William and Jamila

By Masked Man

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Feedback: maskedmanwriter@gmail.com

INTRO/ BACKGROUND:

As most of my stories this happens in the 70s/60s. If you are young for you nowdays child nudity is the greater taboo, but generations ago, before the 80s child nudity were considered unimportant and asexual, more regarding boy.

This concept about the “innocence” of child nudity is important especially for chapter 3.

This was inspired in the movie The Bad Seed that impressed me. A crazy psychotic girl but clever enough to trap an older boy, and an also evil psychiatrist woman following “the game” in an era when radical treatments and radical psychiatric trends were common.

SIDE NOTE: this was not written by me, I hired a writer, but the plot and ideas were 100% mine, however the writer put ideas and phrases but it was almost ghost writing, English is not my first language but fear not, this is well written and the guy did an excellent job.

William & Jamila

CHAPTER 1

Dr. Sillard's high heels clicked across the European mansion's marble entry way, creating a sound just as cold as her demeanor. She was a well respected and world renowned pediatrician and child psychiatrist, but instead of sitting in a big, fancy office at the children's psychiatric hospital where she belonged, she was here, in the palatial home of an orphaned heir, playing governess for the building's young owner. The position paid well, but it carried none of the respect or attention she received at the hospital. On the bright side, she only had to attend to two children in residence, compared to all the cases waiting to be treated at the hospital. But, neither of the mansion's young wards were currently in sight, now that she needed them. Dr. Sillard stopped at the foot of the sweeping grand stairs and crossed her arms over her chest. The children were never around when she wanted to speak with them, but they managed to get in the way whenever she wanted a minute to herself, as if they could sense her desire for them to just leave her alone.

“William?” she called, raising a hand to her mouth to make sure he voice carried all the way through the mansion. “Jamila? Come down here, I need to see you both right now.”

She heard movement to her left and turned to see William, the young heir of the mansion, standing in the doorway to the sitting room, a book tucked under his arm. She wondered how long he'd been in there.

William was a pale boy, neither athletic nor heavy, the type of child who preferred to stay inside with his books and games instead of practicing sports with other kids his age. He was a tad short for his age, nearly twelve, and was dressed in one of his little suits, complete with tie.

Dr. Sillard had always thought the formal clothes he insisted on wearing made him look like a ventriloquist's dummy who had come to life and wandered away, but he seemed to cling to the outfits out of a desperate desire for maturity, and to be seen as a young adult already, and no longer as a little boy.

“I'm right here, Dr. Sillard,” he said in his serious little voice. “What do you need?”

She pressed her lips together instead of answering, wanting to wait until she had both children in front of her. She looked up the stairs and called again, “Jamila?”

“I'm coming!” The little girl's voice echoed down to the entry way where they stood. “Just a minute!”

Dr. Sillard tapped the toe of her shoe against the marble floor, feeling the weight of William's eyes on her. He probably wanted an explanation, but she was determined to make him wait.

Footsteps clattered on the stairs above them as Jamila came into view. She was a small African girl, dressed in a nice floral dress and white patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Her skin was as dark as William's was pale, and her cheeks glowed with a child-like glee that he either did not feel, or kept hidden beneath his solemn, shy facade. Her curly hair was mussed, and her hands looked damp, as if they had just been scrubbed.

Dr. Sillard wondered if the girl had been in the bathroom when she had called, then decided it was of no consequence. She waved a hand to direct the children into the sitting room. “Both of you, take a seat in there. Something troubling has come up, and I need to ask you some very important questions.”

Jamila smiled at her as she skipped down the stairs and into the sitting room, where she plopped onto the big velvet couch and sat, unconcernedly kicking her skinny brown legs to and fro.

William set his book down on a nearby table and joined her, though he seated himself carefully on the cushion, like a proper little gentleman.

Dr. Sillard stood in front of them, arms crossed once more, noting the dramatic difference in their outward attitudes. “Now, I know that you're both exceptionally bright, and that you've been taught how to tell what is right from what is wrong, but...” she took a deep breath, watching the children closely for any kind of tell-tale reaction. “The gardener has just informed me that he found a dead bird in the back yard this morning. Ripped to pieces.” Both of the children opened their mouths, but Dr. Sillard continued on without letting them speak. “And before anyone suggests that a local cat might have done it, there were bloody fingerprints left all over the scene of the crime. Small fingerprints, the kind that could only be left by a ten year old,” she scrutinized Jamila's face for any sign of guilt, but the girl just looked sad. “Or an eleven year old.” Again, she watched for a telling reaction, but William's face remained attentive and blank, as if he were seated at a high stakes poker table.

Jamila stopped kicking her legs for a moment, and instead wrapped her thin brown arms around herself in a comforting hug. “Poor birdie,” she said in her cute, high-pitched voice. “That's so sad. Who could do something so mean?”

William nodded his agreement, but said nothing.

Dr. Sillard narrowed her eyes and met his steady blue stare. “An act like this is a clear sign of a dangerous mental state, exactly the kind of thing we deal with at my institution. I've already notified the children's psychiatric hospital and they're sending a van. So, now I need to know which one of you committed this terrible act.” She raised a stern finger. “And no lying.”

