A reader (who wants to remain anonymous) wrote me that she found 
Joe Doe's "Powerless!" quite a turn-on, but thought it could be 
even hotter with an ordinary woman as the victim, rather than a 
superheroine.  And she admitted that, imagining herself in this 
character's position was now a favorite fantasy of hers.  After 
some thought, I decided to at least give it a try.  I kept much 
the same overall story structure, but, besides making the victim 
non-super, I also added other material.  You (and especially 
Miss X) can decide how this re-write compares with the original.   





                           ASYLUM 

                             by 

                         C. Lakewood




Part 1

    "You still look a bit woozy," he said.  "Are you alright?"

    "A couple of your thugs were unnecessarily rough."

    "Dr. James Martin" managed to maintain a professional demeanor 
even though he was laughing to himself.  The idea of two orderlies 
at HIS asylum manhandling "Dr. Bitch" was absolutely delicious.  
He still could hardly believe that she was now an inmate.  He was 
pleased that she was beginning to recover from the mickey.  He 
didn't want her to be the least bit inattentive now.  

    Dr. Miriam Webber had dropped by his office earlier that day.  
She hadn't recognized him, yet, thanks to his beard and shaved 
head and prop glasses and paunch.  He kept his fingers crossed, 
but it was just a matter of time.  Fortunately, she was so 
preoccupied with blathering about the investigation that she 
thought she was empowered to conduct (into the asylum's "dubious" 
methods and "suspect" records) that he had had little trouble 
drugging her coffee and stealing both her ID and the forged letter 
that purported to come to her direct from the Governor.  Naturally, 
when the police found her later, wandering in the rain, dazed and 
incoherent, they knew whom to call.  After all, the Probem County 
Asylum was used to dealing with loonies. 

    Outwardly concerned, but inwardly grinning, Dr. Martin nodded 
at the rival psychiatrist slumped there in front of him.  She was 
unused to physical pain and unaccustomed to not being in control 
of things -- but she would learn...beginning now.

    "Well, Miriam," he said, "the good news is that I know that you 
really are sane."

    "Thank god!" she said, with relief.  "I kept trying to tell 
them, but nobody would believe me."  She wobbled.  "I-I couldn't 
even prove WHO I am...lost my ID somewhere...."

    "Well, you'd certainly never have that problem with me, Miriam.  
I'll never forget the way you sneered at my theories and ridiculed 
me relentlessly.  For an academic difference of opinion....  No, 
not even that.  For professional jealousy, for spite, for a 
pig-headed refusal to acknowledge my position...you got my 
license revoked and hounded me right into jail.  But this is a 
new day.  You may be better at rhetoric, but I am the superior 
scientist, as you shall see." 

    Miriam shivered.  

    "Ch-charles?  Oh, god!  If you get me out of this, I 
promise...I'll repair your reputation," she wheedled. 

    "Mmmmm....  No.  Instead of letting you OUT (which would 
inevitably mean I'd wind up back in jail), I'll just keep you 
IN...and attempt to cure your many problems."

    "You'll never get away with this!"

    He sighed, theatrically.  "Tsk, tsk.  Of course, since you 
think nonsense and write gibberish, I suppose I should expect 
you to speak in clichés.  But, to humor you....  Why won't I 
get away with it?  There are many delusional patients here; 
you'll fit right in...especially if you start raving that I'm a 
criminal lunatic and you're a high-class psychiatrist.  Classic 
transference."

    "You're mad!" she gasped.

    "Yes, well...I may be.  I've long thought that people who 
study psychology do so because they're at least a little bit 
cracked.  And those who go into psychiatry must therefore be 
the looniest of all."

    "P-people know I'm here."

    "No.  No one knows you're here...on your SECRET investigative 
mission.  Besides, there aren't many who would really care, and 
those who would care wouldn't want any investigation of this place 
that might terminate their pay-offs."  

    He steepled his fingers and smiled patronizingly.  

    "I don't treat patients with actual mental disorders nowadays," 
he explained.  "I may not have a license any more, but I have 
retained some ethics.  At present I specialize in helping rich 
men dispose of female nuisances.  I assist in committing a 
rebellious heiress to an asylum before she turns 21, for 
example, or a trophy wife who has become intolerable."

