Chapter Text
Two days.
You had been trapped in this hellhole for a whole two days and, if your discussion with Crane yesterday was anything to go by, your freedom would remain painfully out of reach for the foreseeable future.
Pacing the small cell which Crane had committed you to, the overnight stay had done little to improve your mood as your sleep had been scattered and shattered by anxiety-laden dreams, your body waking in a cold sweat multiple times.
“You promised me that you would get me out of here?”
Standing guard by the door, Crane watched your frantic pacing with a casualness that set your teeth further on edge. His bolo tie was loose around his neck, clothing wrinkled in such a way that you doubted he had left the building at all since your incarceration the previous day.
“The situation is more complicated than I had anticipated. Your actions towards Mayor Sharp have ruffled some feathers which would have remained better undisturbed. He has heavily indicated that the only thing which may buy your silence for his crimes is for you to be removed from the picture in a more permanent way.”
Feet grinding to a halt at the horrifying words, you glance at Crane with wide eyes.
“He’s going to kill me? He’s put a hit out on me?”
“Yes, it would appear so. Or, at least, his plans appear to be headed in that direction.” Crane confirmed.
“I’m dead. I’m so dead. And for what? What stupid fucking games was I playing? I was just doing my job, goddamn it!”
“You are safe within this room, little lamb. I have altered your admission paperwork to have you recorded as little more than a Jane Doe with no understanding of who she is and that anonymity will give you some protection. Only I am currently aware of your location.”
Through the relief, something in his tone sparks an unease in your chest as you refuse to acknowledge just how wrong that particular fact felt as he turned on his heel and left you alone to your rising panic.
A harsh slam on your cell door knocks you from your thoughts and you startle as the door is wrenched open and one of the orderlies’ steps within your room.
“Shower time, inmate. Two day cycle and your time’s here.”
His name tag reads ‘Davies’ and you glance over at him with a startled expression as he fills the doorway with his broad frame. Hair clipped short to his scalp, something in his eyes instantly makes your skin crawl as you rise from your bed and walk to his position with uncertain feet. You hadn’t bathed since before your arrest and the discomfort which stemmed from that, from how dirty your hands felt to the slight irritation of your underarms due to the days old deodorant, was the only thing willingly moving your body.
The orderly stepped aside to let you pass and you gasped as his hand quickly grabbed at your upper arm, squeezing the area with a firm and bruising grip.
“Everything you need is in the shower room. Any funny business and I’ll snap your arm, inmate.” As if to emphasise his point, he jerked your shoulder slightly – enough to make a soft noise of discomfort slip from your lips before letting go.
“Yes, sir.” You reply, a pit forming in your stomach at the obvious aggression and lack of any other bodies moving around the hallway as he leads you to your destination.
“Sir.” You find the word repeated by him, a nasty chuckle lacing it as he tugs at the ill-fitting jumpsuit which Crane had provided on your first night. “I think I like that, baby. Keep calling me that and we might have a good time.”
Approaching what you assumed was the shower room, the pit in your stomach grows even stronger as you see the two orderlies standing on guard by the doorway. Three guards, all men. The desire to speak up, to question such a decision when it was a known fact that female inmates should be assigned a female guard for such an intimate act, tickles at your thoughts but no words seem able to push past the thick lump which sits in your throat.
“Fresh meat boys,” Davies calls out as he pushes you forward, “this one comes from the solitary rooms up by the doctor’s office. Another Jane Doe who doesn’t know who she is. Crazy.”
“Hmm, what a real shame.” The shorter of the guards’ shrugs but his expression is a visible leer as you pass by him and step into the shower room.
The place is small. Three shower stalls, completely tiled and separated by thin plastic sheeting which was about the only attempt that anything in this room made to give its users some modesty as each stall did not possess a door. Looked clean enough, a stiff and sterile scent sitting thickly in the air, and you approach one of the stalls with shaky legs.
Turning back, you watch with growing fear as all three guards slip through the doorway behind you before closing the door shut behind them. You were only expecting one, maybe the nasty fucker who had pulled you from your cell, but all three felt like a power play and the vulnerability of your position was impossible to ignore.
Standing dumbly, your fingers clawing into the sides of your jumpsuit to keep them from visibly shaking, you can’t get your lips to form around the words you need as an insane urge to just run – to bolt and try to escape the enclosed room – screams at your senses.
