by Dani René
Standing beside the two of them I feel small, and I like it. I feel protected right now, like nothing bad can happen if they’re with me. Both of them want to keep me safe, they want to help me get better, and they never yell at me like Antonio or the others do.
“Thank you for bringing Ms. Davis, Tom.” Dr. Nickelsen nods at him, and Tom gives me a slight wave as he heads back toward the Rec Room.
I look up at Dr. Nickelsen and try to smile past the swirl of nervous butterflies in my stomach. He’s impossible to read. I can’t tell how much he knows, or what Antonio might have told him, and so I don’t know if I’m in trouble or not. I don’t like to be in trouble with Dr. Nickelsen. Disappointing him feels worse than it used to whenever I disappointed my mom, and even though I make a lot of mistakes I really do try to be good for him.
“Are you ready, Nina?” he asks, still smiling warmly, and when he leans back against the door to give me room to enter, I take a peek inside.
What does he have planned for therapy today?
“Nina?” he prompts me, and I laugh nervously.
“Sorry. Yes, Dr. Nickelsen. I’m ready.” Stepping past him, I let my eyes roam over the various pieces of furniture in the room, all of the medical tools on shelves, and I know there’s even more in his cabinets. The door clicks shut behind me and I turn to look at my doctor. “Where do you want me to sit?”
“Well, first I’d like to ask you a question, Nina.” He pauses like he’s giving me a chance to object, but I have no reason to. Dr. Nickelsen wants to help me and he tries really hard. Nodding, he moves to the front of his desk and leans on the edge of it. “What do you think of Tom? You can be honest with me. This is a place meant for honesty.”
I shift my weight from foot to foot, my fingers finding the hem of my shirt again to pluck at the threads and twist the fabric as I try to think of the right answer. “He’s… nice to me. He’s a nice man.”
“Do you like him?” he asks, and there’s no judgment in his tone. It’s light, casual, interested. Still, I’m even more nervous as I shrug a shoulder.
“Yeah, I mean, he’s kind — patient with me.” I avoid Dr. Nickelsen’s gaze for a moment, examining the thin carpet under my socks. “I think he’s kind of my friend.”
“That’s good, Nina.” Dr. Nickelsen smiles at me when I meet his eyes again. “It’s good to have friends, to make connections with real people. I like to think that we’re friends in a way. I’m your doctor, yes, but I think you’re very nice as well.”
“Thank you!” I reply, feeling a warm rush flood over my skin as he praises me. “I’ve been trying really hard. I promise. I want to be good for you, and Tom. For everyone, I mean. I want to be better.”
“I know, Nina, and you have been doing well. Antonio says you made some progress on your fear of water this morning. Did Tom help with that?” The question sounds just as casual as everything else he’s said, but Dr. Nickelsen reaches back onto his desk for a notepad and a pen. When I don’t respond immediately, he lifts his eyebrows. “Nina?”
“I think he did,” I whisper, unsure if I’m supposed to tell him about the way Antonio touched me. It felt good, but maybe it wasn’t okay. What if Tom did see and he already told Dr. Nickelsen and now he’s just waiting to see if I’ll tell him? The idea sends a fresh wave of panic through me and I tug at my shirt again.
“Hmm…” Dr. Nickelsen moves away from his desk, setting the pad and pen aside on a table to drag the therapy chair away from the wall. A tingling rush rolls down my spine, exploding in a flood of heat between my thighs as I watch him adjust the various straps. The big, black machine underneath it is powerful, and he’s used it with me many times, and if he still wants to help me today then he can’t be mad… right?
Chapter 4
“Go ahead and get undressed and into the chair,” Dr. Nickelsen directs me, and he doesn’t sound angry at all. But then he adds, “What happened in the shower this morning is one of the things I’d like to discuss during your session today.”
Damn.
“Yes, sir.” I pull my shirt over my head and drop it to the floor, pushing my pants and underwear down to join it as I catch the smile on Dr. Nickelsen’s face. He likes it when I’m respectful and polite. He says it shows that I’m capable of functioning in society, and it’s one more step toward being healed.
