Bad Medicine Chronicles Ch. 01

Story description: A therapist transforms a mother into an incestuous cum whore.

***

Therapy of Dysfunction

The therapist listened to the mother's incessant plea and then quietly held up a finger. It signified an attempt to shush the unrelenting babble. Swiveling in her chair, she turned to observe the unsettled young man.

"Andy, your eighteen and rightfully an adult. Regardless to your mother's feelings on the matter, she has no legal standing to take part in your sessions. That is, unless you allow it. Do you truly wish her to be involved in your course of treatment? I only need a verbal agreement or in this case, a slight nod of your head."

He timidly said, "I don't think—"

The mother's agitated voice dominated the reply. "Of course he agrees. I'm his mother. He maybe of legal age, but he's still in school and lives in my house. As his parent, I'm still responsible for his wellbeing. I'll always be a part of his life and I demand participation in his therapy. I'm appalled that I wasn't consulted two weeks ago. After all, I'm paying the damn bill."

The therapist quietly maintained an attentive eye on Andy. Her countenance was stern and meant to hide her thoughts. Without breaking her gaze, she reached over and pressed the button on the intercom. "Dear, will you be so kind as to bring a cup of tea for Mrs. Baker?"

Moments later, the blond receptionist entered the room and handed the mother a large cup.

The therapist said, "Mrs. Baker, drink up. You'll find this special blend of herbs has a calming effect. It's a recipe I've concocted and refined over many years. I often have a cup or two when I feel the need. It's my belief that you'll find it quite satisfying."

The mother's troubled expression relaxed and she said, "Oh, how thoughtful, I do love tea. Um, my goodness, your right, this is quite pleasant. You'll need to tell me how I can get more of this."

"No need, your son mentioned that you enjoyed tea. Knowing of your visit, I had it prepared just for you. I've boxed a small quantity, which should last a few days. I feel responsible for not notifying you sooner about your son. Consider it a small gift. Trust me, this unique blend will make a new woman of you."

The therapist suddenly grinned and her eyes glinted with amusement. "It's settled, you're now part of your son's therapy. It pleases me that he chose to involve you. Now that all grievances are resolved, I can freely discuss the matter at hand. Conventional medication and standard methods to treat his anxiety have failed. Nothing's worked."

The mother sedately said, "You've got to help him. Are there no alternatives?"

"I'm glad that you asked. Rest assured that there's one option. I took the liberty, with his approval of course, to enroll him in an experimental drug trial. It's intended for individuals with his particular affliction. With his participation, all fees and costs associated with his treatment are waved. There's absolutely no expense to you. However, since it's an untested drug, the company requires you to sign a nondisclosure agreement, medical forms, and paperwork that excludes the company from liability. Don't worry, these are typical documents used for assessments such as these. In addition, I'm to monitor his treatment and render guidance when necessary. As his caregiver, you're responsible to update me on his status or immediately if the medication adversely affects him."

The concerned mother said, "What sort of side effects? Is it dangerous? I'm not sure that Andy needs—"

The therapist's expression abruptly changed and she heatedly said, "Of course he needs to be a part of this trial! Did you not hear me? He's already a participant—before your involvement. This is his only option. Do you understand? My reputation is on the line. I assure you, the drug is completely safe."

The mother averted her eyes from the dreadful stare that studied her.

The outburst was unexpected and out of character for the woman that had been so stoically professional moments earlier. It was like she was being scolded. Why did she feel apprehensive to respond or argue her concerns more forcefully? It was unlike her.

Nervously, she sipped more of the delicious tea.

The uneasy mother said, "The side effects. You didn't explain the side effects."

Just as quickly, the therapist's demeanor became composed. She said, "Oh—yes, of course. As stated earlier, the drug's untested, but that's not exactly true. The medication had preliminary lab tests with a number of subjects. Those patients experienced various effects, such as flushed appearance, mild memory loss, and on occasion, sleepwalking. I assure you, they're simply minor inconveniences that disappear in a day or two. The likelihood of him experiencing any negative effects are extremely low. However, as instructed, you're to notify me straightaway if you observe strange behavior or abnormalities that require attention, no matter how minor. I've an expectation that you'll be fully committed to helping with any incident that arises. Your fully devoted towards his treatment, are you not?"