The children both knew enough about Dr. Sillard's work to realize that exhibiting that sort of dangerous mental issue would mean the institution of a severe regimen and possibly even being locked up away the hospital, for their own treatment and safety.

Jamila immediately piped up, and in her sweet voice said, “It wasn't me! I love animals! I could never do anything to hurt a helpless little birdie.”

Dr. Sillard had noticed that Jamila's hands looked freshly washed, while William's were dry as the pages of his book, but his continued silence irritated her. His constant “little gentleman” facade bred a particular kind of hate in her chest, as if the rich little boy thought he was much better than her and everyone else. “Well?” she demanded of him, putting her hands on her hips and stepping closer. “What do you have to say for yourself, young man? I have to admit, I find your silence on this matter quite disturbing.”

William's big blue eyes widened as he looked up at the doctor, and his mouth dropped open as he shook his head in denial. “I didn't do it either. I would never. Besides, how could I have? I've been right here, reading in the sitting room all day.”

The little African girl kicked her legs innocently again. “Well, I've been playing house with the dolls up in my room, you can ask the servants.” She made a big show of turning to address her pale playmate. “Do you think any of the servants saw you sitting here by yourself? We can ask them, see if they remember.”

William frowned and looked uncomfortable, scooting back on the cushion. “I-I don't know. I wasn't paying much attention to anything else besides my book...”

Dr. Sillard pounced on the opportunity presented to her by the boy's lack of surety. “So you're saying no one can back up your story? Nobody can vouch for your whereabouts when the bird was killed?”

The boy squirmed a little on the couch, then reached up to adjust the knot on his dark blue tie. “I don't know. I...guess not? But I was here, I swear! I haven't been in the back yard all day.”

“Be honest with me, William,” Dr. Sillard pressured. “Did you do it? Did you kill the bird?”

He shook his head back and forth, beginning to look desperate to be believed.

Jamila scooted away from him on the couch, putting obvious space between them and nibbling at her thumbnail. “I bet he did. I bet he's lying to cover it up 'cause he's scared to get in trouble.”

William gaped wordlessly at her, horrified by the betrayal.

“Look at me, William,” Dr. Sillard demanded of the stricken boy. “And tell me the truth!”

William's porcelain skin flushed pink, and tears began to shine in his blue eyes. “I didn't kill the bird! I didn't, I swear!” In frustration, he smacked the couch cushion with a fist.

Jamila jumped at the gesture and let out a little gasp, looking scared of her young companion.

The unhappy boy burst into tears, openly crying like a much younger child, and acting closer to his true age than Dr. Sillard had ever seen. She had never witnessed him losing control like this in front of people for as long as she had served as his pediatrician and governess.

Dr. Sillard leaned back, crossing her arms once more. “Do you have any idea how guilty you look right now, young man? I'm terribly disappointed in your appalling behavior, although it's a good sign that you're showing some remorse for your cruelty. That means there may still be a chance to rehabilitate you. Not here, of course, but somewhere better equipped to handle someone in your mental state.”

A large man dressed all in white entered the room. Even though his eyes were blurred by tears, William knew immediately by the stranger's uniform that he was an employee from the children's psychiatric hospital. His stomach dropped as he realized what the man's presence meant. He could feel tears and snot on his face, and was s upset he couldn't decide whether to leave them there, or disgracefully wipe them on his sleeves or hands.

The big man approached, his footsteps heavy over the fine hardwood floors.

William scooted back on his behind, shaking his head and trying to crawl away.

The man in white paid no attention to his protest. He reached down and effortlessly picked up the crying boy as if he only weighed as much as a doll.

“No!” William screamed through his tears, wriggling and struggling in the man's burly arms.

The hospital employee ignored his struggles and carried the boy, quite literally kicking and screaming, outside and down to the idling van waiting to take him away to the psychiatric hospital.

Dr. Sillard started to follow, but was halted by a little tug on her coat. She looked down to see Jamila standing there, holding onto her white sleeve.

“Can I come with you?” Her dark eyes were very wide, and her lower lip quivered dramatically. “I'm worried for William. I want to be there for him, and make sure he's going to be okay.”

Dr. Sillard started to shake her head.

“And,” Jamila piped up, sticking out her lower lip, “I don't want to be left here all alone without my friend! Pleeease?”

After a brief pause for consideration, Dr. Sillard nodded, and took the little girl's hand. “All right, then. We'll all go together.”

CHAPTER 2

Once they all arrived at the children's psychiatric hospital, William was carried, still struggling, crying, and proclaiming his innocence, into an exam room. Dr. Sillard and Jamila followed right behind, not saying anything, just observing the shameful scene he made.

The big man in white who had hauled William around like a toy held him still while Dr. Sillard got out a little bottle of liquid, a hypodermic needle, and began to prepare an injection.

“I wouldn't have to do this if you could just behave yourself,” she admonished as she filled the syringe with a dose. Dr. Sillard pinched up the skin on William's pale arm, then sank the needle in and depressed the plunger.

The injection stung at first, but as soon as Dr. Sillard pulled the needle away, William felt all the fight go out of him. His muscles went slack and he became limp as a noodle, slumping against the hospital employee's shoulder. He was still aware of everything around him: the feeling of tears on his cheeks, the sting in his arm where the needle had broken skin, even the way the exam room smelled of rubber and cleaning chemicals, but he could no longer make his arms or legs obey. The man in white deposited him on the room's examination table, then left, closing the door behind him.

