Marilyn waited.
She expected to hear the thunderous sound of his angry footsteps up the stairs, perhaps the sound of something breaking in his destructive path to the bedroom. Maybe he would shout. He very rarely shouted, but when he did it was terrifying.
The stunt she had pulled in the basement was more than enough to incur his wrath in many forms. She had never outright defied the doctor until today, and the aftermath was sure to be bloody.
She sat on the bed, knees pulled up under her chin, waiting for him to come after her. She knew he would. It was just a matter of when.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed when she heard the soft scrabble of fingernails on the wood of the bedroom door.
"Marilyn?" Oliver said quietly, his voice muffled.
Marilyn remained silent.
"Please come out," he pleaded, scratching again at the door. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I –" There was a quiet sound of him struggling for words before he gave up with a frustrated sigh. "—I don't want Lana. I want you. Please don't leave."
She swallowed hard and said nothing.
"Please." Thredson's voice was suddenly thick, shaky. "They all leave me. Just like my mother."
Marilyn felt a strange sensation in her chest as though she were very deeply underwater. It was a pressure, a painful weight settling on her heart. It hurt to hear him so vulnerable, so sad.
Oddly enough, her breasts began to ache.
"I can't lose you too," Oliver whispered on the other side of the bedroom door.
Marilyn licked her lips, then stood and approached the source of his voice slowly.
When she reached the door she hesitated. What if this was a trap? What if she gave in and he seized her by the throat, strangling the life out of her for disobeying?
What if. The phrase made her want to laugh hysterically.
She grasped the lock and turned it, then opened the door.
He was taken by surprise; his face had been almost pressed against the solid wood surface and the doctor stumbled slightly when she pulled it away. She looked him over once, noting the slump of his normally confident shoulders.
"I won't compete with her, Oliver," she said firmly. He shook his head hard like a scolded little boy proving he's learned his lesson.
"No, I understand."
"I mean it."
The doctor nodded. "I know." He paused, then held up a finger in a 'wait here' gesture and hurried past her into the closet in the bedroom. After a moment he emerged with something in his hands.
"I grew to suspect you didn't like the nightgown I'd chosen for you," he said, his usual self-assurance returning to him so naturally. "That's why I gave it back to Lana. This, I think, suits you more."
He held up a black satin negligee by its delicate straps, a dark little smile playing on his lips.
It looked a few sizes too large for her but it was best not to turn down the gift he was so clearly pleased with. Besides, it was a huge improvement over the cotton nightmare she'd worn for months.
Marilyn took the nightie from him, savoring how silky the material felt on her fingers. She missed her beautiful things she'd left at the house next door, things that were most likely gone. It was hard to believe her mother hadn't already cleared out all her forgotten possessions and sold the property by now though on occasion she entertained the fantasy.
Thredson had only snatched a few dresses (none of them her favorites) in the first few days of her captivity and these were rarely used since she never left the little bungalow except for her trips to the asylum. The negligee was a fond, unexpected reminder of the life she'd lived before the night she undressed for Oliver in her bedroom window.
However, why the doctor already had this stashed away in his closet was a question she didn't care to have answered.
"Thank you, Oliver," she breathed. He slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards his.
"Put it on," he said in a low voice, the sinister smile still pulling at the corners of his mouth, "and let's go back downstairs."
As they descended the stairs together, Marilyn heard soft moans coming from the direction of Lana's bed. The reporter was squirming against her bonds, eyes closed, trying desperately to fight off the stimulant Marilyn had forced down her throat.
Oliver led Marilyn towards their captive, one gentle hand closed around her fingers. He clearly knew he was treading on thin ice and must proceed with caution.
"Aside from the bonding effect the drug has," the doctor murmured, pausing at Lana's bedside, "the patient may experience euphoria, enhanced tactile sensations, and arousal." He licked his lips and glanced to Marilyn. "Where would you like to... begin?"
She considered the scene with curious eyes. Lana writhed on the sheets, her helpless hands twitching inside their leather restraints. Oliver's diagnosis seemed right on target; the reporter was obviously aroused, cheeks flushed and pink, but in her current state she could get no relief.
Marilyn smiled.
"If we're going to cure this deviant of her attraction to women," she said seductively, taking Oliver by the end of his thin black necktie, "I think we should lead by example." She settled on the edge of the queen-sized bed, her back to Lana, and pulled him close so their lips nearly touched. "Shall we show her what she's missing?" Marilyn whispered.
