THE ADJUSTERS

43

Sanderson’s Initiation

Sanderson worked three Saturdays and two Sundays every month. Not that it bothered him that much—he was still getting his bearings in the city, and did not have much of a social life. Like many people upon graduating and moving to a new area of the country where they knew no one, he was having difficulties creating a social circle. Making new friends from scratch was painful, especially without the socially-oriented college culture he had relied on for the previous half-decade. Everyone he knew worked at the Institute, and he did not feel close enough to his colleagues to hang out with them outside of work beyond the odd outing for drinks after work on Fridays. He had not asked Beatrice out either; their schedules did not match, and except for meeting up for lunch in the Institute’s cafeteria twice a month when their shifts overlapped in just the right way, he hardly saw her.

Not that he had much time to ponder his social and love life. He was kept busy, with most of his time split between learning the rhythm of both the Institute and Blue Ward and getting to know the patients.

For the Blue Ward patients were unlike any he had ever encountered throughout his studies; they required individual attention to a degree that rivaled the schizophrenics with whom he had trained. He had never run across patients quite like them in case studies or the literature either. The nurses on the ward had confirmed what Doctor Dante had told him—and what his own cursory medical literature exploration had underlined—that these cases in Blue Ward were unique.

And coming to care for the patients and getting to know them revealed that their symptoms spanned a broader ranged than he had expected. Cassandra, for instance, was aggressively dominant and forward with her sexuality, constantly pushing against Sanderson’s—or any male’s—boundaries, pushing buttons, daring him to react and overpower her. It was clear, and not only because she admitted to it freely, that being overpowered was something that turned her on, even despite the drugs that supposedly reduced her libido and kept her under control.

Mouse, to pick another example, lay at the other end of the spectrum from Cassandra. Mouse rarely looked someone in the eyes, barely said a word above a whisper, and obeyed promptly and with what could only be described as a shiver of pleasure when told to do something.

Sanderson wondered about Mouse and Gutierrez. The two of them sometimes disappeared together in the afternoon. After his first day after Gutierrez had molested—there was no other word for it—the girl called Jennie, it had been pretty clear to Sanderson what the older nurse was doing with the submissive Mouse. Sanderson could not believe that others were not suspecting what he had figured out, but no one said anything—at least, no one put a stop to it. Sanderson wondered why, and did not understand enough about the inner workings of the Institute to feel comfortable reporting on Gutierrez’s actions.

What did not help matters at all was that Gutierrez seemed to have taken a liking to him. Sanderson could not decide whether that was a good thing. Gutierrez was not unfriendly, but he always gave the impression that he knew more than you did. And he was creepy. Still, Sanderson figured, until he knew more, it was probably better to have the older nurse as a friend than as an enemy.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by a caressing voice.

“You’re thinking way too hard, Young Thing. That won’t do in this place. Don’t you know we’re all empty-headed bimbos? We get confused and scared when there’s thinking happening.”

Sanderson resisted the urge to smile, and looked up at the patient who had appeared beside him. “Hello Cassandra. How are you this evening?”

Cassandra dropped down on the seat next to him, facing the window which reflected the purple skies of the setting sun. The recreation room’s lights were still off, and the entire area was in a creeping penumbra.

“I’m horny enough to ride even your tiny dick,” she said, turning her head towards him.

“God, you’re such a bitch,” he responded in kind, shaking his head.

They exchanged glances. He grinned first, as usual. After a beat, she did as well.

They had developed this odd rapport, the two of them. Cassandra was in fact easy to get along with, once one figured out her basic motivations. She sought dominance, dominance at all costs, while waiting for someone to dominate her. The dichotomy kept her sexually aroused, all the time, and she lived for navigating that thin line. Sanderson merely side-stepped her game, and teased her and joked with her and played her game just enough to keep her aroused but not enough to get in too deep. It had disconcerted Cassandra at first—she had not been used to not getting a reaction from her male victims, but she had come to appreciate the interaction. That Sanderson teased her by telling her he would bend her over his knee and spank her kept her pleasantly on edge.

Not that Sanderson was uninterested, of course. Cassandra, there was no denying it, was a beautiful woman, even if her goth makeup and the aura of confrontation about her he was not finding particularly attractive. Her body was a dream: her breasts were large, her ass was round and tight, and she flaunted either whenever she could. Even when she was not trying to be sexy—Sanderson had caught her once enthralled by a movie and chewing on a strand of her hair with her knees pulled back to her chest—she exuded sex.

That she kept talking about how good she was at sex, how much she liked it, how she could make it so much better for him than anyone he had ever had, did not help his self-control. Because he believed her. And he was horny. There was only so much masturbation one man could tolerate, and he was reaching that intolerance point fast. His fantasies had evolved into an intricate web starring the patients of the ward in various roles, starring Beatrice—pretty Beatrice—on the giving or receiving end of sexual depravities with patients, starring Jennie who had tantalized his imagination for the past weeks, and of course starring Felicity, she who had ruled his fantasies for so many years and that he loved to picture in a sizzling sixty-nine with Jennie, the two girls naked and licking each other, oblivious to the cruelty of the world around them.

“So what were you thinking about?” asked Cassandra, putting her hand on his thigh.

“Oh, nothing much. Just grabbing some quiet time before the start of my shift.”

“Dreaming about the hot bitch in room C-5?”

C-5 was the room in which Jennie was lying. Sanderson debated for a second how to respond to Cassandra’s statement, and realized with a sigh that simply debating a response was already a clear signal to the dominant woman. One thing he tended to forget was that the patients on the ward, as messed up as they might be due to their condition, were still as a whole smarter than he expected.

“That obvious?” he replied, giving the dark-haired goth a glance.

“No, actually. Mouse told me. She’s the smart one. She doesn’t miss much.” Cassandra, being Cassandra, could not help herself. “And she’s got a delightful squeal when you stick a big fat dildo up her cunt.”

Sanderson shook his head, and smiled. “I should probably go and check in before my shift.” He rose up slowly. “Anything happened today I should know about?”

“Allison had a lapse at lunch—had to be restrained until the crisis passed.” There was a tone to her voice that suggested that she would have been thrilled to take advantage of Allison while she was restrained, though Sanderson suspected she would have been happier to have been forced into the restraints herself. “The little cum-guzzler did a bit of a scene and came on hard to Rasmussen during lunch.”

That must have been some scene, Sanderson thought. Allison was a slim redhead with a killer body, a computer programmer by trade for a large software company before ending up at the Institute. She was afflicted with an irremediable fixation on semen, which could be tolerated while it remained controlled by the drug regiment of the ward, but that would once in a while spike up. When her cravings crested, she was liable to corner a male and attempt to perform fellatio on him, begging him to feed her his seed. Cassandra thought it was a hoot, and liked to tease the poor redhead endlessly about it. Allison’s cravings were often spiked by sweets, for some unknown physiological reason, and because of that her diet had to be severely constrained. Sanderson wondered who screwed up the lunch orders.

He tried to picture Allison attempt to seduce Rasmussen, the bulky male nurse who had reminded Sanderson of a club bouncer on his first day and had done nothing since to dismiss that image. Rasmussen was a quiet man who rarely spoke and when he did, did so with a faint Danish accent. He seemed to care deeply for the patients in the ward, even though he maintained a stoical face throughout the day. Rasmussen rarely showed emotion, either anger or pleasure. Most of the time, he looked bored. Sanderson had tried talking to the man a few times, but while he had never been rebuffed, he had never been encouraged either.