“Strip off, inmate,” Davies calls out with an easy smile, his hand wrapped around the thick baton which sits against his hip. “You know how a shower works, yeah? If you weren’t such a crazy bitch then we wouldn’t have to stay here and watch. Or maybe you need a hand and want us to help?”
A few mutters of casual agreement slip free of his friends but you can’t see who is saying what on account of how harshly your head is shaking, refusing any help as a physical roil of your stomach makes your lips purse thinly – your chest feeling tight and compressed as your breath stutters.
Eyes burning, the shorter guard laughs at your enthusiastic refusal and joins in on the chat.
“Hurry it up then. It’s been months since we had a cutie like you to keep an eye on, usually the sluts they throw in here are twice as big and three times as ugly.” His laughter is so casually cruel that you understand in an instant what kind of man he is and it only adds to your misery.
Pulling at the poppers on your jumpsuit, the urge to cry is very real in your throat and you swallow it down with force – even as your eyes prick with unshed tears of humiliation. Your bra and panties follow quickly, all clothing being dropped into a messy pile as you angle your body away from the orderlies.
Using your hands to preserve as much of your modesty as possible, heat flares across your skin as shame and embarrassment scorch you from the inside out. The walls of the cubical are tight and claustrophobic, every tile bearing down on you with unspoken judgement and you remind yourself that this is about survival.
“Don’t bother, baby. We’ve seen it all. Haven’t we, boys?” The third guard speaks, his voice much deeper than the others.
Two chuckles meet him in response as they all stare unashamed at your exposed body. Anger flares through your thoughts but it is immediately extinguished by fear, you were vulnerable here and the knowledge of that vulnerability makes your breath catch in your lungs. That urge, the urge to lash out and scream, is strong but not enough to overpower the very real fear which sits in your chest. Crane had warned you to not make yourself any enemies, to keep yourself as hidden as possible, and a confrontation with the guards would absolutely jeopardise that.
All thoughts which fly from your mind as the first guard breaks free of his two friends to stride across the shower room and approach your cubical.
“Here, lemme help.” He offers as he reaches your position, his leering gaze finding it very difficult to break away from your lower body – any pretence that he was going to switch the shower on absolutely abandoned as his hand reaches out for your chest.
“Fuck off.” You explode, lashing out at him with your left arm, the movement allowing your tits to bounce free of your strangle grip. He whistles at that, expression showing anger at the outburst as a slight flush of red paints his cheeks, but he does take a step back as he glances over his shoulder at his two friends.
“The patient isn’t cooperating, Dan.”
“Yeah, maybe we need to restrain her.” The second guard agrees before pointing at the third. “I mean, it’s for her own safety. Jimmy, go man the door for a bit while we deal with her."
No.
The urge to scream is strong and your mouth stretches wide to alert someone – fucking anyone – to help you but what emerges from your lips is more of a guttural cry, something animalistic and wounded as you abandon your modesty and instead make a break for the door, hoping to beat the guard before he can block it with his thick body.
Not expecting the move, the guards gasp in surprise as you bolt but recover quickly enough to make a sharp pursuit. Feet tapping muted thuds on the tiled flooring, you only just manage to reach the door when a muscular arm wraps around your exposed waist and pulls you back from it – throwing you back to the centre of the room.
Landing flat on your ass, your vision swims in daze for a moment before a flash of white alerts you to the approach of the guards as they wrap harsh hands around your arms and pull you to your feet.
“Stupid slut!” The second guard hisses, his free hand gripping your jaw so roughly that you hear the bone creak. “You’re so fucked for that and you don’t even know it.”
Heart pounding so hard that you feel ready to pass out, the adrenaline pounding in your veins being the only thing keeping you aware, you slam your eyes shut and pray that this is all just a horrible fucked up dream and you were about to awaken in your bed, surrounded by daisy-strewn bedding and a familiar dark comforter.
A sharp crashing noise forces your eyes to snap open and the hands around your arms tighten in surprise as the door to the shower room is opened with such force that it ricochets off the wall, the hinges squealing in discomfort. There, in the doorway, stands Dr. Crane, and the familiarity of his face sparks a panicked relief which his actions have in no way justified.
