The Solution Pt. 03
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A Doctor’s Opinion:
The young female doctor mindlessly pushed the up button to summon the elevator she has ridden a thousand times before, part of the passage of a series of cognitive scripts that lead her to her office on the top floor of this old hospital. She was reading the file of yet another troubled soul she would hopefully shepherd to sanity, or at least serenity. Her habits were disrupted when the elevator doors spread open to reveal the strange young lady cowering in the far right corner of the compartment, refusing to make eye contact. The doctor was repelled into retreat from the aroma of sex wafting out into the open air.
She overcame her impulse to retreat and stepped into the elevator to stood her ground at the other farthest side away from the stranger. The elevator was already set for the psych ward on the top floor.
“Figures.” The doctor’s inner mumble echoed.
The woman wore a long flowing skirt, in bright colors, expensive jewelry adorning neck and ears, a wedding ring with a large diamond, and yet her blouse was a wrinkled mess, with nothing buttoned, breasts almost spilling out of this make-shift halter. It did not match the rest of her presentation.
“No! please, noo.”
The woman’s voice startled the doctor who turned to face the agitated woman.
“Miss, are you all right?”
“I don’t …I don’t know? Please forgive me.”
The embarrased lady walked toward the doctor and grabbed her hair giving her a surprisingly deep kiss.
The doctor jerked herself free. “Woo there, stop!”
“I’m so sorry.” the woman says as she grabs the doctor’s free hand and pulls it to press the flesh of her right breast and lets go of a deep sigh.
The doctor did not pull away this time. “Hey, what’s going on, what’s wrong? Do you have an appointment upstairs?”
“I can’t . . . doctor, she is in my head, and she takes denizli escort control of me. I cannot get her out of me. How is she doing this? I cannot control myself. I am so sorry.”
The doctor’s “whack-doodle” warning was sounding loud and clear. “This woman needs help. She is listening to the voices in her head? If she believes she is not in control, what if the voice told her to arm up and go on a killing rampage? I have got to keep her calm and get her checked in for monitoring.”
The doctor realized that her hand still held the woman’s breast, and she pulled away. The lady moved forward for another kiss, but the doctor blocked her and repeated her question; “Miss, do you have an appointment? Who are you going to see?”
The woman went into half-lidded arousal and pressed into the doctor, who simply allowed the intimate opportunity to try to contain the woman. “Is the voice in your head telling you to hurt anyone?”
“Well, she does seem to want to humiliate me.”
“And you feel she is able to make you do things against your will?”
“Yes ma’am.” The woman lowered her face to the floor.
The doctor knew that she was facing some sort of break with reality, possibly some form of dissociate disorder, and that she might hurt someone or herself if this inner voice directed her to do so. She could not be left alone.
The elevator doors opened and the doctor took the young woman by the hand. “Come with me, I’ll help you. What’s your name?”
“Cunt.” She whispered.
As they entered the doctor’s office, she sat the miserably sexy woman down in a very comfortable chair, and took another stiffer seat across from her.
“What is your real name, honey?”
“I . . . I . . . i cannot remember any other name. I’m sorry.”
“How long have you been controlled by this voice?”
“I beat her, I adana escort hurt her. I was upset.”
The she sat silently.
The doctor grew alarmed. “Who did you hurt?”
The woman’s face struggled and twisted to give birth to words, and the constipated speech seemed to be creating a choking hazard.
“Relax, just relax and take your time.”
Then the woman looked shocked as her hands came up and began to make gestures.
“Yes, I can understand sign language.”
The woman seemed dumbfounded as her hands moved quickly telling a story.
“So as far as you know, your lover is all right?”
“I see, so you discovered that she was seeing your husband as you explored your lesbian hunger with her. You felt betrayed?”
Now the woman was shaking her head no, with tears streaming down her face, but the hands dancing rapidly had the doctor’s full attention.
“You felt grateful? I don’t understand.”
“I see, she was so much better at fulfilling your husband’s needs and your problem, as I understand it, is that you did not want to share her with him. How do you feel about your husband?”
By this time, the woman’s head bowed in acceptance to the power of the unfolding story, like she was a child watching a marionette show.
“If you have such overwhelming admiration and respect for him, it seems like all three of you just need to sit down and work something out.”
“A frigid whore? I don’t understand. Why do you feel this way about yourself?”
The hands freely danced its humiliating accusations around the weeping woman’s face, like flies around a warm and smelly turd.
“So you married him with the promise of sexual access, enjoyed your release from the working world, and began to slowly castrate him into something safe. All of which made you despise both him and yourself.”
“Well, malatya escort you use some pretty strong words of self-condemnation. If you respect your husband so much and he loves you, then you cannot be the woman you think you are. I think you need to …”
Suddenly this weeping patient ripped her blouse from her bare breasts and dropped to her knees in front of the doctor. She moved quickly to bury her head between the doctor’s legs who was paralyzed by the sudden shift and had no time to adjust to the woman’s mouth munching on her panties. The woman held firm to the doctor’s thighs and pushed her tongue into the physician’s moist slit like some devilish serpent on a hellish quest.
The doctor attempted to regain control, but could not squeeze her legs shut. She pushed herself from the chair and to the floor in the vain hope of escaping the lesbian nympho working on her crotch. Her slit was flooding with lubricant and her own arousal was assisting the crazy bitch’s aggression. The doctor’s panties had been pulled aside by the strong right hand of her patient and the silent tongue penetrated deeply with phallic force, then caressed the swelling clitoris with a coaxing pressure. This unrelenting ministration met with the doctor’s involuntary groans. Her professional demeanor had been abducted in the fulfillment of forbidden desire, a private fantasy finding unexpected manifestation.
The discordance produced by the fog of lust enraptured the doctor into one orgasm after another, as this wild woman succeeded in ripping the pretty blouse open and affectionately mauling the neglected tits of her captive psychiatrist. Deep passionate kisses of mutual approval transported both women into a calm afterglow.
The doctor awoke to find herself alone, the door and her blouse open, and her patient’s clothing neatly folded and discarded in some final act of surrender, in that comfortable chair for all the desperate souls seeking her aid.
She sat up quickly, jumped to her feet. “Oh God, I have got to find her!”
She began straightening her blouse and reviewed some of the flashed memories of her intimate encounter. She moaned, “I really have to find her.”
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