A while back, I created a "Halloween Quiz," in which you all could prescribe the sort of holiday story you wanted. As I watched the polling progress, I was hoping that a schoolgirl/teacher or doctor/hospital gown combination would win -- or, at least, you would allow me the fig leaf of a supernatural antagonist to explain the crossover between two worlds. But, of course, I ended up with a teacher in a hospital gown on Halloween with a mortal antagonist -- which brings us to Tracy's latest adventure. (By the way, Katie's adventures for Tracey are way better than mine. I hope my appropriation of her heroine will inspire rather than depress her.) -- Joe TRACY'S CRAZY HALLOWEEN OF HORROR by Joe Doe Part 1 Tracy didn't like the fact that the school district's Halloween party was being held in the basement of the local hospital, but that didn't mean that she was unwilling to turn the situation to her political advantage. The cost overruns and delays that had wreaked havoc with the school had been largely Tracy's doing –- she was the one who had charged Principal Chambers with cronyism and featherbedding when he had hired the usual contractors. The resulting stink had led to Tracy's promotion to vice-principal and to the hiring of Tracy's brother as the general contractor. Of course, when the "summer repairs" stretched into fall, and the school's recreation hall collapsed, she skillfully twisted things around so that, once again, it was all Chambers' fault. She had been campaigning for weeks for his "retirement" by spreading false rumors about his growing senility and his "coddling" of the students. The school district's annual Halloween party was a perfect chance for Tracy to get in a little not-so-discreet campaigning. She had chosen a sexy short white hospital gown as a way of emphasizing Chamber's "blundering." "I was going to dress in a school uniform," she "joked" with any board member who would listen. "But, since Mr. Chambers knocked down the poor students' recreation hall, I had no choice but to wear this. It's just a pity that the students have nowhere to go now.... Maybe by next year the school will have competent management...." No one doubted whom she had in mind as Chambers' replacement. Tracy had told Chambers that, as principal and vice-principal, they should wear a "team" costume: Father Time and Baby New Year. Chambers knew that Tracy was undermining his every move, and he thought the image of the 25-year-old teacher in a diaper would contrast his experience with her immaturity. Of course, at the last minute, she had changed her mind (without telling her boss). So the unfortunate Mr. Chambers was now stumbling around the hall with a long white beard, floppy white robe, and cane. She chuckled as she watched her boss try desperately to strike up a conversation with the school board president. It was as if she had stamped the words, "Senile Old Fool" across Chambers' forehead. Most of the party guests were drinking wine or beer, but Tracy was guzzling ginger ale like there was no tomorrow. Best to keep your mind clear when you're campaigning to get your boss fired. She smiled as Superintendent Peters obediently came back with her refill in hand. Tracy had never liked Peters, and the truth was that he was next on her hit list after she got Chambers' job. But that didn't mean the old fool couldn't be useful now. "You don't think my gown is too short, do you Mr. Peters?" she asked. "No...the truth is I'd like it even shorter!" the dirty old man admitted, sheepishly. "How much shorter would you like it?" she said, as she teasingly began raising the hem. "Would you like it...this short?" She inched the gown upward. It already left her knees and several inches of her thighs bare, but she raised it higher, smiling broadly as she watched Mr. Peters' eyes bulge out. "Is that high enough?" "Actually, I'd like it a little higher," he gasped. "I don't know...," Tracy said, coyly. "You were the one who thought we should leave all of that money that we set aside for Mr. Chambers' retirement fund alone instead of putting it towards my new hiring bonus, weren't you?" "That money was taken out of his salary over 30 years, Tracy," Peters explained. "It's his money, not yours." His argument was cut short as Tracy's hemline slowly began to sink downwards. "On the other hand, the future belongs to the young!" he said, brightly. "That's better," she cooed. "Besides, I've already arranged for Mr. Chambers to spend his golden years working as a custodian at an elementary school. They need someone to fix those plugged up toilets and spread out the orange sand and mop up the puke." "Good idea," Mr. Peter's muttered, stupidly, as he watched the hem of Tracy's gown slowly inch up her thighs. "Is this high enough?" she teased. "No...higher," Mr. Peters pleaded, desperately. "Mr. Peters! You can already see the bottom of my panties!" "If you were my patient, I wouldn't allow you to wear any panties," a familiar voice