GOTHIKA
by
Joe Doe
A HALLOWEEN TALE LOOSELY INSPIRED BY THE PLOT SYNOPSIS OF THE
HORROR FILM "GOTHIKA." THIS WAS WRITTEN BEFORE THE MOVIE OPENED,
SO IT WILL PROBABLY BE THE MOVIE WE WISHED THEY'D MADE. IT WAS
WRITTEN BY REQUEST FOR HAL. THANK YOU, HAL, FOR SOME REALLY GREAT
STORIES.
******************************
Dr. Miranda Grey pressed the buzzer to the front gate again. "I
wish that idiot guard would hurry up," she muttered, with obvious
irritation. "It's freezing out here!"
Miranda couldn't believe her foul luck. The electrical short in
her Lexus left her umbrella locked snug and dry in her trunk.
And, when she opened the hood, the car sprayed every fluid in
its possession all over the front of her suit!
Miranda's walk back to the asylum in the freezing October rain had
been miserable, and she was relieved when, at long last, the guard
tardily buzzed her through the enormous front gate, the secondary
security gate, the front door, and finally through to the main
security desk.
"Trick or treat," the guard chuckled as the wet, oily Miranda
stomped towards her.
"This isn't funny," Miranda snapped back. "My security card didn't
work, and I got soaked waiting for you to unlock the gate."
"Sorry, Doctor," the guard said, apologetically. "It's just you
do look kind of...comical. No offense meant."
The matronly guard gave Miranda an unfazed smile. After 20 years
in the army and 10 years as a psychiatric prison guard, there was
nothing she hadn't seen. Jo was a veteran, and attitude did not
impress her.
"Just buzz me through to the staff wing," Miranda said, curtly.
"Make sure the water pressure and the lights are on over there.
I need to take a shower before I change."
She sighed in exasperation.
"Thank goodness I have a spare set of clothes in my office," she
muttered to no one in particular.
"I think you may be sleeping on your couch tonight, Doctor," Jo
said, as she walked Miranda towards the huge steel door that
separated the security desk from the offices of the physicians
and staff. "All the phone lines are down. I can't even get my
cell to work."
"I don't care," Miranda sputtered. "I just want to go somewhere
warm."
Miranda watched impatiently as the guard futilely waved her pass
in front of the proximity sensor several times. When there was no
response, Jo attempted to type in her override code on the keypad.
"That's strange," the guard said. "The system's up...but it isn't
responding."
"What am I supposed to do?" Miranda said, irritably. "Freeze in
the lobby while you try to remember your password?"
"I can't help it," Jo replied. "When you walked in the air
conditioning switched on. Why we need air conditioning on
October 31 is beyond me. This whole place is over-automated,
if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you," Miranda shot back. "How do I get out of here?
How do I get a shower? How do I get my clothes?"
The guard walked over and waved her badge in front of another door.
The light immediately went green, and the electric door slid open.
"The patients' wing seems to be open," Jo said, brightly. "There's
a shower in there. And, if you're nice, I might even be able to
rustle up some scrubs for you to wear."
"That will do," Miranda said, in a voice that made it clear that
politeness was not a top priority.
"Not so fast, Doc," the guard said. "That's a patient area.
You can't go in with your purse. You'll have to leave it in a
visitor's box. I don't mean to be a stickler, but those are the
rules."
"What-ever," Miranda replied, not even attempting to feign concern.
"Let's just get on with it."
Miranda tapped her foot and glared as the guard's useless card-key
once again failed to unlock the visitor's lockers.
"Hang on...I have an idea," the guard said. Miranda continued to
tap her toe impatiently as Jo returned to her desk and began typing
into her terminal. A few keystrokes later, a small slot opened up
in the wall and a shelf slid out to reveal a cardboard box.
"Just drop your purse in there, Inmate 337-3838-5757," Jo chuckled.
It wasn't until the box was being retracted back into the wall that
Miranda noticed the bar-coded tag on the side:
GREY, MIRANDA
337-3838-5757
PERMANENT COMMITMENT
"Why did you type in that I was a permanent commitment?" Miranda
asked, as the guard buzzed her through to the patients' ward.
"I didn't," Jo replied. "I said you were in for observation. Of
course, it doesn't really matter -- I just needed someplace to put
your stuff."
Jo smiled and shook her head sadly. "This system is just so
ridiculously over-structured that it's totally frustrating
sometimes trying to fight it."
Miranda knew that she had seen the word "PERMANENT," but she
wasn't about to waste time arguing. Besides, despite her
obvious incompetence, the guard was trying to help her.
But, as the electronic door locked behind her with a CLICK, she
looked back nervously at the now nearly invisible slot into
which she had placed her car keys, house keys, money, credit
cards, and every single bit of ID she had.
