index


Message-ID: <51909asstr$1126368602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: tweedled.dee@gmail.com
Mime-Version: 1.0
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 10 Sep 2005 12:45:54 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/0.2
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: g49g2000cwa.googlegroups.com; posting-host=68.161.121.195;
   posting-account=suCD4AwAAABsbg-Vd-nyN7ZwKlyxDMXo
Subject: {ASSM} A psychotherapeutic encounter
Lines: 363
Date: Sat, 10 Sep 2005 12:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This story is copyright the author, sexual content is contained herein,
non-consensual situations are presented as a fantasy.   In no way does
the author condone or encourage such behavior in real life.  If you
like it and want a part 2, email the author.  If you don't like it,
email someone else.  Toodles.

Tweedle

       I had decided to go into therapy for a number of
reasons.  Trouble at work, depression at home and
general aimlessness were making me feel a little
desperate and a lot lost.  I didn't have a lot of money
because temping paid jack.  I had a college degree but I
was working in construction.  Easy money, and I liked
physical work.  I knew I could achieve more, but for
whatever reason I couldn't bring myself to do the work
to get there.  Blah blah blah, whatever.  I needed help,
and an old teacher of mine had recommended this
psychiatrist to me, a lady.  Dr. Gilbert.
       I drove up to the office ten minutes early.  She
had been curt and businesslike on the phone, wasting no
time in pleasantries, just telling me a time and giving
directions.  She gave the impression of someone in
control.  The office complex was in a residential
district, nestled between sets of condos.  Very beige
and nondescript, well landscaped, it barely looked like
an office complex.  Walking up, the only thing giving it
away were the names on the windows.  I came to her
office and walked in.
       The waiting room was simple and small.  Dimly lit,
a plastic plant stood in a corner, a few chairs, and a
table with magazines laid out neatly, all current.  The
curtain was open, although the view out was largely
blocked by bushes and trees.  It was fall, and the
leaves were just beginning to turn.
       I sat and picked up a magazine.  I could hear
muffled voices inside.  I assumed the office was
soundproofed, but I could vaguely hear through the air-
conditioning ducts.  I couldn't make out the words, but
I could hear a man yelling, interrupted by a woman
speaking loudly but calmly.  Things escalated quickly,
and in a few minutes I heard a door slam open and the
man's voice became distinct.
       "...fucking bullshit.  She's not going to tell me
what to do and you're not either, you little cunt.
Fucking cunt conspiracy is what it is."
       The door to the waiting room opened and a
surprisingly short man stormed out, opened the second
door, and rushed away.  Joanne came right after.
       "Mr. Reid!"
       He ignored her and I watched his silhouette
disappear behind the trees.  Joanne stood at the door
looking after him.  She was about 5'6, thin, and
strikingly attractive, at least in profile.  She had
light brunette hair and delicate, pretty features.  She
was lightly made up, and her clothes were stylish but
conservative-pants, blouse and jacket.  Her clothes
didn't emphasize her figure, but she was clearly well
proportioned.  She looked to be about thirty.  She
didn't emphasize her looks, but she couldn't hide them,
either.
       She stood for a moment watching after him, her
look intense, focused, and then turned to me.  "I'll be
with you in a minute," she said, and went back in the
office.
       I was a little surprised by the whole thing, and a
little amused as well.  She stayed in the office maybe a
minute, and then came back out, smiling.  She reached
out her hand abruptly.  "Mr. Connors?  I'm Dr. Gilbert."
       I stood up and took her hand - soft, fleshy,
feminine, a firm grip but not challenging.  "Pleased to
meet you," I said, and followed her in the office.
       The office was subtly lit, with a desk at one end
and two chairs facing each other at the other end.  She
motioned me to sit in one chair, which I did.  She sat
in the other, facing me, crossed her legs, and placed a
pad of legal paper on her lap.  I couldn't help glancing
at the bottom part of her shins exposed by her skirt.
       "How can I help you?" she asked.
