Disclaimer: This is fiction, the diseases described as a reason for such “treatment” are real and disabling and not erotic at all. The medication mentioned, Mirapex, is also real. It is a dopamine agonist, and it seems to have a particular attraction to the dopamine receptors in the reward circuit. It is prescribed for both problems with lowered dopamine, and for restless legs syndrome. It, along with other dopamine agonists, are often used by anabolic steroid users because they will sometimes develop high prolactin levels (which dopamine suppresses). Prolactin is responsible for the “get the hell out of my bed” reaction after orgasm, where oxytocin is the one responsible for the desire to cuddle after orgasm. It’s also responsible for the refractory period in men (have no idea if it would actually make women, who are already capable of multiples, more orgasmic).
However, it’s not a drug anyone should take without a good reason. The attraction to the reward circuit has led to many case reports of various types of addictive, almost compulsive behavior—eating, gambling, gaming, or even sex/masturbating (one report had a guy masturbating six to eight times a day, including excusing himself from the table at a guest’s house if the desire took him, and was still waking his wife up in the middle of the night for sex). Even without an addictive outlet, some will engage in compulsive, useless organization behavior called “punding”—a compulsion to play Tetris was considered more a punding behavior than a gaming addiction because the compulsion was more to organize the blocks than to just play the game. Since it works in an opposite fashion to antipsychotics, it can also cause hallucinations and delusions.
Don’t get any unnecessary “medical treatment” you don’t need, and don’t try this at home.
What Really Matters
Part 1
“So my test results are back, Doctor?” his patient asked, perched on the edge of her chair. She fiddled with the crease in the pants that matched her blue blazer.
“I have some of them, yes. First, though, how are you? Any changes?”
“It’s getting worse. Yesterday I couldn’t remember the word for a flashlight. It was bad enough when it was just forgetting the name of a dish I’d cooked a hundred times, even though I could tell them exactly how to make it, or things like that. And not being able to remember what I was just thinking about is getting worse, too. If I “lose” my train of thought I can usually still try to remember something I was thinking about before and trace the way my brain got from one thought to another, but it’s getting harder. I’m scared!”
“I wish I had better news for you. I’m not sure exactly which disorder may be causing this yet, but all of the preliminary results point to some type of primary progressive aphasia, or another similar disorder.”
“Progressive? You mean this will get worse?”
“I’m afraid so. Each variant has a different progression and symptom profile, but in the early stages anomia, or having a difficulty remembering the words for objects, is common In most cases people lose a significant amount of their vocabulary before other symptoms occur, so I am concerned about the other symptom you mentioned, not being able to keep track of your thoughts and how you got from one idea to the next. Are you thinking about so much that you can’t keep up? Does it feel like your thoughts are racing?”
“No... They’re normal, but if something distracts me even a little bit.. I lose track.”
“It’s not only when you go through a doorway, is it?”
“Huh?”
“It’s a common phenomenon, to forget what you were looking for, for example, when you finally get to the room it’s in. You work on computers, right? It’s almost like going through a doorway is a trigger for the brain to ‘clear its cache’.”
“Neat! So far it’s not affecting my work much, because even if I can’t find the words sometimes I still can fix the problem...”
The doctor waited expectantly. After an uncomfortable silence, his patient looked at him with a slightly pleading expression on her face, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Her finger went to her mouth, and he made a mental note.
“Work through it. Was this what you were talking about earlier?”
“Yes....”
“And I asked you a question...”
“About doorways! Okay, so no, Doctor, it’s not just then, unless talking about them is the same as walking through them. Are you sure this is going to get worse? I’ll be honest, I always said that my brain was my favorite body part. People always thought I was dumb just because I was pretty, especially men. Losing my vocabulary? I absorbed words like dry ground absorbs water growing up, was even teased as a kid because I used big words before my peers knew what they meant. I value my mind, I don’t want to lose it. I’d be useless without my intelligence. I would rather die first.”
“Well, we’ll continue to monitor you, but I am not going to lie, there aren’t many other likely causes for the symptoms you describe. We can start treatment now, though, even before we know exactly the cause, if you like. It has some side effects, but can usually slow progression. Before we get to that, one other question. You said the thoughts don’t race, and you can figure out how your mind got from one subject to another. Is the train of thought logical?”
“Yes...”
“Have you heard voices or seen things that weren’t there?”
“No, thank God.”
