Therapist

by Jaden Wilkes

  “Letting you know how disappointed I am,” I tell her and watch her face fall. Pantomime or genuine emotion, I can’t tell on this one but I don’t care. “Get over my knee so I can show you properly, you dirty little cunt.”

  “Yes Daddy,” she whispers and furrows her brow. She knows something is up, she isn’t fucking stupid, but she has no idea what I have in store.

  She stands, exposing her smooth abdomen to me as she adjusts her schoolgirl’s blouse. She hasn’t buttoned the last few holes and it falls open as she untucks it. She gets down and drapes her gorgeous body over my knees, her legs fall apart ever so much and her ass tips to the ceiling. She’s like a cat in heat, practically purring as I run my hand over her smooth skin. She’s not wearing any underwear, and her slit is glistening with the juices of her need. I pull my hand back, grab a fistful of her hair and slap her hard. She grunts with the force and my cock spasms with the feel of her tender flesh under my hand.

  “There you are,” I tell her and trace the reddening welt with my finger. I jerk her head up and raise my hand, slap her again and repeat several times in a row, rapid succession of hand slaps to her pale skin. Her entire ass is red now, and I want to split her open and empty myself inside of her, tear her apart and leave her sobbing on the floor.

  But I want this moment to last. This last time.

  I stop and run my hand down the back of her leg, yank her head back and pinch her inner thigh, twisting the skin and clamping it between my thumb and forefinger.

  She is such a pain slut. She whines and hisses, “Ouch,” but doesn’t fight me. She takes it all in, it heightens her sensations and allows her the freedom she craves. Freedom from the memories that haunt her, freedom from feeling weird or strange or depraved because her grown up sexual fantasy happens to include something horrific from childhood.

  I have helped heal her this way, brought the broken parts of her brain and soul together and mended them by giving her the reins to her own sexuality. Enabled her to find her freedom by taking away her choice, but also teaching her that whatever she needs to get off is quite all right.

  In this, my therapy is magnificent. Perfect. And currently has a one hundred percent success rate.

  Some in my field might call it rape; some might call it taking advantage of the most vulnerable victims sent to me for assistance. I call it genius. I am able to fulfill my urges to hurt and dominate while fulfilling my oath to heal my patients.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself, my little cunt?” I ask her as I release my grip on her thigh.

  She takes a long, quivering breath and exhales just before she answers, “Please, Daddy, can I have some more?”

  “You like that? You filthy little bitch?” I ask with a snarl and jerk her head back again. When we first started this, she would have been sobbing by now. She was tough though, she liked it when I pushed her through the trauma to find the pleasure in it. She finally clicked after three sessions, that being fucked by your daddy didn’t mean she couldn’t like being fucked by a Daddy. It’s all fantasy and role-play, however you get there doesn’t fucking matter, what matters is who has their cock inside of you at that moment. That’s all there is, enlightenment on the end of a cock. It doesn’t get any more Zen than that.

  “I like it Daddy, I like it a lot,” she says, and her eyes are on fire. Her body almost vibrates with the sexual energy she’s giving off. I slap her ass again and push her face down into the sofa. She moans against the cushions and wiggles her hips against my thighs.

  I need her. My body needs her. My cock responds and I click into auto pilot to enjoy the show. I have suffered this disconnect for as long as I can remember. Whenever something is going on with my body, my consciousness takes a back seat. I am never able to reconcile this and force myself to feel with my heart what my body delights in taking.

  I don’t think I have a heart, in the traditional sense of the word. But I do have a libido and right now I want to fuck and it happens to be Anna.

  I roll her off my lap and she lands on the floor with a thud, a beautiful messy pile of shocked face and twisted limbs. “Did I upset you, Daddy?” she asks with a perfect pout.

  “Not at all,” I reply and stand, looking down at her, “in fact you have pleased me greatly today...these past few months.” I loosen my belt and pull it out of the loops of my custom tailored suit slowly, her eyes widen as I release it. “Now bend over my desk, baby girl,” I tell her and smack the belt against my hand for emphasis.

