"To put things simply, Dr. Smith, Rubymoon is a private asylum. From time to time wealthy patrons find it necessary to have one or more persons committed in a strict inpatient environment without the need to unnecessarily involve or burden either the legal or medical system. This is where we come in. For a fee that reflects both our discretion and the rarity of the services we offer we house these private mental patients and perform whatever therapeutic measures their patrons believes are most conductive to their mental health."
"A private asylum?"
"Naturally we compensate all of our employees at a level commensurate to both the value of their skillset and the discretion we ask of them. If this is a non-starter for you we can end the tour right here."
"No, no," said Dr. Smith. "Now you very much have my curiosity. I'm quite anxious to see what you actually have here."
"I'm so pleased to hear that the personality profile we ran on you was accurate," said Dr. Desdemona. "I think you'll be an excellent fit here."
Dr. Smith was making what he felt was a heroic effort to continue to look Dr. Desdemona in the eyes in rather than steal a glance down at her firm breasts, a task made even more difficult by the extremely tight clothes the good doctor had apparently decided to wear that day. While the style was perfectly professional they gave the appearance of having been sewn on, or perhaps applied as a coat of paint.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal the first basement level. It was easily twenty times larger than the above ground building that led to it, which was little more than a fancy lobby.
*Just the tip of the iceberg,* thought Dr. Smith.
"The first basement level is where we house those patients currently in active therapy," explained Dr. Desdemona, as she stepped out of the elevator.
Dr. Smith followed her out and looked around. They were in a stark white hallway lined with seemingly endless rows of reinforced doors, each marred only by a single viewing slit at eye level with a red number just above it.
"Obviously these patients require a lot of attention so this is where most of the nurses are most of the time," continued Dr. Desdemona.
"You have a lot of nurses at this facility?" asked Dr. Smith.
Dr. Desdemona laughed. It was almost a giggle.
"We do, but ours are a little different from what you might be used to. Give me a moment and I'll summon one, show you what I'm talking about."
Dr. Desdemona removed a black remote control resembling a smartphone from her pocket and pressed a button on it. It produced a pleasing tone.
Moments later Dr. Smith saw one of the most stimulating things he had ever seen: an exaggeratedly feminine figure came mincing down the hallway with easy grace.
She was wearing a low-cut, skin-tight white latex nurse's outfit with a skirt so short it was not adequate to cover her entire bubble butt. Her large and perfectly ripe round breasts, struggling to free themselves of their latex confinement, moved pleasingly as she did.
A small parody of a nurses cap was perched comically atop her cute, black bob-like hairdo.
Her body was too perfect, too exact, to have been the product of nature. That much was clear. Dr. Smith suspected that whatever plastic surgeon, whatever artist, had produced this lovely creature was working under the direction of a master of psychiatric-level sexology. A team of masters.
Every detail was just so. Every secondary sexual characteristic a perfect exaggeration of the real thing. At once clearly artificially produced and yet no so far gone as to trigger the uncanny valley. It was a living doll. A Frankenstein's monster made from a partnership between science and perversion.
"I'm impressed," said Dr. Smith.
"You haven't even seen the impressive part," said Dr. Desdemona. "All the nurses here are controlled by our internal computer network. The computer assigns them tasks as needed through a nearly invisible earpiece and is able to monitor performance and administer corrections when necessary via their integrated shock plugs. There are cameras everywhere, you see. The computer misses nothing.
"It takes the little dears a while to adjust but get a shock to your rear end enough times for failing to comply with the instructions in your ears and eventually you get the message. They are also provided with supplementary therapy which helps them learn their new role in life. Once they settle in it takes free will entirely out of the equation. Much easier on them. They're basically little robots. The program tells them exactly what to do and they do it. Any deviation from these instructions, or any sign of initiative or independent thought, and they are administered correction until the rogue behavior is eliminated. Most of them don't even need any further corrections after the first year or so."
"Are your nurses all women, or are there men too?" asked Dr. Smith.
