Prison Psychologist Month 02

This story returns to the tale of Dr. Cindy McCarthy, who was first introduced in "The True Professional" series and then later in "Prison Psychologist Day One." Both can be found in the Mind Control section of Literotica. Truth be told, this story probably fits better under the "Non-consent/Reluctance" section, but the others are all in the Mind Control section so I kept it with the others. Maybe next time I'll do a pure non-consent/reluctance story. The muse comes when she comes. I encourage you to comment. Please take a moment to write something positive or critical. Your feedback is important, honest.

*

The common areas of any prison are dangerous places, any prison. MCI Cedar Junction, the toughest prison in Massachusetts, is the same, only more so. Because Massachusetts is not a death penalty state, murderers are not executed no matter how horrific their crimes. Kill a guy who's banging your wife while you're at work? You go to Cedar Junction. Kill a dozen hostages in a bank robbery, you go to Cedar Junction too. While this might seem a humane way to treat criminals, and preferable to state-sponsored executions, the real effect is to concentrate evil.

These men literally, have nothing to lose. Well, they do have their lives to lose, but the only real threats are the other prisoners. Prisoners live in a society so completely alien to most people that for all intents and purposes these men might as well be living on the Bizzaro World. Everything is backwards. Once a life sentence to be served at MCI Cedar Junction is pronounced, these men know that they've ordered their last pizza. Regular life is over. Reality for these men becomes personal security, personal security, and personal security. Those are the three most important factors in the real estate which is the common areas at MCI Cedar Junction, formerly Walpole State Prison.

The solution for many is to join a gang. Gangs form by race, nationality, or some other common factor. Gangs protect their members. Problem solved? Well, not necessarily because not only do gangs provide protection, but they also provide clearly identifiable targets for other gangs. Violence is in these men, and as John Lee Hooker said, "It in 'em and it sure got to come out." Unlike normal society in which violence to your person is a real long shot, in the yard, or the mess hall in a maximum security prison the odds are better, much better that you will experience some form of violence. When it does come, that violence is likely to be both swift and fatal.

It was Tuesday afternoon. Cindy McCarthy had been working at her job as prison psychologist for a little more than two months. She thoroughly enjoyed her job. Working at MCI Cedar Junction was the perfect place to practice her craft. At Wellesley, she had been awarded her doctorate in psychology with a specialization in aberrant criminal psychology. She was at Cedar Junction to study and treat, if possible, the most violent sexual predators in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Cindy was as beautiful as she was smart, maybe even more so. Her long blonde tresses framed a long lean figure that would make any man on the planet turn his head. The inmates who had actually met with her or had seen her on one of the few occasions she could be seen outside her office were all in agreement. The "Doc" was a world class piece of ass. Cognizant of how her patients saw her, Cindy had decided that in order to encourage her clientele to recall their crimes more vividly that she would dress provocatively for their sessions together- lots of cleavage, tight fitting skirts and always high heels. What was it about heels that men found so sexy?

What her prison patients did not know was that Cindy found the danger inherent in such close proximity to these violent sexual offenders and their lurid descriptions of the most depraved acts towards women to be a massive sexual turn-on for her. As she sat questioning her patients, who were hypnotized for each session in order both to enable them to recall details from the past and to enable her to implant suggestions, little suggestions designed to modify their future behavior ever so slightly, post-hypnotically, she experienced sexual titillation so thoroughly that she had to take bathroom breaks to change her panties which had become wet with her own sexual secretions.

The beautiful blonde psychologist sat on the toilet changing her panties having just removed a particularly wet pair and slipping into a fresh pair for the rest of her interview with Duane Sawyer, the "Greenfield Strangler." Duane had abducted and murdered five young women over the course of as many years, depositing their fractured, nude bodies deep in the woods. He would have surely killed others had a routine traffic stop not revealed a "kidnapper's kit" in the back seat of his car. When the trunk was popped, the officer found the body of Patty Simone, a nineteen year old waitress from the little town of Chesterfield who had been missing for over four months. The condition of the body had indicated that she was recently deceased, no more than a day or two. That meant that she had spent well over a hundred days in captivity. Cindy's job was to induce Duane to tell her the horrific details of those hundred days, and of the ordeals his other victims had endured before their deaths.

