The Mistress of Holt House Part OneChapter 4
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No HopeChapter 2 free porn video
Doctor Johnson spoke again in a command voice. "George, tell me why you are so afraid of women."
It felt like I stepped through the doors of an elevator; only noticing at the last minute the car was not there. Instead there was just a long drop into a dark empty elevator shaft. My stomach tried to crawl up my esophagus while cold spears of lightning shot down my back. Reaching down I grabbed my knees and tried to pull them into my chest. Was this woman mad? Did she have any idea what she was asking?
Through suddenly dry lips I croaked. "No, No. Mustn't tell. The bad people will take me away. Please don't make me tell. She'll hurt me again. Please don't make me!"
The last few words were a barely controlled wail. My mind was starting to drift back to one particular day when I was eight years old. It was one of the most horrific days in a childhood straight from the mind of the Marquis de Sade.
From a distance I heard an insistent female voice. "George, you will tell me now. She can't reach you here; Melissa and I won't let her. Now tell me before you make me angry."
That did it, the dam broke all the memories I tried to suppress all these years flooded back with a vengeance and I started telling my story.
I was sitting on the floor in my bedroom, playing with Lincoln Logs. The house and corral were gradually taking shape. This was the safest place for me as Mother was in one of her moods today. Granted she hadn't done anything to me so far today, but that could always change.
Sitting on the floor I used the long green flat pieces to make a slopped roof. Using my fingertips I gently trued up each slat. Over the years I became very good at that. I really enjoyed creating new buildings with rooms, doors, and windows. For one thing it was very quiet so Mother did not notice.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a woman about five feet two inches tall roared into the room. "You are a bad, bad, boy. STRIP! Do It Now! I don't want to hear any of your back talk."
The belt descended like the right hand of God, striking me on my left arm. Without thought I pulled my shirt over my head, trying to get it off. As it stuck on my head, the belt cracked across my ribs. The pain seared through me, but not as bad as the pain of hot cigarettes applied to my skin.
As the belt struck my right side, someone pulled the shirt off over my head. Then the belt struck again. "Get your God damn pants off now. All men are so pathetic. You can't even follow simple directions."
Each sentence was punctuated with the belt hitting me in a new place. Finally my pants and underwear slid off my legs and onto the floor. "Can't you even fold your clothes when you take them off?" The question was punctuated with three quick smacks of the belt on my ass, two on the left cheek and one on the right.
The belt descended again. This time it struck between my legs, the fold struck just behind my testicles and the middle portion stretched the entire length of my three-inch long penis. The pain was the worst I ever felt.
God please just make it go away.
Now the blows were coming faster and faster. My Mother struck me over and over while she screamed invectives, curses, and called me names I did not completely understand. Somewhere, someone was screaming, loud blood curdling screams; the cry of a wounded animal. Meanwhile the belt kept hitting me between my legs, on my legs, and on my back.
Finally I realized that it was me screaming in pain. This was not good, if I was screaming Mother would keep hitting me until I stopped. I had to stop the screaming somehow. Curled in a ball, holding my testicles, I screamed and screamed.
Suddenly, she stopped and two ends of a broken belt dangled in front of my face. "Look at what you did to your Father's belt. He's going to be very angry with you."
The broken ends slashed across my back. "You will perform extra chores for the next ten weeks so you can pay to replace the belt. Do You Hear Me?"
"Yes Mother I hear you. I'm sorry I broke the belt. I won't let it happen again." I slowly stretched out my head and kissed the dangling pieces of the belt.
"I'm sorry I made you mad; please forgive me, I promise not to do it again."
I had no idea what I did wrong, but I knew I did not want to do it again.
The memories slowly cleared and I sat in the chair hugging my knees and shivering. The tears ran down my cheeks and fear sat in my stomach like a block of ice. Looking across the room I saw Doctor Johnson pickup a box of Kleenex tissues. Pulling two tissues out, she held out the box to me. For some reason tears were flowing down her cheeks. This raised my curiosity.
"Wha ... Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?" Even more fear gripped me. Trying to make myself a smaller target, I curled into as tight a ball as I could. Using my arms, I pulled my knees up until they brushed the side of my face. Then I tucked my head down, using my knees as additional protection.
"George, listen to me. You've done nothing wrong. I'm crying because no one deserves to be treated like you described. Normally, I treat battered women and rape victims. Very few of them have been through what you just described.
