It was a strange sort of deja vu to realize that her eyelids felt too heavy to lift, her limbs like they were encased in cement. When Marilyn's vision finally focused the doctor came into view and though his normal handsome face had returned all she could see was that mask of terrible stinking flesh.
"Marilyn," he whispered, his thick dark brows twisted with concern. He leaned close to her and began to stroke her forehead; had she been able to move, she would have recoiled, but he couldn't know that.
Her eyes flicked to the IV in the crease of her arm.
"I know, I know," Oliver murmured, the touch of his fingers on her skin ever so gentle, "you had an incident, you're all right now but you need to remain calm. For the baby."
The doctor's face was uncharacteristically pale. There were the beginnings of dark circles forming under his eyes.
"You were never meant to see that." His face twisted with emotion as he fought back tears. "You should've never..." Oliver looked away for a moment, then met her gaze again, distraught. "You were supposed to be asleep! You should've stayed in bed!"
She swallowed. Her throat felt dry like sandpaper.
He got to his feet and paced the room restlessly, dragging a hand through his dark hair.
"You should've-" Oliver stopped and turned back to the bed. He looked utterly broken. "I never wanted you to see me that way."
Marilyn flexed her fingers weakly. Spotting the movement, he crossed back to her like a sleek jungle cat on the prowl.
He checked the levels on her IV and began to adjust it when she shook her head almost imperceptibly.
"Don't," Marilyn whispered through numb lips. The doctor's hand froze, hovering over the bag of clonodine on the IV stand.
"You'll only upset yourself," he said softly.
She shook her head again, harder this time.
"Want... to talk... to you," she managed.
Oliver looked distressed; he glanced back and forth between the sedative and Marilyn before letting out a short little breath of frustration and adjusting the dosage lower.
She didn't feel the effect at first, but after a few minutes she tried flexing her fingers again and found herself gaining more strength. The doctor watched from the edge of the bed, worried.
Finally she lifted a hand and gripped his dark-furred forearm, tugging him lightly to indicate she wanted to sit up. Oliver moved to help her at once. Her head still woozy and full of cotton, Marilyn settled back against the headboard with his assistance and took a moment to steady her breathing.
After a long pause, she had decided what she would do, and she hoped it was good enough.
"You've been a very bad boy, Oliver," she whispered at last.
Shock registered on the doctor's face like he had been slapped.
"I-" he began, but she held up two weak fingers to stop him.
"You've been bad, and you know it," Marilyn went on. She paused briefly. "Is Lana dead?"
"N-no," he stammered, and suddenly he seemed like a small child trapped in the body of a powerful, dangerous man; his shoulders slumped, his dark eyes were wide in his pale face. "She's... she's still downstairs, I didn't have a chance to-"
"Good," she interrupted. Marilyn smoothed the sheets over her lap and didn't speak for another moment. She felt Oliver shifting uncomfortably beside her. When she thought he had suffered long enough she took him tenderly by the chin and tilted his face up towards hers.
"Where did the mask come from, Oliver?" she asked gently.
Oliver said nothing; he bit his lip and lowered his eyes. His whole energy had changed. For once, the doctor was not certain he was the one in charge, and it had reverted him to his troubled childhood, just as Marilyn knew it would.
"Burn it," she demanded, releasing his face.
He nodded quickly.
"And for the moment, leave Lana where she is. She's not going anywhere." Marilyn studied his expression. Her only hope had been that he hadn't gone entirely over the edge of insanity, that he could still be molded and shaped by her newly maternal hands, and it seemed her prayer had been answered. With Oliver staring at her like a wounded little boy, the image of him masked by the flesh of murdered women was starting to fade.
But not entirely.
"Make me something to eat," she said softly, hoping he'd hear the quiet lilt of disappointment in her voice. "When I'm feeling stronger I'll decide your punishment."
He looked up at her, alarmed.
"Punishment?" Oliver echoed incredulously. He almost sounded as though he'd nearly had enough of this; she wondered if perhaps she had been foolish to think he could be controlled after all.
Marilyn looked at him with what she felt must be the unconditional love he'd always craved. Even after seeing him in the basement, her lover with a monster's face, she found she couldn't imagine leaving him alone with the demons in his head, the voices that called him to do the most unspeakable things.
This man was someone she needed to protect, and someone the world needed protection from.
"Yes, Oliver," she said at last. "What kind of mommy would I be if I didn't discipline baby when he misbehaved?"
That was it. Suddenly everything clicked into place and Oliver's face crumbled; he reached for her, begging silently for her touch, but Marilyn held him at bay with a firm hand.
