The Institute: A Dark Anthology

by Dani René

  Got a bad feeling and sought assistance from security.

  Viewed footage and saw Ms. Holliday and a male patient engaging in coitus on my desk and sofa!!!

  Defaced my office with multiple bodily fluids!!!

  “That’s quite interesting,” I say, my eyes still fixed on the page.

  I read on, noticing that there is a detailed transcription of what occurred on the security tape. Thank God the file is covering my lap. It would be very awkward to have to explain away my sudden erection reading through all of the details.

  I need to get my hands on that tape.

  “This is some serious behavior. I’d like to go and observe her in isolation, at the very least. From there, possibly even start sessions while she remains sequestered.”

  “So you’d like to take her case over, then?” Ansel asks.

  He seems uneasy by my eagerness, but he’s the one who called me. He knows how good I am at my job. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.

  “From what I’ve read in the notes, she seems like a pistol,” I gaze back at the transcription, trying to hide the exuberant smirk from my face, “but yes, I’d like to take charge of her as soon as possible.”

  Richard

  There is a small square window in the cell door where the girl is being held.

  “Why is she bound to her bed?” I ask Ansel, immediately, upon seeing her.

  I watch her through the glass as her body writhes with need. The pained look on her face saddens me. She twists from side to side and fights her binds. It’s as if she is trying, desperately, to rub her legs together to find release. When she is denied, she screams so violently and loudly that they probably heard it on the top floor. She screams until she passes out, and her body collapses onto the bed.

  “She had only just been released from isolation the day that she defaced Dr. Lewis’ office. Due to the nature of her indiscretion, we thought that she could learn a bigger lesson if she were to be isolated from others, as well as herself, in a sense.”

  Hypersexuality hasn’t always been accepted as a legitimate psychological disorder. Centuries ago, women were locked away in institutions much different from this one. Doctors would “cure” women by removing their clitoris, sometimes their ovaries too. There were even some extreme cases that I learned about in med school. Horrendous stories of doctors who were known to leech their patient’s vaginas, apply cocaine to their vaginal areas, and even scrub the area down with borax to rid them of their “affliction.”

  The psychological community has come a very long way since then, but there is still a stigma attached to this disorder. One that I have been fighting to erase for several years now.

  “How long has she been in here?” I ask Ansel.

  “She’s been at the institute for about five months.”

  “I mean, how long has she been locked in this room?”

  “Four days now.”

  I’m trying not to get angry. He explained to me that sexual disorders aren’t his forte. But what he’s putting her through? The pain that she is feeling is equivalent to a junkie or an alcoholic going through withdrawal.

  I glance over her chart one more time. She was convicted of voluntary manslaughter...pled guilty but not criminally responsible...past crimes...indecent exposure...lewd acts...exhibitionism...reckless endangerment.

  “Can I go in? Can I see her?” I ask.

  “Yes, yes. Whatever you need to do.”

  He nods to one of the orderlies, and they unlock the door for me.

  Her room feels like an inferno. When I walk to her bedside, I see that she is covered in a sheen of sweat. I turn and stop the orderly from shutting the door.

  “Wait, please keep it open. It’s sweltering. She needs some fresh air in here.”

  Taking her still form in once more, I can see her chest rising and falling steadily. She’s in only a white tank top and a pair of white cotton panties, both of which leave nothing to the imagination. Her pebbled nipples are fully visible beneath her top, which has bunched up, revealing her taut stomach; she has the most amazing curves. Her raven-black hair, which is flung across the mattress beneath her head, is unruly and sexy as fuck. I picture myself running my hands through it before snapping out of my trance-like state.

  “Where are her pants? Did she come here with them on?”

  “She did, but the first time her nurse untied her so she could eat, Brynn hit her over the head with her tray and pushed her into the wall. She pulled her pants off and used them to try and strangle the nurse. Thank goodness the struggle was loud enough that the orderly down the hall heard it and was able to come to the nurse’s aid. We took them away from her after that but weren’t releasing her without giving her a new pair.