“Good. We usually go ahead and give Mirapex as first-line treatment for aphasias, but if you were having issues with executive dysfunction I needed to rule out formal thought disorder as a cause, or give you another medication with it. There are a number of subtypes, but this usually helps them all. It’s a dopamine receptor agonist, the opposite of the way drugs to treat schizophrenia work, so if you start seeing or hearing things that aren’t there, let me know. We build up the dose slowly to avoid those type of severe side effects.”
“... Okay... so I can try it?”
“Yes, and we’ll see how you do. But have you had any other symptoms? Odd habits? Eating or smoking too much, or chewing on pencils?”
“I’ve been chewing my nails, and have been having bad dreams... and woke up twice sucking my thumb. Never had that happen before.“
He nodded, a suspicion confirmed. “We’re also going to monitor your progress, so you’ll need to come in at least twice a week to do some testing, to measure your vocabulary. We also have a unique therapy I developed, though it’s not yet been peer-reviewed, if you’re interested in participating in a clinical trial. It’s non-invasive, and not a pill.”
“What is it? How does it work?”
“Well, it’s a known fact that our society has information overload, and they think that’s why people do things like forget their kids in the car—up to a point the brain thrives on new information, but if the “cache” gets full and has to “clear”, it might clear the information about whether they dropped the child off at daycare at the same time it clears what color the last traffic light on their way to work was. Similar things can happen in semantic memory processing. But reinforcing the information you want to retain may help a great deal, if the loss can just be confined to useless knowledge. We aren’t sure but as think that it’s possible to treat the disease, or at least give patients a better quality of life, by having a computer analyze your performance on the tests and then creating a specialized “brain training” exercise program that will reinforce the words, lessons, and concepts you value most, so they’re the last things lost.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like it could hurt, at least. I do know way too many song lyrics. But I do normally score high on... the game I played at the bar, it’s a quiz game, like Trivial Pursuit....”
The doctor waited again, nodding to reassure his patient she was doing well with the strategy of “talking around” a word giving her trouble.
“.... it has the boxes that you put your answers in.. NTN Trivia!”
“Good job! Yeah, you might not beat the family at Trivial Pursuit, but think of the name of the game. The theory is to focus on non-trivial parts of your life. We also hope that the plasticity of the brain might let other areas of the brain take over tasks that are important because of the reinforcement, so we encourage synchronization between hemispheres by having the patient listen to binaural recordings when they aren’t working, driving, or doing important tasks. We aren’t sure, but we also hope that sleep might be a time those beats help, so we have another recording for sleep. The computer generates a new session after each test—and I am glad you like trivia, because that is how you will be tested.”
“I think I would like to try it! When can we start?”
“Well, we have a baseline binaural recording to start out with, and then after we get your first testing results, we will email you the customized files after every session. I’ll give you the CD now, and your first prescription for Mirapex. Come back in a week, and think about what you value and enjoy most in life. The knowledge necessary for those things will be the focus of your “brain training”.
She left the doctor’s office, and realized she was crying when she felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. “But it might not be the right diagnosis, and there is treatment, so pull yourself together, woman!” she said aloud once she got in the car.
“So, any improvement?”
“I only had trouble with one word all week!” his patient said. She fidgeted a bit, crossing her legs and smoothing her ankle-length skirt.
“Good for you! I am sorry to say, though, that you responding so well does give confirmation my diagnosis is correct. Still, with the right treatment, you may do well for a long time. Any new symptoms?”
His patient blushed crimson, and he noticed that the flush didn’t stop at her face. “Uh, I—” she stammered.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m your doctor, and if there’s a problem it may mean this isn’t the right treatment after all.”
“I can’t believe I’m telling anyone this, even my doctor, but... I have been...” She took a deep breath, exhaled, and then said in a very low voice, “... I’ve been thinking about sex a lot more than usual.”
“I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I have to ask—has it been just thoughts, or is your body reacting too?”
She blushed again, then closed her eyes and whispered, “That too, Doctor.”
“Okay... well, that is one of the occasional side effects of the medication, but for most they just report that they are back to normal function in that department. Dopamine suppresses prolactin, which is what causes the refractory period after orgasm.” Her blush deepened. “There is something we can give you to make it stop, but I have to warn you, most patients lose their sex drive altogether on it. Is it so much of a problem that you would accept that?”
“Well.... some people I dated before said I didn’t have much of a drive... maybe it’s just fixing that too?” She looked down and noticed her nipples were visibly erect despite the room being warm, and crossed her arms over her chest quickly.