She peered through the wire mesh safety glass at the tiny puddle
that marked the spot on the floor where she had so casually turned
over her proof of identity. The puddle was strangely reassuring,
now that her purse and even the wall slot had seemingly disappeared.
Of course, in a few minutes the puddle would dry up. She felt a
tiny chill as she imagined the last drop of moisture disappearing
off the floor.
When that was gone, it would be like Miranda had never been there
at all.
She swallowed as she imagined the box going down the conveyor belt
before being gruffly pushed onto a shelf by some cold mechanical
arm. She made a mental note to retrieve it first thing in the
morning, before the "PERMANENT COMMITMENT" label inspired some
idiot to mail all of her ID to some storage warehouse in Montana.
"Where's the rest of the staff?" Miranda asked, as she walked
toward the deserted nurse's station.
"Some sort of computer scheduling glitch," Jo replied.
"Everybody's off tonight except me. Hard to get people
to substitute at the last minute on Halloween, I guess."
Miranda's walk to the shower area was interrupted by a sound
from her solid gold wristwatch. "Damn!" she said. "My pills
are in the car!"
"You can just get them out of the pharmacy," Jo suggested.
"Grand idea, but that's in the administration wing," Miranda fired
back. "If you could get me in there, I would use the pills in my
office, and get a change of clothes and shower, too."
"Well...now that the computer has you registered as a patient, I
can get you any pills you need," Jo chuckled.
She sat down at the terminal in front of the empty nurse's station.
"Is your prescription in the system?"
"Yes...I get my pills through the employee medical plan," Miranda
said. She watched as Jo's typing fingers brought the printer to
life.
It took Jo only a few seconds to insert the label inside the
plastic patient ID wristband and seal it. Miranda frowned at
seeing her name and "case number" inside the humiliating wrist
band, but she understood immediately what the guard was doing.
While Miranda the doctor received her prescriptions from the
pharmacist, Miranda the patient would need a bar-coded wristband
in order to identify her to an automated dispensing station.
"What's the big idea?" Miranda snapped, as Jo tried to snap the
demeaning band onto her wrist. "I'm not some lunatic who needs
to be labeled!"
"Sorry, Doc, but that's how it works," Jo explained. "The bands
don't get activated until the microchip detects the pulse of the
patient's wrist. When the pulse stops the band is deactivated.
It prevents a patient from changing bands to steal a prescription."
Miranda muttered something about "over-engineering" as she dropped
her expensive watch into her pocket. In order to detect the pulse,
the band needed to be snug, and she knew her lovely watch would
only get in the way.
"Just as well," the guard chortled, as she snapped the band onto
Miranda's wrist. I mean, who ever heard of a mental patient with
a two thousand dollar watch?"
Miranda ignored the guard's feeble attempt at humor and quickly
made a beeline to the dispenser on the wall and stuck her wrist
under the scanner. Her arm tensed as the red scanner light
illuminated her new bar-code. There was something unsettling
about seeing her delicate wrist encased in the indestructible,
escape-proof plastic.
Miranda's disturbing realization was interrupted by the sound of
the dispenser door opening. "That's weird...my stuff is always
in pill form," she said, as she picked up the small paper cup.
"The pharmacy hands out pills, but most of the patients get generic
formula mixes," Jo explained. "It's way cheaper, and you don't
have to worry about choking. Plus, if they got a lot of drugs to
take, it's easier for the machine to just mix 'em all up together
in a little cocktail."
Miranda looked at the cheap paper cup doubtfully. As a physician,
she didn't like taking unlabeled medicine. The fact that the
potion had been brewed by the same centralized system that now
barred her from her own office did not stoke her confidence.
"I'd hurry it up," the guard noted. "Unless you down that swill
and put the empty cup back on the tray in about 30 seconds, the
computer will think you're resisting. The next dose it dispenses
might be a bottom injection, or maybe even a suppository."
Miranda gulped down the bitter mix and obediently placed the empty
cup back on the cart.
"That's a good girl," the guard patronized.
Miranda glared at Jo indignantly. "'That's a good little mental
patient' is what she means," she thought, angrily. "How dare she!"
But Miranda's fire cooled as she instinctively felt the demeaning
plastic band around her wrist. "Then again, why not talk to me
that way?" she thought, glumly.
Technically, at least, until the band was removed Miranda was just
another patient.
Just another patient! No need to bother about what Miranda
thought; she was just another patient. No need to worry
whether she was wet, or cold, or hungry. Just give her the
meds and watch her shuffle off to the shower room with the
rest of the girls.
Unlike the administration wing's locker room, the prisoner's shower
area was cold, barren, and sterile. Miranda was surprised to find
yet another box sitting on yet another mechanical shelf.
Once again the stark bar-code and label seemed to mock her:
GREY, MIRANDA
337-3838-5757
PERMANENT COMMITMENT
"Why is my name on that box?" Miranda asked.
