4 East 
JJS Harshaw 

Feedback appreciated at: jjsharshaw@yahoo.com
(c) 2003, JJS Harshaw

(MF cons voy rough asphyx drugs) 


At 2245hrs, 10:45 pm in "real world" time, I took a 
short break and went to my locker. The locker room is 
just outside the PCU, in the elevator lobby between 
PCU (4 Center) and 4 East. The hospital was remodeling 
4 East.  Apparently they were almost done; today they 
posted a sign saying the area was closed. I'd been 
using it to get to the ICU in the new wing on 3rd.Oh 
well; I'd have to go another way.

The lights in the elevator lobby were dimmed and there 
were only a few lights on 4 East. It was after 10 so 
the lighting on PCU was already out except at the 
station. As I punched in the code for the locker room 
the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I wasn't 
alone. I looked quickly to my right to see the main 
doors to 4 East slowly swing shut. I punched in the 
code, got what I was after and got back to the lighted 
companionship at the PCU desk. 

By 2300, I'd forgotten the little thrill at the locker 
room door. My replacement arrived and I gave her 
report on the monitor patients. Charlene needed a book 
I had though so I went back to the locker room. Just 
as the locker room door opened I looked to the 4 East 
doors. This time they were opening. It was Dr. Tracy 
Neal, a resident. She looked in a hurry, probably 
dashing to the ICU so I didn't think much about it. I 
got the book for Charlene and sat at the desk until 
2330 and time to clock out.

One of the nurses who used 4 East as a short cut to 
our time clock called to me as I left. "Don't go down 
4 East to get the clock."

"Yeah, I saw the sign; Area Closed."

"But they've sealed off the stairs and elevator while 
they're finishing. It was in a memo yesterday."

I got to the locker room door and stopped. Dr. Neal, 
probably a good 10 to 12 years younger than me, was 
nothing if not conscientious to a fault. She read all 
the memos.  She wouldn't be "dashing" into an area if 
there'd been a memo closing it off. I was curious.

4 East is divided off from the elevator lobby by two 
sets of double doors. You enter the first set and step 
into a waiting area. 12 feet farther and you come to a 
second set of doors that open in front of one of two 
nurses' stations. I must confess a certain nervousness 
going through the first set of doors into the darken 
waiting room. It was very lonely and isolating. I 
lunged forward to the second set of doors, opened them 
rapidly and stood in a lone pool of light.

I chuckled to myself. This was beginning to remind me 
of the time in college I searched an abandoned 
department store at night. I came to the women's room 
on the mezzanine level and HAD to go in. I stepped in 
the door and turned right and confronted another man! 
It was actually a floor length mirror; it was actually 
me. I screamed. 

About every fourth hall light was on but dimmed so the 
long corridor leading to the elevator was almost, but 
not quite, dark. I walked slowly and quietly; avoiding 
walking to near to dark open doorways and not having 
the nerve to open a closed door. 

I turned and went back up a parallel hallway. As I 
came to the corner of the hall and thinking this was a 
wild goose chase I heard a noise. I stopped. The noise 
was the unmistakable sound of a grunt and a slurp. 
Another noise. A plaintive moan, muffled, a blast of 
air from someone's nose, another grunt and another 
slurp. 

I inched toward a doorway, the door partially open.

I knelt down beside the doorframe, intently listening.  
There were more plaintive moans, a cry then a slap.  

"Noooo! Please..." It was Dr. Neal's voice and for a 
fleeting moment I worried that she might be into 
something with someone that she didn't want to be 
into. But then I heard her say, "Lean back." Springs 
creaked. 

She slurped the mystery man's cock.

The man, whom I didn't recognize, sat on the side of a 
hospital bed, completely naked. An equally naked Dr. 
Neal knelt between his legs. Her hands and head paying 
close attention to his cock.

After a few minutes of her head bobbing up and down 
Dr. Neal sat back on her heels, her hair wild, falling 
over her face, holding his cock in her fists.

"Rob, I want you to do me...like you did the other 
night." Her voice had an edge to it.

"Shit, Tracy! That was some scary stuff. Why the fuck 
do you like that?!"

"Please, Robbie...I'll pay you..."

The man laughed. "Oh yeah, you pay me! That's a 
hoot..."

"Look, I'm not on call. I don't have to be anywhere 
for 6 whole hours. Come on, you know you liked doing 
me that way.  Admit it."

"No! Fuck, No!! I won't admit it. You scared the shit 
out of me..."

She interrupted. "Pleaseeee. Just this one more 
time...? Everything's here."

The man got off the bed rather explosively. I thought 
for a second I'd been made. But he stood over her, 
roughly pulling back her hair, forcing her to look up 
his body.

"Alright, one more time and that's FUCKING IT! 
Understand?"

