"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 The final blow came quickly in the form of a outdated, but strong telephone pole.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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