    He looked at her through slitted eyes.  "It's really 
astonishingly easy to do and, once done, difficult to get 
undone.  I think you've already discovered that getting 
around without proper credentials is a real problem...that 
people tend to disbelieve that you're quite the VIP you 
claim to be...."

    Miriam seethed in her frustration, remembering how she hadn't 
been able to convince ANYBODY.  Police, nurses, orderlies...they 
all had treated her shamefully. 
 
    She was used to being treated with deference.  But now....   
She'd been humiliated when that greasy cop had ordered her to 
"SPREAD 'EM."  And then, instead of a quick frisk, he had 
subjected her to a search that was both prolonged and intrusive.  
He even goosed her when he turned her over to the asylum staff.  
"Here's another Jane Doe, boys.  She's either high or crazy."  
He shrugged.  "So treat her...accordingly."

    Martin's voice snapped her out of her reverie and back to her 
current predicament.  "Now, pay attention!  As I was saying, if 
you cooperate, my girl, things will go easier on you.  Not 'easy,' 
mind, but 'easi-ER.'  

    "You may -- or may not -- be pleased to learn that, while I 
am merciless, I do fancy myself scrupulous.  I always make sure 
that each of my female patients is no innocent, no lamb to the 
slaughter...but a bitch of some degree or other, who deserves 
what she gets....  Well, maybe not ALL of what she gets, but 
enough of it to give the treatment at least a semblance of 
justice."

    "I don't deserve this," Miriam whined.

    He laughed.  "Oh, my dear woman, you deserve this more than 
any of the others.  I discovered many fascinating facets of your 
psyche, thanks to my old friend, scopolamine, and I WILL be 
employing that knowledge in your...'treatment.'  I have a full 
psychological profile on you now.  I know your dark fears and 
secret desires and oh-so-private prejudices, which I will not 
hesitate to exploit.  So, as I said, you'd be well advised to 
cooperate.  Not that I actually want you to, of course.  I really 
do hope that you'll attempt to resist -- t'would make the game 
more interesting -- so go ahead and try.  Just remember that I 
have warned you, as I am professionally obliged to do.  And 
remember that, if you resist me in any way, then you will have a 
lot more to bother about than a little bruise or two.  Regardless 
of what you do, you'll wind up becoming very...pliable."

    The fog had lifted from her mind, and it was working properly 
again.  He had all the cards, and she knew that she'd have to 
appear to submit...for now.  But she also believed she was 
smarter than he was.  

    She nodded.

    "Smart," he said, with a smirk.  

    He made out an admissions form for Miriam Doe.  Then he wrote 
her name and inmate number onto a card and slid that into a slot 
on the side of a black plastic crate.    

    "Now," he said, "I want you to put all clothes in this box."  

    She actually gaped at him.  "ALL my c-clothes?  Now?"

    "Yes, dear, all of your clothes," he said, grinning broadly.   
"There's no reason to be shy.  After all, I'm your doctor now."   

    She shook her head slowly.

    "I hope you won't force me to re-evaluate your willingness 
to cooperate.  Do you want me to call in the orderlies whom you 
met before, Tyrone and Latroy, to assist you...."

    "NO!" she interrupted hastily.  "I'll DO it!  Just keep those 
apes away from me!" 

    "'Apes'?  Tsk, tsk.  You really should be more PC, Miriam; we 
have a strong affirmative action policy here.  But it is nice that 
you appear to be becoming more...submissive...more truly feminine."

    He beamed.   

    "Now, start stripping.  I see you've already lost your jacket 
somewhere, so begin with your shoes."

    Standing awkwardly, Miriam pulled off first one Gucci and then 
the other.  They were rather dilapidated now, due to sloshing about 
in the rain for some time.  She looked pained as she dropped them 
into the box. 

    "I suppose you're wearing pantyhose.  That goes next."

    She wriggled them down and off, wadded them up, and tossed them 
on top of the shoes.