"I registered you as a new patient," Jo chuckled. "New patients
are always stripped and showered. It's no big deal, really, just
part of the routine," she said.
"It's kind of nice, actually; the system really thinks of
everything," Jo continued, as she gave the box an affectionate
tap. "The box comes out of the wall labeled and ready to go.
All we need to do is pop your clothes in."
She gave Miranda a condescending smile.
"Now if you'll just slip out of your things, we'll get you
started."
Miranda swallowed. The idea of her stripping down and showering in
the large, open shower room was clearly no big deal to the guard.
It was obvious that, from a procedural viewpoint, Jo intended to
treat Miranda as if she were just another patient.
But the ultra-shy and painfully modest Miranda had refused to even
join a health club. And now she was being ordered to strip naked
in a large and brilliantly illuminated cinder-block shower room
under the watchful stare of a uniformed guard.
Miranda looked over nervously at the countless chrome spigots
suspended from the ceiling. It was all so cold...so industrial.
Just strip the girls down and shower them..."no big deal, really."
The big, open, unpartitioned gang shower fanned Miranda's mounting
anxiety.
"Don't be shy, dear," the guard patronized. "I do this all the
time. My new girls are always shy. You're lucky, really. There
are no male orderlies here tonight."
Miranda's jaw dropped. Male orderlies? Was this woman insane?
"They just love to watch the girls shower -- especially the cute
new ones, like you. I think they like it even better when the
girls are all shy and flustered like you are. It makes it so
much more entertaining, don't you think?"
Miranda didn't know what to say. The thought of the leering
orderlies watching her in the shower was incomprehensible.
She was a doctor, not a patient!
But she found it impossible not to respond when the guard casually
lumped her in with the other "cute new ones."
Miranda felt strangely confused. She was a doctor. But if she
wasn't a mental patient, why was the guard ordering her to undress?
The guard gave her newest patient a patronizing smile. "Now hurry
up, dear...we have to get on with your processing."
Miranda suddenly found that she didn't have the strength to argue,
or even to fully comprehend what was happening to her. The guard's
words echoed in her ears.
Her head was spinning. She had to slip out of her things. She had
to be processed, just like the other girls.
And, above all, she had to hurry, before the male orderlies
arrived to watch. Her fingers felt rubbery as she slipped
off her expensive worsted jacket. "I feel so tired...," she
said, groggily. And she was she was having a hard time with
her buttons.
For some inexplicable reason, the Phi Beta Kappa was suddenly
having trouble focusing her thoughts.
Jo smiled as she watched Miranda accidentally drop her $1000 jacket
on the floor. Jo had seen it all before. Her new patient's glassy
eyes and lack of coordination made it clear that Miranda's
medication had definitely contained a little something extra.
It was a good idea, really. A little Thorazine always made the
spunky girls so much easier to manage.
Jo smiled as she watched the attractive young woman fumble with her
buttons. Her years in the army and the psychiatric asylum had
allowed her cultivate her taste for attractive young women in
large gang showers. And, if the beautiful young women were
totally helpless, then so much the better.
Jo had received an e-mail that afternoon informing her that she had
won a special civil service lottery. She had thought it was a scam
until her bank called to tell her that 7 million dollars had been
wired into her account.
The mysterious e-mail had said that the remaining balance would be
transferred into her account provided that she left her job after
finishing her shift that day, simply sending her boss her
resignation by e-mail. But, "for obvious security reasons,"
she was instructed to discuss her prize with no one.
This meant that she was now serving out the last few hours of her
career. She had already purchased a one-way ticket to Hawaii, and,
by this time tomorrow, she would be gone forever.
As she watched the attractive young doctor undress herself, she
realized that today truly was her lucky day. Processing the
lovely but snooty Miranda Grey was the prize in the bottom of
her Crackerjack box.
Miranda gave up on the buttons and looked up at Jo, desperately.
"I just can't seem to do it," she admitted with some frustration,
her head bobbing from side to side. "Can you help...process me?
Please?"
Jo ran her eyes up and down Miranda's attractive form with a broad
grin. She didn't wait to be asked twice.
"That's okay, dear," she chuckled as she merrily undid Miranda's
blouse. "New patients sometimes have a difficult time getting
out of their things after they've been medicated. Just let me
help you."
Miranda went limp and leaned against the cinder-block wall as Jo
knelt down and deftly removed her stylish heels. She watched
dumbly as the guard unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it over
her shoulders. But she wasn't sure what that was wrapped around
her feet. No wait...that was her skirt.
Miranda let out a gentle sigh as the guard slowly unhooked her
garter belt. It wasn't until she felt the guard sliding down
her left stocking that she began to feel uncomfortable. There
was something about the way Jo's fingers were stroking Miranda's
thigh as she slowly rolled down the stocking that was decidedly
unprofessional.