Suddenly she heard the prison claxon go off. It blared for what seemed like forever, but after fifteen minutes or so of "sheltering in place" the claxon stopped and things seemed to quiet down. As she inched towards the door to peek outside it flew open, just missing her. Two hulking male inmates, one carrying a set of guard identity passes, rushed into the room. "Bingo!" they both shouted at almost the same time. One roared, "Jesus Christ, Jerry, we've hit the jackpot. Grab her and take her back to the mess hall. I'll get her pocketbook."

Cindy was handled roughly as she was forced down the hallways. She protested to no avail. Her heart wasn't in it. Unbeknownst to the two hulking convicts, she had played this very sort of abduction scenario inside her head dozens of times while masturbating in the safety of her own bed. Her heels were not helping her and she stumbled more than once only to be jerked back to her feet by her hair, which reached half way down her back and made an excellent tether. When they reached the mess hall she saw bedlam. Chairs were overturned. Tables were stacked against most of the doors. Food and trays were everywhere. She didn't know it, but she was surveying a battle ground.

What she did know was that she needed to make this scenario, this once in a lifetime opportunity to actually experience her deepest and darkest fantasy, work for her. She knew these men as well as anyone who wasn't an actual member of their "Psycho Killer" club. She had spent over a decade learning how to manipulate them to her ends. Today, right there, her training would get the acid test.

She knew that it was very possible that these men would kill her. That realization would have freaked-out more than ninety-nine percent of the rest of the general public, had they been in her situation, but not Dr. Cindy McCarthy. Even as she stumbled down the corridor she was deciding how to play the next phase to her advantage. She knew that many of these men wanted their victims to be afraid, to cry, to plead, to try to deal their way out of danger. She decided that when the time came, she would give them what they wanted. It was only fair that she give them what they wanted she half-chuckled to herself, they were set to give her the sexual thrill ride of a lifetime.

Across the dull expanse of the mess hall there were bodies, about eight or ten at first glance, scattered, no, littered around the expanse that had formerly been spotless awaiting the evening meal. Some were curled up and groaning, others did not move or make a sound. There were two guards handcuffed to chairs; their eyes were hidden by makeshift masks; they were gagged; and they were bound solidly by twist ties that they carried for restraining unruly inmates. Now the tables were turned. The guards had been beaten severely, but were alive. The reckoning between the two largest prison gangs had begun and ended in less than fifteen minutes.

The leader of the white supremacist victors was busy directing his troops to reinforce the entrances to the mess hall. Others had gone to get televisions. TV would be their only contact with the outside world for the time being. The rebels had plenty of provisions and were confident that their makeshift fortress would hold for a while.

"Hey, Big Billy," the inmate who had Cindy firmly in tow shouted. "Look what I found!" "Big Billy" was William Sanderson the leader of the White Dragons, who were currently in control of a quarter or more of the prison. He was a "lifer" who had been convicted of a number of violent crimes, though none of them overtly sexual in nature.

"Bring her over here, Sully," he replied, waving his hand like a traffic cop. Once Sully had complied, Billy looked over his prize. "This must be the "Doc" everyone is talking about," Billy said aloud. Then, turning to face the lovely, though disheveled beauty, he lowered his voice and said "Honey, I sure hope you like cock."

"Please, Mr. Sanderson," Cindy whimpered, "please don't do this. You don't need to do this. I can be of genuine use to you if you allow me to negotiate or speak to the authorities."

"Get this straight, Doc," the sandy-haired murderer snarled, "you are speaking to the authority- me. I'm the only authority around here. You see these fucking humps on the floor all around you? They learned who the "authority" around here was. I am the HWGIC. That's 'head white guy in charge.' I decide in here, period.

Outside the prison, the grounds were covered with police cars from more than a dozen local, county, and state jurisdictions. Additionally, trucks from five different local media outlets were busy broadcasting the "breaking news." Prison breaks were not only of intense local interest, but national news as well. All five networks led their six o'clock broadcasts with news of the prison riot in Walpole.

