Chapter 5

Harry Blackstone looked at the new prisoner who had been sent to him and knew that he would handle her by himself.

Eva had become very strange over the last few days, he thought, since he had hit her and she had accused him of enjoying what he did with these women. And Harry had become worried about her-and himself too. When she had mentioned it, when she had accused him, Harry had confronted for the first time his own emotions. He did enjoy watching these women twist in agony. He did enjoy knowing that they were suffering pain. But he had always thought before that it was strictly a professional happiness that he felt, for he knew that these women were helping him to prove that he was correct in his theories about pain as a psychological cure.

He had thought that, but now he sensed that there was something else in there too, something that made him feel a certain lust for the women who were writhing in their painful ordeals. After all they were naked and most of them were attractive, and Harry Blackstone was a man, who had manly emotions and desires.

But that did not seem to be the simple answer.

And he worried because his own emotions seemed to come from no simple thing.

As he looked at the woman who sat before him now in his office, he tried to concentrate on her and not on himself. He looked down again at the file that he had received from the prison.

This woman was a hard case. She had murdered her husband and his lover, and she was serving a life term in prison for the crime.

According to her file, this woman's crime had not been simple either. It had not been the crime of passion and jealousy that juries and judges often think of when they want to be easy on a convicted murderer.

No, things had not been that simple.

Her name was Molly, and she and her husband had been members of a swingers' club. They had often gone to wife-swapping parties and they had enjoyed themselves with other couples who liked the same kind of fun that they did.

That, in itself, had not be the crime, but it had led to the crime. Harry glanced up at the woman who sat there before him. She frowned but she was patiently waiting for him to finish his re-reading of her file.

According to that file, Molly was bi-sexual and she had fallen for another woman, the wife of her husband's best friend. That couple also indulged in kinky, adventurous sex, and the husbands like to watch Molly and the other woman make love to each other before the men joined in for a full round of solid fucking. But then something strange had happened. Molly's husband had also fallen in love with that woman, so much in love with her that he could not. stand to think about sharing her with anyone else, not even Molly.

He started meeting the woman in motel rooms in the afternoon. Molly's husband and Molly's favorite lesbian lover became a traditional cheating couple. And, when Molly found out about that cheating from another friend who saw them in a motel parking lot, she had become incensed with the idea that her husband was stealing her lover away from her.

She had carefully planned a way to get rid of both of them, for they had both hurt her deeply. She told her husband that she was going away for a couple of days, knowing that the man would probably invite his lover over for a little feast of lust in his own bedroom, the one that he shared with Molly. Then Molly watched the house and waited for them to come there, and, sure enough, her husband and her lesbian lover showed up one afternoon. They went into the house. Molly sat in the car that she had rented across the street from the house and waited until she knew that they would probably be naked and fucking. Then she went into the house too.

What she had done in that house had been brutal, so brutal that the judge and the jury in her case could not believe that a woman was really capable of such an act.

She had stabbed both her husband and her lover while they fucked in the bed. She had stabbed both of them several times and then she worked diligently for a couple of hours, cutting their bodies up into smaller pieces. But she did not do that in order to hide the bodies. She did not mind being caught. In fact, after she had cut them up, she had called the husband of her lover and had invited him over for a drink. When the man arrived, she said that she wanted to fuck him and that man had been eager to go to bed with Molly, just as he had done so often in the swinging club.

Molly had taken the husband into the bedroom and there he had seen his wife and her husband, dead, butchered, mutilated. Molly had started to laugh when he screamed. She continued to laugh as he called the police.

Her lawyer had tried an insanity defense, but Molly would not help him. She said that she was completely rational, that she had known what she was doing and that she had known that killing those people was wrong when she did it. She added something that made some members of the jury gasp. She had not murdered her husband and her' lover because she was jealous of the man. She was jealous of the woman, she said.

She was convicted of murder in the first degree and sentenced to life imprisonment. But the prison authorities had not been so sure that justice had been served. They thought that Molly was sick and that she might be helped by Harry Blackstone's new kind of therapy.

As Harry explained the therapy to Molly, the woman listened carefully. She seemed completely rational, completely at ease with the one-eyed man who talked so poetically and clinically about pain. She nodded her head from time to time in agreement. And, when he had shoved the paper in front of her, the release form that would allow him to work his therapy on her, she had signed it with ease. Then she had smiled at him. "Let's do it," she said.

When she said those words, Harry thought of another murderer who had used that same phase just before he was executed by firing squad. He did not know if Molly was thinking of that man. Probably she was not, he thought. But Harry found it interesting because he knew that Molly was not going to be executed. She was going to be put through hell in order to be cured.

Harry led Molly to the laboratory. There, she had stripped for him, helping him in any way that she could. She did not seem to be frightened or even uneasy, even though she understood completely what was going to happen to her. Harry led Molly to the elaborate contraption that he had set up just for her. She inspected it with a strange lack of emotion, he thought, as if she were a housewife who was buying meat in the supermarket.

Harry Blackstone touched the woman's bare arm and led her to her place on top of the little box that he had set up for her.

Within a few moments, she was fixed on that box.

Molly squatted there with her wrists and her ankles tied together over a huge, round dildo. She sat easily on that dildo, letting the thing rest at the opening of her ass. She looked at the little post that stuck up in front of her, at the metal wires with the rings on the end of them. She studied them without any sign of fear or passion and waited for Harry to fix those rings to her body. She did not seem to care at all.

And Harry could not help himself. He had to ask her the question.

"Aren't you frightened?"

"No," she said, "I deserve it. I loved a woman who did not love me."

And then Molly was silent, so silent that she chilled Harry. Nancy's silence was different, he thought. He was not even sure that that redhead realized what was happening to her. Molly, however, knew what she could expect from this man. She just did not seem to care.

