Therapist

by Jaden Wilkes

  “You should worry about yourself,” I say, “because there is nothing between us, Bea. Nothing. There never was.” I turn on my heel and stride down the hall. I turn back to see their surprised faces, mouths hanging open in shock. Twin expressions of idiocy. “I will never fuck you Bea, or you!” I yell and point at the new girl, “Whatever the fuck your name is!”

  I stomp into my office and slam my door. I lean down and hang my head, forcing myself to breathe slowly...in...out...in...out…

  How dare they all conspire against me. Obviously I am a threat to the older, more established therapists. They must have ben wondering why my patients seem the happiest, the most loyal. Because I am the most skilled at faking it. I am the best out of all of us at pretending to give a fuck.

  I sit on the couch and drop my head between my knees, still panting my anger. Those fucking cunts, the whole lot of them.

  “Alexandre,” she purrs from the end of the couch.

  “Mistress?” I look up and find her there, watching me with her dark, predatory eyes. “How did you get in here?”

  “You left your door open, silly boy,” she says and takes a long drag of her cigarette. She exhales and the smoke wafts over me. I have a sharp memory of my own mother, with her dark bruised eyes and her sad mouth exhaling over me in the same fashion. I was so small when she started, so small I had no way to defend myself.

  “I told my father once,” I say to Mistress and knowledge fills her face.

  “I know, dear sweet Alexandre,” she replies and inhales again. I watch as she lets the smoke travel down her throat, filling her lungs, releasing its addictive poison into her body. And she exhales. I lean in to catch it in my face. I cough as she says, “He beat you. I know that. He beat you and told you not to be a sissy. A fucking crybaby. It was the last time you ever cried.”

  I nod my agreement. My bones feel radioactive, heavy and filled with disease as I lean towards her. “That was the last time I ever cried.”

  She lets me lay my head on her chest, I can feel her heartbeat through the tight, white skin stretched across her sternum. Her breath sounds wheezy. I close my eyes and fall deeper into the imagery of the smoke filling her lungs and her body sifting through the toxins to pick the ones that will send feedback to the pleasure centres in her brain.

  I must have learned that somewhere along the way.

  It occurs to me that she’s wearing the same red dress. The same dress she’s been wearing all along. The same dress my own mother wore the first time she crept into my room and under my covers, reeking of stale cigarettes and booze. Pinching and demanding things of me that I could never give.

  “I love you, Mistress,” I say and sigh in absolute pleasure. With my head in her lap I know I have finally come home.

  “I know you do,” she says and exhales. “But you have been such a wicked, wicked man, haven’t you?”

  I nod my head, too afraid to speak.

  She speaks for me. “Then you know what has to happen, you have to be punished,”

  She reaches down and puts her cigarettes out on my cheek. I barely manage a whimper, the pain is almost inconsequential compared to what she’s done before.

  She reaches farther and unzips my pants. I’m hard and aching, I feel like my cock must be bleeding it’s so engorged with need for her.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” she says in my ear as she lays me down on the couch, “this is going to hurt.”

  I feel her hand start to stroke my cock, her other hand grips tightly around my balls. Both of them. She fondles them and plays with them like a magician, moving them around independent of each other. The entire time she strokes me with her perfect, elegant fingers. Her nails graze the ridge around the top of my shaft every once in a while just to remind me of the threat that lingers there.

  I am going to come, I feel the pressure building and my nerves alight with desire for Mistress.

  “I’m almost there,” I breathe out as my cock starts to spasm.

  “I know,” she replies, “hang on.” Her nails dig into my balls as I spurt my hot cum onto her hand. She digs them into both of them, hangs on and I can feel the pain increase as she digs harder.

  I feel intense pressure and I squeeze my eyes tighter, unable to see her beautiful face as she does this to me.

  I feel her tearing my skin, the wetness of blood and finally a pop as one of my balls is crushed under her angry hand.