“I know you don’t like showers, and I know how you feel about the water, so that’s not what I want to address today. Instead, talk to me about what you really experienced this morning.” He helps me into the chair as he talks, and I feel another pulse between my legs as I get in position. It’s higher off the ground than normal chairs, and the seat is missing out of the middle. Instead, I’m supported on the outside edges of it by my thighs, which he wraps leather straps around, securing me firmly. “Go ahead, tell me what happened.”
“I… I didn’t want to get in the shower. I wasn’t behaving because I was scared and…” I trail off, not sure if I want to admit just how hard I fought. It’s not good progress if it still took two orderlies to get me in the shower. I chew on my lip as Dr. Nickelsen crouches down in front of the chair, tethering my ankles to the footrests, but he glances up at me with a look that clearly means he wants me to continue. Sighing, I look away from him, down at the machine under the chair that I wish he’d already turned on. It’s so much easier to talk when he has me distracted.
“Nina, you can tell me anything. How am I supposed to figure out how to help you with this if you won’t even discuss it?” Dr. Nickelsen isn’t mad, or even annoyed. He really cares, and I know he wants to help, so I take a deep breath and nod.
“I tried to run from Antonio, to get out of the bathroom, and he and Tom had to stop me.” Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I watch as he winds the strap over my right arm, securing it. “I was just scared, but I didn’t hit them. I promise.”
“I know, Nina,” he answers with a soft sigh. Walking around, he stops at my left side, but he reaches up to brush my cheek just like Tom had. “And you got this when you were fighting them?”
“Got what?” I ask, unable to see what he’s touching, but when he pushes on my cheekbone, I feel the ache of a bruise. “Oh, yeah. That was my fault.”
“You were scared. Antonio and Tom both know that, and no one is in trouble here, Nina.” Dr. Nickelsen winds the leather strap around my left arm, threading it through the buckle with a gentle touch. “There, all ready. Well, almost.”
My skin lights up where his fingers glide just above my breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He steps behind me, keeping his hand moving, and then his fingers find my nipple. I arch into his touch, craving more, but he only teases it for a moment before he reaches across to do the same to the other side.
“What was it like when they got you in the shower, Nina? What did you experience?” His voice is still so calm, so steady, but I can already feel my pulse picking up, my breaths shortening as his hand drifts lower, between my spread thighs.
He knows. He has to know.
“The water hurt. It always hurts so much because of the tiny knives, and every little cut lets the poison in and—”
“That’s not what I’m asking about,” Dr. Nickelsen cuts me off, swiping one finger slowly through my folds until he reaches my clit. I’m so tense, stiff in the chair as he barely brushes the magical spot that always promises pleasure. “Tom and Antonio had to bathe you, right? Since you refused to do it yourself?”
“I asked them if I could use a washcloth. I would have done it if—”
“Nina…” he chastises, and I feel a blush hit my cheeks as he starts slow, teasing circles around my button. “I can smell how clean you are. You smell like shampoo and soap, and so I know they touched you. Tell me about that.”
The blush turns to fire in my face, so hot, and my voice shakes as I answer him. “Th-they washed me with the soap and their hands.”
“Did you like it?” he asks, still not a hint of reproach or disappointment in his t
one, so I nod. The pressure of his fingers intensifies, the circles speeding up until I can feel my hips twitching, seeking more. “Did they touch you here?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, and he leans down to breathe in my hair.
“Who touched you, Nina?” The question makes me feel nauseous, my stomach churning with nervous energy, but then he slips one of his fingers inside, followed swiftly by a second, and all I can do is breathe out a quiet moan.
I don’t want to tattle.
I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.
I could have said no, I used to say no to Dr. Nickelsen before he showed me how important it was to treat my hysteria so that my brain can heal.
“Okay then,” he says with a sigh, pulling his hand away, and I hear the whine slip past my clenched teeth. I’ve disappointed him. I know I have.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Nickelsen! I’m sorry, I’ll tell you!” I try to twist to see him, but I can only see the edge of him where he’s crouched behind the chair. “It-it was Antonio, but he was actually being nice to me. He was distracting me from the shower, and I promise he didn’t hurt me.”