    "There's something essentially PROPER about our respective 
positions now," he pontificated.  "Here I am, comfortably 
seated, fully clothed, and quite relaxed.  Meanwhile, you're 
standing in front of me, barefooted and penitent, your toes 
curling on the cold linoleum, as you shift your weight from 
foot to foot, uneasily ...."

    Miriam temporarily stopped moving back and forth, but the floor 
felt SO cold.
  
    "It's obvious that women should be kept barefoot and pregnant.  
You are barefoot now, and, as for the other part....  The only 
real question is: who will the father be?"

    Miriam shuddered.  The two big orderlies who had manhandled her 
had, from the outset, taunted her that she'd be making "one fine 
white 'ho."    

    "Skirt next, dear," Martin said.  I'm curious to see your taste 
in panties."

    She immediately turned red.

    Martin mentally danced a jig.  Blushing must be so unfamiliar 
to such an ice queen.  Before, whenever horny men had stared at 
her, her status and intellect had always meant that she was the 
one in charge.  But that was different now, and she'd get plenty 
of practice blushing during her forthcoming "treatment." 

    Indeed, even now, as she silently folded her skirt and put 
it in the black crate, she was beginning to feel a certain 
helplessness.  She was aware of what Martin was trying to do, 
and she was much too clever to succumb to such obvious 
psychological tricks....  

    Wasn't she?  

    She was now wearing nothing but her bra and panties -- both 
basically practical...but with a touch of lace.  

    "So far, so good," Martin said, stroking his moustache.  "So 
what's next?  Bra or panties?"

    "Um...bra, I suppose," she answered nervously. 

    "That's 'Bra, SIR,'" he snarled.  "Remember -- I'm a respected 
DOCTOR, Miriam.  And you are just another feeble-minded female.  
Now, say it correctly."

    "Bra, SIR," Miriam repeated.  She turned her back to him and 
slowly, reluctantly, unclasped her bra.  She cleared her throat, 
but said nothing.  She shrugged off the bra.

    "Okay.  Now turn around and show me your tits, Miriam."

    Trembling, she turned, by a supreme act of will keeping her 
arms at her sides.  Too embarrassed to make eye contact, she 
just stared at the cold floor.

    He nodded.  "Okay.  Rather small, but firm enough, considering 
your age.  'Pert' may be the appropriate term.  After you finish 
your therapy, perhaps we can get you an entry-level job at 'Paco's 
Taco' or the 'Jolly Tamale.'  But that's off in the future.  Right 
now, I must make sure you're not trying to conceal any contraband.  
Grasp each nipple with your fingertips and lift your tits.  Hold 
'em up while I check 'em...thoroughly." 

    Her head came up and a look of rage flickered across her 
face...and then faded.  What else could she do?  She had to 
humor the bastard until she got an opportunity to turn the 
tables.  She lifted her breasts. 

    He took his time, but finally said, "You can let go of your 
titties, Miriam.  We must go on.  Hand me your underpants.  I'm 
sure you're eager to show me...EVERYTHING."

    Again she turned her back.  She hesitated a moment, then 
quickly skinned her panties down and off.  She wouldn't give 
him the satisfaction of prolonging the process.  And she turned 
to face him without being told.

    "Hmmm.  Your hair color's pretty consistent...looks natural.  
But...tsk, tsk...there IS a little grey in your pubes, though 
not on your head.  I call that deceptive...and slovenly."

    "It-it's premature grey...."

    "Oh, OF COURSE it is," he laughed.  "Well, soon you won't have 
to worry about the grey strands -- 'cause we're going to take off 
all your pubic hair.  Now, put your hands on top of your head and 
turn slowly in circles.  I want to get the 'big picture.'"

    As she rotated under Martin's gaze, Miriam felt like a whore 
on display.  The feeling was filthy and degrading, but not 
exactly new....  She had, from time to time, enjoyed submissive 
fantasies.  But they had always remained mere fantasies, and 
eventually tended to get a bit boring.  But this was anything but 
boring....

    No clothes, no money, no ID, no status....  Without these 
things, she was just another helpless "special" lunatic immured 
in a corrupt insane asylum and forced to obey every whim of the 
sadistic staff.

