. I've got to 
figure out a way to seal off the entire west wing on the sixth floor." 

"What? Why on earth.,." 

"Don't ask me. No one ever tells me anything. Dr. Dietrich came down this 
morning and told me that it had to be done. High priority patient checking 
in and we must guarantee his security." 

"I see. That's rather strange." 

"No it's not, Dietrich never tells me anything." 

"No ... I mean about security. You'd think there was a government hospital 
they could use if they want security. I assume it's the government." 

"Governments. Bah! Humbug! Downfall of civilization, that's what they are. 
The less government you have, the better, I always say!" 

He was slipping again. "Right you are, Dr. Schlipzig, now if that's all, I 
think I'll get back to my duties..." 

"What do you mean, 'if that's all?' Don't you try to play games with me, my 
dear. I know that you were the one to initiate this silly conference. And 
for what? Why, to complain because one of your nurses has bigger tits than 
you do. Why, I've never heard of such. With all the advantages of modern 
medicine open to you, there's plenty of options, if it's bothering you so 
much. In fact, I'd be glad to volunteer to do an implant operation myself, 
if you thought..." 

"NO ... thank you ... Doctor, that will be quite fine. I think I'll work it 
out on my own..." 

"Yes, well, I hope so. There's no point in having such an ego, I'll tell 
you. It ruins your _ objectivity, you want my opinion." 

She beat a hasty retreat from the man's office. The Head Resident. Lord, 
what a joke. 

And God help anyone who wound up under that man's knife if he decided to 
resume active practice. Thanks to the medical communities tendency to cover 
up for their own, he'd never had any official reports filed concerning his 
last disasters before he was persuaded to let the Board promote him upstairs 
to the administrator's position he now held. Technically, there was nothing 
stopping him except for his own senility, which generally kept him from 
remembering anything that he wanted to do. She knew that was a rather slim 
bulwark against tragedy. 

But there was nothing she herself could do, beyond a simple effort to 
maintain some level of sanity in an insane world. Which certainly described 
Halflife General. 

Meredith and Anne were talking as they relaxed in one of the private 
lounges. 

"It's true, I'm telling you. I know it was him." 

"I just can't believe it," said Anne. "He seems so dedicated, and I really 
thought he and his wife were getting along real good." 

"That never means anything. You should know that." 

The object they were dissecting like a frog under a microscope happened to 
be one Aaron 

Crandlet, a resident for seven years, quite well respected, and, until now, 
considered by all the nurses to be utterly off limits. 

"Don't they have a couple of kids?" asked Anne. 

"Two. One seven, and one ten. It just goes to show you, girl, that no man 
should ever be considered off limits." 

Anne thought back to her bout with Ernie Cravits earlier that afternoon and 
bit her lip to keep from laughing. 

"So what are you going to do about it," she asked Meredith, "make a play for 
him?" . 

"Well ... he is awfully rich. I understand he made some brilliant 
investments a few years back, and now, he could retire if he wanted to." 

"Oh yes, the brilliant, dedicated doctor ... how familiar is the image. 
Sacrificing their personal lives, their families, their own health simply 
for the perverse pleasure of saving lives ... slogging through the rainy 
nights, black bag clutched firmly in their noble hand, eyes steadfast 
through the dark night, a shining beacon of hope for the sick, the weary, 
those in pain..." 

"My, my, haven't we turned into the cynic? What is this problem of yours, my 
dear," asked Meredith, laughing. 

"Well damn the bastards, that's what they're supposed to be.- but they 
aren't. They're all a bunch of greedy, incompetent old farts. My God, do you 
know that Dr. Schlepzig has filed to be reinstated to active practice." 

Meredith frowned. I know. I heard. It's been going on for five years. I 
don't think the board has acted on the first application he submitted, and 
there've been loads since then." 

"Is it true what I've heard-!" 

"Whatever you've heard, and you shouldn't talk about it in here, is already 
the result of a gross whitewash. The man used to be affectionately known as 
"Max the Knife", or else just 'The Mad Butcher". 

"Really?" 

"Sure. Now really, you shouldn't talk about it. No one likes to be reminded 
that those noble hands you talk about can sever a wrong nerve, or forget to 
give a patient enough oxygen." 

Anne's eyes opened wide. "Are you kidding-!.' 

"I'm serious, honey. Don't talk about it in here." 

"But I've never heard about anything that serious..." 

"And there's a reason for it. Now cool it. Besides, it's late, and I'm on 
duty in fifteen minutes." 

Anne looked at her watch. "Oh Gosh. I've got to get down to pre-op. I'm 
assisting Dr. Holcomb in surgery." 

"Oh, you lucky little bitch you. Just try to keep your hands off him, will 
you, I'm still having wet dreams about that bastard." "Still haven't gotten 
over him, huh?" 

"Well ... it was twelve inches long." 

They laughed, and went their separate ways. Anne had always wanted to make a 
play for Brent Holcomb, the most desirable doctor in the hospital, as well 
as being the most competent. God he was good looking. And that twelve incher 
Meredith spoke of was no exaggeration. Meredith knew from first hand 
experience ... actually from several first hand experiences ... one of which 
had taken place right there in the lounge on the very couch where they'd 
been chatting. Rumor had it that they were turning into an item ... until 
one day he'd simply thrown her off. 

Meredith had been quite upset, distracted, and had resorted to a greater 
than usual dose of Valium to hold her over ... the prescription for which 
she was cynically provided with by the good Doctor Holcomb himself. 

The only vestige of their fling that remained was a whopping Valium habit, 
one that was generally overlooked by the rest of the nursing staff, most of 
which had habits of their own of one sort or another that needed an equal 
amount of return tolerance and understanding. 

She pushed open the door to the pre-op room, and slipped into her white 
gown. 

Then, as she stuffed her long silky hair up under her cap, she heard a noise 
behind her. 

She turned around and saw ... Brent Holcomb! But my God, she thought, what 
the hell was wrong with him. Could it be ... was he drugged? 

"Dr. Holcomb," she said, genuinely concerned, "is there something the 
matter?" 

He looked up at her and she saw that his eyes were totally bloodshot. Like 
Georgia roadmaps. 

"What's the matter," she asked again, realizing that he still didn't quite 
make the connection that she was talking to him. 

"Huh?" he said. 

Uh-oh, she thought. Not good. Not good. "Dr. Holcomb, you have to be in 
surgery in forty minutes. Are you all right? Should I have someone else-!" 

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with me, dear girl," he said, shooting a 
blast of breath at her that smelled like the Calvert Brewing mill. 

"Dr. Holcomb! You're drunk!" 

"Now, now ... that's not ... entirely true ... my dear..." 

He could hardly stand up. 

"Oh my God ... I've got to call Nurse 

Shanks... 

"Anne dearest ... if you bring that shriveled up old wart down here and give 
her a chance to sink her claws into me, I'll have to break your neck ... not 
that'd I'd particularly want to, understand, but you'd really leave me no 
choice." 

He could hardly stand up. 

"Dr. Holcomb, I'm surprised at you. How could you do such a thing. You're 
supposed to be so dedicated ... you've got such an untarnished 
reputation..." 

She was trying to force him to stand up straight now, in case someone else 
happened into the room. 

"Please, you have to straighten up. The rest of the crew is going to be in 
here any moment..." 

"Yeah ... but we've still got time for a little quickie, don't you think..." 

He started to play with her breasts, cupping both of them with his hands. At 
first, she thought he was just squeezing on them hard, but she very quickly 
realized that he was, in fact, trying to support himself by holding onto 
them And not doing a good job of it either. 

He began to lean further and further into her, pressing harder and harder on 
her breasts ... she started to push back, realizing too late that the man 
had completely lost his balance. 

"Dr. Holcomb! Stop this. Stop this. STOP THIS!!" 

She screamed as he fell onto her. He seemed not t have realized that he'd 
been in the process of falling over ... thus, when he finally did begin that 
irreversible plummet to the floor, it took him quite by surprise. Acting 
purely by reflex, he gripped the only things available to him ... yep, you 
guessed it. Both of them. Hard. 

"OUCH!!! God damn it, that hurts!!!" 

His fingers were digging deeply into her breasts now, and even though she 
was wearing the gown over her blouse and bra, it felt as if he was digging 
into her naked flesh. 

He fell to one side of her, falling onto his back. He never let go of her 
breasts, and so she tumbled after him, landing right on top of him. 

"Doctor, this is disgusting, and I must say... 

STOP THAT!!!" 

His hand was creeping up her gown and skirt. 

She started to slap at the thing but it was already buried under too many 
layers of clothing for her to get at it. 

"Dr. Holcomb, this is outrageous, stop. Stop! Stop!" 

" She had a firm grip on his elbow now, and was pulling as hard as she could 
on it, but he was amazingly strong (apparently he really did work out every 
day in the local gym, as she'd heard) and she felt those probing fingers 
moving further and further up her thighs, closer and closer to that soft, 
wet spot where they met-! 

She heard voices. Laughter. 

People were coming. 

"Get up. Get up!" she whispered frantically. He looked at her with a goofy 
grin and those fingers kept on pushing. 

"I'm warning you," she said, really getting frightened. This was something 
she did not feel like explaining to Nurse Ludmilla Shanks. "Last chance," 
she said. 

He paid her no heed, and so, backed finally into a corner, she was forced to 
abort a scene that she'd played out many times in her fantasies, with a far 
different conclusion, however. 

She grabbed his balls, and tightened her fingers around them. 

"Get up, you fucking moron. People are coming!" She could hear them 
approaching now, walking down the corridor to the Pre-op room. 

"Get up!" she said, squeezing his balls harder. A look of confusion crossed 
his face. What was going on down there, he seemed to be wondering. 

Then, the sensation finally made it through his sluggish, reluctant nerves 
and he quickly grimaced in pain. 

"Hey!" he said, rather loudly, "what the fuck are you doing..." 

She gave them one last quick, sharp squeeze. "Shut up and get up," she said. 

She finally got her message through to him. 

He started to pull away from her, trying to get away from that pain in his 
groin that she was filling him with. 

"Gimme a break," he said, really slurring his words now. "Damn it, quit 
being such a fucking prude. Wazza matter with a little boff in the hay 
before getting down to cases, huh? Get rid of the tension ... do better 
work. Don't wanna make a mistake out there on the table, do we?" 

She jumped up, grabbed him by the hair and started to pull hard, harder, 
harder yet, pulling until he struggled painfully to his feet. 

"All right, all right, I get the idea. Come on, give me break for Christ's 
sake." 

He was tottering precariously on his feet, and she could see that he hadn't 
yet mastered the art of balance. "Quick, over here..." she said, throwing 
open one of the lockers and guiding him over to it. 

"Support yourself by holding onto the door. No one will think anything." 

Just then, the doors flew open and in walked Judy Collier, the 'gas passer', 
and Dr. Anderson, the intern who would be observing. Brent Holcomb stood 
facing into the locker, making no sound ... making no move at ah\ in fact. 

"Hello, Anne," said Judy cheerfully. "Don't you look a mess." 

She started to giggle, and as Anne turned to look at herself in the mirror, 
she realized that she did indeed look exactly as she would have expected to 
look, after fending off an attack by a drunken lunatic. The worst part of it 
was, however, that same drunken lunatic would very quickly be holding a 
razor sharp scalpel in his hand, and the patient on the table would be 
totally defenseless. Who would fend off that attack? 

Ludmilla Shanks was angry. She couldn't quite determine why. She spent a 
great deal of her time these days being angry, not knowing why, and thus, 
winding up even more angry than before. 

She felt strange stirrings inside her ... not so strange really, in that 
they were familiar, and had been for a long time ... but strange in that she 
still had no way of coping with them. 

It didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair, was it? To devote you life to a career, 
and find that the rewards they'd told you about were hollow, meaningless. 

Here's was a joyless existence, one surrounded by sickness, disease, 
deformity and death. Those had long since ceased to have an effect on her 
... but she had only recently begun to suspect that the cost had been far 
greater than she might have been willing to pay. 

For the effect of numbing oneself against such horrors cannot be contained, 
nor localized. One's ability to respond to human suffering seemed to belong 
in the same nerve centers deep inside the cerebral cortex as the ability to 
laugh, to feel joy, to exult in the pleasures of life. 

Her resignation to the facts of her profession had left her an empty shell, 
devoid of emotion, unable to reach out and touch, unable to touch. 

As so often happened, she felt her hands trembling, felt a strange quivering 
sensation in her legs, and she knew that her need was expressing itself once 
more. 

Need. 

How strange, to realize after so many years of denial, that needs are never 
truly beaten down, done away with, overcome. They are instead, like negative 
deposits in some perverted bank account, waiting there, hidden, silently 
collecting interest, growing, seeping slowly out into the rest of the brain, 
until finally, that door opens just a crack, and-! She shook her head. 

Was the genie out of the bottle, she wondered? No. No. NOOOOOO!!!!! she 
screamed in the dark recesses of her brain. No, it wasn't out of the bottle, 
and besides, there was no genie, and there was no bottle and God please make 
my hands stop shaking-! 

She opened the door at the end of the corridor in the east wing of the ward. 

She stepped into the room. There she was, so sweet, so pretty, so young, 
ripe, so beautiful... 

"Good afternoon, Andrea," she said in as cheerful a voice as she could 
muster. 

The girl turned and stared at the woman. Ludmilla watched that pretty face 
with satisfaction. The sought after expression slowly crossed her 
features... 

Yes ... fear. That's what it was. Fear. The girl feared her. Desperately. 

As well she should. So young, so firm, so pretty ... with those delicious 
breasts flopping lazily beneath her gown ... how dare she ... didn't she 
realize that they would only get her in trouble ... that men would never 
seek her out for her own worth, but only because there were those strange 
deformities (for really, isn't that what they were) hanging from her upper 
torso... 

"Nurse Shanks ... I didn't ring ... I'm all right ... really, I'm all 
right..." 

"Shhhhh ... you needn't fear me, Andrea. It's time for your shot." 

"What shot? I don't remember..." 

Ludmilla stared down at the girl. What was it, she wondered, that triggered 
that primal fear reflex ... some nearly lost animal instinct, the same thing 
that makes deer bolt at the first footsteps the hunter makes through the 
forest ... that sends ripples of terror through the herd of gazelle when a 
cheetah is near... 

She was just a nurse ... this was a hospital ... why fear. There was no need 
for fear. She wouldn't hurt anyone ... she was just a nurse ... trained to 
heal, to help, to soothe, to ease the suffering of her VICTIMS-! 

The girl knew something was strange, but just what it was, she couldn't have 
said, and so, the resistance when Ludmilla lifted her arm was only a faint 
effort, not really to be taken seriously. 

"Now now, you've surely had enough shots by now. You must be used to them, 
aren't you?" 

She quickly gathered the girl's fleshy upper arm muscles together in a thick 
clump and aimed the gleaming point of the hypodermic straight downward ... 
down, down, down, through the surface of her skin, beneath the surface now, 
down down down, as if plunging to the deepest spaces in her own mind ... 
those shadow, dank corners where no light seeps through, where thought can 
lurk, thrive and grow, completely undetected by the conscious mind... 

Ludmilla felt her muscles go all tense as she watched the light slowly fade 
in the girl's eyes and then wink out. 

She would be oblivious for an hour. She would remember very little, or 
perhaps nothing of the events immediately surrounding the injection ... she 
would perhaps think that she'd simply been sleeping for the afternoon ... a 
sleep plagued with terrible, twisted dreams... 

She lifted the girl's gown, gazing down at those incredibly slender 
thighs... 

So soft, so creamy, so smooth... 

And her bush, a faint patch of hair, nearly as blonde as her hair ... 
scarcely covering her pink lips. Ludmilla ran her fingertips over the outer 
labia and felt the bristles of shaven pubic hair growing back. What did she 
do out there in the world, that caused her to have to shave herself ... what 
did she expose, and for whom. 

Ludmilla pulled open the girl's lips, gazed down at the flaming pink 
clitoris... 

Oh yes yes yes yes yes, she thought to herself ... yes, it's unbelievable, 
so perfect... 

She lowered her face to the girl's crotch, breathed in deeply of the musky 
aroma, and then, she rubbed her cheek over that wet pink flesh. Andrea's 
juices felt hot, slimy, delicious... 

She rubbed her face in it, her nose, her mouth, her other cheek, felt 
herself growing hot, hot, hotter, plunged a finger up the girl's pussy and 
felt her respond. Yes! That phenomenal contraction of muscles rippling all 
through the girl's body ... Yes, yes yes, she thought to herself, for the 
drug did not render the girl unconscious in the same way that a barbiturate 
or ordinary tranquilizer would. It was more of a hypnotic, leaving her 
conscious mind numb, while allowing the deeper regions of the brain to 
continue, virtually untouched. 

She began to tickle the girl's clitoris with her tongue, and heard a moan 
escape her lips... 

She bit on that rubbery nub of nerves, and the girl's entire body shook with 
a mighty jolt. 

She sucked on it, drawing the entire bed of loosely formed flesh that 
surrounded it into her mouth, pressing with her tongue against the entire 
stiff, erect organ of pleasure. 

And of pain. 

Pain ... yes, such a sweet emotion ... such an incomprehensible thing ... 
how can a body that produces such inestimable pleasure, likewise produce 
such pain... 

Linked in unbreakable symbiosis, one yielded the other. Remove the body's 
ability to experience pain, and you will also sacrifice its ability to feel 
pleasure. 

Yin and Yang. Heads and tails. Essential duality. She knew ... she'd removed 
her pain ... and spent a lifetime wondering why there was no pleasure ... 
wondering, hopeless wandering through her days, until at last, in a demented 
shriek, her repressed desires had burst forth like a malignant blossom and 
claimed her... 

She reached into her pocket, produced clamps, and now, with the delicacy of 
a surgeon, attached one to each of the girl's hardened nipples, and one to 
her clitoris. 

She stared down at that body, seemingly inert, yet, with impulses of pain 
surging through her nerves, channeled directly into her subconscious mind 
... indeed, her unconscious mind, who could possibly predict the final 
effect it would have on her waking desires- 

Ludmilla knew ... or at least she thought she knew. She would find out for 
certain before this girl left the hospital, she would prove her theories to 
be correct. And in the process, she would at last find an outlet for her 
mindless, demented passion. 

Trembling so badly now she was forced to grip her left wrist with her right 
hand, she slowly reached out and began to tighten the clamps ... one by one, 
a turn at a time ... slowly, steadily, tighter and tighter, compressing 
flesh and nerve endings, until, at last, the sleeping girl began to writhe 
like a puppet on the bed, moans slipping unchecked from her lips, her 
muscles jerking spasmodically... 