Miranda looked down to check out the guard in more detail. Jo's
hair was short and slicked back, and her arms were muscular. She
wore no wedding ring. The older woman's face was close, and
Miranda felt hot breath on her her bare thigh.
Even in her stupor, Miranda felt suddenly troubled.
"I...think I can...undress myself...ma'am," she stammered.
"Nonsense," Jo said, as she gently slid the stocking off Miranda's
foot. "I help a lot of the new girls undress. There's nothing to
be ashamed of, dear."
She ran her hand over the soft curve of Miranda's hip. "Although,
I have to say that most of my patients aren't as fit and trim as
you are. My...we do keep ourselves in shape, don't we?"
Jo gave Miranda a playful wink as she casually tossed the stocking
into the box on the counter. "Nothing but net!" she said, as the
stocking disappeared from view. "I guess those years of coaching
the women's prison basketball team really paid off."
Miranda looked down through blurry eyes as Jo began to roll the
other stocking down her leg. "Like I said, very few of the girls
are as pretty as you. So fit...so trim...such soft skin...so
curvy...so vulnerable...so delicate...so helpless."
Much to her dismay, Miranda truly did feel helpless, passively
leaning there against the wall as the dyke guard slowly stroked
her leg.
"Oh look...another basket," Jo giggled, as she sank Miranda's other
stocking.
Jo stood up and slowly ran her finger down Miranda's pink bra
strap. "What pretty lingerie," she cooed.
Jo snapped the strap against Miranda's skin. "But I'm afraid this
is going to have to come off now, dear."
"P-please don't t-t-take my un-derwear," Miranda stammered. "I
don't want to take a shower. Just...get me some s-scrubs, please."
"Don't be silly, girl," Jo said, in the mockingly soothing
"doctor-to-mental-patient" tone Miranda knew all too well.
"All new patients get stripped and showered. It's nothing
to be ashamed of. It's just part of the procedure."
Miranda quivered in mute protest as the smiling guard unhooked her
bra. Jo looked directly into Miranda's panicked eyes as she slid
the pink bra straps down her arms with tantalizing slowness. She
stopped teasingly short and left the twin cups perched precariously
on Miranda's nipples.
Miranda watched anxiously as Jo's thumbs playfully toyed with her
bra strap. She knew that the tiniest tug would expose her nipples.
Her stiffening nipples?
"I COULD just give you your scrubs, I suppose...," Jo said,
thoughtfully.
"Please!" Miranda begged. "Please don't strip me! I'll...do
anything!"
"On the other hand, I remember that time you docked the guards' pay
when you caught us watching women's tennis on TV," Jo said. "I'll
never forget your lecture about 'Proper Procedure.'"
Jo gave Miranda a triumphant smile. "You were right, you know.
Procedure is important."
Miranda desperately wanted to answer back. But the drugs made her
feel like an imbecile. She remained tongue-tied.
Jo gave her nervous patient an evil grin. "No, we'll do this your
way...the right way...all according to procedure. The system says
you are a patient, and that's how I'm going to treat you...."
Miranda gasped as Jo pulled her bra down and off her arms.
Immediately, the air conditioning hummed on again. Miranda
blushed crimson as her nipples erected fully in the cool breeze.
She crossed her arms over her chest and watched unhappily as the
guard used her expensive brassiere to make yet another perfect
basket.
"Put your arms down to your sides, dear," Jo instructed. "I know
it's embarrassing, but I need to make sure you aren't hiding any
contraband under those cute little apples of yours."
Miranda felt herself flush at the Jo's smug metaphor. The guard's
flip and familiar attitude was strangely nonchalant, as if
stripping Miranda naked as a newborn was the most natural thing
in the world. "Just lean against the wall -- but lower your arms
and let me see 'em."
"Show her my breasts...my bare, naked breasts," Miranda thought.
Then she corrected herself. Dr. Miranda had breasts; Miranda the
mental patient had "cute little apples," maybe even "tits." Her
mind was a blur. Could this really be happening to her?
But, for some reason, Miranda felt strangely compelled to comply.
Perhaps it was the older woman's uniform; perhaps it was her stern
but strangely maternal tone; perhaps it was the heavy dose of
tranquilizers that had robbed Miranda of her ability to resist....
Or perhaps it was the strange tingling sensation that she felt in a
very delicate place.
The truth was that the drugs had broken down Miranda's defenses
in more ways than one. Although the demeaning mental patient
strip-down had left her feeling helpless and humiliated, she
was also more excited than she had been in years.
She swallowed her pride and obediently lowered her arms.
Jo's soft whistle turned Miranda's flush into a crimson blush.
"My, you ARE a pretty little thing," Jo said, appreciatively.
"Those fancy suits don't do you justice, young lady. Your
titties are a little small...but I like them all tight and perky."
Miranda shrank away as Jo reached for her breasts (or "titties").