Jamila stayed in the room, standing right behind Dr. Sillard like a little shadow in a dress. She looked nervous, like she was afraid she might be sent out of the room at any moment, but the doctor hardly seemed to notice her apprehension.

Dr. Sillard turned and looked down at Jamila, as if she had forgotten the girl was still there. “Well, since you're here with us and deeply concerned for your friend, you can be my unofficial little helper. How does that sound?”

Jamila put on a huge smile and nodded, then turned to look at William. “I just want to help make him better,” she said in her sweetest voice. “Whatever it takes. I'm very worried about his health.”

“Good. We won't be needing these for the exam.” Dr. Sillard stepped up next to the exam table and loosened William's tie, then slipped it up over his head. Then she slid his little suit jacket off of his narrow shoulders. She handed each article of clothing to Jamila, who folded them neatly on a stool by the counter.

The little girl smirked at William from behind the doctor's back as he was slowly stripped, showing him no sympathy, and almost gloating over the fact that he was being embarrassingly punished for a transgression he didn't commit.

Dr. Sillard removed his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly and peeling it off his limp arms. Then, she pulled his undershirt up over his head, ruffling the smooth, platinum blonde hair he always kept carefully combed.

When Jamila accepted the undershirt, she looked at William's naked torso and took in a deep, dramatic breath. “Are you going to remove his pants too? Because I know he's very shy about his legs, aren't you, William?”

It took all of the boy's concentration to make his head bob up and down in a woozy nod.

Jamila nodded as well, mimicking his limited movement with a mocking grin. “I don't think I've ever seen him wear shorts, not even in the middle of summer time, that's how shy he is about his body.”

Dr. Sillard tossed her head without any apparent concern, and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his junior slacks. “Well, that may be how he used to feel, but his way of life is going to be very different here in the hospital.” She looked directly into the boy's blue eyes, still damp and red-rimmed from the tears. “You're under my roof now, and subject to my rules. I won't put up with any more nonsense from you, young man.” She pulled his nice suit pants down his hairless legs and handed them to Jamila, leaving William wearing only his white underwear.

He was a healthy boy, neither fat nor thin, but Jamila hadn't lied when she said he was shy and hated to wear anything shorter than his suit pants. His pale skin gleamed under the exam lights.

From her place beside Dr. Sillard, Jamila put a hand over her mouth and giggled. “Oh my goodness, you're so white! You're the same color as your underwear!”

The boy wondered if Dr. Sillard would stop there, and just leave him in his underpants, which was embarrassing enough. But Jamila watched with wide eyes and a wider smirk as Dr. Sillard went ahead and tugged down his underwear too, leaving him sitting stark naked on the exam table.

Jamila took the underpants, but she didn't immediately fold them with the rest of his clothes. Her eyes got big, and she looked like she was about to burst out laughing. “What's next?” she asked excitedly. When Dr. Sillard turned to look at her, Jamila quickly put the underwear down on the stool, dropping her voice to a more subdued, concerned tone. “I mean, what's the next step in making sure my friend gets better as quickly as possible?”

With the doctor's attention elsewhere, William took his chance and struggled to order his arms to move, even though they felt heavy as stones. He dragged them across his thighs, just far enough to cover his groin with his hands and give himself a little privacy.

“I need to give William a thorough physical examination, to check for any developmental issues that might be exacerbating his mental state. Then we'll take his temperature, to rule out a fever or infection.”

Jamila looked past Dr. Sillard and saw how William had managed to cover himself up. She made a big show of putting her hands on her skinny hips, then addressed him in a teasingly motherly tone. “Now, now, you can't cover up like that, silly. Dr. Sillard has to check you all over. It's for your own good.” She stepped up to the exam table and took both of his wrists in her dark hands, easily lifting them away from protecting his shy modesty. She could just as easily have dropped them, since it took so much of his effort to move them at all, but Jamila kept hold of his hands, keeping them up by his belly and giving him a smug smile.

William wasn't the kind of boy to rough house with other kids his age, but he knew he was bigger and stronger than Jamila, and on any other day, he would have been able to yank his hands out of her grasp. But today, after the injection Dr. Sillard had given him, he couldn't do anything more than silently plead with her not to embarrass him further.

Dr. Sillard looked over. “That's good, Jamila. Very helpful. Keep his hands out of the way so I can examine him.” She leaned over him and began to inspect his genitals. The brush of her fingers tickled William, but she was very business-like, and clearly not in the mood to play. “Hm,” she said at last. “It looks like he's rather small and underdeveloped for his age. I'll make a note of that, it could be a symptom of some deeper problem.” She squeezed his testicles and rubbed the hairless skin of his scrotum between her fingers, checking for irregularities. “Testes are on the small side too, but there are no lumps or sign of disease.”

Jamila nodded after every sentence, eyes huge, as if she found all of this fascinating.

Dr. Sillard held up his little penis with one hand, and used the other to pull back his foreskin for the examination, exposing the shy, sensitive head within.

Still holding William's wrists, Jamila turned her head to giggle into her shoulder at the sight of his naked organ. “I thought he'd be white all over!” the little girl exclaimed. “I never thought his thing would be bright pink like that.”

