Bedlam

by Keira Michelle Telford

  And the culprit is sitting on her sofa.

  It’s Silver.

  “Long time no see, Doc.” Silver looks up from the coffee table, the contents of her patient file spread out over it. “Where’s the love?”

  “What’re you doing in here?” Elena clasps her books and folders to her chest, subconsciously shielding herself.

  “Guess.” Silver gestures to the state of the room.

  “You want your Authenticard.” Elena scans Silver’s dissected patient records. “But you won’t find it, so I’m afraid you’ve rather wasted your time.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Silver sets down the papers she was looking at. “I’ve found lots of reading material.”

  Elena eyes the contents of the file warily. “Glean anything interesting?”

  “Plenty.” Silver fishes a sheet of paper out of the disorganized mess she’s created on the tempered glass tabletop. “And I have to say, some of it was particularly enlightening.” She selects a paragraph halfway down the page and reads aloud. “I’m pleased to say that Ella has displayed a great deal of progress in the last week. Her sexual outbursts appear to be under control, and she’s responding well to her treatments. Though she remains stubborn and combative when challenged, overall, her attitude has been greatly improved.” She flings the sheet back onto the pile. “You’ve been faking our private sessions.”

  “I have no other choice.” Elena defends her deception without pause, considering it little more than a pragmatic solution to an increasingly sticky predicament. “I’m legally required to keep up my sessions with you, but I think it’s safer if we limit our time together.”

  “Safer?” Silver questions her word choice.

  “Less problematic,” Elena rephrases herself.

  “You know what a better solution would be? Discharging me.”

  “That’s a nice thought”—Elena flashes her a condescending smile—“but you recently coerced my daughter into helping you flee from my custody. For that, I’m sorry to say, your stay here has been extended indefinitely.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Silver pulls a pair of her old undies out from a pocket in her blues. “Endless opportunities to perv on me.” She hooks them on the end of her finger and lets them dangle. “I found these in your desk.”

  Elena’s cheeks burn.

  They’re the pair from the shower room.

  The pair she’d thrown out, then retrieved.

  The pair she never should’ve taken.

  She wrests them off Silver’s finger and hurls them at the wastebasket—where she should’ve left them the first time.

  “I’m not gay,” she snarls, injecting pure venom into the words.

  “Whatever you say.” Silver holds her hands up.

  “I’m a married woman, and I have a child.” Elena weakly buttresses her position with the only weapons she has in her arsenal, but it’s not enough.

  “I’m married and pregnant.” Silver points to her swelling stomach, concealed beneath her baggy blues. “So what’s your damn point? Look, if you’re not even remotely gay, why were you trying to feel me up on our way back from the Russian district?”

  “It was an accident.”

  “What? A little bit of gay slipped out while you weren’t paying attention?”

  “Of the two of us, I’m not the one who ought to be ashamed of my behavior.” Elena attempts to perch herself on the only bit of higher ground she can get a foothold on. “You tried to molest me!”

  Silver lounges on the sofa, wholly unconcerned by the accusation. “Are you denying that you liked it?”

  Stuck on the losing end of this little back-and-forth, Elena disengages. “I don’t have to discuss this with you.”

  She strides to the coffee table and dumps down her load of books and papers on the way to her leather chair. As she does, a few newspaper clippings slip out of a folder and onto the glass tabletop, the most recent one freshly cut from today’s edition.

  One of the clippings carries the headline ‘Former Magistrate Saves Tower Hamlets Procuress From Rope’. Beneath it is a picture of two women kissing on the gallows.

  “Holy shit!” Silver snags the article, recognizing one of the faces immediately. “When did this happen?”

  Elena shrugs. “A few weeks ago. Why? Do you know them?”

  Silver pores over the details, the name of the former Magistrate confirmed in black and white: it’s Carmen Wild. She seems to have caused quite a stir—and an uprising—by sharing an illicit lip-lock with her condemned lover, Emmeline MacKinsey.

  “I traveled to London with the Magistrate, Carmen,” Silver explains. “She’s a feisty little thing, albeit a tad grumpy at times.” She fishes through the other clippings for more information, finding out that loving Carmen was Emmeline’s only crime. “What happened to them?”