“Good to know,” Sanderson replied to Cassandra. “I’ll keep an eye out on her. Well, I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“Oh that you will, Young Thing.”

The way she said it made Sanderson give her a questioning look. In guise of a response, Cassandra merely smiled enigmatically and blew him a kiss, her usual challenge dancing in her eyes.

* * *

It was not until mid-shift, past ten o’clock, that Sanderson would understand Cassandra’s cryptic remark. The evening as a whole had been a strange one. Several of the ward patients seemed more excitable than usual, which reminded Sanderson of Allison’s outburst earlier that day, and Cassandra kept tossing him knowing looks whenever he ran into her.

Sanderson had dropped by to see Jennie, something he found himself doing at least twice every shift, only to discover that her bed was empty. He panicked for a second, until another nurse on the ward told him that she had been sent away for a physical check-ups. Sanderson was annoyed by the strength of his reaction to seeing Jennie gone. He had grown used to her ready presence, an easy walk down the hall away, a silent reminder of Felicity; a psychologist might have ventured that she was a canvas on which Sanderson could project his longing for the one that got away. That she physically reminded Sanderson of Felicity merely ensured that the canvas already bore a suitable sketch.

He saw Mouse a few times over the evening, reading quietly in a corner on a computer tablet, trying to stay out of the way. He sat next to her, eyeing him warily, and her eyes dropped back down to her tablet. He saw her shiver slightly. Sanderson took a second to gather his thoughts. It was clear that every single movement Sanderson made near Mouse she tried to interpret as an order, or at best an instruction on how to behave.

“How are you doing, Lillian?” he asked, keeping his voice soft and pleasant. “I thought maybe you might be thirsty?” He handed her a tall glass of water. Mouse always tried to fade away in the background, and was so quiet and submissive that she tended to forget she had needs such as eating and drinking. Sanderson suspected that she thought so little of herself that she did not think she deserved either food or drink.

Mouse eyed the glass of water suspiciously, as if he might have poisoned it. But eventually she accepted it, because he presented it to her, and she probably interpreted his action as an order to drink. Which she did, with an expression of satisfaction as the cool liquid spilled down her throat. ”Thank you, Sir,” she said, her voice low and trembling, not meeting his eyes. The way she said it made Sanderson’s cock twitch, much to his dismay.

Sanderson felt guilty for a second about forcing her to drink, for that is what he had done, but that guilt was balanced by his duties as a nurse to ensure his patients were well taken care of, a responsibility he took seriously. And Mouse was in many ways like a kid, and she especially needed taking care of.

“Everything okay? Anything I can do to help?” he asked her, when she had finished the glass.

He thought at first she had not heard him, and finally she shook her head no. It was almost imperceptible. She never looked up. He saw her swallow, and he could swear she pressed her thighs together. She looked practically agitated, a state he had never seen her in.

“One question and then I’ll let you be, Lillian. I was just wondering what you were reading. I’m just curious, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” He kept his voice even, non-confrontational. He also kept a distance from the retiring woman, who gave him a quick glance before looking back down.

Sanderson waiting for several long beats, and when Mouse neither moved nor made a sound, he smiled and nodded and made to stand up. Before he could, Mouse slowly handed over her tablet. He did not pick it up, merely read the name of the file across the top of the screen, and he had to make an effort not to make his eyes widen.

“L’Histoire d’O,” he said, again stifling the surprise in his voice. “That’s... interesting. Never read it. Any good?” He did not press on the fact that she seemed to be reading it in the original French.

Again, Mouse was silent for a long time before finally saying, in a soft voice, in a voice that Sanderson could not help but think invited him to take her, “Yes.” She looked at him once more, and this time held his gaze for a few seconds, and Sanderson saw passion in those eyes burning more fiercely than ever before. If her voice had been an invitation, that look in her eyes practically begged him to ravage her.

“W… Well,” he said, making his voice even softer to not upset Mouse after what he saw as an effort to open up and trust him, “I’ll leave you to enjoy it then. It was good to talk to you.”

He left Mouse alone, never looking back, missing the lingering glance that the submissive woman gave him as he made his way across the recreation room.

It was later, as he helped one of the patients with her bedtime ritual—Sherri, a beautiful blonde with a curvy body who used to be a semi-famous lingerie model before her breakdown—that Cassandra came back to see him.

He was helping Sherri into bed, as always amazed by the form the symptoms of her syndrome too. She had been, for lack of a better word, childified. She was not intellectually disabled, at least as far as all the tests that could be conducted showed. And her motor skills and reflex reactions were that of an adult, and even her reasoning abilities on technical matters were beyond the high-school level, but her vocabulary and her sentence construction and her hobbies were that of a young child.

In particular, she insisted on sleeping in her favorite pajamas decorated with fairies and pixies, and that the ritual included a bedtime reading from one of several children books she lined up on a little shelf by her bed. She was gleefully sucking on a large pacifier, a look of bliss on her beautiful face. In her arms, she cradled her stuffed animal, a rabbit she called Mister Noodle. From the nurses that usually handled the evening shift, Sanderson had heard that Mister Noodle needed to be replaced regularly, for Sherri would often ruin the toy by sliding it underneath her pajamas in the middle of the night while she slept and rubbing it against her crotch, drenching it regularly with her womanly juices.

He was just finishing reading to Sherri—The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe—when Cassandra came in, carrying a plate with three cookies and a glass of milk. Sherri’s eyes widened in pleasure. “Cookies and milk!” she squeaked, and extended her arms, Mister Noodle dropping to the side of the bed forgotten for now.

“Hi Cassandra,” said Sanderson, putting the book down.

“Hey Young Thing. Hi Sherri.” She looked at the former lingerie model on the bed. “You’re looking very nice tonight. I brought you a little treat.”

“Yay!” Sherri practically bounced on the bed, reaching up for the plate.

“Hold on,” Cassandra said, keeping the plate out of reach. She shot a quick glance towards Sanderson, and winked. “You can have your milk and cookie, but only if you’ve been good. Have you been good, Sherri?”

“Y… Yes?” Sherri looked uncertain, and under Cassandra’s stern stare, she blushed and looked down at her hands.

“Sherri, you know you have to be truthful,” Cassandra said. “What did you do?”

“I…” Sherri’s lower lip trembled as she spoke. “My girl parts were feeling all funny today, and I touched them.”

“So you touched your girl parts, did you? Between your legs?”

Sherri nodded.

“And your boobies?”

Sherri nodded again.

“And did you enjoy touching your girl parts and your boobies? Tell the truth, Sherri. Did you make yourself feel all tingly when you touched your girl parts and your boobies?”

Sherri swallowed and nodded again. “Yes…”

Cassandra smiled as her voice took in a rebuking tone. “Well, maybe instead of milk and cookies, we should spank your delightful round little bum. Over and over again until it’s all red and tingly like your girl parts earlier.”

Sherri’s lip trembled even more, and she looked like she was about to cry. “Please, Cass. No spankies tonight. I—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” interjected Sanderson, standing up.