Harry thought that that not caring was just a pose, and he was sure that he could make her care in just a few moments, in just a few seconds, when he attached those rings to her.

He moved close to her and did it quickly, expertly, so that she would not be able to squirm around too much before the rings were in her.

And then she cared. She gasped and she screamed and she looked at Harry and cursed him with a snarl.

"You fucker," she said. "You worthless fucker."

Two of the rings had been fastened into her nipples and they pulled her tits out from her body as she swayed there in her squatting position. Her eyes filled with tears as she felt the tension and the pain move through her, but she had to hold herself in that position. If she fell, she knew that she would tear her nipples off. The rings were run all the way through those pink things.

And the other rings were in the lips of her vagina, spreading her cunt apart and holding it like that.

Molly screamed and screamed and screamed. Now she cared, Harry thought. Now she cared a great deal about what the man was doing to her. Now she knew what real pain was like.

The man with the patch over his eye backed away from her and looked at the woman who was in so much pain as she tried to hold herself in a very uncomfortable, tense position, tried to save her body from more bloody pain.

Harry ran his hand over the crotch of his trousers and felt the hardness there. He was shocked. He knew then that Eva was right. He could not hide it from himself any longer. He enjoyed hurting these women. He got a sexual pleasure from hearing their screams and knowing that he was the reason for those screams, knowing that he was the one who controlled them.

The psychologist began to sweat. The room was suddenly very hot and stuffy. He wanted to leave that room and go to a cool place, but he could not do it. He had stand there and watch this woman who had fucked men, who had made love to women, who had murdered people so brutally. He had to watch her writhe in pain and he had to listen to her scream.

Harry started to unbutton his shirt before he even realized what he was doing. He pulled that shirt off. Maybe, he thought, maybe that would ease the heat that he felt. But it only seemed to add to the heat, the terrible heat that came up from his own, confused, lusting body and mind. He slipped out of his shoes and he yanked his trousers down. He pulled them off with a lustful fury. It was as if Molly were lying in bed and begging him to come and fuck her, he thought. It was as if she were the most desirable woman in the world, the woman he most wanted to fuck. He could not. wait to get his clothes off, to stand naked before her, to feel his body cool in his nakedness and to feel his cock stand out straight from that body and please her as she looked at it.

But, when Harry was naked, when his cock was standing out straight from his body, Molly did not even seem to notice it. She was too busy screaming in pain and trying to hold herself upright to notice anything. She swayed back and forth in her terrible, squatting position and Harry felt very sorry for her. But he felt something else too, something that was not in the least bit professional. He felt his cock growing and he felt the lust in his heart as he stared at her and gasped for air in the suddenly, hot environment of his own making.

Then he grasped his cock and stroked himself with a fever. He was going to jerk off. He knew that it was not right. He knew that it was not professional, that he would later hate himself for doing this. But he could not help it. He was turned on, so turned by the sight of that tortured woman that he had to get rid of this hardness and this heat which built up in his body until he was afraid that he would burst right open with all of that emotion.

And Harry felt guilty too. This was how Eva must have felt when she fucked Nancy, he thought. This must have been the kind of heat that she felt in her head and her body, the uncontrollable passion and lust that seemed to come from something deep inside her, something that had been with her all of her life. And he had hit Eva and had treated her with scorn because she had gotten so carried away. Now he was feeling the same thing and he felt guilty because he had not understood these things when his wife had felt them.

As he watched the woman move in pain over the dildo and as he stroked his cock, Harry also realized that this was just the ultimate, the final orgasmic feeling that topped all of the feelings that he had been having for weeks. He had always treated these women who had been tortured with a lustful manner, although he had been able to mask it until now. He had been able to say that, he was simply professional. He had been able to lie to himself.

But he could lie no longer. He was looking at this woman and he was going to come at any second.

"Please!" Molly screamed. "Help me! Kill me! Let me go! Stop this terrible pain!"

But Harry showed no mercy on the pain-wracked woman. He did not even care any longer if he was doing something that would help her. He did not care if he helped Molly at all. He just wanted to watch her go through her agony and he wanted to come.

My god! he thought. He wanted to come like a volcano!

And then he did.

He tightened his hold on his cock and worked on that thing with a fury as his white semen shot all over the floor in front of him. It seemed to Harry that he was coming in gallons, that he was coming with all of the semen that had been built up in his body over the past few nights. He had built it up by watching those other women in pain, by watching his own wife work on that silent redhead.

Then, as his orgasm ended, he gasped and thought of Eva again and felt the ultimate guilt.

Naked, he fell on the floor and wept and sobbed as he said it softly.

"I am sorry, Eva. You are right."

But he could not even hear his own words, for the sounds of Molly's screams were too much, too loud. They drowned out everything else in that room, that laboratory, that hall of science.

Harry jumped up and went to rescue Molly. He would be a hero now, he thought. He had been the villain before when he clasped those rings onto her tits and her pussy, but now he would be the hero, her hero, Eva's hero.

Harry carefully worked the rings out of Molly's tits and let the blood that spurted from her breasts cover his hands. He cried as he worked the rings out of her vagina lips and then untied her and carried her to the room where he cared for his patients after he had tortured them.

She still screamed as he carried her, and she still bled. Her blood covered Harry Blackstone's naked body.

And he still asked forgiveness softly.

"I am sorry, Eva," he muttered as he carried the screaming, bleeding murderer, "please forgive me. I did not understand."

But now Harry understood. He understood more than he had ever even considered before. He understood that he, too, was human, not just a professional, and he understood that his humanity was jaded with lust for screaming, bleeding, pain-wracked women.

He wondered how he would go about explaining that understanding to his sexy, loving wife.