  Elena shrugs. “They’re in protective custody, I think. No-one’s seen hide nor hair of them since they pulled that reckless stunt on the gallows.”

  “A stunt?” Silver furrows her brow at Elena. “Carmen saved her girlfriend’s life. That’s not a stunt, it’s a statement. And if you think it was so reckless and self-indulgent, why follow the story?”

  “It may lead to some interesting political developments.” Elena remains aloof. “The Homosexual Law Reform Society is making sure everyone knows about the former Magistrate who defied the CPS and saved her procuress lover from the rope, and now there’s a petition circulating through the Northside. They’re calling for the indecency law to be repealed.”

  “That’s great, but if you’re not gay, why do you give a shit?”

  “Am I not allowed to be sympathetic to the cause?” Elena staunchly refuses to admit anything. “Besides, the procuress, Emmeline MacKinsey … I knew her.” She gazes wistfully at the black-and-white image of Emmeline’s face. “She was an inmate here many years ago.”

  “Ah.” Silver tosses the clippings onto the coffee table. “So what is it you’re really following? The story, or the woman?”

  The fact that she and Emmeline look somewhat alike—blonde hair, high cheek bones, full lips—doesn’t go unnoticed by her, and she’s quick to connect the dots.

  “Do I remind you of her?” She taunts the edgy doctor. “Is that why you like me?”

  Perturbed by how easily Silver seems to be able to flip things around on her, Elena gathers up the newspaper clippings and changes the subject.

  “Why won’t you let me help you?”

  Silver pulls a face. “This isn’t about helping me. You want to put me in a cage.”

  “A cage is the best I can offer.” Elena heads for her desk, hiding the clippings away in one of her drawers. “I can’t make you any less gay, but I can teach you how to suppress it, ignore it, and not give in to it.”

  “Like you do?” Silver snorts. “No, thanks. I don’t want to suppress it.” She gets up and follows Elena across the room, disgusted by the suggestion. “I want to go back to the beautiful Russian woman I’m in love with—that’s how you can help me.”

  “Well, until something changes, this sort of love is against the law.” Elena faces her defiantly, unaware of her tongue-slip until Silver points it out to her.

  “This sort of love?” She raises both eyebrows. “Oh, Doc, are you trying to tell me something?”

  “You could be hanged,” Elena warns, refusing to acknowledge her blunder, her control over the situation slipping.

  “So? What’s the alternative?” Silver advances on her. “Lying to myself? Pretending to be something I’m not? Exacting cruel and unnecessary punishments on other women because I hate how much I secretly lust after their sex?” She keeps advancing, backing Elena toward the nearest wall.

  Elena stumbles into a filing cabinet and maneuvers around it, trying to keep Silver at a comfortable distance, but failing miserably to do so.

  “I don’t want to be like you.” Silver looms into her personal space.

  “Don’t worry,” Elena sneers, �
�you’ll never be anything like me.” She tries to mask her unease by standing squarely to face her belligerent patient. “I’m in control of myself.”

  “You’re repressed,” Silver snaps back.

  All professionalism lost in the face of such a dangerous accusation, Elena slaps her open palm across Silver’s cheek. “Stop this!”

  Far from being castigated into submission, Silver promptly grabs Elena by the throat and throws her up against the wall, pinning her there.

  “You like it rough, do you?”

  “Let me go!” Elena smacks Silver’s arm. “I told you: I’m not gay!”

  “No?” Silver tightens her grip. “Then how come you’re so wet right now?”

  Falling momentarily still, wondering if Silver can smell her arousal, Elena keeps her eyes downturned and tries to ignore the relentless throbbing and gushing of her recently awakened womanhood, her entire sexual being now in full rebellion against a lifetime of strictly enforced principles.

  “You are wet, aren’t you?” Silver trails her free hand down Elena’s body, over her waist, hip, and thigh, reaching for the hem of her skirt. “Shall we find out?”

