by Dani René
Tom keeps one arm firmly around my back while he reaches up and pushes his thumb into my skin, directly over the cuts. It hurts, a burning pain, and I whine louder.
“Please stop, please! I’m sorry! I know the marks aren’t real. They’re not real! Mr. Cat isn’t real!” My voice keeps rising, getting higher with every panicked word, but Tom doesn’t let me go.
“Does it hurt when Tom pushes on your arm, Nina?”
I clench my teeth tight, refusing to answer. I can’t lie, he’ll know if I lie, but I know he’s going to hurt me if I say yes.
“Fine, Nina. We both know that you think it hurts. I want you to think of that pain, the imagined pain, and compare it to this.”
I hear a whistling swoosh of air, and then my ass explodes in agony. I scream, my knees give out, and it’s only Tom’s strength that keeps me from hanging by the cuffs. It’s a vicious line of fire, pulsing with its own heartbeat, and I sob into Tom’s chest as the ache starts to dull.
“You’re okay, Nina. You’re safe,” Dr. Nickelsen says, but it’s not as comforting as it usually is. It’s not comforting at all.
“You hit me,” I whine, sniffling as Tom’s thumb rubs tiny circles on my skin.
“Yes, I gave you one lash with the crop so that you could see how the pain is different when it’s real. Now, take a deep breath and think of how the real pain feels. Compare it to the scratches.”
“It hurts!” I shout.
“I know that, but how is it different from the pain of the scratch?” Dr. Nickelsen still has that hard edge to his voice, but I can hear his patience too. I know he wants me to say they’re different, I know it’s the right answer… but it doesn’t feel any different.
“Come on, Nina,” Tom whispers and I sniffle hard.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t know.”
“That’s okay, we’ll just keep trying.” Just as Dr. Nickelsen says the last word, the crop snaps against my ass again, bringing a fresh wave of agony focused into a merciless line. I cry out, sobbing, pleading with him, but he just talks over me. “Tom, press her arm please.”
Tom does as he’s told, pressing in, and in the haze of pain from my ass I can barely feel the sting of the cuts.
“How are they different, Nina?” Dr. Nickelsen asks again and I whine.
“I don’t know! It didn’t hurt as much because you hit me so hard! The crop hurts!”
“Yes, it does, but there are things in this room that hurt much more, Nina. Believe it or not, I’m being gentle with you, and I wouldn’t be progressing your therapy if I didn’t think you could handle it.” He sighs, and I feel his warm, smooth hand slide over my backside, gently caressing the marks he left behind. “And this is very important. If we can get your mind to separate your hallucinations from reality, to recognize the subtle differences… we’ll be one step closer to making Mr. Cat go away.”
“You can do this, Nina,” Tom says, and I feel him press a kiss to my hair. The small gesture brings tears to my eyes for a completely new reason.
“Y-you don’t hate me?” I whisper, and Tom squeezes me harder to his chest.
“Oh, Nina… no. No. I could never hate you. This isn’t your fault, you’re just sick, and Dr. Nickelsen is trying to help.”
“Are you still my friend?” I ask, feeling a little better as Tom sways with me, a gentle rocking side to side.
“Of course.” Tom leans his head against the top of mine. “I’m here to help you. I want to help you, Nina. That’s what friends do.”
“He’s not your friend,” Mr. Cat hisses, and the walls echo him.
Not your friend, not your friend, not your friend.
I clench my eyes tight, blocking the voices out, pushing them away. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“Ready?” Dr. Nickelsen asks, and even though I want to say no, I nod against Tom’s shirt.
“Yes, sir.”
A fresh line of fire lands across my ass, quickly melting into the inferno of the rest of my skin. I’ve lost count of how many times Dr. Nickelsen has hit me with the crop.
A hundred? A thousand?
Probably somewhere in the middle.
But it doesn’t hurt as much anymore… or the pain doesn’t last as long. Something like that. It’s hard to explain, and my brain is fuzzy. Kind of floaty.
“Go ahead, Tom,” Dr. Nickelsen says and Tom presses into my arm.
Nothing.
Nothing?
I try to angle my head back, but Tom still has me pinned to his chest.
