“What, did this bump in my marriage ruin your big night of surfing Pornhub and jerking off?”
“I’m actually seeing someone, jackass. I have been for a few months now, and you’d know that if you’d bothered paying attention to anyone but yourself.” He smirked and took a sip of his gin. “So, it seems you’ll be the one jerking off.”
The waiter dropped off two more gins on his way to a table full of giggling girls. Needless to say, neither Reed nor I were new to Hudson’s. “Wrong again my friend,” I winked.
He shook his head in disgust. “Well, shit, that didn’t take you long.” Judgment was an ugly color on Reed and I told him as much. “I’m not judging you. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to be sleeping around before the ink on your divorce decree dries.”
“I didn’t sign it.”
Reed was right, the look before wasn’t judgment, but the look on his face then made me want to call him, Your Honor. “Why the fuck didn’t you sign it?”
“Because I don’t lose.”
“That’s why she left you,” Reed said, finishing his second drink. “There are a million ways you could have answered that question. You could’ve said, ‘because I want to fight for my wife’ or ‘because I still love her’ or even, ‘I’m not ready to let go’, but no, your narcissistic ass said, ‘because I don’t lose’.” The venom in his tone was surprising. Reed rarely commented on my social defects, but apparently everyone in my life was protective of Natasha.
“I do miss her,” I qualified, and I did. Life was easier when she was around, and I’ve realized that in her absence. I wouldn’t have said, my heart grew fonder, but I could appreciate what she brought to our marriage.
“No, you don’t. You miss your assistant.”
The bartender dropped a third round and asked if we wanted to order food. Reed got wings, like the fucking caveman he was, and I got a steak sandwich. I needed red meat to listen to his lecture. Maybe I was the caveman.
“No—”
“Yes,” he interrupted. “If you missed her, you wouldn’t have fucked someone else.”
“Touché.”
“So, who is this new brave soul?”
I paused for a moment. Three gins in thirty minutes had me wanting to spill my guts like a teenage girl, but I wasn’t stupid. Doctor/patient privilege didn’t protect felony confessions. “Is this my therapist speaking or my friend?”
“Are we friends?” he asked, tilting his head to the left, doing that pretentious shrink thing. He was reading me, or trying to. His brow furrowed in concentration. His ridiculous mustache twitched. The muscles in his face gave him away. It wasn’t sarcasm, he was being genuine.
I thought about it for a minute. Friends. What does that even mean? Someone to talk to? Confide in? Someone you call when you’re down? Reed ticked all those boxes for me. “You’re as close as it gets. If you’d let me fuck you in the ass we could be more.” I grinned, setting my glass back on the table, back on the puddle, still secretly hoping for damage.
“Tempting,” he stated dryly, “but I’ll pass. So, tell me about this poor woman.”
“That poor woman, is actually very rich and as insane as I am.”
“Sounds like a match made in hell.”
“It gets worse.”
“How?” he asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
Our food came then. I hadn’t eaten lunch, and after my stairwell workout with Simone, the smell of deep fried potatoes and bloody steak was mouthwatering. “She’s a patient,” I mumbled around my sandwich.
Gin sprayed from Reed’s mouth and landed on the table between us. I stared at the droplets of fermented grain. It beaded on top of the wood like the water, and disappointment stabbed at my chest.
“What the fuck man? You could go to jail for that shit.”
“I could,” I said, eyeing the gin. “But it’s not what you think.”
“So, you’re not fucking one of your patients?”
“Oh, no I am, but I’m not a predator.” At that Reed grunted. Like I said, he knew me well. “We met five years ago at that conference in Aspanen, the one you bailed on.”
“You stayed on for three days?” he said into the air. He hadn’t looked at me directly since my little confession.
“Yes, I spent three days fucking her in The Standard Hotel, and five years later, she walked into my office and fingered herself next to the bonsai plant my mother-in-law gave me.”
“Shit,” he hissed.
