by Jaden Wilkes
She blushes a deep red and says, “Don’t be silly, I just got off work. I look atrocious.”
“It’s true, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it,” I tell her and hook my finger under her chin to tilt her head up for a kiss. Out of the corner of my eye I see Beatrice watching us down the long hallway, lips pursed and brows brought together as though she’s annoyed by my public display. The old bird must be jealous.
Jane is tiny, barely over five feet with black hair that falls in a wave down her back. Her eyes are dark, almost black. I have to lean down to kiss her, she stands on her tip toes to reach my lips and hooks her fingers into my belt to balance herself. She is simply delightful today.
“I’m still sore,” she murmurs against my lips, “from Saturday night. I can’t believe we did that.”
“Yeah,” I whisper against hers but haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about. Our kisses were passionate but nothing that would cause pain.
It flashes into my head, unannounced. Jane, naked on my bed, a tub of lube open beside me...and my hand in her cunt, up to the wrist. I almost pull back but relax into the moment so I might explore this scene in my head.
She was writhing against me, calling out my name as I fisted her pussy and jerked off on her thigh. I remember my cum coating her leg and her hands tightly wrapped around my forearm as I was inside her.
She didn’t have birth control, she was afraid of sexually transmitted infections; she’d always wanted to try it. She was as tight as a virgin when I started but could have birthed a fucking watermelon by the time I was done. Her sopping cunt left my hand dripping with her juice and excess lube. I rubbed it all over my chest and her breasts. We kissed like that, naked and satisfied, slick with the wetness her cunt had offered up to me.
As quickly as it came, it’s gone. The memory slips away from me and I’m left with a lingering sensation of being deep inside of her body, her tight cunt walls undulating her release around my hand, and that’s it. The finer details are lost to me.
We break apart when I feel my cock hardening against her. A shooting pain spirals around my balls, so I pull away and I say, “You have to come and see this, I found the strangest thing in my office.”
“What is it?” she asks and hesitates, glances at the ceiling and back at me. She looks guilty, but Jane rarely comes in here, I doubt she would be so clever as to sneak something like that into my space without me knowing. At least fucking around with Jane I know I have the upper hand in the intelligence department. Not saying that Jane isn’t a smart girl, but she lacks the necessary ability to deceive that one needs in order to fuck people over.
“I found a camera,” I say and open the desk drawer I stashed it in. It’s gone. I open each one of my drawers but there’s nothing there, just the expected papers, office supplies and hundreds of pieces of paper with scrawling pen across them. I shut each of the drawers with a click but not before I realize they all contain the same phrase, written again and again in the same scrawling hand.
‘He needed inside her with the desperation of a dying man needing a cure. In this case there simply is no cure.’
I looked at Jane, glanced back down at the desk and saw ink on my fingers. The writing isn’t mine though, who could have written it?
“It seems to have been misplaced,” I say, glancing around the general area. “Well, never mind I suppose.” It is a bother though, I wanted to take it for analysis and find out if it was being sent anywhere, or recording in situ. More importantly what had it been recording? How much did somebody know about the inner workings of my office?
“So that’s what you texted me about?” Jane asks, sounding let down. “I thought maybe you wanted to reconnect after...what happened on Saturday. It was a very intense experience for me.”
The memory is even more faded so I am unable to address our night specifically. I smile and say, “Yeah, it was fun. You wanna grab a drink?”
Her face is unreadable but her shoulders slouch, just enough to betray her disappointment. “Sure,” she replies but remains unconvincing, her heart doesn’t seem that into it after I didn’t validate...something. I don’t really care at the moment, I am more focused on introducing her to the office staff so the rumour will go out that my girlfriend is very sweet and very plain looking.
We stop at reception; Beatrice and the new girl whose name escapes me are behind the counter. “Ladies, I would like to introduce you to Jane, my girlfriend,” I say and put my arm around her shoulder. She tenses up.
Beatrice gives me an angry look but the new girl smiles and says, “Hey there, nice to meet you.”
Beatrice nods at her and turns away suddenly gripped with some important task to show the new girl. She really must be ate up about me having a girl on my arm. Poor dear. I chuckle under my breath and lead Jane out the door.
We settle on a neighbourhood pub close to my office. Nothing spectacular, stale smelling and covered with autographs of celebrities who visited some time when the pub was still relevant.
We take our seats across from each other from a tall backed booth, I flip open the menu and peruse the offerings while Jane sits unmoving and rigid. I can see her in my peripheral vision, tightly wound and staring at me, willing me to look up and ask what’s wrong.
I don’t want to. I’m starving and need to eat something red and bloody. I’m supposed to be her boyfriend though so I decide on the 9 ounce New York steak, shut the menu and ask her, “Is something wrong?”
It goes against every cell in my body, every fibre of my being. I simply don’t care how others are feeling, but maintaining this part is important to me if I want to get away with fucking my patients.
“Yes,” she replies and opens her own menu. Thinking I’m off the hook, I grab the drink list and consider their imported beer selection. It’s not large, pretty much Heineken and Stella Artois. I decide on the Stella, I fucked a girl named Stella once. She was such a pain slut she almost lost a nipple before we both realized what had happened. I apparently like to bite when I’m goaded by a nasty little cunt like Stella.