“Reasonable theory”, he said, still seemingly looking at his notes. “It’s possible you have had low-grade symptoms for a long time. If it becomes too much of a bother, let me know. I do have to say some of your symptoms, and the test results, are pointing toward possible semantic dementia, but I’m still not sure yet. Otherwise, we’ll go ahead and raise the dose a little bit each week like normal. Have you thought about the research project? Did you listen to the MP3?”
“A little. I haven’t been able to stop worrying about what’s going to happen down the road. I don’t have long-term disability coverage to supplement Social Security, nor do I have family who could take care of me. I’ve read some about those disorders. I’m really scared.”
“Well, one thing I didn’t get to mention yet is that the people interested in marketing my treatment technique after the clinical trials are so confident that they are offering free assisted living and long-term care for our patients if they participate in the study. You would have to follow the treatment protocol and listen as much as you can, and also spend at least 30 minutes a day doing the computer exercises. Not everyone is interested, but if you’re worried about money...”
“If it’ll make sure I am in a good nursing home, I’m game. What do I do?”
“It’s time for you to decide what’s important to you.”
Johannah sat in front of the computer, and was asked to name hobbies, interests, and skills she wanted to keep. Few of the options involved much reading, which had always been her favorite leisure activity, and they ranged from simple to complex. Cooking, sewing, swimming, yoga, driving, shopping, personal care, laundry... she checked many, and then the computer had her rank them in importance. It then prompted her to ensure she had on a pair of stereo headphones on, and click when ready to start.
First the screen went black, then a pattern of flashing, swirling colors appeared on the screen. A background noise of a wonderful thunderstorm, just like on the MP3, played in her ears. Soon this was overlaid by a voice naming random objects as an image of each appeared on the screen. Every 15 or 20 pictures, the computer would just show a picture and four words, and ask her to choose its name.
She lost track of time, but when the screen finally faded to black once more, the clock showed over an hour had passed. She could feel that her body was doing it again, a delicious tingling and dampness between her legs. She took off the headphones and spun the swivel chair around—and found herself looking directly at her doctor’s crotch. The tingling feeling surged higher suddenly, and she gasped. He backed up far enough for easier eye contact, and she was grateful he seemed not to notice.
“Good to see you today, Johannah. How are you feeling? Have you been following the instructions?”
“I’m listening to the new MP3 you emailed while I read, clean, and do dishes, and doing the program each night before bed. I can definitely tell there’s an improvement. I’ve been having a lot of anxiety, but I don’t know if it’s related.” She smoothed her skirt carefully to make sure it covered her knees.
“Very good, and so we’ll go ahead to the next higher dose of Mirapex as scheduled. What about the other issue? Better, worse, the same?”
“You mean....? It’s not any better... actually, it’s worse. I want to.... uh... well, touch myself a lot. That can’t be healthy.”
“Actually, it can help. That type of stimulation encourages the brain to produce more dopamine naturally. In fact, when you’re having those anxiety issues, try it for at least a full minute. It really does help a lot of people. We could try benzodiazepines of course, like Valium, but they can cause dependence...”
“You know I’m not fond of those type of drugs... but are you sure, Doctor?”
“Absolutely. You could try it now if you needed to even, it wouldn’t bother me. Now, let’s go ahead and do the usual symptom inventory...” He hid a smile of satisfaction when, after a few minutes, she began idly tracing around one of her nipples as they spoke.
It was a truly awful day at work. Johannah was so stressed she excused herself several times to the restroom—the trick the doctor taught seemed to work, and she often found herself touching her nipples or lightly rubbing her clitoris through her panties at home before she even thought about it nowadays. It really was soothing. At the end of a particularly brutal conference call, before she could go on break her boss demanded she go to his office. Apparently the customer blamed her for a misunderstanding, and he just got chewed out over it. Before he had been ranting a full 10 minutes, though, he stopped his tirade and said “What the HELL are you doing?”
Her hands froze, where they had been moving in her lap. She flushed crimson, and said, “I am SO sorry, sir, I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m sick...”
“You sure are, you little whore!”
“No, I mean, I’m seeing a doctor—”
“Good!”
“Please, sir, just let me explain.... I am seeing a neurologist, he diagnosed me with a brain problem. Here, here’s my prescription bottle, you can look him up.” She dug into her purse and handed him the prescription bottle, trembling as she quickly clenched both hands together to prevent any further embarrassment.