The guard's uncompromising tone broke her feeble resistance. "Stay
still, dear. I need to make sure you don't have anything taped
underneath. Don't worry. I do this with all the girls."
The tingling sensation between Miranda's legs grew as Jo first ran
her fingers underneath and then all around her breasts. Miranda
closed her eyes and panted as the smirking guard squeezed and poked
and fondled her "apples" like a housewife in the grocery store
checking for freshness.
"Yes...small but firm," Jo said, softly. "Just like two ripe
little Wisconsin apples...with cute, perky little stems."
Miranda winced as the smiling guard playfully tweaked her
erect "stems."
Jo released Miranda's breasts and used her hands to turn Miranda
around. Miranda quivered as the lesbian guard slowly, teasingly
ran her stubby finger down her spine. "Your reception box is
almost full," Jo observed. "Of course, I think there is room
for one more item."
Miranda's heart raced as she felt the guard's insistent finger worm
its way under the waistband of the delicate pink panties and begin
inching down her butt crack. Jo leaned in and savored Miranda's
perfume as she toyed cruelly with the elastic waistband of the
final, flimsy layer of protection.
"Yes, I think there is one more item we need to put in the box," Jo
taunted.
There was no rush, no hurry. Jo was completely in charge, and
Miranda was just another helpless little incompetent ripe for
processing. Her humiliation would proceed on Jo's schedule.
And Jo had plenty of time.
"Please...don't take my panties," Miranda whimpered. "Please....
I'll do...anything...anything you say."
Jo smiled. The thought of the haughty Miranda Grey doing ANYTHING
to save her cute pink underpants was most intriguing.
But the thought of Miranda's pretty pink panties hurtling through
the air for a final humiliating basket was even better.
"Miranda...Miranda...Miranda," Jo scolded. "As much as I might
like to let you keep your pretty pink underpants, we can't have
such frilly, lacy scanties in a hospital, can we? I mean, this
is an insane asylum, not a bordello. A girl like you should
really be wearing something more...institutional."
Miranda shuddered as Jo's finger slid between her legs and started
massaging her crotch. "My...we ARE wet, aren't we? Have we been
thinking naughty thoughts?" she scolded mockingly. "I hope Dr.
Nerdly doesn't find out! He puts randy, dirty little girls over
the punishment bench for a taste of his belt."
Jo smiled as she watched Miranda's bottom cheeks flinch at the
thought. "I'm afraid Dr. Nerdly will be very strict with a girl
like you. Did you know that just the sight of him touching his
belt buckle is enough to cause some of the girls to lose control
of their little bladders? Can you imagine a grown woman peeing
herself just because a man touches his belt?" She chuckled.
The terrified look in Miranda's helpless eyes made it clear that
she could imagine it easily.
"Of course, Dr. Nerdly would insist on spanking you on the bare,"
Jo said, clinically. "So it's probably better that I take these
away, Miranda. After all, patients need to get used to the idea
that their underpants will come down whenever we say."
Miranda closed her eyes and bit her lip as Jo slowly worked her
panties down and off. She opened her eyes just in time to see
them make a perfect arc and land in the box.
Miranda whimpered. Like her purse, her panties had just landed in
a box labeled "PERMANENT COMMITMENT."
"Gee, I guess you're right," Jo said, as she walked over and closed
the top of the box. "This does say 'PERMANENT COMMITMENT.'" She
cheerfully turned the box sideways and showed her ashen-faced
patient the large white sticker. "See, the system puts the
shipping label on it and everything!" she said, proudly. "The
UPS man picks it up in the morning, and away it goes!"
Jo squinted at the tag doubtfully. "Where in the heck is
Missingville, Arizona, anyway?" she wondered aloud.
Miranda tried to speak. But the dazed, aroused, and humiliated
prisoner found that no sound emerged. She shuddered as she
imagined her chic and expensive clothes wadded up into a box
in some forgotten tin warehouse in the desert.
She watched in horror as Jo effortlessly sealed the box shut. She
couldn't even see her clothes anymore...everything was in the box.
Every stitch of clothing she had been wearing was now sitting in a
cheap cardboard crate just waiting to be sucked into the wall.
All at the press of a button....
"Where were we?" Jo asked, with a suggestive leer. "Oh, yes...I
was checking you for contraband."
"And there's still one more spot to check, isn't there?"
Miranda shrank back against the wall as the leering guard
approached her. But Jo easily swept her hands aside and
returned to business -- resumed Miranda's slow masturbation.
As Jo worked her fingers over Miranda's sex, she lovingly
described Dr. Nerdly's degrading punishments.
Wetness was definitely an issue now, but it wasn't from Miranda's
bladder.
Nerdly and Miranda had tangled before, and she knew that he would
be eager to teach her a lesson in respect. She also knew it would
be a lesson administered on her helpless, bare fanny.
