FREAK: A Dark Medical Romance

by Loki Renard

  A brush of a not quite accidental finger and I feel the soft mound of her sex.

  She lets out a moan. She wants this.

  Electra

  He’s touching me in my most secret spot, and it feels good. Some have tried to touch me there in the past. I broke them for trying, but I don’t want to break the doctor. My bottom is warm from the spanking he gave me, and that dirty little hole between my thighs is clenching with an animal need.

  “Do you like this?” He asks the question gently, his thumb still stroking right over my clit.

  “Yes,” I moan softly.

  “When you’re a good girl for me, I might rub your pussy, or maybe more. Would you like me to do that?”

  He presses a little harder, and I feel heat well between my legs. This is not how I expected this day to go.

  “Are doctors supposed to do this to patients?”

  “Doctors used to do this to patients a lot, actually,” he says, still petting my sex. “It’s not a modern technique.”

  “So this is… personal?”

  I hate how hopeful my voice sounds. I loathe that I want him to care. We barely know one another. He owes me nothing. But I want him to care. Deep down, I need him to.

  “Yes,” he says. “Very personal.”

  Nothing has ever been personal before. I like personal. I like the way he’s touching me, he’s stirring a new set of sensations inside my body, an excitement and a happiness which flows through me. This feels good, but it feels so much more than good too. It feels filling and completing and oh… he runs a finger down the very seam of my lips to the place where my body opens up and presses the wet fabric to the tight little hole.

  “You’re going to be mine,” he says. “I’m going to make you my very own. I’m going to teach you about yourself. Your body. Your world. And you’re going to be a very good girl for me, aren’t you?”

  I hesitate, my breath catching in my throat as he makes another one of those delicious movements against my pussy, teasing, caressing, making me desperate for what Tyko always referred to as fucking.

  “Aren’t you, Electra?” His voice is rough with male desire.

  “Yes,” I hiss softly. It is the only answer I can permit myself, the only word that might take me closer to perfect pleasure.

  Tom

  “Have you ever been with a man, Electra?”

  I know the answer before she says it.

  “No," she whimpers softly as my thumb strokes her sex.

  Maybe we should be taking this slow, but I don’t know how much time we have. The impulse to physicality is strong in both of us. She is wet. She is willing. I am hard as rock and I yearn to pull these wet regulation panties aside and have my way with her.

  There is some small voice in my head telling me that I should be more careful, that I’m rushing this impulsively, maybe even rushing her. But I have thought of her many nights. The way she arched her back and looked over her shoulder at me when she admitted that she was faking her injury.

  That makes me think.

  I pull my hand from her pussy and give her bottom a firm slap to redirect her attention. “The razor,” I say in response to her curse of questioning. “Where did you get it from?”

  “I think you already know, Doc,” she giggles archly.

  “That’s why you tricked Tyko into bringing you here. You wanted to find something to break out with. Why did it take three weeks?”

  “Good things take time. Plus he was out with his kidneys for two weeks.”

  I spank her again, enjoying the way her perfect ass fits in my palm when I cup it. She’s a bad little girl, alright. Her yelp is followed by another one of those triumphant giggles. She was looking for a way out today, and I guess she’s found one, even if it’s not the one she had in mind.

  “I hope you know I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on you,” I say. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I am going to discipline you when you need it, and you could end up with a very sore bottom if you try a stunt like that again.”

  “I hope so,” she murmurs, arching her hips up. Of course she likes being spanked. A lot of women do, and she has the kind of chaos about her which makes her a prime candidate for going over my knee damn near every day.

  I love the way she feels there. Warm and soft and all mine.

  “So, while I have you,” I say. “Want to tell me what the big secret is about you that’s being kept from me?”

  “No,” she says, bluntly honest.

  “Okay,” I reply. That is not a spankable offense. I’m sure whatever it is seems like a very big deal. Or is. I have my own suspicions as to what is going on, though suspicions are nothing to base real decisions on.

  I keep rubbing her bottom, sliding my hand down between her thighs to brush against that tender spot where she parts her thighs and invites me in. This is much more intimate than most handler relations, I am sure, but I think this is what she needs. It’s definitely what she wants. With every brush of the flat of my hand past her panty clad slit, she arches and moans.

  Pinching the fabric over her pussy, I lift it away and to the side, revealing a very pretty pussy. She has an untouched look, a smooth pelt of blonde hair covering that most delicate part of her. Lust charges through me, along with a sense of reverence.

  “You’re beautiful,” I tell her, allowing a fingertip to drift over that dewy seam.

  She lets out a long, slow, moaning curse.

  Electra

  “Fucccckk…”

  He can see me.

  He can see every part of me, all the pieces I tried to hide. He’s more than looking. He’s touching, and his touch sends perfect fire through my veins. All the repressed sexual instincts I’ve been fighting my entire life. This is the last frontier, the battleground where I have held the line. I’ve never allowed any man to see me like this, not since I became an adult.