And Ludmilla watched, and as the macabre dance continued, she felt heat in 
her cunt, and juice on her thighs, and as she glanced in the mirror and told 
herself yes I am still attractive, I haven't missed life completely, and as 
she plunged her fingers beneath her own dress and began to massage her 
engorged clit, the girl on the bed began a long, low, guttural scream. And 
then, and only then, did the pressure within Ludmilla Shanks begin to 
abate... 

"All right, let's get this show on the road," exclaimed Dr. Holcomb, 
emerging from the storeroom where Anne had locked him up with an oxygen 
tank. 

"Breath. Breath. Deep, long and hard, and don't come out until you can walk 
upright," she said to him. Hopefully, no one else was really aware that 
something was wrong. A doctor about to perform surgery was pretty much 
granted whatever space he might feel he needed. It was a delicate procedure, 
even if, as in this case, the operation was relatively minor, and required 
only rudimentary skills.. 

She'd also hit him up with a shot of straight caffeine. "It's just like 
drinking six cups of coffee," she told him. Ordinarily, it would be 
unthinkable for a doctor to operate with so much caffeine in him. But the 
caffeine jitters were better than the drunken antics of an uncoordinated 
hand. 

She stared at him now, wondering if there was really any way that he could 
possibly perform this operation. 

He clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Okay, where's the little bugger. I'm 
ready for action, I'm ready for danger ... I'm Brent Holcomb, M D." 

He sounded like he was announcing a television show. 

She shook her head sadly. An image was biting the dust here, that was for 
sure. 

"Doctor, we'll be ready in a moment," she said, diplomatically. "Don't you 
think you should wash up first?" 

"What? Oh, yeah. I guess I should. Never know where I've had these hands, 
would you?" 

He gave her a sly wink. She groaned inwardly. The other members of the team 
were giving him curious glances, just now catching on the fact that he was 
acting just a little strange. 

At least the oxygen and caffeine had managed to prop him up somewhat ... but 
it was clear that the booze, or whatever it was that he'd had was still 
working on his mind. And that most likely included his judgment. 

She shuddered, contemplating the vast number of things that could go wrong 
in the next couple of hours. 

He emerged from the washroom and had someone place his gloves on for him. 

"So," he said, sounding like a high school coach prepping the team, "are you 
ready to go out there and knock 'em dead?" 

No one spoke. He was slurring his words a little bit. 

"Huh? Come on, what's wrong with you people? You're supposed to love your 
work! Why this seriousness? Come on, lighten up. Lighten up." 

Hmmmm, thought Anne, maybe a little too much caffeine. 

"So ... where is he. Let me at him. Let me at him. Give me a scalpel. Give 
me some scissors. Give me a meat cleaver, I don't care. I'll do it with my 
eyes closed. I'll do it with my hands tied behind my back. No challenge is 
too big. I'll fucking hold the blade in my teeth. Come on, what do you say, 
what do you say?" 

"Doctor?" asked Judy Collier, sounding shocked, "are you all right?" 

"I'm fine. I'm fine. What do you mean am I all right? Of course I'm all 
right. Have you ever known me not to be all right? I'm as right as right can 
be. Damn fucking straight I'm all right." 

Dr. Andersen, the intern, sidled up next to Anne and asked, "What the fuck 
gives, doll? I don't think I'd follow this guy into a circus sideshow, much 
less the operating room." Anne managed a pained grin. "Don't worry. He'll be 
okay. He's just a little overworked." 

"How come he sounds drunk?" Anne sighed. "I think he is. Look, Andy, you and 
I are going to have to carry him, okay?" 

He gave a disgusted look at the ceiling. "Are you shitting me? Holcomb 
drunk? I can't believe it. It's not like him, Anne. What gives?" 

"I don't know. But look, you can't ruin the man's career because of a fuck 
up, can you?" 

Was this her own voice? Were these words coming from her mouth? It hardly 
seemed possible. Could it be? 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. We take care of our own. What I'm wondering is, who 
takes care of the patient?" "It's a bitch." 

Brent Holcomb was acting stranger and stranger now, looking at everyone with 
an intense stare. "What's wrong? How come everyone's looking at me? This is 
bullshit! I don't have to put up with this. Do you have any idea who I am?" 

He strode right up to Dr. Andersen and thrust his face within a inch of the 
intern's. 

"Speak up, mister! Do you know who I am?" 

The young intern looked nervous, but managed a laugh. "Take it easy, Brents. 
It's all right. I'm not trying to give you any trouble." 

"Damn fucking straight you aren't." 

His eyes were slowly starting to spin in his head. 

"My God, what are we going to do," Anne asked Dr. Andersen. 

"I think we're going to have him taken off the assignment-!" 

"JUST A DAMN SECOND YOU LITTLE RUNT! YOU'RE HERE TO WATCH, AND TO KEEP YOUR 
MOUTH SHUT! I DON'T HAVE TO TAKE THIS CRAP FROM YOU OR ANYONE. I'VE PAID MY 
DUES, DO YOU HEAR!!! I'VE PAID MY FUCKING DUES. NOW LET'S GET IN THERE AND 
CUT THAT POOR BASTARD'S LIVER OUT BEFORE IT FERMENTS ON HIM AND HE GETS 
PICKLED." 

"Um, Doctor," Anne said, "I believe it's a gall-bladder that you're 
removing. Not the liver." 

"Yeah, well, whatever. It's all going to look the same on the bill, right." 

He began to laugh hysterically at his own joke as he wandered through the 
doors into the operating room. 

"Anne," said Dr. Andersen, "you get ready to back me up if I have to relieve 
him in there. I'm not about to stand by and watch him fuck up a patient, to 
say nothing of my position. If someone dies, we all get the stain on us, you 
follow?" 

Anne followed. All too well. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

The man moved around Maxwell Schlepzig's office in sudden bursts of erratic 
motion. 

He was starting to give Dr. Schlepzig a headache just trying to follow him. 

His voice didn't help much either. It sounded like a cross between a coke 
bottle in a garbage disposal and scraping your fingernails down a 
blackboard. 

"So I cannot impress upon you enough, Doctor, the absolute utmost need for 
security. Security, do you hear! Tight. Watertight. I don't want a peep to 
leak out about this." 

"I understand," said Max Schlepzig, trying to remember the man's name. "But 
you have to understand. This is a large hospital. There are many people 
employed here. Quite a few have access to the wing that has been designated. 
There's absolutely no way to contain that kind of information. I mean, it 
will get out. Won't it? You close a wing down like that, and suddenly lots 
of men in suits carrying guns and walkie-talkies appear, it's going to cause 
a commotion, isn't it?" 

The man smiled. "Good point, Doctor. I'm proud of you. It makes me feel good 
knowing that there are still good men like you left in positions of 
authority. You can't imagine the incompetence that's out there today, 
Doctor. Appalling. Absolutely appalling Make your blood run cold, it will. 
Make you want to end it all right now. Let the fucking Ruskies in and give 
'em the whole shop, cause it's damn sure rotting away anyway." 

Schlepzig cleared his throat. 

"That sounds a bit awesome and grim, don't you think ... uh, Mr., uh..." 

"Pendergast. Arnold Pendergast. I told you. Damn it man, listen up. There's 
no time to keep repeating everything. This is important. 

Damned important. We've got to have airtight security for this patient. I 
don't want a peep out of anyone. 

"Yes, you've said that." 

"Oh. So, you caught that part of it, did you?" 

"Could you just give me something that I could use, you know, as a cover 
story perhaps..." 

"Lord fucking God, man! What do you want? I should hold your hand while you 
piss! You want me to wipe your ass? Spoon feed you? Christ almighty, this is 
your government calling on you. We have a right to expect people in 
authority to show a degree of competence, don't we? I mean, have we decayed 
all that much?" 

Max shook his head, trying to clear it. It was like having a buzz saw in 
your brain. The man had been badgering him for over an hour now, and still 
the most he was able to get out of him, in between the reflections on the 
inevitable destruction from within of the country, was that the West wing on 
the sixth floor was to be evacuated, and that there would be a patient 
brought in, kept there under the tightest security possible, and that no 
one, absolutely no one, was to know about it. Under any circumstances. 

"Will you be needing any of our staff?" 

"Yes. Possibly. We don't know yet. This is a sensitive matter, you 
understand." 

"No, I don't understand, quite frankly..." 

"Good. The less you know the better. That way, you won't be able to tell 
them anything, even if they put you on the rack and break every bone in your 
body." . 

Max looked at the man. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Why? What did you do, fart?" 

"No, I mean, who are you talking about." 

"Who ... who?" 

"Who's going to put me on the rack?" "You really think you need to ask that 
question?" 

"I just did, didn't I?" 

Arnold Pendergast slowly reached into his coat, pulled out a cigar, made an 
elaborate ritual out of snipping the end off, lighting it and drawing out a 
large mouthful of smoke, which he then expelled into the room where it 
hovered, a pungent cloud that made Max's nose itch. 

"Doctor," the man said finally, his voice calm and deadly serious now, "I 
want to tell you something. What I am about to say must be kept in the 
strictest confidence. If it ever got out that this conversation took place 
between us ... well, I fear the repercussions would be profound." 

"Well, then, perhaps you shouldn't tell me-!" 

"No no! That's all right. You have a right to know. After all, I'm asking a 
lot of you and your institution here ... and you should be brought into the 
situation, at least as much as is possible without compromising security." 

"You don't understand. I'd prefer not-!" 

"You don't have a choice Doctor. Now would you kindly shut up and sit there 
and listen to what I'm about to tell you?" 

Max Schlepzig started to tremble. This man made him very nervous. 

"You read the papers much, Doctor?" 

"Well, of course I do." 

"What do you read there?" 

"I read ... well, what do you think I read?" 

"I don't know, Doctor. That's precisely why I asked you." 

"I read the news." 

"Do you?" 

"Well ... sure. Of course I do." "How do you know it's the news." "What do 
you mean, how do I know it's the news?" 

"You believe everything you read, Doctor?" 

Arnold Pendergast reached his cigar out over the ashtray as he spoke, paused 
dramatically and then, with a theatrical gesture, tapped the ash into the 
ceramic dish. "What you read about in the paper ... what you call the 'news' 
... you believe all of it?" 

"Well, I suppose there's a certain degree of bias..." 

Max wanted to go to sleep. This man was obviously his punishment, sent to 
him for his audacity in applying for active status once again. It was so 
unfair, they simply to pay attention to him, after he'd give so many years 
to them ... it just didn't seem right that they would-! 

"DOCTOR!" 

"What?!" Max literally screamed, startled. 

"You weren't paying attention to me." 

"Oh. Sorry. What was it that you were asking. Listen, I really have a busy 
schedule today-" 

"It'll wait." 

"But you don't understand-" "Doctor; I said it'll wait. Now answer my 
question." 

"What was it again?" 

"You weren't listening worth shit, were you, Doctor? I guess I was wrong 
about you. I was hoping you were one of the bright ones. One of the ones we 
could depend upon when it comes time to rebuild." 

"Rebuild ... I don't..." 

"Rebuild, Doctor. The economy The country. Our way of life. Oh, we'll do it. 
It doesn't matter what they hit us with, they're not going to wipe us out. 
And you know why?" 

Ah, thought Dr. Schlepzig, the man's an idiot, or else a madman, and 
therefore I needn't give him much time. Except that I fear he may well be 
dangerous. 

"Do you know why?" 

"No, but I really would like to get on with the discussion about this 
patient that you are talking so much about to me..." 

"That's all part of it, Doctor. That's why we chose this place. It's out of 
the way. They'd never think to look here." 

"They they THEY!!! Who is this THEY you speak of." 

Arnold Pendergast paused, took a large puff on his cigar, and said "A good 
question, Doctor. The answer should be obvious. At least, to one such as 
myself, concerned as I am with the preservation of our American way of life, 
it's obvious. THEM, Doctor. That's who I'm talking about." 

"Them..." 

"Yes, Doctor. As in US & THEM. Surely you follow. There's Us ... and there's 
Them. We're better than Them. We're the good guys. They wear the black 
hats.. History's bad guys.. The villain. And the villain always has to die, 
Doctor. Don't you see." 

"No ... what is going on. What does all this politics have to do with my 
working, this ... no, what I mean is..." 

"You're losing your syntax, Doctor. I hadn't realized that English wasn't 
your mother tongue. Where were you born, Doctor?" 

"I vas being borned in Hamburg vich iss no concern uff yours, please you 
vill no longer..." 

Ach! he thought to himself ... he always lost his grip on the language when 
he got upset. He paused, counted to ten, and then with a sigh, spoke again. 
He was pleased to hear that his accent had retreated back into the dim mists 
of time where it belonged. 

"You must please be tolerant with me. I am an old man, and I haven't the 
stamina to follow whatever it is you are talking about. Please, would you 
simply get to the point." 

Pendergast stared at Maxwell Schlepzig for a long time. It was a hard 
penetrating stare ... and as the moments expanded, Max again felt 
uncomfortable. 

Finally the man spoke. 

"Gladly. I'll get to the point. This is no game we're playing, Doctor. None 
whatsoever. We're playing for high stakes. The highest. Absolutely the 
highest. Do you follow me?" 

Max nodded impatiently. "I've been following you all along, but so far we 
seem to be going nowhere." 

"Don't get on my nerves ... Doctor." 

He took another puff on his cigar. "So where was I? Oh yes. You see Doctor, 
when you're dealing with an enemy as treacherous and as devious as this one, 
you have to resort to any means possible in the compilation of data. That's 
the essential prize, Doctor. Data. Reams of it. Tons of it. Information. The 
currency of the future, Doctor. Only the future is now." 

He took another puff on his cigar. "Is it becoming more clear to you?" 

Max shook his head sadly. "I do wish I could say-!" 

"Don't say anything. I'll talk, you listen." 

Max shut up. 

"We often have to resort to ... shall we say ... unorthodox methods, when it 
comes to learning about our enemy. Spies come in all shapes and sizes, you 
see." 

He waited. Max managed a feeble smile. 

"This man we're bringing in here is one of our most sensitively placed 
agents. We've spent years burying him.. He's a sleeper. You understand what 
I'm saying?" 

"No." 

"We've given him a life, and a lifestyle that goes so far back, his cover is 
literally his identity. There's no way that he can be exposed, because 
there's no way to trace him back far enough. You follow? Good. Now ... it so 
happens, that this agent is a highly specialized operative. His purpose is 
to exploit a rather interesting quirk in the structure of the enemy's 
hierarchy. A weakness built into the system, as it were. You know how those 
Godless Commies talk about equality and all that shit, don't you? Well, the 
thing is, whether or not they believe it, and hell, no one really believes 
it ... they still have to practice it ... to a limited degree. But what that 
means is, they've got women in positions that we'd never be stupid enough to 
trust them with over here. Am I making sense?" 

Max nodded, wishing he was asleep. 

"Women ... Doctor, do you understand what that means?" 

"Well ... of course. If you're asking if I know what a woman is-" 

"Doctor, there's no woman in the world that can keep her mouth shut. You 
follow me? None. I don't care how much you train them ... whip them, beat 
them ... you name it, a woman's nature is burned into her like a brand on a 
cow. You can't change 'em. And when they try to change themselves, it just 
makes "em all tense and bothered and a pain in the neck, and vulnerable. 
Even more vulnerable than ordinarily. Now, there's another thing about 
women, that these Commies seem to have overlooked, what with their stupid 
political interpretations of everything. You have any idea want that might 
be?" 

"No," said Max. "But why do I have such a strong premonition that I'm about 
to?" 

"Because you're a perceptive man, damn it, I told you that. I know a good 
man when I see one. I'll tell you right now what they've overlooked about 
women, and that's the simple, unalterable fact that the bottom line for 
every last damn one of 'em is that all they need is a stiff cock." 

He slapped his knee triumphantly, and settled back to finish his cigar. "Is 
it starting to become clear now, Doctor?" 

"Oh, yes, of course it is," said Maxwell Schlepzig, wondering if he should 
call the police. The man was deranged. Could this be the calibre of our 
agents all throughout the government? Ach, it was hard to believe that 
they'd defeated the Fatherland with such a--! Mein Gott! Did he think that? 
Never! Never! Purge it from the mind! Quickly, Quickly!!!" 

"So that's where this operative comes in, Doctor. I'm sure you've already 
guessed the truth by now. You see, these slits the Commies stick in those 
high level positions are part of the elite over there. That means they get 
to take vacations. They get to travel. They get to come to the West from 
time to time, and they're not as closely watched as some of the lower level 
citizens over there. And you want to know what they're looking for when they 
get over here?" 

Max roused himself from slumber long enough to ask "What's that?" 

"A cock! Good God, man, haven't you been listening? A cock. A cock that 
knows the freedom of democracy. You don't find stiff cocks in a totalitarian 
system. Maybe they get semi-hard, but you don't find a really good cock over 
there. That's what they want. They want a good fuck! And of course, out of 
all the Western Democracies, it goes without saying that the best cocks of 
all are American Cocks!!!" 

He thumped the desk for emphasis. 

"Of course," mumbled Maxwell, remembering rumours of the Fuhrer's diminutive 
proportions, and wondering if there might be some truth to what the man was 
saying. 

"And of every single operative that we have working for us, no one can 
compare with the proportions and the ability of this man that you are 
privileged to have in your establishment." 

So what is wrong with him that he needs a hospital?" 

Arnold Pendergast took a long puff on his cigar. 

"Doctor ... this is the breach of security that I'm risking. It is this 
information that might destroy our country. Let me just say this much. Our 
man performs his unique function at a variety of ... shall we say, resort 
areas. In Europe, they take a much more promiscuous stance concerning sexual 
matters than we do over here on our God-fearing shores ... which is why 
they're all washed up over there, you want my opinion ... but our man works 
in a variety of establishments... 

"Well, to put it bluntly ... he's a stripper." 

"What?" 

"You heard me. And Doc, you wouldn't believe those homey dames when they see 
the size of that schlong. Whew! It's a gas. They're lining up to get a grip 
on it. Which is how we get our grip on them. Those bitches are so fucking 
bowled over by a good fuck, they can't wait to get back for another ... and 
another ... and another... 

"He's got ten on a string right now ... and it's going on right under the 
fucking Commisar's noses, with their approval, for God's sakes. They may not 
understand women, but they damn sure know they can't get it up. It takes a 
lot of pressure off of them if they can ship 'em out of the country, get 'em 
good and fucked out, and then bring 'em back and put 'em to work. What they 
don't know is that our boy has those broads hooked. I mean addicted. Like 
the Big "H" Doc. They can't think of anything else. And when you've got a 
bitch in heat, and she's squirming underneath you, and you've got your cock 
playing in and out of those wet pink lips ... and they're moaning "Give it 
to me ... give it to me ... I'll do anything ... just give it to me.." 