“What the hell kind of brain disease makes you finger yourself in front of your boss? Little tease, you’ve got me hard, and if you want your job, you better do something about it. But somehow I don’t think a slut like you will object, will she?”
Johannah gasped, but involuntarily looked down at her low-cut white blouse, where her boss’s eyes were also leering at the silhouette of her erect nipples through the thin fabric. They hurt in her usual bras, so she had recently stopped wearing them entirely, since she was never overly buxom. She stammered, trying to object, but he pushed his chair back from his desk and pointed at the floor in front of him. “On your knees, slut!” he ordered, as he undid his belt, button, and zipper.
David noticed his coworker was in their boss’s office a long time. He had seen her quality of work slipping somewhat over the last several months, though she seemed to be getting it together more lately. He’d also noticed she had changed her wardrobe, which he appreciated greatly—a quiet ginger, Johannah wasn’t outstandingly beautiful, but he had always found her rather attractive in her own way. He knew from the grapevine she had refused to date any colleague who asked her out, citing a prior bad experience with a coworker relationship and a desire to put her career first. If she had dated in the years he sat across from him, David wasn’t aware of it.
As he was exiting the men’s room after his shift was over, he saw Johannah (or rather, her really superb legs and better than average behind) at the water fountain. As she stood back up, he noticed it seemed like she’d been crying—her subdued eye makeup was mostly washed off, and her eyes were red. She met his eyes briefly, then murmured an apology under her breath and quickly walked to her desk, where she put her laptop in sleep mode, undocked it, and logged out of the phone system. He knew she didn’t ordinarily get off for another three hours, and before she was finished packing up he exited the building, and went to her car to intercept her. Had she been fired?
When she saw him, her eyes widened with what seemed like fear, and so he quickly put up both his hands to show he didn’t intend to hurt her. “’Hannah, sweetie, what’s the matter? You look upset, I only want to help.” Johannah broke down sobbing, and he enfolded her in his arms, stroking her hair, for a few moments. When it seemed like she had more composure, he pulled away and offered her a ride. “I’ll take the bus back to get your car for you after, okay? Let’s get you out of here and we can talk.” She accepted, and he helped her inside his truck, attempting to not notice those legs at a time like this.
She didn’t speak as he drove, and since he didn’t know exactly where she lived, he finally asked her. She answered, but still seemed withdrawn, and he didn’t want to push her. They arrived at her apartment, but she didn’t make any attempt to get out of the truck. After a few moments, David gently took the keys from her hand. “Which is your apartment? Do you need anything? I can’t leave you like this, please let me take you to my apartment. I have a guest room. Please?” She nodded, and described an overnight bag she knew still had some essentials in it, and also requested her iPod. He didn’t question that, but did locate a few casual outfits and her bathrobe to add to her overnight bag just in case. if she had just been fired, this was extreme even for a person who loved her job as much as Johannah.
David got back to the car, and unlocked the doors remotely as he approached. When he entered the car and placed the bag in the passenger floorboard, he noticed Johannah jumped slightly but seemed calmer, even if her breathing was still a little ragged, but she still only answered him in monosyllables. He accidentally brushed against her stockinged leg and apologized, then started the truck and started talking about random things—the last episode of a TV show he knew she watched, the holidays coming up, etc, until they reached his apartment. He came over to the passenger side of the truck, took the bag, and helped her down, making a joke about how he really should get one of those ladders for his short passengers. They walked to his door, and he took the bag to the guest room. “The bathroom is through that door, and it, the other door, and the bedroom door here all lock. But ‘Hannah, honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen to you? Do you need a doctor?” More tears started rolling down her cheeks, but Johannah wasn’t sobbing anymore. He took that as a good sign. He waited for her to answer.
“I’m seeing a doctor, actually...” she finally said. “But I have an appointment tomorrow. I would really like to shower, though. Maybe while you get my car? And do you have any mouthwash?” She wiped at her eyes and tried to smile reassuringly.
“Sure thing, but then, will you tell me what is going on with you lately? Are you sick?”
“I’ll explain. I promise.” David nodded, and left to get her Civic from the office parking lot.
He returned to the apartment a little over an hour later, and could smell floral bath wash as he entered the front door. He smiled despite the circumstances—he’d been single for many years, and it was nice to come home to a scent that told him unmistakably that a female was in residence. He admitted to himself he’d wanted to have Johannah over ever since he saw how she tried to stick up for coworkers who weren’t necessarily well-liked, and trained new people to do the job with both kindness and skill. Call center dynamics often reminded him of elementary school, but it probably wasn’t any better in other fields. But he wasn’t going to take advantage of her, he kept telling himself.