  Tom knows how to touch me. He knows how to make my body sing with a kind of desire I can’t handle on my own. I need him to release it for me - and he does. He strokes me tenderly and murmurs words of encouragement and praise as I part my thighs and arch my back and make my greedy silent desires obvious.

  With every swirling touch, I feel myself getting wetter. I can hear myself too. How embarrassing, to have my body producing a liquid need just for him. I barely know this man, but my body agrees that he owns me. This part of me is only emerging under his mature guidance. I don't know how old the doctor is, exactly, but I think he has to be at least twice my age. The silver in his beard, the wrinkles which creep around his eyes when he smiles, the air he has about him, a laid back dominance which doesn’t need to prove itself, it all combines to make me feel very safe and very cared for as I writhe my way to an orgasmic release which makes me buck against his teasing hand until my nervous system overloads with perfect feeling.

  I squeal and cry out, I wriggle and I clench, I buck away from him and hold his leg tight, and finally I relax as I have never relaxed before.

  “Good girl,” he praises me, settling my panties back into place. He pats my bottom and lets me stay where I am, holding me over his thighs until I start to stir. I don’t know how I am going to look him in the eye after having just done… that.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yes,” I admit. I do feel so much better. I feel better than I’ve ever felt. I feel free, even though I am captive.

  “I am going to look after you,” he says. “I want you to try to trust me. I know that won’t be easy, but I want you to try. Together, we’ll get through this.”

  Usually, I would think everything he said was total bullshit, but something about the aftermath of climax makes me want to believe him. Maybe we will get through this. Maybe he will be there for me.

  “Now,” he says. “Let’s finish off this little discipline session.”

  “This is discipline?”

  “It is,” he chuckles at my confusion and taps my butt to remind me that it stings. I feel his hands easing me up fr
om his lap. I’m still not sure how I can look him in the eye, but as it turns out, I don’t have to.

  “Pull your pants up and go and stand in the corner.”

  “What?”

  “What? Why the corner?”

  “Just go stand there, put your nose to the corner, and think about what you’ve done.”

  “You mean today, or like, my entire life?”

  Tom

  She’s a sassy little thing, but she does as I say. If I were doing this properly, I’d have her panties down around her knees, her hands on her head. I’d have her stood in that corner until I thought she’d learned her lesson, but this is a lesson that’s going to be more difficult to teach than most, and I’m starting off slowly - as well as fighting a hell of an erection. It’s too soon to have my way with her. She’s too innocent. If we had sex now, it wouldn’t be because she knew she wanted it. It would be because she was swept up in a new feeling of safety. I don’t know anything about her past, but I am certain she has never been intimate with anybody before.

  “Just go to the corner and be quiet,” I say, a little gruffness in my tone.

  She does as she told, rolling her pretty eyes at me until I make a circular motion with my finger, indicating she needs to turn around and face away.

  “This is stupid,” she complains.

  I say nothing. While I’m waiting for something approximating a lesson to be learned, I check my email. There’s a lot of documentation coming through about her, but a lot of it is useless thanks to the big black blocks over most of the text. Redacted reports aren’t worth the electrons it takes to display them.

  Glancing over at Electra, I see her fidgeting. That would be another no-no, but I’ll take her obedience for what it is right now. I’m teaching her the ropes of discipline, getting her used to what I expect from her. If I put too much pressure on her too fast, I have no doubt she’ll revert to her feral state.

  A few minutes later, a new email appears on my phone. The subject line reads: QUARTERS READY

  “Come on out.”

  She turns and comes out, raising her hands and letting them fall in a what was the point of that gesture.

  “So what now?” She forms the question verbally as I get up.

  “Shall we go see where we’re going to be living?”

  “What do you mean, we?”

  “New digs,” I wink. “For both of us.”

  “A different cell, you mean.”

  I hope not.

  The Fourth Floor

  The fourth floor is incredible. I’m sure that just hours ago it looked like every other part of the facility, but it has been transformed into an entirely unique living and learning space. When the Head wants something, she can get it done almost immediately. Electra is right. There’s something about this facility which has the feeling of being the Head’s realm. She controls every bit of it, every living breathing person, every molecule of building. I don’t think anything escapes her.

  Part of the fourth floor has been partitioned off into what looks like a modern apartment. The rest of it doesn’t seem to be finished yet and is hidden behind big black temporary walls.

  “This is fucked up,” Electra says.

  “Language,” I say, almost reflexively. Yes, it is old fashioned to care about curse words, but in Electra’s case, I think it won’t hurt to be disciplined about how she speaks.

  “Yes, I’m speaking English,” she smarts off.

  “Already building up to your next spanking, huh?”

  She gives me a narrowed look through her lashes, but doesn’t say anything else.

  “This is actually a nice place,” I tell her. “Feels almost like a luxury apartment.”

  “Oh, does it? Is it nice, is it?” She snaps at me, her arms folded over her chest. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been institutionalized my entire life. I didn't know that weird padded things everywhere were nice.”