“What is going on here?” Crane asks, his tone harsh and reproachful as his presence fills the room. His height allows him to tower over everyone else and he wields that ability with an impressive precision, making his thin frame feel somehow dangerous and willowy.
The guard who pulled you from your cell is the first to respond.
“Nothing, doctor. It’s time for her hygiene routine. We’re just making sure that the patient isn’t harming herself or doing anything she shouldn’t be.”
Looking incredulous at the scene before him as a coldness enters his tone, Crane holds out an accusatory hand as he sweeps it across the room, pausing to point at the two guards who were still holding you in place, your bare skin growing quickly red under their rough fingers.
“And that takes three grown men? To manage one little, defenceless girl?”
“Well…” Obviously uncertain, the guard’s response dies in his throat as he surveys Crane with obvious anxiety. A senior doctor, one with so much respect in the field, was no easy mark and each of the other men knew that. “We were only-”
“Get out.” Crane snaps, his patience obviously worn thin. “And be thankful that I will not report this little incident to your line manager. I will see that the patient is returned to her space.”
Trembling and feeling almost faint as the hands holding you in place let go, you steady your knees to keep upright as all three guards quickly make their escape through the only available door – each one making a sharp point to not look back as they scurried off to whatever part of the asylum they were needed.
Now alone with Crane, you survey him with teary eyes and flinch in position as he takes a step towards you. He notices, of course he does, but he ignores the obvious fear in favour of walking past your position and bending at the waist to pick up your abandoned clothing from its messy pile. Watching, your hands are tight across your stomach as you squeeze your abdomen, grounding yourself and taking steady breaths.
“They tried to-were going to-”
“I know little lamb.” Crane cuts you off evenly, his tone neither comfort not condemnation. “But thankfully, I was passing by and heard the commotion.” He hands you your clothes and you accept them with shaking hands, adrenaline making your limbs shake as the fear which sits heavy in your chest refuses to dissipate.
Tears threaten the corners of your eyes as you pull your underwear and jumpsuit back on, feeding your trembling legs into the holes with steady breaths. “Thanks.” You mutter, the word quiet.
“Follow me to my office, we can talk more openly there.” Crane replies, not acknowledging the gratitude, but his hand presses gently against your lower back as he guides you towards the door.
Numb, vaguely nauseous, and finding it difficult to focus on anything but how tight your chest still feels, you allow him to weave you through the hallways as you tread the familiar path to his office. The asylum feels empty, the only other human noises being the vague shouts which seem to be filtering up from one of the lower floors. Its eerie and uneasy, but simple to ignore as you find yourself standing in Crane’s office.
It's a surprisingly sparse space that always feels devoid of something. His certifications and qualifications litter the walls, polished and gleaming against the grey paint, and your feet drag across the thin carpeting as you take one of the two chairs which sit by his desk – sinking into the worn leather with a full-bodied sigh.
The silence is heavy, your eyes following Crane as he locks his office door and walks slowly towards the centre of the room. His sleeves are rolled up, hairy forearms exposed, and you carefully avoid his gaze by mapping out the veins which you can see standing firmly against the skin of his wrists and hands. His hands were very long and thin, fingers clean enough but boating ragged fingernails which were torn or bitten.
“You will need to attend regular sessions with me.” Crane breaks the ice with a sharp voice and the surprise of it makes your attention shift to his face. His icy gaze pins you in place against the chair as you quickly understand that his words are not a request on his part. “Suspicions will be raised if you are left in your cell unattended and without regular paperwork being filed. Short daily sessions should suffice for the moment with a day of rest on my off-day giving an appropriate level of space.”
“Sessions? Sessions for what?”
The off-white lab coat which wrapped around his thin frame neatly hid the majority of what lay beneath but he drags your attention to the dark blue shirt and textured brown waistcoat which cinches his waist with his fingers as he adjusts the bolo tie that sits loosely against his chest.
“I am not merely a placeholder within this establishment. Your need to remain here may as well benefit you in some way and I can sense that we may be able to delve into some of your more apparent trust issues and conflicts with authority as a cover for your time here.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” you spit out at him, aggression rising quickly to the surface as the stress of the day catches up with you, “what I need is to get the fuck out of here and find somewhere normal again.”
“Language, child.” He chides, tone equally as harsh and his glasses flash as his head tilts towards you. “You will mind yourself and your words after all I have done to help your situation.”