But somehow the fact that Dr. Nerdly hated her made the thought
of being totally under his control all the more exciting. She
squeezed Jo's fingers, imagining her bottom cheeks flexing and
squirming in anticipation as she watched the smiling Dr. Nerdly
slowly unlatch his belt.
"That's it, Miranda," Jo cooed, softly. "Just let yourself slide
back and forth on my hand. After all, I have to check you for
contraband...just like any other patient. I have to work these
fingers in and out, in and out, just to be sure. After all, mental
patients aren't allowed to have property. In fact, you can't have
anything. I need to make sure I've stripped you of everything you
ever had."
Jo smiled cruelly as the great Dr. Miranda Grey, shaking with equal
parts excitement and humiliation, exploded into orgasm like a bitch
in heat.
Miranda was still in the final throes of her orgasm when a sharp
slap across her bare bottom returned her to cold reality. "All
right, honey buns, you're clean," Jo said, harshly. "Time for a
scrub down. I do have a schedule to keep."
Miranda instinctively covered her breasts -- "titties" -- and
crotch as she dumbly stared at her captor. Her lack of mental
acuteness earned her a second, sharper slap.
Jo smiled as Miranda obediently scampered into the huge gang
shower. Yes, with a bit more training, she'd make a good
little patient.
Miranda jumped back as the freezing water shot against her breasts.
The burning green liquid disinfectant soap that she had to use was
equally disturbing, but Jo's voice allowed for no argument.
"Be sure to scrub EV-ERY-where...or I'll give you a hand," the
guard said, playfully.
Jo watched with undisguised amusement as Miranda obediently
scrubbed herself from head to toe.
"Well...fun time's over," Jo said, a bit regretfully, as Miranda
rinsed off. "I'll go get you some scrubs, Doc, and open up the
nurse's station so you can sleep on the couch there."
Jo gave Miranda a warm smile. "No hard feelings. It's my last
day, and I just wanted to have a little fun. Besides, from the
look on your face during the cavity search, I'd say you had a bit
of fun, too," she added, slyly.
Miranda blushed and looked down at her bare feet rather than face
the guard, who was so acute.
Miranda still couldn't believe that she had actually CUM all over
the guard's hand. How humiliating!
"I just hope experiencing life on the other side of the bars has
taught you a lesson, young lady," Jo said.
"Yes, ma'am," Miranda said, meekly. "It certainly has."
Jo smiled in triumph, nodded, and left. Miranda was glad to see
her go. The towel was orange and coarse and industrial, but at
least now she could dry off in peace.
She relaxed, relieved that her nightmare was over. Although she
had occasionally fantasized about being a patient at the institute,
the grim reality of the place truly frightened her.
Her first day two years ago had been shocking. It had seemed
strange to her that so many of the female patients were young
and pretty, and that none of them showed any obvious signs of
mental disorder. And although many of the patients were heavily
drugged, all of them told similar stories of sexual abuse at the
hands of the staff. A few complained of being "auctioned" to
male patients who could pay for their "services."
When Miranda had taken her complaints to the head of the institute,
he had literally laughed in her face. "Gentlemen pay us handsomely
to take care of unwanted women, Miranda," he explained. "We treat
trophy wives who demand outrageous divorce settlements, mistresses
who demand marriage, and heiresses who demand estates they don't
deserve. We give these unfortunate women a home, and their
grateful friends and relatives compensate us handsomely for
our trouble."
The Director smiled and handed her a set of keys bearing the
Lexus logo. "There will be a new set of keys like this every
year, Miranda, if you cooperate. And I think you will find
the tax-free grant money you'll receive from our foundation to
be absurdly generous.
"Some people on our staff were nervous about hiring you, Miranda,"
he said. "But I knew that having a respected female psychiatrist
on staff would fatally undermine our female patients' more
delusional claims. After all...these types of abuses couldn't
be happening without your knowledge, could they?"
He smiled as he handed Miranda a bulging, sealed envelope. "And,
with your lavish lifestyle and precarious financial situation, I
thought you'd be uniquely qualified for this new role."
Miranda had thought long and hard about his proposition during
her drive home that night. The women who had confided in her
desperately needed help.
But, then again, the leather seats in her new Lexus certainly were
comfy.
That was two years ago, and Dr. Miranda had never looked back.
As she toweled herself dry, Miranda cursed her bad luck. First the
electronic systems in her Lexus went dead; then her card-key was
deactivated. Then there was the scheduling error and all of the
other computer glitches. Could anything else have gone wrong?
Her reflections were interrupted by a different kind of reflection,
but an equally disturbing one. Although there was still water in
her eyes, she could clearly see the reflection of someone watching
her in the large overhead mirror in the corner of the shower.