A smile came over her face. He helped her to her feet 
and she went to the window. She was beautiful in the 
light filtering in from the street below: short legs, 
wide hips, nicely soft belly and small, firm breasts. 
She pulled her hair back from her face and reached 
into a bag on the windowsill. She took a small bottle 
out, poured a capful of its contents into a Dixie cup 
and tossed it down. She smiled at her lover who stood 
near the bed, still erect but with a semi-disgusted 
look on his face.

"Come on, whore," he slurred out whore with a singular 
contempt, "I do have to be somewhere shortly."

He bent to get the leather straps fastened at the head 
and foot of the bed. She turned away toward the window 
and I saw her pull a small hypo out of her thigh then 
quickly move to the bed.

The man fastened her into 4-point leather restraints 
then mounted the bed. He knelt between her legs and 
roughly caressed her belly and breasts then he mounted 
her. He fucked her slowly at first then got into a 
rhythm with her.  He leaned over her and pinned her 
arms to the bed at the elbows. His body and hers 
glistened with sweat. Their fucking, aside from her 
being strapped to the bed, was pretty routine until...

"Get the bag..." It was a whisper from her.

His face contorted and he slapped her hard. It was 
weird.  It didn't seem to be part of their love play. 
He appeared mad.

"You promised me Robbie..." Another whisper, followed 
by a cry as he thrust doubly hard into her.

"You promised..." This time he flew into a tirade. 
Still fucking her he began to slap her with both 
hands. She had no place to go, she was at his mercy.

"OK! You CUNT, I'm getting the FUCKING BAG..."

Frenzied, he pulled a clear plastic bag from under her 
pillow and pulled it over her head.

"Yessss...." she said as he held the bag closed at her 
throat.  He fucked her in frenzy, without regard for 
her rhythm or needs. He fucked her hard, gripping her 
tightly by the throat. With each of his frenzied 
thrusts she thrashed her head from side to side; she 
strained at her restraints.

Moments seemed like hours. He stiffened for a second, 
grunting like an animal, then pumped into her for 
several strokes. Her body stiffened too then went 
completely limp.

"Oh JESUS, GOD, What have I done????!!!! You crazy 
bitch..." The man bounded off of her inert form. I 
sought cover in another room. 

I heard him gather his clothes and *run* from the 
room.

I was frozen. I didn't know what to do. This was way 
out of my league. I finally decided I had to go in.

I didn't turn on any lights. I entered the room 
quietly.  There was no movement from the bed. I looked 
at her belly; there was shallow breathing. I yanked 
the bag off her head, brushed her hair back. Her lips 
had a dark cast to them in the dimness. I just stood 
and stared. 

What to do...If this had been an ordinary situation I 
would have called a Code Blue by now but here was a 
house medical officer; strapped to a bed, cum covering 
her bush, sweat covering her body, and I was alone 
with her. This might be hard to explain, especially if 
she died.

For some reason I went to her bag on the windowsill. 
There was the bottle she drank from and a small vial 
beside an insulin syringe, beside that a small bottle 
of orange juice. I grabbed the OJ. 

Incredibly there was a note attached to it.

"Rob, give me some of this IMMEDIATELY! Didn't you 
have fun?"

WHOA! Dr. Tracy Neal, mild mannered, frumpy little 
frau of a resident was definitely into some KINKY shit 
with a capital K. She had injected herself with 
insulin right before she got into bed. 
Not only did she want to asphyxiate herself but also 
she was going for an insulin shock coma!

I took the OJ over to her. She was still breathing 
shallowly and not moving. I slapped her face a couple 
of times and said her name. She moaned and moved her 
head away from me then her eyes fluttered open. They 
were just slits, really.

"Tracy, Tracy, you've got to drink this. YOU'VE GOT 
TO."

I held the OJ toward her lips and held her head off 
the bed. At first she did nothing. I shook her head.

"TRACY!!! Drink!!!!"

The OJ touched her lips then she drank. She choked on 
the first sip and sprayed the OJ out across the room.

"TRACY, My GOD...DRINK!!!!"

She took one swallow, then two, then three and a 
fourth.  She closed her eyes; I laid her head back and 
let her rest for a second. Then I hauled her head back 
up and made her drink more. 

When she had finished it all I laid her head back. I 
wondered, "Now what?"

Dr. Neal drew a deep breath and a smile came across 
her face, her eyes still closed. "Ah, GOD, Robbie...I 
wish you could feel this...You were great..."

I cleared my throat. She looked at me.

"...Scott? "

"Yeah. Hi."

"What are you..."

"Saving your life. Rob freaked when you went limp. He 
bolted."

"You watched us?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm sorry...Are you suicidal, Doctor?"

She giggled. "Can I have some more? There's another 
bottle in my bag.... You haven't untied me yet..." her 
tone became flat, "want to do me? Please? Then I'll 
tell you anything you want to know..."

I didn't move.

"Scott, close the door."