So when he knocked on her door, he was surprised to see her answer still in her bathrobe, face scrubbed clean of all makeup, and her hair wrapped up in the towel-turban he still didn’t understand how girls made so easily. She hadn’t moved the comforter to actually muss the bed, but he could see her iPod laying next to the pillow. She motioned to invite him in, and gestured for him to sit down while she walked over to the dresser and took her tablet out of her purse.
“This is what the doctor thinks I have.” The tablet she handed him was open to a Wikipedia article on semantic dementia. He could see several other tabs to other pages on the illness were opened. He read, his heart sinking. How could this happen to such a sweet girl? She must have told the boss today.
“Oh honey... do you want a ride tomorrow? I’m off, and I know you don’t have family here.... what about work tomorrow for you? Aren’t you on the schedule at 3?” She shook her head, and flatly said, “I’m never going back there. Never. They can mail my last... my money...” and she started crying again. He impulsively reached out to hold her, and she accepted the embrace, but as she sobbed on his shoulder he was far too aware of her nakedness under the terrycloth robe and couldn’t help reacting to it.
“Okay, okay, it’s all right... look, I won’t force you to tell me what happened today, but...”
She pulled away, looking at him, and said, “You won’t like me anymore.”
“Of course I will. I have liked you for a long time, ‘Hannah. That won’t change.” David surprised himself with the admission, and stopped speaking, hoping he hadn’t said too much.
“... You mean it, don’t you? You do.” She seemed surprised. “Okay, well... Fred was upset with me about that down system I was working on.”
“I heard most of that, it wasn’t your fault the parts were delayed.”
“You know it always rolls down hill there. He was yelling, and I haven’t been myself lately, and he... he made me blow him.”
“WHAT??? Why didn’t you let me take you to the hospital?”
“It would have been useless to try. It was my fault, really. This... whatever’s wrong with me, it’s.... look, I will have the doctor explain. Please, though....” Johannah finally looked up at him, and shook her long, slightly damp red hair loose from the towel. She leaned back on the bed, her robe still belted but one leg peeking out. “Please, hold me?”
He didn’t resist, and he laid down for her to cuddle next to him. She rested her head on his chest, and he was terrified that his erection, clearly visible, would deter her. To keep her from looking down, he reached his free arm toward her chin and tried to tilt her head to meet his eyes. He ran his finger across her lips, and they parted... he moved slightly, so he could lean toward her, and very lightly brushed a kiss across her lips, intending to stop there. A friendly kiss.
It didn’t, and wasn’t friendly for long, and he didn’t know why she was responding so readily to his advances, but David didn’t complain.
He waited in the lobby of the doctor’s office, then the doctor invited him inside. Johannah was sitting on the couch in the room, her legs tightly closed, hands clenched together.
“Miss Hastings has told me a bit about you, David. She seems to think you are her Prince Charming, coming to her rescue like you did yesterday. She needs to have her treatment, but while she’s doing that, we can talk a little. She’s given me permission to tell you what I what I would a family member about her prognosis.”
David watched Johannah leave, and then sat down to speak with the physician. “Doctor, Johannah showed me some websites on this. But what’s going to happen to her?”
“Well, depending on which side of her brain is being damaged more we aren’t sure which symptoms will predominate, but her vocabulary and speech will start to deteriorate dramatically, as well as her understanding of most speech. Many patients will also lose motivation to do normal activities, and may lose the ability to direct her own actions and thoughts altogether—though she will still feel and experience things that happen to her. Before that point, she may engage in compulsive behavior, including sexual acting out in extreme stress, which apparently is what happened yesterday.”
“Excuse me? She told me our boss forced her to... he might as well have raped her, doc. I am still trying to get her to press charges.”
“Well, you see, poor dopamine levels are associated with language and speech difficulty, but dopamine regulates prolactin, which lowers sex drive. With increased dopamine from her medication, she thinks somewhat more clearly and will have fewer language and movement difficulties, but prolactin is suppressed, which increases sex drive. She is also experiencing executive dysregulation, though, so the soothing effect of sexual stimulation, which also increases dopamine, makes her likely to both want to engage in such activity when she is upset, and have a hard time controlling the impulse.”