said. Tracy's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the voice of her arch-rival, John Smith. John was handsome, smart, rich, and self-assured. (And the white lab coat he was wearing tonight made him seem older, more mature.) Worse yet, he was one of Tracy's students and a friend to Mr. Chambers. If it wasn't for John's meddling, Chambers would be gone already. "This was a private conversation," she hissed. "I don't know what a student is doing here, anyway." "I'm 18 now, and I'm Mr. Chambers' guest," John said, brightly. "If you had any friends you hadn't stabbed in the back yet, you could have invited them." Mr. Peters laughed, and Tracy bit her lip in frustration. This was HER party, and John was ruining everything! "Like I said, if you were my patient, panties wouldn't be allowed," John said, toying with his stethoscope. "I wouldn't want to waste time skinning them off your cute little behind every time I ordered you up into the stirrups." "How often would you have her in the stirrups, John?" Peters asked, clearly tickled by the idea. "That's the funny thing," John mused. "I took care of my sister's cats once. Some of them could go for weeks with very little attention. Others needed to be petted every day." Tracy blushed as John looked her up and down, appraisingly. "Some little pussies require constant attention," he added. "So you'd have her up in the stirrups a lot then?" Peters asked, his voice trembling. "They'd be her second home," John replied. "No sense in giving a little minx like that underpants, you know. She'd probably just get them all soggy, anyway." Tracy swallowed. John was dressed in a doctor's outfit, complete with white lab coat and prop stethoscope. She, in contrast, was wearing nothing but her ultra-short hospital gown, white bra, white panties, and slippers. Her costume was perfect for flirting with school board members. But standing there as "Doctor John" casually discussed putting her in the stirrups made her feel very naked indeed. Tracy felt confused and out of sorts. The last time she had seen John, she had given him a detention for sassing her in the lunchroom. He had barely spoken to her, but the detention had served its purpose of preventing him from playing in Saturday's game. She had been wearing high heels, and she had towered over the seated John, as she piously lectured him about "respect for women." She had made sure his dressing-down was loud and public, with plenty of other students watching. Humiliating an ally of Mr. Chambers, whether it was justified or not, made Tracy's position that much stronger. But now the tables had turned, and a trembling Tracy was looking up at John. "I...don't...need any ex-examination," she stammered. "Now, Tracy, don't be shy," John chuckled. "A lot of girls your age don't want to be examined. But 'wanting' has nothing to do with it -– if you're my patient, you have to do as you're told. You'll have to hop up onto the table and put your feet up into the stirrups. And don't dawdle...I have a lot of little pussies to check today." "But if I did that...." Tracy's heart was racing, and she couldn't finish the sentence. "If you'd do that, I'd see everything," John said, helpfully completing her sentence. She felt a chill as her smiling student began painting a word picture of her humiliating exam. "You don't mind if I leave the door open, do you, Tracy? It's getting a little stuffy in here. I'm sure the man mopping up in the hallway won't mind. Or the man in the waiting room. After all, I'm the doctor now, and, when I tell you to spread your legs, that's what you'll do. It doesn't matter if it's just me...or me and a nurse...or me and a class of medical students. When I say spread -- you spread." "Look, I think she's blushing," Peters chuckled. Tracy had read about anxiety attacks, but she had never experienced one until this moment. Her heart raced, her palms sweated, her head spun. She tried to tug down on the hem of her hospital gown, but it was no use. She squirmed as Mr. Peters and John ogled her beautifully bare legs. "Are you feeling all right, Tracy?" John chortled. "Maybe I should take you somewhere and examine you." She spun around and made a beeline for the door. She felt dazed and confused as she tumbled out into the hallway. Her mouth was dry, and she stopped for a moment at the water fountain. As she sucked up the water, she suddenly became aware of the pressure on her bladder. Maybe that 15th ginger ale was too much. Tracy had had an urge to use the washroom earlier, but she had resisted it, so as to not interrupt her nonstop politicking for Mr. Chambers' job. But now she realized that she had waited too long. She squeezed her thighs together. Her panties were soaking wet! At first she thought it was from urine. But, to her horror, she realized the moisture was...different. Could it be that John's filthy "oral examination" had actually TURNED HER ON? Why? She HATED John! She hated doctors! And she