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