"Well, let me tell you Doc, we get an awful lot of information that way. A 
damn sight more than anyone would believe. I tell you Doc, he's important to 
us. We need him. We need you. You've got to help us." 

Maxwell Schlepzig, finally comprehending the situation, more or less, raised 
himself up to his patriotic fullest and asked, "What is the problem?" 

"I don't know, Doc. That's why we're bringing him to you. He can't get it up 
any more. It don't work. And he's got a hot little bitch gonna show up on 
the Riviera in two weeks, expecting to get poled all the way from her cunt 
to her throat. She works inside the Kremlin, Doc. She'll be a gold mine. But 
no cock, no info. You've got to fix him for us, Doc. You've got to fix him 
for us. Your country's depending on you." 

"We'll try our hardest." 

"Good man. I knew we could count on you." 

"Doctor, Doctor, no, you're on the wrong side of the body..." 

"Huh? What do you mean I'm on the wrong side of the body. Damn it, give me 
some slack, woman. One thing I can't stand is a pushy broad in the operating 
room." 

Everyone was getting pretty exasperated. Judy Collier said "Look, this has 
already taken an hour longer than it was supposed to. I can't keep this poor 
guy under too much longer. Not with this anesthetic. Can't we hurry up." 

"Well, he keeps trying to take out things that are working all right," 
complained Dr. Andersen. "I've never seen such unethical behavior in my 
life." 

Brent Holcomb looked at his watch. "Yeah, well, be patient. It's early yet." 

"I'm outraged, Doctor. I can assure you, the Board is going to hear about 
this. You're a disgrace to the Hypocratic Oath." 

"No I'm not. I refused to take it." 

"What?" 

"Damn straight. I got the budget course. Mail order. The Oath was ten bucks 
extra so I asked them 'Does anyone take it seriously?' and two days later 
when they were still laughing, I figured I'd do without it. Now, will you 
quit bothering me? I've got to sew this man up." 

"You've still got sponges in him, Doctor?" "That's all right, they'll go 
great with his brain." 

"Doctor, don't you think you should remove them, before stitching him up?" 

"Why? I think they're very tastefully arranged." 

"Doctor, the patient might die, if you don't remove them." 

"Are you kidding? After what we've done, that'd be the best thing that could 
happen to him." 

"Please, Doctor, can we get on with it?" 

"Sure, if you get off me. It's hard to move around with all you clowns on my 
back." 

"That does it!" thundered Dr. Andersen. "I can no longer stand idly by and 
watch this travesty take place." 

"Oh yeah. Well here, put this bandage over your eyes and go sit down over 
there in the corner." 

"This is far too painful to watch," the idealistic intern proclaimed. 

"You think you got problems, this poor schmuck's gonna wake up soon." 

"Outrageous!!!" 

He turned and stormed from the room. "Doctor," said Anne Bresto, "I have to 
agree with Dr. Andersen. This is an outrage." 

"And this is a scalpel, and this is a gall bladder, and this little piggie 
went 'wee wee wee wee wee wee' all the way home." 

"What's going on?" asked Judy. "He just keeps getting worse." 

"I don't know," said Anne. "Please, Doctor, will you let me close him up? 
The main procedure is complete. I'll be glad to take it from here?" 

"Yeah, but I don't want to have to take it from you." 

"Doctor, this is an operating room!" 

"Yeah, and I'm the operator. Number please. 38-24-36, would be my guess." 

"Oh God," said Judy. "Anne, call for help. He's off the edge. I think he's 
going to kill this guy." 

"Impossible. No one dies from a gail bladder operation. Of course, we might 
bleed him to death. But I don't know, that's a little extreme. I think we 
should just butcher a chicken and sacrifice a virgin, and call it even, what 
do you say." 

With that, Dr. Holcomb started to dance around the room, holding the scalpel 
in his mouth like it was a rose. 

The sharp blade actually cut his lips, and suddenly blood began to drip 
furiously from his mouth. 

"My God, I'm hit! I'm hit. Sarge!!! MEDIC!!! I'm hit!!! Wait a minute, I'm a 
medic. My God, that means I have to brave enemy fire just to get to me. Am I 
worth it? God, I hate decisions. There's so many men dying, so much blood 
... but hey, I'm more important than anyone else to me, right? I mean, if I 
didn't have me, who would I have, right? Why, I didn't know I cared. Of 
course I did. I've always loved me. Really? Delightful. Shall we live 
together? Of course. It would be divine. You know, now that we have us, who 
needs them? I think you're right. Shall we leave? Lets." 

And with that, he went racing through the door to the operating room, 
laughing like a hyena. 

"My God," said Judy Collier, shocked, stunned, and on the verge of tears. 
"I've never seen anything like that in my life." 

Anne Bresto was shaking. "Quickly, we have to stitch this poor man up. How's 
he doing?" 

"Fine, now that there's a sane hand working on him." 

Anne moved swiftly, methodically, working with all the grace and skill that 
she knew. But there lingered the sobering knowledge that for a time, 
admittedly brief but nonetheless real, she'd covered up the incompetence of 
a doctor. She'd become part of the problem when all she'd ever asked of life 
was to be allowed to cure. 

The doors burst open and in stalked Ludmilla Shanks. 

"What's going on here?" 

Anne continued to work on the patient, while Judy Collier quickly gave her a 
run down on Dr. Brent Holcomb's bizarre behavior. 

"I swear, Nurse Shanks, I've never seen anything like it. It was as if a 
demented spirit had taken control of him. He was a total stranger. He 
finished up by having a long dialogue with himself and racing from the 
room." 

Ludmilla frowned. This was most peculiar. Brent Holcomb was one of the 
steady reliable ones. What could have happened? 

The answer, as she was to discover, was far more sinister than any could 
ever have suspected. 

In the meantime, here was Anne Bresto, performing with the utmost skill and 
ability. Drat, that would mean an official commendation, one that she 
herself would be expected to sign. She sighed. It had started out being a 
lousy day, and it just kept on sinking lower and lower. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

The knock on her door was so faint that at first, Anne wasn't sure she'd 
even heard it. 

She turned down the volume on the stereo, and listened again. There was 
nothing. 

Walking over to the door, she called out, "Is anyone there." 

"Yeah," said a familiar voice. "It's me. Brent." 

Anne sighed. Brent Holcomb had been suspended that morning after a hearing 
by the Board of Ethics. It had been a messy affair, with Brent protesting 
his innocence, and with Dr. Andersen only too willingly providing the 
damning testimony that established beyond doubt that there was little reason 
left to keep him on the staff. 

He'd left the hearing room a broken man. Anne had heard stories about it, 
and couldn't help feeling a bit of remorse over it, but there really was 
nothing that could be done. The man was unstable, and had demonstrated as 
much in front of several rational people, and now that it was so utterly 
public, there seemed to be nothing that could be done about it. 

But now, as she opened the door, and stared at the man, she found it hard to 
believe that he was the same man who'd behaved so strangely in the operating 
room. 

"Brent, how are you doing?" 

"How do you think? I'm terrible. Anne, I need your help." 

"Look, Brent, I don't know..." 

"Sure you do Anne. You were there. You saw what happened." 

"I know you were drunk, Brent." 

"I'm telling you, I wasn't." 

"Brent, please ... I've done as much as I can ... as much as I dare." 

"What do you mean." 

"I didn't testify that you smelled like a brewery, did I?" 

"NO! And neither did anyone else, and there's a good reason for that." 

"Listen, it's chilly. Do you ... I mean, would you like to come in?" 

"Thank you." 

She suddenly had this image of him prancing around the operating room again, 
with that scalpel in his mouth. The scars were still quite visible at the 
corners of his mouth from that incident. What if he went berserk again. 

He appeared agitated, but otherwise, he seemed to be the Brent Holcomb that 
she'd always known. 

"Listen Anne, you saw me when I first came in the room, right? My eyes were 
bloodshot, I smelled like I'd spilled a fifth down my throat, right?" 

"You've got it." 

"Think about it, Anne. No one else said I was drunk. You're the only one who 
thought I was drunk. No one else smelled it on me. If I'd really been 
drinking don't you think the smell would have lingered fairly long?" 

"What are you getting at, Brent? That you were drugged? I don't see how that 
could possibly be taken seriously. They did a blood test on you-" 

"At my request!" 

*1 know ... I know..." 

"Anne, you've got to have faith in me. You did at first. You would have 
still if I hadn't totally freaked out." 

"What did happen then, Brent. What was going on in your mind?" 

"I don't know? I remember it happening, but it's like a movie I saw long ago 
... it's not Eke it really happened to me. I don't remember doing any of 
those things. I just know that they happened." 

"Brent, I really thought you were crazy." 

"I was! Obviously! Don't you see ... that's the whole point. I'm sane and 
stable. Why would I be crazy for one afternoon out of my life? It makes no 
sense. I'm telling you, I was drugged, and now I'm being railroaded out of 
there, and no one wants to know about it. No one wants to believe me. It's 
an official decision, I'm telling you." 

"Brent, why would someone drug you, and why would the hospital try to ignore 
it." 

"Because someone at the hospital wants to see me out of there. That's why." 

"That's absurd, Brent." 

There was a desperate look in the man's eyes. "I need someone ... I'm alone 
in this, Anne ... I need someone to help me." 

She felt powerless to do anything, yet just as powerless to refuse him. 

"I don't know what to say," she said to him. 

"I need you to believe me. That's all." "How? How can I believe you, and how 
will that help if I do?" "It will, I swear it." 

"Brent ... I feel terrible about all this. I really do. It's ... it just 
seems unfair. You were so good ... so dedicated. I think you were really one 
of the best." 

"I still am, damn it. I still am! You've got to help me get my name cleared. 
You have to." 

"I don't know what I can do." "Believe me. Please." 

She stared deeply into his eyes. There wasn't a trace of madness now. There 
wasn't a single tiring beyond earnestness. He was telling the truth. She 
knew it. She felt it. At the same time, she knew that just because she 
believed that, made no difference. None whatsoever. 

"Believe me," he said to her again. Please, believe me." 

"I believe you, Brent. I really do. I just don't think there's anything I 
can do..." 

"I'm not crazy! I've got to have some kind of evidence. Something. I don't 
know what ... but somewhere in some filing cabinet, there's a folder with my 
name on it, and inside that folder there's a clue as to what happened to me. 
I know there is. There has to be." 

"What are you suggesting ... that I go breaking in Dr. Schlepzig's office?" 

"No. Especially not him. I was thinking more along the lines of the 
Administration office. Dr. Braun. Someone like that." 

"Brent, that's absurd. I couldn't possibly." 

"Anne, you're my last hope." 

"Ridiculous." 

"Not ridiculous. You're the only one who believes and cares too. No one else 
cares enough. They don't give a damn about anything except advancing their 
careers. You and I ... medicine means something to us, Anne. We're special. 
We have a sense of commitment, of dedication to an ideal. I know it's true 
about me, and I know it's true about you as well. Please, Anne. Let me do my 
job. Let me fulfill my life's calling. Ill die if I can't work. I'll die." 
.. 

He speech took her by surprise. Such fierce determination in those eyes of 
his, she thought ... those soft, gentle eyes... 

"I'll do what I can, Brent, but don't expect any miracles. I'm limited. You 
know that. I really am limited in what I can do. I mean, if you expect me to 
just waltz into that office and start rifling the cabinets, you're crazy. 
There's no way that I possibly can." 

"I know ... I know. I just need to know that you're on my side. I really 
need to know that." 

He had taken hold of her hand, and now he grasped the other one. 

She remembered the throbbing passion that she'd felt for him, and to her 
surprise found it rekindled. 

All at once, she realized that she was breathing harder. Much harder. She 
wondered what would happen if... 

But no! That was absurd. There was no way that she could ... could she? 

He read her thoughts. "I know you believe in me, Anne," he said, lowering 
his lips to hers, quickly, effortlessly, not waiting for her approval, 
simply taking what he wanted. 

They kissed, and at first, she'd been too shocked to do anything besides 
simply stand there, allowing his lips to slide over her own, to feel his 
tongue slipping in between them, racing now into her mouth, running all over 
the inside, touching her tongue, wrapping around it in a heated dance. 

By the time it occurred to her to resist him, it was too late. He had 
already overwhelmed her. Totally. Her legs started to weaken, and she felt a 
trembling in her arms. 

"Oh Brent ... we can't, we can't ... it's insane..." she tried to murmur, 
but he was all over her. His mouth moved from her lips to the nape of her 
neck, and there worked up to the rim of her frail ear lobe, tracing a 
delicate path along the edge. 

She felt electric shivers racing through her body, gathering intensity now, 
filling her breasts with a swelling sensation of lust, ripening lust that 
was rapidly threatening to overwhelm her. 

He touched her breasts now, and it didn't surprise her that the tips of her 
nipples were flaming, hard and stiff. 

"Anne..." he said gently, "I want you. I mean that. I need you, in more ways 
than one. Please ... be with me. Don't turn me away. Don't turn me down. I 
need your support, and I need you." 

She hardly heard him, but it didn't matter. Her mind had already been made 
up by a process that totally bypassed thought altogether. 

She answered him with her body, pressing it tightly against his, feeling the 
broad expanse of his chest as her breasts crushed against it, feeling the 
strength in his arms, the bulge in his crotch... 

He was soft and gentle with her now. How different from that day when the 
two of them had collapsed in a mad tangle on the floor of the pre-op room, 
when he had rammed his fingers up her dress, reaching for her cunt. 

He reached for it again, only this time, she instinctively opened her legs 
for him, and as he fumbled around the material of her kaftan, she assisted 
him by pulling it up herself, pulling it over her knees, up her thighs, 
higher, higher, until her black patch of pubic hair shone clearly through 
the already damp material of her sheer see-through panties. 

He touched her and she moaned. 

He started to stroke her, lightly between her legs, and she felt her insides 
turning to syrup. "My God, Brent," she gasped, amazed at how quickly he'd 
brought her literally to the peak of arousal. 

Her legs were growing weak, her arms felt limp as they hung at her side, and 
she could feel within her the gathering of thick juices, flowing like honey 
from between her parted lips. 

He let his fingers drift lazily over her cunt, using the texture of the 
material of her panties to enhance and focus the sensations against her 
clit. 

Harder, harder now, pressing in directly on top of that hard nub of nerves. 

"Yes, oh God, yes, that's wonderful. She wanted more. 

She wanted to feel his fingers running up inside her cunt, she wanted to 
feel his mouth and tongue on her cunt, she wanted to feel his cock ... feel 
her hands gripping it, feel her cunt being stroked by it. 

But he made no move to pull her to the sofa, seeming content to remain in 
the middle of the living room, simply playing with her pussy. 

She felt her material getting wetter and wetter, felt her breasts growing 
more and more aroused. 

"Oh Brent," she was finally forced to gasp, "please, please, take me. Now. 
Fuck me. God, please. You don't know how long I've wanted you." 

"Don't worry, I have every intention of fucking you. I want you too. You 
can't imagine how long I've wanted you. Since I was dating Meredith. In 
fact, the reason we stopped seeing each other was that I wanted to start 
dating you." 

"What? She never told me. That bitch." 

He chuckled. "Do you blame her?" 

"It doesn't matter now. Oh God, I've got you in my arms, and I want you so 
bad ... I want to feel you eating me. I want to feel that cock in me. 
Please, stick it in me.' 

Unable to contain herself any longer, tired of simply pressing her hips 
against the bulge in his crotch, she started to unfasten his pants. 

As her fingers worked over the zipper, she could feel the outline of what 
lurked beneath, like a serpent, waiting to come forth and tempt her. He 
wouldn't have to do too much. She knew that already. 

She pressed the waist of his jeans down his legs, further and further, until 
she was able to feel his entire cock beneath his undershorts. 

The thing was rapidly growing stiff and erect, and as it grew, the glans 
poked its way out underneath the elastic band around his thigh. 

She gasped. 

"My God, it's true!" 

He started to laugh. "What do you mean by that?" 

She blushed. "Well ... I mean, come on. Give me a break. You don't carry 
something like that around and hope to keep it a secret. You know what I 
mean." 

He laughed again. "So, my reputation has preceded me, has it?" 

"Yeah, but it didn't do you justice." 

She pulled his undershorts down now, and let her fingers touch it. It was 
stiff as a bar of steel. Looking down, she gazed upon it for the first time, 
and couldn't suppress a gasp of astonishment. 

"I don't believe it." 

"Well, I'll promise you," he said, "it's sure as hell not strapped. on. So 
you should go ahead and believe it. If you have problems, I'll make a 
believer out of you ... that I can promise." 

She believed. She believed. She had no choice. She was touching it, holding 
it, stroking it, feeling it's amazing foot-long length, feeling how she had 
to wrap her lingers around it, stretching them to completely circle the 
thing. 

His glans was purple colored, much larger than even the width of the main 
shaft. It looked like a strange magical mushroom ... one that she could eat 
and experience hallucinations. 

She wanted to try it out. She wanted to let that thing transport her, make 
her melt, make her dance in ecstasy. She wanted to feel the mind-numbing 
tingle of orgasm, the joint-wrenching contractions of all her muscles, the 
blinding flash of light as the energy from her cunt ripped through her 
nerves and threatened to short out her mind. 

But he held back. "I want that," she said, but he only chuckled. 

"You'll have it. I promise you. You'll have it. But you must be patient. You 
have to be patient." 

"I don't want to be patient. What are you trying to do, torture me? It's not 
fair. It's not fair. I want you now. I want you now." 

He picked her up abruptly. "All right, where the fuck am I going?" 

"Don't ask me. You're the one who's driving." 

"Which way to your bedroom?" 

She pointed him down the hall and then guided him into her room. 

The bed was set against one wall. It was large, king-size, with several 
large, down pillows on it. 

He paid no attention to the pillows, however. If it had been a pile of 
rocks, she had a feeling that he'd have been every bit as enthusiastic, 
dumping her and piling on top. 

As she spilled from his arms, he started to pull her kaftan off, and soon 
she was lying on the bed, spread eagle, wearing only her panties. 

He stood beside her, slowly removing his clothes, his eyes drifting over 
every part of her body. She felt the intensity pouring off of him. She felt 
his desire for her, and knew that it equalled her own. 

He was naked now, that monster of a cock standing straight out from his 
lean, hard body. 

His muscles were perfectly toned ... neither soft and flabby, nor over 
sculpted. 

He was perfect. He was the man she'd dreamed about, and whether she quite 
realized it yet, he was the man to whom she had in some way at least 
commited herself. 