       "I, uh..." I was trying to look her in the eye, and
she was looking at me frankly, directly.  I could feel
her breasts pulling my gaze like a magnet, but I tried
to resist, keep her gaze.  I knew my eyes flicked down,
couldn't help it.  They always betray me.  "What was
going on with that guy?"
       For the first time I saw a crack in her armor.  A
slight pause, maybe a flush in her skin.  "You mean the
patient before you?"
       "Yeah, the guy talking about the cunt conspiracy."
       "Is that something you think about?"
       I laughed.  Now she was really blowing it.  What
kind of 25 cent psychiatry was that?  Always answering a
question with a question.  "No," I said.  "But what was
he so upset about?"
       Now she smiled, a little bit calmer.  "I can't
discuss other patients, I'm afraid.  That's
confidential."  Back on safe ground.
       "Do you always get your patients so upset?"
       She smiled again, but this one was nervous.  It
was so interesting to watch her vacillate like this.
"Sometimes people need to get upset.  Sometimes that's
part of the process."
       Looks like you're a little bit upset yourself, I
thought.  "That sounds like something they tell you in
school.  It could be that sometimes psychiatrists screw
up, too.  Do you think he's coming back?"
       She paused a moment, considering my question.  Or,
I thought, considering how to answer my question.  She
already knew what she thought.  "I don't know," she
finally said, with a shrug.
       Ah, wrong answer, I thought.  Honest, but now I
saw she wasn't as sure of herself as she appeared.  Two
minutes into our first meeting and some doubt was
showing.  She should have lied to me.  God but her legs
looked beautiful.  Shapely, young, creamy, smooth.  I
was noticing their outlines continue under her skirt.
       "Everything about this experience has been
unprofessional," I said.  "First this guy comes out
yelling like that.  Now, you're telling me confidential
information.  You shouldn't be telling me whether you
think he's coming back or not.  Are you going to talk
about how you feel about me with other patients?"
       "Is that something you're afraid of?"
       I couldn't help myself, I literally rolled my
eyes.  "Jesus, lady, get real, would you?  These are
legitimate questions I'm asking.  This is like amateur
psychiatry.  I don't know what my friend was thinking
when they recommended you."  I got up and grabbed my
coat to go.  Looking down at her, I continued.  "And
those clothes.  Who in God's name told you to dress like
that?  A skirt that short.  Is that how you deal with
your patients?  Dress up in a short skirt to impress
them with your professionalism?"  She just looked up at
me, not saying anything.  I turned to leave.
       "Would you like to see what's underneath it?"
       Whoa.  I stopped dead in my tracks, my hand on the
doorknob.
       "Why don't you tell my why you came to see me, Mr.
Connors?"
       I turned around, looked at her.  She had her stone
face on again.  What game was she playing?.
       "I'm here cause I can't fuck a woman without tying
her up first, and it's screwed up all my relationships.
I'm trying to figure out who's fucked up, me or my
girlfriends.  I'm trying to figure out if I should try
to fix this in me or if I just need to find the right
woman."
       "And trying to figure that out is what you're
already doing.  We both know that my skirt is perfectly
appropriate and professional.  But you can't help but
looking at it.  Now you're attacking me not because I'm
wearing a skirt, but because of what's underneath the
skirt, isn't that right, Mr. Connors?  The relationship
you're already building with me is typical of the way
you relate to all women."
       I walked back to the chair and sat down, crossed
my legs, leaned back, held my hand to my chin, and just
stared at her.  Not blinking, locking my gaze with hers.
She didn't say anything back to me, kept her neutral
shrink gaze.  She was well trained.  Five minutes we
must have sat like that.  She didn't flinch, but I
didn't either.  I felt totally calm.
       "You're right, I would like to see what's
underneath that skirt.  Take it off."
       I was hoping for a response, another chink in her
armor, but I wasn't getting anything.  "If you really
want to deal with this issue, Mr. Connors, this needs to
be a safe and neutral place to do it," she said, cool as
a popsicle, didn't miss a beat.  "Just replicating the
patterns isn't going to help you resolve them.  I'm not
one of your girlfriends and I'm not going to become one.
I am a psychoanalyst and I can help you talk them
through."