    "Okay, you can stop that now.  Time for some old-fashioned 
medicine."  He patted the exam table.  "Up here...knees and elbows."

    Miriam obeyed, somewhat awkwardly to be sure, but quickly 
enough.  She still thought she could lull the SOB into a careless 
moment.  He patted her ass in a proprietary fashion. 

    "Ever had an enema, Miriam?" he asked. 

    "N-no...never."

    "Then I'll make that it's extra-special for you.  Take a look 
at all this equipment, just for your en-e-ma, sweetheart: IV stand, 
jumbo bag, rubber tubing, liquid soap, lube, some 'secret herbs and 
spices,' and of course a nice, extra-long, extra-thick nozzle...."  
He squirted soap into the red rubber bag, dumped in what he had 
called 'herbs and spices,' filled it up with very warm water, and 
hung it on the stand.   

    Grinning, he snapped on latex gloves and took the lid off an 
unmarked jar.  Holding it up to his nose, he inhaled deeply.  "I 
love this aroma.  It smells like...victory."  He caressed Miriam's 
bare bottom.  

    "Your very first enema...."    

    He dug his right forefinger deep into the jar and scooped out a 
big glob of pink goo.  Pausing for a moment, he enjoyed the sight 
of Miriam's squirming, and then he slithered his well-lubed finger 
knuckle-deep into her tight, virgin asshole.  He corkscrewed the 
finger in and out, wiggling it the whole time.  "This ass belongs 
to me, doesn't it, Miriam?"

    "Y-yes, sir," she murmured.

    "I'm treating you to a lubricant of my own invention.  I'll bet 
it's already started to itch...and it'll burn a little, too, but 
the enema will soothe that away...mostly.  So, is your tight little 
virgin asshole itching, Miriam?"

    "Yes...yes, sir...."

    "'Yes, sir'...what?  Tell me, Miriam."

    Yes, sir...m-my tight lit-tle...virgin as-asshole is itch-ing 
-- oh god! -- itching....  Please!"

    "Don't fight it, just go with the flow -- pardon the pun.  Be 
a good girl," he said.

    "I-I'll try...s-sir."     

    Martin thought, "Ah, Miriam, acting the submissive, are we?  
Well, that's fine.  Stay in character long enough, and you'll 
come to believe it...."  Aloud, he said, "Just relax, dear.  
Many arrogant women find they LOVE all this...and are in fact 
better for it."  His voice oozed bargain-basement reassurance.

    Pulling out his finger, he grinned at it and stripped off the 
glove.  "Hazardous medical waste," he commented, as he disposed of 
the glove according to OSHA rules.  Then, holding up the nozzle, he 
released the clamp briefly (to expel the air from the tube), closed 
it again, and cleared his throat portentously.

    When Miriam looked back at him (as he knew she would), he 
enjoyed seeing her look of apprehension.  "Now, reach back and 
spread your cheeks.  Your First Enema won't be painful, but it 
WILL be intrusive, and there WON'T be anything you can do, except 
helplessly submit to it.  For me, it's a trifling procedure that 
I've done hundreds of times...."  He smiled.  "But, for you, it 
will be memorable."  

    Breathing heavily, she obeyed, and he slid the nozzle home.  
As he was checking with one hand to see that the thick nozzle was 
properly seated in her violated asshole and then inflating the 
rubber collar to keep it there, with his other hand he 
surreptitiously triggered his pager. 

    "Ooops, I've got to take this."  He left her there, kneeling 
on the exam table with her butt in the air, as he went to the 
phone and dialed his home number.  His answering machine picked 
up, and he began talking to it as though it were some drinking and 
golfing buddy.  Since it was a cordless phone, he was able to cross 
back over to his "patient" and proceed to chat nonchalantly about 
tee times, sand wedges, and putting techniques...while toying with 
her body.  

    After a few minutes, she whimpered, "Please, sir...."  

    "Hang on a minute, chum.  I've got a patient who's getting 
antsy."  He bent down to Miriam.  "Want to get started, eh?  Well, 
I suppose your asshole is really itching and burning now.  Hmmm?"  