  I nod in understanding.

  “Well, I’m sure you have other important matters to attend to. I can meet you in your office when I’m through here if you’d like.”

  “Um, sure,” he seems taken by my fascination, but agrees, “that sounds good.”

  “Leave the keys, please.”

  Ansel nods his head at the orderly, and he hands the keyring to me.

  He looks at me as if he is uneasy about leaving me alone with her, but it only lasts a minute.

  Don’t worry, Dr. Sterling; she is in very capable hands.

  Brynn

  I don’t know how long I’ve been out this time. I lost count of the number of times I’ve blacked out since I got here. All I know is I can’t bear to be awake anymore. It hurts too much. It’s like a thousand, acid-filled needles piercing my skin all at once. I need relief. This isn’t just another case of horniness; this is life or death. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but it honestly feels like I will die if I’m denied any longer.

  The burning pain is already starting again. It’s gotten worse each day, each hour, that I’ve been tied to this mother fucking bed, unable to make myself feel better in the only way that I know how to do. I whimper as my leg twitches, sending pins and needles shooting to my toes.

  “Brynn.”

  My eyes shoot open at the sound of a stranger’s voice. It’s a deep timbre that makes my skin burn hotter than I thought was possible. I shudder a breath as the heat licks my skin before I break out into chills. I don’t recognize it as any of the male voices that I’ve heard since coming here, so there’s no way that it can be real.

  Great, now I hear sexy voices. When will this torture end?

  Curiosity has me wanting to turn my head, to look and see who or what is calling to me, but I don’t. I’m afraid that if I tear my eyes away from the ceiling tiles, the pain will magnify and kill me where I lie. I’ve been counting the little dots on the tiles since day two as a way to try and distract myself from the desire; from the pain. As I get to twenty-three, I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat.

  “Brynn.”

  Slowly, I turn my head toward the sound, and my eyes land on one of the most stunning men that I have ever seen. He has thick brown hair. The delicious lines of his cheekbones and his square chin are covered with a beard, trimmed close to his skin. He is muscular, judging by the way his dress shirt fits snug over his arms and chest. His tie is loose around his neck, and his top button is undone; I can see a little bit of chest hair peeking out from behind the blue fabric. Fitted, charcoal gray dress pants cover what I am sure are sexy as fuck legs. He’s sitting in the chair next to my bed with his ankle crossed over his knee. I can just make out the gigantic package that he’s hiding in his pants.

  Desire flows through me, causing my clit to pulse painfully.

  “What kind of sadistic hell is this?” I say to myself, looking at the ceiling once more. “Fuck. Now I’m seeing things.”

  “You’re not seeing things.”

  My head whips back toward the possibly imaginary man. I’ve never met him, and I know he doesn’t work here, yet he’s sitting in the chair next to my bed.

  “I’m not?” I’m still skeptical.

  “No.”

&
nbsp; I take a deep breath, but that makes the burning pain worse. I cry out.

  “Are you alright?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer loudly. “It hurts so bad. It burns all over.”

  I see him stand and approach my bed as the tears begin to form in my eyes again. I watch as he reaches for my hands and unlocks my binds. Then, he does the same to my feet.

  I try to lay still, per my direction from nursing staff and orderlies. I don’t need this guy, whoever he is, to go telling Dr. Lewis or Dr. S that I was disobeying orders. But, the compulsion to touch myself is stronger than ever. I breathe in and out quickly, like the women on TV and in movies do when they’re in labor. I don’t know what it feels like, but I’d guess that the pain I’m in comes pretty fucking close to it.

  “You can touch yourself.”

  My head whips in his direction again.

  “Fuck off. Is this a test? Did that fucking cuntbag, Lewis, send you down here to fuck with me? To get me in trouble?”