“Oh come on,” replied Cassandra, now grinning widely. “You know as well as I do that the little slut’s getting all wet at the thought of getting her cute little ass spanked.”

“Cassandra, quit it. It’s okay, Sherri. It’s okay.” He leaned over the blonde on the bed, and put his hand on the shoulder. “You’ve been a good girl. You’ll get your cookies. Maybe it’s Cassandra that should get that spanking.”

“Ah!” Cassandra snorted, “I’d like to see you try!” And her eyes and her smile were challenging him, and he could sense in the tension of her body that she would, in fact, have liked to see him try. He sighed.

“Come on, give it up.” He motioned with his hand, and after grabbing two of the cookies, Cassandra put the plate down by Sherri’s bedside table.

While Sherri eat her snack, Cassandra handed a cookie to Sanderson, keeping one for herself.

“What’s that for?” he asked, grabbing the cookie.

“A peace offering.”

He took a bite. “Peanut butter. My favorite.”

“I know,” said Cassandra.

“Mine’s chocolate chip,” chirped Sherri, her mouth full.

Sanderson looked at Cassandra. “I didn’t know we needed a peace offering…”

She shrugged. “Can’t hurt.” She ate her own cookie. “Besides I have been teasing you a bit much lately.”

“Ah! Glad you noticed. Okay, apologies accepted.” Sanderson shook his head, thinking that he would never figure this woman out. Then again, mental patients tended to be unpredictable, something that he had a bad habit of forgetting ever since starting in Blue Ward, where their unpredictability took a different more subtle form than with the schizophrenic patients he was used to.

They finished their cookies—Cassandra’s was also peanut butter. “So how did you know peanut butter cookies were my favorite?” Sanderson asked, taking the empty plate and glass as Sherri lay down in the bed after having recovered Mister Noodle.

“You always get one after lunch at the caf.”

Sanderson eyed her and was about to make a comment about stalking when he noticed that he had no air in his lungs, and that he had no drive to take another lungful. His head swam. His fingers grew numb. He belatedly realized that he had just dropped the plate and the glass on the floor, where they had shattered.

“Well that was dumb,” Cassandra said, and her voice came to Sanderson through a thick blanket that distorted all sounds. He thought he heard Sherri say something, but he could not decipher her words. Then he realized he was on the floor, and he was holding on to the footboard of Sherri’s bed.

Though his vision was rapidly fading, Sanderson could see Cassandra lean down and do something to Sherri. Was she kissing her? he thought, the last coherent thought he could summon, and the internal image of Cassandra making out with the still beautiful former lingerie model sent a frisson of arousal throughout his numb body. He was no longer holding on to the bed; he was sprawled out on the ground, unable to move, unable to think, the whole room spinning faster and faster.

Cassandra was kneeling over him. “Sorry about that, Young Thing. But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you. Over and over and over again.” She leaned down and kissed him, hard, hard enough that even through the numbness of his whole body he felt the sting of her teeth closing on his lower lip and drawing blood before she tongued him deeply, moaning in his mouth. He thought that she ran her hand down to his crotch and grasped and squeezed his cock, but he could not be sure, and he blacked out before he could worry about it.

* * *

The Special was waiting for Sherri in her limousine after the fashion show for La Senza. Not that she knew that he was a Special, of course, or that she knew what made a Special special in the first place. But she would discover soon enough.

She noticed him as soon as the driver closed the door after letting her in. He was sitting on the seat in front of her, in jeans and a tee shirt bearing a Rolling Stones logo. His hair was long, and he had a grin on his face. He looked old enough to be her father.

“Who… who are you?” she asked, in her mind running through the possibilities of what she could do. On cue, the doors locked around her.

“I’m Graeme,” he said. His voice was thin, and too loud for the space. “And you are Sherri Lowerwood.” He paused. “You’re hot.”

“T… Thank you.” Her cell phone was in her purse, which was on the seat next to her. There was no way for her to reach it easily.

Graeme was staring at her, and she could see his eyes were crazed. Was he high on something? He did not look like he had a weapon. She had nothing. And the doors were locked. Perhaps she could reach the button that could be used to call up the driver.

As if guessing what she was thinking, Graeme shook his head. “Don’t bother with the driver,” he said. “She’s mine now. Mighty considerate of you to hire a female driver. Made things much simpler.”

She’s mine? What did he mean?

“Look, Graeme, if you want my autograph—”

“Oh I want more than your autograph, Miss Lowerwood. Much more than your autograph. I’ve had my eyes on you for a long time now. You’re hot.” His eyes traveled up and down her body, and Sherri was thankful for the long jacket she had decided to wear.

“I’ve had this fantasy for a long time,” he told her, sliding on his seat to sit directly in front of her, “and you’re going to help me with it.” He reached into a plastic bag beside him and pulled out what looked like a large pacifier.

“Graeme, I don’t—”

“This won’t hurt a bit,” he said, and he reached for her hand.

She was not fast enough to pull her hand back, and she felt the tingle and then the warmth travel up her arm from her hand where his fingers touched her skin. The warmth spread throughout her body and reached her head and it spun and it was as if a cloud had descended upon her. Her mind blanked.

Graeme was talking. She could not hear the words he was saying, but the temperature in her arm, in her bones, in her head, fluctuated with the cadence of his words, of his sentences. She saw images in her head, dancing before her eyes, merging with everything around her. Images of childhood, of favorites toys, of favorites books.

She did not resist when Graeme told her to strip out of her clothes. He was disappointed that her underwear was white and functional, especially considering she was a lingerie model, and he decided that would be one of the first things he would correct when the driver brought them to Sherri’s place. He was sure that she had something sexy that he could have her wear. And then he would play with her.

Sherri, the pacifier in her mouth making her happy, spent the rest of the trip running her hands all over what she was now calling her girl parts, enjoying the pleasure she was feeling, while Graeme tickled her boobies and suckled on them, making her giggle and making her girl parts feel funny and all tingly. When she told Graeme, he responded that he knew exactly how to take care of that tingling.

Which he did, once they got to her place, and Graeme found the perfect negligee for her to wear, one that emphasized all the assets that had made her a successful lingerie model. He even found something suitable for the driver to wear.

For Graeme had invited the driver along.

Sherri was glad. She and the driver would have a play date.

* * *

Sanderson did not snap awake at once—his senses came back to him one after the other.

First, sounds: there was disco music playing, and from the shape of the sound, it was coming from outside whatever room he was in. He could also hear people from the same direction. Then, sensations: he was sitting in a what felt like an armchair, and a comfortable one at that; his arms were laid out on padded armrests. Then smells: he smelled cologne, faintly sweet, and he recognized it immediately as Gutierrez’s. It was strong—wherever he was, it was poorly ventilated. His vision came back last: darkness gave way to subdued lighting, and he was staring out of a large bay window into a larger room filled with maybe two dozen people milling around and talking to each other over the music.

What had happened to him? His memory was fuzzy, and his head was still spinning slightly, but he vaguely remembered Sherri, then Cassandra, and a cookie—the cookie. Cassandra. She must have drugged him.

He found himself, as he had guessed, sitting upright in a chair, his head leaning back against a head rest. He was in a small dark room, with a large window giving on a much larger darkened room whose real size was obscured by thick red curtains lining its walls and a thick carpet. There were a dozen chairs and couches, arranged in a rough arc around a wooden floor area on one side of the room that was so brightly lit up it hurt Sanderson’s still sensitive eyes. People were slowly making their ways to the seats, talking among each other, expectant looks on their faces.

