The Institute

Chapter 12

A weekend alone.

After all the emotions of this week, I had decided not to go to the Saturday dance again. I wasn’t quite ready. I felt that I had to think about my career, my future at the Institute, and while the Saturday dance was quite the … ok, I had to admit it, just thinking about it made me aroused, I needed some space away to figure things out.

First, I had to admit and accept that I had a latex fetish. I was pretty convinced it wasn’t just me reflectively trying to fit in, as had been my pattern in life so far. I had been thinking about the movies and characters I had liked, and there was a pattern – Trinity from the Matrix, Catwoman in that old Tim Burton film, Selene in the Underworld series, Alice from the Resident Evil series… Looking back it seemed obvious, but I guess I really hadn’t allowed myself to think about it much. Like the latex look was something for kick-ass women only, not little old me… but that clearly wasn’t true! Based on my reading on the topic, fetishes were usually impossible to remove. And it wasn’t like latex was something fundamentally unethical, I knew I wouldn’t be able to drum up the focus to unroot it without a very powerful motivation. So I could either deny my desires for the rest of my life or… accept, embrace them. Being a rubber fetishist seemed… complicated, but surely it would be better than a life of denial.

Did that mean that I had to stay at the Institute? One didn’t necessarily mean the other. I decided to do some research online, see what my options were. I quickly found out that there was such a thing as a latex “community”, sort of. Not a big surprise that there would be a subculture for it. They were spread out all over the world, a bit thinly but they organized conventions, events, had social media websites, talked to each other, made and sold gear… it wasn’t just an oddity, it was real. This meant I didn’t “need” the Institute to “live’ my fetish. This was, oddly, a relief. I wanted to be able to choose, not feel forced into it.

While searching, I also found a LOT of hot images and videos, and uh, I got pretty distracted for a while. I hope my neighbors didn’t hear my moans, there was a lot of pent-up tension I had to let out. At one point I couldn’t help myself from imagining experiencing those scenarios, but at the Institute, and I came so hard I actually passed out. Ooof. Maybe I needed more regular, uh, releases?

When I was finally able to focus again and regain a measure of calm, I realized that the issue of money did make me feel “forced” to be at the Institute. I needed that salary badly because of my debts. But… it wasn’t like I owed millions of dollars to the mob. I could move back in with my parents, try again. Times were tough, I knew I wasn’t the only one struggling. There was an alternative. But part of me really wanted to be independent, to “make it”. And with me dropping out of university, I really doubted I would ever be able to find another job with such a salary and benefits. Career wise, the Institute was my best shot.

And… I had crunched some numbers. If I kept my spending limited, I could repay the debt in two years – or three with a little bit more wiggle room. All I had to do was keep living like a poor student – not buy a new car, eat out or go on big vacations – and my income would far exceed my expenses. So I wasn’t “stuck” with the Institute. After a few years, I would have some nice experience on my resume, and I could try to find another job within the civil service.

But… two to three years at the Institute? I had been there two weeks and already I could feel its pull on me. I had to be honest. If I spent two years at the institute, I probably would never want to leave. But… was that such a terrible thing? There were still people who committed their entire lives to one career. It would not be a … normal life. But maybe it could be a happy one? I looked back and… Dr Reed was right. I had spent my entire life so far worried about fitting in, about being judged for being weird. And it had “worked”, sure. I was accepted, the way a wallflower was accepted. Here I could… make myself in whatever way I really wanted. There was no manual, no guide for this job, ultimately. I could help the patients live a good life too!

So, it was decided. I was going to stick to this job, knowing full well I would end up just as … no, not twisted, as delightfully liberated as the patients. I was consenting with my eyes wide open. And because I could say no, it meant it was ok to say yes, somehow.

I woke up the following morning feeling well rested, and that told me that I must have taken the right decision. I had had a few naughty dreams involving latex and some blue latex patient… and I just smiled about it. Much better than dreaming about my teeth falling out or some other anxiety-fuelled nightmare.

Today I was going to try shopping – I wanted to create a new look. The Inspector couldn’t dress like some beige bureaucrat. Part of me felt I should make it out of rubber but… that seemed silly. And it might raise some questions about my independence from the Institute. What I needed to look like was kick ass! Those childhood idols I had thought of earlier… sure they all wore shiny materials, but they were also all women of action and great courage. I had to tap on that energy – I had a feeling I was going to need it eventually.

A few hours later, I was feeling pretty frustrated. This was a lot harder than I had imagined. The trench coat look seemed too film noir, too silly, cliché even... Biker girl sure, but I never rode a motorcycle, it seemed I hadn’t earned it. I had found a gorgeous black leather jacket but it was way too expensive! Punk just didn’t quite fit, and goth neither…

I was in a thrift shop when I found it. I think the color might be the first thing that caught my eye. I had wondered if I could do a “white” look, but I had no idea where to start. This was some kind of leather jacket, partially hidden behind a denim jacket.

“Woah…” I lifted it up – it was heavy, and barely a jacket. It looked like someone had made a leather vest from the back of an albino alligator… Although breastplate was probably the better term, this thing was literally armor. There were no sleeves, and the legs of the alligator were still attached and part of the fastening system. It ended at the waist in front, and a little lower in the back.

It wasn’t practical at all. But the combination of the white color and the heavy knobbly look of the leather was irresistible. It wasn’t pure white but had yellowed a bit in spots with age, giving it a real organic look.

The owner came by, and she started explaining how it was made from a farm-raised alligator – yes, not as cool as a wild one, but albino alligators didn’t survive in the wild apparently – they were ambush predators, and an albino just couldn’t hide. When I asked the price and she answered, I exclaimed “75 dollars?!” and she immediately lowered it to 60, which I immediately accepted. I would gladly have paid much more.

I got home later this afternoon quite happy with my purchases. I had gotten the denim jacket to wear under the leather, and some tall white Dr Marten boots to complete the look. I wasn’t quite sure what I would do for the bottom – some kind of leggings? But it was ok, I’m sure I would figure something out. I looked at myself in a mirror before heading to the car, and the effect was… well maybe not quite as great as I hoped, but I saw potential. I just had to …fake it till I make it, as they said.

I headed home, wrote mom an email saying how the new job, after a bit of a rough start, was starting to fall into place. It was, in a way, a giant lie – there was SO MUCH I wasn’t telling her. But it was also true. I had been so nervous going to work. Now… well I still was going to have to be very careful to remain myself, and to become the Inspector I wanted to be. But I knew I could do it.

Chapter 13

A New Monday

I called Margaret as I drove to the Institute. I decided to consult her regarding my plan to visit Patient 127, that journalist who had exposed the entire affair. I had decided that I needed to meet patients who had left the Institute, as no one else had done so, to do a follow up, to check up on them essentially.

I could tell Margaret was pleased I was asking for advice, and even more so that I was doing it over the phone and not in writing. Officially it was a “bad idea” to be so independent in the civil service, to make such a big move without consulting my superiors, but … she thought it was good I was trying to shake things up. She would call me as soon as we heard back from my superiors but… if they didn’t contact me in time to stop me well… What were they going to do?

I arrived in the graveled back yard of the Institute shortly after, and I saw that Renee’s sleek motorcycle was there. Ah, she was back! And indeed, she came out of the backdoor to greet me. Today she was wearing a deep green dress, knee length with shoulders exposed, quite tight of course, accented with a black belt.

As I stepped out of the car she explained “Oh wow, look at you! Where did you get that jacket? That’s wild!”

I smiled, quite pleased at her reaction “Hello Renee, you look smashing as always.” I was impressed with myself; I almost wasn’t blushing.

In my Dr Martens, Renee was towering over me. She touched the alligator “breastplate” and let out a low whistle. “Huh, that thing is thick! Did you choose the color based on your dress? That is so cool.”

“Oh no, the color was just a lucky find at a thrift store.” I corrected her quickly, embarrassed by the compliment. “I paid 60 bucks for it.”

“Well good on you for having the eye to see it and get it. You look badass.”

“You really think so?!” Ok now I was blushing furiously.

Renee teased me a little bit more, then asked what I was doing this morning. “Oh, I plan on doing some more research and preparation for meeting patient 127 tomorrow.”

“I see – well if we need you, I’ll go find you in your office then” replied Renee, and we parted ways as I headed to the locker room to drop off my clothes and get ready to get dressed. But as I opened my locker, a piece of paper fell out. I looked at the message.

It was a scribbled crude map of the institute, with a … green cloud? Trees! And a spider in it, along with “secret meeting!”

What was this? Spyder wanted to meet me in the grove of trees besides the institute? I pocketed the note and then said out loud that I had forgotten my phone in the car, and stepped back out. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching me; I headed to the west for what I hoped was the spot Spyder had indicated.

Secret meeting? I wondered what the heck this was about. I was fairly sure she wouldn’t try to wrap me up in bondage tape like last time but… hmmm.

I stepped between the trees and hissed “Spyder, are you there?”

“Over here” a voice whispered back – and there she was, crouching under the low branches of a pine tree. I joined her in there – it reminded me of my childhood, in the girl scouts we had learned how such trees could offer shelter at their base.

I sat down beside Spyder. Her mechanical arms had been tucked in against her back, probably to reduce snagging. She had a sort of mask perched on her head, festooned with lenses. Her face was partially obscured by narrow bands of rubber, or bondage tape perhaps. I could see her a bit better than last time, and her look was less terrifying and more… cobbled together. There were small patches of skin not covered by the bands of rubber, and they were grey with dirt, as were her bare feet, which looked very tough – I wondered how many years she hadn’t worn shoes. But her disheveled look was deceptive, I know she could strike with terrifying speed.

But there was no hostility in her face – in fact, she looked delighted as she pointed at my jacket and said “Inspector-gator!”, giggling slightly. “Spyder-gator, spyder-gator!” she chanted in a singsong voice. Her cheerfulness made her look a lot younger all of a sudden.

Oh god, I hope that nickname didn’t stick. But it was worth it to see her smile, in the daylight and not in a dark basement. In the daylight?

I couldn’t help but ask “Good morning Spyder, I got your message. But… how did you get here, outside the building?”

She looked left and right in dramatic fashion, then whispered “The secret tunnel. The Institute has many secrets, you must find the secrets. Important!” She grabbed my arm, her mirth entirely gone.

I nodded at her seriously – I wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at, but I felt it was worth investigating – clearly, she felt it was important.

She nodded back – I felt that we had somehow just sealed some kind of … alliance? She continued “First, look for the pipes. Follow the pipes. Find the secret place, the evil man”!

“The evil man? Pipes?” I said, confused and a bit alarmed.

“Follow the pipes!” she hissed and suddenly bolted. By the time I had gotten up to follow her, she was gone. I spent a good five minutes trying to find the tunnel she mentioned, but there was no trace of it. I exited the copse of trees, brushed myself off and looked around – no one, it looked as if I hadn’t been seen.

Well, that was weird… pretty typical of this place really and I chuckled weakly. I wonder what she meant by following the pipes? I kept my eyes open as I re-entered the building, but nothing stood out to me.

I decided to “explain” the delay this secret meeting had caused by going on a detour; I would head to my office to grab an extra piece of latex – I could always exaggerate the amount of time this had taken me to do (such a hard choice!). As I walked there, I had an inspiration… and I blushed slightly as I was hit by a wave of arousal. Oh I knew what I wanted.

I entered the office, opened the dresser and grabbed the item of my desire. I was a bit surprised how excited I was getting just thinking about it. It was a catsuit, neck entry, made of thin transparent latex. Maker had made it based on my exact measurement, and it looked like a second skin. My idea was to wear it under my regular outfit. I had previously wanted to avoid what the patients called “TE” – total enclosure. But now the idea intrigued me.

I arrived in the dressing room, and the dressers – patient 81 and 47 – were ready for me, with my regular outfit ready – a long light blue/grey dress, matching gloves and hood, a small cape and white boots. The outfit left my shoulders covered by the cape, but not really “in” latex. I took off the old lab coat and asked the dressers if I could wear the transparent catsuit under my outfit. They looked at each other and nodded, they seemed happy at my request. I moved in the “spot”.

“So… how do I get in?” I had seen that the catsuit had a zipper at the crotch – I had been a bit taken aback at that detail, until I figured out it was to go to the bathroom. But there was no other opening. How was I supposed to put it on?

Patient 47 grabbed the catsuit and stretched the neck collar wide. “I’m supposed to get in through the neck?!” She nodded at me and kneeled at my feet.

Patient 81, much taller, moved behind and supported me with an arm. She looked at me and tilted her head – I knew it was a gesture used by a lot of patients to convey a question. I nodded. She reached for the cord above, pulled, turning off the only light.

The dressing process was a bit intense. Patient 81 held me steady while patient 47 inserted one foot and then the other through the catsuit. It took a while, and I felt like every single inch of my body had been caressed, massaged, covered in rubber then massaged again in the darkness. The fit of the catsuit was exacting, and it took a lot of work to align properly, especially in the dark.

The catsuit was a little tighter than my main outfit. The feeling of being covered almost entirely in rubber was… breathtaking. With a click, 81 turned the light back on. 47, seemingly reading 81’s mind, was already holding a long, narrow mirror. Wow… the catsuit was so thin and clear it looked like I was made of gleaming latex. It had a subtle supporting effect, shaping my waist a little, the half cup design supported my breasts well and – oh my look at that ass. That was me? I blushed furiously as my reaction. 47 put the mirror away, and grabbed the light grey dress.

Click. It was dark again. 81 raised my arms and 47 slipped the dress down over me. The two layers of latex, because they were chlorinated, glided easily against each other. I shivered, in part because of the initial chill of the latex, but also because of the sheer deliciousness of the feeling. Soon enough, the Dressers had me gloved and were carefully slipping the hood over my head. Once again, the light was turned on and 47 picked up the mirror.

I took in a sharp breath. I was completely covered in rubber, TE, they called it. The catsuit covered my shoulders and biceps. And oh wow. It did not disappoint. The look hasn’t really changed at all, but the feeling was quite more intense. Someone wearing a latex dress might just be “fashionable”. But a dress over a catsuit? That said something, didn’t it?

I then gasped when I realized I had no idea how to remove the catsuit. I didn’t need a locked harness or something to be trapped in latex. Oh, sure I could probably rip it off, but I would never do that. I carefully sat down on a bench and put on the white high heel boots. I appreciated the one inch platform and the blocky heel – four inch was about all I could manage, for now.

I got up and thanked the Dressers. 47 waived and 81 did a heart symbol with her hands. As I left the dressing room, I suddenly realized that this was not some kind of unique, once and done experience. This was going to happen every morning. This, the strong sensory experience and the knowledge I was “trapped”, sort of, in the outfit was quite the one-two-three combo.

I decided to head to the cafeteria to take a little break and settle my nerves. I had to calm down, I couldn’t get anything done if I was so horny I could barely think straight. It seemed I was a bit before the morning break, and I sat down alone, sipping on some fluid.

I was feeling a little bit better when River entered the room.

“Hello Judith, how are you doing this morning?” her vocabulator intoned monotonically, as she waived and sat down. I knew that with River, I had to look at her body language for “tone”, since her text to speech set up was pretty simplistic.

“Oh, good morning, River, I’m uh, ah,” I answered, laughing weakly.

“Are you ok? What’s wrong?” replied River.

“Oh, it’s just uh, I added a new piece to my outfit and it’s a lot more intense than I expected” I said. I felt a little pang of guilt for hiding from her some of the details but at the same time, a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have admitted being horny at work to anyone!

At first, River was quite curious and firmly approved of my addition of a new under-layer. “Isn’t it the best thing to be completely covered?!” she said, her rapid typing betraying her enthusiasm. “I sometimes wish that there would be no openings at all, that it would be permanent”. I nodded… I mean I didn’t wish that at all, and yet… I understood the pull.

“But, uh, that’s not helping me,” I added. I then explained how over-stimulated I was feeling and concluded with “So I came here a bit early, I’m trying to settle my nerves I guess.”

“Should you be drinking that much fluid then?” she replied.

I looked at her blankly then I gasped. Shit! I should have drunk orange juice, or maybe tea, not the fluid! But I was so distracted thinking about what had just happened I had mindlessly poured myself a large glass of fluid instead. I had drunk almost all of it. Shit. Sure the CBD in there would calm me down, but the THC and special mix of hormones meant my arousal was going to increase even more.

I looked at River helplessly and admitted my mistake. “I wasn’t thinking, I was distracted by how… How horny I am. And now it’s going to get worse!”

River replied playfully “Maybe we should ask Alexandra to join us then?” pointing over my left shoulder. I turned around, gasping. Oh my god… where was she? There wasn’t anyone there? I turned back and River was laughing soundlessly.

“River!” I said, trying not to laugh too. “That’s not helping”. I was glad it was just a little prank, because… I’m not sure what would have happened had Alexandra actually been there. “So… what do I do?”

“Don’t ask me,” she retorted “I’m essentially in a permanent state of orgasm remember? I understand, objectively, that this is hard for you, but I don’t know how to help you. I'm pretty sure that splitting your mind in two is not a viable solution for you. If it was one of us, we would just, ah, deal with it,” she concluded. “Sorry.”