“Nina?” Dr. Nickelsen prompts, and I fumble over my words for a moment.
“I… I don’t… I’m not sure if it hurts anymore?” Trying to look again, I squirm against Tom’s grip. “Can I please look? Please?”
“Go ahead,” Dr. Nickelsen gives permission and Tom relaxes his hold enough for me to look up at my arm, and my mouth falls open.
“It’s gone,” I whisper, shocked, and Tom leans back from me, his eyes wide with surprise a second before a smile spreads over his face.
“What did you say?”
“It’s gone!” I cheer, louder, and he pulls me to his chest again, but this time it’s not to keep me still — it’s a hug. A real hug. And it’s been so long since I felt one that I start to cry again.
“I knew you could do it!” Tom says into my hair, squeezing me until my ribs creak.
“Yes, I’m very proud of you, Nina.” Dr. Nickelsen walks to my side, and Tom releases the hug so I can look at him. “Now, can you describe the differences?”
“It’s hard… like, the cuts felt real. They felt just as real as the crop, but the pain from the crop changed. It faded, and a mark that was really sensitive at first was duller after a while. But the cuts always hurt the same. Every time he touched it, it stung, burned, in the exact same way.”
Dr. Nickelsen smiles, nodding. “Very good, Nina. This is a huge piece of progress for you. You made your brain change its perception. You used what you knew was real to contradict what wasn’t. Eventually, I hope you’ll be able to do this consistently. That’s the goal anyway,” he adds, chuckling a bit.
“I want that. I want to be able to do that.”
“I know you do, Nina. And we’ll work on that together using this new therapy technique.” His smile widens, and he reaches over to touch Tom’s shoulder. “Now, I did tell you that we’re incorporating pain therapy into your regular sessions, and so we will be continuing your pleasure therapy because we still have to manage the baseline issues with your hysteria. Would you like Tom to help you during this next part?”
A blush creeps into my cheeks, and I risk a glance up at Tom’s face, but his expression doesn’t give me an answer. I can’t tell if he wants to touch me. Antonio did, but Tom didn’t even try when we were in the shower. He never has, and he’s bathed me so many times.
“Nina, I need you to answer me,” Dr. Nickelsen presses, and I look down at the floor before I nod. “Say it.”
“Yes, sir… I’d like Tom to help.”
“Thank you, Nina,” Tom whispers, gently tilting my chin up, and the look on his face is all intense excitement now. He does want me. He wants to touch me.
My body thrums, still riding the buzzing strangeness of the pain, but it’s like it’s amping up the pulse between my thighs. I’m already wet, I know it, and more than anything I want to feel Tom’s rough fingers.
“Perfect. Go ahead and move behind her, Tom. Focus on clitoral stimulation for now. Not too fast.” Dr. Nickelsen steps away, but I don’t follow him with my eyes, I’m one-hundred-percent focused on the way Tom’s hands glide down my sides, moving back up to cup my breasts gently, his rough thumbs teasing my nipples into hard nubs.
“So beautiful,” he mumbles to himself, and I feel so light inside that I could start floating. Tearing his eyes from my chest, he flashes a smile at me before he takes his position against my back. The coarse texture of his scrubs reminds me of the lingering ache of the marks on my ass, making it burn a litt
le, but I don’t care. His strong arm wraps around my waist, and I can feel the growing ridge of his erection as he pulls me close and that’s all that matters.
Slowly, Tom runs his other hand over my stomach, down to just above my smooth pussy, but he doesn’t slide his fingers between my legs. Instead he strokes the top of my thigh, squeezing my flesh before he does the same at my hip. I wiggle in anticipation and he tightens his hold around my ribs. A silent command to be still.
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly, lips right against my ear as if he doesn’t want Dr. Nickelsen to hear. He glides his hand over the incredibly sensitive skin above my pussy, and I’m grateful that Dr. Nickelsen keeps me shaved because there’s nothing between Tom’s calloused skin and me.
“Yes, please,” I whisper, tilting my hips as I spread my legs as much as I can without going on tiptoe. The chain is too short for me to really spread them, but when I hear the low groan in Tom’s chest as he dips two fingers through my folds, I know it’s enough.