Inside the walls, inmates watched and cheered as they heard the newscasters describe their handiwork. According to the newscasts, about a third of the prison was under inmate control. There were no confirmed guard deaths, but half a dozen were injured; two were missing and presumed to be either dead of being held hostage. While his fellow rioters gazed at the televisions basking in their fifteen minutes, Sully, who had been paying little attention to the television, but lots of attention to Cindy, began to fish around in her handbag. The first thing he found was her cell phone. Holding it up in the air he shouted "Let's order Chinese food!" The hall burst out in laughter.

Big Billy motioned for Sully to give him the cell phone. It was locked. "Ok," Doc, he said, "Let's have the code."

"That phone has private phone numbers of patients on it. I can't tell you," the blonde psychologist protested with just a hint of indignation.

"What the fuck?'" blurted the white supremacist laughing out loud. "Fellas," he said "make this bitch stand still while I explain something to her. I need her full attention." Instantly two burly inmates grabbed her arms and pulled them roughly behind her back. This caused her chest to point straight ahead. She was built. In moments every man in the room had found their own private secret fantasy place as their eyes locked on Cindy's protruding chest.

Sanderson turned and got within a foot of Cindy's beautiful face. "You know, Doc, I'll bet that you've worked hard jogging or whatever keeping your body in such fine shape. Do you realize that with one swing of my right arm I could turn that beautiful face of yours into a piece of abstract art? And, by the way, if I do break your jaw and nose, it's gonna hurt like a motherfucker. If I miss and break your eye sockets instead, well, that's gonna hurt like a motherfucker too. Either way, if I do swing one thing is going to be certain. From that moment on you're going to look a lot better from the back than from the front, and that's before we begin with the knives."

"6351" was all Cindy said.

Big Billy entered the code and then typed in 911. After a ring or two the call was answered. "911. What is your emergency?" asked the disembodied calm voice on the other end.

"Oh I don't have an emergency, lady," said Billy." You are the one with the emergency, a big fuckin' emergency. This is Billy Sanderson calling you from inside the walls at Walpole. I have a number of guards here with me and one very pretty prison psychologist. Their fates will depend on our getting cooperation from the cops. Call me back when there's somebody who can deal on your end." He hung up.

Just then Sully shouted, "Holy shit," are these what I think they are?" He had fished out three different small baggies containing Cindy's used panties. Turning to look at the blonde captive, he blurted "What the fuck lady, haven't you heard of 'Depends?'" He opened one of the baggies and gingerly picked out the cotton undergarment to give it a cautionary sniff. All of a sudden he buried his face in the panties breathing in through his nose. "It's pussy, not piss," he yelled, "and fresh."

The local and national news both interrupted their normal programming to report the situation at Cedar Junction. Across the country, a head shot of the beautiful prison psychologist was plastered across millions of TV screens along with earnest concerns for her safety.

It was just after seven o'clock in Pittsburgh. The Amazing Randy, tonight's headliner, had just arrived at the local comedy club, "The Joker's Retreat." His stage clothing, including his signature top hat, was already in the dressing room. Wearing street clothes he was completely unremarkable and blended in well with the crowd which had just finished the two-for-one drinks that the locals had come to consume from four until seven PM every Tuesday night. Happy Hour was a real money-maker and a significant portion of the crowd had already moved to the tables to claim a spot for the evening's performance. Now that it was a few minutes after seven and drinks were once again full price, the rest of the middle management millennials began to leave for their one bedroom apartments and places opened up at the bar. Randy sat down and ordered a scotch and soda on the rocks.

Behind the bartender on the fifty-five inch HD television the face of a beautiful blonde woman was shown. It was Cindy McCarthy. Randy motioned for the bartender and said, "Turn it up please."

The bartender replied "Sorry, no can do- bar policy. After seven we leave the TV down to encourage folks to put money into the jukebox. Every little bit..." Randy had reached out to touch the bartender's arm and calmly spoke.

"Turn it up now, please."

The bartender complied without further complaint.