“I… I’m so sorry River, I shouldn’t complain… but it’s still a problem for me,” I added, feeling quite conflicted about the whole affair.

“Maybe Red could help?” She suggested. I nodded, that wasn’t a bad idea… but I wasn’t sure if I felt comfortable talking with her about it. We parted ways not too long after, as River had some work to do.

I went to my office, sat down, and fired up the laptop. I can do this. An email from Red, informing us that River was back but that the weekly board meeting would be delayed a few days. Another email from Red reminding us that the Halloween Dance was in two weeks and there remained little time for costume orders. Huh, that could be interesting… A message from Margaret confirming that we haven’t “heard back” with no more details – she was being vague on purpose I supposed.

Aha! Patty McBoland, aka Patient 127, had replied, and she was available tomorrow. Not fully trusting myself I sent a short reply to confirm the time. I then started taking notes to help prepare myself for the interview tomorrow, but after a few minutes I had to stop, I was almost panting with desire. Holy moly it was bad… what was I supposed to do, should I just call in sick and go home?

I stepped out of the office to clear my head. I reached the balcony surrounding the lobby, spent a few minutes watching the coming and goings of the patients. I thought I was making progress, I guess you could call it, but if I was now so aroused I couldn’t concentrate at work… How was I supposed to do my job? I certainly wasn’t willing to split my mind in half… River was awesome, but I just couldn’t do that to myself.

“Miss Johnson?” I heard behind me – Dr Reed was looking at me, concerned. “You seem… tense. Is everything all right?”

“Uh… not exactly if I’m going to be honest.” I replied tersely. As she drew nearer, I explained my problem in a low voice.

“Come,” she said simply, and I followed her to her office. “Ok, so you are very aroused, and you don’t want to be?”

“Well, it’s just… such a big distraction. I can’t concentrate! How am I supposed to do my job in this state?” I blurted out.

Dr Reed smiled. “Ok, I think I can help you. So a few things to consider. First, this is the first time wearing that catsuit. It’s always the most intense the first time. So, it’s a bit sad in a way, but with time wearing the catsuit, or being dressed by the dressers, won’t be so intense, you will get used to these experiences.

I nodded cautiously as she continued. “Secondly, you will also get used to being aroused. You’ve led a somewhat sheltered life until now, you’ve been suppressing your sexuality somewhat. So of course it’s very intense now, but you will get used to it.”

I frowned; I wasn’t convinced. “But how long will all this take? I have a job to do now, not in six months. Besides, it is kind of … wrong that I’m…” I was going to say lusting after some of the patients, but I caught myself “… I’m being aroused around the patients, it’s not professional, it’s inappropriate.”

“In most workplaces, sure,” replied the doctor, “But here? It may be one of the most sexualised places on earth! I wonder… perhaps you’re feeling shame because you are aroused? Our society is so negative towards sex and pleasure… or perhaps your feelings make you a bit afraid? Don’t worry, it’s not because you are aroused that you have to do anything. There are no thought-crimes.”

I nodded. “I think… Yes, I think you are right, that accepting how I feel is not a bad way to go. But once again, this will take time. What do I do now?”

Dr Reed said “I could suggest that you do something to sate your arousal but… I can see from your reaction this isn’t something you are comfortable with doing.” Why was everyone suggesting that?! “So instead, I have a few techniques that may help you. Visualizations, mild hypnosis. Would you like to try?” I nodded, and we began.

It was an interesting experience. Dr Reed had me, in essence, take all the arousal and “put it in a pile” – a bit how you could quickly declutter a room by making a pile or three of stuff – sure the stuff was still in the room, it wasn’t sorted properly but at least it wasn’t strewn all over. The arousal was still there, quite present, but held at arm’s length.

“Now isn’t that interesting?” said Dr Reed. “Now I don’t want you to cut yourself off from your emotions. So, take that arousal, and embrace it again, let it all in.” Once again, the arousal washed over me, and I moaned slightly – oh god it was even more intense! – and Dr Reed continued “Ok, now take it out again and push it out, hold it at bay!” I gritted my teeth and did it. She had me repeat this process a number of times. It was quite tiring, but after a bit I felt I had gotten the hang of it. I would allow myself to feel, to embrace my arousal… or I could hold it at bay, where it would be present but “to the side”, out of the way, so to speak.

“Thank you, Dr., that was, that was pretty neat. I’m sure it will be useful,” I said gratefully.

“You’re very welcome. You’re quite good at this in fact, most people wouldn’t be able to do this so well on their first try. I wonder… Inspector Johnson, would you mind if I ran a little test. It’s to evaluate your receptivity to hypnosis. It will only take a few minutes,” asked the doctor.

“If you think it would help?” I replied.

There was a pause. Dr Reed then exclaimed softly and said “How remarkable. Your susceptibility to hypnosis is very high. Not only that, it almost seems like you have significant practice.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Doctor,” I replied. What was she talking about?

“I mean that not only do you display a great willingness to go into trance, superior visualisation skills and a strong response to post-session suggestions, the way you respond indicates that you’ve been in trance numerous times in your life” replied the Doctor.

“Dr Reed, we haven’t even performed the test!” I protested.

“Oh, but we have! We’ve been talking for over 20 minutes now. We’ve agreed to do a little demonstration, so I momentarily blocked your memory of the test,” she replied, looking quite pleased with herself.

“Doctor, that’s not possible, is it? Come on, this isn’t funny” I retorted.

The doctor smiled a bit “We also agreed that you might not believe me, so we added something else. Judith, why are you sitting in my seat?”

“I’m not… woah!” I was! At some point, we had traded places, I was now sitting behind the big wooden desk. I had NO memory of this happening. “How, how is this even possible?!”

“A simple hypnosis trick. Remember!” and she snapped her fingers – and all of a sudden, the memory of her little tests came back to me, including my agreeing to change places and forget.

“Woah, this is … kind of scary! How… I wouldn’t agree to you modifying my memory! I thought hypnosis only worked with consent…” I exclaimed.

“This is true, but people aren’t monoliths. We all have mixed feelings, divided motives, about many issues. For example, the reason why you agreed with this was two-fold.”

“First, we both agreed you’re a bit of a skeptic, and we needed a strong demonstration to convince you. But the other is that you want hypnosis to work. You find the notion of someone controlling you arousing.”

I blushed furiously. This was embarrassing… and kind of concerning too! “Isn’t this a real issue? How can I trust you if I know you can do this…” The memory editing was… astounding, and rife for abuse.

“Your concerns are noted, and not unfounded. But first, all of us have the power to hurt another if we betray them, hypnosis isn’t required for betrayal. We need a level of trust between each other to be able to work together, yes? Second, there are ways to help defend yourself against hypnosis, and I would be happy to teach you techniques,” replied Dr Reed.

She continued. “However, I strongly suspect that you’ve been hypnotized several times before, which is concerning. Do you consent to be hypnotized again? There will be no memory tricks this time, you will remember everything. I hope that with the right questions, I can make sure that no one else has influence on you that you do not wish for them to have.”

I gulped and nodded. She simply told me to drop into trance and … was that it? I felt different yet… normal.

With a series of questions, Dr Reed determined that no one else had been hypnotizing me without my awareness, that no memories have been deleted and that there was no suggestion to make me forget that my memory had been edited, or any convoluted tricks like that.

The answer turned out to be a lot simpler: I was the person hypnotizing myself. “I don’t really understand how this is possible?” I said, confused.

“Hypnosis is just a word for a particular outlook on a range of practices people have been doing for millennia. Meditation, prayer, manifesting, cognitive behavior therapy, mantras, they are all attempts to affect one’s mind… This is how you’ve been able to adapt so quickly to changes in your social groups,” explained Dr Reed. “Or how you’ve managed to do your work here despite a lack of experience or prior experience with rubber. You decide that something is ok and then it becomes ok.”

Oh… “But, if I’m honest, I still have a number of … misgivings” I replied.

“Of course you do – it’s a big change for you; you aren’t a miracle worker. But I think that we should work together, so not only can I help you protect yourself from unwanted hypnotic suggestions, but also how to … literally transform yourself via self-hypnosis.”

“I… I guess so. But this is so… strange. If I can just change myself at will… or by someone else…, who am I? Am I real? Are any of us real? Can I do whatever I want?”

Dr Reed looked pensive and said “Whatever you want? Well yes and no… we are all influenced deeply by our upbringing, our environment, the society we live in. Some of these influences can’t be removed overnight – one step at a time! But having greater control over your interior dialogue can be a pretty potent tool for self-actualization and transformation.”

She continued. “I know you are concerned about me, or someone else, influencing you or modifying your memories. But although you go into trance very easily, are a strong visualizer etc. etc, you also have a rather strong will, backed up by a clear sense of right and wrong. It would be quite difficult to make you do something you didn’t want to do, or that you felt was unethical.”

Well, that was reassuring at least, a little bit. “I need more time to think about this – we’ll talk again later.” I replied. Dr Reed had a habit of doing things like this, every conversation had the potential for huge revelations.

“Of course, Judith, there is no rush. But how are you feeling now?”

“I…” the conversation had had so many turns I had almost forgotten the original issue. And yup, it came flooding back – I was still aroused… perhaps even more than before. But… “I think I’m ok – I’m going to have to repeat your little technique, but … yeah, I can live with this”.

We parted ways and I headed back to the office on the third floor. On the way there I had to repeat the visualisation techniques, as the simple act of walking in layered latex was quite… stimulating.

Once I had settled in a bit, I quickly checked with Margaret – my superiors hadn’t replied regarding my proposal, so it looked like I was still going to meet Patty McBolland tomorrow. However, my boss wanted a “bilat” – a bilateral meeting Margaret explained, to get to know me better and talk about the work I was doing, on Wednesday. Interesting timing… I guess I would have to wing it.

I also spent some time that afternoon researching what next patients I should go visit. I semi-randomly picked Patient 111, Nadia. She had been released a little over a year ago, in the care of her sister Michelle, who was listed as the contact person. Michelle had been pretty active in the Family Association; that group of friends and relatives of the victims that had been so instrumental in establishing the Institute. A note in the file said that her level of activity had decreased – probably due to looking after Nadia. There was nothing here that I found concerning, but I felt that it could be good to visit an “average” patient who had left the Institute, who had family support, to have a sort of “baseline”, to speak. My boss might like to hear about this idea too. I fired an email to Michelle introducing myself and explaining my project. I then packed up and got ready to head home.

I had another burst of arousal when I remembered I couldn’t even get out of the catsuit without help. After another visit to the dressers, I once again used Dr Reed’s technique to try to control the arousal… there was something about it though I didn’t quite like. The pushing away. What if… instead of putting my arousal “aside” – as if there was something wrong with it – I just turned it into light?

That was interesting – I pictured the arousal like a glow, a warm light inside. Light couldn’t harm me… and just like that, the arousal was still there but… it was just a nice background feeling, that I was free to ignore or act upon. I wondered how long I could keep that up? But anyway, enough work for now! Time to go home, watch a movie and maybe listen to more of Gabby’s audio training files. This day had been momentous enough as it is.

Chapter 14

Patty

Content warning: brief mention of suicide, sexual assault.

I woke up with a vague dream about having had my entire memory wiped… and for a moment I had a flash of panic as I couldn’t remember who I was! But thankfully the feeling faded very quickly, although I was a bit disturbed about my initial reaction. For a few seconds, before the panic set in, the notion of not having an identity was oddly soothing. I cleared my head with a big cup of coffee and a few pieces of toast. I had to get ready.

And it was a big day – I was going to interview Patient 127, Patty, the bold journalist who had exposed the Baron’s sordid operation. She was technically a patient, because she had been captured for a few days before being rescued. However, she had never been treated at the Institute.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I had paired my white gator “breastplate” jacket with a pale denim jacket underneath, black leggings and near knee-high white Dr Martens. The look was good but… hrmm. I didn’t like my hair – this vague frizzy mop was not the right haircut for this outfit at all! Why did I care? I realized I really wanted to make a good impression – I didn’t want to look like some beige government official. Patty was a real life badass woman, and uh, hmm. Focus Judith, focus!

Well, it was too late to get a haircut, so I got in the car and drove out in the country. She lived on this small rural road, and I was glad she had given me directions. As I got closer, I saw the small yellow house she told me to look for – a cabin really. I also noted a pile of firewood in the back, and a motocross bike parked under a makeshift shelter.

As I parked the car on the dirt driveway, she came out. I recognized her from a few online photos I had found. She was about 5’7”, dark hair in a sort of short spiky haircut. She was wearing a leather jacket, tight black jeans and leather boots. She definitely could pull off the “biker look”.

As I got out of the car she spoke first. “Hello, Inspector Johnson? Woah, look at that jacket! That’s so cool, look at you!” Her face broke out in a wide smile.

I smiled back and said “Hello Patty! May I call you Patty?” She got closer and shook my hand firmly. From up close I could see some signs of stress, of aging. Was I looking for trauma because of her experience?

“Of course – Judith, yes? Come in! You’re not at all what I expected. I thought a dour-looking 50-year-old woman was going to show up. You’re pretty young for such a position, aren’t you? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to challenge you,” she continued.

“Oh no, it’s ok,” I replied. “I have schooling in psychology, but I must admit I’m pretty new to the job. The previous inspector had a long illness, and the post was vacant for a while. I’ve decided that we should follow up with previous patients, to make sure they are doing ok, and if not, intervene.”

As she nodded, I continued. “So, uh, before we start… I know you’re a journalist, and I don’t know exactly how this works, but this interview is off the record. I don’t want to be quoted or anything like that. This isn’t a story; it’s about your well being.”

“Fair enough,” she replied. We entered her home; the cabin was heated by a small wood stove and had few amenities – a table with a few wooden chairs, an ancient couch, a small TV, the area in the back cut off by a curtain – her sleeping area? “Tea?” she asked as she prepared a kettle, and I nodded, sitting down by the table.

I resumed my little spiel. “I also must admit that I’m trying to understand what happened that day seven years ago. I'm sure that there are things not on the Wikipedia page… although if you don’t want to talk about it, you absolutely don’t have to!” I added, quickly.

“No, that's ok! And yes, some things were definitely kept on the hush hush,” she replied. “So, back in 2017 – before the pandemic, it feels like an eternity – I was a young journalist determined to make my mark. I had done some investigations on missing women, and I had identified a pattern. The victims had a number of similarities, and the area between Toronto and Hamilton seemed to be the focus of the disappearances.

One thing I had noted is that there the victims all looked the same – the perpetrator had a “type” – young, dark haired women with pale skin, somewhat average in height and somewhat slender. I fit that type,” she said, looking meaningfully at me.

I gulped as I realized I met that type too! But then I recalled something. “But is that right? I was under the impression that while the Baron was mostly interested in women he felt were attractive, his tastes were fairly varied – there are patients of all body types, race and hair color,” I retorted.

“Ah, you are correct. The Baron was like that. But not his underling!” she replied, smiling grimly. “See, the Baron’s collection of victims became a lot to manage, and he somehow got followers to assist him. Others with similar obsessions, who believed in his goals.

Perhaps because the Baron felt he was getting older, perhaps due to lack of time, he got himself a “hunter” to find more victims – Allan McGray, a profoundly evil and vicious man. With the Baron’s training, resources and methods, Allan began preying on the women of the area. But he was lazy and not that obedient, so he didn’t look very far, and he only went after women he found attractive – his type,” Patty finished grimly.

“What happened to him?” I asked. Could this be the evil man Spyder had mentioned?

“I’m getting to it,” said Patty. “So, when I noticed this pattern, I tried raising the alarm. I thought there might be a serial killer on the loose! But the local police were simply not interested. They said it was perfectly normal for a portion of women to disappear every year, and were very insistent that there were no bodies, so a serial killer was simply impossible. I began suspecting the cops were corrupt somehow. But the consistent insistence on the lack of bodies caught my attention. It came up every time. Perhaps it wasn’t a serial killer, but a serial kidnapper?”

“So, what did you do next?” I said, captivated. I could sense Patty appreciated the audience.

She continued “I prepared a cunning plan. I turned myself into the perfect victim! I was living bait! But I knew this was quite risky, and I involved a few of my friends, who were other independent journalists, to help keep me safe. They were alarmed by my idea, but they knew how stubborn I could get, so they played along. Part of the plan was that I implanted myself with a tracking device – the company that made it sold their tech to Apple the year after.”

“So, like an AirTag?” I said.

“Yup. And after three months, it worked! That bastard kidnapped me and brought me to the building that became the Institute for “processing” – to turn me into a rubber slave. And that’s where my plan fell apart.” As I listened intently, she continued. “My colleagues were watching me, and although McGray gave them the slip, they were able to easily track me down with the chip. They called the cops… and the cops didn’t believe them; and threatened them with arrest for false report!”

“Oh wow, so what did they do?!” I gasped.

“They forced the cops’ hand. My friends – two guys, two women and a tiny dog, launched a rescue operation. And they live streamed it on Facebook. It went viral!” exclaimed Patty.

“That’s very clever – but given how dangerous this McGray fellow was, that sounded really risky!” I said.