“Yes, that's the way it is with Caucasian men. Foreskin seems healthy as well. Good, nothing seems amiss so far.” Dr. Sillard stepped away and went to the counter against the far wall. “Time to take his temperature now.”

Jamila laid William's hands on his chest, one on top of the other, and gave him a stern look, daring him to try to move again. She glanced at the doctor's turned back then leaned in so close to William's ear that he could feel her breath against his cheek, hot in the chill exam room. “I did it,” she whispered triumphantly to the stunned boy. “I killed that stupid, noisy bird, and now you have to suffer the consequences, you soft, naked idiot.”

William rolled his eyes to the side to peer at her face, looming above him as large and dark as storm clouds. There was no guilt on her face, no apology at all. She practically radiated a triumphant, almost maniacal glee. William was horrified. All the time he'd spent with Jamila, right under his own roof in the mansion, he'd never suspected she could be so cruel.

A wide white grin split her face. “And no, it doesn't matter that I just told you the truth. Everyone thinks you're the crazy one, now. No one's gonna believe a word you say from now on.” She leaned even closer, whispering intimately into his ear. “There's nothing you can do about it. You will be mine.” That said, the little girl straightened, and her face bore no lingering trace of malice or guile. She turned eagerly toward the doctor. “Is that something I can help with? Taking his temperature?”

Dr. Sillard nodded with a proud smile. “Yes, in fact I think you can. My goodness, you're in such a helpful mood today.” She patted the African girl's head. “Your concern for William's health and well-being is certainly touching. Unfortunately, the calming drug I had to give him tends to redirect some blood flow from the skin and extremities, so we won't get an accurate enough reading if we try to take his temperature with the thermometer in his mouth or armpit.”

Jamila turned to look over her shoulder at William and gave him a big, smug grin, then made her face into a mask of pure innocence again when she gazed up at Dr. Sillard. “But doctor, I don't understand. How else can we possibly take his temperature then? What if he has a dangerous fever?”

“Don't worry,” Dr. Sillard replied, picking up a skinny glass rod from the counter top and raising it to the light. “We have other ways to take a troubled boy's temperature.” She smeared a thin layer of petroleum jelly on the rectal thermometer, then handed it to her eager little helper. “Careful with that, it's fragile.”

As they approached, William gritted his teeth. He could hardly believe this was happening to him. It was all so totally unfair! He wouldn't let it happen, he decided. William summoned enough strength to cross his bare legs at the ankles, pressing his thighs together as hard as he could, and keeping them flat against the top of the exam table.

Dr. Sillard hardly seemed to notice his attempted resistance. She pushed him back until he was lying flat on the table, then grabbed his skinny ankles and lifted his legs in the air, folding his knees up until they nearly touched his flat white belly.

William felt the cool air of the exam room on his spread cheeks and exposed butt hole. The boy groaned just a little, almost inaudibly, more embarrassed than he'd ever been in his short life. Neither the doctor nor the little girl standing at the end of the exam table seemed to notice, or if they did, they simply did not care.

Jamila's eyes roved all over his immobilized body, seeing her playmate from an entirely new and exciting angle. She held the thermometer in one hand, but didn't do anything at first, just studied his white, spread cheeks and how the pale flesh contrasted with the darker puckering of his bare butt hole.

William bit his cheek against the humiliation of being so exposed and thoroughly examined. He and Jamila had lived together for a year, played and eaten side by side, but so far he had always managed to stay clothed and somewhat decent around her. Now he had no secrets left to call his own. Jamila had seen them all. How was he going to be able to hold his head high after this? How could he stand to be around her anymore, knowing she could be picturing (in vivid detail) every inch of flesh beneath his clothes?

Dr. Sillard turned to the little African girl and cleared her throat. “I need to make sure his temperature gets taken, otherwise the exam will be incomplete. Do you want to switch places? You can come over here and hold his legs up, if you'd rather help out that way.”

Jamila shook her head wildly, as if breaking herself out of a trance, but she did not lose her tight grip on the rectal thermometer. “No thanks, I'm okay. No need to switch, I can do this just fine, I promise.” She gave the thermometer a little swish and flick in the air as if it were a magic wand, making sure that William took a good look at the smooth implement. “Are you ready, William?” she teased. “The time has come to introduce you to your new best friend, Mr. Thermometer.”

William, even though his muscles had mostly been relaxed by the injection, still tensed up when he felt the tip of the cold thermometer touch his sensitive butt hole. It nudged against him, pressing with a strange, thin pressure that gave him goosebumps, and almost tickled. It was the weirdest thing new sensation he had ever felt, and the boy did not know whether to laugh or cry. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his muscles together as best as he could.

Jamila frowned, and looked up at Dr. Sillard. “I'm trying, but the thermometer is just not going in,” the little girl complained.

Dr. Sillard leaned her head over to look, making William blush even more. “The petroleum jelly I put on there should make it nice and slippery. Just push a little harder, and it'll slide right in.”

Jamila met William's gaze and shrugged, then smiled as she applied a little more force, increasing the prodding, insistent pressure, but doing so slowly and deliberately.