  I think I hear myself screaming as the darkness claims me. Not before I hear her say, “I told you that it was going to hurt.”

  I fall.

  R E V E L A T I O N

  Do not envy the wicked, do not desire their company;

  for their hearts plot violence, and their lips talk about making trouble.

  –Proverbs 24

  May Something, Approximately 2:00PM

  I walk into the dusty little office and look around. I spy a framed photograph of Jane with her parents on her graduation day. I met them. Plain Jane, this must be her space.

  She works at Riverview, a mental hospital. I don’t understand why I am here. I did one rotation here before I was licensed, working with the criminally insane. I look down and note my hospital garb might in fact have “Property of Riverview” stenciled in black letters across the cuff of the pants. I feel the air leave my lungs and I sit down on the wrong side of the desk.

  The door opens and Jane breezes in, she’s looking lovely today. I should have fucked her once more. Her hair looks fuller and her tits larger, maybe I’ve been too hard on her all along. “Alexandre,” she says, smiles and leans down to kiss my cheek.

  “Jane,” I say and smile back as she settles into her chair on the proper side of the desk. “What is going on here?”

  “Do you have any recollection of the events that led up to you coming here?” she asks and snaps open a notepad. I hate that she’s taking notes.

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” I reply and look around. Her office is grey, dingy, with stacks of papers everywhere. Every flat surface is piled high. It’s messy, and completely unlike I imagined her space would look. It might seem I’ve been wrong about things. Some things. A lot of things.

  “Do you remember getting here at all?” she asked, clicks her pen and hovers over the page, poised to write.

  I hate that she’s going to write this down. I shake my head no.

  “You concern me,” she tells me and leans towards me. “You’ve been in an induced subconscious state though, so it’s not surprising. It may all come back to you over the next few days.”

  “Induced? Chemically?” I ask. I hate drugs of any kind.

  “Yes,” she replied, “we’ve had you on quite the cocktail, to aid your healing process. It’s been two weeks and the doctors believe they have successfully saved your testicle.”

  As she says that, it comes rushing back. Mistress crushing me, the popping sound, the intense pain and then me passing out. Pain red hot fire pain laughing pain. I can’t imagine why that would land me here though.

  “So why here? Why am I not in a proper medical facility?” I ask.

  “You are here as our guest because of the charges,” she replies and watches me, noting my reaction. I hate her watching me.

  “What charges?” I ask. I am so confused, I feel tired. I could curl up and sleep right here.

  “The charges of rape brought against you,” she replies and writes something down. “That, combined with your self harming, made it imperative that you be placed in custody and under constant care.”

  “Wait, what did you say? Rape?” I ask, that explains why I’m here.

  “Yes, rape. Do you remember being arrested?” she asks, and writes something down. She’s too cool and calm, Jane is usually a little giddy around me. I don’t like this side of her.

  “I do not, Jane. Who is claiming that I raped them?” I ask and lean towards her. Even in the shapeless green hospital shirt and loose pants, I know I look good. “You know I wouldn’t dream of raping anybody, w
hy would I have to?” I give her a meaningful arch of my eyebrow and watch her reaction.

  Her pupils react, and her pulse increases, I can see it in her throat. I also see her eyes brighten and her cheeks flush signaling the blood flow to her flesh. That’s it, she’s good. She is in control of her larger reactions, but her body betrays her desire. If I wanted, I could have her right here, on the desk.

  “A former patient of yours, Julia Broadweir?” she said, then looked back at her notes. “She is the only one who came forward after the tip was received.”

  “What tip?” I asked, still leaning forward. I lick my lips and watch her carefully. Her face goes redder.

  “Somebody called it in, said you were engaging in...unconventional treatments with patients,” she told me, her voice calm and flat. “They said you were basically raping them, Alexandre, even you must have known you crossed a line.”

  I lean back, sit comfortably with my knees wide. I catch her glancing at my cock, which is visible through the thin fabric of the pants, even in its semi-hardened state.