"Come to me," she said holding out her arms. 

He remained standing by the bed. "Take off your panties," he said to her 
instead. 

She did as he told her. 

Her pussy was wetter than even she had realized. 

She touched the slit with her fingers as her panties came off, and found 
nothing but a hot swampy mass of engorged, swollen pink flesh. Juice flowed 
like a fountain. She felt the surface of her thighs. Her thighs were wet ... 
soaking wet. Her juice lay thickly over her thighs. Her lips were parted 
with lust. She wanted them filled. She wanted to feel him filling her. She 
wanted to feel his cock, feel his cock rushing in between her lips, scraping 
over the rim of her pussy hole. 

"Play with yourself," he told her. "Play with yourself for me. I want to 
watch you play with yourself." 

She paused a moment, uncertain of how she should proceed. She knew how to 
masturbate ... of course. But she'd never done it in front of anyone before. 
She'd never masturbated in front of a man. She'd never opened her pussy for 
a man, solely so he could watch her play with herself. 

She thought about her thighs, about the thick layer of juice and moisture 
that was oozing from her, and she felt the heat rise within her. His hot 
gaze fueled her flames. 

He was studying every portion of her body, carefully, so as not to overlook 
a single part. 

He was taking all of her in. She felt herself being sucked up by his eyes, 
felt the image of her body burning itself on his brain. 

She touched her slit 

Her clitoris was hard and erect, and the tip protruded between her lips near 
the top of her crack. 

The second she made contact with it, she cried out. She hadn't realized that 
the feeling would be enhanced so much more simply because he was watching 
her, but the force of his gaze seem to press her on to greater heights of 
passion. 

Letting her fingers slide up and down through her slit, she started to moan, 
writhing on the bed. 

He studied her with more and more fascination. 

"You are beautiful," he told her. She looked up at him and saw that he was 
slowly stroking his cock as he spoke to her. 

"More," he said. "I want to see more fingers inside you. Slide two up into 
you." 

"All right," she said, doing exactly as he told her. 

"Spread it open. Stretch the hole ... I want to see you spread wide. I want 
to look at the inside of your cunt." 

He was talking in a slow, steady voice, and as he spoke to her, he continued 
to stroke his cock, letting it grow even more. There was a strange, hypnotic 
quality to his voice, one that she couldn't explain, one that was slowly 
mesmerizing her, raising her level of arousal even higher. 

"Oh God..." she cried out, almost out of control now, when he finally 
climbed onto the bed with her. 

He pulled her fingers out of her cunt, grasped her by the legs, and tilted 
her body upwards. 

She felt her pussy spread wide open before him, felt the juices bubbling up 
from the depths of her body, felt the thick heavy throbbing of her blood 
engorged membranes... 

She was growing more and more aroused, needing to come, wanting it, yet 
wanting to stay there, poised at that thin line of arousal, dancing between 
light and dark... 

He lowered his tongue to her cunt and let the tip slosh through it. 

He knew exactly how much pressure to apply to her. 

Her entire body jerked madly when he touched her with his tongue. 

"Oh yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes" she moaned loudly. 

Again and again, the tip of his tongue drifted over her clit, burrowed down 
into the crevice of her hole, ran softly around the edges of the opening, 
pressed hard against the shaft of her clitoris. 

She moaned, louder and louder ... crying out now, screaming. She hadn't 
realized that he had her this aroused, but there was nothing she could do 
about it now, except hope that he would grant her the blessed release she so 
craved... 

Again and again, harder and harder, he let his tongue slurp over her 
clitoris. And each stroke brought her closer to the brink of orgasm. Closer 
... closer ... closer... 

And then, just as she was about to explode ... as she felt her body grinding 
itself down into the mattress, as she felt the spasms in her muscles 
teetering on the brink, ready to spill over to a complete lack of control 
... he stopped. 

He pulled his head back and simply stared at her. 

"Noooooo..." she moaned, "pleeeeease ... please, please, more. More. I need 
more. I have to have it. Don't leave me like this." 

She was gasping, nearly choking on her words. Her voice was deep, throaty, 
hoarse. She couldn't remember when she'd ever been this aroused before in 
her life. 

He lay her down on the bed, spreading her legs as he did so, opening her 
body wide again, and this time, she watched, almost as if she was watching 
it happen to someone else ... watched as he brought the head of that 
enormous cock up to her lips. 

"Ohhhhh..." she started to moan, and found that she couldn't stop, once 
she'd gotten started. 

He left it right there. 

He left it hanging at the opening to her pussy, left it barely touching her 
lips. 

She started to roll around on the bed, beneath him, found herself trying to 
press her hips up into him, trying to plunge that thing into her on her own 
initiative, if he wouldn't do it for her. 

He evaded her each time, keeping contact with her cunt, but witholding the 
stimulation she needed and wanted. 

"Please, give it to me. I need it. Please give it to me." 

He began to sink it into her cunt. She felt the head pressing harder and 
harder against her hole, yet not making any progress moving in. She felt the 
mouth of her pussy stretching as he pressed, felt it opening wider and 
wider, yet nothing would make it yield enough to allow that enormous thing 
to pass the narrow gates of her cunt. 

"Oh God," she cried, "it's too big. It won't fit." 

"Everything fits, eventually," he said. "You just watch me." 

He pulled the thing back from her cunt, and dropped a large blob of spit 
right into the crack of her cunt. Then he soaked the head of his cock as 
well. 

When he put it back to the opening, he was able to slide it a little further 
in, simply because there was more juice. 

Then, grasping the thing with his fist, he started to press it all around 
the rim of her cunt hole, stretching her from all angles. 

"Oh ... yes, yes, yes," she gasped, feeling him pressing further into her 
every time he pressed against the rim of her hole. 

A little at a time, he slowly penetrated her entirely. It took endless 
minutes ... or hours. She couldn't have told the difference. Deeper and 
deeper, stretching her wider and wider ... until she couldn't control 
herself at all. 

It was painful ... it was the peak of pleasure ... it was the most 
incredible experience she'd ever felt. 

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh," 
she cried, loudly, wildly, madly, incoherently now ... the syllables simply 
spilling from her lips. 

His cock moved in her now, moved out and then plunged back in, out and in, 
out and in. 

It was like getting fucked by a giant redwood. 

She felt more and more of her nerve endings sizzling into blinding light ... 
felt more and more of her brain burning out, spilling over into that calm, 
numbness of overloaded sensations. 

"More, more, more," she cried. 

And when at last she came, she lost her body, she lost her mind ... she 
became simply a point of consciousness, cast adrift on a sea of sexual 
stimulation. She gasped, felt his cock withdraw, and knew that he hadn't 
come yet, that he was just getting started. She knew something else. She 
would never get enough of that cock, no matter how long he fucked her with 
it." 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Uh-oh, thought Anne Bresto the next day in the cafeteria. She saw Meredith 
Ainsley paying for her lunch, and then, as she carried her tray into the 
dining room, start to walk over to where she was sitting. 

Meredith was her closest friend. That was why it was going to be so 
difficult dealing with her this morning. The girl still carried a torch for 
Brent Holcomb, and even though she was able to joke about it, it was common 
knowledge that she'd taken it hard when he threw her over. 

What to do? What to do? If she told Meredith about the scene that had taken 
place at her apartment the night before, it would most likely drive a 
permanent wedge between them. But if she didn't ... well, that would be 
worse. It would be lying, and that was something that Anne couldn't 
contemplate doing. 

Meredith was standing in the middle of the dining room, with a kind of dazed 
look on her face. 

"Meredith," Anne finally called out, wondering why the girl didn't just come 
on over. My God ... what if she already knew? But that was impossible. 
Surely, she couldn't possibly... 

"Meredith," she called again, waving. Meredith finally spotted her, and 
grinned a little grin ... a kind of sloppy grin, come to think of it. That 
was strange, Meredith always seemed so-! 

The realization hit Anne almost at the same time that she noticed the girl's 
wobbly gait, saw her seem to trip right on the air, and go toppling over 
like a sawed off tree. 

Valium! Meredith was back on Valium again! 

Of course! Brent Holcomb had been suspended yesterday and would no longer be 
around ... not even to look at and talk to... 

Anne knew that Meredith had tried to make a brave show of it, and everyone 
had assumed that the two of them were good friends again, because they often 
spoke to each other, and seemed to generally get along well ... but could it 
all have been a sham? Was Meredith's torch really still burning that 
brightly? 

Several people were helping her to her feet by the time Anne had bounded out 
of her chair and reached her friend. 

The drugged look on her face was obvious, but perhaps that was only because 
Anne knew her better than anyone else. 

"Come on, Meredith, you clumsy ox," she said jauntily, trying to make light 
of the whole thing, "let's get out of here before they make you clean it 
up." 

Please, Anne thought to herself, don't talk? Please don't talk, or you'll 
blow the whole show, Meredith. 

She gave Anne a dreamy smile through half shut eye-lids, and started to 
giggle. 

"Yeah, it's funny," she said. 

One of the attendants had already appeared with a bucket and mop, and as 
everyone else started to drift back to their tables, Anne grasped Meredith 
firmly on the elbow and led her quickly outside. 

"My God, what in the world is the matter with you, showing up for work in 
this condition," she asked her. friend once she'd gotten a good look at her 
and could see her condition. 

"Huuuuuh?" Meredith asked, again with that dreamy expression. Her words 
seemed to be having trouble emerging from her throat, and she sounded like 
she was leaning into each syllable, giving it much more emphasis than was 
necessary. 

"What a-are you ... talking about?" 

"Meredith, how much Valium did you take?" 

"Wha-wh-what do you m-m-mean?" 

"Meredith, come off it. What's going on with you?" 

"Is i-it r-r-really noticeable?" 

Anne laughed. "Come on, you tripped over air. You could hardly stand up. I 
don't know if anyone paid enough attention to really put anything together, 
or if they really cared, but yes, you can tell." 

"Oh wow, I sure didn't want that. I mean, I just thought I'd take a little 
bit to make me feel better." 

"What's the problem? Why do you need to take Valium to make you feel 
better?" 

"Because ... because they ... they ... they..." 

"Easy, easy," said Anne, seeing that Meredith was about to cry, "just take 
it easy and calm down." 

"Oh God, Anne, I don't know what I'm going to do. I really don't. I think 
I'm losing my mind." 

"Tell me about it," Anne said, stroking her friend's hair. 

"I can't take it any more. I've tried, but I can't. If I don't see him, I'm 
going to lose my mind." 

"Brent?" 

"Yes, Brent!" 

She spat the words out with venomous rage. 

"I thought you'd gotten over him." 

"What else was I going to do? He dumped me. I had to work with him. But you 
don't know what it's like. Anne, I haven't let another man touch me since 
then. I can't ... it's no good any more. I swear, I think I'm addicted to 
him, and I'm just using Valium as a substitute." 

Her words were terribly slurred, but at least she seemed to be lucid, 
thought Anne. 

"No man is worth all this," thought Anne, realizing that already she was 
being hypocritical with her friend. Would she willing stand to the side if 
Brent and Meredith happened to get back together? No. Not a chance. She'd 
gotten a taste of that man and his cock, and could easily understand exactly 
how her friend had come to be so addicted to it. She knew that her soothing 
words were a conscious, cynical attempt to deflect her friend. 

"He is. Oh, of course he isn't. I don't even know what I'm saying ... it 
doesn't make sense. I can't stand it, you know. I mean, I'm supposed to be 
modern, and liberated, and I'm supposed to no longer need men to define my 
personality ... I HATE IT!!! I SWEAR, I HATE IT!!! I hate wanting that 
bastard. I really do. I can't stand myself for it. But I can't help it. It's 
like there's something in my brain that doesn't have anything to do with 
thought." 

Anne knew exactly what she was talking about. 

"It's so rare, Anne, to find a man that can totally arouse you ... I don't 
know how to describe it ... but it leaves a scar ... it leaves an empty 
space that you're afraid won't ever be filled again, and that's something 
that can be overpowering. I don't know how to explain it." 

Unfortunately, Anne didn't need it to be explained. 

"I don't know what was wrong with him. ... maybe it was his childhood." 

"What about his childhood?" asked Anne. 

"Broken home. He can't give of himself, he says. He doesn't know who he is, 
and so he can't give of himself. Sounds like a lot of shit to me." 

There was a bitter tone to her voice. 

"I don't know," Anne replied, aware once more of the hypocrisy of her words, 
"that sounds pretty legitimate." 

"It's words, Anne, trying to take the place of feelings that aren't there. 
You think I don't know that?" 

"But there can be psychological factors..." 

"Oh, I suppose so ... I don't know ... did you know he had a twin." 

"Brent? A twin?" 

Meredith nodded. "That's something he says always bothered him. He's never 
seen him ... he only knows that there's an identical twin running around 
somewhere, who's never seen him either. He says he'll never be certain of 
his true destiny until he discovers his other half." 

That was a revelation that Anne had never expected. 

"Look, Meredith, you should take the afternoon off. You're in no condition 
to report for work. I'll cover for you. Okay? You just go home and we'll see 
what we can do about making you feel good later on, all right?" She dried 
her eyes, and nodded. "I'll drive you back. You're not going to drive 
yourself." 

In Maxwell Schlepzig's office, an animated conversation was taking place. 

"I don't like it," said Ludmilla Shanks. "I just don't like them coming in 
and telling us how to run our hospital." 

"Yes, yes, yes," said Dr. Schlepzig, "I'm well aware of that." 

God this woman gave him a headache. Why wouldn't she just go away. If only 
for a while. He wanted only to be left alone to do what he needed to do to 
keep his job. That's all. Why couldn't she just shut up. 

"Well, I think we need to have more reason than we've been given so far, 
before we go an upset all our patients by moving them all over the place." 

"I realize that, Nurse Shanks. Fortunately, you have no authority in the 
matter. I do. I have told you what I want, you are to do it. Quite simple, 
no?" 

"NO! It most definitely is not simple-!" 

He rose up to his full height. From the depths of his brain, he felt that 
damnable accent rising up like a ghost to haunt him once more, but there was 
nothing he could do about it. 

"ENUFF!!! YOU VILL DO AS I HAF TOLD YOU!! ZAT VILL BE ALL!!!" 

He slapped the top of his desk. 

Ludmilla stared at him for a long moment in silence. Maxwell realized that 
he'd never allowed his accent to show itself before with her. 

She blinked, and then said, "Certain, Doctor. As you wish." 

He sighed as she left. The side door to his office opened. 

"Good work, Doctor. Good work indeed." 

It was Arnold Pendergast. 

"Thank you, but I wish I hadn't been so forceful with her." 

"You mean letting the old Nazi creep out?" 

"I vas not a Nazi!!! I voiced my protests many times..." 

"Hey, hey, take it easy, Doc. I've done some checking on you. I know what 
you were. And to be honest, I don't care. That was a long time ago, right? 
And what the hell, you won't find a better commie-hater than a Nazi, right? 
That's why I know I can count on you." 

Maxwell sighed. Why couldn't the world be simple. 

Andrea felt cold. It was a chill from within, however. A chill from 
somewhere deep in her brain. 

What were those voices she heard. What was mat strange tingle that continued 
to play through her body? What were those awful images ... those sinewy, 
elongated shadows, seeming to beckon her forth, offering her the peaks of 
pain, and of pleasure. 

Her brain continued to feel a presence that was foreign ... and alien 
intruder, as if a higher form of consciousness had taken up residence inside 
her, and managed to make himself invisible ... only through the trails it 
left could she deduce that there was something strange at all. 

She shivered again. 

What did she want? Was it sex? That seemed so strange ... she'd never wanted 
sex this much before checking into the hospital. She was no virgin, to be 
sure, but there had never been much sex in her life, and that which she had 
experienced had left her cold and unaffected. 

But whenever she touched herself between her thighs these days ... she found 
a thick, oily smear of her own juices... 

That she would think to touch herself at all was in itself a fundamental 
change ... but that she would find herself at a continuing state of arousal, 
and that she would enjoy it ... seek it out, desire to sustain it ... all of 
these were new elements in her life that she'd never before had to cope 
with. 

As were the images ... she saw large men ... men with huge bulging muscles 
... men wearing black hoods, men with hot pincers, men with whips, men with 
needles ... men with spiked paddles... 

Men wanting to hurt her. 

And she saw herself bound to a post ... hanging from hooks in the ceiling 
... swinging from elaborate structures of ropes and knots... 

She felt pain flashing across her body... 

She felt her breasts swelling with sensation, from pain which her mind 
miraculously transformed into pleasure. 

She felt more... 

She felt whips crackling across her flesh ... she felt wet droplets of blood 
dripping from broken welts it left with every stroke. 

She felt hot needles plunging into her breasts ... she felt the bite of 
wooden canes striking her body... 

She couldn't stand it. She must be going mad. To have such demented 
thoughts. Was it simply because she was in the hospital, and had so much 
time to think that deeper, formerly repressed desires were coming to the 
surface? 

No ... she didn't really think so. 

It didn't make sense. This was almost as if she was becoming a different 
person. 

The door to her room opened. 

It was her! Nurse Shanks. Why did that woman fill her with terror? 

And with anticipation? 

Strange, thought Andrea, but her strange visions seemed to grow much more 
intense when that woman was around. 

She felt sharp biting pain in her nipples, in her clit ... hot jagged shards 
of pain slicing through her body, through her nerves, through her muscles... 

"Well Andrea, you're going to be moving." 

"Why's that, Nurse Shanks?" 

"You got me. It's craziness, if you ask me. Absolute craziness. We have to 
clear the whole ward. Makes no sense to me at all." 

"Clear the ward? For what?" 

"V I.P. patient. That's why? I personally think it stinks, but no one 
listens to me around here anyway, so what's it matter, right?" 

She was straightening the girl's covers, and when her fingers drifted across 
one of Andrea's breasts, there was a sudden shock, and feeling of strange, 
perverse pleasure ... and suddenly in her mind, those bizarre, hooded 
torturers all turned to women ... the same woman, Ludmilla Shanks. Andrea's 
eyes widened with fear, and yet, she didn't want the woman to leave. There 
was something very compelling about her ... in the way she held herself so 
totally erect and straight. 

In the way her face managed to never register any emotions of any sort. 
Strange ... but compelling. 

"Will you still be looking after me in my new room?" asked Andrea. 

"Sure I will. Of course I will. I'm the head nurse. I have to look after 
you. I have to look after everyone. 

Andrea felt her. entire body tingling. "But don't worry," Ludmilla told her. 
"It's not going to be till tomorrow." 

"Oh." 

The door to the room opened again. ft was her husband, Wilmer. 