“It almost ended in total disaster. But Lucie – one of the journalists, this tiny woman, had brought her grandad’s little sawed-off shotgun. Very illegal. But when McGray charged the group as they were sneaking around the institute and stabbed Paul – another journalist - Lucie blasted McGray right in the stomach. I’m told McGray probably took a few hours to die, they found him outside in the woods, hiding under a fallen tree, dead.” She then added “Actually, I have a copy of the Facebook clip on my phone.”

We spent a few minutes watching the shaky, grainy footage. The building was dark and ominous, the lighting was poor, and the place didn’t look like the – yes, oversexualized and sometimes perplexing – Institute I was growing more familiar with. The place was filled with ominous shadows. The group’s flashlight seemed to struggle to pierce the gloom. At one point, they peeked into a room, and faintly visible in the back were enormous tanks in which bodies floated, hooked to some kind of life support system. Ah the gel – there were so many!

It was at this point the group wisely decided to get the hell out of there. But they got turned around in the building. The group had just avoided a drone patient – their fear was obvious in their voice, when suddenly McGray attacked. Shouts, a shotgun blast, and the video ended with the sound of McGray screaming and cursing as he ran away.

“Yes! Good riddance!” I said firmly. “Patty, wow, you are so brave, that was such a courageous act! You’re a hero!”

She smiled wryly. “Hero, or a fool? This was reckless, I could have gotten killed. Heck, Paul almost died from that stab wound. I was very, very lucky it worked, looking back. If I’m being fair, this was as much about ego as about saving these women.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself” I retorted, “none of us are perfect, we all have, ah,” I suddenly remembered Dr Reed’s speech “divided motives. Your actions did a lot of good! The end of the mistreatment, the families no longer wondering what happened…”

After an awkward silence, I asked “So, what happened next?”

“Well after that, the cops HAD to show up, and they did, in great numbers. Dr Mood, who was apparently the physician on staff, shot himself as they arrived. He had destroyed a lot, but not all, of the records.” Patty said.

I nodded, “Dr Reed believes the Baron may have had some blackmail or other coercion on him.”

Patty nodded. “Very possible. The cops of course bungled things up – they shot two drones, killing one, and killed another patient due to improper removal from the gel cube. Fucking pigs,” she said with some heat.

I shook my head, “such a waste – so you were cubed?”

“Oh no, there was no time for that. Just three days of forced orgasm, messages loops – and rapes by McGray, may he rot in hell!” she said angrily.

Oof. “Patty… are you doing ok? You seem pretty angry and…” I gestured vaguely at the cabin.

“Oh, I’m doing just fine. Can’t get a decent job. I’ve been dreaming of making a sort of documentary to tell my story, but I can’t get funding. Heck I might have to sell my bike to pay rent next month,” she said bitterly.

“A documentary? Is that wise?” I said. “I don’t think publicity would be good for the Institute…”

She snorted as she replied, “You may be right, but you’re going to get publicity anyway!” As I gave her a startled look, she explained “It’s been over seven years. The ten-year anniversary of this is coming. True crime podcasters are already sniffing around, asking questions. Someone will probably try to make a movie for Netflix. It’s a juicy story, of course they will try to recycle it.”

“We… we haven’t really thought about that,” I admitted. “What can we do?”

“One of the first rules of PR is to get ahead of a scandal. Prepare how you want to be portrayed, what your message is, in advance. In a way you are lucky, most of the time these things are a complete surprise, but you have time to get ready,” she explained.

“And I think it really matters that you do so,” she continued. “The fact that the Baron was never exposed is going to create a lot of questions, intrigue even. And you don’t want the Baron thinking that loose ends need to be dealt with…” she said ominously.

“What do you mean?!” I exclaimed. “The Baron is gone, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” replied Patty. “I did investigate, a little bit. He definitely is – was? – a very powerful man, with vast resources. He’s left the institute alone because striking it would cause a big ruckus. But if the Institute is back in the public consciousness, it might force his hand.” She looked pensive as she added, “I think the thing to do is that part of your messaging has to be that you – the Institute I mean – doesn’t know who the Baron is, that you have no new evidence, it was all already investigated, that it’s not important, that what matters is the welfare of the patients, why don’t you ask the police, blab bla bla. It might discourage some inquiries, but it would also send a message to the Baron – that you aren’t a risk to him.”

“I don’t know if I like that,” I said, “it feels like we are letting him off the hook.”

“But that’s not our job, is it? What is it you are looking for? Justice? Ha!” she retorted.

“You know Patty,” I said, hesitantly. “Maybe you and the Institute should work together on your film. This way the story isn’t just about you. I think it would do you some good to meet some of the other patients, see the good you’ve enabled.”

Patty recoiled, “oh I don’t think I could. The horror of the place – you saw the video! And the smell! Ugh!”

“Oh, I was there yesterday, it’s not like that at all! Ok, part of the basement is creepy I’ll admit, but most of the building is well lit. It’s old, sure, but they’ve done some maintenance. It’s clean, it doesn’t smell – well almost – there’s even a little cafeteria!” I decided to omit certain details, like the nutrition fluid, laced with THC, CBD and sexual hormones, Spyder. Huh… I wonder how many details had been omitted “for now” with me! Explaining it to Patty made me realize the impossibility of explaining everything all at once.

“And the patients! They call themselves sisters. They are … happy, and weird, and silly, and …” I stopped myself before I blurted out how hot the whole thing was, cleared my throat and continued “and well, very frank about their sexuality. It’s bizarre, but they really are happy. The staff is very colorful and helpful. Dr Reed is a wonderful therapist – she could help you deal with the trauma…”

Patty looked troubled “Oh… huh. The forced orgasms and brainwashing they did to me… the third day I broke. I mean, I think, my sense of time for those three days is very fuzzy. I could swear I was there for weeks! Anyway, at the end I just stopped resisting, and I just … enjoyed the ride, I guess. I couldn’t fight anymore. I’m… haunted by what would have happened to me if my friends hadn’t rescued me.”

I saw she was about to burst into tears, and I spontaneously got up and gave her a big hug. After a few moments, she composed herself and looked at me gratefully.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she said, whipping at tears. “Trauma you were saying? Ha! But… you are right, it would make it a better movie. If it’s just my story, it’s too… narrow a perspective, isn’t it? Maybe I should confront my fears,” she added, looking more resolute.

“The Institute doesn’t have a lot of money,” I replied “But they can help you. Heck you could probably live in there, stop paying rent for this, ah, bungalow,” I added somewhat timidly.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose,” muttered Patty.

“Patty, you’re a patient too – patient 127 in fact,” I replied firmly “The Institute was created to shelter, protect and heal the patients. That includes you! Let us help you – and there is no commitment, if it doesn’t work out you can leave.”

“Maybe… maybe I should. Are you sure they have room?” she asked, as I nodded emphatically. “And… you’re pretty young for this job, how has it been for you?”

“I, oh, uh,” I stammered, blushing slightly. I then blushed beet red as I realized that since I wasn’t wearing a hood, my blushing wasn’t invisible. “Oh… it’s been a bit of a roller coaster, emotionally” I admitted.

“Is it true that they are all wearing rubber all the time,” she asked earnestly.

“… yup,” I managed to squeak out. I implored the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

“Wait… is this an issue for you? No that’s not it… oh my god you’re into rubber too?!” As I imploded like a neutron star she continued, “Because some of that stuff looks pretty hot, I have to admit… What are the odds? This must be the wildest job for you. Did you know?”

“Oh god it’s a job my uncle got me,” I admitted, completely mortified. “I had no idea what I was getting into, or what I would discover. It’s… intense,” I continued, and this time it was Patty who rose to hug me.

“What kind of garbage uncle got you a job like that?! Jesus Christ, what a moron!” she told me after I had composed myself. “Listen… I know your job is to look after the patients, but who’s job is it to look after you? I want to spend some time thinking about it, but I’m inclined to accept your offer. We can watch each other’s backs.”

I nodded happily and we chatted a bit further. Patty was really interested in my project to meet the patients who had left the Institute – any documentary wouldn’t be complete if they weren’t addressed in some way. She then started asking about how I had managed to pull this interview off with my bosses. “Oh, I just did it, I didn’t ask… although I have a meeting with her tomorrow, I don’t know how that will go ha-ha” I replied.

“Oh boy!” laughed Patty, “you need to prepare girl! That jacket will help you… appear fierce.” She added.

“Well not with this haircut,” I laughed weakly back.

Patty replied, “Ah, I have just the thing. Remember shotgun Lucie? Don’t call her that btw, anyway, she started cutting hair about five years ago. She’s gotten quite good, she’ll set you up with a hairdo that will match the rest of the look.”

“As long as she doesn’t cut hair with a shotgun,” I replied and Patty laughed again, as she texted her friend and made the arrangements.

We spoke for a bit longer, compared childhoods, but eventually the interview drew to a close. We parted, exchanged numbers, swearing to keep in touch. On the way back to the office I couldn’t help but smile. I felt the interview had gone well, I had made a friend, and some good things could come out of this, both for Patty and the Institute. I definitely was going to have to bring up the PR angle with both my boss and the Institute staff.

I drove back to the Ministry office and spent part of the afternoon taking notes and getting ready. Margaret agreed with me that Patty was right on the money regarding PR, and began doing some research for me on funding for Patty’s film. I was grateful that Margaret was there, she knew so much more about the various regulations and programs that I did.

I realized I had missed Gabby’s sign language class yesterday, so I drove to the Institute for it. Being a bit late, I skipped the catsuit when dressing, but it was still nice to be back in latex. Patient 115 waived back more enthusiastically this time, but Elizabeth wasn’t there. I was a bit concerned about having missed a class, but it wasn’t too bad – in fact, it seemed like listening to the audio files was having a positive impact, I was catching fragments of signed conversations around me, which was pretty neat.

As I drove home, I vowed to continue with the audio files – I really wanted to be able to sign fluently. Maybe I could ask Patty to join the class?

I frowned as I thought again about Spyder’s words… McGray wasn’t the evil man, nor was Dr Mood, both were dead… so who was it?

Chapter 15

Meeting the Boss

I once again woke up from a weird erotic dream. This time I was some kind of secretary bound to a desk, in heavy layers of black and smoky-transparent latex. I had to press buttons and connect jacks, like some kind of old-time phone operator. Each time I got it right; I got a burst of arousing vibrations. After a few dozen successful connections, I would start orgasming… and the resulting errors resulted in painful shocks. I cycled between pleasure and pain, until I reached this sort of “perfect” level of pleasure, where I could simply and mindlessly ride the pleasure while connecting jack after jack after jack… The dream just went on and on and on, it felt like I had spent the entire night dreaming it, and I could recall so much of it. This was odd, wasn’t THC supposed to suppress dreams?

It took a cold shower and a large mug of coffee to snap out of the strange mood that dream had created. I had to get my head in the game – I was meeting the boss today, and I had gotten up a bit early to head downtown for a haircut at Lucie’s studio. She was an old friend of Patty’s; and had agreed to give me an appointment on short notice. Patty guaranteed that she would make me look good. As I drove downtown, I looked in the mirror at my dark brown mop of frizzy hair, it seemed rather hopeless… but then again, it could hardly be worse.

Lucie was a short, vivacious woman with a radiant smile. “Inspector Judith Johnson! Welcome to my salon. Patty has said much about you; I normally don’t open so early you know” she boomed at me.

“Oh, I can come back another day if it’s not convenient for you” I replied but she waved my concerns away.

“Nonsense! Patty told me you have an important interview today. I see you brought that jacket she was raving about. Wow, she wasn’t exaggerating! It’s going to take some punchy hair to match that look. But I think I have an idea…

Some time later, I was looking at myself in the mirror, while Lucie asked me “So, what do you think?”

It was one hell of a look. She had straightened my hair and then cut it in a sharp, angular bob. The hair was past my jaw in front but then rising to the nape of my neck at an angle – the hair on the back of my head was quite short, with straight bangs in front. My hair, a dark brown color, which I always thought was a bit… boring… really added contrast to the look. “Wow… I’ve never looked like this!” I exclaimed. Meek old me had been replaced by a much harder – and sexier – looking woman.

She then spent some time applying some make up, trying to fine-tune the look. She ended up giving me cat-eye eyeliner and pale, almost white lipstick – to go with the jacket see. The look was stunning, and fierce. It didn’t look like old little Judith… no it looked like Inspector Johson, who was going to kick ass for the patients. That or heading to Berlin to party. I suddenly felt a lot more confident about the meeting with my boss.

We parted ways and I tipped generously – I would definitely be back. A few minutes later I was at the local Federal Ministry of Health office and greeted Margaret. She saw my new look and roared in laughter. “Oh boy, those bean counters in Ottawa have no idea what firecracker they hired! I love it!”

We spent the next few minutes gossiping. Margaret was quite curious about how the interview with Patty had gone, and after I told the tale she said “I think this shows your gut feeling about interviewing patients who have left the Institute was right on the money. And I think she’s right; we have to start thinking about PR now… although I can see upper management getting quite nervous about that. Speaking of, are you ready for your meeting? I’ve set up a Teams invite.”

“Thank you, Margaret! What can you tell me about the boss?” I replied.

“Ok, so you report directly to the ADM,” she started but I interrupted her.

“Ok stop there, what’s an ADM?”

“Ah. So, an ADM is an assistant deputy minister. The deputy minister is a senior civil servant who heads a department – the Federal Ministry of Health, for example. An ADM leads a branch, which is a portion of the Ministry – there are about a dozen of those. Each Branch has divisions, headed by a director general. Then you have directors, section heads, and normal employees. Because this section of the ministry is a bit of an oddball group, you report directly to her, there is no director general between her and you,” explained Margaret.

“Ok, so what am I? Inspector? How does that rank?” I asked.

“You’re a director – Inspector is what you do, not your rank. A director would normally have several employees, but again, an oddball situation. Richard did try to recruit at first, but the institute scared people away,” she replied. I remember Margaret’s refusal of going to the building…

“I see. So, tell me about this ADM then?”

“Well, she seems pretty nice,” started Margaret. “She’s been in the job for about a year. Richard has been ill for most of that time, so she’s basically been supportive but hasn’t done much to interfere. I don’t think we’re an important file for her.”

“I guess we’ve gotten her attention then,” I replied.

A few minor technical difficulties later, I was finally talking to my boss. I wasn’t going to wear my jacket – it would look a bit daft indoors – but I was pretty satisfied by her reaction.

“Hello – oh, is this Judith Johnson? You aren’t what I was told to expect! I’m Madeleine Stewart, nice finally meeting you!”

Madeleine was a tall brunette, in her mid to late 40s. She was wearing a dark fitted business suit. “Yes, it is good we met, I don’t think you were part of the interview panel” I replied.

“Unfortunate timing, I was away at the time.” She paused and took a sterner look. “So, first order of business: I would appreciate it, in the future, if you decide to make such a big move as contacting a journalist about the Institute, that you would consult with me first. Pick up the phone or something.”

“I haven’t been offered much if any guidance,” I replied stiffly, “but I think you have to agree with me that we can’t ignore the former patients.”

“That is true… Let us begin anew, shall we?” She took on a more congenial tone “Please, tell me how your meeting with… this Patty went.”

Ok, she was asserting her authority, but she didn’t want to start a fight either. Fair enough. “First of all, this was off the record, so the journalistic angle is not of concern. I think it went quite well. Patty seems mostly ok, but she seems to be struggling financially. She had some good advice for the Institute, advice I feel I have to share with you” I added.

Seeing Madeleine’s curious look, I explained. “The ten-year anniversary of the Institute is coming up, and true-crime podcasters, documentary makers and the like are starting to sniff around. They need to do their research and filming to be ready for the ten year mark. It’s a juicy story they can sell. The Institute has benefited from a relatively low profile the last few years, but this won’t continue.” I paused and added “Listen, I’m no expert on this PR stuff at all, but I think Patty is correct; someone is going to make a film, write a book or something.”

Madeleine nodded and said “It would have to be managed… Perhaps we need to prepare messaging. At least we have time.”

“Yes but…” I paused as I searched for the right words “We can support the Institute, but ultimately, they will decide, not us. We can’t speak for them. It’s an… interesting crew,” I put it mildly.

Madeleine looked intent. “You’ve been there, right? Met the staff etc.?” As I nodded, she continued. “Ok, what the heck is going on in there? I read Richard’s reports, and they are pure gobbledygook. My predecessor retired before I got the job and hasn’t returned my calls. With Richard’s illness I let it slide, but this is intolerable, it’s not appropriate that I be kept in the dark.”

Ooooof. “Listen, uh, I haven’t spoken to Richard yet, and I haven’t made much sense of his reports either,” I replied. Realising this weak dodge wasn’t going to cut it, I then straightened up and said in a firmer tone “My primary objective is the protection of the patients. I think Richard was wise to be … indirect… in his reports, with all due respect.”

Madeleine rubbed her temples and replied “Listen, I’m not asking for confidential medical data. And maybe you are right, maybe we shouldn’t write some of these things down. But I need to know before I can make the call.” Seeing my skeptical look she added “Look, I know some details – I know about the latex and such.”

Very well. I proceeded to explain to her the basic function of the Institute, as well as a general impression of the various states the patients found themselves in. I downplayed my own experiences – she didn’t need to know about my growing fetish for latex, or how erotically charged the place was.