held that blithering fool, Peters, in total contempt. But there was no time for this now. She could explore the untapped desires John had uncovered after she relieved herself. She rounded the corner and headed straight to the washrooms. But the line to use the woman's restroom was almost 15 women deep. Tracy gritted her teeth as she mulled over the sexist injustice of urinals. When she was principal, they would be the first thing to go. Looking at the long, unmoving line, she knew she'd never make it. She briefly considered crashing the men's room, but didn't want to risk possible scandal. Instead, she just went through a plain utility door and ran up the stairs to the next floor. There, she paid no attention to the shouting guard as she ran down the hallway to the huge metal doors at the end. But the doors were locked! She immediately turned to confront the approaching guard. "I'm from the party downstairs," she explained. "I need to use the restroom." "I thought you were a patient," the guard said. "Look, lady, there are no restrooms on this floor, except for those in the ward. You'll have to try another floor." She squeezed her thighs together. "I can't make it to another floor, you idiot. Buzz me through this instant! I swear, if you don't buzz me through right now, I'll have you up on charges!" The guard reluctantly returned to his desk and hit the buzzer. Tracy threw open the door and ran down the hall. She was running so fast she never even noticed the sign on the wall: Psychiatric Ward Security Unit Authorized Personnel & Patients ONLY! Busily scanning each side of the hallway for an appropriate facility, she ran right past a surprised nurse at her station. Finding nothing, Tracy ran to the next set of security doors and pulled, but they, too, were locked. "May I help you?" the nurse said. "Yes, I really need to use a restroom, and the guard buzzed me through," Tracy explained. "Wh-where c-can I go?" "I'm sorry, all of the restrooms are in the ward. But maybe we can help each other. My replacement is late, and I was supposed to pick up my daughter from her Halloween party over an hour ago. I was waiting for a transfer patient, but they just called and said that her transfer had been cancelled." She handed Tracy a file. "I'll buzz you through. Go to the end of the hall and stand under the sign that's marked "Admissions" until a nurse shows up. Tell her to mail back the transfer papers, and she'll let you use the bathroom." The nurse buzzed open the heavy steel door, and Tracy quickly scampered through it, and off down the hall. ****************************** IF YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN PART 2, I SUGGEST YOU SIGN UP FOR THE ONLINE COURSE, "DRAMATIC STRUCTURE IN THE WORKS OF JOE DOE," CONDUCTED BY NERDLY AND LAKEWOOD. ****************************** Part 2 As per the nurse's directions, Tracy waited under the sign marked "Admissions." And waited. And waited. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her thighs together as the pressure between her legs steadily built. In desperation, she tried to open a cabinet to see if she could find a bedpan, but the cabinet door was locked. Again she tried to count up the ginger ales she had drunk...oh, god...15! She held her crotch through her gown and began to do a humiliating pee-pee dance to distract herself. Left foot. Right foot. Hop-hop-hop. "Thank goodness!" she said, as a tubby nurse walked through the door. "I need to use the restroom." "You shouldn't be here alone," the nurse said. "And what are you doing with that folder?" "The nurse said I should give this to you," Tracy said, handing it over. "Look, I really need to take a pee." "All in good time," the nurse said, opening the folder and scanning the first page. "Is your name 'Tammy'?" "Tracy," Tracy said. "And I need to use the restroom NOW." "Whatever," the nurse said, closing the folder and throwing it onto the counter. "We have procedures here, even if I'm the only one who follows them." The nurse led Tracy into a large tiled room with a drain in the floor and a hose hanging on the wall. Tracy was crouching now, and each step was agony. The nurse pulled Tracy's hands from her crotch and twisted them behind her back. "I'm watching something now, but I'll come back and take you to the toilet at the next commercial break. Until then, you just sit tight." "But I have to go NOW!" Tracy said. "Don't give me any trouble, Tammy, and we'll get along fine," the nurse said, as she fastened Tracy's plastic cuffs to the wall. "But...you create more work for me, and I'll make your life a living hell". "Tracy," Tracy said. "My name is Tracy." "Whatever," the nurse said and slammed the door behind her. Tracy's mind raced. Why was the nurse manhandling her? Why was she calling her "Tammy"? And why, oh why, wouldn't they let her use the bathroom? Then she remembered handing the nurse the patient's folder. Wasn't the name on the front of that folder "Tammy"? It was