Tales From The Psych Ward 01 Of One Mind

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It's so nice to be insane

No one asks you to explain

Radio by your side, Angie Baby

-

Angie Baby, you're a special lady

Living in a world of make-believe

Well, maybe...

Well, maybe...

From the song "Angie Baby" written by Alan O'Day and sung by Helen Reddy in 1974

This series of stories is inspired from my own struggle with marginal Borderline Personality Disorder, but none of the persons, incidents, or depictions are real - in everyday reality or in my own personal realities. Each story stands on its own, but uses characters and references from other stories in the series.

The over-riding theme of the series is BDSM, so I am posting them here, even though some of the individual stories more properly belong in fantasy... but then, isn't the "Borderline" between bondage and fantasy rather blurred anyway?

The Technician

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My close friends who know me very well sometimes ask me how it feels to have so many people inside me. I always reply, "There are only three of us, and it is only one at a time."

People who don't know me very well think I have catatonic epilepsy. To the outside world, sometimes I just lock up for somewhere between a few moments to a few days. That makes it a little hard to work, and even harder to have any close friends. But inside, I am not "locked up," I am someone else... and I am often somewhere else.

Actually, I am not always someone else. When I am Kelly, I am someone else. When Wayne drops by and takes me somewhere, I am me -- unless I am Kelly -- but then all I can see is Wayne. I don't know for sure if Wayne is his name because he has never said it, but that is what I call him. Kelly calls him "Master."

My doctors say that Kelly and Wayne are just hallucinations that occur during my seizures, but I know that they are real. When I hear that "music" playing softly in the distance and coming closer and closer, I know that either Wayne or Kelly is going to drop by.

The music used to be just strange melodious noise, but then one day I heard an old song by Helen Reddy called "Angie Baby." It sounded a lot like the music I was hearing, and from that point on, what I hear just before things happen is the voice of Helen Reddy singing, "It's so nice to be insane; No one asks you to explain; Radio by your side, Angie Baby."

Wayne is a sadistic, overbearing prick. He calls me foul names. He makes me suck his cock. He fucks me in the ass. I should hate him, and I guess I do, but I also find that I want him to return. I want him to order me to my knees. I want him to make me take his soft member into my mouth and make it harden with my tongue. I want him to force me to remove my clothing and kneel with my head and shoulders on the floor so that my ass is offered to him for his use.

The doctors say that it is all in my head. They show me the video tapes of episodes which occurred when I was "in-house" in the treatment center. I am sitting totally still at the table. I have not removed my clothing. I am not kneeling on the floor. I am not sucking on a large penis. Nothing is happening.

But they cannot explain why when I "awake" there is a slickness in my mouth and the sweet-salty taste of semen on my tongue, or why my ass is stretched and bleeding. "Stigmata," they say. "The mind can do powerful things," they assure me.

So can Wayne.

Sometimes Wayne comes to see me when I am Kelly. Then things are even rougher. Kelly likes it. She loves cock. She loves to be fucked. She loves to be fucked in the ass. She loves to be fucked in the mouth. She love to be fucked in the cunt or between her breasts or between her legs with her legs pushed high over her face so that the spurting cum splashes on her face or any other way in which Master can think of. Kelly likes it.

Kelly doesn't like the whip or the paddle or strap or Master's bare hand. There she is like me. Kelly doesn't like it..., but she needs it. Like a heroin addict seeking out one more fix, Kelly will push Master until he reaches the point where he must punish her.

Yesterday, Kelly pushed a little too far, or maybe Master had a bad day and was so full of anger that he needed to take it out on someone. In any case, after forcing Kelly to deep throat him, he tried to take her in the ass. He knows that Kelly likes it, so he was very surprised when she fought him. He was very angry when she struck him. He lost control when she tried to kick him in the nuts.

He beat her like she had never been beaten before. He didn't use his fists, but he slapped her hard enough to spin her to the ground. Then he took off his belt, doubled it back into his hand, and began strapping her. At first Kelly just lay on the floor and absorbed the punishment. But Master continued. Kelly began to beg and plead for mercy, but Master continued. She screamed and yelled in pain, but Master continued. Finally Kelly just lay still upon the ground and cried and whimpered softly into the carpet. Master finally stopped. He turned Kelly over onto her back and took her brutally, thrusting deep into her cunt, bruising her cervix with the depth of his penetrations.

They tell me it is just hallucinations, but my body is covered in bruises and welts, and I hurt inside in a very strange way that the doctors cannot explain.

That was last night. My friend who checks on me stopped by my apartment and took me to the emergency room. The hospital regulations require that they notify the police on all "obvious assault cases." The officer who interviewed me, Detective Mendes, had seen me before. He knew me..., all three of me. He asked me who did it, and I replied, "Wayne." He asked my friend if I was alone in the apartment and if there were any signs of struggle, and my friend said, "No." Then he made a few notes in his little book, muttered, "Nutbag," under his breath and left.

I could barely move, but didn't need surgery or anything like that, so my friend took me home to my apartment. He was worried about me, so he stayed the night and slept on the couch.

I was still in bed when the doorbell rang this morning. My friend answered it for me, and then called to me, "I think there is someone here to see you."

There was something odd about his voice and I wondered who could possibly be at the door. I walked into the living room and he swung the door totally open. Standing in the doorway was a beautiful young woman in a very short black dress. It was obvious that she had nothing on under the dress. She was also barefoot and had a large, black, leather dog collar around her neck. As strange as she looked, I don't think that is what had upset my friend. I think primarily it was the fact that her body was covered with bruises in exactly the same pattern as I was. That, and the fact that the name engraved on the brass plate on the front of her collar said "Kelly."

She stood there in the doorway silently for what seemed like several minutes, then she said, "Master Wayne sent me. He thinks that you and I need to talk." I fainted -- a real faint, not a seizure. When I came to, Kelly was gone. I was crying uncontrollably and saying over and over again, "She is real. She is real. She is real." My friend took me back to the hospital.

The doctors don't believe me. They don't believe my friend either. I am here for a 72 hour observation. Kelly said she might talk to the doctors if she stops by. She also said that Master Wayne has forgiven her, but that he wants us both to come live with him as slaves. Master Wayne is amazed that his "dream slave," as he evidently calls me, is real. He is also intrigued by the connection Kelly and I have between our minds and bodies. He wants to see how we both respond when he whips her or fucks me in the ass. He especially wants to see how I respond when he fucks Kelly in her cunt.

When -- if -- they let me out of here, I might go with her to Master Wayne's house. The doctors keep telling me that I have to learn to live in reality. But Master Wayne and Kelly are my reality. That is where I belong. Maybe if I go there I will learn to like it rather than just needing it.

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END OF STORY

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