       As she was saying all this I let my gaze clearly
drift down to her breasts.  Not looking her in the eyes,
but staring at her breasts, I said, "Take your skirt
off, Dr. Gilbert."
       "I'm not going to do that."
       "Did you notice that your nipples are hard?" I let
my eyes go back to her face.  She couldn't deny it, her
nipples were pushing out against her blouse.  Whatever
cool exterior she was showing, I was getting to her
somehow.  And now her face was flushing.  She wasn't
sure how to handle this.  There was a long moment of
silence, but it was like an awkward moment at a cocktail
party.  She wasn't sure what to say.
       All of which was great for me.  I stood up and
stepped close to her, she had to tilt her head back to
look up at me.  She was trying to stay professional but
I could see there was a hint of fear.
       "Please sit down Mr. Conormmmph!"
       Her phrase was interrupted by the index and middle
finger of my right hand being authoritatively thrust
into her mouth.  Her eyes went wide with shock and she
immediately grabbed my arm with both her hands, trying
to push it away from her mouth.  She started to shake
her head violently back and forth, and I let her succeed
in pushing my arm away only so that I could twist my
hand around and grab both of her petite wrists.  I
pinned her hands quickly in her lap and grabbed her chin
with my left hand, holding both fingers at her lips.
She shut her mouth.
       "Open your mouth Dr. Gilbert."  She kept it
tightly shut and shook her head, looking at me in terror
and fury.  "What do you think your governing board is
going to say when I go to them and tell them you asked
me if you'd like to see what's under your skirt?  Do you
remember you said that to me, Dr. Gilbert?  Regardless
of whether its length is appropriate, do you think
that's a very professional question to ask one of your
patients?  I will ruin your career, I swear to God.  I
will find every professional journal I can find, I will
complain about you to every organization that exists.
Now open your goddamned mouth right now!"
       She hesitated, doubt and fear flickering over her
eyes.  My threat was total bullshit, of course.  What
kind of organization is going to listen to a crackpot
patient with no evidence who'd only known this doctor
for two minutes?  But she just needed an excuse.  I
could tell.  I felt like I got this woman.  I had no
doubt at all, and I was pounding that into her, building
her doubt with my certainty.  I pushed my fingers
against her mouth, and she didn't quite open up, but now
I could push my fingers roughly between her teeth., deep
into her mouth.  She made a gagging sound.  I pulled my
fingers back and pushed them in again, I started fucking
her mouth with my fingers, holding her hands hard
against her lips, pushing down against her clenched
thighs
       "Suck," I said.  She looked at me with real terror
now, her eyes wide.  "Suck or I am going to hurt you." I
emphasized the last two words by bending my palm down as
I thrust into her mouth, whacking her jaw hard with the
heel of my palm.  She grunted in pain, but got the idea.
She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and using her
tongue on my fingers.  Really sucking them, slurping
them.  The sound was obscene.
       I did that until my fingers started to get sore
from the friction rubbing them along the roof of her
mouth and her teeth.  I pulled my fingers out, grabbed
her by the hair behind her head, and lifted her up out
of her chair.
       "You know what I'm going to do to you?" I said,
arching her head back.
       "No," she gasped.
       "Guess."
       Her eyes were wet as she looked at me, tears
starting to pool.  "You're going to rape me."
       "For a start," I said.  A tear poured down her
cheek.
       "Please don't."  Her voice was barely a whisper.
I could hear her holding back her sobs.  She weakly
tried twisting her wrists out of my hand.  I shook her
by the head to make her stop.
       "I'll make a deal with you, doctor.  I'll reach
under your skirt right now, and if you're dry, I'll let
you go, I'll never see you again.  But if you're wet,
you're mine, every hole you have, every fuck-hole in
your body."
       "No." Tears were flowing freely now.
       "I'm not giving you a choice.  Spread your legs."
       "No, please."
       She knew she was lost.  I could feel the heat
coming from under her skirt.  She was soaking, and we
both knew it.
       "For the last time, spread your legs."
       "No."