  “Yes Daddy,” she whispers and stands up, walks to the desk and looks behind her. She throws me a look that says she’s ready to be fucked up, and bends over. Her arms are stretched across the antique mahogany and she grips the edge on the other side. Her long, elegant fingers unfold slowly and she hangs on, tucks in for her punishment.

  “You are looking too comfortable,” I tell her and fold my belt in half. “I don’t appreciate the fact that you think you know me, that you know what I want,” I continue and slide the belt across my palm. “You are just a child, how could you possibly know what I want?” I demand and slam the belt across her ass, to add to the previous punishment. Her body jerks and she gasps.

  “I said, how could you know what I want?” I ask her and apply a forceful blow to her red backside. “How could you presume to know my heart when I do not possess one?”

  “Daddy,” she cries out, “I don’t know! Why are you talking like this? I love—”

  I cut her off with the hardest blow yet, I can’t let her say those words or I don’t know where I’ll stop. Or if I’ll be able to stop. She lurches forward and exhales with a grunt, her unspoken declaration of love falls from her lips uselessly to the desk surface. I cannot hear it, it would fill me with impotent rage and I am afraid of what I will do.

  “Anna. Do not finish that sentence,” I snarl at her and hit her with the belt again, “if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Obviously I don’t,” she replies and laughs, a small sound, sharp and too high pitched. It reveals her stress.

  “What do you mean?” I ask and give her a moment to recover.

  “I don’t know what’s good for me. I mean, is any of this actually good for me?” she answers and hangs her head. “Truly, Doctor Dane, is any of this good for me?”

  I stand straight and contemplate her question. It’s a good one, is anything really good for anyone? Take love, the very thing that fills me with bitter rage, how can it be good for somebody? She thinks she loves me, she wants to take part of her and plant it inside of me, a toxic garden. She wants my heart, but it’s simply pumping my blood, it’s not fit for human consumption. Nothing will grow inside of me, and yet she wants it. That is not good for her.

  But her therapy has worked. I need to let her know this at least, if that’s the only thing she takes away. I take a deep breath and tell her, “Yes, it is good for you. A year ago you were a sobbing, inconsolable mess. Now you are a proud young woman, walking with a straight back and a confident stride. I did that. I helped you get there, so all of this, in terms of fixing you; yes it is good for you. Now brace yourself, I am going to punish your insolence.”

  I lay into her with the belt, to release some of the tension I feel building behind my eyes, but also to distract her from her almost words of love. To save her from her own stupidity. When I dump her at the end of session, she will think it’s because of her slip up. This is good, I want to her be more careful where she plants her tentative seeds of love. She needs to be cautious because not so many men would take care of her like I do.

  I might be hard on her body, but too many men would shred her soul.

  Her tears start to flow and she suppresses her sobs as I rhythmically slap her flesh with my belt. There are welts appearing on her ass, beautiful red stripes angry against her beautiful skin. I stop abruptly and see her tense, waiting for the blows.

  “Shhh,” I tell her and run my hand over the raised ridges. I trace some of them with my finger, marveling at the
changeable quality of human flesh.

  I linger along the curve above her cleft and let my finger trail along the edge. I slide along the hot skin; I find the entrance to her cunt. She’s hot and wet and ready for me, but I knew she would be. I run my other hand up her back and feel her shudder under me, responding to my touch but also the uncertainty of the moment. I stand straight, unzip my pants and pull my cock out. No ceremony needed, I replace my finger with the head of my cock and thrust inside of her.

  Her body is beautiful, a sculpture of flesh and bone, sinew and circulating blood. Nothing in the world comes close to this moment, sliding my length into the hot cunt of a woman...nothing. I have occasionally wondered if I might be a sex addict, but I don’t have any traditional signs of addiction. I believe that I am simply expressing my sociopathic tendencies through the ruination of women’s bodies. Nothing else.