The circular mirror was similar to those used to catch shoplifters
in stores. This mirror, however (found only in the FEMALE shower
area!), allowed the staff to ogle the prisoners in all their naked
glory.
She quickly turned to confront the intruder.
But there was no one there.
She looked back up at the mirror. The reflection was still there.
Miranda squinted hard. The figure seemed faintly recognizable --
the pocket protector...those geeky thick glasses....
She swallowed. It was Brad Tecky.
But it couldn't be! Brad Tecky was dead!
Brad had been a computer genius who had defrauded the government
and the banking system out of millions. He had stolen so much
money, in fact, that he had no trouble hiring a dream team of
lawyers and doctors to create enough reasonable doubt that he
was judged suffering from "temporary insanity."
He wasn't crazy, of course -- just rich and arrogant. His
"I-could-buy-and-sell-this-asylum" attitude quickly pissed
Miranda off, particularly when he began "purchasing" the
favors of her female patients...without their consent.
The Director let Miranda assume charge of Brad's case after she
proved that she could extract more money from Brad with enemas
and electro-shock than he had been paying out in bribes.
Brad had resisted of course. Once the poor little dear had even
tried to contact his lawyers. But he was HER patient, and, as
such, he was totally under HER thumb!
After his attempt to call his lawyers, Miranda ordered a detailed
physical exam for him. She still recalled the horrified look on
his face as she'd grasped his scrotum. "Pick up that phone again,
Brad, and it's SNIP! SNIP!" she'd warned. "If I even THINK there's
a lawyer or a policeman at the front gate, I'll have you up in
surgery before the guard even finishes checking IDs."
It was bluff, of course, but the empty threat did its malicious
work. Brad was cowed, the Director was rich, and Miranda finally
had a chance to hand out some psychiatric revenge on behalf of her
sex.
She had even borrowed one of Dr. Nerdly's paddles, so that she
could punish little Brad's bare bottom whenever she found a bug
in the new system she forced him to code for the hospital.
She had relished Brad's emotional destruction, and she'd felt bad
when that psychotic patient had strangled him last Halloween. She
didn't like Brad, but she did enjoy threatening him, shocking him,
and paddling his cute little behind. Besides, it was handy to have
him around to punish whenever there was a problem with the computer
system.
THE SYSTEM! Brad had coded the entire thing! He had paid for the
terminals, installed the server, and customized the code. Brad WAS
that system.
Miranda looked up at the mirror. Yes, there was no doubt about
it. She was alone in the shower room. But, somehow, the smiling
reflection of Brad Tecky was looking down. Miranda blushed as she
watched him adjust his glasses to get a better view of her wet,
naked body.
She made a beeline for her clothes. But, before she could reach
it, the mechanical shelf retracted, and her clothes disappeared
into the wall.
Miranda stared dumbly at the wall. What she had just seen was
impossible. No one had pressed the button.
THE SYSTEM HAD SEIZED HER CLOTHES ON ITS OWN!
"Sorry, Doc," Jo said, returning. "None of the scrubs cabinets
would open. It's those damn electronic locks. Underwear cabinets
wouldn't open either. But I was able to get a hospital gown. It
will be a little short on you, but it's the best I could do."
"Looks like your clothes are gone, too," Jo noted. "I'll send an
e-mail to the mailroom guy. Don't worry; he'll make sure the UPS
guy doesn't grab them."
Miranda quickly slipped the gown over her naked body. The garment
was short, and the ties in the back were useless. Still, it did
cover her crotch...if only barely.
"If the system resets before morning, I'll get you something else
to wear," Jo volunteered. "I'm sure you don't want any of the male
orderlies to see you dressed like THAT!"
Miranda grimaced at the thought. The male orderlies at this
particular institution were all perverts, as far as she was
concerned, and the thought of parading around for their viewing
pleasure sent shivers down Miranda Grey's lovely spine.
******************************
Jo sat down at her desk. With the way the systems were hosed up,
it was hardly surprising that none of the staff rooms or even the
ordinary patient rooms would open. Jo had been forced to leave
Miranda in a padded cell, and, although she had attempted to leave
it open, the electronic door had locked itself as soon as she had
exited.
Not that it really mattered. The padding on the cell floor was
thick and comfortable, and the exhausted Miranda had fallen asleep
while Jo was still trying (unsuccessfully) to unlock the cell door.
Jo addressed the e-mail, as she had promised.
To ALL STAFF:
DR. MIRANDA GREY EXPERIENCED SOME CAR TROUBLE LAST NIGHT.
DUE TO BIZARRE AND VERY UNCHARACTERISTIC SYSTEM GLITCHES,
I WAS FORCED TO LOCK HER IN ISOLATION CELL #4.