like being trapped for real in one of those horrible stories her pal Katie Smith and that awful Joe Doe had written about her. "These people here think I'm a mental patient," she muttered. "They...think...I'm...cra-zee!" She started to ponder her options, but before she could figure a way out, the pressure in her bladder red-lined. She attempted to edge toward the drain in the floor, but the cuffs held her close to the wall. She stared at the door. Where the hell was the nurse? What on earth was the bitch watching? She tried hopping from foot to foot again, but finally nature took its course. Tracy Smith, a dignified, well-educated, 25-year-old lady, stood helplessly as urine began to pour down her legs. She tried to squat to avoid making a mess, but her panties forced the pee to run down her legs and dribble out of her soaked crotch. Neatness was impossible. There was no pretty way for Tracy to piss herself. She had drunk a lot. Enough to soak her panties. Enough to leave a big yellow stain on the bottom half of her gown. Enough to leave her standing in a humiliating puddle of her own making. She tried to hold back at first. But, as the puddle grew, she gave up and just let loose. After all, if you were going to humiliate yourself anyway, you might as well be comfortable. As the minutes ticked away, Tracy's relief faded. She was soaked from the crotch down, and the fan from the vent was blowing right on her. Her urine began to stink, and she began to feel nauseated by her own smell. With her hands cuffed to the wall, she couldn't do much to alleviate her situation. But she could and did slide off her disgusting slippers and kick them over to the grate. She squirmed helplessly as the cool breeze from the vent blew the smell from her golden accident around the room. Her sinuses soon filled, and mucus began to run out of her nostrils. She desperately wanted to wipe her nose, but the cuffs held firm -- so she used her tongue to clean her face as best she could. Though the nurse was tubby, ugly, and authoritarian, Tracy was relieved when she finally reappeared. "Geez Louise, it smells like the monkey house in here!" the nurse said. "You pissed your pants? You disgusting sow...you filthy piglet." "I couldn't help it," Tracy said weakly. "I told you I needed to use the restroom." "Don't even think of blaming this on me, Miss Piggy. Wait here while I get a bag for your pissy pants." Tracy didn't have much choice, as the nurse left and then came back with a white plastic bag marked "Medical Waste." The nurse sidestepped Tracy's puddle and manoeuvred around until she could cut off the plastic cuffs. "OK, monkey girl, take off your clothes and put them in the bag," the nurse ordered. "And if you throw anything at me I'll strap your bottom so hard you won't sit down for a week." Relieved, Tracy quickly striped off her urine-soaked clothes. "Bra, too," the nurse prompted. "Everything off. We need to hose this place down, and you, too. At least you did it in the monkey cage; this place washes up easy." Tracy dutifully handed the bag containing her soaked clothes to the nurse. But she began to fret as the nurse thoughtfully eyed her naked form. From the tight smile on the nurse's face, it was clear that she was sympathetic to the concept of same-sex marriages. "Not bad, monkey girl," the nurse said. "Maybe you and I can get to know each other a little better, after I wash the stink off you." She unhooked a long brown hose from the wall and turned the water on. The fan was still blowing, and the room was chilly. Tracy felt her nipples harden as she watched the nurse adjust the spray from the hose from a fine mist to high pressure. "Go stand up against the wall, by the soap dispenser, while I clean up your mess," the nurse ordered, brusquely. The nurse let out a low wolf whistle as the naked Tracy turned and walked to the other side of the cell. "That sure is one cute little ass you have, piglet. I might tan those cute little buns of yours just to watch them turn red." Tracy crossed her arms in front of her breasts and crotch as the nurse used the pressure spray to wash her urine into the grate. The mist from the water made Tracy feel even colder, but the room did quickly begin to smell better. Finishing with the floor, the nurse turned her attention back to Tracy. "Your turn, Miss Pissy Pants," she chuckled. Tracy looked at the shower nozzle over her head and the green disinfectant soap in the wall-mounted tank. "How do I turn the water on? I don't see a handle." "This is faster," the nurse said as she fired the high-pressure stream directly at Tracy's naked body, pushing her forcefully against the wall. "Maybe this'll teach you not piss yourself on my shift," the nurse said. "You need to be potty-trained, piglet." Tracy tried to answer, but the buffeting of the water left her speechless. The nurse laughed as she ran the forceful stream up Tracy's legs and toward her crotch. When Tracy tried to protect her