“You’re so wet,” Tom says, surprise in his voice as he finds my clit and runs a finger around it.
“What did you say?” Dr. Nickelsen asks, and Tom’s touch freezes.
“Um, Nina is wet already.”
“Really?” Dr. Nickelsen steps in front of me, his eyes roaming my body like he’s examining it. “Are you aroused, Nina?”
“I— yes, sir?”
“When you were receiving the crop, did you experience any feelings of euphoria?” Dr. Nickelsen asks, and I shrug.
“I don’t know. It hurt.”
“I know, Nina. But over time you cried out less and less, did the pain change?” He tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “I mean, I know you felt the pain, but did you feel anything else as your therapy continued?”
“I felt kind of buzzy? Like everything was tingling, and I guess that made the crop hurt less when you hit me with it?”
Dr. Nickelsen’s smile spreads so fast that I’m not prepared when he reaches forward and plunges two fingers inside me. I gasp, a short moan slipping out before it turns into a whine as he pinches my nipple hard. He works his fingers back and forth, pumping them as he increases the pressure on the tortured bud trapped in his grip.
“Oh God,” I whine as another moan escapes, and then he releases my nipple, sending a rush of tingles over my skin.
“I was right about you, Ms. Davis,” Dr. Nickelsen says, smiling at me. “The mixture of pain and pleasure is what you need to treat your hysteria.”
Slipping his fingers free, he quickly cleans my wetness from them with his mouth, and then he walks away again. Leaving me dazed as Tom returns his fingers to my clit. This time he doesn’t tease, he starts to rub it in little circles. It feels incredible, only made better because his cock is completely hard now, digging into my back as he grinds against me.
“Tom, we’re going to try and repeat what happened with the shower, okay? Continue providing pleasurable stimulus while we address the incident in the art room.”
“What?” I ask, but Tom shushes me, adjusting his hold on me so that he can cup my breast, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
A new humming sound starts, and two panels separate on the far wall, revealing a television screen. Dr. Nickelsen’s voice continues from behind me. “Watch the screen, Nina. We’re going to discuss what you see.”
It turns on, showing a black and white view of the art room from high up. Security cameras.
Dr. Nickelsen returns to my side, watching me as he clicks play on the remote in his hand. It starts with me painting, although from the angle of the camera my canvas isn’t visible.
“Keep her engaged, Tom. No matter what happens, get her focused on you.”
“Yes, sir,” Tom replies, pinching my nipple a little harder, and I sigh as the tingles spread over my breast.
Liz and the others approach me on the screen, and while there’s no sound, I remember every cruel thing she said. It’s hard to watch me covering my ears, all my weakness on display, but every time I start to tense up, Tom rubs my clit a little faster, or slower, harder, or softer, switching between squeezing my breast and teasing my nipple.
It works, keeping the panic at bay, until I watch myself stumble back into the easel. It falls to the ground, spilling everything on the tray, and I hit the ground beside it. My eyes strain to find Mr. Cat in the grainy chaos on screen… but he’s not there.
“Where’s Mr. Cat?” I ask, and Dr. Nickelsen shushes me.
“Watch, Nina. Watch what happened.”
Tom picks up the pace on my clit, spiraling warm, delirious pleasure up my spine, and it makes it hard to focus on the screen, but when I see myself lunge at Liz I start shaking my head.
“No, no, that’s not what happened,” I say, jerking at the cuffs, but Tom pinches my nipple hard and I whine.
“Watch,” Dr. Nickelsen commands again, and the impossible video keeps playing. I’m on top of Liz, slashing at her, and then we’re rolling around, half-blocked by the other patients crowding close. Then I fall back, knocking another easel to the ground, and the orderlies rush in a moment later.
“NO! It wasn’t me!” I shout, trying to twist my hips away from Tom’s touch, but he holds me tight, dipping his fingers inside me before moving back to my clit. Focusing on it, driving me higher and higher even as I struggle against the cuffs holding me upright.
