Ambra

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It's everywhere, I can't escape it.
It's in my mind, my thoughts, my dreams.
It's my fear, my past, my memory.
Sad for me, it's also my miserable reality.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ October 11, 2006 01:31 AM: Message edited by: if i have to sin ]</font>

He asks me the same question every morning. How am I doing? I just smile at him, ask him his own question. And he laughs, answers, then moves on.

It becomes an hour of repetitive crap. He wants me to open up, tell him what's on my mind, in my head. What secrets I might want to reveal. What possessed me that day. What the fuck is wrong with these people? And I am supposed to be the patient. They ask these questions, knowing the answer already. I have already been diagnosed. And so has she.

Yeah, we're fucking crazy. At least that's the story we are sticking with.

"The madman who's keeping me prisoner has locked the door, destroyed the key, and he is outside laughing at me."

His hands had gone everwhere. My arms and shoulders. My neck, back. Then they had gone between my thighs. The fucker told me he was a counselor, that he was sitting in for my regular doctor. I didn't question it, what the hell right did I have? I'm just a patient in this shit hole.

"Let me help you be a real woman, just once. It will help you, I swear it." He had said this as his fingers had already slipped inside my panties. I didn't fight, shove his hands away. Scream for the orderlies to come to my rescue. Instead I spread my legs wider, told him to fuck me.

Even the mentally un stable need a good fuck. I was no different. Not to mention, she kept begging me to let it happen. Of course I did. I never deny myself..or her.

He was a good lay. Nice big cock, worked it like a fucking sailor getting his last piece of pussy before he was shipped off. I played the part of a smitten lover, cooing against his ear each time he moved inside me. And she enjoyed it just as much, telling me over and over how much she loved his dick, and me for letting us have it.

It ended too quickly. I think the "good doc" was jealous. The way he stares at me when I talk to him, tell him about my supposed disorder and how it makes me feel. Blah blah. His eyes glitter with some kind of lust. I'm not fucking stupid now, or naive. When he pulled the orderly off me I saw the look fleeting across his features. Angry jealousy.

It only made me laugh to caught literally "with my pants around my ankles". I don't think the doctor liked that too much. Or that I told him in such a blazen manner that he could have a go whenever the fancy took him. Though he told me to never speak to him like that again, that it just wasn't proper, I think he will be taking me up on the offer.

The orderly was fired for taking advantage of a patient. It was only his first week, poor fellow. I'd known along the idiot wasn't a counselor. The doctor says I should not have let it happen. That I should have known better. "Why? I'm just the fucking patient." I'd asked him with a teasing laugh. I think he is frustrated with me, rightly so.

Now I have to have longer sessions with him each week. Punishment? Or his own agenda? But what right do I have to question it....