"Dr. Thredson, here's your eleven o'clock." A guard in white stepped into the doorway, moving a young woman in by her arms. This time, her face was clean, and her auburn hair was brushed neatly. She was in between sizes for their blue dresses; it fit snugly around her bust and hips but was loose in the middle. One of the nuns found her a spare cardigan in a mustard color to keep her warm.
"Excellent, thank you." Thredson stood behind his desk. "Good morning Rosemary. I'm not sure if you remember, but we met yesterday."
"Nice to meet you sir," She sort of nodded at him out of respect.
"Please, take a seat." He watched her, pleasantly surprised by the pretty, respectful, demur young lady before him- a vast departure from the patient he saw the day before. "I hope you were able to get some rest."
"Yes," The girl looked around anxiously and fidgeted with her sleeves. "Where am I?"
"Briarcliff- it's a church-led mental health facility. A farmer, Paul, found you wandering around his field yesterday and brought you to us so we could help you. Do you remember anything about that?"
Her mind took her back to the field. She could smell wet earth and feel it under her feet. Her body was uncovered, and cold. Blades of grass and pieces of hay clung to her wet skin. Her eyes were swollen with tears and the crying made her head pound. "I was in a field...then in a truck...and then here."
"And how did you get to that field?"
"I don't know...I just came back and was there."
"Came back from where?"
She hesitated, reading his face to see if she was safe to continue, "I don't know...a white place with too many lights...maybe a hospital..." Details came back to her.
"And how long had you been there?"
"What year is it?"
"Pardon?"
"What year is it?"
He gave her the date and noticed the alarm it brought to her eyes.
"I must've been there a year or so."
"And before that?"
"I'm from Alabama."
"How did you get from Alabama to Massachusetts?"
"I don't know..." Her head hurt.
"Where was your home town? What's your surname?"
"I...I don't remember..." Her lip began to tremble.
"Any information you can provide will help us get you home safely."
"I...I can't..." Rosemary put her head in her hands, her palms immediately becoming wet with tears.
Dr. Thredson sighed, regretting having pushed too hard. He came around the front of the desk, "You're welcome here for as long as you need."
The girl stood, sobbing, and moved forward, colliding into the psychologist's chest, "Oh...Dr. Thredson...what am I going to do?" She sniffed.
Her maneuver caught him off guard, and, at first, his mind went to how unprofessional the situation would appear. Quickly, his mind went elsewhere as he felt the warmth of her body against his. Her sobbing seemed to bounce her breasts against him. Her shaking made him feel like he held a small wild animal, scared, vulnerable. Her dependency intrigued him, made him feel empowered. For now, she would be safe and in good hands. He would do his best to heal her mind...but not necessarily to return her home. After all, she could be the perfect candidate.
The ethical thing to do would remove himself, and appear empathetic but clinical. Instead, he rubbed her back and made a soft shushing sound to calm her. It wasn't a full embrace, but it was enough to make an impression. If he could be a refuge for her during a traumatic time, it would leave an unconscious imprint. She would be drawn to him, loyal to him, and perhaps even content enough to avoid causing problems.
In the following weeks, Dr. Thredson recorded their sessions, failing to find out any additional personal information or move on beyond the alien narrative she insisted upon. He didn't push, however, exhibiting a particular patience and nurturing persona around her. By his insistence, only he treated her. He'd forbidden Arden from coming near her and ensured she would receive no "invasive" treatments. The only discomfort she experienced was what was necessary, such as binding and icing her chest to stop the milk production.
This disappointed Thredson, who'd taken quite the pleasure in drinking from her a handful of times when he'd slipped a sedative into her dinner. As a physician, he understood that so long as she was producing milk, her chances of conceiving were low. He would have to accept losing access to mother's milk temporarily, in order to see motherhood occur at all. Before they bound her for the first time, he suggested she attempt to express what she could.
He'd been summoned to her room by an orderly one evening before he left.
"Rosemary?" He knocked softly before entering.
She sat on the bed, seemingly nude but wrapped in sheets.
"What's the matter?" He set his bag on the nightstand and took a seat next to her on the bed.
Turning to face him, she sniffed, "My chest...it hurts...I'm swollen...I don't know what to do."
Thredson felt conflicted...disappointed to see her in pain but aroused at the idea of engorgement. She cried beautifully- HELPLESSLY; she NEEDED him.
"Some privacy, please." He ordered the orderly away. "Shhh, it's alright. I can help." Reassuring her, he reached for the sheet. She pulled away, hugging the sheet to her chest in surprise. He sighed, "Rosemary...While I appreciate your modesty...I need you to understand I'm a doctor."
