Doctor Knows Best

I'm worn out from shouting that I shouldn't be in here, of being treated like I don't count, like I don't have a say about what happens to me, and why have they taken away my clothes? The shit they've been pumping into me is starting to kick in. I pull listlessly at the tan leather padded restraints, can't even keep myself awake by rubbing against them.

The door opens in slow motion, I pull my head around to look and the room takes a while to catch up. The doctor walks over, seeming huge by the time he's next to the bed.

"How's my favourite patient today?" he asks softly as he pulls up my lids and shines a light into my eyes.

"I need... to get... out of here..." I manage to slur, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth.

"Mmmm, well, you'll have to be a good girl then, won't you?" he says kindly but sternly. "Now, you know what to do, follow the light."

I resisted the first few days, but it just made me so... tired, and now I know it's easier to just do what he says. I lose track of what he's saying, as keeping up with the glowing point takes up all my attention. My focus narrows down, and a pleasant fuzzy feeling comes over me.

"Good, very good, you're feeling much better already, aren't you dear?"

"Yes, doctor," I sigh, he's right, I feel like I'm floating and it's just so nice to be looked after like this, safely tethered. I can't remember why I'm here, but it's the best place for me really, I'd just be a danger to myself anywhere else.

"You're such a good patient, aren't you, always do what you're told, now just let your legs relax for me, that's right, open up..."

I do as I'm told, feeling increasingly aroused with each suggestion I obey. There's a nagging voice at the back of my head saying that this isn't how things should be, but it just gets washed away in wave after wave of pleasure as the gentle movement of the instrument he's inserted starts to scatter what's left of my thoughts.

He places a cool hand on my forehead, I can hardly keep my eyes open but manage to think how attractive he looks as he smiles down at me. "Yes, you're coming along very nicely," I hear as if from a great distance, "now count down from ten for me."

Everything goes dark before I reach six...

Take Care Of Me

"I'm sooo sleepy, let me go beddy byes..." She bit her lip, wanting to unsay the words. She hadn't meant to use babytalk with him, although it always seemed to happen in relationships eventually, from both sides, he was too cool and cynical, he was going to tear her to pieces for it, wasn't he?

Instead he stroked the back of her neck, pulled her into his chest, "Aw, of course, sleepy girl, time for night night." His tone of voice was soothing, caring, and she fell bonelessly against him. He pulled her up gently, and supported her into bed. As he drew the covers around her, she looked in wonder through lidded eyes. Was he really going to look after her? Was she really going to let him?

Somehow they fell into a rhythm, he seemed to know when was the right time to let her be independent, when to discipline her brattyness, when to put her completely under his control, and when to let her feel small and protected.

Then sometimes, he was the tired one, he was the one needing the blanket pulled around him, his head resting on her warm breasts while she soothed him into sleepy safety. As never before, she felt right doing it, and she realised there was something powerful between them, a trust that went beyond their roles.

She held onto this when she was naked, gagged and bound, when he held the sharpest of knives to her throat, when he asked, "what are you going to do when the man you trust to protect you is the one you need saving from?"

My Bloody Valentine

Used to be a time when boys would send me offerings of real hearts in boxes for this day. I assumed they were some kind of animal's, easier.

I'd smile graciously, how lovely darling, you must really care. I'd take it in my mouth, bite gently, allow the metallic crimson to run down my face, and they'd crush their teeth into my lips until my own blood ran hot.

Now, if a man wants to give me a gift, he serves me up my own heart, sliced out cleanly, still beating in his hand. Ah, angel, you mean you really don't care? Thank you, oh thank you...