“It’s okay, Nina. I’ve got you. I’m here, and I want to make you feel good.” Tom’s lips brush against my shoulder, nuzzling into my hair to trace up my neck, but I shake my head, trying to make him let me go.
“Stop! That’s not what happened! Mr. Cat attacked Liz, I tried to get him off of her, I tried to save her!” Panic rushes in, pushing the pleasure away, and Dr. Nickelsen sighs. The TV turns off, but I’m already hyperventilating.
It’s wrong.
It’s a lie.
“That’s right. See? They just want you to think you’re crazy. They want both of us trapped here, and they’re never going to let you go.” Mr. Cat stretches on the floor, dragging his sharp claws over the soft padding.
I shake my head harder, refusing to acknowledge him, because I don’t want him here. I don’t want him here anymore.
The chain lowers, giving my arms slack, and I try to pull away from Tom, but he won’t let go. He won’t stop touching me, whispering things against my ear, trying to calm me down, but I can’t be calm.
They think I attacked Liz.
They think it was me.
“I didn’t do it! I didn’t! I PROMISE!” I shout as my arms come down, blood rushing back into them.
“Lay her down, Tom. She’s becoming hysterical, and we can’t let it escalate.”
Chapter 9
“Please don’t fight me,” Tom says, catching me again when I try to lunge to the side. He shoves me onto my back again, leaning over me to pin my arms above my head. “Dr. Nickelsen, we need to tether the chain again.”
“I’m working on it,” Dr. Nickelsen replies, and he doesn’t sound happy anymore. He sounds disappointed. Again.
I whine, kicking my legs against the soft floor, trying uselessly to throw Tom off my hips, but he’s too big. Way stronger than me.
“Nina, please, you said you wanted me to help you. Don’t fight me like this, please?” Tom’s soft voice just makes me cry harder, shaking my head back and forth.
“It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me.”
“Okay, okay, it wasn’t you,” he says, and I hiccup as I look up at him.
“You believe me?” I ask, and Tom looks toward Dr. Nickelsen.
“We both know you saw what happened in the art room, Nina,” Dr. Nickelsen answers, walking over to us. “And I think it’s admirable that your internal motivation was to try and protect Liz. We don’t need to talk about this anymore today, it’s been a very productive therapy session and I shouldn’t have tried to push you further.”
“But it really wasn’t me,” I whine, and both men give m
e the same sad look.
“Tom, she needs treatment,” Dr. Nickelsen says, but Tom doesn’t say anything back, he just looks up at him. “Unresolved hysteria only leads to further digression, and we don’t want to lose the progress we’ve made today. Right?”
“I know,” Tom answers, and he lets go of my arms, but I can’t move them anyway. The chain is once again taut to the wall. “I just… I don’t know if I can.”
“She has to have treatment,” Dr. Nickelsen repeats, using his most patient tone.
“She doesn’t want it though.”
Dr. Nickelsen shrugs, looking down at me as I uselessly twist and pull at the cuffs. “If you remember, she was like this when her sessions with me first began, but she always feels better when they’re done. This is just another symptom of female hysteria. Her emotional disturbance right now is part of it. Nina was very excited by the idea of you helping her out when I asked her about it, but I will leave the decision to you. If you don’t want to treat her, then I will take care of it.”
All I can do is whimper. Nothing I say matters. They don’t believe me, and they’re not listening.
“Someday you’ll believe me,” Mr. Cat says, chuckling to himself as he walks past us toward the wall. Sitting down beside it, he smiles at me, showing all of those terrifying teeth, and then he fades away, and just like the Cheshire cat the last thing visible is his haunting grin.
Real or not real?
I know he’s supposed to be a hallucination, but if he is a hallucination then that means I attacked Liz, and I know I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that.
I’m not violent.
I’d never actually hurt someone. I’d never do something that could hurt my mom.
I wouldn’t.
And when Mr. Cat comes back again, I’m going to tell him that.
“Good choice,” Dr. Nickelsen says, and I realize Tom is between my thighs, pushing his scrubs down to reveal his cock. When he strokes it, I realize just how big he is and I shake my head.
“No! I can’t! Dr. Nickelsen, please, can you do it? He won’t fit, he won’t.”