The first thought that came to Sanderson’s mind, in his befuddled state, was that of a Roman theater, of the kind described in a documentary he had seen a few days earlier—it was a few days earlier, wasn’t it?—on open air theaters in the Roman world, attended by the well-heeled upper crust of Roman society.

The people in the room ahead of him did not feel like particularly well-heeled. Sanderson, trying to make sense of it all, slowly looked the room, letting his eyes get accustomed to the lower light, trying to understand what he was seeing. Most of the people were men, some accompanied by women, and as far as he could tell they were all Latino. They were well dressed, the men in tuxedos and the women in evening dresses, and while their clothes and their hairstyles suggested that they regularly attended country clubs, their careful demeanor and the way they looked uncomfortable in their clothes screamed that they did not dress up in such a way often. What was going on? Some of the men pointed to the wooden floor area—the stage—and stared with interested looks.

Fighting hard to concentrate, his mouth pasty, Sanderson blinked towards the stage, which was lit up by two tall white spotlights that provided the only light in the room. On a mattress, one of the Blue Ward patients, a curvy blonde he did not know well for she spent her days mostly sedated, was naked and masturbating feverishly with what looked like an oversized dildo, one of her hands rubbing her clitoris with jerky movements, while the other pushed the dildo in and out of her pussy with hard thrusts, her hips rising from the mattress with each press of the hard rubber cock. The girl was moaning loudly, clearly about to reach climax, seemingly oblivious to the crowd of interested witnesses to her performance.

The sight of the woman pleasuring herself like that shook Sanderson, and a wave of lust coursed through his body, making his head spin even more than it already had. He was horny, he realized, much to his dismay—incredibly horny. His cock was rock hard in his pants, and he wanted nothing else but to stroke it, reduce the pressure that he was feeling in his groin. His mouth watered. This did not feel right. He felt his heart beating fast in his chest, and he felt warm all over, like he was running a fever.

He tried to move, and the attempt made his head swim. He took a few deep breaths.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. Sorry for knocking you out. Figured it was the easiest way to get this going. Here, have some water. You must be dry.”

Out of context, and out of the drugging, it took Sanderson a few seconds to recognize Gutierrez’s voice. The man was standing to his right. A bottle of water with a straw through it materialized in front of Sanderson’s eyes, and even though he was thirsty he looked at it suspiciously.

Gutierrez guffawed. “Don’t worry. It’s safe. Look, I don’t wanna hurt you. The drug was just to get you here with no fuss. You know what they say: better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Beside, you’ll enjoy this.”

Sanderson drank, and the water felt amazing. Gutierrez kept talking. “This, my friend, is your initiation. Your official welcome to the Gallery. We wanted to throw you a party, but this is much better. The drug should clear out pretty quick, and you’ll be as good as new. Better, in fact—I gave you a little extra something that should make you enjoy the evening even more. Free of charge, of course. Nothing but the best for my main man Sanderson.” Gutierrez slapped a hand on Sanderson’s shoulder. “Now just sit back. Enjoy the show.”

On the stage, the girl was climaxing, loudly, almost theatrically, even though Sanderson suspected it was genuine. His head clearing slowly, he looked around at the spectators, who were now applauding the performance, while the girl was guided off the stage by a masked attendant in a long robe.

He looked around the room, watching the audience talk among themselves, some of the couples kissing, some of the accompanied men openly fondling the breasts of their companions.

Sitting in one corner of the large room, by herself, Sanderson saw Doctor Agnieska, a drink in hand, her face stony. She kept her gaze on the stage, and her body language suggested that she did not want to be disturbed.

Gutierrez followed Sanderson’s eyes, and nodded. ”Yeah, we got our doctor here just in case something goes wrong. Wouldn’t want bad stuff to happen to our girls, would we?”

Gutierrez rubbed his hands together, and slapped Sanderson’s shoulder again. “Well, I gotta go and get some stuff ready, but really, enjoy the show. I arranged a little something for you to make it even better later.”

He opened a door in the back of the booth that housed them, and a thin woman with dark red hair and a perfect body sheathed in a skin-tight little black dress walked up entered. Gutierrez wrapped one arm around her waist—she was taller than he was with her stiletto heels—and he whispered something in her ear.

Sanderson recognized her immediately, even though she was not wearing her usual Blue Ward patient gear. Allison, the patient Cassandra had mentioned earlier that evening, who had had a crisis at lunch. But this was an Allison like he had never seen her before, perfectly made up and with her hair up in a messy bun, decked as though she was going clubbing.

Sanderson merely stared at her, lust washing over him like never before, and he barely noticed Gutierrez leaving. Allison took a few steps towards him and without a word fell to her knees between his legs.

“Allison?…”

Without looking up, Allison deftly undid his belt and pulled down his pants, and Sanderson wanted to say something, resist, but both her enthusiasm and the ravenous lust that he was starting to realize had to be caused by something Gutierrez had given him—what was it? Ecstasy?—gave him just enough pause that Allison could free his cock, and at that point he was lost.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes shimmering in the dim light, and she smiled at him. “Hi there,” she said. She ran her tongue on her bottom lip. “I’m thirsty.” She smiled, her meaning clear.

He felt a stab of guilt. “Allison, you—”

“I want to taste you,” she said, running her hand over his hardening cock. “I want to feel you grow hard in my mouth. I want to suck you. I want to suck you until you spray your cum inside of me. I want your cum. All of it. Down my throat.” Her eyes were intense, like she was not completely there, like she was seeing something beyond him.

Before he could respond, she slid her full red lips over the head of his shaft and engulfed it with her warm mouth. Sanderson groaned at the feeling, and sank into his chair. Allison moaned deeply, her eyes rolling back into her head as though she was in the throes of rapture.

And such was the start of a slow lingering blow job the likes of which Sanderson had never received. Allison bobbed her head in his lap, taking him deep on every stroke, smoothly, as if she was sucking syrup through a straw, but in a slow rhythm, sucking hard on the way out, and twirling her tongue around the head and then the shaft on the way in. She looked ecstatic.

Sanderson could see, when she would look up at him as she sank her red lips over his hard shaft up and down like a well oiled engine, that her eyes were clouded over with need and shining with the promise of release and satisfaction, and he suddenly realized with a shock that she was not under the influence of the drugs that kept her addiction at bay, and that the woman that was kneeling between his legs sucking him off expertly with the easy practice of a porn star was in full thrall of her sexual addiction.

On the stage area of the large room that he could see through the bay window, two figures had appeared, greeted by cheers from the small audience. Sanderson tore his gaze away from Allison’s gently bobbing head and looked up.

Barely over the surprise of Allison’s actions and the extraordinary feeling she was causing—how long had it been since he had felt a woman’s kiss on him, let alone on his cock?—his eyes widened when he saw the couple that strutted on the makeshift stage area.

Sanderson did not know where to look first, as oohs and aahs where whispered around him from the people sitting in the audience.