“Shit is right. Smell my fingers.”
He slapped my hand away. “Asshole.” We were silent for a beat. I shoved as much of my sandwich into my mouth as possible. Reed played with his wings. I could see the silent debate raging behind his eyes. He, like Natasha, was good. He held doors opened for little old ladies, smiled at babies, and didn’t fuck patients. He didn’t know what to do with me, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to turn me in to the ethics board, so I stole one of his wings. “So, what are you going to do now?”
“What do you think?” I asked, tearing the flesh from the bone with my teeth.
“Damien, you could lose your license.”
“Everything is under control.”
“Damien.”
“It’s fine.”
“Damien, stay away from that woman, whoever she is. This won’t end well.”
“Of course,” I nodded, signaling the bartender for another round of drinks.
* * *
I felt lighter after talking to Reed, almost feather like. I even called my mother. Of course, she’d heard the news. My parents liked Natasha more than they liked me. They loved me, they had to, but they knew me, the real me. They had hoped being married would soften me. They often referred to my wife as my soul. Natasha thought they were being sweet, welcoming her into our family, but I knew the truth. They had their doubts about my soul and whether it existed. Hell, for a time, I doubted its existence myself, but I did have a soul. Aristotle believed that all living creatures possessed a soul. His definition was more practical than spiritual, but so was I, so I went with it. He believed the soul was a person’s essence.
My essence had scales.
Weeks had gone by and I let Simone skate by doing the bare minimum, one, because she was convincing, and two, because I was fucking her, so who was I to judge? After our ninth session, Simone blew me in the third-floor broom closet. After our twelfth, I sodomized her. She begged me to do it. Still, I knew the ramifications if we got caught. She was a patient in my care and couldn’t legally consent, and I was the idiot who was throwing away a lifetime of schooling because I couldn’t keep my dick out of the little nympho.
For all the money Meadowbrook charged to make “guests healthy”, you’d think they’d invest a little more in security. In all, there were about ten blind spots throughout the facility and another four on the grounds. Places where the cameras either didn’t work or were angled in such a way that if you were familiar enough, say one of the resident psychiatrists, getting around unnoticed was easy.
Well, for the most part.
“Dr. Cooper, over here,” Morgan yelled from across the cafeteria. We ate lunch at the same table every day, but ever since news of my separation hit the Meadowbrook rumor mill, Morgan’s flirting had gone from inappropriate to flat-out indecent. I rolled my eyes and snagged a bottle of water from the cooler, before I made my way to the staff table. “I saved you a seat,” she smiled, pushing the chair next to her toward me.
The bitch had no shame.
None.
“Thank you, Dr. Stanley,” I smiled tightly. Lewis sat across from us. Max, one of the day side orderlies, sat to his left, and a couple of the intake nurses sat on the other side of him.
“Another boring salad,” Morgan tsked.
“Another boring salad,” I shrugged
“You need to spice things up a bit Dr. Cooper. Live a little. Let me make you dinner,” she whispered, warm breath kissed the side of my neck. “I promise you’ll never want th
at old salad again.”
“Why do I get the feeling we aren’t talking about food?” I asked, scanning the table. Lewis and Max were huddled together, talking about the Broncos, and the nurses were giggling about some TV show I’d never heard of.
“I just think four years eating the same salad could get boring. I think it’s time to try something new.”
“You mean someone new?”
“Something, someone. Potato, pa-ta-to,” she said, flicking a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder. She wore a white blouse and the top three buttons were undone, granting me a view of her lace bra. Morgan wasn’t unattractive, and maybe under different circumstances, I would have fucked her, but I had Simone, and why settle for a cheap imitation when I could have the real, mentally unstable thing.
Reaching for the plastic fork on my tray, I speared a strip of romaine and brought the fork to my lips. “Thanks for the offer Dr. Stanley, but I like salad.”