"Well," said Ludmilla, "I'll leave you two now to visit." Then, she cast 
Wilmer a stern glance. "Have visiting hours started yet?" 

"Uh ... yes. I, uh, think so. I mean, the girl at the desk downstairs didn't 
stop me when I came in." 

"Mmmmmm..." said Ludmilla noncommittally. "If you say so." She stalked out. 

"My, what an imposing figure, wouldn't you say?" 

Andrea wasn't in the mood right then to say much of anything. 

"How are you doing, dear?" 

"Oh ... I'm all right, I guess," said Andrea, scarcely able to contain her 
feelings. There was a growing heat in her cunt, and she knew that she was 
going to have to find a way to contain it. Or else it might very well 
consume her. 

"Well, dear. The children and I miss you very much. We'll all be glad when 
you come back." 

"Me too, darling," said Andrea, suddenly wishing that he'd rip back the 
covers and rape her right there." 

"Dear," she finally said, tentatively, "are you pleased with me?" 

"What? Why, you're a charming wife, I think." 

"Wilmer, that's not what I asked." "Oh ... well, then, what are you asking?" 
"Do I please you? I mean ... in bed." He instantly turned several shades of 
crimson, and started to break out in small beads of sweat. "Oh my," he said. 

"Am I embarrassing you, darling," asked Andrea. "I certainly don't want to 
do that." 

What would he say, she wondered, if he knew that even as they were talking, 
her fingers were slipping up the inside of her thighs, stroking lightly over 
the moist slick layer of her juice, moving in closer and closer to her cunt. 

What would he say? What she'd want him to say was "Let me do that for you, 
darling," but she knew that he wouldn't. That he couldn't. That he'd never 
be able to. 

She touched her clit, and felt the thing all hard and stiff. 

It was something she'd never permitted herself. To touch her body for the 
purpose of carnal pleasures ... she'd always made certain when showering or 
bathing that she never allowed herself to feel any 'twinges', as her mother 
had called them, when running the wash rag between her legs ... what she 
would have given at that moment for a wash rag, a rough, terry cloth wash 
cloth, filled with a soapy lather. 

She started to tickle her clit, and a soft moan escaped from her lips. 

"Are you all right, darling?" 

"Oh ... yes. I'm fine. Truly I am, I'm fine, asking such strange questions 
and all ... I mean, it's hardly like you to wonder such strange things ... 
don't you think?" 

"It's not strange to wonder if I please my husband in the bedroom, is it, 
Wilmer? Is that really so strange?" 

He looked about as if frightened that someone might be listening. "Please 
darling. Keep your voice down. No ... of course it's not strange to wonder 
... I suppose you'd have to wonder if you're human ... but you don't talk 
about it. I mean, not out loud." 

"Well then how am I going to talk about it, Wilmer. How am I going to talk 
about it? In my sleep? To myself? How are you ever going to know what I'm 
saying, Wilmer?" 

"Oh ... I see..." he said, as if he'd suddenly gained insight into something 
that she was still unaware of. 

"What's that supposed to mean," she said, pinching her fingers around her 
clit more fiercely now, pressing in on it, stroking it, rubbing her juices 
all over herself. 

"It's just because you're lonely, right? I mean, here you've been in the 
hospital all by yourself, and I'm still out there doing the same things I've 
always done. And that's why you're acting so strangely. Well, don't worry 
dear, I've spoken to the doctor, and he's assured me you'll be home before 
you know it, and then everything will be all right again." 

She slid her fingers deeper into her slit now, toying with the rim of her 
hole ... pressing against it, running her fingers in circular motions all 
around it. 

"You never answered my question, Wilmer. Do I satisfy you in bed?" 

"Andrea, you simply have to stop talking this way. I'm just not accustomed 
to it." 

"I know you aren't, Wilmer. I know what you're accustomed to. You're 
accustomed to making love to me once a week, on Saturday, just before the 
late movie comes on. You spend no more than five minutes altogether on it, 
and you leave me feeling like a lump of coal. Wilmer, you're a lousy lover, 
and I want more out of life." "Oh." 

He looked completely unperturbed. 

Then, he patted her head. 

"Don't you worry dear, I'll make an appointment with the best psychiatrist 
in town, and you can start seeing him as soon as you get out of here. We'll 
take care of all this silliness right away. 

She was digging her fingers deep into her cunt now. 

She was breathing harder, and the passion rolling over her body was 
translated as anger before the eyes of her confused husband. 

"You go see him, Wilmer. You go see him. You get him to tell you why you're 
such a rotten lover. Why you're afraid of women. Why you're afraid of your 
own wife." 

She suddenly kicked back the covers, and pulled up her gown, and brazenly, 
defiantly, stuck her engorged cunt right into his face. 

"Look at it, Wilmer. Have you ever looked at it? You don't touch it very 
much. Do you even know what's going on there, Wilmer?" 

She had three fingers inside her now, running them in and out. "See what I'm 
doing? Do you see what I'm doing to myself, Wilmer? If you were a man, you'd 
be doing this for me? I'm frustrated, Wilmer. I need something. I need more 
than you know how to give ... OHMYGOD..." she suddenly screamed, as her body 
arched sharply, and her sensations took control of her brain, pulling her up 
to the peak of her arousal. 

She spread her lips apart as far as they would go with the fingers of one 
hand, and with her other, she simply raked her fingernails through that 
mushy bed of wet pink flesh, crying loudly all the while. 

Wilmer stared, aghast. His deepest fears were coming to life right before 
his eyes. Andrea felt her fingernails scratching over her clit, over her 
hole, over her lips ... it all felt wonderful, like a release from tension 
she'd never known she had. She'd given voice to her needs, finally, at last, 
and it felt like freedom. 

She came, for untold, immeasurable minutes, she came, her entire body swept 
up in the spasms that were shaking her very being. 

She writhed like a wounded animal on the bed. She cried like a punished 
child. And when she had spent herself, she looked up, and she saw that she 
was alone. Wilmer ... poor inadequate Wilmer, had fled in terror at this 
monster who had once been his staid, predictable wife. Would she ever see 
him again. She suddenly hoped not. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Anne Bresto got off the elevator. She'd been thinking about Ernie Cravitz 
all morning, and wanted to look in on the boy to see how he was doing. She'd 
heard that a new pair of casts had been put on him yesterday afternoon. They 
were smaller and supposedly would provide him with much more mobility than 
he'd had before. 

She turned the corner to move down into the west wing, when she ran smack up 
against a large, broad chest. 

She looked up and saw a stern face. "Excuse me, Ma'am. No admittance. 
Sorry." "What are you talking about? I work here. Don't tell me there's no 
admittance. Now would you please get out of my way?" "Sorry Ma'am. No 
admittance." "What are you, a tape loop? 1 told you, I have patients down 
there and I have to look after them." 

"Not anymore you don't, Ma'am. They've been moved." 

Oh, right, she thought. That strange patient that the grapevine had been 
buzzing about for the past few days. Clearing out the entire ward, just for 
one patient ... and a lot of security men. 

Suddenly, Dr. Schlepzig appeared. 

"Is there some problem?" he asked. 

"Not at all, Doc," said the man. "I was just explaining to the little lady 
here that she-!" 

"I'm not a 'little lady' you big stupid oaf, and if you don't learn to watch 
that tongue of yours, you're going to be licking your own balls with it. Do 
you understand?" 

His eyes widened. 

"Doc ... you really ought to teach your nurses some manners. I mean, it 
seems to me she doesn't quite have a solid grip on her status ... you follow 
my drift?" 

"Please ... Nurse Bresto, meet Mr. Pendergast. He's a gov-!" 

"I'm a special liaison with the ... uh, the uh AMA, uh, here to check out 
the uh, facilities for-" 

"Give it a rest, will you?" said Anne. The man was obviously a clod. Uncouth 
and a liar as well. "You're an agent for the government. Of course you are. 
Why deny it? It's so obvious. When are they going to start hiring people who 
look normal and ordinary?" 

He frowned, perplexed. 

"Doc, you want to get her out of here?" 

"Sure. Sure ... come, my dear ... you shouldn't be here. I thought the 
instructions were quite firm on that point." 

"And Doc, fix that elevator so it won't stop on this floor again, like I 
told you to do this morning. I don't want a repeat of this." 

They got back on the elevator, and Anne exploded. "That's the most 
outrageous and humiliating thing I've ever faced in my life.". How dare you 
let him talk to me that way? How dare you!!!" 

"Now now, my dear, just calm down. There's nothing that you can do about it. 
So please, just take it in stride." 

"But, why? I mean, why are they going to all this trouble?" 

"Well ... I really don't know. No one tells me anything around here." 

She peered suspiciously at him. There was a false ring in his voice, one 
that told her not to trust him ... or anything that he said. 

She got off the elevator, and went about her duties, but the more she 
thought about the encounter, the angrier it made her. How dare they! How 
dare they treat her like that. She was an employee of this place, and she 
certainly had a right to be there, and to be given an explanation for 
strange events. 

She quickly located Ernie Cravitz' relocated room, and went there. 

The boy was sitting up in bed, but he had a dazed look on his face. 

"What's the matter, Ernie?" she asked. "Huh ... I don't ... what...?" "Ernie 
... are you all right?" She saw that his casts were now smaller, coming up 
only to the knees. They would indeed allow him more maneuverability, but 
that hadn't raised his spirits any, it seemed. 

"Ernie, what's wrong? You look like you've just seen a ghost." "I ... don't 
know..." She peered closely at him. His pupils were dilated drastically. "My 
God, how much stuff have they been giving you?" "Stuff...?" 

"Yes. What do they have you on?" 

She quickly studied his chart, but saw nothing prescribed for him that would 
result in such drastic dilation of the pupils ... nothing that anyone would 
even think to give in large quantities... 

Someone had slipped him a drug! 

"Ernie, what happened? Can you tell me?" 

"I don't know ... Nurse Bresto ... honest ... I don't know." 

That's when Anne noticed the dark spreading stain at his crotch. 

"What's that all about?" she asked, trying hard to keep her voice 
businesslike and professional, so as not to embarrass him. 

He looked down, frowned, touched the stain and rubbed his fingers together. 

"Gosh..." he said. 

"What is it?" 

"Well ... it's just what it looks like it is..." 

He pulled his gown up, and stared at his cock and balls, seemingly oblivious 
to Anne's presence. She gasped when she saw him, however. 

There was a flaming red circular mark around the base of Ernie's cock. 
"Ernie ... what's that all about?" He shook his head, dazed. "Gosh, I really 
don't know. Really, I don't know." 

"Can you remember anything ... anything at all?" 

"Yeah ... I can..." 

He seemed embarrassed to continue. "Please, Ernie, you can talk to me. We 
know each other, remember?" "Yeah ... I sure do." 

He still seemed reluctant to continue, but Anne waited patiently, and 
finally he loosened up. 

"Well ... I was ... you know ... I mean, I got horny ... you know ... and I 
couldn't help myself_ you know?" 

"You were masturbating." 

"Yeah. And ... Nurse Shanks came in." 

"And what did she do?" 

"That's what I can't remember. I mean, really, I can't remember. That's what 
has me freaked out. It's like, I can remember her walking in and seeing me 
with my cock all big and everything, and I remember stopping real fast, and 
jerking around to see her standing there, and feeling real weird and silly 
... and I remember her walking over to me, and I remember her talking to 
me." 

"What did she say?" 

"That's where it get real foggy. I just remember her talking ... but I don't 
remember anything she had to say ... and I don't remember anything at all 
after that." "Nothing?" He shook his head. 

"I remember sitting up in bed, trying to remember my name, and that's when 
you walked in." 

Anne looked at his eyes. The dilation had gone down considerably." 

"Ernie, I want you to be calm, and don't worry about this. I don't think 
that anyone's harmed you. I don't know what did happen, but I don't think 
anyone did anything really bad to you." 

She looked back down at his cock. Someone had attached one fuck of a cock 
ring to him though ... and God knows what they'd done after that. But before 
that had happened, they'd hit the poor boy up with a powerful drug of some 
sort. And there seemed to be only one logical candidate. 

Ludmilla Shanks, thought Anne to herself, as she left Ernie's room. So, you 
old prune ... you've got a few quirks in you after all, huh? I might have 
known. 

Anne's mind was a maze of varying thoughts and images. 

There were starting to be too many things demanding her attention. 

But she was going to deal with them all. No question about it. She was going 
to deal with them all. 

There was the sixth floor, which certain wouldn't escape her attention. 

There was this strangeness with Ludmilla ... that would need looking into. 

And then, of course, there was Brent Holcomb... 

She had a sudden thought. 

Could Ludmilla have actually done that ... Brent suspected that he'd been 
drugged. Could Ludmilla have been responsible? 

It wasn't possible. 

But it was the only explanation that made any sense. 

She was going to need to pay Ludmilla a visit. Preferably when she wasn't 
there. It might be interesting to see what drugs she had squirreled away in 
that ice box of hers. 

At that moment, Ludmilla Shanks was approaching her own rendezvous with 
destiny.. She kept seeing the boy, stretched out on the bed, unconscious, 
except for his cock... 

Oh God, that cock. So incredibly powerful. So massive. 

So steel-like. 

She felt her hands trembling, and felt juice between her thighs as she 
wandered the corridors, acting official, knowing that anyone who saw her 
would assume that she had someplace specific in mind as a destination, and 
would never assume the truth, that she was, in fact, wandering the hallways 
in a dull stupor, trying to come down from her last experience. It was 
getting worse. Her craving was coming over her more and--and it no longer 
stopped with the simple act of administering drugs. That had been the 
earliest expression of her rage, the ritual of her profession turned 
inside-out and stood on its head. 

Shooting up unsuspecting victims with a drug that left them babbling 
lunatics for short periods of time ... unless, of course there had been any 
alcohol administered along with it. Then, the effects took far longer to 
wear off. 

But there was a deeper need in her, and though she'd always known it was 
there, she'd pretended it wasn't something she needed to pay attention to. 

But that didn't make things better. 

It had only delayed the inevitable, and now, she was coming apart at the 
seams. 

All over her body, there were blind pockets of lust that seemed to be 
exploding with renewed tension every minute. 

She was feeling another surge of physical lust right now, only a half hour 
after having her way with that Cravitz boy. 

How was she going to cope with this? 

Because the terrifying thing was, she knew now that she could get away with 
it. The drug did everything it was supposed to do ... it completely blocked 
out the victims' memories ... left them totally open to post-hypnotic 
suggestions ... and as far as she could tell, it hadn't failed her yet. 

That young girl had made no complaint. Neither had that man on the second 
floor. Or that young boy. And now, the Cravitz boy. Would he remember? She 
hoped not. She'd been in the process of giving him the suggestions that 
would wipe his memory clean, when that nurse had come in. 

She'd scarcely managed to escape out the other door to the room, without 
getting caught. That was bad. If the kid remembered anything ... anything at 
all of her presence in the room, it could go very badly for her. But she'd 
been unable to control herself. The hypodermic that she'd had with her had 
originally been intended for Andrea again ... why not ... she'd already 
shown an ability to go under and remember nothing when she woke up. 

But she'd walked in, and there he was, stroking it so firmly, so 
confidently... 

He was so large too ... so incredibly large, there seemed to be no end to 
it. 

Like a firehose, she thought to herself, as she stood in the doorway staring 
sternly from cock to face flaming with embarrassment. 

She walked into the room. 

"You needn't fear me, my boy. I'll do nothing to hurt you. I won't be like 
the others and gossip. I'm not like that. I don't object, you see ... I find 
it rather normal, if you'd like to know the truth. I think you are perfectly 
within your rights to do that." 

He'd stared at her, shocked, frightened, still grasping it. 

"Continue," she said. 

He pulled his hand away like it had suddenly turned white hot. "No ... I 
said continue." He started to shake a little bit. "You needn't be afraid of 
me, I told you that. Why are you afraid of me?" He still seemed unable to 
respond. She was beside his bed now, and suddenly, without a moment's 
hesitation, she knew what she was going to do. 

She pulled out the needle, flung off the cap, and plunged it into his arm. 

She depressed the plunger and pulled it back out before he was even able to 
scream. But scream he had, although the drug was so fast acting that he was 
faltering within a matter of seconds. 

But his cock remained stiff and throbbing. 

She'd stared at it, unable to release it from her gaze. She was utterly 
captivated by it. 

Ernie's eyes were clamped shut now, and there was nothing to prevent her... 

She reached out and touched it. 

She could feel the pulse of his blood beating against the surface from the 
inside. 

It was a steadily pounding throb, one that seemed to increase with every 
throb. 

"Yes..." she whispered softly, "you'll love this. You'll remember nothing of 
it, but you'll love it. Do you hear? You'll love it." 

She needn't have informed him of that fact, for it was something that was 
already known by the receptors in the subconscious portion of his brain. 

He moaned as she touched him, and his cock jerked. 

She saw that there was a small bead of clear liquid forming at the tip. 

No, no, she thought to herself, she wasn't about to lose that delicious 
erection to a case of premature ejaculation. Not on your life. 

So she reached into her pocket, and produced a thin tourniquet that she 
carried with her for cases of emergency bleeding. 

Around the base of his shaft, once, twice, a third time, pulling it taut 
with every loop. 

That would keep it up there, she thought with satisfaction, noting that as 
she let go of the ends, the rubber band contracted, clamping tightly around 
the surface of his cock, and effectively trapping the blood that was there 
... he could die, and his cock would remain hard. Her hands were trembling 
now, as she slowly lifted her skirts... 

Should she lock the door? No, no one was due in here for a couple of hours 
yet. 

She reached between her legs and felt the heated musk of her cunt ... Oh, 
how could she have ignored it for so long? For so many years ... and now, 
here she was, over forty, and she was just beginning to realize the extent 
of repressed lust. Oh dear boy, she thought, dear dear boy with your 
throbbing cock, so stiff and hard, just waiting for me ... She climbed up 
onto the bed and wasted no time positioning the glans right over her hole. 

She slowly slid it into her, carefully, steadily, moving it deeper and 
deeper against the rim of her hole. 

The pressure increased as she lowered her hips down onto that hard pole, and 
then, finally, she felt it split her, felt it open her up, felt her inner 
membranes at last, at long last, filing with the incredible pressure of hard 
cock. 

It was so delicious. So sweet. So tasty. 

She wanted it all, at once, all the way inside her. 

She let the full weight of her hips fall down onto that stiff rod, impaling 
herself on it. It felt wonderful. It was excruciating. It was overwhelming. 

It was a hot blast of passionate sensation that left her mind dulled and her 
nerves numbed. 

She had no real sense of movement in the act of fucking. 

