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A straight woman is seduced in the office.

A look of surprise, the beginning of a puzzled smile and then the deep thump of Malafacha's eight-inch stiletto plunging into his belly. The orderly began to gasp and Malafacha whirled him inside and against a wall; he wailed softly at the rough treatment, the dagger still painfully buried in him. Malafacha pulled in out with a whispering hiss and held it up tight to the orderly's face. Young himself and quite good-looking, his expression was still a little surprised, with terror of imminent death seeping in. And Malafacha stuck him deep in the abdomen again; he felt sticky blood on his clenched forefinger and thumb as the hilt stopped the thrust. The orderly gurgled a little, and when Malafacha yanked it out again, he gasped almost silently this time, and dropped.

As Malafacha wrapped his body in a cheap plastic tarp and dropped it in a laundry basket, he was reminded of how much he enjoyed stabbing people in the belly. The perky secretary a few nights ago made a strange cooing sound when he spindled her, naked and especially vulnerable.

After quickly washing off in the mop sink, he was down the hall to the wing that housed room 213. He knocked on the door and heard a quite friendly voice answer. Malafacha lied that he was an orderly come to prep him for Dr. Wexler and was allowed inside.

His target was tying his hospital gown and Malafacha swept over to help. Prepping a knot for easy loosening, Malafacha ran his eyes down a corridor of bare back to buttocks ripe and firm. It was all he could do to keep from biting them now.

"In the bed," Malafacha said, patting the firm mattress. As the young man sat on it Malafacha went to a locked drawer and, clinking through the dead orderly's key ring, found what was likely the right one. After a couple of tries, he got it open, bypassed milder drugs intended for his target and grabbed a vial of benzodiazepine. Filling a hypo with much, much more than a usual dose, he said cheerily over his shoulder, "Let me see your bottom."

His target rolled over on his stomach and Malafacha calmed swabbed his smooth butt skin before plunging the needle deep. "Ahhh!" the young man cried. "Oh... sorry," Malafacha said soothingly, and squirted in the full load.

"We're going need that temperature," he said, stepping again to the drawer. Malafacha returned to the bed with a thermometer and some KY; the young man peeked nervously over his shoulder.

"Don't worry, haven't lost one yet," Malafacha said, and without a pause, poked the business end of the thermometer in his target's asshole. The young man jerked and groaned again, and Malafacha had a hard time letting go of the digital probe, working it in and out a little.

"I'm going to rub the drug in with massage," he said. The young man gasped again as Malafacha gripped and twisted his butt cheeks with growing ferocity. Each time he squeezed, the young man's moan sounded a little higher, a little more faint.

Malafacha finally released the buttcheeks and gave one a sharp slap. The young man growled something and so Malafacha thumped the thermometer still sticking in him. He grunted again in groggy distress.

"What are you doing?" the young man demanded - but in a very drowsy, very halting voice. At that, Malafacha pulled out the probe and poked his finger deep inside the young man.

"Ah, no!" his target squealed, unable to achieve much volume. Malafacha worked it up the to knuckle and began stroking it in and out.

"Stop! What are you doing?" his target repeated, breathing heavily in time to each thrust.

"Well, I'm going to do this a little - until you're broken in," Malafacha replied. "Then I'm going to fuck you the way you need to be fucked."

The young man made a little, soft yelp of fear. Malafacha knelt on the bed, unzipping his pants. "Here we go," he said, softly, easing the tip of his huge dick, now hard as an I-beam, into the young man.

"Oooo, no, please.

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