torso, the nurse simply shot the water into her face. And when Tracy covered her face, the nurse gleefully targeted her defenceless breasts and crotch. "Turn around," the nurse barked. "Show me those cute little buns." Tracy complied, and the nurse dutifully ran the freezing cold spray down her spine and over her backside. "Nice and jiggly...just how I like them," the nurse snorted, as she ran the frigid spray back and forth across Tracy's bottom. At last, the nurse twisted the nozzle closed. "Soap up," she ordered. "Disinfectant soap's in the canister. It burns and stinks, but it'll kill the lice. Shampoo your hair with it too, and don't forget your crotch." "You're making a mistake," Tracy persisted. I'm not a mental patient. I'm a teacher, and I was downstairs at the party. I just came up to use the bathroom. Call downstairs, and they'll tell you who I am." "Your folder says you're a little liar. It doesn't say you're a pants pisser, but I'll update that." Tracy shivered as the nurse looked her over. "Now, suds up, girl...unless you want me to do it for you." Tracy had no doubt that the leering nurse would be more than happy to help. So she obediently dispensed a large gob of the nauseating green disinfectant into her open palm. "Work up a good lather," the nurse said. "I want you covered in suds before I rinse you down. And don't be shy about piling it on your head and crotch. That's where the cooties like to hide." It took Tracy only a few minutes to build up a lather that she was able to spread all over her body. She knew from the smile on the nurse's face that she must look like some comical version of a soap commercial. "Get ready, sailor," the nurse said, as she adjusted the nozzle. "It's time for the rinse cycle." Tracy wasn't sure whether the nurse was bored or merciful or what, but the final rinse seemed less brutal than her first wet-down. She was still trying to squeegee the water out of her hair when the nurse grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. "Let's go, sweet cheeks. We need to get you into a gown." She led Tracy -- naked, wet, and shivering -- into the hallway and down to the nurse's station. Passing an amused (and appreciative) janitor, Tracy tried desperately but vainly to cover herself. "Don't be shy, princess," the nurse said. "You'll find that most of the orderlies are also male, because they can control the patients easier. You'd better get used to horny young guys seeing you bare-ass." The nurse left Tracy standing barefoot on the cold tile floor in front of the nurse's station and disappeared around the corner in search of a gown. As soon as the nurse was out of sight, Tracy quickly grabbed the phone and ordered the operator to connect her to basement. She waited impatiently as the phone rang...and rang...and rang. Seconds counted, for she knew she didn't have much time. At long last, someone answered. "Hello?" The voice was unfamiliar, but the background noise made it clear that the party was still going strong. "This is Tracy Smith," she whispered into the phone. "There's been a terrible mistake, and I'm trapped upstairs in the mental ward. You have to get the superintendent or Principal Chambers to come up here and tell...." "Just a second, and I'll get someone," the voice replied. "No, don't put down the phone," Tracy wailed. "I need help now." But it was too late. She listened in agony to the sounds of the party while waiting desperately for someone to rescue her. Oh god! She could hear the nurse whistling as she came back down the hall. And the whistling was getting close. At last, another voice came on the line. "Hello...." It was John's voice, but that didn't matter now. "I'm trapped in the mental ward one floor up, John," Tracy babbled. "You have to come up and help me get out of here. They think I'm a mental patient and...." Tracy dropped the phone as the nurse cracked her on the side of head. "Damn you," the nurse said as she slammed the phone back onto its cradle. "As if pissing yourself wasn't bad enough, now you're using the phone. Loonies don't get phone privileges. Like you didn't know that." She tossed Tracy a gown. "Here, put this on." Tracy rubbed the side of her head and examined the flimsy gown. "What about my bra and underpants?" "I already threw those in the incinerator. Loonies get a gown...that's it. This isn't a boutique. Of course, in your case we maybe should add a diaper." By the time Tracy had gotten into the gown, the nurse was holding the final piece of her ensemble. Tracy was passive as the nurse put her in the straitjacket and led her off to a padded cell. "Don't piss your cell, or I'll give you the strap," the nurse said, shoving Tracy into her new home. "Have a nice night, pumpkin." Tracy looked around her cell. The walls and floor were padded, and the fluorescent lights that hummed above her head were covered with a protective wire mesh. She slid down the wall and sat gingerly on the floor. The sadistic nurse had