His eyes were first drawn to Cassandra, clad in what looked like a tight leather corset that bared and pushed out a pair of generous breasts and dark fishnet stockings gartered to the corset along with a pair of thigh-high stiletto boots. Her dark makeup contrasted with her pale skin, and she harbored a superior smile that broadcasted both her superiority and her disdain towards the audience. She strutted, head high, her gait making her breasts bounce, her ass swinging back and forth, exaggeratedly. Sanderson confirmed that Cassandra’s body was superb, as she had often intimated. Cassandra looked, and there Sanderson’s specific knowledge helped, like she could dish out some damage, and take it just as well.

Cassandra let her eyes wander over the assembly, a smirk on her face, proud breasts with their rouged nipples thrust out, and her eyes met Sanderson’s through the window of his booth and her smile turned rapacious. She winked, an exaggerated wink that sent a few heads looking back his way. Cassandra’s eyes dropped down, as if she could see Allison kneeling at Sanderson’s feet despite the wall underneath the window hiding Allison’s body, and her smile turned almost disdainful. She knows, thought Sanderson, and that Cassandra knew that he was sitting there getting the best blow job of his life from a beautiful redhead made the situation even more surreal than it already was.

Looking down, Cassandra jerked on the chain leash she was holding aloof with a hand. Sanderson’s eyes followed that chain leash down to the thin naked girl crawling on all four at Cassandra’s feet, her skin oiled to a shine, her body shaved bare but for her short hair. Mouse. Of course, he thought.

Allison picked that moment to increase her suction, her lips and tongue working harder, and she pushed her head further down, taking Sanderson’s whole cock into her mouth and down her throat with absolutely no problem, her eyes closed, an expression of profound pleasure even then on her face—she was still not sucking fast enough to bring him release though, and in fact seemed to be doing something, exactly what Sanderson could not imagine, to keep him on edge. Half of Sanderson’s mind tried to imagine how many blow jobs the former hacker had to have given to gain such expertise, while the other half continued taking in the scene in front of him.

Cassandra had jerked on Mouse’s leash, and forced the poor girl to rise to her knees and face up to the audience, though still keeping her head down. Another jerk on the leash—which Cassandra clearly relished if her smile and the gleeful glances she shot in Sanderson’s direction were any indication—and Mouse raised her arms put her hands atop her short hair with her elbows wide apart, the movement forcing her small perky breasts to rise up as well. Mouse spread her knees and tilted her head upwards. She kept her eyes closed. There was the slightest trembling of her lips, which she licked at random intervals.

Sanderson could see when he ran his eyes over the audience that everyone was keenly interesting in the happenings on the stage area—everyone but Allison, who was still lost in a world of her own, sucking leisurely on his cock with a low hum of pleasure and an odd slurping sound that she seemed to enjoy injecting into the proceedings. She had worked a hand between her legs, underneath her short dress, and was caressing herself.

In the back, near Doctor Agnieska, Sanderson spotted Gutierrez, who kept his gaze directed at both Cassandra and Mouse, and his eyes did not reflect arousal but calculation. To Sanderson, he seemed to be evaluating the events before him, reminding Sanderson of a friend of his that used to organize music gigs at local bars in Indiana and who bore a similar expression during shows.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cassandra intoned, as if she were addressing a congress of cockroaches she was about to stamp underfoot. “I’m going to fuck my little pet here in front of all of you shortly. The little walking cunt is probably dripping wet already, and I’d like a volunteer from the audience to confirm. The little slut will of course do her best to compensate them for their trouble.”

Sanderson saw a murmur ripple through the small audience at her words, tossed out both as a way to humiliate Mouse—who blushed at Cassandra’s announcement, and dipped her head down for a second before a jerk on the leash forced her head back up straight—and also as a challenge to everyone watching them.

Cassandra’s eyes strayed back to Sanderson and again dropped down to the redhead blowing him, and Sanderson realized that Cassandra could see the top of Allison’s head bobbing up and down. Unbidden, his overwhelmed mind started imagining Cassandra making out with Allison, beautiful bodies rubbing against each others, and he closed his eyes and the bodies merged and became Jennie, and then became Beatrice, and then Felicity, his lost girlfriend. Allison moaned as his cock grew harder, and picked up her pace, using her saliva to lubricate his shaft on every third or fourth stroke, increasing his pleasure but still managing to avoid making him come through some magic of her fingers on his balls.

A hand had gone up near the front of the make-shift stage, and Cassandra looked in that direction and smiled. It was an older woman in an elegant long dress. Cassandra jerked on the leash hard, and Mouse jumped. “Looks like we have a volunteer, my little cunt licker. You know what to do. Make me proud.”

Mouse went down on all four and slowly crawled towards the woman who brought her arm back down. The man next to her, an older man, appeared excited by the prospect, and whispered something to the woman to which she responded abruptly by dismissing him with a flick of the wrist.

Mouse crawled her way to the woman, her leash lengthening but still held by Cassandra, crawling with her naked ass as high as possible without losing her balance. Her head was down. When she reached the woman, she raised herself on her knees once again, her eyes closed, her head high, her chest thrust out. The woman looked at Mouse with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. Mouse remained like that, silent, until Cassandra, running out of patience, jerked on the chain once, making Mouse jump and shiver.

“Please…” Her voice was low, barely audible, and only her lips moving gave any indication that she spoke.

The woman cast a glance at Cassandra, who merely raised her eyebrows in response.

“Please what… slave?” The woman hesitated but for a moment over that last word, rolling it around on her tongue, tasting it, relishing it and its effect on the lithe woman at her feet.

“Please… check this… this slave’s cunt—”

“Speak up, slave. I think everyone here is curious and wants to hear what you have to say.”

Mouse shivered, and cleared her throat before speaking up. “Please, Mistress… Please check this slave’s cunt to see if it’s wet enough.”

“Open your eyes, my pretty little slave.” The woman’s voice had acquired more assurance, much to Cassandra’s delight, who now directed her gaze to Sanderson and watched him get serviced by Allison. Sanderson could imagine exactly what she might tell him were she right there with him. See what I can make this little slut do? You want her, Young Thing? I can give her to you. You can fuck her—any way you want. You just have to crawl to me and beg for it. “You want to check that your cunt is wet enough for what?” continued the woman.

Mouse took a moment to open her eyes, and with difficulty looked into the face of the now smirking woman, whose fingers had started toying with one of her nipples through her dress, to the surprise and delight of her companion.

“Please check that this slave’s cunt is wet enough to get fucked,” said Mouse.

“And what do I get for performing such a task?”

Mouse swallowed, looked down for a second and looked right back up before Cassandra found occasion to jerk on her leash again. Mouse knew her place, knew her role, knew what was expected of her.

“This slave is at your service, Mistress. For everything… anything you want. Please use this slave as you see fit.”

The woman gave Mouse a lazy look, then bid her approach with a gesture. Mouse did so, on her knees.

When she was close, the woman lifted a hand, and stared at it a long while, right in front of Mouse’s face, letting the kneeling woman apprehend what she was about to do.

Slowly, she extended her hand, palm up, fingers outstretched, and slid it between Mouse’s legs, cupping her pussy. She pressed it upward, and ran her fingers through the slit. Mouse fought hard to suppress a moan, and her face clenched.

The deed done, the woman lifted her hand back again to Mouse’s face, rubbing her fingers together. “You are dripping wet, slave. See?” She wiped her hand and fingers on Mouse’s face, who turned crimson.