"I thought you were a psychologist-"
"Psychiatrist- I went to medical school. I know how to help you, if you'll let me." Cautiously, he reached for the sheet again. This time, she let him pull it down, blushing as red as the engorged orbs that came into view. They vibrated with her pulse. It took careful effort on his part to appear empathetic and concerned, and he struggled to counter the physical effects of his interest. In a way, he was proud of himself- having once been troubled by sexuality entirely- now hardening without thought.
"I see...Yes you are quite swollen. This is, of course, breast milk. There are things I can do to help end future production...I'm going to touch you now, ok?" He was practically salivating as he waited for her nod of approval. Gently, he cupped her in his hands, producing a wince from her. "Shhh, shhh," He cooed. His hands were filled with warm, heavy flesh that seemed to slosh with fluid. "The only way to relieve this pressure is to express the fluid."
"How? There's not...I don't know where my baby is."
Vials clanked as he removed them from his medical bag and placed them on the bed. "It can be done by hand." He helped her prop herself up on pillows, leaning against the headboard. "This will likely be...tender, but I will be as gentle as possible. The breasts produce milk, however, the release is controlled by hormones. Stress interferes with this reaction...Try to relax." He took of his coat and rolled up his sleeves. "I will begin by stimulating the nipples." Gently, he began to tug at the dark pink numbs, prompting some squirms from her as she closed her eyes tightly. "I'm now going to apply a light pressure in a turning motion." When he did, nothing released. She tensed up further. "Just breathe."
"I feel like a cow." She sobbed.
He stopped and shook his head, "Shhh, no, not at all..." His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. "Lactation is natural, healthy...beautiful even..."
She didn't speak again as he continued, and she never thought to question why he collected the milk in vials. When he was done, he noticed she seemed to sink further into her pillows.
"I believe that's all of it...Do you feel relief now?"
She nodded, and seemed to ragdoll as he wrapped bandages around her breasts, squeezing them to her ribcage.
"This should help stop future production."
"It hurts."
He found a sedative in his bag and had her swallow a pill. "Like almost anything else, rest, hydrate."
Her eyes blinked sleepily, "Can I see you tomorrow?"
"Yes...I'll come to check on you in the morning."
Rosemary struggled to acclimate to her new "home". In her room, she felt isolated, and in common spaces, she felt unsafe. The whole place was cold and dark, unsettling really, and the falsely cheerful song that played on repeat was enough to drive even the sanest person crazy. She read all of the books in the library, mostly theology, relatively quickly as a distraction. Sister Mary Eunice seemed to be the only other kind face in the building. Taking pity on the young woman, the nun snuck in the occasional hair ribbon to cheer her up.
The only thing that broke up the monotony and made her feel comfortable were her visits with Dr. Thredson. He smiled at her each time and hugged her on her way out. If she expressed a discomfort, he attempted to remedy it. She said her room was cold, so he arranged for her to have additional bedding. She said she was bored, so he brought in books from his home for her to borrow. The nuns said nothing about the attention. Dr. Arden, on the other hand, questioned the special treatment. He was quickly silenced, however, when he learned that Thredson knew of his unauthorized experiments on patients. It seemed the men came to an agreement to keep each other's secrets.
An unwritten checklist formed in his mind. First, he needed to gain her trust, foster companionship, and encourage dependency. This would, of course, happen concurrently with the biological treatment she received. He took it upon himself to track her menstrual cycle, ensuring it returned to normalcy. Next, he would begin slipping her hormones meant to produce arousal. He could test the waters will her sexually, and if she passed all previous tests, he would move on to attempting conception. In his new dream, in his new ideal, he lived traditional family values. A woman would await him at home with a hot meal. His laundry and cleaning would be managed. The children that resulted would be cared for, nurtured, and brought up in the stable home he never had...Though...part of him wondered...if he had a SON...would he introduce him to, say, the family business.
"Rosemary," Thredson gathered the attention of his patient who seemed to be shifting in her seat uncomfortably. "You seem...anxious...Is everything alright?"
"Anxious...yes...I'm not sure what else to call it really...Maybe restless?" She swallowed hard and wrung her hands, acting entirely out of character.
"Is this the only new symptom you're experiencing?" He knew the answer. He knew by the way she wiggled in the chair that she was her pulse between her legs, amplified by the drugs she'd been given earlier without her knowledge.
"I..." She stared out the window and bit her lip. "I don't want to talk about...It's not...ladylike-well-it IS LADYlike you know but..."
He sighed and put out his cigarette. "Rosemary...I understand that some things are easier to talk about than others...However, as your physician, I can't help you unless I know what it is that's troubling you...If you would prefer to end today's session early and return to your room-"
"No! I'm sorry...I mean..." Her face flushed terribly as she moved her eyes to the ground. "I feel...strange, doctor...A throbbing...It's never happened before..."