Her only experiences with it had taken place when she was a much younger 
woman, when she knew nothing and her lovers knew less ... she'd forgotten 
what little that had amounted to. 

But she knew what felt good. 

She knew what produced the reaction inside her. 

She could feel that cock stretching the membranes of her pussy, could feel 
it opening her up to the vast expanses of pleasure, of sensation, of 
ecstasy. 

She moaned, she groaned, she felt herself building to a powerful climax, 
felt herself trembling, felt all the muscles in her body going taut now, 
quivering, spilling over into mad spasms. 

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," she began to cry, although there 
was no one to hear ... except for Ernie, and he would remember nothing. 

Deeper and deeper, feeling the glans pressing against the back wall of her 
pussy now ... feeling it slam home again and again, with every movement of 
her hips. 

She wished that he was aware, that he was capable of moving that cock in and 
out on his own, but this was a more than acceptable substitute. 

Harder and harder. 

She was lifting her hips off of his body now, lifting them up, letting them 
simply fall back against his thighs with a sharp slap. 

Up ... down ... up ... down ... again and again and again and again... 

By the time she came, she was past coherent thought. She was past thinking 
at all. 

She was simply reacting, doing what was necessary to accomplish her goal ... 
which was to continue feeling that cock ripping in and out of her cunt. 

Again and again, and again, and again, and again ... until her body exploded 
with a flash of sensation that was almost like light itself, searing her 
brain with its brilliance. 

She moaned loudly and collapsed onto him, feeling her body take off purely 
on the strength of it's own inertia, unable to stop now, no longer requiring 
outside stimulation, as wave after wave of orgasm rolled over her like a 
hurricane. 

She spent her passion at last, felt herself slowly deflate, and then, noting 
that his cock was still as stiff, began to poke herself with it some more. 

It was delicious, that huge staff sloshing through her inflamed flesh. 

She felt more and more arousal, with every stroke, more and more sensation 
pouring out of her. 

She was past the point of controlling it, past the ability to do anything 
about it... 

She wanted only to keep it up, for as long as she could. 

But finally, after three more orgasms, her cunt began to get sore, and she 
had to stop. 

Pulling herself off, she saw that her juices had covered the surface of his 
cock, and had likewise soaked his balls and his pubic hair. 

No matter, she thought. No one will discover it as evidence... 

And then she lowered her mouth to his cock, and started to lick it totally 
clean. 

She sucked and sucked, licked and sucked, licked and licked. 

He continued to make noises, continued to move around on the bed, but she 
was certain that he still hadn't woken up yet. 

He was still under the drug, and would remain so for a good deal of time 
yet, if she was lucky. 

Finally, it was time for her to stop, for her to make her escape. He would 
need a little time to recover, and she didn't want to press her luck! What 
was that? Footsteps! My God, she thought, they seemed to be coming here. 
Closer, closer, closer... 

She quickly unwrapped the tourniquet, knowing that it would be like popping 
the top to a beer can after letting it get warm and shaking it. 

She released the elastic band, and quickly threw his gown over it. 

The poor boy had come, massively, and there had been no place for the jism 
to flow, and so it had stayed there, trapped by the tourniquet. 

But now it burst forth in a mad gusher of cum. 

She felt it pulsating against her, felt it pounding into her, felt it 
throbbing between his legs, and she quickly arranged herself and raced over 
to the other door. 

She saw, to her horror, that coming had been the one stimulation that had 
broken through the drug, and finally aroused the boy ... he was sitting up. 
Slowly, painfully. 

And then, he'd looked around, totally dazed, and she knew that he'd still 
remember nothing. But that little twat Anne Bresto was walking into the 
room, damn her, and she'd discover his cum... 

But she wouldn't know what to do about it. She never dare to suspect 
Ludmilla Shanks, the Head Nurse. 

Now, walking through the corridors, Ludmilia wasn't quite so sure. 

He wasn't supposed to remember. She'd given him some suggestions, but she 
wished that she'd had enough time to deal with it better, to make certain 
there would be nothing to trigger his memory ... like a crotchful of cum. 

But alas, it was too late to worry about that, for there was nothing to be 
done. 

Nurse Bresto had been so intent on questioning Ernie that she hadn't heard 
the soft click of the door as Ludmilla slipped out of the room. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large hulking form appeared in front of her. 

She slammed right into it. 

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but there's no admittance to this wing." 

Ludmilla wasn't sure that she'd heard right. 

Stepping back a moment, she stared up into the face of ... well My God, she 
thought, he's right handsome. 

But a pain in the ass, whatever he was doing there. 

"Don't you dare talk to me that way, Chucko, do you hear me." 

"Sorry, Ma'am, I mean no disrespect, but you can't proceed." 

Now, it wasn't so much that Ludmilla had a burning desire to wander down 
into the West Wing of the sixth floor. And now that she was here, she 
remembered that there was supposed to be some kind of weird thing going on, 
and that it was supposed to start today with this ridiculous mystery 
patient, and if she'd bothered to see where she was going, she would have 
definitely avoided this corridor altogether. 

As it happened, she was here, and this guy was really getting on her nerves, 
and in fact there just wasn't going to be a man around that could talk to 
her that way, and she was going to let him know it. 

"Say that again," she said to him, softly. 

"You can't go down." 

"You want to bet." 

"Sure. I'll bet you." 

She held out her hand to shake on it, and to his shock, executed a perfect 
flip, tossing the man on his ass against the wall. 

For Arnold Pendergast, it was as if they'd told him that Stalin was still 
alive and running the country. A woman. 

A woman had done this to him, had tossed him, had dazed him, and had slipped 
past him. 

Well, he was going to show her a thing or two. 

But damn it, she must be one fuck of a woman, that's all he could say. 

She must be one fuck of a woman. He had a feeling that he was falling in 
love. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Meredith Ainsley felt foolish. To think that she'd actually come to work in 
that condition last week.., it was chilling. She'd really thought that she 
had her problem with Brent under control. Perhaps that was proof that she 
still had a long way to go. 

It drove her mad sometimes, to think that her brain and her cunt could be so 
interchangeable. 

But the fact was, having once gotten a taste of that cock of his, she 
somehow had never been able to get it out of her mind. 

He'd triggered a nerve, or nerves, that were buried somewhere deep in her 
brain, somewhere that had nothing to do with conscious thought. 

She couldn't stop thinking about it, even now, months after he'd broken it 
off with her. 

That huge pole, so stiff, so throbbing, so overloaded with cum. It was the 
perfect fucking machine, the kind that a girl finds once in her life. 

She wouldn't even have minded if he'd remained aloof ... emotionally that 
is. She didn't find him all that overwhelming a personality. 

But that cock ... it was without a doubt the most impressive thing that 
she'd ever discovered ... the most incredible, the most overwhelming. 

So deep ... stretching her so wide ... she could still feel it ... and the 
space that it left was still an empty pit, an aching pocket of desire 
longing to be once again filled. 

But even with all that, it was silly for her to have come to work that day 
so blown out on Valium. For some reason, the prospect of having to face an 
entire day around this place without even being able to lay eyes on him had 
proven far too painful to even contemplate. 

She'd started popping them at nine-thirty when she first woke up, and she 
just kept on, until she ate a fistful before driving to work. 

It was silly, and there was no excuse. Fortunately, she was back down to her 
normal maintenance dosage. 

There was never any thought about the possibility of stopping. By now, that 
was impossible to contemplate. 

Even without the need to numb her feelings of Brent Holcomb, there was still 
an overpowering need for her to take valium. The drug provided its own 
justification now. 

She needed it. 

But she needed Brent Holcomb more. Would she never be rid of her desire for 
that man? 

Anne Bresto moved silently through the room. 

Ludmilla was nowhere to be seen. Nonetheless, her heart was thumping wildly. 

What if she was captured? What if someone, anyone, was to come back. 

She couldn't think about that now. She had a chance to clear Brent Holcomb's 
name, and at the same time, rid herself of her nemesis, Ludmilla Shank. 

That was an opportunity that was worth any risk. She was afraid to 
contemplate the result if she was able to do this for Brent. Would he be so 
grateful that he'd ask her to marry him? 

She shook her head. 

Wait a minute. What the hell was going on? That's absurd. Did she really 
think such a lunatic thought? 

Well ... yes, she did. 

And come to think of it, she'd been dwelling rather heavily on the man ever 
since he'd fucked her. 

She wanted him again. She needed him. 

He'd called, and they were supposed to see each other tonight. She only 
hoped that she could produce some evidence that would raise his spirits. 

She opened the door to the outer room of Ludmilla's office. But the inner 
door was locked. 

Damn! 

She was no good at picking locks either. But she knew where she could get a 
master key. 

It would mean a rather painful task, but under the circumstances, it would 
have to be done. There really was no other alternative. 

She walked down the hallway, stopped at the door to Maxwell Schlepzig's 
office, took a deep breath, and knocked. 

Ernie Cravitz was feeling strange. More and more. 

He couldn't explain it, but there was something deep inside his brain, 
something that was trying to come out ... something that he could find 
neither words nor image for, which existed purely as a feeling, a subjective 
feeling in his guts that something was ... well, not exactly wrong ... more 
as if something had been added to his brain ... something that hadn't been 
there before. 

It existed as a series of feelings, sensations, all of which seemed to 
center right around his crotch. 

There was a throbbing fullness in his balls, and his cock seemed always to 
be itching itself into an erection. 

He thought that he'd go crazy if he didn't do something soon. 

But what? 

He couldn't find any reason for this sudden increase in his sex drive, 
except for that afternoon when Nurse Bresto had found him with cum all over 
his cock. 

She'd seemed upset, agitated by it, but all that time was still lost in a 
haze of sorts. He couldn't really say what had happened, even now. 

He only knew that ever since that moment, he'd been going out of his mind 
with lust. 

He was glad that he'd finally been given these casts, though. 

They made it easier for him to get around. With the help of a walker, he 
could move around the corridors, not quite freely, because it was still a 
slow, painful process, but he was nonetheless able to move out of bed, which 
was a memorable first. 

He struggled to his feet, stood with the support of the walker, leaned into 
it, and started to drag himself toward the door. 

He opened it, looked out in the corridor to make certain that no stretchers 
or push carts were lumbering by. It was impossible to get out of the way of 
anything. But the coast was clear. There was only one person, a girl, and 
she was at the other end of the corridor. 

He dragged himself out, and began the slow, painful task of making his way 
to the sun deck. It wouldn't clip his horns any, but it would be good to get 
out into the daylight for a change. 

Andrea was about to rip her hair out. 

It wouldn't leave her, that mad tingling between her legs. 

The seeds that had been planted were now growing into a fine harvest ... but 
there was no one to harvest it. No one except for herself, and her 
incessantly probing fingers. It wasn't enough. 

She needed more. Much more. She needed a cock. A thick, solid cock, one that 
never had trouble getting hard, one that never shot off too quick ... and 
she needed that cock to be attached to a human being. 

Poor Wilmer ... he wasn't to blame. She'd married him at the time because he 
seemed perfect, and certainly didn't seem likely to threaten her own 
repressed sexuality. 

But the genie was out of the lamp, the toothpaste was out of the tube, and 
Pandora's Box was already broken open... 

She couldn't explain it, but now that the feelings were there, she knew that 
she wanted only to have them answered, to have them dealt with, to have a 
man that knew what to do with her body. 

There was no one in sight. No prospects on the horizon. 

She wasn't looking forward to her impending release from the hospital. Not 
by a long shot. It would mean returning to Wilmer, to the children, to the 
house, to a life that had long since ceased to hold any meaning for her. 

The mounting desperation in her thoughts was rivaled only by the mounting 
frustration in her cunt. 

She needed something. She needed it now. 

But what? What? 

She paused in the middle of the corridor, and for a moment, was simply lost 
in her own thoughts. 

Then, she heard a strange shuffling sound, a dragging sound, and when she 
turned around, she saw a boy with two broken legs, moving toward her with 
the help of a walker. She gave him a smile. He smiled back. "Hello," she 
said, "could I help you any?" He acknowledged her offer, but said "No, I 
might as well get used to it. They tell me I'm going to be in these casts a 
while longer." "Really? What happened?" "Wreck. Bad wreck. Wasn't my fault, 
thank God, and there's about four different insurance companies gonna give 
me money, as soon as the doctors turn me loose, but it's been a real pain. I 
wouldn't recommend it to anyone." 

She frowned in sympathy. "I can see what you mean." Then she offered her 
hand. "My name's Andrea." 

"I'm Ernie. I'm heading for the sun deck. You want to come with me?" 

There was a deliciously tempting look in his eyes. She felt the itch in her 
cunt start to really hum now, smiled coyly at him, hooked her arm around his 
and said, "Why sure. I'd just love to." 

Ernie was glad that the pajamas he was wearing were so loose. Otherwise, 
he'd have a rough time hiding that erection that just sprang into full 
bloom. 

Arnold Pendergast slowly picked himself up off the floor, and stared after 
the retreating woman. God damn, he thought, what a hunk of woman. Someone 
who knows the value of a real good fight. 

He tore after her, and caught her just as she was getting ready to plunge 
into the West wing. 

Ludmilla, for her part, was glad that he'd caught her, because now they 
could continue their argument without her actually having to break any 
directives. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, felt it spin her around roughly and 
suddenly, before she knew what had happened, he had her in an arm-lock. 

It was a fairly simple one, however, and the procedure for breaking it was 
to simply jump upwards, to shift his center of gravity for a split second, 
during which you hooked your foot around his knee from behind. 

That way, as he applied more pressure, he simply continued to move his 
center of gravity further and further, until it was actually outside of his 
body and they both tumbled to the floor. 

"Damn!!!" he cried. 

"You're going to have to do better than that," she cried back at him. 

He was suddenly livid and filled with rage. 

"All right, sister, you want more, you're going to get it." 

"Ha!" she said, rubbing her hands together with relish. "Come and get me big 
boy. Come on. Come and get me." 

"You asked for it, toots," snarled Arnold. But somehow, even though they 
were both deadly serious about this, they both understood that there was 
something else far more fundamental at stake. 

They were in it because it turned them on. 

Ludmilla felt it. In her muscles, in her fingers, in her arms, and in her 
stomach, there was a tautness, an anticipatory tension waiting for release. 
Arnold had, quite simply, always found it more enjoyable to hit women than 
to try to talk to them. The only trouble was, this usually resulted in them 
falling down, and getting bad bruises on their bodies, and crying, and 
feeling bad pain, and then they'd hate him, and none of those were really 
the desired goal. It was one thing to hit them. Hell, they asked for that. 
But it was quite another to watch them writhe in pain ... and then there 
were the usual medical bills... 

Hell, it was hardly worth the effort, which is why he never bothered with 
them, because sooner or later, every last damn one of them was going to 
expect you to make some kind of effort towards understanding them, and any 
fucking fool knew that you couldn't understand a woman no matter what you 
did because they just didn't make sense. No two ways about it. They simply 
didn't make sense. 

But here ... Christ, here was one powerful fucking cunt. Just the thought of 
that determination, that feminine will power ... combined with a healthy 
respect for physical violence... 

Well, it was enough to make his cock drool, that's for sure. 

He balanced himself on the balls of his feet, saw the intensity of the look 
in her eyes, felt, indeed, could almost smell the raw lust pouring off her 
body, and prepared himself. 

And then, at the same time, they both sprang. Colliding like the 
irresistible force meeting the immovable object, they shook the universe, at 
least that small portion they both bisected. 

Gripping each other tightly, Arnold could scarcely believe his luck. She was 
here, in his arms, the woman of his dreams. All bets were off. No holds were 
barred. God damn, he didn't dare pull any punches. She'd swallow him alive. 

He felt her tits pressed against his arm, felt the nipples rubbing against 
him till they were hard and stiff, and he knew, deep in his soul, that there 
would never be any woman for him, except her ... and there would be only one 
way to win her. 

By obliterating her. 

Meredith Ainsley froze in her tracks. 

She'd simply stepped outside for a moment to get an extra pack of cigarettes 
from her car ... and to eat a couple more Valium ... when she'd seen it. 
That car. She'd never forget that car ... the one he'd driven the first time 
they went out on a date. She would always remember the way that she'd had to 
sit with her legs pressing up almost to her tits, so that her skirt rode all 
the way to her waist, almost. 

It had been a stimulating ride. By the time they'd gotten to their 
destination, she'd already gotten used to the feeling of his eyes crawling 
all over her body. 

But now... 

Oh God, she thought to herself desperately, what was he doing here. Why 
didn't he stay away. Why did she have to keep confronting him, and keep 
pretending that she didn't feel what she felt ... He stepped out of the car. 
God, he looked bad! He didn't seem to have shaved since he'd been suspended. 
He seemed to be in a hurry. She almost hoped that he wouldn't see her. But 
he did, and true to form, he waved and trotted easily over to her. 

"Meredith," he said, amiably, giving her a little peck on the cheek. "How 
are you?" "Oh, fine ... Brent ... I'm, just ... fine." Her words weren't 
exactly slurring ... still, they didn't come out with the greatest of ease. 
He peered suspiciously at her. 

"You're not still taking Valium, are you?" "Who? Me? Oh no! Why would you 
think that?" 

"Meredith ... is there something wrong? You're acting strange." 

"Of course not, Brent. What could be wrong?" 

"Don't know. That's why I asked." 

Then, looking up towards the hospital, she realized that her attention was 
wavering. Of course. He had much more important things on his mind than a 
silly girl who couldn't get an old lover out of her thoughts. 

"Say, is Anne on duty this afternoon?" 

That jolted her, for some reason. "Yes ... why?" 

"Well, I need to talk to her. I'm supposed to see her tonight, but I needed 
to tell her something now." 

Meredith felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach. 

"Y-you're seeing Anne?" 

"Oh ... well, it's nothing serious ... you know me ... but yeah, kind of. 
She's helping me out with this mess I'm in. She thinks I got railroaded and 
she's trying to prove that I didn't do what they're saying I did." 

Meredith was very close to tears now. 

Her legs felt weak. 

"Brent, I'd have been glad to help you, if you'd only asked me." 

"Huh? Hey, sure you would have. I know you ... the good sport.. Right? Say 
look, I appreciate it too, let me tell you." 

He gave her another friendly peck on the cheek, and said "Well look, I've 
gotta go find Anne. You going back inside?" 

She bit her lip and shook her head. 

"Okay. Say, catch you later, all right? You're looking good. And keep off 
those valium, would you? They're no good. You don't need them." 

He turned and bounced off, either totally oblivious to the most fundamental 
of human emotions, or the coldest, most calculating man she'd ever 
encountered. 

