door opened, and she heard footsteps. She stared as the man approached the foot of the table and loomed above her. He was garbed entirely in green. All she could see of his face was his eyes, a cold steel blue. They were gazing at her over a surgical mask.
She sat up in alarm.
"Lie down," he commanded.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I said, lie down.
"Man, I'm getting out of here�" He grabbed her arm. Only then did she notice he was wearing gloves.
"Look, I won't hurt you," he said, his voice softer. Gentler. "Don't you understand? This is my fantasy."
"You mean�playing doctor?"
"Yes."
"I'm supposed to be your patient?"
"Yes. Does that scare you?"
She sat thinking about it. Remembering all the other fantasies she'd endured on behalf of clients. This one, in the scheme of things, seemed relatively tame.
"All right," she sighed, and lay back down.
He slid out the stirrups and extended the footrests so they jutted out from the end of the table. "Come on, Molly," he said. "Surely you know what to do with your feet."
"Do I have to?"
"I'm the doctor. Remember?"
She stared at his masked face, wondering what lay behind that rectangle of cloth. A perfectly ordinary man, no doubt. They were all so ordinary.
It was their fantasies that repulsed her. Frightened her.
Reluctantly she raised her legs and positioned her feet in the stirrups.
He released the foot of the table and it swung down on hinges. She was lying with her thighs spread wide apart, her exposed bottom practically hanging off the table's edge. She displayed herself to men all the time, but there was something horribly vulnerable about this position. Those bright lights shining down between her legs. Her utter nakedness against the exam table. And the man, whose gaze was focused with clinical detachment on her most intimate anatomy.
He looped a Velcro strap around her ankle.
"Hey," she said. "I don't like being tied down."
"I like it," he murmured, fastening the other strap. "I like my girls this way."
She flinched as he inserted his gloved fingers. He leaned toward her, his gaze narrowed in concentration as his fingers probed deeper. She closed her eyes and tried to detach her thoughts from what was happening between her legs, but the sensations were difficult to ignore. Like a rodent burrowing deep inside her. He had one hand pressed down on top of her abdomen, and the fingers of his other hand were moving inside.
Somehow this seemed a worse violation than any mere fuck, and she wanted it over and done with. Is this turning you on, creep? she wondered. Are you stiff yet? When are you going to get on with it?
He withdrew his hand. She gave a shudder of relief. Opening her eyes, she saw that he was not looking at her anymore. His gaze was focused instead on something beyond her field of vision. He nodded.
Only then did she realize there was someone else in the room.
A rubber mask was clamped over her mouth and nose. She tried to twist away, but her head was pressed hard against the table. She reached up, frantically clawing at the edges of the anesthesia mask. At once her hands were yanked away, and her wrists firmly and efficiently tied down.
She gasped in a breath of acrid-smelling gas, felt it sear her throat.
Her chest rebelled in a spasm of coughing. She bucked harder, but the mask would not go away. She took another breath, she could not help it.
Now all sensation was draining from her limbs. The lights seemed dimmer.
Bright white fading to gray.
To black.
She heard a voice say, "Draw the blood now."
But the words meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.
"Man, oh man, what a mess you've made."
It was Romy's voice�that much she could figure out. But she could not seem to make sense of anything else. Where she was. Where she'd been.
Why her head ached and her throat felt so dry.
"Come on, Molly Wolly. Open your eyes."
She groaned. Just the rumble of her own voice made her head vibrate.
"Open your fuckin' eyes, Molly.
She sat up in alarm.
"Lie down," he commanded.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I said, lie down.
"Man, I'm getting out of here�" He grabbed her arm. Only then did she notice he was wearing gloves.
"Look, I won't hurt you," he said, his voice softer. Gentler. "Don't you understand? This is my fantasy."
"You mean�playing doctor?"
"Yes."
"I'm supposed to be your patient?"
"Yes. Does that scare you?"
She sat thinking about it. Remembering all the other fantasies she'd endured on behalf of clients. This one, in the scheme of things, seemed relatively tame.
"All right," she sighed, and lay back down.
He slid out the stirrups and extended the footrests so they jutted out from the end of the table. "Come on, Molly," he said. "Surely you know what to do with your feet."
"Do I have to?"
"I'm the doctor. Remember?"
She stared at his masked face, wondering what lay behind that rectangle of cloth. A perfectly ordinary man, no doubt. They were all so ordinary.
It was their fantasies that repulsed her. Frightened her.
Reluctantly she raised her legs and positioned her feet in the stirrups.
He released the foot of the table and it swung down on hinges. She was lying with her thighs spread wide apart, her exposed bottom practically hanging off the table's edge. She displayed herself to men all the time, but there was something horribly vulnerable about this position. Those bright lights shining down between her legs. Her utter nakedness against the exam table. And the man, whose gaze was focused with clinical detachment on her most intimate anatomy.
He looped a Velcro strap around her ankle.
"Hey," she said. "I don't like being tied down."
"I like it," he murmured, fastening the other strap. "I like my girls this way."
She flinched as he inserted his gloved fingers. He leaned toward her, his gaze narrowed in concentration as his fingers probed deeper. She closed her eyes and tried to detach her thoughts from what was happening between her legs, but the sensations were difficult to ignore. Like a rodent burrowing deep inside her. He had one hand pressed down on top of her abdomen, and the fingers of his other hand were moving inside.
Somehow this seemed a worse violation than any mere fuck, and she wanted it over and done with. Is this turning you on, creep? she wondered. Are you stiff yet? When are you going to get on with it?
He withdrew his hand. She gave a shudder of relief. Opening her eyes, she saw that he was not looking at her anymore. His gaze was focused instead on something beyond her field of vision. He nodded.
Only then did she realize there was someone else in the room.
A rubber mask was clamped over her mouth and nose. She tried to twist away, but her head was pressed hard against the table. She reached up, frantically clawing at the edges of the anesthesia mask. At once her hands were yanked away, and her wrists firmly and efficiently tied down.
She gasped in a breath of acrid-smelling gas, felt it sear her throat.
Her chest rebelled in a spasm of coughing. She bucked harder, but the mask would not go away. She took another breath, she could not help it.
Now all sensation was draining from her limbs. The lights seemed dimmer.
Bright white fading to gray.
To black.
She heard a voice say, "Draw the blood now."
But the words meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.
"Man, oh man, what a mess you've made."
It was Romy's voice�that much she could figure out. But she could not seem to make sense of anything else. Where she was. Where she'd been.
Why her head ached and her throat felt so dry.
"Come on, Molly Wolly. Open your eyes."
She groaned. Just the rumble of her own voice made her head vibrate.
"Open your fuckin' eyes, Molly.
Similar Books
The West End Horror
Nicholas Meyer
Shelter
Sarah Stonich
The Cyberkink Sideshow
Ophidia Cox
All The Turns of Light
Frank Tuttle
Flee
Ann Voss Peterson, J.A. Konrath
Cinderella in Overalls
Carol Grace
Every Little Thing Gonna Be Alright
Hank Bordowitz
I Love You More: A Novel
Jennifer Murphy
Nefarious Doings
Ilsa Evans
Texas Tango: A Flint Rock Novel
Glenn Smith