"Of course, what type of mother do you think I am?"

"Then we're in agreement."

The therapist reached out and handed the mother a large box like device. It looked quite similar to an alarm clock. Like a timepiece designed with a snooze button, a single red elongated bar sat at the top. A speaker was imbedded into each side and a telescoping lens protruded from the front.

The confused mother replied, "What? Why are you giving me this? Whatever it is."

"Don't be alarmed. The apparatus is for remote medical analysis. It provides the capability to remotely monitor your son's condition in the event of an extraordinary occurrence. It allows immediate voice communication between us. In overview, you simply press the red button. I'll respond and provide guidance as we assess his medical need."

"When does his treatment begin?" the mother questioned.

The therapist smiled. "It's already begun. Here, take this. That bottle contains his medication. You're to give him one pill at bedtime. I'm confident that by morning, he'll feel refreshed and full of energy. It's my hope that the medication will eliminate his anxiety."

The mother said, "That's it?"

"As for the pills, yes. However, I have a few more questions. In regards to your husband, Andy said that his father is a police officer. Does he work tonight?"

"Yes, he works every night, except Tuesday and Thursdays, but what does that have to do with my son's treatment?"

"Absolutely nothing. I'm simply documenting the family structure and daily routine. This is strictly for analytical purposes to determine if other factors influence your son's condition. Sometimes family environment can be a source of anxiety. To continue, Andy stated that he has an older sister. As recorded, she's 22-years old and is currently away attending college. When's she expected to return home for a visit?"

That specific question triggered a dramatic shift in the mother's expression. She paled and a glint of worry locked her gaze. Her hand shook with a slight tremor.

She choked on her reply.

Her eyes shifted to her son's befuddled stare.

The observant therapist watched with intense interest. "Mrs. Baker, did I say something inappropriate? What I asked seemed reasonable. It's not a difficult question to answer."

The mother turned her head towards the therapist and then said, "Why did you ask that question? I don't understand what my daughter has to do with his treatment."

"As stated, it's for documentation. Please, answer the question."

"It has no relevance to my son's therapy. Perhaps she'll return home for his graduation, if he passes the tests. We aren't talking about my daughter, it's Andy that needs help. I'm only agreeing to this ridiculous drug trial because there's no other option and something needs to be done."

"I apologize for overstepping. It wasn't my intent. I guarantee, as long as you participate in his treatment, he'll get better."

"Why do you keep bringing this up? I'm his mother, it's a given."

The therapist gave a pleasant smile and then altered her glare from mother and son. She silently appraised them for a few moments and then said, "Then we're done. Please check with my receptionist to sign the papers on your way out. Don't forget the box of tea. If you need more, just let me know. Remember, contact me using the gadget if there's a need. Please confirm that you understand the seriousness of my requirement."

"Yes, I understand. I'll follow your request."

"I'm confident that you'll do everything possible to help your son. I'll see both of you soon."

***

Recollections of Anguish

After the mom and son left, the petite receptionist strolled into the office and took a seat across from the therapist.

The blonde's appearance was hawk-like and curious. "I don't know why Vincent's allowing you to toy with them. The husband's the mark. Who put you in charge of this operation? Why is he keeping me in the dark?"

Her questions were unanswered as the therapist scribbled obsessively on a drawing. With an air of preoccupation, the woman's tongue protruded from her mouth.

The receptionist was intrigued and leaned inward to peek at the crudely scribbled sketch. It depicted a family of four that were crudely drawn as stick figures. It was similar to something a child would draw. The father figure was drawn as a separate caricature from the other three. Those lines were dark and deeply pressed into the paper. Profound scratches formed a cavity where his genitals would be. In contrast, the son and daughter were lightly sketched and smiling. Both siblings held hands. Strangely, the mother was drawn on all fours with her rear in the air. There was a morbidity to the therapist's fixation.

The receptionist became impatient when the rotund woman gently rubbed a finger across the picture of the son. That behavior impressed upon her a sign of lunacy.

"What the fuck is going on!"

That eruption was enough to break the engrossed woman from her neurotic trance.