  “Those are couches," I say, surprised she doesn't seem to recognize basic furniture.

  “Are they?” She snaps the question, and I realize what the Head meant when she said Electra needs to be civilized. She means that Electra needs to be introduced to what the world is from beginning to end. I need to talk to that woman, and soon. It’s starting to look as though Electra has never been outside any kind of military facility in twenty years, as though she has absolutely no ability to function in society.

  “Have you ever been outside?”

  “Sure I’ve been outside.”

  “I mean, in a city or a town, or to someone’s house?”

  “I assassinated a man in New York, does that count?”

  “I suppose,” I say. “But it’s not really what I mean. I mean, have you ever lived in a house, been outside and gone to school, made dinners and done laundry and…”

  “What do you think?” She looks at me. “Do I look like I've been doing laundry?”

  “You do not,” I smile. “Just ask if you don’t know what something is. You don’t have to call it stupid first.”

  “I like calling things stupid. Makes me feel better.”

  “Understanding feels good too.”

  “Eh,” she shrugs, as if she doesn’t believe me.

  As much as she might pretend not to care about any of this, she follows me around as I check the apartment out. Two bedrooms, double beds in each, rooms facing one another. One has a pink bedspread. The other has a blue one.

  “I’m taking the blue. You can have the pink,” she says.

  “You don't like pink?”

  “I like black. Blue’s closer to black.”

  “I’m sure we can get duvets in any color you want,” I reassure her. She makes a grumbling sound, but keeps following around after me. I think they’ve done a good job here. The place is clean and modern, and spacious. It even has a view out the window over a small grassed area at the back of the compound. It almost feels like a normal home.

  Almost.

  There are plenty of places where the institutionalization of the place is all too clear, like the bars over the windows, and I’m sure we’re under constant surveillance.

  “Wow,” Electra breathes. “They’re really spending some cash to fuck with my head, aren’t they?”

  “This is to help you.”

  “Sure it is,” she snorts. “Nobody gives a fuck about helping me.”

  “I do.”

  She looks at me. “Yeah, but you’re a freak.”

  Good to know.

  “So… we’re playing house?” She shakes her head. “I’d prefer a cell, I think.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “A cell would at least be familiar. This is just weird. I was born in a lab. I was raised by researchers. I wasn’t made for places like this. They just look strange to me. Why is there so much space?”

  “Well, it’s for living in.”

  “What do you mean… living in?”

  “Well, the bedrooms are where we sleep, and then the kitchen is for cooking, and this area is called the living room or dining room or lounge, depending on furnishings.”

  She scowls at me, and I know I’ve said something to offend her. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m stupid. I’m not stupid.”

  “I know you’re not stupid, but this is new to you, so it’s going to take some explaining.”

  “I’m not interested. I don’t care how people live. I’m not people.”

  “I’m pretty sure you are.”

  I hate that the priority was to make a machine of war rather than let a girl live her life. I need another interview with the Head. I need to know exactly where Electra came from, and what was done to her. It’s not going to be easy to fix what has been broken, but it will be impossible to do it without knowing exactly what happened to her.

  I wish I could say it was hard to believe that her life has been so strange, but I’ve seen enough to know that there’s no real limit to human depravity when it comes to matters of war. The weapons we make to unleash on one ano
ther are the most advanced things in our societies. Why should the soldiers we use to wield them be any different.

  Electra is more than a broken soldier. She’s a woman. A human. And she’s had enough human interaction to be able to relate to me. That’s a good start. Not perfect, but we will get there.

  We are going to have to start with basics. Manners. She doesn’t really have those. Every second word is a curse, and I’m not surprised. All she’s had to model after are soldiers and military scientists. Hardly good role models.

  She opens the fridge. “A cold box for food,” she observes. “My food always came on metal or plastic trays. I never knew it came from cold boxes.”

  “It’s called a fridge. Or refrigerator. It keeps food cold.”

  “I just told you I’m not fucking stupid,” she snaps suddenly. “You don’t have to explain shit to me, I got it the first time from context. I said it was a cold food box, didn’t I?”

  “Good,” I say calmly. “I don’t need the attitude though.”

  “Well you’re gonna get it.”

  “If I do, my hand is going to be meeting your bottom again.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, pure rebellion sparking across her face. “I let you do that once because I was curious, but don’t mistake me, Doc, I decide when things happen to me.”

  I bet she wishes that were true. She’s never been able to decide when anything happened to her.

  I watch as she walks over to the oven, twists a knob and tries to put her hand on the element.

  Electra

  “No!”

  His big hand closes around my wrist, yanks my hand away.

  “What the fuck?”

  “That gets really hot,” he says, pointing to the element which is starting to glow. “You could burn yourself.”

  “So there’s a cold box and a fire box.”

  “Oven,” he says.

  I feel my face flush with heat. I really fucking hate that he’s explaining these things to me like I’m an idiot. I might not know what these things are, but so fucking what? I know other things, like twenty ways to kill a man with a toothpick.