The fire in your chest extinguishing just as quickly as it had grown, you fall forward in the chair and sink your chin into your hands as your elbows balance precariously on your knees. “I’m sorry, Dr. Crane.” You apologise, feeling ashamed at lashing out at the only person who had shown you any kindness since you had been dumped in this hellhole. “I know you’re trying to help me but-”
He cuts you off with one swift movement, his body going from standing to sitting as he takes the seat across from you and matches your position with his own. Reaching out, you allow him to place his hand on your knee as you settle the emotions roiling across your gut. His palm presses against the joint, fingers slipping up your jumpsuit towards your inner thigh as he slowly grips the skin there with his spindly hand.
“Dr. Crane?” Staring at the hand as images of your previous encounter with him, your knees hard against the floor as you swallowed him down, flitter through your mind.
“You’re a very beautiful woman, little lamb. It pains me to see you so distressed and you surely cannot blame a man for wanting to make you feel comfortable. We already know each other so well.” Again, the images of his cock flash through your mind, mixed with the soft grunts which escaped him as you took him deep within your throat. As helpless as you were, you had agreed to it and he had held up his end of the bargain.
“Are you aski-I mean- do I have to?” The ghost of heavy hands against your arms makes you shudder, the idea of having to drop to the floor and suck him off again making your words almost a whine.
“I’m not a selfish man, dear.” Crane counters, his fingers slipping from your thigh to grip at your clasped hands. “I wouldn’t expect you to get on your knees in my office and pleasure me after all you’ve been through today, but I am sure that there are other acts which would benefit us both.”
“Benefit us- what?”
“Why should I have all the pleasure? I think a mutual release of tension would even help to lessen your uncertainty around me, perhaps release some of that anxiety which I can still see tightening your shoulders and trembling your limbs.”
Despite it all, you were still shocked at his sheer brazenness.
“You want to fuck me? Here?”
Anxiety spikes in your chest, shame that he had already seen your naked frame in such a vulnerable moment pairing with a traitorous curiosity which tickled at your mind – a primal desire for something nice, something not as fucking miserable as everything else that had happened these last few days. As though sensing your inner turmoil, Crane is quick to fill the space of your uncertainty.
“As I said, you are a beautiful woman and I see your strength despite how difficult these last few days have been for you.”
Something in his tone feels off, a flattery which needles rather than soothes, but you push that suspicion down as your mind whirls with the proposal.
He had stopped those bastards from raping you.
He had brought you here and hidden you away.
Kept you safe from harm.
He had saved you.
So why didn’t you feel safe?
That little traitorous voice, the one which refused to allow you to live in ignorance of how helpless your current outlooks were, whispered its truths into your mind.
Better the devil you knew.
“I think I’d like that, Dr. Crane.” You smile, unsure that it is quite meeting your eyes. “Please, can you- will you fuck me?”
The smile which stretches his lips to match your own also doesn’t meet his eyes, the bloodshot gaze remaining heated and predatory as it drinks in your submission. In an instant, he reclines in his chair and pulls his hand free to allow you to strip.
Fingers trembling as they touch the poppers which secure your jumpsuit, that same voice which chastised you for giving in to his demands screamed its defiance but you quickly silence it as the sound of the plastic snapping open fills the small office. Rolling the fabric down your arms, you step out of the jumpsuit with shaky legs – the warm air of the room washing across your skin as you stand there in nothing but your underwear.
Crane is unmoved. His hands are splayed across his lap as though he were observing something interesting and his gaze never wavers from your skin as he flicks between staring at your flushing face and the soft skin which was now exposed to him.
“Everything.”
A single word but one which sits heavy in your stomach as you slowly unhook your bra, allowing your tits to fall free as the fabric joins the jumpsuit on the floor. Your fingers hook into the sides of your panties but hesitate, a final surge of insecurity and fear making the action more difficult than it had to be. Meeting Crane’s eye, you force yourself to see past his actions and selfish desires, to see nothing but the man himself.
You could fuck him. Just like any of the other random one-night stands which littered your past. Just pretend that he didn’t hold your life and safety in his hands.
Gently pulling the panties free of your ass, you step out of them as gracefully as you can.