Liar. That was a lie and he’ll know you’re lying.
“Calm down, Nina. Take a deep breath, just like I showed you before. I told you no one is in trouble.” He pats my arm before returning to the machine under the chair. “Go on. In through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, following his directions, and it does seem to help. My pulse slows a little, but then the dull hum of the machine clicks on and I’m flooded with a new wave of anxious energy.
“Okay, we’re going to start the machine on low for now. This is a little larger than last time, but I think it will help you focus.” There’s a soft whir from beneath me, and then I feel the dildo pushing against my folds. Dr. Nickelsen spreads them, slowly working the slick shaft past my entrance. I groan as he pushes it deeper, feeling the sting as it stretches me, but he pulls back. “Try to relax, Nina.”
“I’m trying, Dr. Nickelsen.”
“Good, good. This is important for you. I’ve been thinking about taking your therapy to the next step and based on your progress in the shower this morning I think you’re ready.”
Progress. He said progress.
Joy fills me up like a warm balloon, and I can’t help but smile.
“You think I did good?” I ask, and he chuckles softly as he pushes the shaft deeper again. It hurts a little, but I ignore it, focusing on the dull pleasure in the stretch as he works it in. From beneath, he reaches his other hand between my legs to find my button once more.
“I do. I think you made great progress. Instead of focusing on your fears, your disordered thoughts, you allowed something positive to distract you and you got through the shower safely.” His words, and the delirious circles on my clit, have me riding a high that I can’t contain. I moan softly, gasping as he pushes the shaft all the way in, and I hear his quiet sigh. “Very good, Nina. It’s in. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, sir. I just need, um, I need…” I can’t finish the words because I shouldn’t be saying anything. Dr. Nickelsen is the one who plans my therapy sessions, he knows what will help me, and I don’t know anything about mental health. Like he told me when these types of sessions first began, back when I was afraid of his treatments, sometimes you have to trust that someone else knows what’s best for you.
“I know what you need, Nina. Just relax and keep answering my questions.” The whirring and clicking picks up again, the machine pumping the thick shaft in and out of my pussy, moving in long, slow strokes. I’m grateful that he has it on low, because each time it moves deep, I can still feel a twinge of pain, but I can also feel how wet I am.
Just another symptom of my hysteria.
“Did you ask me a question, Dr. Nickelsen?”
His quiet chuckle comes just before he stands behind the chair again. I can feel his shirt against my hair, and I bite down on my bottom lip as he cups my breasts, teasing my nipples with strokes and pinches. “Did you like what Antonio did, Nina?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He only used his fingers, right?”
I nod, unable to talk as the steady thrusts between my thighs summon a pulse of need. I’m always needy during my therapy sessions now, always wanting more, and I know that Dr. Nickelsen can’t touch me himself every time. It’s why he has the therapy chair… but as I close my eyes, I imagine it’s him inside me. I imagine I’m on the exam table, and he’s thrusting, filling me with each whir of the machine.
“How many fingers did he use, Nina?”
“Two. Th-then three,” I answer as my breath shudders. A soft moan slipping out as he squeezes both of my nipples between his fingers.
“Did that hurt?” he asks, and the pressure on my nipples increases until he’s pinching them firmly, little zinging aches spreading out over my breasts.
“It— um… a little? At first anyway.”
“And then it felt good?” Dr. Nickelsen pinches harder and I gasp, moaning louder as my hips buck against the leather straps, but he releases me almost instantly. “Answer me.”
“Yes.” I nod, over and over and over. “Then it was good, it felt good. I never told him that it hurt though, I never told him no.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Nina. So very glad to hear that.” The whirring and clicking sounds pick up under the chair, the thrusts speeding up a little, closer to what Dr. Nickelsen feels like when he’s treating me himself. “Tell me, how would you have felt if it had been Tom helping you through the shower?”