“You like this, don’t you?” continued the woman, squirming slightly in her seat. “You like being exposed in front of people and have them run their fingers through your wet cunt? You’re a sick freak—just a slutty sick freak. Here, clean me—“

She thrust two fingers between Mouse’s lips, and the kneeling woman did not pull away but accepted the damp digits and sucked them clean.

The woman’s companion leaned over to whisper something in her ear, to which the woman responded with a sly smile.

Pulling back her fingers, she wiggled her tight dress up her long legs before spreading them and slinking down in her seat. “Show me how grateful you are, slave.”

Mouse responded by moving between the woman’s nylon-clad legs and bending at the waist, her hands on the ground. Her face inches away from the woman’s pussy, she slowly licked up and down the rapidly engorging slit.

The woman gasped and ran her hands through Mouse’s short hair, and the woman’s companion leaned down to get a better view of the action after sliding an arm around her shoulder and gently grasping one of her breasts. Cassandra smiled broadly and her eyes went back to Sanderson and she winked lewdly in his direction.

The woman’s companion gave Cassandra a look, and the leather-clad dominatrix seemed to understand him without difficulty because she nodded once. The man left his seat and knelt beside Mouse, still busy between the legs of the woman. He looked at the thin ass before him, and ran a hand over it. After another glance at Cassandra, he raised a hand and gave it a slap. Mouse yelped but it was soon muffled by the woman grabbing her head and smothering her face down into her crotch.

Cassandra smiled thinly as the man proceeded to spank the poor Mouse, and none too gently at that, the sounds of his hand slapping her buttocks resounding in the general silence of the room. Cassandra had sneaked a hand into her panties and was caressing herself watching Mouse eating out the woman and getting spanked by the woman’s companion under the riveted gaze of complete strangers.

Allison, amazingly enough, was bobbing her head over Sanderson’s cock in time with the slaps of the man, her mouth sucking powerfully, her saliva dribbling down his shaft, pooling beneath him, and soaking his seat. “God, Allison,” he grunted, wanting the woman at his feet to finish him off.

As the woman in the front row was starting to groan loudly from Mouse’s ministrations, approaching her climax, Allison looked up to Sanderson, her bright blue eyes twinkling with the tears pooling at the edges of her eyelids. She slurped out his cock, catching her breath. “I want you to come in my mouth.” She spat on his cock, and stroked it roughly a few times before swallowing him once more all the way down.

On the stage, the woman’s companion had switched from spanking Mouse to fucking her with his fingers, thrusting in and out of her pussy with gusto, while the poor Mouse moaned into the crotch of the woman whose own moans competed for attention. The woman’s head was thrown back, her hands guiding Mouse’s head between her thighs. When the woman came, it was with high-pitched low whimpers, her body tensing up, her hands clenching in Mouse’s short hair and pressing the waif’s head harder into her crotch, and rubbing it furiously up and down.

As if on cue, Allison rhythm picked up, and she released whatever hold she had on Sanderson for it took but ten seconds for his hips to start jerking and upon a particularly deep thrust by the redhead he exploded deep into her mouth and so voluminously that he forced her to swallow rapidly in order not to choke.

As he collapsed back into the armchair, Allison hummed happily as she sucked and then licked the remnants of his offering, and outside the small audience applauded Mouse’s performance. Cassandra jerked on the kneeling woman’s leash to make her crawl back to her. The man who had fingered Mouse took his seat back next to the woman and held her as she recovered from her orgasm—she still trembled intermittently.

“You did well, my little cunt-licking slut,” Cassandra said, running her hands through Mouse’s hair, and then slapped her hard on the ass. “I guess it’s now time for your reward.” She straightened up, and looked at the audience. “I’ll need another volunteer for this next part,” she announced.

More hands went up this time, and Cassandra looked them all over. “Let’s go with a dick this time.” She pointed to a man in the second row. “You. Come here.”

The man, short and stout, with a broad smile to his friends, made his way to the stage. Mouse remained motionless on her knees, chest offered, eyes closed, while Cassandra walked over to a small table in the back of the stage. She returned holding a wide strap-on dildo, flesh-colored. The man stopped in his tracks and looked suddenly nervous. There were a few laughs from the audience.

Cassandra smiled almost malevolently. “Don’t worry,” she told the man, “this is not for you. Unless…?” She looked at the man, leaving her question in suspense.

“No… not at all,” came the response, which elicited more chuckles from the audience. The man had taken a step back, and Cassandra’s smile had a tinge of disgust to it.

“Pity,” she said, shrugging, and then adjusted the strap-on around her waist. “I want you to grab the little cunt and lay her down and keep her there while I open her up—“ and she grasped the large rubber cock that was dangling incongruously between her legs. “She tends to struggle like a fish on a hook when Tiny here plows into her. And if you happen to cop a feel or two while you hold her down, well, I’m sure the filthy slut won’t mind. Will you, slave? Are you going to let the nice man do whatever the hell he wants to you while he helps you get fucked like the horny cunt you are?”

“Yes, mistress,” came the reply, low, hesitant.

“Thank the man, my pretty little rug muncher.”

Mouse reddened again, but turned her head towards the man and did not raise her eyes. “Thank you, sir, for helping this slave get… fucked the way she deserves. Please enjoy yourself however you see fit.” She trembled violently as she said that, and her hips twitched.

“I think I will,” replied the man, after a glance at Cassandra, who merely looked at him as if he was a bug to be swatted. The man did not seem to notice, his eyes unceremoniously jumping from Cassandra’s generous chest bared by her leather corset, and Mouse’s petite naked oiled body.

“Get down and offer yourself to me, my little walking fuck hole,” Cassandra said. “And ask the nice man to hold your legs the way I like them to be when I pound your drooling cunt.”

Mouse lay down on a small platform which cleared the ground by half a foot near the side of the stage under the watchful eyes of the audience and of the man, her legs towards Cassandra. Cassandra kept her own eyes on the man, a smirk upturning one corner of her lips.

“Please, sir,” came Mouse’s low voice. “Please hold this slave’s legs up over her head and spread them real wide.”

The man grinned and walked up to the supine girl, and stopped, wondering exactly where to position himself.

Cassandra shook her head, clearly holding back a biting retort. “Stand at her head,” she told the hesitant man. “Legs either side of her. Don’t worry if your dick slaps over her face—the little cock gagger likes that sort of thing.”

The man did as he was told, and took hold of the legs Mouse had helpfully raised. He pulled them back towards him.

Cassandra watched for a moment, then walked over the table in the back, and picked up a short thin cane. She swung it a few times, clearly relishing the whistling sound it made as it cut through the air. Satisfied, she walked back toward Mouse, and kneeled between the waif’s now spread legs right before her exposed pussy, shaved bare and glistening in the spotlights. “Push them down,” she told the man. “You won’t hurt her. And if you do, the little slut will just enjoy it even more. I mean, look at that thing,” and she ran her hand roughly through Mouse’s pussy lips, making her groan, then raised it up to the man’s face to show him how wet it was. Shaking his head, a smile on his face, he pushed down on Mouse’s legs, bringing her knees almost in contact with the platform on either side of her head, and forcing her ass off the platform.