  Every nerve ending is alight with pleasure as I sink myself deeper in her heat. She undulates, a beautiful contraction of muscle along her back as she settles in against me, ready for a faster fuck.

  I want to savour this though. Balls deep inside of her, I pause. I can feel my pulse, or hers, along the shaft of my cock. A steady rhythmic reminder that we are alive. I hold myself there, unmoving and in her cunt, long enough that she starts to shift uncomfortably. You know, the very small body gestures that tell you much more about a person’s state of mind than the spoken word.

  I feel the tiniest pinpoint prick of something behind my eyes. I close them and inhale, breathe in the scent of her body. I can almost taste her on my tongue. The moment is intense, for me at least, in that this is it. This is the end. I almost feel like I’m going to...feel...when she says, “Are you ok?”

  Fuck. Those three words slam me back down to earth and force me present and accounted for into my body. Fuck my flights of fancy, no more fucking tears or thoughts of tears or emotions. I am suddenly reminded that I am just a fucking machine, meat and guts and the only thing I feel now is white-hot rage.

  “I am fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Keep your fucking mouth shut and I’ll be even better,” I continue and grab a handful of flesh on her hip. I feel her wince and brace herself. She’s very good at reading me...but not that good or she never would have started this little incident. I slide her shirt up her back and expose the skin; gripping her tight I start to pound her hard from behind. She is braced for it, but I hit her so hard, my cock merciless in its pursuit of domination over her tight little cunt, that she ends up mashed against the desk. She makes little barking noises; half joy and half fear and I fuck her like my life depends on it.

  Mid thrust, I picked up my belt and start to whip her back; the bare exposed expanse of skin is quickly a mess of red welts. Blood wells up from one particularly vicious blow, but that only drives me harder. I want to pick her up in my teeth and shake her, feel her back break under the force of my assault.

  I want to destroy her for almost making me feel, and then interrupting me. I was so. Fucking. Close.

  I take the belt and wrap it around her neck, pull her head back and impale her on my cock. She rasps and reaches up to pull it away from her skin the best she can, but I’m a man on a mission and I’m riding this bitch to the end.

  I can feel the end coming, I can feel it start at the base of my spine and work its way to my balls. I can feel the buildup, release is imminent and the end is near.

  I am not helping her at the moment. I simply do not care. She is a vessel for my anger and my seed. I will purge myself and send her on her way. But this is still good for her. The next time she opens her legs for somebody, the next time she plays naughty schoolgirl with some man she calls Daddy, it will not be me. She will need to be careful and I will make her afraid. She needs to be afraid. She needs to be cautious of the men out there who would ruin her with their selfish need to dominate.

  I hiss breath through my teeth, intake, it’s so fucking good. I exist in this short moment, the hovering between this and the end, then I exhale and it’s over. I feel my cum coursing out of me, flooding her cunt leaving me spent. I don’t know if she came, I don’t care. I usually care, but not this time. This is about me saying goodbye. I can’t wait any longer; I don’t want her to linger long enough to cry on my couch. I want her gone. I’m done, finished, and I want her out of my life.

  “This is it,” I tell her and drag my fingers along her mottled back. “We can’t do this anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks and struggles to turn around, to look at me. I force her down onto the desk. I don’t want to see her face as I tell her. It might draw me back in, the tears and crumpled eyes full of need and longing. It might harden my cock and soften my resolve.

  “I mean that this is the end of the line, baby girl. We’re through. You’re cured. You don’t need any more sessions.”

  “But I thought…,” she protests but her voice trails off. “I thought we had something here, I thought you cared about me. I...care about you.” Her voice is low and thick with emotion as it sinks in, exactly what I’m saying.

  “You are a patient, I have healed you, and our time is up. It’s that simple. I don’t know what else to tell you, you knew this was coming.”