Either way, she felt terrible. She remembered Anne's words . ... 'No man's 
worth that,' she'd said. That bitch. Her friend. Her best friend. 

It was too much to deal with. Too much to cope with. Of course it was. No 
one was ever meant to cope with this much. It was obviously a mistake, and 
really she wished that whoever had been responsible had been more careful, 
but now, here she was coping with all this stuff that simply wasn't meant 
for her to cope with and she was tired of it. She was just tired of it. She 
would go talk to Anne and inform her that she was a slut, a whore and a 
bitch, but she was too tired to do even that. 

She looked back at the glove compartment of her car. She knew what was 
inside. She knew, and she knew that if she reached back in through the 
window ... pressed that little silver button till it clicked and the glove 
compartment door fell open, and she reached in and took out that bottle, and 
she turned the cap and poured out maybe thirty or forty .... 

Ten minutes later, she was up on the eighth floor, walking toward the sun 
deck. 

She felt good. Gosh, life was great, wasn't it? She just loved the feeling 
of knowing that there just wasn't any more need for pain and confusion.... 

There it was now ... the sun deck, all awash with light, and color, and the 
sick and infirm trying to take whatever pleasure in living might be left to 
them.,. 

There was that Cravitz boy, and that girl ... what was her name ... Andrea 
something... 

They were holding hands ... standing close ... gosh, isn't love grand, she 
thought. 

Along the far wall was an iron ladder, bolted to the side of the building. 

It went up to the roof. 

Running around the roof was a ledge. It was a narrow ledge, and even though 
you could stand on it without falling off, assuming your balance remained 
sure, you still would stand no hope of surviving, should you slip, or 
stumble for any reason ... or say if your muscles gave out because there was 
too much valium relaxing them.... 

She walked over to the water fountain, opened the bottle and popped 
everything down her throat. Then, taking a deep breath, she slowly began to 
climb the ladder. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"Come in!!" cried the voice from within. 

Taking one last deep breath, Anne Bresto opened the door and stared into the 
face of Maxwell Schlepzig. 

"Ah, my dear ... do come in. Do come in. You can be the first to help me 
celebrate the good news. 

"What news is that, Dr. Schlepzig. "I've had my active status restored." 

"What?!" 

"Yes, I know. Isn't it exciting? I'm so thrilled, I could burst. I'm going 
to perform brain surgery the first chance I get." 

"WHAT!!!" 

"Why, I just had a thought. How would you like to help me? I could use an 
able assistant like yourself. I know you were instrumental in saving us from 
disaster during that lamentable Holcomb incident. What do you say, shall I 
request you personally as my assistant?" 

"Dr. Schlepzig," said Anne, momentarily distracted, "I don't know what to 
say." 

"Ha, ha, that's quite all right. I understand perfectly. I too have a little 
difficulty understanding. I wanted very much for this to happen long before 
now, and I have no idea why it has not taken place. But now ... 1 am ze 
happiest Doktor in ze hopital, ja!!!" He snapped to attention, clicking his 
heels together, and then, eyes suddenly widening, smiled a sheepish grin. 
"Excuse me. I think I have seen too many WW II films, yes? Ha ha. So, my 
dear, what is it that I can do for you today?" 

"Well, Doctor..." she began, thinking to herself, let me get through this. 
Please let me get through this ... "I think first of all, I should give you 
a kiss by way of congratulations, don't you think?" 

"What? Oh. Well ... certainly ... certainly. Yes, my goodness, yes indeed, I 
think that would be splendid, absolutely splendid." 

He was positively blowing up. He seemed to be completely beside himself with 
glee, and as she walked around his desk, he slid his chair back and spun it 
towards her, holding out his arms. 

She could tell that he was hoping for a lot more than a kiss, with that 
dogmatic optimism that seems to infest all middle aged men like him. But 
along with that optimism is the fairly certain assumption that it is in vain 
... that they will never get what they want, that at some point they will be 
shot down. 

Anne wasn't going to shoot him down, and she was counting on that one slim 
fact to sustain her. 

Casting quickly about the desk, she saw no sign of his keys. That was bad, 
she thought. 

She didn't have the chance to go rummaging through his office. 

His coat was draped over the back of his chair. 

That, really, was her last chance ... unless they were in his pants pocket 
and she had occasion to (God Forbid) get them off his body. She was all 
smiles and anticipation. 

Get ready Doc, she said to herself. Because here I come, and I don't think 
you know what you're in for. 

She plopped herself down in his lap. 

He opened his eyes wide, staring at her in astonishment. She started to run 
her fingers through his hair. 

"Doctor, 1 don't think that could have happened to a sexier guy ... do you 
know that?" 

"What..." he said, almost gasping. She wondered for a moment if she dared to 
risk his heart like this, but decided that it was all or nothing. 

She planted a big kiss right on his lips, and he sagged in his chair. His 
entire body seemed to deflate, except for his cock, which ... well ... not 
quite instantly, but rapidly sprang to attention. 

"Oooooooo, Doctor, you naughty boy. Here I am, just giving you a friendly 
kiss, and I'll bet you're already thinking nasty thoughts about me." 

"Oh, no, no, of course not, my dear. Why ever would I ... I mean, what would 
make you think ... uh, something like that?" She chuckled. 

"Maybe this..." she said, running her fingers down to his hard cock. 

"Oh ... my goodness," he muttered, totally perplexed now. 

"Hmmmmmmm? Is that what I thought it was...? Hmmmmm? I might have known. 
Here you are, in the middle of the day, no less, with a big bad hard-on, and 
I just don't know what I'm going to do with you." 

She was willing to play with him now. For as she'd settled into his lap, 
she'd managed to jingle his jacket, and heard the unmistakable clink of keys 
jiggling together. 

Doctor, you don't stand a chance, she thought to herself as she slowly 
unzipped his fly. Arnold Pendergast was sweating. He couldn't remember ever 
sweating this badly before in his life. 

"So what do you think," said Ludmilla, also sweating, breathing hard, 
gasping for breath. "You ready to give up yet?" 

He was lying on his stomach. She had him in a deadly hammerlock, and there 
didn't seem to be much that he could do to break free. 

It was starting to become a point of honor, now. He'd never been so totally 
overwhelmed in hand to hand combat. 

It was because he'd given her an unfair advantage, that's what it was. He'd 
been soft on the bitch, and look where it got him. 

All right, you cunt, you were still a trespasser as far as the U S. 
Government is concerned, and therefore, I have not only the right but the 
duty to use any means, including subterfuge, to achieve the completion of my 
mission. 

"Yeah," he grumbled, "I give." 

"HA!" she shot out triumphantly. She hopped up, and he slowly rolled over, 
looked up at her and realized that she was a damn sight more attractive than 
he'd thought at first. 

Of course, now, her hair had come down from the cold, austere bun that she 
usually wore it in, and damned if it wasn't hanging halfway down her back. 

Mussed up real good too ... she had a nice, primitive look about her ... a 
real nice look. 

Also, her clothes were pretty much in tatters. 

Her blouse was torn all the way down the side, and he could look right 
through it and she the cup of her bra. 

It wasn't as much as he'd have liked to see, but something told him that if 
he played his cards right, he'd get a chance at the rest of her before too 
long, as it was. 

But for now, there was the prime goal of subduing her. Which, now that he 
thought about it, might very well lead to all the rest. Hell, there was only 
one way to treat a woman like this. That was good old fashioned rape. 
Cave-man style. Bonk 'em over the head with a fucking rock, drag 'em off to 
your cave and fuck the shit out of them till they couldn't walk away from 
you, and by the time they healed up, they were your own property. 

Heh heh ... yeah, who said civilization had all the answers? 

He moved up to his knees, looking like he was trying to get the feeling back 
into his neck, but really, he was crouched in a springing position, ready to 
bolt up at her when she was least expecting it. 

"So, Cowboy," she was taunting him, "you weren't quite as strong as you 
thought, were you." 

She was really having a good time, thought Arnold sullenly to himself. Well, 
enjoy yourself while it lasts, bitch, because it's getting ready to end ... 
right ... NOW!!!!! 

He jumped. 

She screamed, went down like an empty potato sack. 

He wasn't going to take any chances this time. 

The first thing he did was to grab himself up a handful of those nice floppy 
tits of hers, reaching right through the tear in her blouse and even up 
underneath the cup of her bra, letting his fingers dig in deep. Real deep. 
So fucking deep, he felt like he was going to press right into her. 

His other hand he buried up in her cunt. It was hot, wet, steamy, mushy, and 
everything pussy was meant to be. 

Get a good strong grip on the short hairs, she won't do a damn thing, he 
thought to himself. 

But damned if she wasn't doing a lot. But fighting him wasn't part of it. 
She was wiggling ... pressing her ass up against his crotch. She was 
groaning, moaning, thrashing about, and finally, she was whimpering. This 
was one hot bitch, thought Arnold Pendergast to himself. Hot enough to fuck. 
Hot enough to fuck again. Hot enough to make him forget that he had an 
assignment. Hot. 

Anne dropped to her knees, pulled down Dr. Schlepzig's zipper and let her 
fingers slide into his pants. 

The good Doctor started to moan loudly. It was loud, deep, impassioned, and 
filled with lust. 

He leaned back in his chair, and Anne felt his body starting to shudder. 

"Mmmmmmmm," she said softly, letting her fingers stroke the thing. It wasn't 
as hard as it could be, but that suited her all right ... she knew that he 
could still come with his cock in this state, and she wasn't worried about 
having to get it up inside her. A nice blow job would be fine. There would 
be no problems. He would be happy, and she would get what she wanted. 

He was already past the point of being aware of anything, but just the same, 
she slipped her lips around his glans and started to suck gently on it, 
before starting to fish around in his coat pocket for the keys she'd heard 
jingling. 

He didn't even notice. He had no concept of anything, except that wildly 
racing tongue that darted over the surface of his cock. 

Faster, faster, faster... 

She sucked gently at first, then, thinking perhaps that he might need more 
stimulation and sensation to feel anything at all, she increased the 
intensity and the pressure. 

He responded by moaning loudly once more, jamming his hips up at her face 
and gasping for breath. 

She felt the keys in his pocket. They had to be the right ones. He had to 
have the master key! He just had to! 

She sucked harder, harder ... slipping a finger up his asshole now, playing 
around with him, pressing against him, stretching him... 

She glanced up at his face, and saw that he was totally oblivious to 
everything. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, and he might 
have been dead but for the constant jerking of his hips. 

She turned her gaze to the emerging set of keys. 

She ran her eyes quickly over them all, until she came to one that she 
recognized as being in the shape of the hospital keys ... there were several 
others of the same model, but this one was labeled with a distinct 'M'. 
Ah-ha! She had it! 

Quickly slipping it off, she pocketed the thing, and then, turned her 
attention back to the doctor's cock. 

He was moaning more and more with every passing second. 

His hips were in constant motion, and there seemed to be nothing that he 
could do that would keep him from coming in that very instant. 

Yet, he continued to hold back. She noticed that he was also, at this point, 
getting harder and harder. 

No, she wasn't yet interested in seeing how he felt inside her, but she 
thought that she'd better get him to shoot quickly, or else he might think 
of it. 

She let the edges of her teeth start to slip over his glans now, biting 
softly into the sausage-shaped cock. 

She let large blobs of her saliva dribble down the sides of his shaft, and 
forming a ring with her thumb and forefinger, she began to stroke hard on 
the organ. 

Extremely hard, fast, faster, and faster still. Suddenly, there was a mighty 
lurching of his hips, and she braced herself for the blast that was sure to 
come. 

Give him a thrill, she thought ... why not. Pulling his cock out of her 
mouth, but keeping the pressure steady against the sides of his shaft, she 
continued to stroke him ... harder and harder and harder... 

Until suddenly, the first wad of jism struck her full in the face. 

More and more came boiling out, until at fast, she was literally coated with 
the blobs of stuff, like her face was made of melting wax. Dr. Schlepzig was 
motionless. Oh God, she thought, his heart. She quickly felt for his pulse, 
and to her relief, found that it was strong, steady, and sure. 

She'd just knocked him out, she thought. Well, at least, she could have 
saved herself the trouble of coating her face with his cum. But it was a 
small price to pay. She wiped it off with his shirt, and then, leaving him 
in his chair with his cock hanging out, she scurried back to Ludmilla's 
office. 

Ludmilla, at that moment, was gasping for breath, unable to move ... unable 
to do anything except beg. 

"Oh God ... give it to me ... please ... give it to me..." she moaned. 

She was lying on a gynecologist's table. 

Arnold had carried her in there, having earlier admired the table's 
construction on his own, and fantasized exactly this sort of use for it. 

He'd securely lashed her feet to the stirrups, using her own white hose. 

Her arms he'd tied to the legs at the head of the table. 

She was naked. 

She was mindless hot, craving only release ... she didn't care what kind of 
release. 

Arnold, on the other hand, knew exactly what kind of release he needed. 

A little pain never hurt anyone, was his motto ... especially the person 
dishing it out. 

For this task, he'd discovered the rubber tourniquet that had been in her 
pocket, and rummaging through the examination room, he'd discovered another 
one of the same size. 

Both were now firmly tied around the base of her breasts, the tightly 
stretched elastic bands digging cruelly into her flesh, shrinking to a 
diameter that was nearly half that of her breasts when they were normal. 

And now, there was her cunt. 

She was going out of her mind. 

He'd touched it a couple of times, just to see what her reaction would be. 

She'd gone berserk. 

He touched her clit, and for the next thirty seconds or so, her asshole had 
quivered open and shut, open and shut ... her cunt too ... opening and 
closing with metronomic regularity. 

He touched her cunt again, this time with his hard, throbbing cock, touched 
the hole, and as she'd began to cry ... literally cry from the pent-up 
tension, he slowly buried it in her. 

She whimpered, moaned, groaned, cried out, begged for mercy, and finally had 
started to scream. 

"Give it to me, please, give it to me." "You really want it, don't you, 
bitch?" "Oh God, yes, yes, yes, yes," she gasped. "Beg." 

"Oh I'm begging. I beg you ... give it to me. Stick it in me." 

He buried it a little further. 

"Oh yes ... yes ... yes ... yes..." 

"That's all you're going to get. You don't deserve any more." 

"No! Oh, please, no. No!! Give it all to me. Hurt me with it. Stretch me 
with it. I need it." 

He reached up and grasped both her nipples with his fingers, pinched them 
tightly, pulled hard on her already tortured breasts, and laughed at her. 

She was writhing within the limited space available to her to move, crying 
in pain and anguish ... yet it was a pain that she would have gladly endured 
forever. Arnold was no fool. This was a special kind of woman. She couldn't 
respect a man unless he was able to make her squirm and wiggle. 

He started to slap her breasts. 

Hard. 

She screamed again. 

He continued to slap her, sliding his cock in further and further with every 
stroke, until at last, he was totally embedded in her. 

She was mostly incoherent by now, unable to concentrate, to think, to 
comprehend anything. 

He then began to pull it back out ... slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly... 

The torment of that slow, deliberate motion, when what she needed was a 
mighty blast of his cock racing through her, actually forced her body to 
start sputtering into an orgasm. 

But it wasn't much of one, because no sooner had she felt those waves of 
delicious ecstasy rippling through her, the level of her arousal actually 
rose higher. He smiled at her. 

He held his cock at the opening to her pussy, running the head up and down 
through her soft, wet flesh. He pressed it against her hole. She shuddered. 
She cried out. 

"OH, OH, OH, OH, OH, OH, OH, OH," and then, as he began to press it back 
into her ... she fell silent. 

And her cunt split again to receive him. 

Anne quickly thumbed through the pages of the Desk Reference, trying to 
locate the drug that she'd found in abundance inside Ludmilla's icebox. 

There were no less than a hundred bottles of the same drug ... she had never 
heard of it, but since the woman had the most recent edition of the PDR, she 
was certain it would be in there. 

She finally found it ... after the listing of it's many retail and generic 
names, the effects were tabulated. 

Hypnotic. Trance-like state, Hyper-suggestivity. 

In small doses, it produced hyper-activity. Giddiness. 

Larger doses caused hallucinations, marked character changes... 

Heavy doses, unconsciousness trance. 

Mixed with alcohol results in significant increase in all effects, plus 
takes far longer for the effects to wear off. Under ordinary circumstances, 
the drug lasted for a half-hour, after which, the body's normal metabolism 
broke it down, regardless of the size of the dosage. 

Anne slammed the book shut. She had that woman dead to rights, and she was 
going to prove it. 

But first, she had Brent Holcomb to deal with. What ever was going on around 
here seemed to have started when that weirdness on the sixth floor had first 
been mentioned. She didn't know what the connection was, but she was damn 
sure going to find out. And now that she had the master pass key, she could 
slip up the fire escape and enter through the other side of the wing. 

"OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH" Ludmilla 
screamed, louder and louder with every stroke. Arnold was poling her hard 
now, making sure that every stroke counted. In ... out ... in ... out... 

He had her rolling in place, he was making her melt, he was driving her so 
far over the line, she wouldn't be able to find her way back with a map and 
a guide dog. 

Harder, harder, deeper, deeper yet, in and out, in and out, slamming that 
throbbing cock of his into her cunt, slamming it in again, pulling out and 
slamming it in again! 

Relentlessly, back and forth, till he was afraid that he'd lose his balance. 
Harder and harder. 

Never pausing now, giving it to her exactly the way she needed it. 

The look of pure joy on her face was something that would have made any 
man's cock stand up and take notice. 

But coming from her ... a worthy adversary indeed ... well, he just couldn't 
believe his good fortune. 

In and out! In and out! Out and in! Out and in! 

Deeper and deeper and deeper, slamming the head of his cock against the back 
wall of her cunt, every stroke shaking her body, like it was going to split. 

Again and again, and again, and again... 

Until finally, she came. 

And when she did, they must have recorded the waves on seismographs as far 
away as California, because if that wasn't a clear case of the earth moving, 
he'd never seen one. 

His cock was greasy, slimy, coated with his jism, with her juice... 

He stopped finally, and after a moment of catching his breath, he reached up 
to her and unfastened the tourniquets around her breasts. 

As the blood suddenly rushed in again, and her nerves sprang to life, she 
cried out anew... 

They said nothing for a long time. 

The room was silent. Arnold was still too stunned to know what to say. 

Ludmilla was delirious. 

And so, when the voice cut through the room, neither of them were prepared 
for it. 

"Well, well, isn't this an interesting little scene." 

Arnold whirled around. 

It was Anne Bresto, that little slit that had given him a rough time 
earlier. 