  I bring my arms down to my sides and fist the damp sheets beneath me. I am tense and fighting my instincts with everything I have.

  “No,” he says, “Dr. Sterling knows I am here with you. He’s asked me to try and help you.”

  “You’re not fucking with me?” I cry, “Because I can’t be stuck in here any longer. I won’t survive it!”

  “Brynn, I am here to help you. You can trust me.”

  He stands up and places his folder on the seat of his chair before walking over to my bed. He picks up both of my hands and pries them apart so they’re open and not still balled into fists. He massages my palms gently to aid my relaxation. Then, he places them on top of my pubic bone, just above my clit.

  My body is vibrating with need as he removes his hands from mine and takes a slight step back.

  “I want you to trust me completely.”

  He pauses, our eyes still locked together.

  “I want you to touch yourself.”

  Something in me snaps, and my hands dive underneath the cheap fabric covering my pussy. It’s too much to bear anymore, it’s too restricting, and it has to go. I take hold of the material and pull as hard as I can until the seams rip on both sides. Once my body is free from my underwear, I sit up and remove the strappy tank-top as well. I scoot backward on the bed until I feel the wall behind me, and I relax against it.

  I look down at myself, ecstatic that I can see my whole body again. I watch as my fingers connect with my clit before diving between my legs and sliding through my dripping slit. I insert two fingers a few times before dragging some of the moisture back up to my clit. My fingers slip and slide over it until the burning pain turns into a wave of pleasure rushing through me. It won’t take me long to come, and this is one time that I won’t be mad about that. I rub as fast as I can as I plunge two fingers from my other hand as deep inside my pussy as they will go. I circle them around until I am ready for another, and I insert a third finger. The mix of pleasure has me teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

  I nearly forgot that the beautiful mystery man was standing there. When my eyes catch him again, it’s like a dam was opened. My orgasm smacks into me, and it’s like my first time all over again. It never feels bad, but it’s been a long time since it’s felt this good. I lift my ass off the bed with my pussy proudly on display.

  He quickly backs out of the way as moisture shoots out of me and splashes to the floor in front of him. I continue to rub my clit and finger my pussy. No sooner had my orgasm began to subside; it rushes back to the surface again. Another stream of cum splashes onto the floor. This goes on for several minutes, and when I have no more left in me, I crash down onto the bed and stare, bleary-eyed at the ceiling above once again.

  I blink slowly as my eyelids grow heavier until finally, I pass out for the hundredth time since being locked away down here.

  Only, this time, it’s out of pure, unadulterated bliss.

  The next morning, I am awoken by the sound of my door opening. I try to roll over, but my hands and feet are bound to the bed again.

  What the fuck?

  I look up at my wrists to find the straps wrapped securely around them and the padlocks in the locked position.

  I lift my head and look at my feet. It was then that I realized that I was fully clothed again in my white tank top and cotton panties.

  What the hell?

  But what about last night?

  “Morning,” the nurse said, sounding as grumpy as ever.

  “Why am I tied up again?” I ask her.

  “What?” She looks at me with a confused expression on her face.

  “Last night, someone undid my binds and let me…”

  Shut up! No matter what happened last night, she’s either going to think that you’re lying or that you’re crazy, and you’ll just end up getting yourself into trouble again.

  “Let you what?” she practically screams.

  “Nothing,” I mutter, as the skin between my eyes wrinkles in confusion. “It must have been a dream.”

  Maybe I am crazy.

  Brynn

  I’ve never been so tired and worn out in my entire life. The past week has been excruciating. I think about the dream that I had last night and how it felt so real. The orgasm that I dreamt I had, it was more intense than any other that I’ve had for as long as I can remember. And when I woke up, the inferno that raged through me, the pain that I was experiencing, it was all gone. Poof. As if I hadn’t been laying there in agony for days, struggling to rub the pain away.