Her face fell, but before she could protest, Simone interrupted. “Dr. Cooper,” she said demurely. Every head at the table turned in her direction. Simone’s reputation preceded her. Apparently everyone but me was aware of her slut status. Most of the male staff stared at her ass when they thought no one was looking, and the females worshipped her. She was their hero and, as such, she got away with murder.
Max and Dr. Lewis exchanged a look that screamed, I bet she fucks like a pro. I wanted nothing more than to confirm their suspicions. To throw her over my shoulder and chant, mine, mine, mine, over and over again, but I refrained. “Yes, Ms. Boudreaux, how can I help you?”
Simone shuffled from one foot to the other, an act, but for who? “I know we’re scheduled to have a session later, but…I…I… wondered if you could move me up. I need to…to talk to someone.” She wrung her hands around themselves nervously. Panic flashed in her big, blue eyes. She was good. I should have known then I was screwed, but the dragon was curious. Simone rarely approached me outside of our time together. Discretion was paramount if our little arrangement was to work, but the dragon wanted to know what she wanted.
Morgan narrowed her eyes at Simone. “Dr. Cooper just sat down to eat.” Obviously, she didn’t buy the skittish rabbit act either.
Simone turned her attention to Morgan. Her blue eyes darkened and her hand fell, balling into fists at her sides. “Sorry, Dr. Stuart—”
“Stanley,” Morgan corrected.
“Stanley, yes, sorry. I know you wanted him to stare at your tits some more, but he’s my doctor and I need him. You can flirt on your own time.”
Morgan’s mouth popped open. The nurses cackled under their breath and Max and Lewis looked like they were about to come in their pants. Morgan was a pushy bitch, but it looked like she had just met her match.
“Of course, Ms. Boudreaux,” I grinned, dropping my fork. “I’ve been told I eat too much salad anyway.”
Simone smirked at Morgan, and followed me out of the cafeteria. There was a bounce in her step, a perkiness at complete opposition to the woman who had approached the table. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me Dr. Cooper,” she purred as we made our way through the campus.
“Care to tell me what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until after lunch?”
She looked up at me with irritation in her gaze, and whispered, “I hate that bitch.”
“Dr. Stanley?”
“She’s a slut.”
“You’re a slut,” I countered, nodding at a group of orderlies standing outside the art room.
“That may be true, but I know where my pussy is wanted and where it isn’t.”
“You have a fowl mouth.”
“My fowl mouth hasn’t stopped you from fucking me yet,” she grinned.
“I never said I found it unattractive, just noting that it is.”
“Noted.”
My office was on the third floor in the main building. We rode the elevator up in silence. Sexual tension crackled between us like a furnace. My dick was hard and I wanted nothing more than to shove Simone to her knees and choke her with it. From the looks she was shooting me, she felt the same.
We passed Harper’s empty desk. I gave her the afternoon off because it was her anniversary. I told her to hold on to the things she loved because they could be gone in an instant. She almost looked sorry for me. I was hoping for her pity. I wanted my misery to get back to Natasha. I also knew I had an afternoon session with Simone and I didn’t want any interruptions.
“Tell me about your parents,” I asked once we were safely shut inside my office. She laid on her stomach across my boring couch. The soft curve of her ass peeked out from under the hem of her black pleated skirt. I wanted to bite it.
“My mother’s dead and my father is dead to me,” she laughed, kicking up one of her feet. Her skirt rode up higher. Her milky flesh glowed against the dark fabric. It was November and a chill had settled over the Springs, but Simone continued to parade around Meadowbrook in dresses and skirts. I’d like to have said they were for my benefit, but one thing I quickly realized was that woman did everything on her own terms.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
Simone sat back on her knees. Genuine emotion glistened in her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about my mother.”
“Your father then,” I pressed. I’d let her skate by doing the bare minimum, but for some reason, I didn’t want Simone to fail. She was there for a reason, and although I wouldn’t stop fucking her, I could at least try to help her.