Well dammit, this wasn't going to continue This one tied up here, she was 
his kind of woman. You could reason with her. But that little snip over 
there ... she was dangerous, she'd compromise the mission. It couldn't 
happen. 

He sprang faster than Anne had been expecting, and before she could run, the 
man had her wrists bound with the two rubber tourniquets. 

"You bastard!" screamed Anne. "You stupid little cunt. You don't know what 
you've done by coming up here. You can't imagine how badly you've screwed 
up." 

And as Anne watched in shock and horror, he pulled his fist back to strike 
her full on the jaw. 

 NINE 

"Look Ernie," said Andrea, pointing up over his head and behind him. 

He turned around and squinted his eyes in the afternoon sun, pouring 
directly onto th sundeck now. 

"What ... I don't see ... oh yeah! Looks like one of the nurses." 

"She's acting strange, don't you think?" "Nah! Well ... I mean, they all act 
pretty strange, you get right down to it. You'd have to be strange to like 
this kind of work." 

"Ernie, no," Andrea insisted, "there's something wrong. Really. Look at the 
way she's standing ... no! She's not standing ... she's moving further out 
along that skinny ledge." 

"Holy shit ... I think you're right." 

They weren't the only ones to notice, either. All across the sundeck, heads 
turned, necks craned and eyes squinted as each person focused their 
attention on the strange person up on the ledge. 

"What do you think's going on?" "Damndest thing I ever saw." "Someone should 
call the cops." "Get a doctor." 

"No, she's a nurse ... call a nurse. Call Nurse Shanks." 

When they heard someone call out that suggestion, Ernie and Andrea both went 
momentarily rigid. Ernie felt Andrea's hand gripping his tightly ... ever so 
tightly... 

He felt his own gripping her back ... they looked at each other ... their 
eyes met ... what was that strange tingling in his cock, and in his brain? 
What bizarre echoes had been sent ripping through his body at the mere 
mention of ... who had it been ... Nurse ... somebody ... His cock was 
getting hard ... her eyes seemed to sag with a sudden weight of lust that 
suddenly overwhelmed her. "Ernie... 

"Oh Ernie," she said tentatively, frightened for she had to cope with the 
thoughts that were flooding her mind ... "do you think there's someplace we 
might go ... you know? I mean..." She looked back up to where Meredith 
Ainsley perched like a statue at the far corner of the building, only scant 
inches between her feet, and tragedy ... "It looks like this place is going 
to get pretty busy real quick ... I sort of was enjoying talking to you 
getting to know you ... do you think we could go somewhere else?" 

Ernie smiled, squeezed her hand again and led her off. 

Anne Bresto watched the tightly clenched fist moving as if a part of some 
slow-motion sequence in a cheap art flick. 

Thick air splitting gently, like water, like butter from a knife, like flesh 
from a scalpel the curled fingers that formed a solid wall of bricklike 
flesh crossed the distance between them, closer, closer, closer... 

"DON'T!!" came a sudden, unexpected scream from Ludmilla Shanks, still 
strapped to the table. 

Arnold was shaken by her scream, but while the blow was somewhat deflected, 
there was no way he could avoid making contact of any sort ... and it felt 
like an A-bomb when it hit. Her head rocked back on her neck, she felt like 
something snapped, and her mind filled with cotton. 

"You fool!!! She's a nurse here!" "I know that, and don't call me a fool." 
"You idiot. If you damaged her, there's going to be repercussions." Arnold 
was starting to come back down now. This woman had the ability to work him 
into a fever pitch like nobody else had ever managed. 

But damn it, she was right ... there was no point in killing someone unless 
there was a definite need. 

And at the moment, this women represented a threat to the mission. THE 
MISSION!!!!! "My God!" he shouted at Ludmilla. "While I've been playing 
games with you, security's lapsed." 

"What security?" 

"The security that I'm supposed to be providing." "Who is going to get in 
there anyway?" His eyes widened. "Don't you understand, you fool? That's the 
entire point! Why do you think we brought him to his piss-ante hospital? 
Huh? Because no one would ever think of looking for him here. You didn't 
think it was because the care is so fucking great did you?" 

"I'll have you know, that here at Halflife General Hospital, we have access 
to state-of-the-art equipment ... furthermore-!" 

"Save it. I never could take a woman seriously when she was strapped to a 
gynecologist's table." 

"OH!" cried Ludmilla, as if suddenly realizing that, whatever the strange 
realm the two of them had wandered into for a brief moment, they were now 
both back in the real world, and in the real world, Ludmilla Shanks did not 
get discovered in positions such as this. 

"Untie me," she hissed, venom suddenly dripping from her voice. 

He started to walk over to the table, he cocked his head to one side, as if 
trying to hear something. 

"What's that?" he asked. "What's what?" "You hear sirens?" "No. But you're 
going to hear bells and stars if you don't let me out of here right away!" 

"Easy, easy, take it easy. You'll be fine. 

God Damn, there are sirens, and..." He looked out the window. "HOLY SHIT!!! 
What's this all about." "What's out there?" 

"I don't know what's going on, but there's a crowd of people out on the 
grounds, and there are three ... no, four cop cars pulling up. This sucks. 
Look darling, I'd love to help you out, you know what I mean, but I have to 
go check this out." 

"Don't leave me here! You bloody asshole. Don't you dare leave me here!" 

But Arnold pulled his shirt back on and was out the door before she even 
finished her sentence. 

Anne was rising to her knees just as Arnold Pendergast flew from the room. 

"Nurse Bresto," said Ludmilla, her voice sugary and sweet, "would you please 
help me. I can't stay like this. Surely you must realize..." 

Anne climbed up to her feet, and while she was a bit wobbly, she knew 
exactly what was called for. 

She went to the inter-com unit in the room. "Would you please page Dr. 
Schlepzig? Have him report to Room 254, on the Sixth floor, West Wing. 
Extreme urgency. Thank you." She turned back to Ludmilla. Reaching into her 
pocket, she produced four bottles that had been taken from the icebox in 
Ludmilla's office. "These are rather interesting specimens, Nurse Shanks. 
I'm sure you have an explanation, but just for the record, I'd like you to 
know that I intend to introduce these as evidence in the hearing that Brent 
Holcomb will request to re-examine his suspension. Ernie Cravitz will be a 
prize witness. I hope you've got a good story when Dr. Schlepzig gets here, 
because I assure you, I do." 

Then she left. 

There was a patient on this floor, and she was going to find him, and try 
and figure out why this had taken place at all. 

"Do you think anyone will find us here?" asked Andrea. 

"How should I know. I don't think that door should be opened, but it is, and 
I don't see anyone." 

"Say ... this is where they had me before I got moved." 

"Really ... say, you're right. I was on this wing too." 

They'd slipped into the fire escape shaft from the sundeck and dropped down 
two floors until they'd come to the door that Anne left unlocked as she'd 
slipped onto the wing. 

"Yeah, here's my room," said Andrea. 

"There's no one around." 

"I know, isn't it spooky?" 

"Yeah ... but convenient, don't you think." 

She gave him a sly grin, and reached her arms around his neck. "Do you think 
you're going to do anything to take advantage of it?" 

He slipped his fingers under her skirt, touched the inner surface of her 
thighs and began to run his fingers up to her cunt. 

She felt shivers racing through her body. 

Her lips were parted, she could feel the juice pouring out of her cunt, and 
as he brought his fingers up into her wet gash, she started to moan ... 
loudly. 

"Shhhh!" said Ernie. 

"Why? You said it yourself. ... no one's around." 

He reflected a moment on this and then pushed deep into her again, with his 
relentless probing fingers ... deep into the hot, slushy depths of her 
body... 

She felt violated and it felt wonderful ... her husband Wilmer faded once 
and for all from view. 

Her body at long last was receiving what it had always craved, what it had 
always deserved, but what she'd never known how to ask for. 

Now, she'd know ... now, she get what she had coming. 

Slipping her hands beneath his pajamas, she felt his cock, rock-hard, stiff, 
throbbing ... an erection like she'd only encountered before in her dreams. 

"Oh, Ernie ... I know we've hardly met each other ... but I feel like I've 
known you a long time ... I feel like I've always known you, but I'm only 
now getting to meet you. ... I feel, I feel..." 

He started to press over her clit with his fingers. 

"Oh God," she cried, "I feel it. I feel it. I feel it!!!" 

She was running juice fast now, like a faucet that wouldn't shut off. 

Ernie pressed several fingers up into her body, pressed them into her cunt, 
spreading her lips apart, spreading her hole apart, pushing further, 
further, further... 

Her legs grew weak. She felt the muscles starting to quiver. 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," she cried, loudly, blindly, 
madly. 

With two casts on his legs, Ernie was pretty much rooted to one spot. 

All that weight on his feet gave him a low center of gravity, and it would 
have been pretty hard to knock him down, so, finding his cock throbbing, and 
his balls aching, he went ahead and picked her up, spread her legs around 
him, and gently lowered her down onto his cock. 

"Oh, Ernie, Ernie, Ernie, Ernie ... that's so wonderful ... so good, so 
good..." 

She felt it filling her, opening her up, stretching her... 

Muscles and nerves long grown numb from lack of stimulation now were 
throbbing and alive, pulsating. 

She felt like screaming... 

She felt like moaning... 

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH OHHHHHHHHHHHH OHHHH MYGODOHMYGOD!!!" she shrieked. 

Ernie was shocked. But it didn't stop him. 

He reared back his hips, slammed them forward and rammed them home, driving 
his cock straight through her. 

And she felt her body starting to melt. 

Anne moved silently through the corridor, glancing quickly at every room. 

They had their own staff, that's what the rumors were saying. They had their 
own nursing staff, and medical team. But for what? For who? 

Of course, there was no need for them to be on duty all the time if the 
patient wasn't injured seriously.... 

Injured? Why did she think that? Because of Arnold Pendergast, that's why. 
Somehow, anything that man was involved with would have to be violent. She 
tried one door... 

It was locked. None of the others had been. Only this one. Well, that's why 
she had a master pass key, for one thing. 

Opening the door, she looked inside ... and saw a man who might have been 
dead. 

He was lying with his head turned away from her ... still, making not the 
slightest movement ... then she saw the rise and fall of his chest, and knew 
that he was only sleeping. 

She waited a long time at the door, waiting, watching ... wondering... 

Should she leave ... why was he here. And why, when she thought about it, 
was she so concerned with him? 

She made a sound ... it was a faint sound, a slight creaking of the floor, 
perhaps a minute squeak of the door hinge... 

Whatever, his ears were highly sensitized and in an instant, he was sitting 
upright, eyes alert, muscles taut, ready for action... 

She brought her hands up to her mouth, trying to stifle a gasp of shock. It 
was Brent Holcomb! 

Meanwhile, Meredith perched on the edge ... She could feel the wind rushing 
through her hair, could hear the birds flying around her, could hear the 
faint cries of the crowd gathered on the lawn below. 

She'd moved slowly out of view of the sun deck. 

She didn't want them to be able to call anything out to her. 

She wanted to be alone now, wanted to hear and feel nothing, nothing but the 
cold isolation of her moment. 

She was finished, and she knew it. There was no way that she could possibly 
continue now. Not with her best friend a traitor. Not with the only man 
she'd ever loved completely oblivious to her existence. There was nothing 
left for her. Nothing at all. 

She took several breaths, and stared down. What would she look like, she 
wondered, as she saw all those ant-like figures gathered beneath her. How 
would it seem, that moment of impact... 

She'd seen suicides before. Bodies broken from long plunges into rivers, 
onto concrete, onto grass, onto the tops of cars... 

But that moment of impact ... that was something she'd never seen, and now, 
she never would. But those people down there ... they certainly would. No 
doubt about it. They'd get the show of a lifetime. Something they'd never 
forget. She took another deep breath and stepped out into empty space. 

Anne stared, stunned. It was incredible. "Who are you?" he asked. Anne 
frowned. "Wha..." "Are you the therapist? They said they were sending a 
therapist around this afternoon." "Therapist..." 

"Yeah, sure ... a therapist ... you know ... to fix me up. If that's 
possible. I'm telling you, it's a bitch. I've told them I don't think 
there's any hope. I mean, I know myself better than anyone, right? And I've 
been using it for years, and I know what this feels like. And I don't like 
it." 

Anne was totally confused ... nonetheless, she realized that there was 
something very, very strange going on here ... something dark and something 
that was directly connected with Brent Holcomb ... more so than anyone had 
imagined. 

It suddenly hit her... 

What had Meredith said? A twin? Brent Holcomb had a twin? Could this be the 
long lost brother ... could this be the reason that Brent Holcomb was put 
out of commission, gotten out of the way ... the reason that the entire 
staff was sealed off from the sixth floor? It was all too confusing to deal 
with. "Why don't you tell me exactly what the trouble is, and we'll see what 
steps we can take..." began Anne. There was only one way to learn any thing, 
and that was to forge on ahead. 

He looked at her a little puzzled. 

"Look, there's really only one way that it can be a problem, don't you 
think? I mean, it won't work." 

"It ... won't ... work..." she repeated, carefully, trying to look like she 
knew what he was talking about, yet still needing him to be more specific. 

"Yeah, right. I thought that was the reason I was here in the first place. 
It won't work. I haven't gotten a hard-on in over three weeks, and if you 
know anything about me, you know that I'm going to have to get it fixed, or 
I'm out of a job." 

Hard-on. 

Won't work. 

Suddenly, she realized ... if this was Brent Holcomb's twin ... My God! That 
was an awful lot of wasted cock, if he was telling the truth. 

"Well ... like I said, I'm here to see what I can do for you." 

"Mmmm hmmmm," he said, skeptically. "I don't know what you think you're 
going to be able to do that hasn't already been done," he said. 

She gave him a sly smile. "Well ... that all depends. Why don't you tell me 
what's already been done." 

"Look, haven't you read my file? What is this. Do I have to do your work for 
you?" 

She assumed her sternest nurse's bedside manner. 

"Excuse me! But I am doing my work. Now, would you please stop trying to 
second guess me, and cooperate for a change. Or else, you might have to 
spend the rest of your life with what might very well turn out to be the 
largest worthless cock on record. Is that what you'd like?" 

"No..." he said, suddenly sheepish. 

"Good. Now ... as I understand it ... you're a professional ... how shall we 
say it..." 

"I fuck for a living. I fuck for my country. I can't say any more than that. 
But right now, I can't fuck any more." 

"Quite normal, if you want to know the truth. You've obviously been 
functioning under a lot of pressure lately, and it's only natural that you'd 
find difficulties once in a while. I don't think you've got much of a 
problem at all, if you want to know the truth." 

"You don't, huh?" 

She shook her head. At the same time holding his gaze with her eyes, she 
began to unbutton her blouse. 

He dropped his jaw. 

"I don't get it..." 

"I think you do. Now, why don't you just be a good boy, lie there, keep your 
mouth shut, and maybe try doing what you're told. Hmmmm?" 

Another button opened. 

And another. 

Her bulbous breasts began to jiggle into view. She knew exactly how they 
looked, and pressed her hands to them, squeezing the flesh tightly. 

He was nearly drooling over her by this time. 

She'd ignored his crotch till now, but when she cast her eyes down to the 
bedsheet covering him, she was disappointed. There wasn't the first sign of 
a bulge. 

Well, she thought ... let's give him the serious treatment. 

She unbuttoned all her buttons, pulled her blouse off and casually cast it 
to the floor. 

Then, moving with a snake-like smoothness, she unclasped the cups to her 
bra, and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled them apart. 

Her two large, ripe, melon-like breasts fell freely into the open, and she 
let them hang from her body, deliriously jiggling them with every movement. 

"How do you like it?" she asked. 

"Mmmmmm..." he said, softly, "not bad. Not bad." 

She looked down at his crotch, reached forward touched him there, felt a 
large mass of something or other beneath those sheets, and slowly pulled the 
sheets back. 

She looked at his pajamas, saw that the fly was wide open, and could see the 
shaft of his cock coiled up inside the material, like a hose waiting to fill 
with water. 

She pulled the zipper on her skirt down, and held her skirt up with her 
hands. 

"Tell me what you think of my body," she said to him. 

"I think it's beautiful ... uh, is this standard therapy." 

"That depends on whether or not it works." He laughed ... sort of amazed by 
the whole situation. 

She slowly began to allow her skirt to fall down her hips. 

She was wearing a slip beneath, but even so, the act itself of removing her 
clothes should be somewhat stimulating. If it was done right. 

She had no doubts that she was doing it right, but she'd make a special 
effort just in case. Suddenly, the most important thing for her had become 
getting to the bottom of why this double for Brent Holcomb was here, and had 
come in on the very day that Brent had been removed. 

But ... well, of course, there was a deeper motivation as well ... she'd 
never stopped thinking about that cock of his ... and now, she had a chance 
to sample it again ... even fix it. Make it work. It was a challenge that 
she, as a nurse, couldn't pass up. 

She smiled seductively at him. "Do you know what's happening to me right 
now? Underneath this slip, my panties are starting to get very, very wet. 
And do you know why? Because I'm dripping into them. Do you know why I'm 
dripping into them? I'll be glad to tell you why. Because I'm hot for you. 
My pussy's hot. It's starting to ooze a lot of juice out of my lips, and its 
smearing all over my panties ... they're getting oily, greasy ... and wet. 
Did I mention wet? Well, they are. They're getting really wet. So wet ... 
Would you like to see how wet? Hmmmmm? I'd be glad to show you how wet. 
Very, very wet." As she spoke, she was taking off her slip. As the material 
loosened, she let it slowly fall down her hips. 

Beneath her slip, there were only her panties between his eyes and her cunt, 
and she could tell that her voice and the sight of her body were slowly 
working their magic. 

She turned back toward the door. "I don't think we need to be disturbed, do 
you?" She walked over to the door, flipped the lock, and then turned back to 
him. 

She remained at the doorway, and very carefully began to remove her panties. 

"Do you like what you see?" she asked, as the top half of her pubic bush 
came slowly into view. 

He said nothing, was simply staring at her. 

"You do, don't you? I can tell. You do. You really do like what you see, 
don't you? See my pussy? See the slit in my pussy. It's wet ... oh, so 
we-e-t, and it's all for you ... if you want it." 

She stuck her finger into her slit, pulled it out and started to lick it. 

She pulled her panties down further, all the way down now, stepping out of 
them. 

She was naked, her pussy every bit as hot and filled with juice as she'd 
told him it was. 

"Do you want to see my pussy?" she asked him, bringing her fingers up to 
both sides of her slit, pulling the lips widely apart, revealing the pink 
meat beneath. 

She started to play with her clit, pressing it, pinching it, exposing it to 
him. 

This was going to be some fuck.... 


THE END
