"Becky's Rehab"
by
For Becky it started as just a casual thing, but somewhere along
the way something went
wrong. The final blow came quickly in the form of a outdated, but
strong telephone pole. She
didn't remember much after that, except for Aaron. The memory of her
short time in his arms
managed to keep its focus amongst the clouds of the past. She loved
to remember everything
about him,
as a child loves to open a toy chest. But mostly, it was his smile
that enveloped her mind.
Never was it so beautiful as when she would flick her tongue under the
head of his cock, and
look up into his eyes.
In the three years that they were together, he never so much as
looked at anyone else. She had
never given him any reason to. It was never his money she wanted,
only his heart. But he
always gave it so willingly, so free, it frightened her. He always
made her feel better than she
thought any man ever could and that was the problem. So many of her
friends blamed their
unhappiness, their loneliness, on that day they dreamed so long would
come. She felt their love
was too perfect to spoil with such a stupid religious rite. It was
the way they loved and made
love that made them husband and wife, not some fat little rodent
pretending to be God's right
hand man. Besides, by chance, they already shared the same last name
of Moore so why bother.
That's why it always surprised everyone whenever he said that they
were engaged, but had set no
date. That was fine with her, because he would then always gave her
that look. The look that he
knew always made her wet
inside.
But that was all over eight months ago. It was the one thing about
him that she didn't, or
couldn't remember. They were driving home from a party in the nice
little sports car that he had
bought for her only a few months before. Were it not for how his body
cushioned the blow
against the pole, she would have surely died that night also. She
blocked out his horrible
screaming and bloody face. He lived longer than anyone would have
expected.
As the police arrived, they immediately called for the
coroner. "Take care of my wife,
she's hurt bad", were the last words they could make out of the final
bit of steam that left his
mouth. Involuntary manslaughter was how it went down in court, with
five years probation.
In the first few weeks after the accident, her comatose shell lay
still except for the life which
continued to be pumped into her. She wondered about him before she
could even remember who
she was. She had all the time in the world to wonder why he didn't
come to visit her when she
felt so alone and helpless. She remembered how they first met. It was
a hotel booking error on
business trip to Miami. Seeing they shared the same last name, they
booked them both into the
same room as husband and wife. Unable to change rooms on such short
notice, they agreed to
share the room, but not the bed. They talked, swam in the pool, had
dinner together, but she
never allowed him into bed. Except for their last night together. She
cursed herself the next day
for being so stubborn that week. Now she cursed him for being so
heartless and avoiding her
when she needed him most. She soon found it best to cry and go to
sleep, than to stay awake and
hate him.
But this week was different. She was anxious to leave and run back
to him. Her purgatory was
up and her release only four days away. If only he would give her one
drink, she could forgive
him for everything and begin to fuck him in every way she ever thought
of for eight months. Her
smile evaporated as she felt someone enter her room. "Hmm, female..",
she thought, smelling
the Eternity that she herself used to wear.
"Hello, Mrs. Moore, I'm your new counselor, Dr. Weber, but you can
call me Anne", she said in
her best neutral voice. Turning around, Becky was surprised to see
such a beautiful young
woman. She had long jet black hair which she must have always wore up
when working. "My
staff and I look forward to working with you to complete you initial
alcohol rehabilitation upon
your release from Rossville Medical".
"Rehab?", she snarled, "What the fuck do you mean rehab! I haven't
had a drink in eight
months. Why don't you take your rehab and stick it so far up your ass
you choke on it."
"Becky, I know you haven't been allowed to drink while you have been
admitted here and that
you are angry." Anne tried to explain. She had seen this happen so
many times before and the
first time was always the most difficult. "It's just one of the terms
of your probation that require
you to go to an approved alcohol treatment center and your probation
officer has assigned you to
us. I know exactly what is going on in your head right now. It has
something to do with how
you can get your hands on your next drink. I've seen it so many times
before and it's always the
same. As long as you keep trying to get your next drink, you'll end up
dead."
"How long do I have to go to this rehab?" she asked, as though she
had something else to do.
"That depends on many factors that will be determined later but at
least a minimum of eight
weeks.", Anne replied, still using her sterile voice, "It really
depends on each individual as to
how long it takes their BPA to adjust."
"I'm I supposed to know what the hell a BPA is?", asked Becky,
still upset by not getting to go
home as planned.
"Behavior Pattern Adjustment," Anne continued. "We find some other,
more accepted
behavior, and condition your mind to do think of doing that behavior
instead of drinking. It's a
rather new method of treatment that requires no hospitals, clinics, or
outside assistance. You
stay with us on site the entire time and once you leave, will not crave
another drink for life. My
staff will assist you in everything that you need during your stay with
us.
I've assigned someone to you already and will introduce you
upon your admittance."
The only behavior Becky could think of required a firm hand, a quick
tongue, and a stiff cock.
"Well, maybe not a stiff cock." she thought to herself as she watched
Anne turn and walk away.
The End
[Note: this story is protected by international copyright law,
all rights not expressly waived are reserved by its author.]
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