Jane flips the menu shut with a snap and says, “You know what? This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman and a psychologist, why do I find it so difficult to discuss things with you?”
I look at her, raise a brow and say, “Is it my charm and good looks? Do they throw you off?”
She smiles and says, “Yes, honestly, that is part of it. It’s your looks, your money, the fact that you’re interested in me and the fact that I feel like if I say the wrong thing you are going to shut yourself down and I’ll lose you forever. You’re a difficult man to read and I sometimes exhaust myself trying to keep up with you.”
“Then don’t try to keep up with me, make me keep up with you,” I say and signal to the waitress to take our order.
“You are so flippant with all of this, that’s part of what drives me crazy. Ever since I met you, I’ve had this fascination with you but you’ve never paid me any attention. Then out of the blue you go and call me your girlfriend in front of your coworkers? What was up with that? I can’t tell if I’m coming or going with you and it drives me crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know why or how, but I can’t fight it,” she spills out in a rush of words. She sits up straighter in her seat, crosses her hands on the table and continues, “So there. I said it. I feel very adult about it all.”
I don’t know what she expects from me. I don’t care what she expects of me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my balls hurt and I hate this situation I find myself in. I hate that I need Jane to seem normal. I resent her for this.
Finally I say, “You are being very adult about it. I don’t know what to tell you Jane. I’m kind of a hard guy to pin down. I don’t mean to be; it’s just my nature. And things have been...I don’t know...”
“You do seem really stressed the last couple of weeks,” she says, “I think that might be part of it. You’ve always been difficult to pin down, but lately you are so inco
nsistent and paranoid. Are you sleeping?”
“I have some trouble, but I’m able to control it. I had a nap today in fact, all day. I cancelled my appointments after the morning,” I tell her and turn to the server. I catch her watching me from the corner of my eye. She’s biting her lower lip and squinting her eyes. Not a good look for her, but as long as she keeps her eyes on me and goes along with being my girlfriend I am ok with it.
Tuesday, April 8th 7:49AM Mistress
I deliberately came to work a little late. I am anxious about running into Mistress. As much as I want to see her¸ she terrifies me and today I need my peace. I don’t like feeling guilty and she makes me feel guilty.
I creep on silent feet through the quiet space, expectation making my nerves rattle as I reach for my office door. I can’t smell the tell tale cigarette smoke, but I am still certain she is waiting for me.
There is nobody here.
I could weep and clap my hands for joy. The conflicting emotions are enough to drive a person mad, but throw in her intoxicating presence and I’m sure I’m already half over the edge.
I hang my jacket up on the rack behind my desk, sit down, turn the desk chair around and there she is. She was behind the door, lurking like some elegant red spider, waiting for my guard to be down.
Instinctively I run my hand along my cock, tenderly stroke my balls and say, “What are you doing here?”
She has no cigarette today, but her gloves are still gone and her nails look even larger and redder if that’s possible. Carefully crafted talons.
“I’m here to remind you that you’re being watched,” she says and folds her fingers together. Her nails click as she weaves them in an out of each other.
“Did you put the camera in here?” I demand of her. “Is that how you know what’s been going on in here?”
She unfolds her fingers and crosses her arms. “I can’t tell you if I did or if I didn’t,” she says, “I also can't tell you who put it in here.”
“Who are you protecting?” I ask and stride to her side. I only have to lean down slightly to be right in her face. She is a very tall woman. “Did somebody hire you to watch me?”
I am angry and confused. She confuses me. She brings me pain and pleasure, but also paranoia. I know she’s watching me, but is she doing it on her own or for a group? For Doctor Stevenson or somebody else?
“This I will not tell you, Alexandre,” she purrs and reaches down to cup my balls in her hand. “I will tell you that we were very unhappy in how you treated your patient yesterday. You insulted her and degraded her. For this you will be punished again.”
I know what’s coming but I cannot pull away. She drops to her knees and unzips my pants. She drags my cock out and takes it in her mouth, sucking so hard her cheeks hollow out from the vacuum she creates. I groan and tilt my head back. Knowing what she’ll do is almost as intense as the anticipation of coming. I want to grab her head, but after these encounters, I still don’t feel like I have permission to.
I get there fast, it comes on like a freight train, fast and hard. I shoot my cum into her mouth and she swallows rapidly, consuming me. I shudder, with ecstasy and agony as she digs her fingernails into my balls again.
“Mistress,” I moan and watch her hand grip my flesh, “please, I’ll behave. I’ll be good.”
She looks up at me and smiles, my cum glistening on her lips. “Of course you will,” she says and grips harder. “You have no other choice.”
I suppress a scream as the pressure builds. Mistress loosens me in one swift motion, looks at the wall clock and says, “Oh dear, I’m afraid we’re out of time. Do not be late tomorrow.”