    "Yes, sir.  P-please let the water flow."  She was sweating 
and twitching.  ("That goddamn rat bastard," she was thinking.  
When I get the upper hand, how he is going to SUFFER.")

    "Hold still, Miriam.  Oh, I know you're eager for it.  Tsk, 
tsk.  You are SUCH a brat....  Aren't you?"  And he gave her rump 
a sharp slap.  

    "Yes, sir...a brat...."  She ground her teeth.  

    "O-kay, then," he said, as he released the clamp, and the water 
began to flow.....  Or, rather, to trickle through the extra-tiny 
hole in the extra-thick nozzle.  He knew that it would take some 
time for the bag to drain...plenty of time for a portion of the 
water to be absorbed by her bowels and thence fill up her bladder, 
too.
   
    He continued the bogus phone conversation, chatting about 
various high-class social activities, watching her wriggling and 
fidgeting as he described his ski trips or the posh restaurants 
he patronized.  He intended to remind Miriam that, for the 
foreseeable future, HER life would be limited to the degrading 
treatments it pleased him to prescribe.  

    And he casually stroked her sweaty bare bottom.  

		******************************

Part 2


    It was some time after the bag was quite empty that Martin hung 
up the phone and responded to Miriam's whimpers by removing the 
enema nozzle and allowing her to stagger off to the toilet.  
"That's the last time for a long while that she'll be permitted 
to use the potty," he told himself.  While keeping her under 
observation through the open door, he prepared the saline rinse, 
called her out a few minutes later, and administered it, sending 
her rushing back to the toilet again. 

    "Please turn on the exhaust fan, Miriam," he said in a rather 
strangled voice.  "That's no rose garden you're producing in there." 

    When she at last re-emerged, with a clean bowel, an empty 
bladder, and a red face, he ordered her back onto the exam table 
-- on her back this time -- for the rest of her search.

    "Now don't be difficult," he said in his best I'm-the-doctor 
voice.  "Remember, you're just a mental patient now, and I have to 
finish searching you for contraband.  Regrettable, but I must do 
my duty, after all.  And I haven't searched your pussy yet."

    "No, I won't let you!" she screeched, clenching her thighs 
thighs tightly together.  "I'm not a lunatic!  You can't do this 
to ME!" 

    He shook his head and grimaced, then pushed a red button on his 
desktop console.  The two orderlies, Tyrone and Latroy, responded 
immediately.  "She's becoming uncooperative, men.  Strap her down."

     This was accomplished quickly and easily by the two goons.  
Meanwhile, Martin began lecturing his patient on proper behavior.  
"I hate to have to do this, Miriam, I really do.  I thought you 
were making progress.  But your attitude is simply unacceptable.  
You're delusional.  There is hope for you, though.  Once you accept 
that, from now on, everyone you meet will have total authority over 
you, you will have taken your first step on the road to recovery."  

    He dismissed the big orderlies and fetched an item from his 
desk.  It looked much like a heavy screwdriver, except that the 
shaft was transparent and terminated in a small shiny ball.       

    "I think this is the perfect tool for teaching a sassy brat 
respect for her betters.  It's called a 'violet wand.'"  

    Her eyes went wide.  "Good.  You've heard of it," he said.  
He plugged it into a socket on his console, and it began to buzz 
and to glow purple.  He preened mentally: "What she doesn't know 
is that this is made of tough acrylic instead of glass and also 
has an 'Isolation Transformer' -- and is therefore a great deal 
safer than the old-fashioned kind of wand."

    He brought it close to the tip of her clit and chuckled as a 
cascade of sparks leapt at her.  She shrieked and strained against 
the straps holding her.

    "Oh, don't be such a baby!  It's not that much different from 
the static shocks you can sometimes get after you shuffle across a 
carpet in low humidity and then touch a conductor.  Of course, this 
can be as continuous as I like."    

    "Please stop!" she cried.   "It HURTS!  I'll do what you say."

    "I know you will, Miriam," he murmured.  "You'll do everything 
I tell you, and then beg me for more orders.  But I need to be sure 
that you are really convinced of that."

    He stroked the wand across her breasts several times, 
concentrating on her nipples, then switched to her rump.    