pulled the crotch-strap of her straitjacket too tight, and it was difficult for her to find a comfortable sitting position. She closed her eyes, but the institutional light above her head was too bright for sleeping. After a few minutes, she realized that the crotch-strap ran right over her pussy and that, by moving her arms slightly and rocking her hips, she could pleasure herself. And she proceeded to do just that. She began to fantasize. She imagined herself, smartly dressed, interviewing a handsome young teacher. The young man was married, but she made it clear that the only way to get to the top was first to get down on his knees. She timed the movement of the crotch-strap to match the rhythm of her humiliated victim's tongue.... "That's a good boy...get that tongue up there. How does it taste? Nice and sweet? Well, you'd better get used to it. Jobs are tight, which means we'll be having a lot of these little tongue-wagging sessions if you want to eat. Don't worry about your wife. I'm sure she'll be glad I'm giving you the practice. Besides, you can act like a man with her instead of just being my pussy-licker. Who knows? Maybe she'll even let you fuck her." Tracy was seconds from orgasm when.... "Well, well, well.... Having a good time, are we?" Tracy's eyes shot open, and, to her horror. she saw the wretched nurse smiling down at her. "Little nymphomaniac," the nurse taunted. "Well, we know how to handle randy little dumplings in here. On your feet, you disgusting whore." Tracy winced as the nurse grabbed her by her hair and lifted her to her feet. "I was going to give you the night off, but some doctor came in to give you a once-over." The nurse pushed Tracy across the cell towards the hallway door. "So you're going to have to diddle yourself later, whore." The nurse pushed Tracy into an examination room and quickly undid her straitjacket. "Her crotch-strap is soaked, Doctor," the nurse said. "She was really going at it." "There may be some sort of pubic irritation; I'll need to do a complete examination." Tracy felt a shiver as she heard the doctor's voice. It couldn't be! She turned around and found herself standing in front of "Doctor" John. "He's not a doctor!" Tracy yelped. "He's one of my students. You're making a huge mistake." "She's been like this all night, Doctor," the nurse said. "First she said she wasn't really a patient, she was just here for some sort of party. Then she pissed herself in her cell. And, when I came to get her, she was jerking off like there was no tomorrow." John's studied professional façade momentarily dropped as he let out a hearty laugh. "Is that true? Did you really make a pee-pee in your panties? And touching yourself where you shouldn't! What a naughty little girl you are! It's a good thing you aren't in school. If the headmaster caught you fingering yourself he'd have to take down your underpants and smack your little buns." "We have a razor strap we use on the patients," the nurse said, helpfully. "I can get it for you, Doctor, if you like." "Maybe later," John replied, casually paging through Tammy's file. "I think I'll start off with a quick examination." "Ex-ex-examination?" Tracy stammered. "Yes, an examination," he repeated. "I know this must be difficult for you, but remember I'm the doctor, and you're my patient. If you don't start cooperating, you might be here for a long, long time." Tracy caught the meaning of John's none-too-subtle threat and reluctantly sat down on the examination table. "That's a good girl," he patronized. "We're going to get along fine, aren't we...Tammy?" Tracy glared daggers as her handsome young student smiled down at her. She just wanted to slap him silly! But she also knew that, for the moment at least, he held all the cards. "Now, Tracy, please lower your gown so I can examine your breasts." "What?" "It's a simple enough request. Lower...your...gown. I need to take a look at your cute little titties." The nurse snickered at "Doctor" John's crude remarks, and Tracy's heart sank. Ordinarily the presence of a nurse in the examination room was a source of comfort. But the more humiliating the exam, the more this particular nurse was going to like it. Tracy bit her lip and undid the tie in the back of her gown. John smiled brightly as his humiliated vice-principal revealed her breasts to his 18-year-old gaze. He took his time, leisurely playing with first her left breast, and then her right. He squeezed them. He kneaded them. He weighed them. He massaged the nipples into little points. He joked with the nurse about their size and shape. He examined them so closely that, for a moment, Tracy thought he was going to suckle on them. When her breasts had been thoroughly molested, he took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. Somewhat reluctantly, he turned away. "Please take her vitals, nurse," he said, as he left the room. "I need to make a phone call now, but I won't be long." Tracy quickly covered