Randy caught the essentials of the story- prison riot in Massachusetts, inmates barricaded, guards missing and most importantly, Dr. Cindy McCarthy hostage to a few dozen of the most barbaric individuals in the country. Cindy had been a lover of his a few years back and he still counted her company as one of the best weekends of his life. He sat and thought for about things a minute, finished his drink, paid his bill and walked backstage to gather some things. On the way out the door Randy spoke to the club manager. As he laid his hand on the manager's shoulder he said "I have been called away suddenly. Tonight's performance is cancelled. In fact the entire week's performance is cancelled. You're all right with it."

"No problem. See you, Randy," was the manager's instant reply. With that The Amazing Randy was on his way to the airport. On his way, he contracted with a service to get a private flight to Boston. He'd be there by midnight. By 2 AM or so he would be at the prison. What he would do when he got there was still to be planned and decided. He had a few hours to figure it out.

Back at the prison the men circled around Cindy who stood staring straight ahead. "Let's rip her tits off," said one of the inmates. Several nodded or grunted agreement.

"Easy men," said Billy, who had plenty of experience leading these men. "I have a better idea. I think we can all agree that we have come upon some prime pussy here. If we kill it, then we lose it. I, for one, do not wish to fuck a dead body, even this one. Let's use this 'resource' wisely. I propose we take turns, say fifteen minutes each until we all get a taste. One hole only- if you want her mouth, that's what you get. Same thing for pussy and ass- one hole only. Everybody gets to use the tits. I'll go last," he smiled, "after this!" With those words, Billy spun around and grabbed Cindy's blouse, ripping all the buttons off in a single swipe. Cindy heard the metal buttons hit the floor with the familiar ring of metal on concrete. She screamed.

Billy motioned to the two men charged with securing his prize. Cindy looked as if she had just been attacked by a werewolf. If only, she thought. She knew it was worse, far worse. She cried and pleaded, for the men to stop even as her pussy wept into her underwear. Cindy had spent the better part of her adult life studying the very type of men who now had her pinned. She had no illusions as to what was going to happen. She was going to get the living shit fucked out of her by almost two dozen men, and probably beaten as well. She knew that these creatures were men in appearance only. What they were was sadistic, psychopathic monsters in human form.

What the men didn't know was that it was this very type of behavior that was her most vivid sexual fantasy. Those three baggies were filled with her panties and her vaginal drippings. She had gotten them wet earlier that day while listening to the lurid details of the Greenfield Strangler's third victim's sexual misery. Each torture, each blow to her naked, chained body had been described remorselessly and in psychological technicolor. Three changes were a lot. She had been very turned on. Now she was literally "living the dream." For now, at least, her protests were all for show.

Billy reached out with both hands and ripped her bra between his powerful hands. Like a slot machine player who had just pulled the winning lever, Billy was rewarded with the sight of the most beautiful tits he had ever seen. Cindy McCarthy, still in her twenties was at the pinnacle of her femininity. Her breasts, which had lost their summer tan, were white and full. They were absolutely natural and hung perfectly on top of her rib cage. Billy cupped one of them roughly and bent over to suck the nipple which was, of course, fully engorged and hyper-sensitive.

Cindy cried out, more for show than from real pain. After ten or so seconds of intense sucking, Billy switched to Cindy's other breast and repeated himself while Cindy shook her head back and forth, pleading. When he had finished he looked up and said "Remember the rules. One hole, tits are for everyone, and no serious damage to this cunt. Those who have been here the longest get first dibs. I go last; got it?"

Cindy stood there, arms bent behind her back and firmly held in place by her own hair as well while the inmates buzzed about who was going to be the first to use her body. Billy directed the men to retrieve one of the mess tables and then set it up in the middle of the room. For his part, Billy finished the job he had already begun by tearing the rest of his captive's silk blouse from her shoulders until nothing remained but the remains of her lace brassiere and her magnificent high-nipple tits. Billy shredded the blouse, tearing the fine, soft material into two inch wide strips. Two of the men hoisted Cindy onto the table crosswise so that her head hung over one side and her hips over the other. She fought and wiggled, but to no avail. The assault was about to begin.