She stands and exits in a rush of lilac and lavender scented air, a whirlwind behind her. I stand for a moment letting the waves of pain wash over me until I am able to hang on to the pleasure again. I reach down and grab my cock, stroke my shaft a couple of times and think about her hot, tight mouth.
Hearing Beatrice shuffling around down the hall halts any progress so I shove my cock back in my pants, zip up and take a seat at my desk. I look down and notice cum down one side of my thigh, Mistress must have drooled some in her enthusiasm and vicious post-orgasm assault on my balls. I will have to remember it later, to clean up before anybody notices.
*****
Erica perches on the edge of the couch, a bundle of nerves. It’s visible in the way she sits with her back ramrod straight, her knees jiggling and her hands folding and unfolding as I examine her.
I like this, I feel as though I’m back inside my body. Other than the throbbing pain in my groin, I feel whole at the moment.
I decide she’s been tortured enough. She does look much more subdued and clean than last week. She emits a pleasant aroma of vanilla and nervous sweat, no cigarettes and cheap beer perfume for her this week.
“You’re looking rather fresh,” I tell her and she exhales in relief.
“Yes, I made sure to clean up before I got here,” she answers, a smile crosses her lips and she looks at me. She’s so full of hope that I almost go hard right there, driven into an erection by her anxious need to please me.
“Did you wash your cunt?” I ask her and flip my notepad open. She must be idiotic if she thinks I’d write that piece of information down, but one must maintain at least the illusion of absolute control at all times during a session. I start to write.
“Yes, I had it waxed too.”
“Waxed clean, or did you leave some hair?”
“I left a...what do they call it? A landing strip,” she says and blushes.
“Interesting,” I say and write something more. It’s all variations of the same thing I’ve been writing on all my notepads in all my sessions. At least I assume it’s me in spite of lettering that looks nothing like my regular hand.
‘He needed inside her with the desperation of a dying man needing a cure. In this case there simply is no cure.’
This time I’ve written, ‘There simply is no cure,’ again and again in that same unrecognizable script.
As though my hand no longer belongs with the rest of my body. I start to sink into that detached sensation where nothing quite adds up
“I took it to heart,” she says and folds her hand in her lap again, then unfolds them. “Your words mean a lot to me, Doctor Dane. I don’t know if you understand how important you have become in my life.”
“As important as any therapist becomes in their patient’s life I assume,” I say with a warning in my voice. I don’t need another one to cross the line, especially considering Mistress’ watchful eye…and with Doctor Stevenson sniffing around.
“That’s what I mean, but you said so yourself last week, there is so much more between us.”
“I never said such a thing,” I reply, “you might be projecting your own wishes. It’s very common, but you need to be aware of what is real and what is imagined.”
“But you did, last week right after we….well, you know,” she tells me and looks at me expectantly. “Remember? You told me that I was special to you. That we had something amazing together.”
“I did not tell you that,” I say to her in a tone that indicates I am done on this subject. She looks confused but doesn’t press it any further.
We fall into uncomfortable silence until she says, “Can I tell you about my new job?”
“Definitely,” I reply, “are you still working as an escort?”
“No,” she says with a smile, “I decided to use my degree in marketing and take a position with a small product research company.”
“Good for you, it sounds like the change you need in order to move on with your life.”
“It is, I’m proud of having a real job for once.”
“I imagine you would be.”
She sits silent again, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. She expects me to leap across the desk and pin her down again but I won’t. I won’t reward her for making up lies about the things I’ve said. I let her sit and stew in her own silen
ce while I scribble the same sentence over and over in my notebook.
‘There simply is no cure.’
I write it so many times that the letters on the page lose all significance. It becomes a blur of ink and pulp, a scribble of some deep part of myself trying to tell me something. Automatic writing from some part of me locked in my own head.
‘There simply is no cure.’
I don’t know what cure I’m looking for, but part of me knows it doesn’t exist. Since I was small, when we first moved to Vancouver and my parents enrolled my in a private school near home, I knew I was different. For some reason the noise and fast pace of London never made me feel as though I stood out. I managed to fit in well with my peers and felt myself fairly normal. Coming here, everything felt foreign to me, including myself. I had a hard time imagining what people felt in certain situations, how they should react. This made me simultaneously feared and loved on the playground, and that set the tone for the rest of my life. I was bold and daring because I simply didn’t know fear, and yet I was a fearsome abuser of friends and women.
“So, are we going to talk about what you said?” she asks me at last.
“We are not because I believe it is a delusion. Something you cooked up to handle the stress of me telling you to end your pseudo lesbian relationship.”
She looks me up and down, a hint of defiance lingers in her eyes and she says, “You’re just like everybody else I learned to trust. When it comes down to it, you’re just as much of a shit bag as the rest of the world. You make me break up with my girlfriend by making promises about our life together, then act like you don’t remember a damn thing? Fuck that, Doctor Dane. That’s fucked up right there.”
“Well thought out, Erica,” I tell her and keep scribbling. “I’m proud of you for having the guts to stand up to me, but I never said anything even remotely close to what you’re accusing me of.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” she says and stands up. I admit, this startles me. I didn’t think she took the situation so seriously.