She shot me a lazy smile and spread her knees apart, giving me the briefest flashes of pink flesh, before the heavy material of her skirt got in the way. “Try again Dr. Cooper,” she moaned.
I turned to look at the camera. The red light blinked on and off, angrily. I wanted to fall to my knees, bite my way up her thighs, and suck on her clit until she begged for mercy, then deny her for denying me. I wanted her writhing in a pleasure pain mixed cocktail until I finally broke her. “Are you taking your meds?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you seem happy, unusually so.”
“I thought that was the point of this?”
“There’s a difference between true happiness and a manic episode.”
She laughed, her throaty laugh that time, and stood gracefully. Her movements were slow, cat-like, as she stalked towards me. Lifting my tie, she asked, “Is that silk? I love silk, it’s my favorite. No, actually, lace is my favorite, but silk is a close second. You can find the best silk in Paris…have you ever been?”
“To Paris?”
“Yes, silly,” she said, dropping my tie as she strutted over to the window. Our sessions had become a sort of foreplay. She’d show up without panties and flash me from the perimeter of my office, and we’d talk around her illness, while my dick grew hard and angry.
I swallowed, and ignored the pulsing veins in my cock. “I’ve been to Paris. Are you taking your meds?”
She huffed, hopping up on the windowsill, and I was treated to a glimpse of her pussy. The hair had grown in some, but that didn’t trample my desire to lick her. It twinkled under the neon lights in my office, damp and swollen. I swear Simone spent forty percent of her time at Meadowbrook with her fingers in her cunt.
“Are you lying to me?”
“Paris is great, but Morocco, Morocco could be my home.” She bounced when she spoke. A manic little lilt in every syllable.
“I’ve never been. Why don’t you take your meds?”
“I take them.”
“Why are you lying?” I asked.
Jumping off the window, she skipped to my desk, her eyes washing over its contents. A stack of papers laid neatly in the corner. Three pens, one blue, one black and one red, were lined up, facing westward. The gin filled water bottle peeked out from the top drawer. “I’m thirsty,” she said, swiping the bottle and scurrying over to the corner table where my bonsai tree lived before she killed it.
I was on her in seconds. She pulled me between her l
egs and looked up at me with innocent eyes—eyes I couldn’t deny. “One drink,” I whispered.
She took two deep pulls then handed the bottle back to me. “I don’t like the way they make me feel.”
“You have to take them,” I pulled her closer, her ass on the edge of the table, her pussy against my crotch, my lips on her throat.
“Then feed them to me,” she whispered, grinding against me.
“Simone, baby, stop,” I was fucking up. We couldn’t both be off screen whispering to one another for longer than a few minutes without raising suspicion. Moving back into view of the camera, I tucked the bottle safely inside my desk. “Same time,” I said, not in reference to our next session, but to when she’s to meet me in the broom closet. It had become my favorite place to fuck her. The day side janitorial staff left at five and the overnight team didn’t begin until ten.
“Yes, Sir,” she mewled hopping off the table and bounced out of the room. I looked down at my crotch, damp from Simone’s pussy. Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
“On your knees,” I barked as Simone slipped into the broom closet. A single lightbulb flickered overhead, granting us glimpses of each other through the darkness. She wore the same skirt from earlier, the same manic grin too.
“Not even a hello?” she purred, sinking to her knees.
“You don’t deserve to be in my presence after the way you behaved today.” I almost went home. I almost left her waiting all night as punishment. Her list of transgressions was a mile long, and the more time I had to analyze her behavior, the more agitated I became. By the time six rolled around I was practically tearing at my skin.
“But you’re here.” She smiled a smug smile and unbuttoned my slacks. She pawed at me, desperate to get to my dick, but I wasn’t letting her off that easy. Putting Morgan in her place was one thing. I could even forgive stealing my gin, but not taking her meds was where I drew the line. Maybe I had morals after all.
“Hands behind your back. Eyes closed. Mouth open.”
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