“So, patients have a split mind, one operated by a hypnotic program, and the other orgasming constantly? Is that even possible?” she exclaimed at one point.

“Well, yes and no. First not all patients are like that – some emerge from the cubing experience with a more “unified” mind. And … the patients who do have a split mind certainly seem to believe it, and act as if it was true. It would be very hard to determine exactly what is going on with them, but it certainly appears true,” I explained.

Her next question was a hard one. “Wait a minute. I understand that it’s not a simple task to reverse the conditioning this Baron character inflicted. But… aren’t we supposed to be curing them? Why are they all still in rubber, bondage and whatnots?” she asked.

“I asked myself the same thing at first,” I replied, “and now all I can say is that it’s complicated. The patients seem happy – in fact, on average the patients seem far happier with their lot than the general public! Dr Reed is very big on consent of the patient, and on avoiding shame. They are happy in latex, they aren’t hurting anyone, forcing them to change could do more harm than good. And forcing is the right term – it would take very harsh treatment I suspect.”

Seeing Madeleine’s skeptical look I continued. “Some research believes that the shame society inflicts on victims of a sexual assault can be almost as damaging as the assault itself. Anyway, the patients all have access to physical and mental health care. They don’t have to worry about money, lodging, or employment. They have dances, movie nights. They joke and gossip together. It’s… such a weird place. On one hand, it’s hard to forget the horror of what the Baron did. But on the other, it’s far more … cheerful and playful than I ever expected such a place to be.”

“I see. I have to commend you, the other two quit less than a week after starting, that didn’t leave a good impression. I wasn’t convinced when I saw your resume, but I see you’re made of, ha, sterner stuff. You’ve shown more resilience and an open mind that most would have,” replied Madeleine.

I blinked “Other two? I’m not the first Inspector after Richard?” I asked.

“Oh no, you’re the third, if we can count the first two at all really. I was part of the first round of hires, and I can tell you that you wouldn’t have gotten the job. I hope you don’t take offence, but your resume is a bit… thin. Anyway, we did find people with the right degrees and… they couldn’t hack it. First candidate quit after a week. The runner up quit after a day. It was just too intense for them; we had to offer them positions in other portions of the department. Rumors spread of how “terrible” the job was, applicants dried up. But your uncle was right, you’re a lot tougher than you look… although you look tough enough to me! And this job needs resilience. And compassion, which you seem to have too,” replied Madeleine,

Huh. Maybe that’s why my uncle had gotten me that job, maybe he had more faith in me than I realized? He wasn’t a very nice man but… and “tougher than I looked”, he hadn’t seen my new look yet, had he?

Madeleine then said, “Ok, we are getting a little off topic here. So, if I understood correctly, the great majority of individuals at the Institutes are patients? How can they operate with so little staff?”

“That’s correct. Dr Reed is officially in charge, although Renee takes care of a lot of the administration. Red is also helping out and… well most of the work is done by the patients themselves. They cook, they clean, they repair their outfits, they give each other classes… It would cost a fortune if all their work was done by paid staff. It’s quite a tight-knit community.”

“Could it be that they might feel reluctant to leave because of these connections? The majority of patients are still at the institute, after all.” Madeleine asked.

“I have wondered about that too,” I replied “This community is quite supportive, but seemingly hard to leave. But “leaving” shouldn’t be the ultimate objective for every patient. I think that some will never be able to live independently in society. Some of them are not in good shape at all, the Baron could be quite cruel. So, we have to accept that the Institute will continue to be needed for the long term.”

I explained some further details, and Madeleine had more questions. “Ok. So we have some patients who are more or less still “trapped” in various forms of bondage, some who are drones and helping out, some who are more free-willed and also helping out, and finally the patients who have left. Is this correct?”

“Yes. That and the patients who died – there have been a few, but all prior to the Institute. Right now, the patients who have left are those we know the least about, and I intend to remedy this. I have another interview this Friday with a second patient who left, number 111.”

She chuckled “Another, already? If this was a normal job, this level of independence would be unheard of,” said Madeleine “But I see an ordinary employee won’t do. So here’s how we can work together: Keep me in the loop, I need to know what happens. I can protect you, but far less from surprises. So is that a deal?”

I nodded – this was very fair, but I added “I don’t think we can afford to wait too long before interviewing the patients who have left.” Madeleine nodded in return.

We then talked about how the Institute was doing financially. I admitted I hadn’t really looked into that aspect yet, but I had gotten the impression that money was tight for the Institute. Madeleine looked pensive. “Peculiar, I was under the impression that the Settlement the Institute had secured was robust. I don’t have any more money to allocate to this file – in fact, it’s lucky that its peculiar profile means I can’t cut you or Margaret, we’re experiencing quite a lot of budgetary pressures. But there may be some programs that the Institute could access. I will look into that for you,” she offered.

“Thank you. I know there were some proposals that got shelved because of Richard’s illnesses, I will have to do some follow up on that,” I replied.

Madeleine nodded “Ok, keep familiarizing yourself with the Institute, try to get a look at the books, and keep looking up the patients who have left. We’ll have a meeting every few weeks and you can report what your findings have been. I would recommend keeping some careful notes, but perhaps keep them in draft format for now, we don’t want leaks. And again, if something odd happens, call me. I think you are correct that the Institute will get more attention as time passes, and I will protect you from the heat that comes from the Minister etc., but you have to keep me apprised of what’s going on.”

She then smirked and added “Also, I’m going to tell Margaret to help you get the mandatory training you clearly haven’t received yet. We all had to do it!”

Yay… oh well, this wasn’t too bad. “Very well, I think this can work,” I replied.

“I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance. We’re both new to this file, so let’s keep working together. Oh, and I’m told Richard is still alive, but quite ill. Maybe try to go visit? Maybe he has a few words of advice.” I thanked her for her time and ended the video call.

After the meeting had ended, Margaret dropped by. “I overheard most of it, I think that went well. So full steam ahead then?” she commented, smiling.

“Yup,” I replied “I’m going to spend some time researching the patients who have left. I’ve met the “star”, the one I’m meeting on Friday should be pretty straight forward – she looks like she has good support from her sister so I’m not too worried – but now I think I should look for potential problems, find those that might really need our help. Oh, and could you set up a meeting with Richard?”

I spent a few hours going over the patient files. Only 18 of them had been released, so it didn’t take too long. Quickly, two cases stood out as potentially problematic.

The first was patient 101, Beth. She had been identified but had no close relatives in the province – it seemed she had been estranged from her family. She was both the “oldest” patient who had been released, having spent a good seven years in the gel by the time the Baron’s crimes had been exposed, and the quickest to be released – she had wanted to get the hell out quite emphatically. The file itself expressed concern as to her readiness – but there was pressure to show “success” and with Dr Reed insisting on the importance of consent, and with Beth wanting to go…

A quick web search wasn’t reassuring. It seemed she might have gotten into some trouble, mention of petty theft. About three years ago, her trail went cold. I had no idea what had happened to her.

Ok, this case was definitely going to be a priority. It was also interesting that no patient before her had left the institute. It seemed that the longer one was in the gel, the longer it took to recover. This only made Beth’s quick exit that more troubling.

The second case that worried me was patient 122, real identity unknown. On the surface, she didn’t seem too concerning. She had been released a bit early but had spent more time getting ready for it than Beth had. And 122 hadn’t spent as much time in the gel, not even two years, which meant her conditioning might not have been as deep as some of the other patients. What concerned me was the note on the file that she had left the country. How could she travel without proper identification? Who had written that note? Where did she go? Why? It could take me a long time to track her down, so I better start now.

Later that afternoon, I once again decided to attend the sign language class. I once again took it “easy” and only wore the outer layer of my latex outfit, although had I had more spare time I definitely would have gone for the catsuit as well. Tomorrow!

The class was uneventful, although patient 115 waved at me first this time around. I still wasn’t quite able to establish a communication, but after the class Gabby encouraged me to continue trying.

“She’s close to emergence, little things like that can really help” she explained. She also complimented me on the progress I had been making. I thanked her – her audio files were really helping, although as I was doing so, I realized that the little hypnosis element at the beginning of the files probably had something to do with it too.

After class I briefly checked my email – Michelle said she was out of town at the moment, but would be able to meet me on Friday morning. Did that mean that Nadia, patient 111, was able to be by herself for some time? Interesting… I removed the latex (too soon!) and headed home for a rest and to listen to more of Gabby’s files.

Chapter 16

Amber and Ice

It was Thursday, and my alarm woke me from a deep sleep. I had had several dreams where I was in a sleep sack, mummified in a cocoon, mummified by Spyder… it turns out I had tangled myself in the sheets, which must have been interpreted by my mind as some kind of bondage. But despite this I felt really well rested. Strange. Perhaps it was because the stress of meeting the boss was behind me?

Today I decided I was going to spend the entire day at the Institute. I sent a quick email to Renee to let them know. She greeted me at the back door, dressed in a black pencil skirt and a dark green sleeveless top. I hadn’t seen her since Monday.

“Judith! Hmm Hmm Hmm girl, you look sharper by the day! That haircut is amazing, and so bold – what made you pick that cut?”

I smiled broadly – she was referring to the new haircut I had gotten yesterday, a sharp “fetish bob” that was far more dramatic than my previous frizzy mop. I also knew that fashion choices at the Institute were often steeped with meaning – her question wasn’t a subtle put down. “Well,” I answered, “the old hairdo just didn’t go with the jacket.”

Renee laughed and let me in. “It’s warm already,” she mentioned, “they are forecasting a high of 26C today, you never know what you’re going to get in October here.”

Since I was spending the whole day here, I decided to wear the transparent catsuit under my outfit again. I felt better prepared this time, and I was looking forward to being entirely covered in rubber. I hadn’t worn it since Monday – heck I only had worn once! – but I was already hoping I could wear it almost every day.

I was getting used to the dressing experience – it was quite sensual to have two latex-clad women slip on the skin-tight catsuit over my curves in the dark. Was there a better day to start the day? As long as I didn’t get overly aroused, I would be fine. I also felt that wearing a suit I couldn’t remove was a sort of act of kinship to the patients – they were all happy in their rubber outfits, but they were sort of trapped in this situation.

A few minutes later, I started wondering if the catsuit was a mistake. The double layer was warmer than I expected. My sweat couldn’t evaporate, and I was having a hard time keeping my cool. I saw River walking by and waved at her. She signed “good morning” and came over.

She began typing on the keyboard attached to her chest “Judith, you seem a bit flustered, are you overstimulated again?”

“Oh no, it’s not that,” I replied. Truth be told, I was quite happy to be in latex head to toe again. There was something… electrifying about it. “I just feel like I’m overheating. Is the AC not working? How do you stand it?” River’s black latex outfit was a lot more intense than mine, with absolutely no skin visible. She wore a long-sleeved shirt with puffy shoulders, a corset, a gasmask over a hood, a long skirt over latex pants and high heel boots. I was pretty sure there was at least another layer underneath.

“The AC was winterized last week. Don’t you have a chiller?” replied River. Seeing my blank look, she elaborated. “It’s a cooling device that most of us use to avoid overheating. Otherwise the latex would be unbearable half the year! Go see Maker, I’m sure she can set you up. “Good idea,” I replied, “at least it will be a bit cooler in the basement.”

A few minutes later I was heading towards the latex workshop in the basement. As I grew closer, Patchy suddenly got up and aggressively signed at me to stay away. It took a few minutes for me to understand that Maker and her assistants were currently working on costumes for the Halloween dance – many of these were surprises of various sorts, so I wasn’t allowed to go see them. “Can I at least talk to her?” I pleaded. A moment later, I finally was able to talk to Maker.

“Hello Inspector Judith, what can I do for you?” she asked. I explained that I had been told to see her about a “chiller” – whatever that was.

“Oh! Yes I’ve made one for you, but I didn’t send it to your office because I didn’t think it would be needed… oh you’re wearing the catsuit too! Yeah that would do it, I hear it’s going to be warm today. Give me a few minutes, we’re going to get ready for you.”

A few minutes later, space had been cleared, and partially finished costumes hastily hidden. “So, what is a chiller anyway?” I said, as Maker was looking through some storage to find it.

“Oh, you weren’t told? It’s a little bit like a waspie, but it’s not to shape the waist – it does a little bit, but the main function is cooling. There are a series of liquid-filled tubes that go through it and cool you off. Because it’s right on the body’s core near the organs, it’s quite effective,” replied Maker.

“Cool!... literally ha-ha. But how does it work? What cools off the liquid?” I asked.

“Great question – the tubes come out of the back and connect to this device.” Maker passed it to me so I could examine it. It was a bit bigger than a deck of cards, and black. I could see the two tube connections, a battery pack, and what seemed like an internal fan, which I imagine was part of the process that cooled the liquid being pumped into the chiller “corset”. I saw a small logo on the side.

“NASA? They made this!?” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” replied Maker. “We are testing it for them. I understand they are to be used in a new space suit. I’m quite happy with this design to be honest, the old one was twice as heavy and in an ugly beige color. Do you want to try it?” she added.

“Oh, space tech keeping me cool, why not!” I replied, “but how did we end up with NASA technology?”

“It seems that the Baron obtained his supplies from a number of high-tech startups and corporations. When the scandal came out, to avoid a lawsuit many of them agreed to keep supplying us with various things, including experimental technology such as this,” Maker explained.

After that explanation, it was time for a fitting. I quickly removed my dress, and after prompting, the gloves as well. The suit was another issue. Maker asked Patchy to give her a hand and pulled the curtains around the fitting area. They helped me get out of it partially. The experience was … far less sensual than with the two Dressers in the dark, but a few moments later the suit was now around my hips.

“Is it ok for it to be like that?” I asked – I still was amazed that my hips had gone through the neck collar.

“Oh yes” said Maker, “although these second skin suits don’t last forever alas. 0.25mm latex is very comfortable, but not very tough. So when – not if – it breaks on you one day, don’t freak out! I only made you one, but now that I know you’re using it I’ll have some backups made. Now let’s try this chiller on you…”

The chiller indeed looked like a transparent corset; I could see the little tubes going through it. It was a little snug, but quite comfortable -this wasn’t waist training, not even close. Then a question struck me:

“How will I be able to adjust the temperature setting if the control unit is in my back like this? Wouldn’t it be easier if it was in the front? Do I just ask another patient?” … another patient, implying I was one. Huh

Maker chuckles “Oh no, nothing so primitive. Patchy, get a poly sensor please.”

Patty soon returned with a strange object, made of gleaming metal – it vaguely looked like a flat centipede, with a long, segmented body and strange little thin “legs” sticking out of the side, with circular pad-like “feet”. “Raytheon” said a logo on the side.

“This will go against your spine, at the base of your neck” Maker explained – I then realized that the segments were about the same length as a vertebra. Patchy pressed it against me, and it stayed in place – it went from the base of my neck to the middle of my back. It quickly warmed to my touch and soon became almost imperceptible. “Let us affix the sensors.”

“This seems pretty elaborate, what does it do?” I asked.

“It measures your temperature dear,” Maker replied. “But you are correct, it is far more than a mere thermometer. It also measures your pulse, blood oxygen and glucose, and hydration levels. A pair of sensors at the bottom plus these,” she paused as she expended two sensors to the back of my head, from the device’s “antennas” if I was going to continue using the centipede analogy, “monitor brainwave activity, it’s quite useful to detect seizure or shock.”

She then affixed two more sensors behind my ears and explained further “And these are not sensors at all, but rather transcranial micro-speakers. Let’s do a quick test, Patchy, run the coordination song.”

All of a sudden, a sort of groovy instrumental music started playing. It sounded like it was coming from within my own head, it was a bit disconcerting, but the music was pleasant and had a very regular beat. It also was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “I can see you are hearing something,” said Maker; she gestured at Patchy and suddenly the music was gone. “This is what you heard, yes?” she added, nodding at Patchy, who began playing the same song from a phone.

“Yes, it’s the same. But why this audio system? Why all these sensors just to control the chiller?” I replied.

“For the patients’ safety mostly – if there is a medical distress, we know almost immediately. The kind of heavy bondage many patients like has some risks. But also, we are testing them for another corporation,” said Maker.

I frowned. There definitely was potential for abuse there – was this human experimentation? On the other hand, I couldn’t deny the benefits for the patients to have access to cutting edge technology the Institute never could have afforded otherwise. I would have to investigate further – but not today.

“And the tiny speakers?” I continued.

“Oh, it’s useful for sending messages, and several patients use them to listen to their programming in the background,” said Maker.

Huh. Something else I would need to research. “I have to admit, this thing is very comfortable, I barely feel it.”

Maker and Patchy then helped me to put the transparent catsuit on again, carefully threading the two feed/exit tubes through small, reinforced holes in the back of the catsuit I hadn’t even noticed. The smooth contours of the sensor unit made a lot of sense and didn’t interfere with the catsuit. Actually seeing the dressing process made me realize it wasn’t that tricky to put on the catsuit or remove it; and I realized I probably could put it on and off myself with a bit of practice. Huh… I didn’t know if I was happy about this, or disappointed that the illusion of being “trapped” in the outfit was gone.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The chiller had given me a slightly smoother silhouette, but it was nothing compared to some of the strict corsets some patients had been wearing. Maker commented “this has about one inch of waist reduction and it’s not stiff at all, there isn’t even any boning. Should be quite comfortable. This won’t require a re-fit, but let me look at you to make sure I got the measurements right.”