"Mommy," he mumbled brokenly, trying to lean into the curve of her neck.
"You can go now, Oliver," she told him, her tone indicating that the conversation was over. He searched her face for forgiveness but she didn't relent. After a moment he stood, his head hanging like a scolded child, and left the bedroom without another word.
After she'd eaten and the sedative had fully worn off, Marilyn called Oliver back into the bedroom.
"Are you ready for your punishment?" she asked when he slunk into view, shoulders slumped.
A long moment passed between them before he raised his eyes to hers and gave a weak little nod.
She got to her feet, pulling the blankets and sheets with her. She stripped the bed and tossed the bundle into the corner of the room. With the mattress bare except for the fitted sheet, Marilyn turned back to the doctor and pointed at the bed.
"Take off your shirt," she demanded firmly, "and lie down."
Oliver's brow furrowed, but only slightly; he began to undo the many small white buttons down his chest and moved towards the bed. Confusion and curiosity played across his handsome features as he let the pressed dress shirt flutter to the floor.
"Good." Marilyn rewarded him with a brisk nod. "The undershirt, too."
A devious gleam passed over his eyes as though the whole idea was becoming more and more intriguing to him, but she didn't allow him the satisfaction of knowing what was to come. She forced her face to remain blank.
He smiled a little and pulled the sleeveless undershirt over his head, exposing his firm bare chest and stomach. She wanted to run her fingers through the dark hair that disappeared down past the buckle of his belt, it was so tempting to give in to him so soon, but he was being punished and it would do no good to end the game so quickly.
She had to know whether he was too far gone to save. If it was too late to keep this sharp-fanged cobra at bay, or if she still had some snake-charmer in her yet.
"Lie down," Marilyn repeated in a harsher, sterner tone.
Oliver crawled onto the bed, still intrigued but now mildly reproached. There was worry behind his dark eyes as though he was afraid she might strike him like the ones who ruled supreme over his terrible childhood, but pain was not what she had in mind. Not tonight.
"On your back." He obeyed wordlessly. She waited until he'd situated himself before turning to the bedside table and retrieving two of Oliver's black neckties she'd chosen earlier.
She joined him on the bed and straddled his hips; the doctor made a quiet noise of arousal, reaching for her, but Marilyn took one dark-furred hand and stretched his arm towards the bedpost. Oliver watched in silent wonder as she bound first one wrist to the headboard with his own tie, then the other.
When she was finished he lay helpless on the bed, vulnerable, his arms spread apart like a bird about to take flight. She smiled down at him and began to drag her fingers slowly through the wiry hair of his broad, firm chest. He growled deep in his throat, trying to flex his arms to reach for her again, but her knots held tight and he could do little more than strain his wrists against the bonds.
"This is what's going to happen," Marilyn said softly, her fingertips playing lightly across his hardening nipples. "I'm going to give you your punishment, and you're going to take it like a good boy, right?"
Oliver nodded again. He seemed at a loss for words but he was baring his teeth in that unconscious predatory way of his.
"Good." She leaned towards him until their lips nearly touched and smiled. "Here's your punishment: you're not allowed to come until I tell you that you can. And If you come before I say so, well... your punishment will continue."
Marilyn carefully took the dark-rimmed glasses from his face and set them on the nightstand. She turned back to him. He licked his lips anxiously.
"Let's begin," she whispered, and began trailing soft little kisses up his chest. She felt the doctor tense beneath her, his arms straining against the restraints again, but it was useless; the knots were simply too tight.
"Marilyn," he murmured, and she ignored him.
Her lips made their way up to the curve of his neck. She sucked gently on the sensitive area that she knew made him weak in the knees; the doctor groaned, and she felt his erection rising hard and reliable beneath her.
"You've been so bad," Marilyn said quietly, her breath hot against his skin. "Oliver, how am I supposed to trust you with our child when you're being so bad?"
"I'll be better," he responded at once, jerking his hips on hers. "I can be a good man, a good father, I promise..."
She gave the place where his shoulder met his neck a little bite and the doctor moaned loudly.
"A family is built on trust," she instructed firmly. Her fingertips returned to his nipples, now hard little pebbles beneath her touch, and moved in small teasing circles. Oliver was squirming restlessly beneath her. "If I can't trust you..." His dark eyes searched her face desperately before rolling back in his head as she caressed his throat with the tip of her tongue.
"You can trust me," he managed. He bucked his growing erection up towards the comfort of her hips again but Marilyn pulled back, allowing him no friction. The doctor growled in frustration.