  Elena makes a token effort to ward Silver off. She squirms, twisting and writhing against the pressure on her throat, Silver’s strong fingers pressed tight to her carotid arteries. It’s difficult to breathe, her inhalations reduced to short gasps of air, her violets flashing with fright.

  Feeling Silver’s brazen hand drive up her skirt, she clenches her thighs, staving off sexual contact … but her efforts are futile. Silver’s fingers snake between her legs and graze the bare skin of her inner thigh, causing her to emit a stifled squeal.

  While she’s still in command of her senses, she wraps her hand around Silver’s wrist and pushes downward, trying to force her attacker away, but the instant Silver’s fingertips make contact with her core, her thighs relax.

  The tension in her muscles dissipates as Silver cups her sex, palming her clit over her thin cotton underwear. Her head is swirling with a barrage of conflicting thoughts—desire and duty irreconcilable—and she gasps. The hand around Silver’s wrist still squeezes tightly, her nails digging into flesh, but she no longer exerts any resistance.

  Weakened by lust, her cheeks flush and her brow creases: her brain at odds with her body. Her other hand clutches a fistful of Silver’s clothing, using her for balance as she hooks a leg over Silver’s hip, opening herself up for exploration.

  Silver grins, watching sexual excitement take over, Elena submitting to it willingly, even jerking her hips forward to generate more friction against Silver’s palm.

  But that’s not how this is going to end.

  Not content simply to let her rub herself to climax, Silver seizes Elena’s hip and shoves her back to the wall. “Stay,” she barks, slipping her fingers inside Elena’s underwear, finding the frigid doctor’s skin slick with arousal, her clit swollen, her body begging to be fucked.

  “Just as I thought,” Silver whispers in her ear. “You’re ready for me.”

  With that, she thrusts two fingers inside Elena’s sopping sex, penetrating her without care or tenderness, generating a lustful whine. She can feel Elena’s stiletto heel digging into her ass, the doctor’s leg wrapped firmly around her waist, anchoring herself upright as she starts to shake, her climax erupting rapidly and volcanically.

  The sensations are so intense that Elena only remains vertical thanks to that wedged stiletto heel, her hands upon Silver’s shoulders, and Silver’s hand on her throat, holding her to the wall.

  In the final moments, panting heavily, she closes her violet eyes and holds back a whimper, biting on her lower lip to subdue a cry of pleasure. Only when her paroxysm passes does she open her eyes again, peering fearfully at Silver, well aware that she’s at the complete mercy of her inmate.

  Without saying a word, Silver withdraws her sticky fingers and brings them to Elena’s open mouth, pushing them between her crimson lips. Dutifully, Elena, her breathing still labored, responds by closing her mouth around them, sucking them clean.

  “Good girl.” Silver pulls her fingers free and eases her grip on Elena’s throat, taking a step back, extricating herself from Elena’s limbs.

  Leaving her there, vulnerable, her cunt still in spasms, Silver heads for the door, stopping at the threshold to make sure the shaken doctor has a clear understanding of the situation.

  “I won’t break, no matter how long you keep me here.” She regards Elena emotionlessly, appearing entirely unaffected by their interaction. “But you will.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Standing at the head of the refectory, watching the inmates file in for breakfast, Elena is in a state of turmoil. She hasn’t spoken to Silver since their wicked encounter in her office, and she barely slept a wink last night.

  She rolled from left to right and back again, catching herself with her hand inside her underwear no less than six times. Her mind was stuck on Silver, her thoughts invariably carnal and depraved, and she couldn’t help but be aware of how appallingly wet she was. Her knickers were clinging to the sodden cleft of her vagina, the area between her legs becoming unbearably hot and sticky.

  At the end of her tether, she clambered out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen, nabbing two ice cubes from the tray in the freezer. Right there in the middle of the room, she pulled down her pajamas, sat at the dining table, spread her legs, and pressed the frozen cubes to her deprived sex.

  One of the cubes found her opening and slid along it, the heat from her body melting it rapidly, her engorged labia engulfing it. The other cube nudged the underside of her swollen clit, causing a jolt of pain to radiate through her core.