       I let go of her arms and gave her a swift, hard
slap in the face and quickly shoved her to the center of
the room.  She stumbled forward, almost falling over,
but kept her balance and stood with her back to me,
slightly hunched over, her arms held out for balance.
       "Now take your skirt off," I said.
       She didn't turn around.  She didn't change her
posture, just stood there with her arms held out like
that.  I could see her hands trembling.  I was wondering
if she was really sobbing now, but I couldn't tell.  Her
back wasn't shuddering.  She was standing so still.
       "I don't want to," she finally said.
       "I'll give you a second and final chance.  Take
your skirt off."
       "No," she said, still not moving, standing hunched
over, like she was waiting for someone to hit her.  I
grabbed her by her hair and swung her back towards the
chair.  She grabbed my arm with her hands, trying to
relive the pressure.  I pushed her down over the arm of
the chair, so her hips were balanced on the arm, with
her torso splayed over the seat and her legs extended
back for balance.  I pushed my foot against the back of
her knees and pushed forward on her head, forcing her to
lean all her weight on her hips.  She held onto the
other arm of the chair.  I kept my left hand pushing her
head down, and with my right hand I started spanking
her.  I kept her skirt on.  It wasn't going to be me
taking it off.  I spanked her through her skirt, hard
and long, letting my hand occasionally slip between her
legs on a spank.  Every spank she grunted or squealed.
But she didn't scream.  And she had stopped crying.
       I don't know how many times I spanked her.
Thirty?  Fifty?  My hand was sore by the time I was
finished.  I slipped my hands under her arm pits, lifted
her on her feet, and moved her to the center of the
room.  I turned her to face the chairs and then walked
in front of her.  For the first time since I'd first
pulled her out of her chair, I saw her face.  She had
been crying a little, but not hard.  Her breathing was
heavy, her face flushed, and her nipples were still
poking out from beneath her blouse.  The look on her
face I couldn't quite describe.  Not frightened, not
angry.  Stunned, I would say.
       "Now take your skirt off."
       She held my gaze for a long moment.  I considered
pointing out to her how much of a role she was playing
in this.  I considered telling her that all she needed
to do to stop this was scream.  There were people in
offices all around the building.  But I didn't.  She
needed to feel like she was being forced.  She needed to
feel like she had no choices to go into this, even if on
some level she knew there was a choice.  She wasn't
ready to face the fact that she was a willing
participant.
       Without a word, she reached behind her back, undid
a clasp, and pulled down a zipper.  She pushed down on
her skirt and it fell easily to her feet.  Her blouse
still gave her some modesty, covered her hips.  But God,
her legs.  Amazing, luscious, firm, healthy.  When I
looked back up at her face, I could see she had been
watching me the entire time.
       "Now your blouse."
       Still looking at me, she deliberately undid the
buttons on her blouse and held her arms behind her back
to let it slip to the ground.  Her firm breasts were
held by an unadorned green bra.  Her panties were white
and entirely unremarkable.
       "Now your panties."
       I could see her breathing deepen.  "Don't do
this," she said.
       "Don't test me again, bitch.  If you thought it
hurt the last time, you ain't seen nothing yet."
       She put her thumbs under the waistband of her
panties and pushed them down.  She had to bend over to
push them all the way down.  When she straightened, she
held her hands clasped in front of her crotch, and
looked at the ground.  Her lips were trembling.  I went
and stood behind her and placed my foot between hers,
and pushed her legs apart.  Then I reached around, took
her hands from in front of her, and guided them behind
her head.  I ran my hand down her back and held her ass,
which was bright red and very warm.  I slid my hand down
the inside of her thighs.  She was shuddering,
trembling, wearing only her bra.  I was leaning down
now, running my hands all the way down her thigh, and
then back up between her legs, to her open crotch.  I
ran one hand through her bush, up to her stomach, and
then down again, between her legs.  Her pussy, not
surprisingly, was drenched, her lips swollen and parted.
I ran a finger along her slit and then quickly reached
up and pushed it against her mouth.  She opened her lips
to accept my finger.  I fucked her mouth with my finger,
standing behind her, pressing her back against me, my
hard cock pressing against her legs.

End Part 1

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+