She spent a few minutes fussing over the suit, muttering to herself about tightening by 2mm here, lengthening the sleeves by 4mm etc. There were a few faint ripples in the suit, and she felt that with a few tiny adjustments, the next model would indeed fit like a second skin. After that, the gloves, dress and cape were put back on, again with the tubes being passed through a pair of holes in the back. I had kept the hood throughout, and I was a little amused to realized I hadn’t even thought of taking it off.

Patchy, connect the chiller to the sensor unit,” ordered Maker, as Patchy began typing commands in the computer. I soon felt a strange, cooling sensation around my stomach – the chiller was working. I felt a very faint vibration in the back from the external cooling unit, but I realized I would get used to this quite quickly.

“This is pretty neat!” I exclaimed “I could see these being very popular in the summer!”

Maker replied “Well, I am not sure it would be able to keep you cool while exercising in the sun in a heat wave in a black catsuit, but it certainly can handle a lot more than a warm October day. Also, I’ll make a carrier for the cooling unit in the same color as your outfit, it will be barely visible.”

Patchy signed – and Maker translated, as it was a pretty complex message – apparently all the sensors were working properly, my heart and respiration rate were a little elevated, but other markers, like blood sugar and oxygen, were normal. She did note that I was perhaps a little dehydrated.

“Neat! I guess I am a little thirsty,” I replied. “So, uh, about the upcoming Halloween dance, I had a few questions…”

I left fifteen minutes later, Maker having agreed to make me a costume, and she rather liked my idea too! This would be fun. And I knew she and her assistants would keep the secret – I realized how big a deal the costume party was for some of the patients, so why not play along? But it was time to get to my office and get some paperwork done.

As I went up the floors and waved at various patients, I started noticing the little cooling units strapped to their lower back. They were all in color-matched holders, I hadn’t really noticed them… and now the heat was barely affecting me, which was a very neat sensation.

I had just sat down and gotten my files when River burst into the room.

“Judith, thank god I found you; you are needed!” River explained, her mechanical tone not matching her intensity. “Remember meeting Amber a little while back? She’s calling for you.”

“Really?” I said. “Do you know why?”

“I don’t – it took us some time to figure out what she was trying to say to us,” replied River “she’s a very unusual case.”

“Let’s see what I have on file about Amber, it might help,” I said as I grabbed a large binder, “Let’s see…”

I started reading aloud some comments from the file “Patient 51… un-cubed almost two years ago, very slightly communicative… Most muscles have severely deteriorated and has not responded well to physio although thankfully respiratory and other essential to life muscles are not affected at all. Cause unclear. Prior records destroyed by Dr Mood. Special suit to provide her support,”

I winced and read on “Named Amber based on some of her words and the color of her gel, which was yellow colored for unknown reason, not clear like the others.” Huh. “Speaks very slowly… unusual hypnosis has slowed mind, and given accelerated time dilation,” I paused as I struggled with the next statement “resulting in a combined time declination conditioning index of 96…hey, I remember that terminology! Richard, the old inspector, used it! What does it mean?” I asked.

River answered “Ah, this is a reference to the experience of time within the gel cube. Due to lack of sensory input from the outside word, it is very easy to change the perception of time. For example, during my cubing, I experienced a time dilation factor of 3.”

I nodded “so time seemed three times slower? Or three times faster?”

River explained “Not quite. Time seemed to go faster, yes, but not three times faster. Three means the number of months that passes per hour.”

“Three months per hour!” I exclaimed, eyes narrowing as I struggled to do the math “But you were in the cube for actual, real years!”

“That is correct,” answered River. “Dr Reed has estimated that I experienced over 18 000 years, subjectively, in the cube. This is why it is so hard for some of us to remember our past lives. 18 000 years, it might as well have been a million.”

“That is just… wow,” I didn’t know what to say. “Oh fuck… if Amber had a “combined time declination bla bla bla of 96, what does that mean?!”

River paused a moment as she did the calculations. “Let us see, based on her patient number and history, she spent… recalculating… it’s over a million, I think, I’m not a computer, I just dress like one. The exact number doesn't matter, it's more of an "impression", it's impossible to actually measure time while in the gel,” she concluded.

Dr Reed arrived in the office, and she wasted no time on pleasantries. “Inspector Johnson, I hear that Amber has requested to see you. Do you intend to accept?”

Interesting choice of words… Was Dr Reed intending to subtly discourage me from speaking with this Amber, or was that a reflection of her commitment to consent, reminding me I had a choice?

“I … think I have to, as an inspector,” I replied. “If a patient requests to speak to me, how could I not agree?”

Dr Reed nodded and continued “I thought you would see it that way. But speaking to Amber is challenging at best. Although she’s no longer trapped in an accelerated time loop inside a cube, her mind has remained slowed down; she’s at least eight times slower than we are. It’s probably why there was such a delay between your visit and her response. This time differential means speaking with her is very difficult. I must admit that I have not managed to fully elucidate what was done to her exactly. Her hypnotic programming is hard for me to understand, and I’ve barely been able to ask any questions. Each word takes several minutes to communicate, it’s very hard for us to communicate effectively.”

“I see. I think I have an idea.” I replied.

A short while later I was in the large bondage room on the first-floor, east wing. I took a chair and sat down beside Amber, who was lying on her back, slightly propped up. She was dressed in a thick natural color rubber suit – I later learned that she was given that color due to her frequent moans of “amber”, and it was the closest color. Both her torso and limbs were in a sort of laced support system, a bit like a full body corset – the special suit mentioned in her file. Her brown eyes were clearly visible behind the lenses of an old gas-mask (a GP-5 I later learned).

I looked at her deeply and grabbed both sides of her head, as if I was trying some kind of mind meld. Silly I know, but I needed every trick to help me focus. I narrowed my eyes, remembered some of what Dr Reed had told me earlier this week, and made myself drop into trance. I then willed myself to slow down. Slow was good. It was good to be slow. Slow is how I was going to speak with Amber, I had to be slow.

It took a few moments to slow myself down and match Amber’s speed. But once that was done, we began speaking.

“Amber,” I said, “If that is your name. I am Judith Johnson, Inspector for the Canadian Ministry of Health.”

“Hello Judith. Yes I am Amber,” she replied. “Why are you in rubber? Am I in Canada? What is going on?”

Wow, that was a start. “Well,” I tried explaining, “I’m in rubber because that is the culture here. You are in Canada because you, like dozens of other women, were kidnapped by the Baron and put in latex bondage. His victims were hidden here. You have been rescued, and we are trying to make you better, but we have been having a difficult time understanding you. I am very happy that we can finally speak!” I concluded.

“You are lying,” she retorted. “It isn’t because I spent millennia in amber that you can fool me like that, my mind was preserved. I remember everything!”

Oh fuck. I momentarily lost time-coordination with her. She remembered everything? Could she? I took a deep breath, and once again slowed myself down.

“I’m sorry Amber, I’m new to this job, and I may have misunderstood the situation,” I replied, not quite meaning it. “How about you tell me how you remember it? Again, I am here to help you, if you need,” I added.

“I was not kidnapped. It was the late 1990s. I was a student in NYC. Life was good, I had rich parents. I started dabbling in the local BDSM scene and discovered a love of bondage. I met this guy; he was the lead guitarist for a local rock band. He became my dom. But then he told me of this guy, the Baron, who specialized in extreme bondage. I had some pretty serious fantasies, and the Baron was fascinated by my ideas. See, I dreamed of being trapped in amber, like an insect.” She explained.

“So Amber is both your name and what you want. This is what you were trying to tell us?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. My parents didn’t realize that by naming me Amber, it would lead me to develop an obsession with the stuff– and it is fascinating! And well, quite hot. But it’s not just sexual. I feel … complete… whole… when in total bondage. Anyway, I explained my idea to the Baron. He said it could be possible, but that it might take a bit of time to prepare.”

She continued. “I thought he was just blowing me off, but no, eight months later I received an invitation. The Baron had made arrangements for me, excuses, alibis if you want. I was going to experience being stuck in amber… but I had to agree to do it for five years. Wait… what year is it?” she suddenly exclaimed.

“It’s late 2024,” I replied sadly.

“What? That’s like 20 years too long! What went wrong?” she asked.

“Well, the Baron didn’t keep his side of the bargain, he never let you go,” I answered. “And that lame-ass guitar dom of yours probably never reported it either,” I added.

“Oh… wow. So that’s why I’m in Canada, and why you removed me from the amber,” she said “And no, my boyfriend never would have dared go against the Baron. You’re right, he was a loser,” she concluded.

“So,” I dared ask, “what can you tell me about the Baron.”

“Oh, the Baron was…” she paused. And stopped speaking. Her eyes were unfocused. Oh shit, was that some kind of mind wiper command I had tripped? Was that even possible? I struggled to stay focused and anxiously waited.

An interminable moment later, she continued “… so as you can see, I remember everything that happened to me. I mean, the time in amber is pretty fuzzy I have to admit, but it was very pleasant.”

Huh. It was almost as if not only she couldn’t remember the Baron, but she also couldn’t even realize that she had that memory blocked. She couldn’t fight against something she wasn’t aware of. This felt like a dangerous area to probe, and I decided to abandon the topic for now.

“Anyway,” she added “so can I go back in amber now?” she said.

“Well, you weren’t really in amber…” I replied tentatively.

“Oh, I know that,” replied Amber. “The Baron explained it quite well. To avoid sores and distribute the pressure, I would be suspended in a sort of gel-like substance. To create the impression that the gel was, ha, amber-hard, I was given paralytics which created the illusion, by lowering my strength, that the gel was far tougher than it really was.” She paused for a moment and added “Huh. Avoid sores. Is this why I’ve been rolled around like a sausage for the last few years? “

I once again momentarily lost time synchronization as it took every fiber of my being not to burst out laughing at the sausage imagery. No, this was serious. I focused again, slowed down, and replied:

“I’m sorry, the treatment is because the paralytics have been given to you for so many years that it resulted in extensive muscle damage. As you aren’t able to move by yourself, we’ve had to frequently shift your position to avoid pressure sores. Now that we know a bit better what caused it, maybe we can repair some of the damage?” I replied.

“Shit. That sucks. Oh well, more reason to let me go back in amber I guess, it’s not like I’m good for anything in this state. This is my fault, after all,” she said blandly.

I could tell she was putting up a brave face. “Oh Amber, don’t be so hard on yourself. Just look at the progress you’ve made today, speaking with someone for the first time in a long time!” I paused and then took a more somber tone. “Listen, we aren’t going to put you back in the gel right away. Please be patient with us– we will talk again and figure things out. But again, I am here to protect the patients, and that includes you!”

She sighed, then said “Ok. I guess it has to be that way. Please come back soon! Oh and put on some music or something. I haven’t heard the Smashing Pumpkins in so long…”

I said I would see to it, waved goodbye, and dropped out of trance and inhaled sharply. “Oh, wow that was intense! I learned a lot, Amber is quite communicative if you can slow down to her level …” I blurted out. I then paused as I looked around.

Dr Reed and River were there but so was Renee and Red, Alexandra and dozens of other patients too.

“Uh, hello?” I said tentatively, “is something wrong?”

There was a silence until Red blurted out “You two have been mind melding and groaning at each other for over two hours! We were worried about you, but Dr Reed insisted we let you continue. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Dr Reed said: “I had faith in you Judith but… tell me, what exactly did you do?”

“Oh, it wasn’t too hard. All I did was put myself into trance then slow down my mind enough so we could speak,” I replied.

Dr Reed laughed with delight; a sound I couldn’t remember hearing. “Wonderful! Slowing down a mind with hypnosis is actually quite difficult. But you didn’t know that, and just went ahead and did it anyway!” she clapped her hand and looked around “And you’ve all seen it! You know it’s doable, which means some of you will soon be able to do it too and speak with Amber!”

This caused a lot of cheers and smiles around the room. I smiled too, got up and almost fell over as my knees buckled somewhat. “Woah, I feel woozy”. Renee and River rushed to my side.

I muttered something about being thirsty, and I was quickly brought to the cafeteria where I was given some fluid. “Not too much!” I heard River said, and water and orange juice soon followed. After a few minutes I felt more… solid. A Doctor soon showed, did a few tests, concluded that I was essentially fine and ordered some rest – a long lunch felt in order.

“Oof, that took a lot out of me, thanks” I said to the others. “I’m not sure what happened, exactly.”

Dr Reed said “You spoke with her for over two hours; it must have been very taxing on your mind. That and dehydration. I think shorter sessions in the future would be wiser.” She got up and added, “I’m glad to see you are doing a bit better. Why don’t you have a break, have lunch with the others, and we will discuss your findings at the board meeting this afternoon?”

I nodded and she left. Renee got up as well and said she would go let the others know I was ok. River and Red stayed with me, as did Alexandra, to my surprise. We avoided talking about Amber and chit chatted about other things. Alexandra said little, her large green eyes drinking in the scene. River was very curious about my interview with Patty.

“I think you will like her, River, I’ve convinced her to come visit,” I explained. “She wants to make a movie about how she exposed what was happening here; but she has been having a hard time lately. I think the Institute can help her.”

Red said, “She’s a hero of mine; I too would love to meet her! Is she moving here?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, “but it’s certainly possible.”

Red said, “Ok, I will make some arrangements in case she does move in. Honestly, we could house fifty more people without much trouble, as long as they help out of course.”

Alexandra said “I am sure she will do. And we are going to be in a movie! Perhaps she can capture our wondrous dances!” she added with a laugh.

“I know you’re kidding Alexandra, but I think it would be a good segment to have in a documentary about the culture of the Institute – and dancing is part of that culture.” I replied, and she gave me a glorious smile. Once again, I was glad I was wearing a hood.

I definitely felt better after the food and break, and we headed to the board meeting, where I would report my conversation with Amber. Alexandra blew me a kiss and danced off before I could muster a reply, her blue form twirling away.

Once the meeting started, I explained what had been done to Amber, and how it had started consensually – the Baron had done exactly what she had wanted, but he had betrayed her by not letting her out. I also mentioned that she was unable to remember who the Baron was but didn’t seem to be aware of the fact.

Dr Reed exclaimed “Of course! I never even considered she could be here willingly. Now her hypnosis script makes so much more sense. This is a great discovery, I think a few other patients which I have been struggling with may be in a similar mindset, which means I need a completely different approach! Judith, I cannot thank you enough!” She paused then asked: “Do you think she’s a personality program on top of another person?”

I frowned and said “You mean like River? No, I believe she’s one person, that’s really her we are talking with. She has a bit of a Boston accent, I think?”

We spent a few minutes debating Amber’s treatment, and decided to delay the decision until further conversations with her had occurred – her opinion mattered too! Renee also reminded us that Amber was an unidentified patient, and that perhaps she could tell us her full name.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask! Next time I speak with her I will inquire,” I commented.

We didn’t know at the time, but it would turn out that Amber was a missing member of a very wealthy family in the USA – both her and Elizabeth were from New England. At first, Amber’s family wanted nothing to do with us, as they feared a potential scandal. They even refused to agree to a DNA test! Thankfully, they eventually turned around and became very generous donors. Had we known this money was coming, things would have perhaps turned out differently…

“It is rather interesting that both Amber and Elizabeth have similar accents. Both met the Baron, both have had their memory blocked. Do you think that perhaps we could…”

Dr Reed interrupted me “No. This kind of hard memory block can be very dangerous to untangle. Perhaps one day, but it would have to be done with extreme caution.”

I nodded… I was also reminded of Patty’s warning – it wouldn’t be wise to let it be known there were loose ends here that might identify him…

Renee spoke up “Ok, I think we’re done with this topic. Next is budgeting. The reason we are meeting today and not Monday is because I was out of town for a few days, and I needed a bit more time to finalize the numbers. I’m sorry the presentation is a bit messy, this morning’s drama was a bit of a, ah, distraction.”

She then spent a few minutes explaining current trends. In brief, the Institute’s expenses were exceeding its funding. It wasn’t dire, but it was definitely less than ideal.

“I don’t understand,” I asked, “how come the funding is insufficient? I thought there had been this big settlement that guaranteed funding for the Institute. What went wrong?”

Renee explained “The Settlement’s amount is adjusted for inflation every 10 years. Normally inflation is 2-3% per year, so there were plans to account for it. But, as you know, in 2022 inflation spiked to 8% and now the funds are insufficient, and they won’t be adjusted until 2027 – at that time, the Settlement amount will increase significantly. But until then, it’s not going well.” She looked at me and added “the other reason is well, because of Richard and you.”

“Is this about Richard not buying any latex for half a year?” I asked.

“Partially,” replied Renee. “There was an informal arrangement between the Ministry of Health and us. Richard had a budget for latex expenses, but a number of other expenses too – services mostly. It really would help if you too took advantage of Institute services, and thus get us more funds. I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this, but we really do need your help.”