  The clock ticked, the refrigerator hummed, and there she sat in the dark, dripping onto the kitchen floor, a small puddle forming between her legs. In a matter of minutes, the ice cubes were gone, her chilled fingers pressed up to her wet flesh, the temptation to touch herself no less raw than it was when she first stepped out of bed.

  Closing her eyes, she curled her middle finger inward and felt between her labia, working the tip of her finger up and down her slit. There was a reason she didn’t masturbate—why she denied herself even that—and it was a matter of greed.

  One orgasm is never enough.

  If you give your body a taste of such ecstasy, it wants more. It craves pleasure.

  Moreover, in her case, there was always the crushing guilt of harboring sexual fantasies about other women. Whether it was the girl at the grocery store checkout, or her Pilates instructor, she found that the more she engaged in those debauched, sinful daydreams, the harder they were to ignore.

  She had to stop.

  It became easier as time went by, a day turning to a week, turning to a month, and then more. Before she knew it, years had gone by, the torment bearable only because, somewhere deep down, she never really gave up the hope that if she denied herself the pinnacle of sexual experience by her own hand, then she might yet adapt to her husband’s touch. As if, one day, her body would simply give up. Relent. Succumb.

  Reflecting on how pitiful she’d allowed herself to become, she began to cry, alone in her kitchen, her hand between her legs. But not even her own touch could abate her desires at that moment.

  Though she would never admit it to anyone, the orgasm Silver gave her in her office was the first she’d had in over two decades. It’d been so long that she almost thought of herself as sexless.

  Numb.

  Desensitized.

  Until casting her eyes on Silver, she couldn’t remember how long it’d been since she’d found herself so aroused by another person.

  This wasn’t meant to happen.

  She wasn’t meant to develop an attraction to one of her patients, let alone allow herself to be fucked. It might’ve lasted only a minute, if that, but it was sexual contact and it was exquisite.

  And now here they are in the refectory, their eyes meeting as Silver arrives for breakfast and falls into line with the
other patients.

  Elena’s look is one of pure defiance: “I dare you to fuck me again.”

  In response, Silver exudes nonchalance: “You want it? Come and get it.”

  Neither one moves toward the other, the pair caught in a stalemate.

  The balance of power is swinging in Silver’s favor and they both know it, but for Elena, the fear of appearing weak and impotent is now paling into insignificance compared to the tantalizing possibility of having another orgasm.

  She needs it.

  She wants it.

  But Abby beats her to it.

  Dashing into the refectory, the tiny woman sets her sights on Silver and bulldozes into her, flinging both skinny arms around her new friend’s waist. When the hug breaks, Elena watches a scrap of paper pass from Abby to Silver.

  Silver reads it, grins, and bends to whisper something in Abby’s ear, making her laugh. Still grinning, she tosses the note into the trash and lets Abby take her by the hand, the pair leaving the refectory at a hurried pace.

  Elena’s imagination runs rampant. Deserting her post, she weaves through the room to the trash can and picks out the note, her chest tightening when she reads Abby’s barely legible, chicken scratch handwriting: I need yoo up me.

  Burning with a morbid need to see this with her own eyes—as if there’s any way this secret message could possibly be misinterpreted—she slips out of the refectory and follows Abby’s girlish giggles till she reaches the end of the hall.

  Here, she exploits the reflection in a domed mirror set into the corner of the ceiling and watches Abby perch her ass on a windowsill, angling herself for penetration. Then, without any hint of hesitation, Silver works a hand inside her blues.

  There’s no misinterpreting that.

  Silver’s fingering her.

  Unreasonably enraged, Elena turns away and retreats to the refectory, struggling to process her emotions, wishing she could find relief from this. A few minutes later, Silver and Abby return to the breakfast queue hand in hand, the sight of their easy closeness provoking Elena even more, compelling her to act.

  “Abby, love.” She approaches her tiniest inmate, flashing her a warm, fake smile. “There you are! Where’ve you been?” She fingers a few locks of Abby’s limp brown hair with an almost maternal affection. “Have you been behaving yourself?”