  I turn the shower off and grab my towel from the hook on the wall next to me. I use it to ring the excess water out of my hair and then wrap it around my body. As I walk to the other end of the bathroom to grab some fresh clothes, a man suddenly appears out of nowhere.

  “Jesus Christ, Finn! You scared the shit out of me!” I smack him in the arm hard enough to leave a bright red handprint on his skin.

  “Sorry,” he rolls his eyes. “But, it’s been an entire week, and all I could think about while I was down there was fucking you senseless when I got out.”

  “You’re going to be shocked to hear this, but I don’t think I have it in me right now. I’m completely drained.”

  My mind floats back to my dream again, the way I squirted all over the floor. My subconscious obviously has a sense of humor.

  “Oh, come on!” he whines. “I’ve spent the entire week jerking off to images of you from my spank bank; I need the real thing.”

  “What? You weren’t tied to the bed, unable to touch yourself for the entire week?”

  What the fuck kind of backward, double standard, bullshit is this?

  “Um, no.” A look of confusion crosses his face. “Were you?”

  “AHHH!” I scream.

  My anger is beginning to take over, and I know that I am about to get myself into a lot more trouble. I’ll probably end up down in the basement again. They ought to just move my room down there. I storm out of the bathroom, still wrapped in my towel, on a mission to find Dr. Sterling. Anyone who gets in my way will be torn to pieces.

  When I get to the massive steel door leading from our wing of the floor, I push it open with no issue, as though it’s as light as a feather. We’re allowed to leave the unit if we’re going to or from an appointment with our doctor, but they like having a heavy door in place to slow down anyone who tries to escape.

  When I am in one of my rages, there’s no stopping me.

  As I barrel down the hallway, I see Dr. Sterling turn the corner heading in my direction.

  “Brynn?” he starts, “what’s wrong?”

  “What the fuck kind of ruthless, chauvinistic, mother-fucking PIG are you?”

  When I am close enough, I press my hand to his chest and push him backward. He doesn’t move very much, though; he's a lot stronger than the door. God damn it!

  “Woah, woah! First of all, you don’t talk to me like that, and you don’t put your hands on me. Second of all, you just got out of isolation,�
� he looks at his watch, “one hour ago. Are you missing it so much that you’re ready to go back there? Because I will not hesitate to give the order.”

  “Why the fuck did you restrain me, but not Finn?”

  “Despite the activities that you engage in with Finn, your illnesses are not the same and, therefore, do not require the same consequences.”

  “That’s bullshit! He was just as much to blame for what we did as I was!” I stick my hand in the air, pointing at him as I scream.

  “That’s enough, Brynn.”

  I hear the same deep timbre coming from behind me as I did last night in my dream. It stops me dead in my tracks. My face, currently contorted in anger, begins to morph into a look of shock and disbelief. I stand in front of Dr. Sterling, frozen in place. I stare straight ahead, my eyes fixed on his chest, but it’s as if he isn’t there. As if, suddenly, I am alone in a blank room. There is nothing but white, and it’s deafeningly silent.

  I hear footsteps creeping toward me from behind. My head starts spinning, and I begin to feel dizzy. I close my eyes and bring my free hand to the side of my head to try and hold it still.

  It feels like I’ve been standing here for hours when something touches my shoulder. All of a sudden, everything stops. When I finally open my eyes, I realize I am still in the hallway and he is standing there in front of me; the delicious and mysterious man from my dream last night.

  “You?”

  The one person who has seen me at my weakest, my most vulnerable, since… I can feel my legs turning to jelly. No, don’t think about him. He hasn’t ruled my thoughts in years. The mystery man quickly throws his arms around my shoulders as I feel my body begin to crumble beneath me.

  Then, my vision goes black.

  I wake up in an office that I haven’t been in before. I lift my upper body off the sofa and balance myself on my elbows, curious to know where I am. I appear to be alone. There isn’t anyone sitting in the chair across from me. The only other thing I can see from here is the door; until I look to my left.