The doctor continued to speak professionally, but noted his patient’s new friend had an obvious bulge in his pants. “When your boss was yelling at her, she started masturbating.” The erection grew larger. “He blackmailed her into oral sex, which apparently also stimulated the hyperoral tendencies I had seen signs of before... it distressed her greatly to find herself reacting to such forced contact the same way she has self-stimulation, and it was extremely difficult to get her to tell me what happened. She won’t press charges. But as you can see, these patients are extremely vulnerable.”
“Did she tell you about ... us?” David felt like a rapist now himself, and disgusted with himself for physically responding to the symptoms he heard described. He’d always had a mind control fetish, though it was something he kept confined to fantasy. The thought of a horny woman as beautiful as Johannah who was helpless to resist... but this was real.
“Yes, and that’s part of why I wanted to speak with you. In the exam today, she exhibited a reflex normally not seen when the frontal and temporal lobes of the brain are working properly, and that confirmed my diagnosis. She won’t get well. She will need someone to take care of her, and in the end it’s unlikely she will be more than a mindless doll, unable to think for herself at all. Can you cope with that?”
The tightness in David’s groin was painful as he nodded, not trusting his words. The doctor smiled. “Miss Hastings had decided to attempt a unique therapy we have created to help her retain at least some abilities longer, and one of the effects is that it encourages her to be compliant with spoken commands. Later on in the disease, this is crucial so she trusts her caregivers and cooperates even if she can’t understand why she should. But before this point, we were presuming she had no one else to care for her. She volunteered for a ... special... project, but we might not have to change a great deal if you don’t want us to...”
“Special?”
The doctor’s smile became a leer, and he walked over to the draped observation window in his office, turned off the overhead light, and pulled back the curtain. Another woman, not Johannah, was sitting in an odd chair that held her legs apart, wearing headphones and goggles. Nothing else was on her perfect body except pads on her nipples, another pad pasted over her clitoris. Her mouth surrounded a... dildo? that she was sucking, and her hands were grasping at air, strapped down. Three men entered the room, turning off the machine and removing the pads from her erogenous zones. The woman continued sucking until they removed the dildo, then as they removed the earphones and goggles the young woman blinked, struggled against her restraints, and then spoke.
“Cock? Jenny need cock! Please?”
When one lowered his scrub pants and touched his penis to the side of her mouth, she turned to it and began sucking. Her hands still grasped at air, and when one was released it seemed to immediately go between her legs.
David turned away from this scene right out of his fantasies, and stared at the doctor. He closed the curtain.
“Jennifer has been ill for six years. She has no insurance, no family, and at first requested that the doctors give her something to suppress her desires... something your Miss Hastings refused when offered. She was able to hold down employment for about a year, but then became extremely depressed and begged me for help—either to die, or to be happy again. We discontinued the libido suppressant because it often causes depression, but soon she was going to require long-term care. How else to pay for it? How else to let her be happy? I devised a plan... and she agreed to test it out.”
“Why would she agree?”
“Well... she is my wife now. It’s kind of why I devised the treatment at all. I was going nuts without sex, but I respected her decision, because she had always been... hypersexual... anyway. It really was impossible for her to work, which I am afraid may now also be the case for your Miss Hastings. But once she got her drive back, she begged not to lose it again... even if that’s all she had left. So we tried.”
“So what was your original plan for Johannah?”
“Our staff are willing to work practically for free, as you can see they get rather unique benefits. If men are willing to go through our extensive application process, which includes STD testing, they may rent our girls, either here or in their homes if they allow a staff member to be present. We usually do home health care for patients in Miss Hastings’s current condition, ensuring that they don’t forget to do essential things, and our budget is extensive enough to keep early-stage patients in their own home even without them having to apply for disability. But when she needed 24×7 care.... she would enter the program.”
“And she agreed?”
The doctor sighed. “Not exactly, but she expressed suicidal ideation on diagnosis, and fears about long-term care and no family to take care of her. When she seemed to actually be enjoying the effects of lowered prolactin, especially because I couldn’t risk her becoming more depressed than she already was, I didn’t tell her everything.... which is why I’m glad she met you.”
“Huh?”
“Son, I saw you were hard nearly from the first mention of Miss Hastings being unable to direct her own actions without help. You also, according to my patient, seem to be a gentleman under normal circumstances. If she trusts you, we can direct her obedience programming to you above all, except her doctors and medical staff. I can tell that your dick is into this, but do you actually care about Miss Hastings as a person? Enough that I can trust you not to hurt her? I do have a professional obligation here.”
David was both more embarrassed and turned on than he ever had been, but answered honestly. “I think I love her.”