“Tell me, little girl, why are you here?”
“Now, now, none of that temporizing. I’ve been on the edge of retirement, yet your call brought us here to my office today. Speak.”
“It’s gone. I-I’m afraid I …lost it.”
Her head hung low, her long red hair hiding her face. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. In her sandal-clad feet, even her toes, painted a brilliant purple to match the lone streak in her hair, curled tight. His finger, bent from his years, caught her chin and lifted her face.
Concern was clear on his face. The sharp eyes seemed to peer into her.
“It’s time to breathe, time to tell me all.”
Her eyes fluttered downward, looking at his feet. He’d never professionally dressed for these sessions. Part of her thought it might be to comfort his patients, who came from the hinterlands of Maine. Part of her was certain he had way too much “don’t giveafuck” to even notice what he dragged on each morning. The incongruity of his nobbly toes peaking out from ancient birkenstocks made a small smile flit across her mouth.
“Here. Look at me.”
There, that was the tone that she could never resist. The firm command of a Dom–whether he was a doctor or a landscaper–always made her obedient. Her blue eyes rose to his; nerves made butterflies dance in her belly.
“It’s…hard for me to talk about this with you staring into me,” she whispered.
He grinned. Her body clenched for a moment. A smiling Dom, even one who was not acknowledging himself as one, always made those areas of her body waken. This, this was why she drove so far to see Dr. Strangeguy. It never failed to help her slough off the stupor of her ‘regular’ life.
“Continue,” he said, his tone firm. She nearly rolled her eyes at that order–what therapist demanded words? Weren’t they supposed to be content to let people move through things at their own pace?
“I…have…been…stifled lately. For a long time all my stories had left me. And now, now I can feel them there, under my skin. But I don’t have a way to let them out.”
“I see,” he said, his finger still firmly under her chin. She felt a tiny loss when he moved away. The heat from even that slight touch burned neatly in a fingertip sized circle on her skin.
He moved away, behind her, then passed in front of her again.
“Do you do your laundry every day?”
She blinked. What?
“What?” she said, echoing the confusion in her head.
“Do you wash your dishes, take out your trash, mow your yard, go to work?”
“Well…well, of course I do,” she replied, bemused.
“So you are making time for all these other parts of you, but ignoring this other, equally essential part?”
“Well…” she said, then paused.
She shook her head, frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her until he spelled it out that way.
“I guess…I am.” Her frown deepened.
“Sit.” He shoved her, hard, one large hand pressed between her breasts. Falling back into the chair, she was too stunned to protest. “Stay,” he said, moving deeper into the office.
Sit. Stay. Was she a fucking dog now? A protest rose to her lips, yet when she opened them to speak, a hard rubber ball slipped inside.
“Waaagh,” she tried to forestall him around the ball gag.
“No, no more waiting for what it is you really need, slut. You are a slut, as you have acknowledged here before. You pay me to help you. Sit, stay, and be a good girl.”
A blindfold slipped over her eyes. There was almost silence in the room, though she strained to hear. Rough rope wrapped around her left wrist, securing her arm to the chair. Her lips moved, though to protest or moan she wasn’t certain. She felt the hot splat of saliva on her left breast, soaking into her blouse and bra. There was a tremor in her belly now as her right wrist was also secured.
“I’ve thought about your problem. It’s time. Specifically, time management. To slow down time, we’ll keep that blindfold on.”
A rough hand rested briefly on the top of her head.
“Your other issue is touch. Staying in touch with all the parts of you. If part of you ceases to function, it puts a stress on the rest of you. I see the tension in your body as you sit there. Some of that is nerves–that’s good. But some of that is because you’re out of practice, out of touch, with who you really are.”
He paused and she heard him moving around the room again.
“We can cure that easily enough. You’ve paid for a multiple hour session. And a long session is exactly what you need. And what you’ll get.”
She felt the rope loosening from her wrists.
“Stand,” he spoke curtly.
“Remove your clothing.”
“Wha?” she spoke wetly around the ball gag.
A hard swat on her ass make her squeak, jolting.
She obeyed, shivering at the knowledge that he was now looking at her. A Dom doctor with a naked patient. He walked around her. She felt the brush of air on her back, her butt, her nipples as he moved. Another quick shiver ran down her shoulders. Her nipples tightened. She felt vulnerable, exposed.
Still, he didn’t touch her. Moved away from her, in fact, across the room where she couldn’t hear clearly. The gag in her mouth made her drool, and she felt the splatter of it on her chest. Ugh.
“I believe we shall start with this, my dear,” he said from behind her. She felt the roughness, felt his hands–how had she thought them too gnarled?–run nimbly around her back, crossing the rope, pulling it tightly around her chest, cross again on her back. He stepped to the front of her and began to wrap one tit. It tingled. It hurt gently. It was delicious. He wrapped the other tit, then continued to carry the rope up around her back. Her arms were now bound behind her, her tits thrust up and out. She wished she could see, they felt amazing.
Hearing the sound of the seat confused her. What was he doing? Sitting there? Looking at her? She stood, shifting from one foot to the other. Nervous. Her tits began to ache. As suddenly as they felt good, they began to throb. She moaned.
“There we go. Now you’re ready.”
The first strike of the cane against her nipple made her yelp. But she quickly lost count of the tap-rap-tapping against one breast, then the other. It hurt. It throbbed. She yelped often, especially when he struck across her engorged nipples.
“If you think it hurts now, just wait until the clamps go on,” he whispered into her ear. “Oh, by the way, you have pussy juice running down your leg. I do believe you’re feeling again. Feeling fine, I’d say. And still so much session time. I might even go over time, no charge of course.”
He laughed softly against her ear.
Shuddering at the tone, the caress of warm breath on the tender orb, she came.