His eyebrow raised as he feigned surprise and concern. "I believe you may be suffering from...hysteria. Have you heard of it?" She shook her head, and he nodded. It was too easy. "It's a build up of anxious energy that causes harm in the body."
"Is there a medicine for it?"
"I'm afraid not..." He took off his glasses for a moment, biting at the earpiece. "But...there is a treatment..."
"There is?!"
"Yes...We can begin treatment whenever you're ready-"
"I'm ready!"
"Excellent. I'll have an orderly bring you down to the surgical gallery."
"Surgery?!"
"No, no. It's not a surgery- a simple procedure really...I think you might actually...Enjoy it."
Thredson spent months watching pornography, almost every tape he could get his hands on, intently studying what women seemed to enjoy. His experience was limited: Wendy but she was dead at the time and Lana but she was not on board. He hadn't been trying to PLEASE them. This could be make or break.
He arranged the table, donned a surgical gown, and scrubbed in. Shortly after, an orderly escorted Rosemary down into the basement space.
"Close the door on your way out please," He motioned to the orderly, "Rosemary, if you'll please take a seat here."
Shyly, the girl climbed up onto the exam table. The lack of medicine bottles, syringes, and surgical tools confused her.
"I'm going to need you to remove your undergarments."
"What? Why?" She jumped off the table and backed away from him. "What are you going to do?"
"There's no need to be frightened. This shouldn't hurt." Again, he got the sense that she was a small, shivering animal. "Do you trust me?" He caught her hands and walked her back to the table, her wide eyes fixated on him. "I can only help you if you let me."
When he released her hands, she slowly reached under her gown and removed the white panties issued by Briarcliff. "I've never taken my clothes off in front of a man."
"Rosemary, this is not that, I assure you. I'm a doctor. I want to help you. Here," He helped her back up onto the table, then pat the footrests.
Hesitantly, she complied, putting one foot in each. Her knees were locked together. He noticed her trembling...and how smooth and pale her legs were. There was an occasional freckle, but no scars or other marks- perfect skin.
"Alright, shift your hips down the table please...Good...Now relax your knees...Good..." He adjusted his light and she wiggled under the sudden warmth. As he applied a gel to his gloves, he looked to the other side of her knee to catch a glimpse of her uncertain expression. Her shyness amused him. If only she knew. It matched her body, pink, plump, untouched. "I'm going to perform a quick exam, alright? Just take a deep breath in and then relax on the exhale." He inserted a finger, causing her to whimper and attempt to shift her hips away from him. "Shhh, easy, alright again- deep breath in...and out." A second finger entered her, causing her to yelp and sit upright.
"Stop-" She shook her head, and, upon seeing the man's hand still inside of her, nearly fainted.
Patience wearing thin, he withdrew his hand with a sigh. "Rosemary, do you want to feel better?"
"You said it wouldn't hurt and that hurt!"
"Did it?" He raised an eyebrow, "Was that PAIN? Or was it just a strange sensation? Something new that you're calling pain because you're not sure what else to call it?" His other hand gripped her shoulder and eased her back in the other direction, "Lean back. Describe to me what it is you're feeling." Again, slowly, he eased two fingers into her, producing a squirm. "Does that HURT?"
"I...Not exactly."
"Good."
"It's strange..."
He removed his hand again and instead, brushed one finger over her most sensitive place, waiting to gauge her reaction. Again, she nearly leapt off the table.
"What was that?!"
"What did it feel like?"
"I don't know...intense...tingly..."
"That's perfectly normal...Now, please, relax and let me work." He repeated the motion and got another shift, but with each repetition, the shift lessened. Eventually, the shifting moved towards him instead of away. He listened to her breathing become heavier and watched her head start to roll from side to side.
"Dr. Thredson...I...I feel funny..." She panted.
"Shhh, it's normal..."
Her hands gripped the edge of the table. "It's-oh-warm-I..."
"Don't fight it...Sink into those sensations..."
"Something's happening-it-"
"Shhh, let it happen...Let go..."
Rosemary's eyes closed as she gasped, her back arching off of the table. Thredson worked faster, helping her ride it out. Her body wracked with silent tension for a few milliseconds before she cried out. Her form shook violently along with her frantic moans. Finally, she relaxed back onto the table with a sigh. He stepped away to discard his gown and gloves.
Her chest still heaved as she wet her lips and swallowed hard.
He pushed her hair away from her face, "How do you feel?"
A smile spread across her face, "Incredible."
"Good..." He grinned with satisfaction, "I told you I thought you'd find it...pleasant."
"What WAS that?"
Tough in teeth, he answered, "Paroxysm...It's something I'd be happy to help you with...whenever you need."
"Thank you, doctor."
"Of course...it's what I do."