“That’s it,” Cassandra said, and without any other hint she thrust her rubber cock in Mouse’s proffered pussy, grabbing the girl’s thighs for leverage, and pushing hard.

Mouse screamed under the assault, and the man let out an exclamation of surprise at the suddenness of the attack and its roughness, as Cassandra starting sawing in and out of Mouse with strong thrusts. Cassandra’s ass, exposed by her corset, could be seen clenching under the strain.

Mouse screamed louder, although whether in pain or pleasure was impossible to tell.

“Tell you what,” Cassandra said to the man who was having some difficulty maintaining his hold on Mouse’s legs under the assault of the dominant brunette. “How about you quiet down that whiny tight cunt and plant your ass over her face? Ever been rimmed? You haven’t lived till you’ve felt a hungry tongue shoved deep into your ass. Go on,” she said, in response to the man’s hesitation. “Betcha anything it’ll make the little slut come like nothing else—isn’t that right, my little ass-licking cunt?” She slapped Mouse’s thigh.

Mouse shivered violently, but said nothing. And Cassandra grinned as the man slipped off his pants and slowly took position over the bucking body of the diminutive woman underneath him. He lowered himself over Mouse’s face, his legs straining to hold the position, and Mouse must have run her tongue as Cassandra had ordered because the man groaned a surprised “Oh fuck!” and closed his eyes and seemed to squat further down, gently rocking his hips back and forth, his shaft coming to life slowly.

Cassandra smiled, picking up the pace of her fucking, posing as male porn stars do as they fuck, one hand on their ass, showing off their body while at the same time providing an unimpeded visual of the penetration of cock slamming hard into a juicy pussy. Once in a while, she would reach down with a hand and tweak or pinch Mouse’s clitoris, making the tiny woman scream, the noise muffled by the man’s ass cheeks smothering her.

The man, getting into the action, once in a while would reach down as well to squeeze Mouse’s small breasts, pawing them frenetically as his hips bucked back and forth. His eyes kept shifting between Mouse’s pussy being penetrated by the rubber shaft and the generous breasts of Cassandra, which swayed enticingly right before him.

Cassandra must have known exactly what to expect, because as soon as the man leaned forward and extended a hand to reach for her chest, fingers splayed wide with the intent to grasp a mammary full-palmed, Cassandra lashed out like lightning and whipped the offending hand with her short cane before it could get close to her. The cane whistled, and the man’s shout of pain brought a grin to her lips that she transformed quickly into a disapproving frown.

“None of that,” she said. “You keep your place, boy, or I’ll beat you until your dick starts spurting blood instead of cum. Just enjoy the little cunt and keep your grubby hands to yourself.”

Her frown turned into a sneer as the man leaned back, chastised, rubbing his stinging hand.

Mouse kept licking the man’s asshole during the whole scene, driving in her tongue as far as it would go, and started jacking his hardened dick with her small hand at Cassandra’s command.

Behind Cassandra, a dark figure emerged from the curtain wrapping the back of the stage. A man, tall, large, wearing black leather chaps and a leather vest, walked with calm and confidence towards the brunette fucking Mouse, his large cock hard and bobbing obscenely before him. Rasmussen, thought Sanderson, instantly recognizing the large Dane nurse, despite the mask he was wearing.

Cassandra was thrusting in and out between Mouse’s legs, driving the rubber shaft deep inside the submissive. The man squatting over her face had his eyes closed and his head back, his thighs shaking with the strain of holding himself up with his ass over Mouse’s mouth. He was breathing hard.

Rasmussen walked up behind Cassandra, in no hurry, flexing his muscles. He lined up silently behind the dark-haired leather-clad woman who was too busy fucking Mouse to pay much attention. And she jumped when Rasmussen put his large hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward. “What the—“ she exclaimed, and her head snapped around up to see who had dared put a hand on her but Rasmussen, silent and impassive, pushed her head down.

Cassandra reflexively lashed out behind her with her short cane, the thin wooden reed whistling in the air once more, but Rasmussen was quicker and enfolded her wrist with his free hand, wrestling the cane away from her and in the same movement swinging it hard to raise a welt on Cassandra’s exposed ass cheek.

“Fuck! You piece of fucking—Ow!” She could not finish her diatribe as Rasmussen grabbed her long hair and pulled her head back sharply while he gave two more swings of the cane on her ass and thighs, making the brunette scream. Mouse seemed unperturbed by the action, her face still pressed deep into the ass of the man squatting over her—who himself stared almost bug-eyed as Rasmussen whipped and slapped the dominant woman he was about to fuck.

Rasmussen threw the cane to one side of the stage where it hit the curtain and clattered to the ground. His hand free, he used it to give open-palmed slaps to Cassandra’s ass and her thigh whenever she tried to say something, the slaps coming rapidly, resounding in the now silent air the room—and they were not gentle slaps either, but Cassandra looked more angry than hurt, and she kept attempting to shake herself free, the movement transmitting herself to Mouse, for the thick rubber cock was still deeply embedded in the thin woman’s pussy.

“You piece of shit!” screamed Cassandra despite Rasmussen’s slaps. “I’m gonna kick your ass, chop off your cock and feed it to—Ow!”

Rasmussen had reached down and ripped off her diminutive thong, tossing it out into the audience. His cock pressing against her ass, he reached around to grasp one of Cassandra’s breasts, eliciting a shout of outrage from the brunette. “What the fuck do you think—”

Rasmussen squeezed hard, his grip on her hair never letting go, and he pulled Cassandra’s head backward further, forcing her to arch her back. Before she could catch her breath, he gave two rapid slaps to her upturned breasts, before reaching for his cock and lining it up behind Cassandra.

“Don’t you fucking dare—” Cassandra growled, practically baring her teeth, trying to turn her head to bite Rasmussen.

With one mighty shove Rasmussen pushed inside of her, still holding on to her hair, and Cassandra’s mouth opening in a silent scream, her eyes opening wide, her body seizing. Her pelvis pressed forward to push the rubber cock deeper into Mouse, who groaned into the ass of the man squatting over her face.

Letting go of Cassandra’s hair, Rasmussen, still silent, pushed her forward and grabbed hold of her hips with his large hands and used them as handles to fuck the brunette with deep thrusts that had the dominant woman whimpering, his fucking translating into the fucking of Mouse at the receiving end of this chain of assaults.

Cassandra was no longer protesting, keeping her eyes closed, her head down, resting her hands on the shoulders of the man in front of her. He was staring at her with wide-eyed fascination, at her face, at her breasts swaying just within reach.

The man reached with a hand towards a breast once more, and as he touched it, Cassandra reared up and made to slap him once again but Rasmussen grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up as he had before and slapped her twice, hard, on the breasts and whispered something in her ear before pushing her back down and continuing his relentless pounding that sent shivers in the two bodies before him.

Cassandra, her eyes open, looking straight into those of the man before her, challenging, offered her chest to his groping, and the man, after a hesitation and looking at Rasmussen over Cassandra’s shoulder and being encouraged by the large Dane’s slow nod, reached once more for Cassandra’s breasts and palmed them gently, his hands caressing them from the underside to the sides to the front in a circular motion, pressing on the hardened nipples with his thumbs.