"No more Bloody Face." She leaned back to see the effect the actual words had had on him. Oliver was frozen, surprised; she had never called him this before, and she doubted many people had. Anyone left alive, that is.
"No more," he agreed, but he looked pensive.
"Never. I will not have your child and one day discover you in the basement, some other woman's face over yours, wondering who's going to show up decapitated in a field when we have a perfectly good alibi secured in Briarcliff. Understood?" It was hard to believe this was the boundary she was setting with him, but if Marilyn expected to have any sort of life with the man who'd impregnated her, it was one that was mandatory.
And yet, Oliver hesitated.
"Understood?" she repeated, and brushed her hips ever so lightly over the bulge that strained at his black dress pants.
"God, yes," he moaned. Marilyn smiled.
"Good boy." She leaned towards him and rewarded his obedience with a long, deep kiss. The doctor whimpered softly into her mouth, his tongue tangling desperately with hers. Almost as soon as she'd began, Marilyn withdrew. Oliver watched her with dismay, sexual frustration painted on his face like grease paint.
"We're not done here," she told him sternly.
"Marilyn," he growled. His lean, sinewy arms strained again at the restraints to no avail.
She shifted back on her haunches and regarded him with a small smile on her lips, resting her weight lightly on his swollen crotch.
"If you won't listen to Mommy," Marilyn purred, beginning to slowly grind her hips against his, "how is Mommy ever supposed to trust you?"
Oliver grunted and met her thrusts eagerly. The dreamy look that overtook him during the throes of lovemaking spread over his handsome features, but she once again she stopped short.
"God damn it," he huffed, brows meeting in an angry knot.
"Baby needs to take his punishment like a good boy." She ran her fingers through the dark hair across his chest, then met his gaze with hers, serious. "Because if you're a good boy... Mommy promises to stay."
Oliver froze again, his eyes widening. The realization of what she'd said had apparently put his raging libido on hold for the moment.
"You'll stay?" he whispered, not for the first time sounding like a lost little boy. Her breasts ached in response.
"I'll stay," Marilyn said gently. She began to slowly unzip his pants, maintaining eye contact with the stone-still doctor as his straining erection finally burst free. He licked his lips and held back a groan when she wrapped her hand around him. "I'll stay, because soon I'll have two babies to take care of, right?"
"Oh, Mommy," Oliver whimpered.
Marilyn positioned his throbbing cock beneath her and gave him a tender smile, a loving smile, a mother's smile.
"That's a good boy." She sank down onto him, enveloping his thick length inside her hot wet sex at last.
Oliver let out a husky moan and pulled hard at his bonds. His eyes screwed shut as she began to ride him slowly; he was clearly struggling to maintain composure, to play along with the game she'd started. To be a good boy.
"No more Bloody Face," she said again, her voice low with lust now, the place between her legs ablaze with pleasure. Marilyn tangled her fingers in his chest hair and picked up speed.
"No more Bloody Face," Oliver repeated breathlessly, his brow furrowing. She was pleased to see he was concentrating hard on not coming before he was allowed to, but the urge to prolong his punishment ebbed with each thrust of her hips.
Marilyn leaned forward and brushed her nipples lightly against his bare chest. He grunted softly, his eyes still squeezed closed.
She had her answer, she supposed. And he was behaving. It was really all she could hope for.
Tilting her head towards his, Marilyn placed a tender kiss on the doctor's parted lips.
"Good baby," she murmured, and as she approached climax she began jerking her hips in the reliable rhythm she knew would drive him over the edge.
"Come for Mommy," Marilyn whispered against his mouth. Oliver's face went slack and he made a sound deep in his throat; the sound turned into something of a strangled moan as she felt the telltale pulsing of his orgasm between her thighs. A few more thrusts and soon she was coming too, her legs quivering as the pleasure bloomed and then burst into flame, leaving her spent and breathless.
She remained on top of the panting doctor for a few moments more before reaching for his wrists to undo the makeshift restraints. His black neckties were now stretched and warped, but she doubted it would matter much to him.
Oliver's chest heaved as he struggled to regain his lost breath but his eyes were soft as they looked her over.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," he said quietly.
She lowered his arms, rubbing the red marks on his wrists with the pad of her thumbs.
"I know, baby." Marilyn pressed a kiss to each of his palms, one at a time. "We should rest now. We've got a big day tomorrow."
He cocked his head, not understanding. With a contented sigh, she climbed off of him and rolled onto her back. Marilyn patted the space above her breasts and the doctor crawled over, eagerly leaning into her like an overgrown child.
She began to stroke his slightly damp hair, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Tomorrow, we're going to dispose of the trash in the basement."