THE DOCTOR'S CLOTHES ARE IN THE MAIL AREA, BUT THEY SHOULD
NOT BE MAILED. THEY SHOULD BE TAKEN TO THE LAUNDRY AREA
IMMEDIATELY. THE LAUNDRY STAFF SHOULD CLEAN AND RETURN
THIS CLOTHING AS SOON AS THEY GET IN; UNTIL THEN PLEASE
REMEMBER THAT SHE IS A RESPECTED DOCTOR AT THIS INSTITUTION
AND IS TO BE TREATED AS SUCH.
Jo watched the screen flicker strangely as she pressed "Send."
"I've never seen the system act so weird," she thought, as she
returned to reading this month's issue of "Girl's Fitness"
magazine. "That's strange," she said to herself. "I wonder
why the message doesn't show up in my outbox?"
But she decided it didn't matter. She'd soon be in Hawaii.
******************************
"Look at those legs!" J.D. None said. "I knew she was cute, but it
was hard to tell under all of those ice queen power suits."
"Well, it sure isn't hard now," Wraith replied. "Didn't I tell you
that being an orderly at shower time was the best job on this
planet?"
"What in the world is she in for, Theo?" J.D. asked.
"Didn't you see Jo's e-mail?" Wraith replied. "The doc apparently
went berserk -- total psycho -- I don't know all the details, but
I guess it was pretty gruesome. They say the police brought her
straight here...for 'Permanent Commitment.'"
"Gosh...you mean Dr. Miranda is really just a patient now?" J.D.
asked, in amazement. His eyes ran slowly up and down her lithe,
soapy form. Miranda was a most attractive young lady. And, as
a mere patient, the doctor who had once bossed him around was
now under his complete and absolute power.
The mind boggled at the possibilities.
"Yeah, she's just another patient," Wraith confirmed. "Dr. Nerdly
sent out an e-mail this morning that said he had reviewed her
on-line file. He said that she was to be treated like any other
patient, and, under no circumstances was she to be given any
special privileges."
J.D. smiled. As a mental patient, Miranda's privileges would be
few. And, as an utterly powerless and helpless young woman at
the mercy of the sexist medical establishment, her obligations
would be many.
"As a matter of fact, I'm supposed to bring her to the good
doctor's office after she finishes her scrub down," Wraith
said. "Since he was tapping the strap against his palm when
he gave me the order, I expect that our newest loony is going
be taking a little trip over Dr. Nerdly's knee."
"Whatever for?" J.D. asked. "Nerdly hasn't even seen her yet.
Has she broken a rule already?"
"Of course not," Wraith admitted. "But that doesn't matter.
Nerdly will question her, and, if she hedges or hesitates,
he'll tan that cute little bottom of hers until he gets the
answer he wants."
J.D. smiled as he envisioned Miranda standing in front of Dr.
Nerdly's desk, shivering and barefoot in her scanty hospital
gown. The thought of her awkwardly shifting her weight from
foot to foot, as Nerdly played with his strap, was highly amusing.
Naturally, as a psychiatrist, Nerdly would need to question her
about her dreams, sexual fantasies, and masturbation habits. And,
if he even suspected that she was lying, it would be Nerdly's
sworn duty to administer discipline until the correct answer
was given.
"Is Nerdly going to be her doctor?" J.D. asked.
"No," Wraith replied. "That will be Dr. Hal. I talked to him this
morning. And he said that I should get the suppositories ready.
He wants to start her on that new drug, Halozine, he's been working
on."
"Halozine?" J.D. asked. "The one with all the side effects?"
"Well, it does seem to slur speech and reduce vocabulary," Wraith
conceded. "But the effect is only temporary, and, unlike
Thorazine, it keeps the patient's mind clear. On the brighter
side, it makes the little dears as docile and helpless as little
lambs. Dr. Hal said I'm not to give her any until he gets here.
He wants to see the look on her face when she wakes up in her own
little yellow puddle."
"I imagine that Dr. Hal won't mind changing HER diaper!" J.D.
chuckled.
"Yeah," Wraith agreed. "I'm sure he'll rub the baby oil in real
good and sprinkle on just the right amount of his special powder.
Of course, we'll have to keep her straitjacketed, to make sure that
she doesn't make a mess after she wets herself. Dr. Hal insisted
she isn't to be changed until she asks like a nice little girl."
"She is a real looker," J.D. observed. "Let's move in a little
closer."
Miranda made no effort to move away as the two leering orderlies
moved across the open shower room to an area just outside of her
"splash zone."
"Well, well, well," Wraith teased. "If it isn't the great Dr.
Miranda, birthday bare, taking a shower just like any other mental
patient. You'd better get used to it, Doc. Showers every morning,
and cavity searches whenever I say."
"How does it feel to be on the other side of the bars?" J.D. asked,
tauntingly.
Although the two jeering guards were practically next to her,
Miranda barely heard them. Her eyes remained fixed on the
image of the geeky man smiling down from the reflective mirror
just above her head.
Edited by C. Lakewood