  “I have been experimenting in helping posttraumatic stress disordered women overcome certain,” I pause and collect my thoughts. I have to phrase this carefully. “Let’s say certain sexual issues. I helped them, and I never fucked Julia, that fat cunt.”

  “Alexandre, please,” she exclaims, “can we keep this on a professional level? I know I’m your friend...well, more than your friend I suppose. But I need to make sure everything is above the board. We both know you’ll walk on this, not one other patient came forward.”

  “I’m sorry Jane,” I say and hold my hands out, palms up, a man defeated. She buys it and relaxes. I don’t know what she means by more than a friend, surely she’s still not hung up on that one night we had back in university? I continue, “This is all so confusing to me, I don’t know why I’m here and I can’t imagine why Julia would have made such an outrageous claim.”

  “Personally, and this is off the record, I think she’s attention seeking. She never did have a fiancé, and that is apparently the reason she went to see you in the first place. She’s a very sick woman,” she tells me and smiles, scribbles on the note pad and waits for me to reply.

  “Yes, she is. As to the other methods, I have been collecting research material for a journal article. I believe in what I’m doing, and I believe I am helping women through these unconventional ways,” I say. And smile, always with the warm smile, make sure it reaches my eyes.

  “You have quite a following,” she tells me and sets the notebook down on her desk. “Your former patients have been petitioning to have you set free. They come here every day and try to see you. You seem to have that effect on women,” she tells me and licks her lips slowly.

  I raise an eyebrow, look at her in the eye and say, “You would know.” It’s a bold move, but it works. Jane is thriving on this power exchange, being in charge of me, so I let her play it out.

  Mistress will understand if I were to fuck Jane. It’s for my sanity.

  A shadow passes over her face and she says, “I do know, and that’s not what has been bothering me. To be honest, it’s the self-harming that alarms me more than the claim of rape. Why have you been doing this to yourself? Why did you never reach out to any of us?”

  “Doing what?” I ask, genuinely confused.

  “You crushed your own testicle! That’s not exactly indicative of a right state of mind. I’m very concerned for you,” she tells me and I can see the worry on her face.

  “You mean Mistress crushed it,” I add hastily to assure her I’m not insane. Because I’m not insane. I’m not.

  “Who is Mistress?” she asks and narrows her eyes. I know I’ve already said too much.

  “I can’t talk about her,” I say and feel my eye begin to twitch involuntarily again. I reach up and place my finger on it, that handy little trick I learned years ago when I beat it the first time.

  “Who is she?” Jane persists. “You can tell me, I’m your...friend...and more. Do you remember that?”

  “She will abandon me if I talk about her,” I say and feel my eye jumping around under the pressure of my finger. I don’t answer her second question, why bother? She knows we’re nothing more than friends. Plain Jane and Doctor Dane.

  “You were all alone, Alexandre,” she tells me slowly, her speech is deliberate, the tone you would take with an imbecile or a mental case, of which I am neither. “You were found passed out in your office. Beatrice and Doctor Stevenson had to break your door down because you were screaming so loud. You almost ripped your own testicle off. You had your own fingers wrapped around it with a death grip.”

  I shrug and chew at loose skin on my forefinger. It’s bloody and a terrible mess, all of my fingers are. I don’t remember them looking this bad.

  Jane continues, “Beatrice told me that you have been acting more and more out of sorts. Talking to people who weren’t there, claiming you had appointments when you clearly had none. Why did you not come to any of us with this? Why not me? I mean you froze me out and I’m your girlfriend.”

  “I am fine, I don’t know what that gossiping bitch Beatrice is talking about,” I protest. “She’s just cranky because I refused to fuck her. As for you, what the hell are you talking about? I never dated you. You always seemed eager for me to fuck you, but I wasn’t interested! Not after that one time years ago!” I’m bristle with my indignant denial. I don’t know why she’s taken her little puppy dog crush and created this fantasy that we were in a relationship.