The tip of the thermometer slid inside him, and William gasped a little, teased and troubled by the invasive, but not painful, new feeling. The thermometer slipped backwards a bit, but not all the way out of him, then Jamila pushed it back in again, slower and deeper than before.

William closed his eyes, not wanting to see Dr. Sillard standing over him anymore, or his companion's triumphant glee as she “helped” take his temperature. The thermometer slid backwards once more, almost all the way out that time, eliciting a weak groan from the boy.

“Jamila,” Dr. Sillard said in a gently admonishing voice, like the girl had just played a silly prank. “The thermometer has to stay inside his body, or it won't be able to take his temperature properly.”

“I'm sorry,” Jamila answered in her sweetest, most innocent voice. “It's just so slippery! I keep losing my grip on it, but it's okay, I think I have it now.” She slowly sank the thermometer deep into William's butt hole again, and left it there this time. “About how long does it take to get a temperature reading?” she asked as eagerly as if she were inquiring how much longer it would be before a batch of cupcakes finished baking.

William opened his eyes again in time to see Dr Sillard lean over and look at the thermometer sticking out of his bottom. He guessed that it would only take ten seconds or so. Or at least, that's what he hoped.

The doctor frowned a little, then reached out and twisted the thermometer so she could read it, sending a swirl of that strange, tickling feeling through his belly. “We'll need to leave it in for a few minutes, to ensure perfect accuracy.”

William let out a humiliated sigh, and resigned himself to spending the next endless minutes with his legs held up in the air like a baby on a changing table, a thermometer sticking out of his bottom as if he were a boy-flavored lollipop.

Jamila giggled, of course, perpetually amused by his embarrassment. “He looks just like a Christmas goose, ready to be popped into the oven!”

Dr. Sillard cocked her head to the side to regard the boy. “Yes, I suppose he does look a little like a game bird. Pale, naked, and plucked.” Her calculating gaze went to Jamila, who cautiously looked up at her. After a moment, Dr. Sillard said, “You were whispering, but not quite softly enough. I heard everything.”

Jamila stared up at the doctor without showing any reaction, playing it cool and waiting to see what the woman might say next.

William held his breath, too. Jamila had slipped up. She'd shown her true nature, and now there was a witness to her confession. His heart leaped. The hospital would realize they'd made a mistake, and they would let him go home now, surely. Jamila would have to stay here, with the drug injections and the humiliations, not him.

Jamila blinked slowly. If she was frightened by this turn of events, she certainly didn't show it. “What do you think you heard?” she asked evenly.

“Everything,” Dr. Sillard repeated. “I know it was you who killed that poor bird back at the mansion, and that you've let everyone think it was William who did it.” She clicked her tongue, as if admonishing a toddler.

Still, Jamila did not react.

William watched her dark face for any sign of guilt, or shame, but saw nothing.

Dr. Sillard frowned thoughtfully. She looked disappointed, as if she had been expecting (or hoping) for Jamila to have a big noisy breakdown and tearfully confess to everything. “I have to admit, I suspected you from the start.”

William stared up in disbelief at the admission, and Jamila finally looked a little startled.

“I knew there had to have been some permanent mental damage from your childhood growing up in Africa, though the other doctors didn't want to believe. And when I called you both together after the bird was found dead, your hands looked freshly scrubbed, even though you claimed to have been up in your room, playing with your dolls.”

Before Jamila could react, Dr. Sillard reached over and grabbed her little hands, holding them up close for inspection. “Yep. Just as I thought. There's still a little bit of bird blood trapped under your fingernails where you forgot to scrub.”

Jamila yanked her hands out of the doctor's grasp and tucked them out of sight behind her back.

Dr. Sillard smiled. “Oh, don't worry about it. I'm not going to tell anyone, they'll just overreact and get in the way. Think about it. What could be more fascinating to a child psychiatrist than having a real, live psychopath right under her nose?”

Slowly, Jamila relaxed, and stepped toward William again, warily keeping her eyes on the doctor, who nodded and smiled.

“That's right. I won't report you. Just hide your next bird better, okay?”

CHAPTER 3

A few weeks later, Dr. Sillard had William fetched down from his room and brought to the large main parlor, where guests were usually entertained. Before he was brought down though, William was given another injection in the arm that spread a limp kind of calmness throughout his body as before, although this dose seemed milder than the last. He could still turn his neck and blink, but not speak.

Dr. Sillard ensured this fact herself before seating him on the couch like a posh little doll. She checked his reflexes and responses, then nodded, satisfied. “Good. Wouldn't want to take any unnecessary risks while our visitor is here.”

Jamila followed right behind the doctor, like a second shadow, watching everything she did and how William reacted with great curiosity and interest.

Not long after that, a pretty young woman with a camera around her neck and a notepad under her arm was shown into the room. She wore a striped miniskirt, a green top, and knee high go-go boots. She smiled at everyone and held her hand out to shake Dr. Sillard's. “Hello, I'm Amanda from Celebrity Today Magazine. We spoke on the phone? I'm so glad you agreed to do this interview, Dr. Sillard.” She paused, and looked down at Jamila. “And who is this little darling?”

Dr. Sillard placed a hand on the little girl's shoulder. “This is Jamila. She lived with William in his mansion, until the unfortunate incident. They're very close, and she's been so good to have around. I think she has a calming effect on his poor, troubled mind, and she makes the cutest little helper, too.”