  “I thought this was different though, it felt different. It’s been a year, Alexandre, I gave you a year of my life,” she cries out and fights me again. I pin her to the desk harder, my cock has softened and fallen out of her. I lean back and take a long look at her puffy cunt lips, with me dribbling out; it’s pure fucking poetry. I have the sudden urge to bury my face in her and lap myself back up. Recycling at its finest. But I don’t want to confuse the situation further, I already feel like this is going to be more difficult than I anticipated.

  “You’re not different, you’re just another patient. You must have known that,” I tell her and step back, letting her up. “I have several just like you in this program, at various stages in their healing. Although I suppose you are different in the sense that you are the first to finish the program. You are done.”

  She flips over and sits on the desk; she tugs her shirt down and smoothes the wrinkles in her skirt. She’s still exposed; I’ll have to wipe the writing surface after she leaves. She looks downtrodden, a real little Eeyore in a schoolgirl uniform. She’s thinking about what she wants to say, so she bites her lip and stares at me. Finally she takes a quick little breath and asks, “Was none of this special to you? Was it all that meaningless?”

  I reach out and rub her shoulder and say, “It wasn’t meaningless, baby girl. It just wasn’t meaningful in the way you might think it was. It meant the world to my research, but what did you expect...that I would fall in love with you? That we’d run off and have children and buy a house with a white fence in Langley?” I laugh at this, at her expression. It’s not attractive, she looks more and more like a sad cartoon character and it’s beginning to annoy me.

  “I knew it would never be like that,” she whines, “but you don’t have to be such a heartless prick about it. Is this because of your girlfriend? Is she making you dump me?”

  I hate that she’s grasping at straws to justify this. “What girlfriend? I don’t have one, but that’s neither here nor there. And for the record, I am not dumping you. I am simply releasing you, your treatment is over and I have deemed it a success. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

  I hate that I have to be mean to her to get my point across. I wish she had just taken the dignified high road out of this. She sniffles and gets off the desk. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and pulls on her rain jacket. She tugs the belt tight around her waist and ties it, as though it might offer her some protection. I sense a tub of Haagen Dazs and a chick flick in her future tonight. I almost wish I cared. I know what I should do if I cared, but I don’t have the wherewithal to go through the motions. I don’t want to confuse her even more.

  “So that’s it? You’re just booting me out after a year of this?” She sniffles again and a fresh set of te
ars leak from her eyes.

  “That’s it, you’re done,” I say and offer her a quick smile.

  “Stop saying that!” she cries out, “I’m not done. I’ll never be done, you fucking asshole.”

  “I think it’s time for you to go,” I tell her and hold her elbow, pushing her softly towards the door. I know she must be in shock, freshly fucked and freshly booted from my program, but I don’t want to wade through this misery with her.

  “Seriously? This is it? What the fuck kind of heartless asshole are you? I pity your fucking girlfriend,” she says and reaches down for a tissue.

  “Once again, I don’t have one, not that it matters either way. And here, take the whole box,” I say and hand all the tissues to her. She grabs it and glares at me. Good, anger will keep her moving and keep her away from me. Let her be angry.

  “Fine, whatever, I’m not going to beg you to let me stay,” she finally spits out, accepting her fate. “Have a nice life, Doctor Dane. Thank you for everything, and for being a complete dick.”

  With that she turns on her heel and leaves my office. Once again I’m grateful that crying women should be coming out of my office, given the nature of my work. I click the door closed behind her and engage the lock. I need a few moments for note taking and composing my thoughts before I leave for the evening.

  R E V O L U T I O N

  When love is not madness, it is not love. – Spanish Proverb

  Thursday, April 3rd 7:00AM - Mistress

  I come in early to have my alone time before Beatrice shows up. I know that’s her plan, usually I’m in an hour ahead of everyone and she’s always hinted at wanting to know what I’m up to. I’m up to nothing. I like my morning routine is all.

  Every morning I get up, drink a protein shake, work out for forty minutes in my building’s gym, dodge the perv who watches me the entire time, take a shower, catch a cab to work and unwind with a mug of coffee while going over the patient files for the day.