Naked as a babe, you stand before and a full-bodied shudder rolls down your spine. Crane doesn’t move for a moment, taking his time in allowing his gaze to rove across your groin, taking in the soft scattering of hair and softened skin, but his hand is then quick to drop to his fly – freeing his cock in one smooth motion as he wraps his fingers around it. Sliding along the length, he strokes himself until his cock is jutting proudly from his slacks.
“Come here, little lamb.”
Stepping towards him, you glance down at his cock - recalling how warm it felt in your mouth - and you feel heat pool in your gut, the sensation replacing some of the empty chill which sat there. Crane raises one hand to your inner thigh, his grip of the skin there surprisingly soft as he rolls his hand up your body; fingers brushing past your pubic hair to score across your lower stomach before dropping back to cup at your cunt with his full palm.
His fingers are rough, intrusive, and you whimper as he thrusts two within your hole. Only slightly wet, it takes him a moment to find a comfortable balance as he experimentally alternates between curling his fingers against your walls and shifting his position to rub the hood of your clit with a roughened thumb. To your surprise, he seems to know what he’s doing and the initial discomfort is swift to die as heat continues to build in your core.
“That’s good, Dr. Crane. Just like that.” You sigh out, putting your hand on his shoulder as you grind your cunt into his palm, chasing more than he’s currently willing to give. You could live with this, the first real pleasure you’ve felt in days – a somewhat twisted beacon in the sea of utter shit you had been forced to deal with.
It’s over far too quickly, his long fingers pulling free of your hole and wiping themselves clean on your upper thigh. He stands quickly, the movement making you take a step back in surprise and his cock remains painfully hard as he tilts your head up at him with those same two fingers. His head drops close to your own, so close that you think he’s going to pull you in for a kiss but his lips stop an inch from your own.
“Bend over the desk.” Crane demands roughly, his eyes darkened with lust.
His close proximity robs you of your words for the moment so you simply nod and turn away from him. Laying across the wide expanse of his desk, you shift the meagre objects there off to the side to make room for yourself, and lay your elbows on the wood. Obviously not happy with that choice, you gasp as Crane’s hands wrap around your arms, pulling them backwards so he can clasp your wrists to the bottom of your back as his cock presses insistently at your ass.
This new position forces your cheek to press against the desk, head twisted to the left as your tits are trapped between your body and the wood. Ass forced high by his positioning; you whimper once again as the blunted head of his cock swipes between your folds – gathering some of your arousal to ease his entry.
Spreading your knees, you cannot hold back the low cry which snaps free of your lips as he buries his cock deep with one sharp thrust. No care or consideration. Whatever lies you had been trying to convince yourself of, the thought that he was concerned with your pleasure as well as his own, were shattered in an instant and your cry dissolves into a series of discomforting grunts as he sets a brutal pace.
Forced to stretch around him, his cock feeling as though it were dragging some part of you with him as he pulled free until only the head remained before snapping his hips forward once more, you try to relax and focus on the small sparks of pleasure which were attempting to break through the ache.
In spite of the hard use, your body does react of its own accord and the arousal which he sparked with his fingers is quick to rebuild as heat grows in your groin – his cock brushing against your walls and dragging pleasure from the punished nerves.
He’s rough, every stroke feeling like a punishment as his groin smacks off your ass with a lurid sound. The hard wood of his desk feels cold and unforgiving beneath your chest and you wince as your skin drags along with the force of his thrusts.
“You’re so soft, little lamb.” Crane grunts, his fingers tightening around your wrists as he pulls your upper body free of the desk. “And so tight. I don’t imagine you just let anyone fuck you like this.”
“No.” You gasp out, repeating the word a few times as he refuses to let up.
“Are you enjoying felling your doctors’ cock? Do you feel like you’ve showing the proper appreciation for all that I’ve done for you?”
His questions are heated, growling free of his throat as he pauses for an answer.
“Yes! I lov-love it! Thank you, Dr. Crane. Thank you. Thank yo-oh god.”
Your thanks is cut off by his fingers as one hand drops to pinch at your clit, the sudden burst of sensation against the sensitive bundle of nerves almost unbearable as your head collides with the desk once more. The arousal in your cunt is undeniable as lurid wet noises fill the quiet of the office and you fall into those feelings, the pleasure much easy to handle than anything else.