“I'm sure she does!” Amanda straightened and turned her attention on William, who sat still as a doll right where he had been placed. “My magazine did a profile on William last year, highlighting him on a list of young heirs.” She clicked her tongue and put her head to the side. “This whole situation is such a shame. He seemed so well-adjusted back then. I don't think anyone could have predicted he might be afflicted by a dangerous psychosis like this. Well,” she shrugged. “We may not have been able to predict it, but I know my readers will want to know all about it. And about you, doctor, and all your good work trying to treat this poor boy.”

Dr. Sillard smiled, obviously enjoying soaking up all the attention and praise. “My number one mission in life has always been to help.”

“Of course it has. And bless you for it.” Amanda moved toward where William sat, and she knelt down to his level before taking a picture, then turned her camera on its side to take another at a different angle. “He poses so perfectly for pictures!” she gushed. “And he looks so handsome in those elegant pajamas!”

Jamila looked from William to the reporter, then smiled a little too wide. “He's wearing them especially for you. He got all dressed up for your visit, but usually he spends his time nude.” She cocked her head to the side, and innocently suggested, “Maybe you should take pictures of him like that, so your readers can see him as he normally is, day to day.”

Dr. Sillard scoffed. “Oh, I don't think so, Jamila. That seems like a pretty silly idea-”

“No,” Amanda interrupted. “It's not silly at all, that actually makes a lot of sense. It's natural! People need to be more open-minded about the human body, and I know my readers are enlightened enough to recognize that there's nothing wrong with a nude child, especially accompanied by his doctor.” She adjusted the strap of her camera around her neck. “Besides, I want my article to be as accurate as possible, and to reflect William as he normally spends his time here in the hospital. No tricks, no fakery.”

Dr. Sillard looked down at Jamila, then shrugged. “Well, all right then. For the sake of realism, I suppose. But, it would be the most realistic to have you photograph him in his room, where he spends most of his time.”

“That sounds perfect!” Amanda grinned.

Dr. Sillard lifted the limp boy easily into her arms, and the three females escorted him up to his room, where he was set upon the bed.

Then, with Amanda eagerly watching everything and taking notes, Jamila and Dr. Sillard began to strip off his fancy blue and green striped silk pajamas.

CHAPTER 4

Jamila fiddled with the buttons down the front of his pajama top, taking her time to slowly work each round button out of its hole. William knew she could have done it faster, but by the way she kept grinning at him, it was clear that this was part of the game for her. She knew he couldn't stop them from undressing him, so she was going to draw it out and make the embarrassment last as along as possible.

The silk of his pajama top made a soft whispering sound as Jamila pulled it over his shoulders and slid each sleeve off his arms.

“Doesn't this all sound so exciting?” she asked with a big grin. “You're going to be even more famous after this article runs. Think of all the readers who are going to suddenly see you in a brand new light.” She laughed. “Every bit of you!” Jamila took hold of the bottom hems of his pajama pants and slowly started tugging them down over his pale ankles. “Think of all the people who are going to see you naked on those pages.” She smiled even wider. “It seems like it would be a big deal. I know I would be nervous, if I was in your shoes. But you seem very calm about all this, William.” The waistband slid past his knees, exposing his underwear, and then Jamila pulled the last of the silk over his feet with a flourish. She made a pretend serious face, mocking his normal demeanor. “I can't believe how very grown up you're being right now.”

Amanda piped up from behind her, sounding surprised. “Him? Grown up? No way, not with that sweet little face. He's practically still a baby, aren't you?” She used a high-pitched voice whenever she spoke to him, the type of tone one uses when praising puppies or tiny kittens. She was very young and didn't have any children of her own, but she thought that William and Jamila made the cutest little pair she'd ever seen. She'd been a little curious and fascinated with William since reading the magazine's profile of him, and had eagerly jumped to take this assignment. He seemed like such a unique blend of precious little boy and dignified junior gentleman, and he had handled inheriting a mansion at such a young age with great maturity and responsibility, a very rare reaction among boys his age.

Part of the reason why she had become a photo-journalist was because she was clever and intuitive, and Amanda sensed a subtle, hidden ulterior motive in the doctor and little girl's actions. She was very curious to see where that led, and didn't want to accidentally let on that she suspected there was more to the story, so she decided to play along with their apparent game. They seemed to be gleaning some enjoyment from teasing the posh little boy, but as far as she could tell, it was all just harmless fun.

Besides, William had proved himself to be mentally deranged, and it was possible that this sort of treatment was specifically designed to help him through his troubles somehow. Amanda was determined to play along and take her pictures, and see if she could tell where all of this might be going. Plus, if she got a good enough story from her time spent in the children's psychiatric hospital, she might even make the cover of Celebrity Today Magazine.

William's cheeks heated as he sat on the bed in only his underwear, and even though he couldn't see himself, he was certain that his face had gone bright red from the frustration and embarrassment. It was bad enough being treated like a baby by Jamila and Dr. Sillard, but to have a complete stranger brought in to take pictures too...it was all too much to handle.

Jamila smirked at his troubled expression, and wriggled her fingers under the elastic waistband of his underwear. “Better get these out of the way, so they don't ruin the nice lady's pictures.”

