Wicked Love

club members have to wear any identification tags, but their hands are ink stamped with a male ♂ or a female ♀ symbol.
"You ready?" Shelby asks, eager to get to the fun stuff. "You can put your purse in my locker right here."
I put my small handbag in the locker, and Shelby spins the combination lock and directs me toward the bar area, which is right outside the lobby.
"Let's have a drink at the bar to relax," Shelby suggests.
"Fine by me," I reply with relief.
"What can I get for you lovely ladies?" the bartender asks.
"Two cosmopolitans, Grady," Shelby says. "Put it on my tab."
Our drinks arrive in a few moments, and I readily take several long sips. I'm starting to get really anxious. I need some preliminary information from Shelby. "Okay, Shell, after this, what is the routine?" I ask.
She laughs good-naturedly. "Well, hopefully, you'll be relaxed enough to go with the flow. There is no routine, per se. But since this is your first time, how about I act as your guide? I'll refrain from playing this evening. I don't want you to feel abandoned. We'll start off with some quirky stuff, and then work our way to the more sensual playrooms. Won't go to the real kinky rooms this evening."
"Perfect," I reply, exhaling a soft sigh of relief. A prude I was not, but I wasn't ready for any really gross kink just yet.

3 Wake-up Call
"Her fingers moved! Did you see that Easton?" my mother's excited voice floats up to my ears, and I realize she's talking about me. I never thought the fact that my fingers moved would set off such joy and relief.
And then I realize my Coma-World is lifting. I can feel things—pain for one. I feel pain all over, and for a brief second, I want to go back to Coma-World, where at least the pain didn't resonate throughout my body.
I hear someone groan.
"She's in pain," my father announces. "Nurse quickly, my daughter's in pain here."
My eyes flutter open, and it's been so long since I've seen the light, I have to squint to make out who's here with me. I blink several times, and then my sight gets into focus, and mere shadows become my parents. Both wearing concerned looks of relief.
"Mom? Daddy?" I croak out. I don't think my voice has come back from Coma-World yet. It hurts like hell to talk. My tongue feels like it's stuck against something or is numb.
"Honey, they removed the ventilator from you yesterday morning. That's probably why your voice isn't back yet, and your mouth is sore. Just relax. The doctor is coming in to check you. We love you, Carson."
I smile and nod my return 'I love you too' and notice that Daddy is so quiet. I reach my hand out to him. Tubes are going into it, but he steps over and takes my hand. "Carson," he says, his voice is filled with compassion and love, "we will find whoever did this to you, and make sure they never hurt anyone again. I promise."
The doctor comes bustling in, a woman who looks to be in her early to mid-forties, dark hair pulled up in a knot, and some dark-rimmed glasses. But she has a warm smile on her face when she sees I'm awake.
"Welcome back, Ms. Matthews," she greets, my chart in her hands. "Let's see how you're doing today."
After twenty minutes of poking and prodding, she spills the news that I will need to stay in the hospital a few more days, and will have my work cut out for me with physical therapy in stages.
"Don't worry," she assures me before leaving my room, "I've assigned Krew Beckett to be your physical therapist. He's one of the best, and I just know you two will get on splendidly."


4 No pain, no gain.
Dr. Talbert is now officially on my hit list! Great physical therapist, indeed! Satan, thy name is Krew Beckett!
I'm barely back from Coma-World when dark brown-hair, green-eyed and yes, quite hot looking dude comes strutting into my hospital room early one morning, carrying a clipboard and as I later see, an attitude!
"Ms. Matthews," he greets cheerily, "I'm Krew Beckett, your physical therapist, and my job is to get you off your ass and back into the active collegiate world! My goal is to get you back on the jogging track at Columbia as soon as possible. It will require hard work and tenacity, but I'm sure you can produce." He tosses a panty-melting wink at me, which serves to piss me off even further since it's way too early for any of this crap.
"Excuse me? Before I entrust anyone with my physical well-being, what exactly are your credentials?" I ask, and yes, I'm kind of snippy about it, I admit.
"Oh I get it," he replies with a wide grin. "Wanna make sure I'm a product of an appropriate Ivy League institution, right? Well, I assure you, I'm top-shelf babe."
Full of yourself much?
"Whatever," I respond, not hiding my disinterest. "I'm not really feeling up to it just yet–Krew, is it?"
"Krew it is," he replies with a smug smile. "And quite frankly, it's not up to you. It's under your attending doctor's orders."
Now my dander is up. "I don't give a flying fuck who's orders you've been given, I'm telling you right here and now that I'm not ready for this. I'm still in pain. So if you don't–"
My words stop when Daddy comes into my hospital room, having heard at least part of my diatribe against Krew Beckett.
"Is there a problem?" my father asks, looking at me and only me.
"Umm, Daddy," I remark, giving him my soulful look. "This . . . this therapist wants me to get out of bed and do some sort of torturous physical therapy, which I know will be excruciating. It's just too early," I whine, giving him a pleading look. "The pain is still so debilitating."
Then Krew butts in. "Hello Mr. Matthews.