The therapist immediately stood and tore the picture in half. The ragged piece depicting the frowning man was discarded to the floor, while the other hand shook. Her head tilted upward to fix eyes with the blond. That sorrowful stare was watered and her downturned mouth quivered with emotion.

For a single moment, signified by five ticks of a clock, the plump woman remained silent and observant. Then with intent, she altered her demeanor and expressed it by slamming the tatty illustration facedown upon her desk.

She stood and angrily replied, "It's not my place to educate you, but if you piss me off, I'll teach. You'll find my lessons hard. My agreement's with Vincent and the boss. The family is part of my deal. I'm in charge because this job is personal and the payment owed to me is now due."

"What the hell has he got us into?"

"Yes, ask your partner. Perhaps he'll tell you, perhaps not. If he conveyed my story, you'll understand my disposition. For now, your role is to pretend you're a bimbo receptionist, so act stupid and stay out my business. Have no doubt, my enthusiasm at fulfilling the bargain is all consuming."

It was then that the slim blond stood, put on her heavy framed glasses, and then gave the woman a chilling stare. Breathing as she had been trained, the tenseness of her form began to ease. Her deadly impulses needed restraint. Vincent would be displeased if she killed the fat psycho-therapist.

Swiftly, the young woman reached the door and turned towards the rotund woman. She uttered, "Bitch," and then left the room.

The slamming of the door heralded the receptionist's exit.

The phony therapist cracked a smile. Her anger had been faked, just like the role she now played. What she truly felt for the unruly young lady was pride.

She whispered to herself, "He's done well. You've become a fine woman. I loathed to test you in that manner, but I had to know how you'd react.

She sighed. "You're not yet ready. In this, Vincent's failed you. The revelation of the truth may change your conduct towards this insufferable business, but you must be prepared to accept it."

Snatching the rumpled paper from the desk with one hand, her weak heart began to pound. It caused her to swoon and she immediately grasped the edge of the desk to maintain her balance.

She glanced at the wall clock. Her facial grimace caused by the fluttering of her heart altered into a mischievous smile. "Soon," she murmured.

She then began to retrospect in thought over the petite blond.

Opal, you have yet to learn manners. You should've been warned. I may have faked my anger, but I was annoyed by your insolence. No doubt, further lessons must be taught. Bah, not now, there's simply no time to educate you. You'll soon bark when it's appropriate and ascertain the very definition of bitch. The boss's caution to me be damn. He'll be displeased most assuredly.

With an exhale of breath, her thoughts drifted to old memories. They came as a flood and were a kaleidoscope of all the injustices that defined her. They triggered emotion, which caused her to sob. These sensations were difficult to staunch. She wanted to feel them. They fueled her hate and fermented her determination to carry out the scheme.

I'll keep my vow, sister. What was done to us is unforgivable and what was taken is irredeemable, but our tormentors will feel our pain. Our justice will be immeasurable and truly cruel. In this, my promise will be fulfilled.

Raising the roughly drawn picture to the light, she ran her finger along the lightly drawn figure of the smiling young man.

Her lips began to tremble. She shuffled backward and dropped heavily into a cushioned chair. A sorrowful wail escaped her and tears trickled from both eyes.

Once again, her gaze drifted to the clock. She whimpered, "Soon."

***

Bad Medicine

Karen stepped from the shower as the phone rang. Wrapping herself with a towel, she hastily walked into the bedroom, grabbed the corded phone, and then sat on the bed.

She said, "Hello?"

"Karen?"

"Of course, who else could it be? Hi Rhonda. Whew, just stepped from the shower. Been a long day."

"So, how was the appointment?"

"Don't get me started. Andy's been seeing a therapist for over two weeks without informing me. At least that woman instructed him to tell me. She had the gall to imply that I might be the cause of his anxiety. I should've been involved from the start."

"Well, he's an adult."

"I don't care how old he is. I'm still his mother. I can't believe he agreed to participate in some weird medical trial and didn't ask for my permission. Get this, for him to participate, we had to sign stacks of paperwork that you need a law degree to read. It was absolutely ridiculous. I still don't know what we signed or agreed to. Anyway, now that I'm home and not pressured by that insistent therapist, I see more clearly. I've decided to pull him out of that program."