The warmth of anger suffused William from head to toe, and with all his effort turned toward the task, he willed his hands to move over to his front and grip the lower part of his underwear, struggling to keep it in place. He held tight to the fabric with all his strength, but because of the soothing drug Dr. Sillard had injected him with, his muscles were weak as a kitten's.

Jamila's small, dark, delicate hands had no trouble prying his fingers up and moving them out of the way before she slowly dragged his underwear off. It all seemed to present no problem for her, as if she were negating the struggles of an infant.

William tried again, moving his hands down to cover himself, but Jamila seized his wrists with firm authority and pinned them down to the bed. He got the message loud and clear that time. It would be a waste of his weak efforts to continue trying to censor himself in front of the ladies. Jamila had made it abundantly clear that she wouldn't allow it.

Besides, each attempt exhausted him so thoroughly, he doubted he could muster the strength to attempt any more little rebellions. Embarrassed and exhausted, the boy resigned himself to remaining exposed for the rest of the journalist's visit.

Amanda immediately swooped in with her camera, shutter clicking away. “Aww,” she purred teasingly. “Look how cute he is!” She snapped a few pictures. “His skin's so smooth and pale, he's almost as white as the covers. He looks like a little sugar doll. Or an angel.” She snapped her fingers and pulled the camera away. “That's exactly what he looks like!” Her eyes were wide, and she grinned as if she'd just won the lottery. “He looks like a little cupid, or one of the hairless, innocent cherubs in renaissance paintings.” She took a few more pictures. “He could have his portrait painted by a master, or be hung up in a museum, just like this.”

Heat crept into William's cheeks at all the attention, and the effusive way she was speaking about him.

“Look at him blush!” Jamila crowed. “He's so shy.”

“Ugh,” Amanda groaned, rolling her eyes for emphasis. “That's so cute, I can barely stand it!”

She took another round of pictures, then let her camera fall back to its resting place between her breasts and brought out her notebook. “Dr. Sillard, maybe now would be a good time for the interview?”

Dr. Sillard smiled and smoothed both hands down her coat. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

The two women stepped to the side, moving away from when William lay on the bed.

“Well first, I'd love to learn a bit more about adorable little Jamila here. She and William seem so close, his sudden illness must have had quite a dramatic impact on her.”

“Naturally.” Dr. Sillard turned her back on the bed to better focus on the journalist in front of her, and the children, though the primary topic of discussion, were momentarily forgotten. “Jamila spent her first nine years growing up in Africa, in the midst of terrible poverty and heartbreak.”

Amanda nodded along, scribbling down copious notes.

“But luckily, a humanitarian organization saw how clever she was and recognized her potential, so she was brought up north to receive a private education, and last year became William's dear companion. The hope was that since both the children are of similar brilliance, they would be able to help each other socialize, and inspire mutual excellence as they grew. Plus,” Dr. Sillard added, leaning closer, “we hoped that Jamila's sweet innocence and more child-like demeanor could soften William's almost pathological desire to be see as an adult as such a young age.”

Amanda paused to chew the tip of her pen cap, then jotted down a few more notes.

Dr. Sillard, clearly fond of the way the journalist followed her every word, straightened her shoulders and continued. “You see, before Jamila came into his life, William was quite the spoiled brat. Having a mansion almost all to himself, and having servants to wait on him 24 hours a day was very bad for his mental state. Made him a bit of a narcissist, and a tiny tyrant.”

Over on the bed, William laboriously shook his head, barely managing to move it at all, thanks to the drug. A brat? Him? How could Dr. Sillard say such a thing? Between her and Jamila, he felt completely surrounded by liars and deceivers.

“Luckily,” Dr. Sillard continued, “the consistent discipline he's received here in the hospital has proven to be very beneficial to his troubled mental state.”

Amanda paused in her writing. “When he was interviewed before, he wore the funniest little suits.” She pursed her lips. “So serious. But his disposition and demeanor are vastly different now. To what do you credit these changes?”

Dr. Sillard's frosty smile grew wider. “The stuffy, prematurely old way he dressed was due to an ingrained sense of shame and bashfulness about his body that went hand in hand with his bratty, spoiled nature. He felt that he was superior to everyone, and that no other human was good enough to see so much as an ankle. But, here in the hospital, we have had great success in teaching him that child nudity is a natural and healthy thing, no more sexual than a doctor's visit, or a shower. And, more importantly, that not everything in life is under his control, nor will the world bend itself to be “his way”. Under my strict supervision, and with some help from Jamila, I think we've successfully destroyed his barriers, which will help him develop into a stable, healthy-minded young man.”

“Well, I hope he doesn't grow up too fast.” The journalist giggled. “He's just so adorable as he is, like a big, lovely baby...” Amanda glanced over at the kids for a moment, and was transfixed by the sight of Jamila very casually touching William's penis, as idly as if it were a flower she had picked. The little girl pulled back the boy's foreskin with one hand, exposing the little pink head, then pulled it up again, and back down, as carelessly as if it were a Slinky toy.