her breasts and knotted her gown into place as the nurse proceeded to take her pulse, temperature, and blood pressure. By the time she was finished, he was back. "Her blood pressure is a little high, and her pulse is fast, but there's nothing really abnormal, Doctor," the nurse reported. "Should I take her back to her cell?" John looked over at Tracy and smiled. All of her scheming and abuse had led to this moment, and both of them knew it. Tracy's fate was in John's hands. He stared deeply into her nervous eyes, relishing his position of absolute power. When he finally spoke, his command was soft, almost anticlimactic. At first, Tracy didn't even understand what he had said. "Put her in the stirrups." Tracy stared at him dumbly. It wasn't until the chuckling nurse snapped the first gleaming silver examination stirrup into place that the full import of his command became clear. "Put her in the stirrups." Five simple words. That's all it took for "Doctor" John to strip away the last tiny shred of Tracy's tattered dignity. ("Put her in the stirrups...." He might just as well also said, "Spread her wide. Show me her pussy. Let me finger the little slut like some 100-peso puta in a Tijuana whorehouse.") Tracy looked back at John and mouthed a single word: "Please." John smiled back and gave her a playful wink. The nurse pivoted Tracy around and pushed her back down onto the table. Tracy closed her eyes and lay limp, as her left foot was lifted into the stirrup, and then her right. A cool breeze blew across Tracy's wet cunt as the nurse casually folded her gown out of the way. "We really don't need that gown, nurse. It will just get in the way." The nurse didn't need to be told twice. She moved around to the other end of the table and pulled the gown over Tracy's head, without even bothering to undo the knots. (Why not strip her naked? After all, Tracy was a mental patient. She had pissed herself; she had walked down the halls naked; she had even been caught masturbating. Why not strip her naked for her pelvic? It wasn't like her dignity mattered.) "My, she is wet, isn't she?" John chuckled and ran his fingers down her sex. "A randy little minx...." "Maybe we should just lock her up with some of the sex offenders," the nurse mused. "That way everyone could have a good time." John and the cruel nurse shared a laugh as the horrified Tracy silently prayed that the nurse was joking. "Did you want some gloves, Doctor?" the nurse asked. "No," John said. "I washed up outside. And I want to get a really good feel...I mean...uh...it's easier to see if there are any abnormalities without the gloves." "Whatever you say, Doctor," the sycophantic nurse replied. Tracy stared glumly up at the white-tiled ceiling as her former student thoroughly probed her soggy pussy. He proceeded slowly, insinuating first one, then two, then three fingers into her twat. But it wasn't until he began to work her throbbing clit with his thumb that Tracy really started to squirm. She vaguely noticed that John had left the exam room door open, and the jolly janitor was now looking directly at her steaming, pulsing twat. It didn't matter any more. Tracy's whole world was now John's fingers. To the sound of the nurse's laughter, Tracy shuddered her way through the most humiliating orgasm of her life. But it was about to get worse. "Having a good time, girl?" She opened her eyes to see her rival, Principal Chambers. But he was no longer dressed like Father Time. Instead, he was wearing a white doctor's coat identical to John's! "Did you bring the shaving cream, razor, and baby oil, Doctor?" John asked. "I certainly did," Chambers replied, brightly. "That's good. It will be easier to keep her diapered after we shave that randy little twat of hers. Nurse, could you please go up to the supply closet and see if we have some adult diapers. We'll come get you when we need you. And get the machine warmed up...just in case. In the meantime, Dr. Chambers and I would like to examine the patient alone." The nurse left and "Doctor" Chambers locked the door. As John began to spread the tingly, mentholated shaving cream over her crotch, Chambers moved to the front of the table and began unzipping his fly. "Are you going to be a good little girl and do what the doctors say?" Chambers asked. "Or do we need to find out how the electro-shock therapy machine works?" "Electro-shock?" Tracy gasped. "You wouldn't dare!" "Try me. She's warming up the machine right now." Chambers moaned as the second floor's newest mental patient wrapped her warm, soft mouth around his rapidly hardening penis. He had been angry when she had shown up in the hospital gown. But, as she submissively licked the pre-cum from his vent, he realized that her costume choice had made this the greatest Halloween ever. ****************************** HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO KATIE AND ALL THE GANG, FROM JOE, LAKEWOOD, INSOMNIA, & SEARCH'EM! Edited by C. Lakewood