"How many times did your Mother do something like this to you?"
Raising my eyes, I stared at her. Did she really mean it when she said I wasn't in trouble?
"She never did it more than once a day. Sometimes if I was extra good she might go two or three days without punishing me. You know how it is, that's just the way Mothers treat their sons."
"No, George that is NOT how Mothers treat their children. Not their sons or their daughters."
Now I knew I could not trust her. Doctor Johnson couldn't be right, look at how my Mother treated me. Although I ran away from home right after graduating from college, I knew all women were like my Mother. They had to be, or why did she treat me like she did. Mothers had to love their children. Didn't my Mother always tell me she only did the things she did because she loved me?
Suddenly, I felt a large hand on my shoulder. A deep but feminine voice said. "Doctor, is there a problem? Do you need me to handle him for you?"
Speaking firmly but softly Doctor Johnson said. "Martha, be very gentle with George. Do you remember Lucy last year?"
I felt the hand on my shoulder begin to tighten. "Yes. Did he treat his daughter the way Lucy was treated?"
"No, his Mother treated him even worse then Lucy's Dad treated her." Doctor Johnson practically spat out the word Mother, like it left a foul taste in her mouth.
The hand relaxed while moving from my shoulder to my head. Gently Martha stroked my hair while she started to croon softly.
"Martha, you need to protect George until we can find some male nurses for him. Can you do that?"
The face of a fortyish woman with brown eyes, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and reddish brown hair loomed into my line of vision. Two strong hands griped either side of my head and forced me to look her directly in the eyes.
"George, no one deserved what you suffered through. I'm here to protect you now. No one can hurt you, I won't let them. Do you understand?"
Looking at her, I noticed her arms looked like a professional wrestler's; her shoulders were corded with muscles that would look good on an NFL fullback. Her face showed concern and pity. Could I trust her? More importantly did I really have a choice?
Finally I managed to croak out. "Please don't hurt me."
Her face seemed to dissolve into tears. Pulling my face into her breasts, she softly crooned over and over. "No one will hurt you now."
The whole time, she was hugging me with one arm and stroking my hair with the other. Inside me it was like a dam burst. I started repeating over and over. "I'll be good. I promise."
The more I promised to be good, the harder Martha cried. After an eternity, Doctor Johnson told Martha to take me to my room. That didn't mean a thing to me, but Martha seemed to understand. Pulling me to my feet, she directed me out the door and toward the left.
As we exited the room, Melissa and Mr. Morgan rose from their seats and moved toward us. Martha hugged me to her while turning to put her body between me and the two of them. They came to a complete stop about four feet from Martha and me.
Not wanting to be in trouble I said. "Martha, this is Mistress Melissa. She promised to protect me."
Melissa responded. "Martha, you know me. After what happened to me, I could never hurt someone like George. He needed a woman to give him absolute protection or he would never have come here today. The only way he would accept my protection was if he thought I was his Mistress."
Martha responded. "Doctor Johnson instructed me to become his protector. It sounds like you understand what she's talking about better than I do. After I take George to his room, we need to talk."
Martha led me away through a series of doors with electronic locks on them. At each one she rubbed an ID badge over a medium gray card reader. With a loud buzz the lock released, and she opened the door for us. Finally, we arrived at a desk with a waiting room on one side. Later I found out this was called the day room.
At the nurse's desk, Martha took my keys, my wallet, and my change. She told me they would work something out to pick up some clean clothing for me. A nurse placed my wallet and change into a manila envelope. She then made me sign my name across the flap after sealing it. She noted on a clipboard that she gave my keys to Martha, who would return them later.
On the far side of the day room was a small bathroom where Martha insisted I stop before going to my room. After going to the bathroom, she led me into a hall with rooms on either side. Halfway down on the right side was a room with a small window about five feet six inches above the floor. Martha swiped her ID badge over another card reader and the door opened. Inside were a bed and a wooden wall wardrobe.
Leading me into the room Martha pointed out a small speaker on the wall with a red call button under it. "This room is designed to keep you in and other people out, until you meet the other patients. Push the red button if you need to go to the bathroom, or anything else. It connects directly to the phone at the nurses' desk in the day room. Dinner is a 6:30. Someone will take you to the dining room.
Libbie
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