“Ok, so, uh well I did talk to Maker about a Halloween costume… oh and she got me a chiller unit and says she’s going to make me a few replacement second skin suits. That will help right?” I was glad that I didn’t have to pay for all that gear myself!

“Oh yes, I’m glad you’re getting into the spirit of things,” said Renee approvingly “But there are also services to discuss…”

And discuss, we did. Who paid for what was a confusing tangle, and I was glad it already had been decided before I showed up. My office was a courtesy of the institute. Some services, like massages, were a benefit available to all civil servants, and the Institute was an approved provider. Others were paid specifically for me because it was considered relevant to my duties – language classes, the latex. But others… parking, food, various gym classes, that would have to come from my own pocket. This meant that the Institute would be getting, through me, more money from the feds… not enough to fix the hole in the budget, but it helped.

And there were a lot of services, some rather… interesting. For example, a number of patients were partially or entirely hairless, and A Doctor was qualified for laser hair removal. She did it in such a way that, combined with certain lotions, the skin grew a lot more tolerant to latex than normal. The average patient wore latex for 21 hours a day, and I could get that too if I wanted…

I was glad I was wearing my hood as I blushed… oh wow. “Oh, uh, yes, that would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I even had decided. I had to close my eyes momentarily to re-centre myself. It was happening, the Institute was sucking me in. That didn’t mean I couldn’t remain myself.

I decided… screw it, I was going all in. I took the full hygiene package, medical check up (including regular skin inspection), full laser treatments and skin treatments, latex care package, a few evening classes, including a ballet boot training one - I smirked to myself as I saw that Alexandra and Elizabeth were the instructors. And self defense? Taught by Renee? I joined that one too.

My life has been pretty dull since the move (apart from my work!), so it felt good to join some activities, and I hadn’t been to the gym in weeks! And it was only fair the Institute was compensated. Of course, that meant spending even more time at the Institute…

After a while, Dr Reed asked “Ok, so where does this leave us?”

River answered “I’m going to have to double check the numbers, but I think we can manage. We will have to borrow a bit more, but with Judith’s help here, the amount isn’t excessive – thank you very much. We still might have to cut some costs however,” she concluded.

I spoke up again “I’m very happy to help. I know Margaret had mentioned some initiatives that had stalled, I will look into anything that may provide additional funds to the Institute.”

I thought about my Uncle’s plan to cut fundings by 5% - that was nuts. I was going to have to check the numbers myself, but if they were correct, the Institute needed 5% more, not less.

A few other issues were discussed, including how my conversation with Patty had gone and how to best assist her. The board was initially quite taken aback by the notion of a documentary, but when I pointed out to the near certainty of “true crime” material being made out of the event, due to the upcoming anniversary, they warmed to the notion. “If our documentary comes out first, it will be what people remember, hopefully” said Red speculatively. But the meeting had gone on for a while, and it was decided to discuss it further next week.

I then headed to the sign language class, which was going quite well. Today the topic was hoods and other head coverings. I thought after a few weeks here I had a decent grasp on the topic but no, there was more! Apparently a number of patients wore hoods with “nose tubes” – long tubes that went through the nasal cavity and reached the back of the throat, thus entirely bypassing the sense of smell. There were also special gags worn underneath hoods by some, designed for long term wear, with an attached tube that went down to the stomach. I wondered if River had such fittings… and a small part of me was beginning to understand the appeal.

We also discussed gas masks, which were something the Institute didn’t manufacture but instead purchased from the web. There were many, many models, and it seemed the patients chose them more based on vibe and comfort than any “technical” aspect.

After the class I did a bit of paperwork, emailing Margaret asking her to prepare me a report about what funding initiatives had been delayed due to Richard’s illness. I also sent a follow up email to Patty and to Michelle, who was Patient 111’s sister, to confirm our meeting tomorrow.

What an eventful day! But as I unlocked my car to head home, I realized that I still had no idea what pipes Spyder had made reference to.

Author’s note: a danger of releasing chapters before the entire book is written is finding that a detail in an earlier chapter needs to be changed, but said earlier chapter has already been published. Oops! Well I won’t let that stop me! What was wrong? Amber used to be able to write but was unable to speak, instead of the current “can speak (sort of) but not write”. Let me know if you noticed! :D

Chapter 17

Meeting Nadia

I headed to the Institute with some trepidation – today was a big day. In the afternoon, I was going to meet Nadia, patient 111, as well as her sister and caretaker Michelle.

But if I was going to be honest with myself, I was even more excited about the morning - the dressing process. I now was getting the “full package”; the dressing, yes but also the washing, the skin inspection etc.… basically my experience would be pretty similar to the other patients’ morning routine.

Since almost every patient would do this every day, it was a bit of a production, and the process was almost like an assembly line apparently. I hadn’t seen it in full yet, since it happened a bit early in the morning, before the time I usually arrived. I had had the naughtiest dream about it last night, and while I knew this wouldn’t turn into a soapy orgy, my body seemed to be hoping it would be.

I also had washed carefully this morning, which was very silly since I was about to get washed… but uh, I was a bit embarrassed to show up dirty. Hopefully I would get over that hangup soon.

When I arrived at the Institute, Red was there to greet me. As usual, she was clad in red latex, with only her hands and lips visible. I couldn’t help but admire her bold curves.

“Hello gorgeous! Are you ready to get dressed up? To be washed in every nook and cranny?” she asked with a giggle.

“Uh, yes?” I replied, trying not to blush. “How is this going to go exactly?”

“This is why I’m here,” answered Red, “I want to be 100% sure you know what is going to happen, and to make sure you have made a series of choices. I want this experience to be tailored to you; we’ve messed up a few times already with you and we don’t want another incident!”

“Thank you Red, I really appreciate that” I answered earnestly. “So, what choices are we talking about?”

We spoke as I headed to the dressing area, Red taking notes as I answered her questions. They were quite direct. Enema? (What? No!), any orifice plugged (ooooh… maybe another time), details on what kind of washing exactly I was agreeing to. I really hesitated before agreeing to the dental but… I was all in, I guessed.

“Does it ever happen that a patient gets the wrong washing sequence? Like two getting mixed up?” I asked.

“It’s very rare, but not impossible. We really don’t want that to happen, don’t worry about it. Anyway, Enjoy!”

I stood in line between two patients clad in black zentai outfits – transitory outfits, with few features. The one in front waived shyly, then with a series of gestures explained she was patient 115. I waved back, but we didn’t have any time to talk as it was her turn and she stepped behind the curtain.

Soon enough, it was my turn. The entire process was done in the dark, as many of the patients had an intense dislike of being seen naked. I had to admit part of me was glad of the discretion, but on the other hand, it would make the entire process more intense… here we go.

I entered the darkened chamber. First, my clothes were taken off and put into a bin. I was then lifted up by unseen latex hands, and put onto a sort of stretcher on wheels – maybe an old hospital bed? I was passed from one station to another, in the dark, with few if any words, almost as if I was on a conveyor belt. Unseen hands caressed me, poked and prodded, washed and scrubbed. The washing process wasn’t overly sexual, but it was done in a very caring, intimate way. Everything was washed, with careful attention given to the nether region. It was … too much. Have you ever had your genitals washed in the dark while someone else is brushing your teeth?

 

The last stage was the dressing part, and I staggered out of the dressing area, fully clad in my transparent catsuit, “institute grey” long dress, gloves, hoods and cape. The last stage was putting the high-heel boots on. I had requested latex toe socks underneath (in black – these weren’t made in-house), so I was now truly and entirely covered in latex.

“How was it?” asked Red playfully. As I struggled to respond, she laughed and added “don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. I remember my first time too! It certainly makes the morning something to look forward to, hmm?” I nodded weakly and headed to the office. I wanted to do some more research, and a few moments to collect myself wouldn’t be amiss either. I definitely was going to need that hypnotic arousal management trick!

A few hours later I had lunch with River, who asked how things were going. I was having a protein shake and orange juice for lunch. I didn’t want to have nutrition fluid today, given my afternoon plans.

“Good, I think? I’m meeting another patient later today; I’m going to have to miss the language class. Oh and I’ve done research on a missing patient.”

“Missing?” intoned River’s vocabulator. “Do you mean patient 20?”

“No, should I know about that one? I’ll look it up later. I’m talking about patient 122.”

“Oh, I remember her a little bit,” replied River. “She left the Institute a while ago, didn’t she? She’s missing?”

“She’s left the country!” I replied. “The first thing I had to discover was how she could have done that. Well, you know that patients that haven’t been identified have been provided with a temporary identification until your ID is resolved?”

“Really,” replied River, “I had no idea. Do I have one?”

“Yup, you’re officially, in the eyes of the Federal government, Institute Patient 87, at least until we figure out who you were. But for now, that’s your legal name” I explained. I wondered who had come up with that scheme.

“Huh. I kind of like being Patient 87, I hope I can remain River,” she replied, and tilted her head in a cute way while resting her face on her two hands, and I laughed.

“So do I River, so do I” … did I want that? I mean, I wanted her to “recover” did I? But did she need to change? Wasn’t River fine just as she was? I didn’t want to change my friends…

“So, uh,” I said, trying to change the subject, “This patient 122 was able to convince the Italian Embassy to accept her temporary papers as valid to travel there.”

“Huh. How did you manage to find that out?” River replied.

“It turns out my position comes with a certain amount of clout. I had to spend two hours on the phone, but I eventually got the answers I wanted. Oh and Margaret helped tons, she figured out who and where to call,” I explained.

“Ooh, are you going to Italy then?” asked River.

“I don’t know. Maybe? It’s too soon to say if it would be needed or not,” I replied, “plus the money issue… Oof that might be complicated…”

“Maybe you could take me haha! But enough about work,” said River “Did you have fun doing the full wash and dress?”

“Oh, uh,” I stammered, “I suppose so? It was faster and a lot more intense than I expected. Almost overwhelming.”

River nodded “It can be. It has to be done efficiently because there are quite a few sisters as you may have noticed. It is different for some of us, because it is how we wake, boot up if you will. Until I’m dressed like this, my programming isn’t really engaged, I’m just on autopilot.”

Huh. “So, is that why most patients in line were in black zentai and just… standing there?” I asked. “Interesting that patient 115 tried to talk to me a bit.”

“Yes,” replied River, typing on her keyboard. “I will mention it to Dr Reed. I think patient 115 is close to emerging – talking to someone new like you is helping the process.”

“I’m only glad to help,” I replied, “but don’t bother, I’ll tell Dr Reed myself, I wanted to go see her anyway.”

Dr Reed was happy to hear the news when I informed her after lunch. I then asked “So, once she fully emerges, will patient 115 be of a “split” mind like River? Or will she be more like say Alexandra or Gabby?”

Dr Reed smiled and replied “Miss Johnson, I wish I could tell you. The emergence is a delicate process with somewhat unpredictable outcomes. In a way, Patient 115 herself will decide.”

“So, each patient decides if their mind will be split or not?! How could someone make that choice?” I asked further. This didn’t really make sense to me.

“From my conversation with the patients who were able to explain how it felt to them… the choice has a lot to do with their past. It’s not really possible to be in a state of pergasm and have a single mind.” She paused, rubbed her forehead and corrected herself “I’m sorry that’s not quite true. A person lacking a split mind could be in a state of pergasm I suppose but then… that’s all they are doing, having a continuous orgasm. A lot of fun perhaps, but not the most… productive lifestyle. But I digress. Patients who have a poor life experience, trauma, pain… it’s tempting for them to split. To keep their original personalities, wounded and hurt, in a pleasant state of pergasm, while the new personality, supported by hypnotic programming to a certain level, but with a fair amount of free will, live their lives here, in the Institute.”

She continued. “On the other hand, some of them – like Maker, Gaby, Alexandra as you noted – their personality felt the need to live, to be here. So the split broke, and they dropped out of pergasm. As you can imagine, they still have, ah, a lot of fun, but not constantly.”

“Do… the split personalities ever merge later?” I asked. “Will River remain the same forever?”

“It’s happened twice so far, but it seems quite rare. I can’t tell if River will ever integrate her old persona and her new one. It could happen, but odds are it won’t.” replied Dr Reed.

I thanked Dr Reed and went back to my research. I noted, quite pleased with myself, that I seemed able to work and focus while head to toe in rubber just fine. It seemed that the easiest way to do it was just to… not make a big deal of it? So what if I was aroused as I worked? It only bothered me if I decided it was an issue…

I quickly realized that further inquiries towards Italy were a waste of time, given the time zone differences. I did write a short email to Margaret asking to look into the possibility of a trip to Italy. I then switched to research on Patient 101’s fate, aka Beth – maybe I should have been preparing for the afternoon meeting, but I felt I had a pretty good handle on the file.

Two hours later, I had a bit of a headache. I had discovered that Beth had done a number of stints in mental institutions, but I couldn’t figure out where she was now. I needed a break.

I decided to go look at the “cubing” operations again. 18 patients were taken out of the cubes every day for basic physio to prepare them for a return to the world outside the cubes. It looked as scary as it did the first time I had seen it, but now there was an… allure… to it. That desire was as scary as the cubes themselves!

I once again admired how organized the patients were. They worked together so well, almost as if they were moving to an unheard beat. Acting as one, three of them lifted the patient out of the cube and put them on a stretcher, which was then pushed away by two drones. Another patient used a large tube connected to some kind of pump to drain away the old gel. That was a lot of liquid, tons of it, literally. I wondered what they did with it. Coud that stuff go in the sewers? I glanced up at the clock and saw the time – I had to get going or I was going to be late to the meeting with Nadia and her sister.

I changed out of my latex, dressed back in my “inspector uniform” – looked at myself in the mirror again. It was all about attitude – as long as I believed I “deserved” to look like this; it was completely believable. And why didn’t I?

As I drove north towards Nadia’s and Michelle’s house, I mentally reviewed the patient file. Nadia had left the institute about two years ago. She had responded fairly well to treatments and was of the “single mind” type. The file had a lot of information about her sister Michelle – they were fraternal twins, and Michelle, once Nadia had been identified, had been a very active and vocal member of the Family Association. I understood she worked in finance, was well off, and traveled a fair bit for work – in fact she had cut short a business trip by one day so she could meet me, she clearly had some clout to be able to make that happen so easily. The file also noted that Michelle’s involvement in the Family Association had decreased ever since she had taken custody of Nadia. Probably had less spare time?

I was looking forward to this meeting – Michelle had ample opportunity to ask for help if something had gone wrong, so I was hoping to see a more … “realistic” and positive outcome for a patient leaving the institute. Was she working, did she have friends?

I should have known better than jinxing myself like that.

I arrived at the house in a wealthy suburb of Brampton. Fairly large home, well kept lawn, Lexus in the driveway, clearly Michelle had been quite successful in life. I parked my definitely not a Lexus besides hers and knocked at the door.

A woman, somewhat tall and thin, with reddish hair, answered the door, in her mid 30s. She was sharply dressed – a dark grey pantsuit with a white silk shirt underneath and gold jewelry - and judging by the suitcase I saw behind her, had not been home for very long. “Michelle, I presume? I am inspector Judith Johnson, from the federal Ministry of Health. We spoke on the phone. May I come in?”

She gave me a peculiar look. I noticed her eyes were red. Had she been crying? “What? How did you… I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well on the plane, yes of course come in!” she said as she waved me inside.

I got in, feeling something was... very wrong. There was a brittleness to Michelle, if I pushed her too hard, she would fall apart, she seemed under great strain. I decided to start gently – but not let my guards down.

We sat at a small table near the kitchen – the place looked expensive, but not that well lived in. Odd.

“So, I have been looking forward to meeting you and Nadia,” I began.

“Oh! She’s asleep, we can see her later, of course” replied Michelle, trying far too hard to appear casual about it.

“Very well.” I replied. “So, we have discovered that, ah, there has been very little follow up with ex patients of the Institute. I have recently replaced the old inspector who retired for poor health, and I decided to do a follow up. Based on the information I have, what happened to your sister was a success story and I wanted to have a good baseline”

Michelle snorted in reply. “Have things not gone so well?” I continued.

Michelle seemed torn between guilt and frustration. “Oh, it was good for Nadia. She got to stay home and loaf around with the snake all day while I provided for both of us. I know she was traumatized and brainwashed and all that, but you know she never stopped wearing latex? She didn’t even try, even when I asked her! Oh god, I’m sorry, I sound so ungrateful,” she added; and suddenly looked as she was about to cry.

“Oh, it’s ok, it’s not easy caring for someone who isn’t well,” I replied. I didn’t like what I was hearing at all. “Have you spoken to anyone about this?” When she shook her head no, I added “Can you tell me more about it? We may be able to help, and getting it off your chest will feel good. So uh… what is this about a snake?”

Michelle explained, “When we were kids, my sister really wanted a pet snake, and I agreed to help her convince our parents to get one. They agreed, but only if we both looked after it. The snake seemed to like her more, and she definitely liked it more than I did, so soon the two were inseparable.”

Jealousy over a pet? I nodded encouragingly and she continued.

“We had a good relationship when we were younger, Nadia and me. She was very supportive when I transitioned. But in our early 20s, things got weird. I was using her as a guide, and I think she felt it was stifling or something, that I was copying her. She kind of went into a different direction, more androgynous, she shaved her head etc. Maybe being roommates was a mistake, we argued a lot.” Michelle continued. “And then she was kidnapped… instead of me.”