Amanda was surprised by the completely casual nature of the act. The little girl clearly didn't view the act as sexual. She wasn't even looking at it, or him. She was watching the women and listening to their conversation, as if William were just a piece of furniture or a stuffed animal she was absently fiddling with. She must see him as an asexual baby, the journalist thought to herself, wondering if there was potential for a future article there, in their strange companionship. Maybe there was even enough to document between them to fill a non-fiction book. Plenty of reader would want to know about the rich orphan, his adopted African friend, and their life together in first the mansion, and now the children's psychiatric hospital. Maybe if she wrote about them and got their story published, she would finally start to get the recognition and respect she deserved, as a serious, professional journalist. Too many people looked at her, and only seemed to see how young she was, or how pretty, unable to look past her bright exterior to see the hunger for recognition that brewed within. I'll write the story of their lives together, she decided with a determined nod. But first, I'll need plenty of pictures. I'll take some for my magazine article, and save the best ones for later use when I finish the book. She watched Jamila play with William's foreskin for a few more seconds. While she remained convinced that there were no sexual overtones to the action, Amanda was sure she picked up on some sort of power play at work. There was a dynamic there that spoke more about domination and control than one might expect to witness between children of such a young age. But, as Dr. Sillard had previously said, they were both little geniuses.

After a moment, Amanda raised her camera and snapped a picture of the pair of children, then seamlessly returned to her previous conversation with Dr. Sillard.

Effortlessly, and almost as if she weren't even thinking about it, Jamila lifted one of William's arms into the air with her other hand, exposing his hairless armpit. She kept her attention on the chatting women on the other side of the room, but lazily stroked a finger across the sensitive skin of his underarm.

It tickled so much, William felt his face flushing, and his mouth pulled into a grimace. With great effort, he started to squirm just a little, as much as the immobilizing drug would allow.

That little movement was enough to catch the reporter's eye, because Amanda quickly turned and took an interest in what Jamila was doing. She stepped closer to them, getting her camera ready to take another picture. “Oh my goodness, would you look at how ticklish he is!” she exclaimed.

The loss of attention visibly irritated Dr. Sillard, who crossed her arms and tapped her toe.

Jamila smiled at the woman with the camera, but when she faced William again, her expression was stern. She moved her hand away from his underarm, and over to a secret place she knew on his ribs, a “yield” spot that always made him immediately compliant, just so the terrible tickling would stop. When she spoke, her voice was high and sweet, but her tone was hard as a prison guard's.

“Lay still,” she commanded in that authoritarian voice. “And stop squirming, or you'll ruin the nice lady's picture.”

Since he couldn't get away from the tickling, and obeying was the only way to make it stop, William carefully schooled his muscles to go limp and still, even though they wanted to twitch him away from her teasing.

Jamila smirked. “That's right. No more moving, or the photograph will be blurry.” She leaned closer, so that only William could hear her. “And I want to make sure you don't 'accidentally' cover yourself. I want you totally exposed in this picture. No secrets.”

Slowly, the drugged boy nodded.

Amanda leaned in so she could get a clear shot of everything. The camera's bright flash washed over them, then the journalist stepped back, satisfied with her shot.

Jamila still stood over William though, tickling that specific spot, clearly not ready to be done. She arched her eyebrows in the cold, disapproving way she'd seen Dr. Sillard do, and asked, “Do you promise to be good?”

All the tiny movements he'd fought to make had already drained what little energy he had, so it took a huge effort for William just to nod, but he did.

Jamila was clearly not satisfied. She frowned. “Come on now, I could barely see that itty bitty nod. Give me a nice big one, to show you're really listening.”

William wanted to heave a frustrated sigh, but that would have sapped some of his already over-taxed energy. Instead, he did as he was told and, with tremendous effort, gave her a big, dramatic nod.

“Aww!” Amanda purred.

Jamila glanced over her shoulder at the journalist for a second to make sure she was still watching, then bent over William and planted a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, just as sweet as could be.

Amanda beamed at the scene, before stepping back over to where Dr. Sillard waited to resume the interview.

William hoped that the torturous tickling would stop, now that he'd proven how weak and obedient he was, but it didn't.

Once again, Jamila casually trailed a teasing finger up to his armpit, to the most ticklish part of his body, the one place he really couldn't stand being tickled.

Furious that his obedience had been met only with more cruelty, William tried to lower his arm, to hide that ticklish place. Through sheer concentration and a desperate desire to end the tickling torture, he willed his free hand to move over to his exposed armpit and tried to block Jamila's teasing, tickling finger.

Jamila held his wrist with just her thumb and forefinger, emphasizing how little effort it took to negate his attempt to block her access to his body. She held his arm straight out, underarm exposed and vulnerable, and she paid no more attention to the weak, limp hand trying to push her away than she would have a moth.

She continued stroking his armpit, tickling him like crazy, but turned her attention to where Amanda continued her interview with Dr. Sillard, completely unconcerned.

William couldn't stand it, but there was nothing he could do in his weakened state. His body held no secrets anymore, Jamila had easily proved that again and again during his time in the children's psychiatric hospital, and like a concert pianist, Jamila had learned precisely where to touch him to send him into a helpless, ticklish hell.

She didn't even have to look at him to do it, and now that she knew how to play him, William was sure that the torment would never end, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

He squirmed a little more, unable to get away, as the ladies continued their conversation, unconcerned with his plight, and Jamila didn't even spare him a glance, just mercilessly continued tickling him, like he was her own personal, private plaything.

(End of File)