    "When a naughty little girl gets too big for her britches, it's 
appropriate that her fat ass pays for it."  He played there quite a 
while, paying particular attention to the entrance to her asshole.  
"Don't you agree, Miriam?"

    "No!  Aaaa!  Please don't!  It hurts me!  Oh, god!"  

    "And humiliating, right?" he said.  "RIGHT?"

    "Yes...sir...."

    "Well, it's supposed to be humiliating.  Humiliation and 
obedience are what you are here to learn.  Of course, if you 
continue to resist my treatment, to struggle, to argue, to 
cling to your delusions...all that does is convince me that 
you haven't learned your lesson yet.  

    "Now, let's do a little Q & A.  What's your name and 
profession?"

    "Miriam...Webber.  I'm a doc-eeeeeeeeeee!"

    Dissatisfied with that answer, Martin stuck the wand up her 
asshole and gave her a good jolt.  "Let's try again.  What's 
your name?"

    "It...it's whatever you say," she replied softly.

    "That's right.  And do you have a profession?

    "No, sir.  I'm just a...a lunatic with delusions."   

    "And what else are you, Miriam?" he persisted, rubbing the wand 
over her twitching bottom.

    "I'm...a disrespectful, naughty girl who needs to learn respect 
for her betters." 

    "Absolutely correct," he said, putting the wand back on his 
desk.  "That really wasn't so hard, was it?  See how much easier 
it is when you cooperate?"

    Donning new gloves, he approached her again, and Miriam 
flinched.  "Now, dear," he said, unctuously, "you must ask 
me to search your cunt....  And ask politely and sincerely."

    She swallowed.  "Please, doctor, sir.  Please search 
my...my...puss...."

    He reached for the wand.

    "MY CUNT!  Please search my cunt, sir.  Please!"

    So he did.

    He slithered first one, then two fingers into her cunt.  "My, 
my...aren't we wet?  Strip away all that pretense, and your true 
self emerges...a hot little tramp.  You're like a swamp!  But 
don't worry your empty little head; I'll put a note in your file 
to have you shaved and diapered, so you won't get too messy down 
here!"

    "But I don't need a DIAPER!"  

    "Now, Miriam, Doctor knows best!"  He gave her bottom a 
stinging slap.  He slowly and skillfully teased and tormented 
her, almost to the point of orgasm -- but not quite.  "What does 
it feel like to be helpless, Miriam?" he asked.  "Many women 
develop the same talents, talents of imperiousness and 
manipulation, but rarely to the same extent as you...."

    She gritted her teeth in a mirthless grin as she struggled 
against the growing excitement between her legs.  Despite her 
humiliation, she had never been so excited.  (And she slowly 
began to think that it might be "because" instead of "despite.")

    "Of course, you've never had to face up to that, Miriam," he 
said, bringing her closer and closer to cumming.  "I've researched 
you, thoroughly.  Even as a child, you were always the one in 
charge, the one in control.  What does it feel like to be stripped 
of all your authority?  What does it feel like to be totally 
subject to my whims?"

    Miriam struggled against the rising tide of her libido.  She 
just couldn't give the sonofabitch the satisfaction of making her 
cum....  But his fingers -- and his words -- were getting her so 
fucking hot.

    "Now you're even more helpless than the average overworked 
housewife or soccer mom," he went on, working his thumb around 
her clit.  "Now you're just a lowly mental patient.  You have 
no identity and no legal rights.  I've stripped you of everything, 
Miriam.  No one will believe anything you say.  The janitors, the 
orderlies, and even certain of the the other patients can use you 
as they see fit, and no one will care."

    He again adopted a clinical tone...and an expression to match.  
"Feminists say that male doctors are mostly misogynists who don't 
value truly independent women and use their so-called 'treatments' 
to punish women who refuse to conform.

    "I will tell you this: once word gets around among the staff 
about how randy you get, you won't lack for boyfriends -- or 
girlfriends, either.  I don't suppose you've ever been gang-banged 
while wearing a straitjacket.  Female patients tell me that it's 
a truly unforgettable experience."