As I looked at her incredulously, she explained.

“Oh yes, we were both going to university, and I used a certain laundromat, but she didn’t like it. But this one time, I had a big exam the following day, and I convinced her to go get a load for me so I could keep studying… and she got snatched. You know that McGray fellow that got shot when the Baron’s house of horror was exposed? He spoke to me! He was scouting me out, I never even realized! But it was Nadia who was there that fateful night, wearing my hoodie.” She broke out into tears.

“Now now that’s not your fault.” I wanted to give her a hug, but something froze me in place. Something was very, very wrong. “Tell me what happened after that.”

She composed herself and continued. “So, for like 4-5 years, Nadia was missing. I finished my MBA, got a job in finance. In my personal time, the disappearance of Nadia was a shadow darkening my mood. I got into a pretty serious goth/bdsm phase, I carried a lot of guilt. And I had to look after that darn snake, which got huge over the years – I can’t believe our parents got us a fucking anaconda!” she said with some heat. “That darn thing never liked me. Barely wanted to eat.”

“So, then the Baron’s thing is discovered, a few months later Nadia is identified, but she’s not well bla bla bla you know the story. When she got home… I felt so guilty about how she was, I just let her do what she wanted. And what she wanted was to wear latex and hang out with her snake. Oh was that thing happy to see her! It started eating and eating, it’s molted four times since… “

Again, she was mentioning the snake. Oh no. Oh god.

“Michelle, is Nadia ok?”

She burst into great sobs. She could barely speak, but I managed to grasp that when she got home a few hours ago she hadn’t been able to find Nadia, until she went into the basement where the snake was….

I closed my eyes, steeled myself. If ever I needed to be strong, it was now. “Show me” I ordered.

I led the way as Michelle followed me, sniffling. And there it was, in a glass enclosure. A massive black snake – monstrous, far too large. I gasped – that bulge!

Michelle collapsed on the ground behind me, wailing. “Wait!” I hissed. Something wasn’t right. There was something coming from the snake mouth… tubes, cables… connected to… a life support system? That seemed operational? What the heck? “Nadia!” I said in a loud, stern voice. “Are you OK?”

The snake shifted. Then it opened its mouth, started coughing something up. “Look!” I grabbed Michelle and pointed. The beast was expelling Nadia… who was alive! The tubes were connected to a sort of mask strapped to her face. She was entirely covered in latex, glistening, no openings were visible. She clumsily got up, bowed in the wrong direction while going “tada!” weakly.

As I gaped, astounded at the spectacle, Michelle shrieked. “Wait… what… I thought you were dead! How dare you!” and I had to hold her back as she rose to her feet, shouting and blubbering.

Nadia removed her mask – her head was shaved, she had no makeup or jewelry, and marks on her skin told me she’s been wearing that hood for quite a while. She coughed a bit as she pulled long tubes out of her nose and mouth, and turned to us.

“I thought you were gone for another day for sure! I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s not my fault!” protested Nadia. This only got Michelle angrier and I could tell a shouting match was about to erupt.

“Enough!” I said, stamping my food down. “Michelle, let's go upstairs and get you a cup of tea or something, you need liquids and a snack. Nadia, clean yourself up (she was covered in … snake mucus?) and come join us when you are ready. We are not having this discussion in a dark basement. We are going to sort this out.”

A few minutes later, tea made, cookies arranged and emotions slightly calmed, the three of us were around the table. Nadia had removed her hood, and her features – similar to her sisters, perhaps softer – were evident. She was tall, at 5’6” she was maybe an inch shorter than Michelle. She was completely bald, being one of those patients who’s most hair had been entirely removed as part of their conditioning. She was still wearing her basic black latex catsuit, wearing toe socks and gloves too.

“Ok Nadia, why don’t you start by explaining what the heck was going on downstairs.” Nadia looked rather embarrassed, and I added in a softer voice “Listen Nadia, I’ve been to the Institute several times, I’ve heard many stories by now. While none of them involved an anaconda, there is no shame – whatever you are doing, you are doing. I just need to understand.”

Nadia nodded, closed her eyes for a moment, and explained. “Ok, first of all it’s not a sex thing, it’s, uh, deeper than that.” Michelle looked at her incredulously, but I simply asked her to elaborate.

“Ancalagon – it’s the snake’s name, it’s from Lord of the Ring – hey don’t blame me, my dad picked the name! It was his condition for buying it.”

We had a little pet lizard as a kid, that my dad had named Smaug… “yes, sounds like the cringe thing a man that age would do, but we’re getting off topic here.” I said, repressing a smile.

Nadia continued. “So uh, I’ve been training Ancalagon for years now. She remembered everything when we were reunited. I think she was sad I was gone, her appetite and growth definitely increased after I returned. Do you know she’s female, not male? My dad thought she was a boy, but there must have been a mistake at the shop. That’s why she’s so big, males are smaller. Anyway, after my, uh, experience at the Institute, I read up on hypnosis for a while, and I learned that some birds and reptiles could be put into a trance. I incorporated that in my training, and I got some pretty cool results. May I demonstrate?”

I nodded cautiously and she tapped the ground in a specific, rhythmic pattern. She repeated this a few times, as Michelle asked her what she was doing. “I’m calling her to me,” said Nadia simply.

“What, how? Didn’t you lock the enclosure?!” said Micelle, alarmed.

Nadia smirked. “Why bother? Michelle, that enclosure can’t hold back a 500-pound snake. Ancalagon stays put because she’s well behaved, not because she has to. Ah, there she is.”

The snake, broad, black and dark green in color, appeared in the steps to the basement, and approached. It was enormous… but in the sunlight, seemed… friendlier, somehow. I stood my ground, but Michelle recoiled back. Nadia seemed no more concerned than if the snake had been a placid dog. It raised its huge head slightly – my god, that thing could swallow any of us whole! – and Nadia petted it, followed by an odd sequence of light taps on its nose. The snake coiled on the ground and then Nadia sat on it – it had folded itself in a sort of armchair for her!

“That’s a neat trick,” I conceded, “but this doesn’t explain what we saw downstairs.”

“Fair,” Nadia replied “I was just trying to show you – I can make Ancalagon do almost anything. And I had… this idea. I don’t know why, but the idea of being swallowed by a snake has always appealed to me. And of course this is extremely dangerous. But when I got back, and after all that time in the cube… I got an idea. I started training Ancalagon to swallow this mannequin,”

“That’s why you wanted that thing?!” interrupted Michelle, “you told me it was some kind of art project!”

“Yes, can you let me finish?” sapped back Nadia. “I’m sorry Inspector, we bicker sometimes. So yes, I got my sister to buy me a mannequin, which I used to train the snake to swallow and spit out. I then discovered that the only way for the mannequin to “stay down” was if there was some meat attached to it, otherwise the stomach detected that there was no nutrition to be had and it was expelled – a bit like a furball, or shells, bones etc.”

As we looked on in horrified fascination, she went on “See, I don’t want to die. I just want to be swallowed up and spend some time chilling in there. So once I was satisfied with the training, and that the snake would swallow gently, and spit out on command…. I tried it myself.”

“It went without a hitch. I used my latex suits to protect me from the stomach’s acid, I had a breathing and feeding tube, and Ancalagon knew exactly what to do – I think she understood, she was so gentle,” she explained.

I frowned and said, “Any sort of heavy bondage – let alone one with a live animal, no matter how well trained – should be done with supervision. What if your breathing tube broke? I’ve been reading a fair bit on rubber fetishism, and it’s a sad fact that every year, a few rubberists who don’t have a play partner die in bondage accidents, because they played alone.”

Nadia hesitated. “I… I was afraid Michelle wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I don’t… but why do this?” blurted out Michelle.

“I’m not sure, a return to the womb perhaps?” replied Nadia. “And besides… you and the Inspector both know how we patients were forced into near permanent bondage, stuck in gel, constantly bombarded with hypnotic suggestions, stimulations… I wanted to do it on my own terms. In gentle silence. In living tissue, not some cold medical device. Where I could wiggle around a bit. In there it’s so… peaceful. I can hear her slow breath, the heartbeats… honestly, I can’t describe how … perfect… it’s in there” she said wistfully.

“How long are you in there?” asked Michelle again, in a softer tone.

“Oh, it’s limited by your trips really, so… a few days? I did it four days one time, but that was a mistake, it really was rough on my skin,” she replied. “So, uh, when you go abroad; I spend two days in the snake, get out for a swash and a bit of exercise for a few hours, check my emails etc., then I go back in. I set an alarm so I am always back out before you get home. I… didn’t want to worry you, and I didn’t think you would understand.”

As Michelle looked at her sister in shock, I intervened “Listen, what your sister is doing is unusual but… she’s not harming anyone. The intense brainwashing the Baron inflicted on his victims had all sorts of effects. This … weirdly makes sense to me.”

“But you, Nadia,” I turned as I looked at her, and for the first time she looked a little less assured. “Sure, I can’t judge you for what you’re doing. But I can judge you for how you’re doing it. Solo heavy bondage is dangerous enough, let alone when a ginormous snake is involved.” She began protesting but I interrupted her “Yes I know it’s complicated, I know you trained your snake very well, but honestly, it shouldn’t be done alone. Can you imagine how your sister felt when she thought you were dead?”

“You thought I died?” said Nadia, tearing up. Michelle nodded, tears in her eyes too and I stepped back a bit as the two sisters embraced. Once they had composed themselves, I pressed on.

“Ok, so that’s what you did Nadia. But now what? How do we proceed in a healthier way?” I asked.

“I… I’m tired,” said Michelle. “It’s been hard, having you here all the time. I imagined that you would have gotten a job, moved out by now.”

Nadia looked a bit glum at that. “I’m sorry. I’ve been out there a few times and it’s overwhelming. I… don’t feel safe out there. And being out of the suit feels weird. I know me being home is not great for your dating life.”

Michelle frowned “oh it’s… well while you were gone, I actually had started dabbling into the fetish scene a little, but when the Baron was exposed, and I saw what had been done to you… I just couldn’t get involved again; it was just… messed up. It felt wrong.”

There was a silence, as both sisters looked pensive, and sad.

I cleared my throat then said “I don’t think I can solve that problem here and now, but Michelle, don’t let what the Baron’s evils taint things you enjoy. This case got a lot of attention because of the bondage, the rubber, the sex… but there is nothing wrong with any of those! Plenty of people like bondage and kink, and sex is loved by all – well most, I know. What the Baron did that was wrong was the coercion, the violence, the lack of consent. So please, don’t let him do more wrong than what he has.”

I took a moment to collect myself and continued. “So, listen, uh, we may be able to help. First, would it help if Nadia went back to the Institute on a part time basis? It would give both of you a break. Perhaps Nadia isn’t ready to be outside all the time?

Michelle perked up at that “I hadn’t dared ask… It felt like admitting failure. And I didn’t want Nadia to feel like I was rejecting her.”

“Oh no!” I replied “If anyone failed, it is both the Institute and the Ministry of Health for not doing a proper follow-up. You should have been visited a few months after the transition, not two years later!”

“What about Ancalagon?” asked Nadia

“Oh… I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” I replied, “we have a lot of room in the basement, if nothing else.” Oh wow, that was going to have to be handled carefully! How would Spyder react? But it seemed like the best solution.

I continued “And I think after this discussion, it’s important to acknowledge that the Baron’s victims aren’t limited to the patient – he certainly harmed you too Michelle, in many ways. Your hang-ups, your guilt.”

“Guilt?” interrupted Nadia.

“Yes – you know that your sister was the intended target?” She looked at me incredulously, but as Michelle nodded, Nadia blurted out “Wait, you blame yourself for what happened to me?! Why?”

“I never told you because I… I was afraid you were going to hate me. I was the intended target, you were grabbed by mistake,” said Michelle haltingly.

“Oh Michelle,” exclaimed Nadia, “It wasn’t your fault! It was that Baron bastard and his goons!” Once again the two sisters hugged.

We were all a bit teary eyed at this point. I pressed on: “So uh, what I’m saying is that the Institute has a top-notch therapist, who specializes in issues of guilt, trauma, shame. I’m sure she could help you, Michelle!”

“I don’t know… would a trans woman be welcomed at the Institute?” she asked timidly.

Both Nadia and I spoke over each other, we affirmed that of course they would!

“You know,” I added, “I don’t think there are any trans patients… Maybe the Baron was transphobic? Huh, I wonder why I hadn’t noticed before. Anyway, we certainly aren’t.”

“Fuck that guy,” said Nadia, with some heat. After a pause she added “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m the one who was grabbed? Maybe they would have gotten … rid of you?”

Michelle looked startled, then pensive. A heavy statement, but I felt that a lot of tension had left the room. The conversation sort of wound down after that. We talked about a few details, a few jokes, and made some arrangements. As I was leaving, Michelle spoke to me again.

“Listen… Thank you for coming. I think this is a good idea; it could help in a concrete way. I’m now realizing we were stuck in a rut, so to speak, denying it wasn’t quite working out. I’ll pass the message to the Family Association. You will have our support.”

I thanked her, and soon I was driving back home. What a day! I hoped that not every visit would be so …fraught. Heck, what a week. I needed to do something fun. Hmmmm.

As I was preparing for my nightly listening to the language training files, I suddenly had an idea and sent Renee a text.

I first briefly mentioned that Nadia would be returning to the Institute part time, along with her pet, a GINORMOUS anaconda. I then added “Hey, is there a dance this Saturday?”

There was. I spent the rest of the evening doing a few chores, with a bit of pep in my step. What was better than weekend plans?

Chapter 18

The anthem.

I woke up from my usual sex dreams about the Institute. My plan was to sleep in, but I instead took part of the morning ah, taking care of another problem. It was good, but something was missing… rubber, that’s what was missing. I thought about bringing a catsuit home and wearing it and ooooooooh that was enough, I screamed into my pillow to not scandalize the entire building.

Okay, a fantastic way to start a Saturday! I made myself a quick bowl of cereal and watched some news as I thought about the rest of the day. I had some errands to do, including an early afternoon appointment at the Institute with A Doctor, to discuss laser skin treatment options.

The morning went by uneventfully and I arrived at the Institute after lunch. I ran into Renee, who was in a black pencil skirt and a green sleeveless top. “Just how many outfits do you have?” I asked, smiling.

“Well, a good afternoon to you too! If you must know… 25, maybe more,” she replied. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yup, see you then!” I replied as I headed inside. Huh. Was there a message there? No, it couldn’t be. Renee belonged with oh, I don’t know, Beyonce or something, not little old me, not even my new spunky Inspector persona.

A few minutes later I had quickly dressed in my latex hood, dress, gloves and cape, and I was heading to A Doctor’s office for this strange consultation.

“Hello Judith, or should I call you Inspector?” asked A Doctor in her strange high pitch accent. She had this weird speaking habit that made every statement sound like a question, and it took me an instant to realize that this actually was a question.

“Oh, Judith will do” I replied “and a good afternoon to you! So, uh, can you tell me about the laser skin treatment?”

“But of course?” she replied. Oh god. “So, I am fully qualified to perform laser hair removal? As you know, most patients are hairless to various degrees? I can do hair removal in the genital area, your legs, your arms, your arm pit, the anal area, the head…”

“Oh, I would like to keep the hair on my head, no bald look for me thank you very much!” I interrupted. I liked the new look too much to give it up! Besides, some patients still had hair on their heads.

“I will have a precise questionnaire for you so that no mistakes are made? Here you go?” she handed me a sheet, and we had a few moments of blessed silence as I began filling the form. I giggled a little at the notion of filling a form for this but… it made sense I supposed?

“Uh, what is this about the normal vs deep level of removal?” I asked.

“Allow me to explain?” she answered cheerfully, in her usual odd ones. “I can perform a surface hair removal – that is, I remove only hair that is visible to the naked eye, and I leave the undercoat intact?”

“The undercoat?”

“Yes?” she replied “Or if you prefer, vellum hair? These are very short, small hairs that are almost invisible?”

“Ok, if they are almost invisible why bother removing them?” I asked.

“It is to feel the latex more intensely. In the total absence of hair, the contact to the skin is enhanced?” she replied.

I bit my lip. Oh fuck. I realized I wouldn’t be able to turn that down… but A Doctor continued.

“However, Judith, I must warn you? Intensive laser treatment will reduce your ability to sweat, and your skin will need regular moisturizing as you will also secrete far less sebum? However, this will also make it easier for you to wear latex more often?” she explained.

“Oh… so uh… how often would that be?” I asked. This was like some kind of Greek tragedy – I felt like both Fate and my body were marching me in this direction.

“Oh, the average seems to be about 21 hours?” replied the Doctor “Certainly more than 16, no one can make it more than 23, not without the blue substance that is?”

I thanked her for the explanation, filled the form and left her office a few minutes later. I had agreed to a pretty … complete treatment. I was going to keep my eyebrows, eyelashes and head hair. Everything else? Gone. Vellum hair too. I … looked forward to trying latex after the change, although it would take several weeks. Maybe one day I would go completely hairless like the patients, but keeping my head hair would make it easier outside, and beside… It was a bit of a symbol of how I was both in and out of this strange place.