His pace growing more erratic as his groin slaps off your ass, you can tell that Crane is close to finishing and you try to adjust your cunt to steal more pleasure from him. The band of arousal which circles your groin grows tighter with every thrust and you can’t help the small whimpers and soft encouragements which slip free of your lips to join his animalistic noises.
On the cusp, a horrifying sense of disappointment splashes across your skin as Crane releases your hands and instead snatches up your hips with a painful grip, his cock buried as deeply as possible as he comes. His release is hot, painting the walls of your cunt as his panted breaths and growls seem to ring louder in your ears. Grinding your cunt against his cock, it’s not enough and he seems to enjoy the sensation of you wriggling around him, walls milking every part of pleasure from him as he robs you of your own.
Satisfied, he pulls his cock free with an obscene noise as a deep sigh of satisfaction escapes his chest.
Orgasm truly ruined by his swift exit, a cry of sheer frustration breaks free of your lips as your knees tremble and your cunt clenches around nothing. The pleasure ebbs away almost in an instant and all that remains is the heat of your skin and the dull ache of the flesh which Crane had enjoyed so roughly.
Still pressed against the desk, you whine out your frustrations as his hands wrap around your shoulders to pull you to your feet. Instantly, you feel the mess of your cunt as your arousal and his release begins to leak free of your hole. Gazing up at him with bleary eyes, you don’t miss the sadistic delight which radiates from his icy gaze and you can’t help but feel that he understands exactly how frustrated you are.
“You are something special, little lamb.” Crane smirks, his hand slipping from your arm to wrap around the back of your neck. “Unfortunately, I have an immediate appointment I must attend so I do not have time to meet your needs quite yet. You must return to your room.”
Sated and with a high-flush sitting across his cheeks, Crane is quick to release you entirely before wiping off his cock using two of the tissues which he pulls free of the box on his desk - tucking himself away neatly as he watches you slowly pick up your underwear and start to slip it back on to your body.
Head spinning with it all, your hands are shaking wildly as you step back into your jumpsuit and attempt to button it up once more. An almost impossible task but one which you force yourself to achieve as you speak up.
“I don’t want anyone else to know I’m here. Not until I know I’m safe.”
Seeming pleased with that suggestion, Crane nodded and his head tilted as he speared you in place with his intense gaze.
“Do you trust me, little lamb?”
“Yes.” You lie.
Crane smiles, mostly to himself, and something in the way his lip curls at the corner makes nausea rise in your throat as you realise, once again, just how truly trapped you are. Panic swirls in your gut, a fear that he knows you are lying making your legs feel weak as you remain standing before him. Your cunt aches, his brutality making you feel sore and used as his release continues to leak free of your hole, and you shift uncomfortably against the seat in his office.
Do you trust me?
No. You didn’t.
But trapped as you were, you had little other choice, and that voice which refused to leave you in peace rings across your head once more.
Better the devil you know.
x-x-x-x-x
Closing the door behind him as he returned his new favourite patient to her cell and left her to her musings, Crane paused long enough to observe her through the window to her cell for a moment. She remained surprisingly pliant to his manipulations, easily agreeing to his brutal use of her sweet body in exchange for protections which any critically thinking soul would understand were only necessary due to his interventions.
Her guard for today was specifically chosen, each man on staff for her assigned shower time having had a long history of whispered accusations levied against them by both inmates and staff alike. Beastly men who fed on those too abused by their own circumstances to really make a fuss of a new layer of mistreatment. He knew who those men were and what they were likely to do. By intervening in their plans, he had further entrenched himself in a position of necessity for his little lamb as she viewed him as the only one capable of giving her hope.
She would be his and only his while she enjoyed his hospitality.
Making a mental note to ensure that the guard for this floor was changed to those with more of a moral compass, Crane whistled something tuneless as he made the short journey back to his office. A new guard would ensure further compliance and show his little lamb that he was willing to do what he could to protect her, making her thankful in such a way that he could levy that appreciation to push her sessions further and further as he moulded her into something interesting for him to study.
He saw her fear, could taste the anxiety which clouded her decisions as the whirlwind of her poor decisions forced her to make choices which were abhorrent to her. She would be a delicious candidate for his toxin compound and he had no doubt that her screams would be beautiful as she assisted him in pushing his project to even higher goals.
Soon.
But first, he had fresh paperwork to make disappear.