The doctor grinned as she spread her thighs, displaying the part of her he craved so often and so ravenously.
"Your methods are interesting, Miss Jackson," Oliver growled, and moved between her legs, pressing the tented front of his pants against where she had begun to grow warm.
Lana groaned weakly behind them.
He took Marilyn's face in his hands and kissed her deeply, his tongue moving effortlessly with hers. He tasted of cigarette smoke and dark whiskey, just as he had the first night they were together.
The delicate strap of her new too-big negligee slipped off Marilyn's shoulder. Oliver pulled his mouth from hers and trailed hot wet kisses along her neck, following the strap's path down the curve of her arm. She moaned softly when she felt him graze her skin with his teeth.
As much as it pained her to admit, she was nearly dizzy with the relief that she was the focus of his attention, it was because of her that he was hard and ready inside his pressed work pants. She simply wasn't willing to share him with anyone else. She had given up too much already.
Oliver pushed the other strap down, running his strong hands along her bare shoulders as the front of the black nightie inched lower over the swell of Marilyn's breasts. They still ached faintly but the pain mixed almost pleasantly with her pleasure.
"No," Lana mumbled behind her, the leather restraints straining suddenly against the bedposts.
Marilyn ignored her and reached for the belt around Oliver's waist; she felt him grunt appreciatively into her skin as she began to unbuckle it.
"No," Lana said again, louder this time. Marilyn felt the other woman's weight shift drastically as she started to struggle with renewed energy. "No, Wendy, not with him, please!"
Thredson stopped kissing Marilyn's neck at once. He drew back and frowned beyond her at Lana, who continued to thrash uselessly against her bonds.
"How interesting," he said. His lips split slowly into a wolfish grin.
"What?" Marilyn twisted to see Lana staring at her with a strange sort of desperation.
"Please, baby, not with him," Lana whimpered, still trying to pull out of the leather restraints.
Marilyn looked back to Oliver in confusion.
"What is she talking about?" she demanded. Already his attention had shifted and it was infuriating.
The doctor chuckled, his eyes drifting back to Marilyn.
"Occasionally, the drug can produce other side effects," he explained patiently. "She's hallucinating." A moment went by as she could see his sharp mind racing with thought.
"Who's Wendy?" she whispered, not certain if she wanted to know the answer.
Thredson moved out from between her thighs and reached towards Lana's wrists.
"What are you doing?" Marilyn asked, alarmed, but he waved her off.
"She's harmless in this state." He began to undo each of the leather restraints. Lana barely noticed him; her eyes were locked on Marilyn.
When her arms were free she reached for her.
"Wendy, baby, not with him," she pleaded, barely coherent, stroking Marilyn's blonde hair with a trembling hand. Marilyn looked to Oliver, unsure of what to do.
He raised his eyebrows in a 'go on' expression and unlooped the final restraint from Lana's ankle.
Marilyn hesitantly climbed onto the bed into the reporter's waiting embrace. Lana wrapped her arms around her, caressing her cheek, eyes darting over Marilyn's face as if taking in every feature.
"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, and pressed their lips together in a tender kiss.
The words created a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of Marilyn's stomach but she could see Oliver watching intently in the corner of her vision. He seemed interested in the two women kissing now that it was Lana's choice - she was playing right into their hands.
Marilyn would not lose his attention. Not this time.
She parted Lana's lips with her tongue and felt the reporter melt into her touch. Oliver had said the drug lit up her nervous system, flooded her brain with nothing but good positive feelings, and after a day of strict captivity in the dark basement Marilyn assumed it was nearly heaven in her arms.
But as far as she knew, she wasn't in Marilyn's arms. She was with Wendy. Whoever that was.
Lana ran her fingers over the black satin of Marilyn's negligee, cupping her breast in her hand. Sensitive from what was no doubt the first production of her milk, Marilyn moaned softly as the other woman began to worry her hardening nipple between two skilled fingertips.
She was mildly surprised to find herself growing wet.
Marilyn leaned her back against the bed and Lana allowed herself to be led, looking up through eyes half-lidded with desire. It was becoming easier to be with this woman, to react with touches the way she'd like to be touched, to kiss where she knew she liked to be kissed. She positioned herself over her, knees on either side of Lana's legs. Marilyn glanced over to the doctor, who was rubbing his erection almost absentmindedly through his pants, staring at them.