    At that, Miriam cried out as she experienced a massive, 
toe-curling, gut-wrenching, Fourth-of-July orgasm.   

    He laughed and wiped his greasy glove on her stomach.  "You 
really are a little whore, aren't you?  But do remember that I'm 
not going to give you any birth control, no matter how many men 
you have to service.  Of course, maybe you can talk the less 
genetically desirable into fucking only your mouth and asshole.  

    "And, speaking of your lovely mouth, it occurs to me that I 
should try it out.  But, mad as I may be, I'm not a fool.  I am 
certainly going to use 'protection.'"  So saying, he strapped a 
ring gag into her mouth.  "And now it's time for you to take the 
first dose of your medicine...orally."  

    He released her from the table.  There wasn't much fight in 
her at the moment, for that volcanic orgasm had left her near 
exhaustion.  

    "So why don't you just kneel down there in front of me and give 
me a real 'bad girl blow job.'  Show me what a submissive little 
slut you can be.  Your teeth are shielded, and you'll have to 
strain to use your lips, but you can still suck and, especially, 
work your tongue."  

    As loathsome and degrading as sucking the bastard's cock might 
be, Miriam definitely didn't want another taste of that perverted 
violet wand.  

    So she knelt down on the spot he indicated and tried to work 
up a mouthful of saliva while she docilely unzipped his pants and 
hauled out a rather surprisingly large, stiff dick.  

    She took it into her mouth and ran her tongue over the bulbous, 
dripping head.  She worked quickly, to get it over with, and, as 
satisfying as it was, he made a mental note to slow her down in 
future.    

    Meanwhile, his orgasm approaching, he resumed taunting her.  
"It's a monumental waste to use such a talented mouth merely for 
spouting nonsense, sneering, and talking down to those you consider 
your inferiors.  Now, get ready to swallow.  Your first dose is 
going to be a sizeable one."

    Miriam gagged as he shot his load.  "You better swallow every 
drop of your medicine...if you know what's good for you," he 
commented.  Shuddering, she obeyed. 

    He gazed down at her with a smirk.  "What does submission taste 
like, Miriam?  Bitter?"

    He sat down and patted his lap.  "Now get yourself over my 
knee.  It's time for more medicine."

    Miriam whimpered.  

    "Oh, I'm not going to spank you."

    The thought of what he might do was frightful, especially since 
that wand was still on the desk within his reach.  But she knew she 
had no choice if she wanted to lull him into making a mistake.  She 
obediently draped herself over his knee, mortified that the gag was 
making her drool uncontrollably.

    He reached into a drawer and held up the special suppository 
he had prepared earlier.

    "You're familiar with Halozine?"

    Still gagged, she nodded, tentatively.  

    "Well, Doepazine is a similar taradiddle drug, but more 
powerful.  Both are used primarily to render patients docile.  
Side effects include: slurred speech, a certain difficulty in 
concentrating, and often a slight temporary memory loss.  In 
addition, there is generally some reduction in bladder control.  
The libido, on the other hand, tends to be increased...."  He 
grinned.  "Significantly.  The patient's mind remains clear, 
however, and awareness is unimpaired."

    She looked nervously over her shoulder as he dipped the end 
of the cigar-shaped suppository lightly into the open jar of 
lubricant.  She winced.  

    "Now just relax your pert bottom while the Doctor gives you 
your nice medicine, Miriam."

    He slowly spread her butt-cheeks and insinuated the greasy end 
of the suppository into her cringing asshole.  All in all, he took 
almost two minutes to work it deep into her bowels, as she writhed 
helplessly on his lap, grunting from the shame of it.

    When it was done, he teased her bottom for a while before 
finally letting her up and handing her a neatly folded smock.

    "Your new uniform, Miriam.  It's not as posh as your usual one 
-- designer suit, designer shoes, expensive but understated jewelry 
and accessories, with a crisp lab coat over all....  But then 
you've come down in the world, haven't you?"  

    Grateful for any covering, she huddled into it.  To her dismay, 
the short gown barely covered her crotch in front, and there was 
only one pair of ties in back, so her bare bottom was on display.  