“Tom?” I repeat, not quite able to focus as the machine starts to fuck me harder, and then I feel Dr. Nickelsen’s fingers on my clit again. Stroking, teasing.
“Yes, Nina. Tom. You said he’s your friend, and I want to know if he had helped with your therapy like Antonio did, how would you have felt?”
A new fantasy takes over the visual of Dr. Nickelsen between my thighs. Instead I’m on the floor of the bathroom and it’s Tom on top of me, it’s his thick cock surging inside me again and again and again. I moan louder as Dr. Nickelsen starts to rub my clit.
“You like that idea, don’t you, Nina?” His lips are right by my ear, those firm circles spiraling me higher and higher as I rock against the bindings on the chair, riding the shaft that now feels real. It feels like it could be Tom.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, my cheeks burning with a blush as I admit it. But Dr. Nickelsen can always read me, he always knows. He knows what I’m thinking, what I need, and I sigh as he presses a kiss to my temple.
“So much progress today, Nina. We’re definitely ready for the next stage in your therapy.” The sheer joy of that statement has me at the edge in seconds, crying out as the pleasure builds to an almost painful peak and then crashes when the orgasm swallows me whole. Bliss, pure ecstasy careens through my nerves at breakneck speeds. Every cell of my body filling up with glittering light, and the sweat coating my skin is proof that Dr. Nickelsen’s therapy is doing what it’s meant to — healing me from the inside out. Pushing out the poison through my pores and leaving me better.
So much better.
Chapter 5
The machine goes silent, its thrusts slowing down until it eventually stops, almost all the way out of me. Dr. Nickelsen removes it a moment later, and I’m limp in the chair, panting, muscles trembling as a sweet, blissful calm takes over. There is no more anxiety, no more angry butterflies in my stomach, my mind is quiet.
“Okay, Nina, just take deep breaths. You did very well today.” He brushes my hair back from my face, pushing it over the back of the chair to help me cool down. “Now, I have another question, but I want you to know that your answer will not change my mind about your progress. Do you understand?”
Nodding, I look up to meet his gaze. He has such kind eyes, warm, with those slight wrinkles at the edges as he smiles down at me. “Yes, sir.”
“Have you seen Mr. Cat? Talked to him?” All those warm
fuzzy feelings slide away and my anxiety kicks the proverbial door in on my mind, storming back in to take over. “I’ll take the panicked look on your face as a yes.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Nickelsen.” Guilt weighs me down, and I feel shame and disappointment at being so weak.
“It’s okay, Nina. Things like this take time, and that’s why you’re here. We’re going to keep working on it, and I think the next stage of your therapy will help.” Taking a breath, he starts to undo the straps on my arms. “I do want you to remember though that you never have to respond to Mr. Cat. You don’t have to acknowledge him at all. He’s not real.”
“I know,” I reply quietly, nodding, but a flicker of blue beside Dr. Nickelsen’s desk makes my heart beat faster.
“Let’s use the cognitive behavioral therapy technique I taught you. Tell me four things that are real right now.” He smiles at me, reassuring and patient, but behind him Mr. Cat is staring. Big amber eyes narrowed on me as his tail flicks sharply.
“You’re real,” I whisper, forcing my gaze back to Dr. Nickelsen’s eyes. “Your desk is real. The chair is real. Your stapler is real. Mr. Cat is not real.”
Mr. Cat hisses at me, an angry, long growl rumbling out of him as he stalks toward me but Dr. Nickelsen just smiles.
“That’s right,” he says, turning to pick up the stapler off his desk, but Mr. Cat uses that moment to sit down directly in front of the chair. “This stapler is real. Here, hold it.”
Numbly, I watch as Dr. Nickelsen moves closer, stepping around Mr. Cat to stand beside the chair. I know he can’t see him — he’d tell me if he could — but… then why didn’t he walk through him? If he’s not real, why didn’t he just stand where Mr. Cat couldn’t possibly be? Shaking, I hold out my hand and let him put the stapler on my palm. It’s solid, cool, made from smooth plastic and metal. It’s real.