She gave him a flirtatious little smile. It had a visible effect on him; he shifted and bared his teeth slightly as if he wanted to pounce.
Keeping eye contact with Oliver, she began to inch Lana's cotton nightgown up her midsection, exposing the creamy skin of her stomach. Marilyn ran her fingertips over the soft curves of the reporter's hip bones, just above the band of her plain asylum underwear. Lana moaned helplessly, her pelvis jerking at the touch.
Oliver licked his lips.
She looked away from him to focus on the task at hand. Marilyn drew one long red-lacquered nail teasingly over the small mound between Lana's legs, tracing the impressions of her folds. Lana's head rolled back on the pillow; her hands gripped the sheets like she was holding on for dear life. For a moment Marilyn wondered if perhaps the doctor would give her a dose of this miracle drug, considering its obvious effects.
"Wendy," Lana groaned. "God, I've missed you."
"I know," Marilyn assured her softly. If there was one thing she was good at, it was improvising.
She slipped one hesitant finger past the cotton panel of Lana's panties and found her hot and wet. Marilyn expected her to moan but instead Lana only whimpered, utterly overcome by sensation.
There was no sure way to proceed so Marilyn simply recalled how Oliver tortured her so exquisitely, sliding his strong fingers in and out of her, creating delicious friction, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy...
Feeling the space between her own legs flush with heat, Marilyn turned her palm up and carefully slipped two fingers inside Lana's moist wanting sex. She tried to recreate the slow pump that always seemed to be her undoing at the doctor's hands.
The velvety walls of Lana's sex clenched around her fingers and the reporter began to mumble incoherently, clenching the sheets in desperation.
Marilyn found herself oddly entranced with Lana's reactions, so different from Oliver's, somehow more delicate and graceful. Was this what she looked like in the throes of passion?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a new weight on the bed as the doctor slid behind her, taking her carefully by the hips. Oliver lifted the edge of her black negligee and pulled her back against him; she gasped as he entered her, his thick cock gliding into the slick space between her legs like a warm knife through butter.
Marilyn tried to straighten but he placed a palm on her back, keeping her on all fours.
"Don't stop," Oliver whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine with the heat of his breath. "Make her come."
He began to thrust his hips, slowly, filling her to the hilt and then withdrawing in a steady tortuous rhythm. She moaned his name and tried to focus her attention back on the squirming Lana, who was still clamped around her fingers and nearly delirious with pleasure.
Marilyn resumed pumping her fingers, in and out, matching the doctor's rhythm and speed. The effect was immediate; Lana let out an agonized mewl and threw her head back against the pillow.
"Good girl," Thredson growled, his breath heavy.
It was so hard to concentrate with the throbbing pleasure between her legs but Marilyn kept her pace, each thrust of her fingers driving Lana towards the breaking point. When the reporter's back began to arch Marilyn knew she was about to come, and with the pad of her thumb she started to rub gentle little circles around the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of Lana's folds.
It all seemed to happen at once; Lana's breath escaped her in a shuddery little scream as Marilyn felt the muscles clenched around her fingers contracting with surprising strength. Before she could witness the reporter's undoing Marilyn felt Oliver reach around her waist and begin to stroke her own throbbing bud with a feathery-light touch that was very unlike his usual forceful methods.
She cried out as she tumbled unexpectedly over the edge, an explosion of pleasure bursting deep inside her as the doctor thrust over and over again, teasing her relentlessly between the legs.
"Marilyn," Oliver grunted, then groaned as his own orgasm arrived with the last few pumps of his lithe hips. She couldn't see him but she knew what his face looked like, his handsome features contorting in ecstasy, brows knitting in the way she had grown to love.
Instead she was staring at Lana, who lay still on the bed, utterly spent. Her chest heaved in an attempt to regain her stolen breath and just before she closed her eyes she locked gazes with Marilyn, her expression unreadable.
Oliver took a moment to compose himself before slipping from the bed to zip up his pants. With Lana slipping into unconsciousness Marilyn slumped to sitting position, wiping her fingers absently on the sheets.
"You," the doctor murmured, regarding Marilyn with a kind of odd pride, "were incredible."
She looked at the prone woman on the bed and felt a faint smile surface on her lips.
"Get the chain," Marilyn said breathlessly. "I have a feeling she won't be quite so nice when it wears off."