"You go girl."

"You know, Rhonda, I didn't like that therapist, but I have to admit, she makes a great cup of tea. I drank a few cups before stepping into the shower. It's so flavorful, I couldn't help myself. I have an idea. Why don't you come over tomorrow, before work? We'll sit, gossip, and drink a cup or two. It's strange, but I feel euphoric and it relaxes me."

"You have a deal. That's a perfect time to talk. I have something on my mind that's troubling me and we need to discuss it. Enough of that. How's Andy doing?"

"After Jack went to work, I gave him the nightly dose. He got drowsy, so I sent him to bed. He has an important exam tomorrow so that's one benefit at least."

"Sounds like he need's the sleep. I've never heard of anxiety suddenly popping up and affecting anyone like this. It's just odd is all. I hate that he's going through this."

Karen felt a chill as the air shifted. It was like sensing mass existing in a space previously unoccupied. Cocking her head, she turned towards the disruption and then said, "I agree. He's never experienced—"

"Karen? You there? What's going on?"

A figure stood at the end of the bed.

Karen blathered out a distracted reply, "Ah—ah—ah, I need to go. Andy walked—can't talk. Call—tomorrow."

Without turning her eyes from the shadowy form, she haphazardly placed the receiver on the cradle. Rhonda's response was cut off midsentence.

What she observed left her momentarily stunned.

"Andy?" she said.

He stood naked, his head pivoted her direction, but the stare was unfocused.

"Andy, are you okay? Answer me!"

He didn't respond.

Crimping the large bath towel to her bosom, she scampered to the medical device that sat on the nightstand.

Holding the cloth in one hand, her other hesitated above the red button. She felt unsure and indecisive.

For moments, her fingers hovered over the elongated bar. It was crucial that she decide. Her son's condition demanded that she make a choice.

She turned to look at her son as he stood immobile like a ghostly statuette. That image was the motivation that drove her hand to press the button.

A voice immediately resonated from its tiny speakers. "Hello, Mrs. Baker. Has something happened? Is Andy okay?"

"Hell yes, something's wrong. No, he's not okay. He's standing naked at the end of my bed with a distant stare and won't answer. What did you do to my son? God-damn-it, what's going on?"

"Please, calm down. Naked you say? Staring out into space? It's likely that his condition is a direct result of the medication. Remember, earlier today, I explained the possibility. Mrs. Baker, listen to me. It's essential that you don't wake him. Waking him may inflict more harm than good. It's too complex to explain, just trust me, don't wake him."

"Don't wake him? That's absurd. I can't have him standing naked at the end of my bed all night. What the hell do you suggest I do?"

"Again, listen to me. I understand your concern and we'll address it. However, it's imperative that we assess his condition. Please, turn on the bedroom light. I certainly understand your discomfort over his nudity, but I need your help. I can't evaluate his condition without it."

"I've seen him naked before, I'm not uncomfortable. After all, I'm his mother. I told you, I'm fully committed to his treatment and I'll do what's necessary to help."

"Of course, I never questioned your resolve on the matter. Do you see any irregularities, such as dark blue discolorations, skin protrusions, unusual markings, or perhaps genital enlargement, such as his scrotum? It could be anything unnatural."

With dramatic emphasis, the therapist ended her dialog by saying, "You'll clearly see any deformities I suggested."

Karen screeched, "Oh my god!"

Those reverberant three words marked her distress and left her gasping.

"Mrs. Baker, what's wrong? You need to answer me. It's your duty to tell me your observation. Your voice identifies something troubling and I can't render aid unless you tell me."

She exclaimed, "His testicles, oh sweet Jesus, they're enormous. What have you done to my boy?"

"Oh, that does sound serious. Listen to me, it's urgent that you move the medical device so it faces towards your son. This analysis unit has a sophisticated camera system that I control remotely. Suffice it to say, I'm capable of observing with vivid clarity and color. It's an extremely useful tool for diagnosing patients and instructing the caregiver. It's essential that I evaluate his condition visually. This is important, please comply."

The mother didn't hesitate with the instruction. She anxiously questioned, "Why are they so big? What kind of medication causes this? You never said—"