Asylum

Asylum


Marton blinked quickly as he forced his face to remain as impassive as possible. For some strange reason this was the first time that he felt truly uncomfortable in this office. A strange tension seemed to permeate the air. A tension, which told of an yet unencountered threat, an untold promise of malice. And for some reason the tension seemed the thickest around the man on the other side of the desk.

"So," he flicked a speck of dust from his trousers, straightening his shoulders as he met the cold blue eyes mustering him, "Does that mean I can get out of here?"

"No." The single word sent an icy shiver down his back. Something had changed. Something he could not grasp, but he still knew that it was important.

"But I have done everything you told me." Marton insisted, his fingers slowly digging itself into the wooden armrest. "You cured me."

"Cured you?" A humourless smile curved the other man's lips. "My dear Marton." Marton shivered as Dr McKellen started tapping his pencil on the table. "You really believe I cured you?"

"Yes." Marton frowned.

"Of what?"

"A severe personality disorder." Marton answered, barely missing a beat. "You cured me." He hesitated again as Dr McKellen got up and slowly, deliberately, walked towards him. "I am ready to go home."

"No."

Marton shivered again as McKellen's hands came to rest heavily on his shoulders.
"But..." he tried to say, choking on the thick clot of air in his throat. Something was keeping him from breathing; the tension was bearing down on his, pressing him under. He was suffocating.

"You're not cured yet," Dr McKellen continued, his heavy fingers now pressing down on Marton's shoulders, almost digging into them.

Marton willed his body to move, inwardly screamed at his muscles to help him get up, but to no avail. He remained frozen to the spot. With every beat of his heart, with every rush of blood he felt pulsing through his veins, the fingers on his shoulders grew heavier, more oppressing.

"Doctor..." He winced at the unsteady sound of his voice.

"Sh..." McKellen's left index finger scraped over his throat, roughly tracing his aorta and finally coming to rest on his lips. Marton shivered at the rough heat covering his mouth. "You really believe yourself cured of your unnatural desires?"Marton squeezed his eyes shut, barely managing to suppress a shudder. McKellen had leaned closer, was speaking directly into his ear now. Hot breath ghosted over his ear and neck, leaving a burning trail of sensation in its wake. "Have you really lost your need to be controlled?" Stinging desire sparked within Marton as McKellen's finger pressed into his mouth, caressing his tongue. The doctor's voice dropped to a whisper. "To be dominated?"

"Yes...." Marton moaned around the finger in his mouth, unconsciously sucking at the digit. McKellen's right hand was still digging into his shoulder, was still pressing him into the uncomfortable chair. He hated every second of it. It just was not enough.

Circling the finger with his tongue he strained again McKellen's hands, gasping in appreciation as the doctor's hold on him tightening. Almost there. The pain was almost too much. A strangled groan escaped his lips as McKellen's hand suddenly opened his fly, roughly curling itself around his already leaking cock. "Please...." he whimpered, helplessly thrusting against the torturous friction.

"How can you want this?" McKellen asked him, wrangling a scream from Marton as he squeezed his cock. "How can you want this and still believe yourself cured?"

"No... please...." Marton writhed against the vice-like grip on his shoulder, tried to break free of the hand holding him, to shrink back into the chair.

"Yes..." McKellen mocked him, "Isn't that what you meant to say?" He pumped Marton's cock a few times, squeezing again just before Marton could come.

"No...." Marton moaned at the loss of friction, desperately trying for more stimulation. "Let me come... please...."

"Why should I?" McKellen asked, his left hand now drawing circles around Marton's adam's apple. "Why should I cater to your needs?" His voice dropped another octave. "What would you give me in return?"

"Everything...." Marton whispered, bucking up against the hand holding him as McKellen's thumb circled the head of his cock. "Whatever... just.... please..."

"Very well. But," McKellen's grip turned once more into pain, "Only if I allow you to."

Marton whimpered, his head knocking painfully against the wood as his head trashed from side to side.

"Come even a second before I allow you and I will have you in solitary confinement for a week. Understood?"

"Yes... yes... just," Marton swallowed breathlessly, "Just let me.. go." Pleasure ran though him, coiling in his stomach like a snake ready to strike. He needed to come, needed an outlet for the emotions cursing through him, needed to let go, just this once.

"Now...." McKellen breathed into his ear. "Come for me now."

With a choked sob Marton came, spilling himself over McKellen's hand.

"Really." McKellen said with a disgusted sneer, wiping his hand with his handkerchief. "How can you believe yourself healed?"

Marton just whimpered, bonelessly sagging back against the chair.

"How can I let you go when you're still like that?" He sat down again, the big desk once more a safe barrier between him and Marton. "I won't be losing my pet patient any time soon." He smiled grimly at Marton. "Go back to your cell. You're not healed yet, but if you continue to behave I might be willing to think about changing your medication."

Automatically Marton nodded, swallowing the bitter lump in his throat as he forced the stinging saltiness of tears from his eyes. He had to find a way out of the asylum. His nails dug painfully into his palms as he quietly closed the door behind him. At any cost.


The End