    "Cute," he said.  "Oh yes, before I forget...."  He turned to 
his computer and was making some notation, when she struck.  She 
seized a scalpel from a tray of instruments, sprang to his side, 
and held the blade near his carotid artery.  Getting rid of the 
ring-gag using only her left hand was slow and frustrating, but 
she finally succeeded.

    "Now you're going to pay, you phony bastard!  You slimy 
pervert!  Oh, yes!  You're going to confess what you've done, 
and I'll see to it that you're locked away -- FOR-EV-ER -- in 
an institution for the criminally insane...under MY authority.  
And I'll make you crawl, you worm, you charlatan....  Manhandle 
ME, will you?  Ridicule ME?  Sneer at ME?  For you to even claim 
to be the 'superior scientist' is sufficient grounds to have you 
committed, you...you...insufferable crack-pot."

    ("Criminally careless is what I am," Martin was thinking.  
"Let's just hope that one, her hand is steady, and two, she 
continues to gloat for a while....")

    And Miriam did carry on ranting for several minutes.  After 
finally pausing a moment for breath, she rasped, "You'll be 
obeying MY orders from now on.  Push that button and get some 
witnesses in here."

    He did so...repeatedly.   

    The two hunks who had already handled her -- twice -- burst 
into the room along with a beefy nurse.  

    "Doctor!"  The nurse was aghast.  "Are you alright?"

    "So far, but she's...ah...agitated," he replied.

    Miriam bridled.  "HE is the lunatic!" she screamed.  "I'm 
a real doctor...a psychiatrist.  You must...believe...me...."  
She blinked.  The...the scalpel thingy was feeling so heavy.  
And there was something she'd forgotten, something that she 
was trying hard to remember...and failing.  Oh, well.

    The suppository, meanwhile, continued to melt inside her, 
treacherously sapping her will.

    She dropped the scalpel, which scarred the desk top.  To 
himself, Martin promised, "She'll pay extra for that."  To his 
staff, he said, "The poor thing went berserk and attacked me.  
Restrain her."

    The nurse fetched a straitjacket, and the two orderlies 
effortlessly forced Miriam to the ground and secured her in 
its grip.  

    "Take her down the hall to an examination room," Martin said.  
"I want her shaved and diapered.  You can...um...take your time, 
though.  She's very...'sensitive' down there, if you understand 
me.  Straitjacket and padded cell; no toilet privileges.  Set up 
a rotation to keep her under observation tonight.  We'll begin 
electroshock therapy in the morning."  He picked up the ring-gag.  
"And here -- you might as well put this on her, too."

    "SHOCK TREATMENTS?" she screamed.  "Please, you HAVE to believe 
me!" Miriam squealed.  "Oh, don't GAG me!  Please!  I'm a DOCTOR!  
I swear...."

    Cheerfully, the butch nurse cut off Miriam's babbling by 
installing the gag.

    Martin silently planned to give "dear Miriam" the mildest shock 
possible -- barely more than a jolt from the violet wand.  He 
wanted to keep her mind sharp and clear, but he knew he would get 
a tremendous kick out of the frenzied look in her desperate eyes 
as they prepared her for the juice.

    It would at least keep her awake.  She would be tired, for 
she'd get little sleep tonight, between stewing about her upcoming 
treatment, and entertaining a stream of visitors to her cell.

    Tyrone and Latroy hauled Miriam in her gag and straitjacket 
out the door and into the crowded hallway.  The crotch-strap 
teased her cunt, but didn't hide it.  So, in addition to the 
humiliation of the restraints, she had to endure the knowing 
looks and raunchy comments of both patients and staff as she 
was dragged off to be shaved and diapered and later....

    Martin looked on in satisfaction as Miriam was taken away.  
He considered.  There would undoubtedly be an investigation into  
Miriam Webber's disappearance, and the authorities might even -- 
eventually -- come around here for a token interview.  But they 
wouldn't stay very long or snoop very hard, and they'd soon go 
away satisfied that there was nothing for them here.  His bogus 
credentials were flawless, and his...well, "colleagues"...were 
powerful, so he knew he would have little to fear for a long, 
looong time....

    Life was good.

od.