Rasmussen slapped Cassandra’s ass again—Sanderson could see that cheek turning red in the white glow of the spotlight—and Cassandra groaned once and then leaned over and kissed the man groping her, much to his surprise. The kiss was harsh, aggressive, and Cassandra must have bitten the man for he shouted and pulled his head back, blood on his lips. Cassandra grinned, and flicked her tongue at him, and he looked hesitant, one hand still kneading one of her breasts. His cock was hard, his balls resting on Mouse’s face, whose tongue still worked hard as per Cassandra’s orders, her legs still spread, her pussy still sanded raw by the large rubber dildo strapped to Cassandra.

Rasmussen fucked Cassandra mercilessly, his hard cock driving into her with the regularity and power of a machine. Cassandra had given up any kind of fight, and was moaning with pleasure as she thrust her ass back against him, meeting every thrust head on.

She did not even protest when Rasmussen, after a glance at the man in front of him, pushed her head down towards the man’s cock, and she greedily slurped the shaft into her mouth, blowing him with skill and enthusiasm as she tried to maintain her balance while being pummeled from behind. Mouse was mostly forgotten in the process.

The man that Cassandra sucked came first. With a shout and a tremor that made him lose his balance and nearly smothered Mouse underneath him, he exploded all over Cassandra’s face, who jacked him off as he spurted abundantly, his cum landing on her forehead, her nose, her lips. Drained, he staggered backwards, and nearly tripped on the edge of the platform on which Mouse lay. He was soon forgotten, as Rasmussen pushed Cassandra down further and she bent all the way to share a deep kiss with Mouse.

When Rasmussen was ready to explode himself—a good ten minutes later, during which Mouse had dutifully licked off all the sperm that the man had spurted all over Cassandra’s face—he pushed Cassandra to the ground and stroked his cock over her face, and Cassandra obediently opened her mouth and thrust out her tongue and waiting for Rasmussen to explode all over her, which he did.

Once more, Mouse cleaned her up slowly, with her tongue, while Rasmussen watched them. He quietly walked off the stage to the applause of the audience. Mouse and Cassandra followed, crawling on all four behind the large man.

During all of this, Allison had kept licking and sucking on Sanderson’s cock, reviving his erection and alternating between sucking him to the edge and gently letting him calm down before sucking hard again. She played him like a virtuoso an instrument. His eyes were closed, and he was entirely lost in the sensations coming from his groin, his head still spinning from whatever it was that Gutierrez had given him.

“Well, someone looks happy.” Cassandra’s voice rang out from above him, and Sanderson jumped and looked up.

She still had on her leather corset, her breasts bearing the marks from Rasmussen’s fingers, her hair sticking to her forehead. She smelled of sweat and sex. She was looking from Sanderson to Allison and back, an unreadable expression on her face.

He looked around, and most of the people sitting in the chairs and couches around the large room were gone. One man was on a couch kissing a patient that he was called Fergie, like the singer, a stunning mulatto with bronze skin and a curvy body and a tendency to talk dirty at the most inappropriate moments and to perform the vilest acts at the drop of a hat.

Cassandra followed Sanderson’s gaze, and grinned. “Yeah, Fergie’s gonna get royally fucked tonight. Her and many of the girls. It’s gonna be glorious. But I see that you already know a bit about glory.” She looked down at Allison.

Allison was stroking Sanderson’s cock, nibbling at it with her teeth, kissing it, licking it, her head against his thigh, one hand between her long legs, lazily fingering herself. She seemed to completely ignore Cassandra.

With a grin, the dominant brunette went down on one knee before Sanderson, grabbed Allison by the hair, and turned her head toward her. Before Allison could protest, Cassandra kissed her, sending her tongue into her mouth and tasted Sanderson on her lips.

“You cum-guzzling slut,” laughed Cassandra. “You made him come, didn’t you?”

Allison shrugged. “I wanted his cum. I was so thirsty. Still am. I want to drink his cum again—can I? Please?”

Cassandra shook her head, and pulled Allison up. “Come on, my pretty little cock sucker. You’ve got a man waiting for you. And he’s got loads of cum to give you.”

Allison’s eyes lit up. “Really? He’s got cum for me?”

“Loads and loads, baby. Just go in the back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Cassandra watched her go, shaking her head, and turned to Sanderson, who was struggling to pull up his pants. “She suck you good, Young Thing? She’s amazing, ain’t she? Best mouth in the business. And she can eat pussy, too, believe me.”

She helped Sanderson up. He was still horny, and the presence of Cassandra, half naked, stinking of sex, did not help him think straight. He wanted her. He wanted anyone.

“Come on, Young Thing. Slimy has a surprise waiting for you.”

“Slimy?”

“Gutierrez. Come on.”

They exited the booth, and the larger room gave Sanderson vertigo. Cassandra had to keep him from falling down.

“I’m good. I’m good,” he said. “Just… It’s getting better.”

Rasmussen walked on the empty stage, and headed toward them. Cassandra looked at him with undisguised lust in her eyes. Rasmussen remained stoic, as was his habit. He nodded to Sanderson, then addressed Cassandra. “A man reserved your next available slot, in ten minutes.”

“You?” she asked, hopeful.

Rasmussen shook his head. “The man from earlier. From the stage.”

Cassandra looked at him for a second to see if he was serious, then laughed out loud. “Him? Ah! I’m going to destroy him! You sure?”

“Positive. He asked for you by name.”

“Well, that should prove a lot of fun. At least, for me.” The way she said it made Sanderson nervous. Her grin was almost feral by that point. And he saw that her nipples had gotten hard, and he swore he could smell her arousal, which was not helping his self-control.

“I need to bring this Young Thing here to his surprise,” she told Rasmussen, “then I’ll go meet that little pussy that thinks he can fuck me without earning it.”

Rasmussen nodded. “Virgo room.” He nodded at Sanderson again before leaving.

“Come on,” said Cassandra. “Follow me. Did you like the show?”

“It was…” Sanderson did not know how to complete the sentence.

“Hot as hell, I know. I love it when Ras jumps in and takes me. He’s so… hmmm.” She shivered under the recollection, and ran a hand over her breasts, squeezing them.

“Cassandra,” he said, following her out of the large room and down a hallway. Where the hell are we? he wondered. “What’s going on?” He tried hard not to stare at her ass, exposed by the leather corset she was still wearing.

“Didn’t Slimy tell you? It’s your initiation, Young Thing.”

“No—well, yes, he did tell me. But what’s this? The show? You? Lillian? The other girls? Doctor Agnieska?”

“Slimy’s going to explain it all to you later. But long story short, it’s a little thing we put on every month or so—Slimy invites a bunch of his friends and friends of friends, and he offers them the chance to spend some time with our most… adventurous girls on the Ward.”

“Spend some time…?”

“Come on, Young Thing. You’re not that much of a prude, are you? These girls are wired for sex. It’s what they need, what they live for. Slimy found a way to make a bit of money while at the same time giving these girls an outlet for their cravings. Everyone’s happy.”

“But—”

“Shush,” said Cassandra, stopping before a door. “Less talk, more sex. This is for you, you lucky bastard. I wish I could have kept you for myself—” She reached down to caress his cock through his pants, and he didn’t have the will to resist, for Cassandra exuded sex tonight and there was no way he could resist her.

But she pulled her hand back, and opened the door.

Sanderson’s eyes widened and his breath caught.