"Oh no they're neither men nor women, just sissies. Here I'll show you."
She pressed another button on her remote.
The nurse pulled her panties down to just above her ankles and lifted her tiny skirt to reveal and even tinier penis restrained in a white-enameled metal chastity cage.
"You don't say," said Dr. Smith, grinning. "I'm guessing this isn't something people volunteer for."
"You guess correctly. It's a far simpler solution than attempting to employ outside nurses capable of the discretion we require in the quantities we would require. I'm sure you understand."
"Oh of course I do," said Dr. Smith. "Perfectly."
"I'm so glad," said Desdemona, mirroring his smile. "Would you like to give it a try?"
She offered him the remote and he happily took it.
"As I said the computer program controls them most of the time, but we can override it with these remotes when we need them to perform a specific task."
Dr. Smith looked at the remote. On the touch screen was an array of icons like on a cellphone. He could make an educated guess as to what most of them did.
He pressed one obvious icon and almost immediately the nurse fell to her knees. Immensely pleased with himself he pressed another and she jumped back to her feet.
With a few more timely button presses Dr. Smith managed to get the nurse to walk over to him, spin around, and then bend over and present her ass to him invitingly.
Dr. Smith gave it a generous slap. The sound echoed off the walls.
"Not bad," said Dr. Desdemona. "You're really getting the hang of that. If you press the blue circle icon in the top right corner it will bring up the advanced command menu. That should give you an idea of the complexity of commands that are possible with this system."
Dr. Smith found the new menu. Here instead of simple icons he could build commands like sentences out of keywords. Some of the keywords were medical terms; it looked like the nurses were capable of some degree of actual nursing.
Feeling like a kid in a candy store Dr. Smith cobbled together a quick sequence of commands and issued it. As instructed the nurse stood back up, turned to face him, removed his glasses, and put them on itself.
"Wonderful," said Dr. Smith, taking back the glasses from the nurse, who now stood mannequin-still.
"If you please," said Dr. Desdemona, holding out her hand.
Mildly disappointed Dr. Smith nonetheless returned the remote to her.
Desdemona pressed yet another button, and the nurse jumped like she had been slapped and quickly resumed standing at attention.
"As amusing as that remote is it seems excessively complex," said Dr. Smith. "Why not just give verbal commands?"
"We block out their hearing so that they don't get distracted from their instructions. Plus its better for them this way. Asking them to know to obey humans over the computer would be giving them too much responsibility. A lot of them don't even know the difference between their own thoughts and the computer commands any longer."
"Are the nurses made... available to the rest of the staff?" asked Dr. Smith.
"Oh, naturally," replied Desdemona. "Now if you'll follow me I can introduce you to our inpatient facilities."
"There is nothing on this Earth I would love more than to see them," said Dr. Smith. "Please lead the way."
Dr. Desdemona led Dr. Smith a ways down the hall, the nurse following silently a few steps behind. Desdemona noted the numbers on the doors as they went, until she came to the one she was looking for. She slid open the latch, peered inside, and, evidently satisfied, quickly slid it shut again.
"Excellent. This is patient #373. Her case history is a familiar one around here: she is a lifestyle submissive to an extremely busy and extremely wealthy businesswoman. When her mistress is off travelling she prefers to store patient #373 here rather than have her running around unsupervised. Time was we'd only see her a few weeks a year but recently she's here more often than not. Her mistress is a very busy woman.
"While she's with us we provide very basic therapy to help reinforce her position of subservience. I think it would be valuable for you to observe. This is the kind of work you would be performing here if you were to join us."
Dr. Desdemona placed her thumb on a thumbpad Dr. Smith hadn't noticed, it was very subtly designed, and the door slid open with a satisfying hiss to reveal the padded cell within.
Inside was a woman in her mid to late 20s, naked save for a tight straightjacket. A large black ballgag stretched her mouth and kept her silent. Chains connected to ankle cuffs kept her legs close together, making running or even just a brisk walk impossible. Her chestnut hair was a tangled mess but it was clean.
