Samantha Baxter of Earth

“Oh, my name is Samantha.” Samantha started slowly unsure of how her story would be received. “Samantha Baxter. I've never heard of Aria, I'm from a city called Worcester Massachusetts.” She could see Doctor Marque's polite nod but knew that he had no more heard of Massachusetts than she had heard of Aria, “It's a state in the United States...” Still nothing “...On Earth.” At last she saw a flash of recognition.

“I'm from Earth.” Samantha repeated “but I think I'm from a different time. I'm from an Earth when we were just starting to explore space.” She ended her explanation with a helpless shrug because the explanation sounded absurd.

“How did you end up here?” Asked the doctor, if he thought she was nuts, he gave no indication of it. “And now?” He added as if travelling through space and time was a normal occurrence in this universe.

“I don't know.” She admitted with a sob that soon turned into a torrent of tears. Somehow she found herself held in the doctor's strong arms as he held her firmly against his broad chest while she let out all the fears and frustration of the past twelve hours. Samantha wasn't sure how long she had been crying, but as her tears subsided she became aware of a couple things.

The first thing she noticed was that the doctor smelled good, he had a scent a little like rosemary and spice, it was woodsy and exotic and with each breath Samantha became more and more aware of his clean male scent. Secondly, unlike when Mr. Abrams hands had pawed her, she liked the feeling of Dr. Marque's arms holding her. Finally, she became aware of her (or Rhiain's) body and how much it changed this type of contact. Her full breasts were pressed firmly against the man's torso and the warmth of the contact sent waves of pleasure through her body. No sooner than she became aware of the pleasant tingling than she felt her nipples tightening into hard sensitive buds.

“I'm sorry!” Samantha gasped and twisted out of the doctor's arms. “I'm so embarrassed, I never do that.” She never had either. Samantha remembered making scathing comments about women who threw themselves at men letting their tears manipulate their targets. She was even more horrified to see that she had left a large damp spot on the doctor's pale blue silk shirt.

“It's alright,” Dr. Marque told her with a wry smile “I'm sure anyone would be overwhelmed.” He placed his hands on his thighs awkwardly - was there a bulge in his crotch?

“Tell me what happened in your room.” He prompted her gently and Samantha suddenly felt nausea knot her stomach.

“It was Abrams.” She whispered quietly as she stared quietly at a knot in the floor by her feet. "I woke up to him fondling my breasts. Then he ...” She paused trying to find the words to describe Abrams act. She took a deep breath and forged forward into unfamiliar lexicon. “He used my breasts to masturbate. He fucked my tits while I was held in place by that damn bed.”

The doctor was studying her carefully. Samantha could only try to imagine what the aristocratic docotor might be thinking. She had just told him that his the head of security of this hospital had sexually assualted one of the patients in a private room. Was he trying to determine if she was lying? Or did he believe her and was trying to figure out how to handle the situation.