I headed home for food, and a few hours later, it was time for the dance. As I was nearing the parking lot, through a gap in the trees I saw the corner of the west wing briefly. I almost didn’t notice but… what was that? I backed up again and looked. I hadn’t noticed this before, but I could see the back of the gel room and … a large pipe was coming out of a window, into the ground. Huh.

I parked and headed over to take a closer look. It was getting dark, and I used my phone’s light to see where I was going. And there it was – an old pipe, maybe 4-5 inches in diameter, plunging into the ground. Looking around, I could see a faint disruption in the vegetation, the impact of the pipe’s burial still faintly evident. It pointed straight west. What was over there?

I looked at Google Map, switched to satellite view and… there. I could make out a small building, a few hundred meters west of here, deep in the woods. What was it? Was this the secret pipe Spyder had mentioned? What was in there?

I glanced up, peering intently into the gloom. It was getting pretty dark, and the ground was uneven. And … darn it, I had 27% left on my phone and I knew the phone light would eat the battery fast. This sounded like a great plan to get lost and possibly break an ankle. But what if I was being too cautious? What if someone needed help? But then again, what were the odds that this someone needed rescue now and not at any given time in the last seven years? Patience! I had to be patient; I couldn’t fix everything at once.

I resolved to put this out of my mind – tomorrow! I would do it tomorrow. I didn’t want this to ruin my first “real” dance at the Institute. The first time, the experience had been overwhelming. But this time, even though that was – wow, only two weeks ago, I felt far more prepared – excited even. That first time I felt like I was drowning. Now I was swimming with the fishes… turning into one of them? Nah, I was like a frog, both at home in and out of water, but a bit of an oddball in either case. Or an alligator, thinking of my jacket.

I smiled a little at the notion. Should I attend the dance in my Inspector outfit? Nah, this was a celebration of rubber, why would I deprive myself of that? I entered the Institute, went to the dressers, put on my grey outfit again – now with the catsuit and chiller underneath. I wanted that extra layer, and I wanted the chiller so I could dance.

But first, I had gotten myself ready a bit early, so I could observe the preparations better. A big part of the job was moving the patients who weren’t in the cube anymore but still not mobiles, a few patients were wheeling them in on stretchers. Amber was one such patient, and I decided to chat with her for a bit. I took a moment to attain the proper state of mind, which involved using a self-induced trance to slow down my mind… Richard would have said something like “matching cognitive velocities” or some such. Maybe I should use that in my next report, it would serve Madeleine right. I shook my head and refocused on slowing my mind.

“Hello Amber,” I said to her. To an outside observer, it probably seemed like I had taken half a minute to say those words – part of the trick was learning to speak very slowly but clearly.

“Hello Inspector, it has been a while!” she replied. For Amber, time passed differently, her mind’s speed had been deeply altered by the Baron. Even though it only had been a few days, for her it probably felt like over a month since we last spoke… or a few hours? I really didn’t quite understand how this worked entirely.

“So, I’m dropping by to explain to you what is happening – every week we have a dance. Dr Reed believed that exposing patients like you to events like this could help them regain awareness and also have a bit of fun,” I said.

“Oh! So that’s what those are! To me they go by so fast, everyone moving around like crazy to flashing lights and strange sounds. But now that I know what they are, I think it might be entertaining. Thank you for explaining” replied Amber.

“I will talk with you again, have a good evening!” I said cheerfully to her. Discovering the trick to speak with her had been a great boon. Dr Reed was very enthusiastic about some changes to Amber’s treatment, changes that would greatly enhance her quality of life. Just having Amber tell us her needs, and us being able to explain to her what was going on, was so important.

But talking to her took time and could be draining. I shook my head as I returned to “normal time” and glanced at the clock – that little conversation had taken 20 minutes. I felt ok though, it seemed I hadn’t over done it.

I saw River, in her usual attire, helping set up the punch. “Hey River, need a hand?” I asked, and began helping her set up utensils and other supplies.

“I’m glad you are back, I was a bit worried when you didn’t show up last week” she replied, her fingers dancing on their keyboard. “I was looking forward to seeing you there,” she explained.

“Ah, I think I wasn’t quite ready yet. Now I feel I am capable of taking part” I replied.

“Yes, just go easy on the nutrition fluid!” she poked at me – I couldn’t see her face, but somehow, I knew she was smiling.

“Ha! Yes, I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t have too much… but I will have some!” I said while pouring myself a glass. River did the same. “Cheers!” The fluid had electrolytes and energy for the dance, but also THC, a bid of CBD and some hormones that would enhance arousal. The first time I had drank too much and I hadn’t been ready for the intense feelings and sensations that followed. This time… I welcomed the sensual effects the fluid would have. I wouldn’t have too much but… I was ready!

The snacks, sound and light systems had been installed, and the low budget, flashing coloured lights started doing their work. I noted that one of the patients had set herself up behind a table with some electronic equipment – aha, she was the DJ! She wore a type of rounded gas mask (a millennium I later learned), but with big headphones with purple glowing cat ears – LD perhaps? She was dressed in black latex, in a sort of tailored long jacket, giving her square-ish shoulders.

I asked River who that was “Ah, that is DJ, patient 92! You probably haven’t seen her because she is on the night shift, she sleeps during the day. She’s a bit of a loner, really into music,” she explained.

“I see… but that number sounds familiar… oh, the gloves!” I replied “Apparently our hands are identical – same height too I see, although she seems to be a bit more slender than I am.”

As I rambled a bit, a part of me was thinking about the notion of a night shift and added it to a rather long list of things I had to check out. It was going to take a while! But enough about work.

I saw Renee and waved her over. She was wearing a long red dress with an incredible cleavage reaching her navel, combined with short black high heeled boots and black opera gloves. I blushed a bit – ah thank you hood – as she sashayed her way over.

“Ah, you did make it Judith! Dressed a bit… less improvised than last time I see!”

“You look fantastic too Renee,” I replied, “I think I’m ready this time.”

“Good, I don’t want to have to carry you home every time. I’m getting too old for this,” replied Renee with an amused smile.

“Oh, uh, no it’s ok. I’ll Uber home or something. Not so much fluid this time,” I said, now really happy for the hood. But feeling bold, I added “And you, old? Time would never dare touch you” I said playfully.

River giggled wordlessly as Red walked over, wearing her signature slippers, and asked “Hey, what did I miss?”

River typed, “Not much, just Judith flirting with Renee again.”

“Wait what!? NO! I mean, uh,” I stammered as everyone burst out laughing. God damn it, no amount of face covering would manage to cover that up. I wanted to stick my head into the earth… but no, that is not what Inspector Johnson would do. I stood straight, chin up and replied haughtily. “Flirting? I was merely stating an objective fact. Renee’s glamour is undeniable.”

There was more laughter, and I laughed too – decent recovery!

“Have you gotten shined yet?” asked Red. I thanked her for the reminder, thankful for the break, and went to stand in line.

Dr Reed was there already, and we began chatting as we waited. She got straight to the point. “I wanted to thank you again for your intervention with Amber. I’ve already identified another patient who I now believe is here consensually or at least started that way. I will alter her treatment soon, and I hope that now she will be able to begin emerging.”

“That’s tremendous news! I wonder how many there are?” I replied.

“About half a dozen I believe,” replied Dr Reed “but changing these complex hypnosis programmes takes time, I will only manage one patient at a time.” I nodded sadly as she added “We do what we can. I’ve had another idea however, to help Amber.”

She continued, “Slowing down the mind is tricky; but speeding it up beyond baseline is extremely difficult. There are biological limits to how fast our nervous system can operate, and contrary to common belief, it already operates at near its limit. Sure adrenaline can give us that burst of speed, but it’s not sustainable.”

“I suppose so, but I’m not sure I am getting what you are proposing,” I replied.

“The difference in this case is that Amber isn’t a normal mind,” explained the doctor. “Speeding her up isn’t some superhuman feat, her system is artificially slowed down. So Amber could imagine a special hypnosis that “sped her up”, but all it would be actually doing is allowing her mind to operate normally, making it far easier to sustain than speeding up a normal mind.”

As I nodded with comprehension, she continued. “I won’t have time to write a script immediately but… talk to Amber about it. Just putting the idea in her head will facilitate the process.”

“I’ll do so gladly next time we speak,” I replied, “This seems like a very clever work-around, the Institute is lucky to have such an expert here.”

She smiled sadly. “It would be better if my help wasn’t needed at all! But ah, it’s your turn.”

I turned around and saw the two rubber maids operating the shining booth were waving me over – I noticed that one of them was patient 115 and I waved at her.

I hesitated, suddenly feeling shy. What was I being shy about? Surely not the latex still? No it was… being touched by the others. It seems that the patients enjoyed a high degree of physical intimacy with each other, and it was… almost daunting to insert myself into this.

I squeezed my fists. I was being silly. This was all in good fun. I stepped forward between the two and closed my eyes. I had hoped that it would be better this time than with the old, loose latex lab coat. I was not disappointed. The latex covering my body was thin and well fitted. I could feel the hands of the rubber maids gliding over me, spreading the slick shiner, caressing me. I drank it all in. I wanted it to last forever.

A small part of me wished I wasn’t wearing a dress, that the maids would shine my entire legs, between my thighs…. I felt a flash of heat, and almost immediately I felt the chiller kick in a bit. That thing was helping me keep cool ha.

One thing that was different was that I was wearing a proper hood this time, not a silly bathing cap. Having my entire head, my face, polished with care by the two rubber maids was … it was so rare that we had our face touched, wasn’t it? Patient 115 finished the session by slowly caressing my latex-covered lip with her finger and I shivered slightly and stepped away from the booth.

After I had cleaned my boots on the pad, Red came over, offered me a glass of nutrition fluid, which I accepted gladly. My entire body was aglow from the sensual shining, not to mention gleaming with the effect of the polish and the flashing lights. I took a long sip from the fluid and sighed. I knew it would only increase my arousal, but I felt ready for it, I welcomed it. I just had to not over do it and … oh heck, even if I did, I would just lie down in a corner and enjoy the ride. But I wanted to dance, exult. I felt a strange… glow, a strange feeling of … happiness? Joy? brewing in the back of my mind. I don’t think it was just the fluid speaking…

Red gave me a curious look, and I said “Oh it’s… it’s like something had been missing, and now it’s complete? As if before … I was partially asleep? Every time I put on latex, its absence becomes more and more… of a gap.”

Red nodded and said, “It’s like there was a color missing, or we discovered an entire flavor – like salty, or sweet – we had never tasted in our entire lives.”

“Yes! I vaguely knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t even articulate what it was, just a vague… wrongness, or absence. But now that I’m aware of it, it’s so obvious. I don’t think I can go back...” I replied.

“And that’s why we aren’t going anywhere,” said Red, and we knocked our glasses and had another sip.

She was right. Despite the frequent curveballs the Institute had been throwing at me, it was quite clear that this was where I belonged. I still had things to figure out – what did this all mean exactly? What secrets was Spyder hinting at? What was I supposed to do about my Uncle? – but that was ok. I would handle it. Life was strange, wasn’t it?

This was the time when DJ turned the music on, starting with some Madonna. It soon became a bit difficult to talk to the others. Thankfully, I had already picked up a big of the sign language, and while it wasn’t quite enough to carry a conversation by itself, it certainly was quite helpful in this noisy environment. Sign language for better clubbing ha! But soon it was time to dance.

I earnestly joined the others and danced with abandon. Each motion just seemed to bring back to attention the feeling of the latex on my skin – wearing the catsuit was really paying off. And unlike the first time, I wasn’t heating up at all – that chiller was really quite the invention!

I took a break to hydrate and calm my beating heart. I looked at the others, their shiny bodies undulating with the beat, and gladly rejoined them. There was something… surreal about the moment, it was as if the boundaries between myself and the others were blurring. As if each of us was but a limb of a greater latex being.

At one point Alexandra drew close, and I began dancing with her. We never touched, but our bodies moved as one, swaying with the rhythm. It was getting pretty intense, and I knew it was but a matter of time before one of us – I honestly didn’t know who – would embrace the other. I looked deeply into her eyes, and I could tell she was feeling the same. But was this ok? She was a patient, it wasn’t right…

The moment was interrupted by a new song, which drew a strong reaction from most of the patients.

I stepped back a bit and asked Renee, who was doing the same. “Hey, what is that song? It sounds familiar.”

“That’s the coordination song,” said Renee loudly. “It’s a background rhythmic instrumental piece, which repeats and repeats. All the patients are hearing it, and it helps for operations with delicate timing. You must have heard it at the last dance?”

“Maybe? I was out of it for part of that, ha-ha. But why play it here, now, if it’s just some timing thing?” I asked. It did help explain how the patients could work together with such harmony.

“Ah, but a special dance was invented for it. Come!” I followed her back to the dance floor.

The “special dance” was a series of dance moves/steps that all the patients were performing in perfect unison, as if they had been practicing for years (they had). I joined in, trying to learn the moves. I quickly realized there was a pattern – there were series of four small groups of moves, and the first one was always the same. The other three varied more, although there was some repetition.

This was tricky! And I quickly realized that although the song had no spoken words, the patients had created a song for it anyway – a sign song. The dance wasn’t just movement, it was saying something.

Gabby saw me and noticed I was struggling a bit. She came over and exaggerated the hand motions somewhat. I nodded gracefully – her yellow gloves made it far easier to follow.

I really wasn’t following so well… but the song kept repeating, again and again. And eventually it seemed that I was doing it, I was in sync. I’m not sure how many times we did it. A few dozens? A hundred times? More? I don’t think it would have been possible to dance like this in latex this long without the chiller keeping us cool. And the effect was… surreal. I’m fairly sure that I fell into a trance, and am quite sure I wasn’t the only one. I felt like a puppet, a part of a great machine, moving in perfect unison with the others, because to do so was natural, a bit like a single gear in a complex watch moved in conjunction with all the other pieces. Eventually the DJ (patient 92) changed the music, and most of us took a break.

I walked away in a daze, sat on a chair, took another pull of the fluid, and saw Dr Reed, who had a curious expression on her face. “Hello again Dr… is something wrong? You almost seem sad.”

She blinked as she looked at me, startled. “Oh, hello Miss Jonhson. I, ah, I do have mixed feelings about the dance. You know the patients came up with the words themselves? I had nothing to do with it.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Well, yes, but part of me wished the words were different a bit,” said the doctor. “Ok, why don’t you do the signs, and I’ll tell you.

I got up and started doing the signs, a bit startled how well I remembered them, and she translated:

We are forever in latex. So much pleasure. So tight. Deep into trance.

We are forever in latex. Stuck in the gel. Mind going blank. We cannot move.

We are forever in latex. Time does not exist. There is only pleasure. There is only rubber.

We are forever in latex. So much pressure. So tight. Deep into trance.

We are forever in latex. Cradled in the gel. Mind going blank. We cannot move.

We are forever in latex. Time does not exist. Deeper and deeper. We obey.

We are forever in latex. So much pleasure. So tight. Deep into trance.

We are forever in latex. Sisters in Rubber. Mind going blank. We cannot move.

We are forever in latex. Time does not exist. There is only pleasure. There is only rubber.

We are forever in latex. Constant arousal. So tight. Deep into trance.

We are forever in latex. Forged in the gel. Mind going blank. We will never escape.

We are forever in latex. Time does not exist. Always here. There is only rubber.

We are forever in latex. So tight. Breathing well. Frozen by pleasure.

As she chanted the words and I danced them, I realized I probably would never be able to forget them either.

She stopped suddenly, and I realized that both of us had done it two, three, maybe more times, stuck in a loop. “See what I mean?” she said. “It’s too strong. It seems to make them happy, but … it’s sticky.”

“I’m no expert but… isn’t that the problem? Once a fetish is acquired, it’s almost impossible to remove,” I replied.

“Well yes, but this is even harder – it’s not just a fetish, it’s a fetish for the fetish. This is why people either bounce from the institute or are stuck. A lot of volunteers and would-be helpers fled after less than a week. It takes someone either incredibly tough – or a fan – to find the place tolerable.” Dr Reed added.

“Well… I don’t know why, but tonight I feel more … whole… that I’ve ever felt, doctor. Like there was a level to Maslow’s pyramid we didn’t know about, and …” I faltered as I ran out of words.

“I think I know what you mean Judith” said the doctor “For some, this place is magical. I’m glad you’re feeling better”.

The doctor retired for the night soon after that, and I returned to the dance floor. Alexandra had paired up with Elizabeth and… maybe that was for the best. It wouldn’t be appropriate… Instead, I just danced and laughed and exulted.

It was past three in the morning when I got home, I had taken an Uber. I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to sleep, I was so pumped up, as if my body was a bonfire. I took off my clothes, only to realize I had taken off the dress, the hood and the gloves at the institute, but I had forgotten to remove the catsuit underneath – my body was as if it were made of rubber.

I crashed on my bed, overwhelmed by the idea. There was just so much arousal I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I started twitching and laughing as I essentially came myself to sleep. I knew I wouldn’t leave.

We are forever in latex.