  “Is that how you see all women? As begging you to fuck them?” she asks, her eyes wet with uncried tears.

  “You should know, right?” I sneer and press into the twitching eye even more. I feel a sharp stab of pain and realize my fingernail is cutting into the tender flesh of my eyelid. How long have I been in here? My nails are usually trim and clean. My face feels dry and untended, my hair lank and greasy on top of it.

  “I think we need to continue this another time,” Jane says and hits a button on her desk. “I’m really worried about you, just know that. As your friend...and more...I am terrified that there’s something horrific going on in that head of yours.”

  “I never hurt myself,” I tell her and pull my finger off my eye. It’s twitching like mad, most likely a side effect of some medication Jane’s got me on. “I never would, it was all Mistress.”

  The overweight, shuffling orderly opens the door and looks in.

  “Time for him to go back,” Jane tells him and they both look at me, expectation heavy in the air.

  “It wasn’t me,” I tell her again and stand up. “It wasn’t me, it was her.”

  The orderly offers his arm, as if I’m fucking crippled. I brush it away in anger and turn back to Jane. She has a stricken look on her face and twin tears roll down her cheeks.

  “Nobody ever saw her,” she tells me, “she didn’t exist. Don’t worry Alexandre, I’ll get you through this. I’ll make you better. I owe it to you.”

  The orderly shuffles out the door with me in front of him. He shuts it with a click and we head down the hall. I can hear Jane start to sob after we leave. Plain Jane, that jealous cunt. She can’t stand the thought of me with anyone else so she’s denying that Mistress is mine.

  Back in my room, I lie down on the narrow cot and hear my door click shut, then a lock is engaged. My room is small, painted white on white, with one small window high up the wall. This is covered in a metal safety cage.

  I can hear some voices in the hall, Jane’s and another woman. They pause in front of my door and I hear snatches of their conversation. I swear I hear Blythe’s voice, talking and laughing with Jane. I hear them though...saying things like “induced a break with reality,” “memory loss,” and “multiple hallucinations”. This all reaches my ears but I smile.

  The jokes on all of them, Mistress does exist and she’s here with me now.

  I feel the weight of her as she sits at the end of the cot. I smell the smoke from he
r cigarette before I open my eyes and see her there. The scent of lavender and lilac fills my nostrils. Blood clouds the vision in my twitching left eye, but I feel the nervous jerking tic subside as I drink in the sight of her.

  “I hear you’ve been a very wicked boy,” she purrs and exhales, the smoke pouring out of her mouth and nostrils in elegant waves, like a creature of legend, breathing fire and destruction. She’s a dangerous machine.

  “I have been, Mistress. I am so very sorry,” I tell her and put my wrists together across my stomach.

  “You know you will need to be punished,” she says and leans towards me. “Close your eyes, darling, this is going to hurt.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, the twitch starts up again, but I am grinning like a fool. She will never leave me now, she’s with me forever. She’s finally in me.

  I feel her hand creep under the waistband of my hospital pants and inhale sharply. She starts to stroke me, I’m already hard and waiting for her. Her other hand finds my sack and she cradles it tenderly as she works the head of my cock.

  “I love you Mistress,” I breathe out and shudder. Her hands feel so good I could cry. I feel my release building, from the base of my balls to the tip of my cock, I am on fire for her.

  “I know you do, darling,” she replies and squeezes my testicles. I can feel her fingernails digging into the healing incision where they stitched me up before. The pain starts to radiate out just as I come. I shoot hot, thick, sweet release onto her hand and she digs in harder, tearing me in half as I hit my peak.

  I scream, high pitched and full of anguish, love and adoration. The pain escalates and I feel myself blacking out again just as the door opens and Jane rushes in, the orderly right behind her.

  She has a syringe, yells, “Hold him down!” to the orderly and I feel something sharp hit my arm.

  I close my eyes and slip into the warmth that is spreading throughout my body. Surely this is the effect Mistress has on me.