0 comments/ 23450 views/ 2 favorites Abused Counselors Ch. 01 By: The Needler Phyllis Barbarosa dawdled over her lunchtime Peach yogurt. Dark haired at 45, her strong face with high cheekbones, porcelain skin and long, lean frame were any man's delight. She wore a white, silk blouse, dark hose and dark flat shoes. Her hands were delicate and strong, her nails painted red. Her blue eyes were her best feature. Only small wrinkles around her eyes betrayed her age. Her friend Ginger Bain, a plump, grandmotherly woman of 55 with shocking red hair bustled in with files under her arm and a fast food bag in her hand. She wore a brown business suit, a tie with a pearl pin, and her brown eyes were under furrowed brows. "Coming down already," she sighed, "It's going to be shit getting home tonight. You'll have to be careful." "Yeah. How was your morning?" "Long and drawn out. Three sessions, slow going. Being a counselor is harder work that I ever thought. You?" "About the same. It's tough to give people good advice and have them ignore it." Ginger sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "The only good part is we get paid really well for it. Phyllis shook her head and spooned another mouthful in. "Yeah. And the fringe benefits. Got any appointments this afternoon?" "One, " she said, unwrapping her burger and fries. "Excessive guilt complex. Think I'll have to take it past his limits to get him out of his funk." Her brow furrowed as the catsup frustrated her attempts to open it with short nails. Phyllis reached over and tore it open for her. "Another bank clerk?" "Yeah. Already flogged him twice and he thinks he deserves more." "Well, Ginger, you're the one to give it to him. It should break the monotony." "Thanks, love. Though I'd rather be on the receiving end." "Think I'll get there today," she said, licking a spoonful of whiteness with unnecessary wantonness. "Oooh, lucky you. I'm envious; it's going to be another week before I can take it after my last aggressive patient." "You never listen to me, Ginger. I told you never let that old German Stasi woman handcuff you." Ginger shook off the reprimand and continued. "Read his file yet? What's he like?" She started on her lunch with gusto, devouring her food as if she were ending a three day fast. Phyllis picked up a file and flicked it open. "Bank clerk, middle aged, single all his life. Somebody mad at the world, what life has dealt him, etc., etc. Has a boss who enjoys pushing his buttons. Raised by a smothering mother. Repressed sexuality, repressed ego, repressed damn near everything." "Sounds like a challenge. Think he's ready to crack?" "Oh yes. Just a matter of when." "Can I watch through the 2 way?" "Of course, Ginger. He's not coming in until 4:30. I'll return the favor and keep an eye on your session. How far are you going to push your dweeb?" "What a dear you are. Oh, I'm going to push him a very long way indeed. Probably have to bust his balls." She took a glance at her watch. "Oops, gotta run. He's probably in the waiting room already." "See you, soon, Ginger." Ginger looked at her watch, gave Phyllis a smirk and bustled out. Ginger left in such a hurry her chubby body jiggled in three different directions as she exited. Phyllis glared at the storm and fished the last of her yogurt from the container before leaving to the observation room. Later that afternoon, Mike Shealy sat timidly on his chair and looked across as his therapist. He was tall, heavy, his scalp half covered by greying hair, blue eyes distorted behind thick glasses. His faint blue shirt was damp with sweat under his suit, and his black tie reached only three quarters of the way to his belt. Shaking, he rubbed his hands in his lap as if still cold from the five block walk from his bank office. Phyllis took down her reading glasses and put the file on her desk. "Mr. Shealy, how long were you in therapy with Dr. Jones?" "Five years," his voice quavered, "once a week except vacations." "And have you made progress with your inferiority complex?" "Well, a little, but I'm a nobody. I don't matter in the grand scheme of life. I'm coping better, though, I can tell. Last night I slept pretty well, and only got up to pee." "Married?" "No. Never close. I did the bars when I was in my 20s, but it was humiliating." "Oh? How come?" "I'm shy, not an initiator, can't get conversations started." "And now you're around 50?" "Yes, Dr. Barbarosa." "Tell me about your work, Mr. Shealy." "Well, I work down the street, been there for 25 years. Started as a teller and now I'm a private banker. Nothing but numbers from morning till night." "Any chance of a promotion?" "No," he said, twisting his hands in his lap. "Hit the ceiling there, I'm afraid." "How's your relationship with your boss? Your coworkers?" "I get along all right with everybody." His lip began to quiver. "You sure about that?" "Pretty much everybody." "Let's try again. I don't even have to look at your file. You're not comfortable with somebody." He looked at the ceiling and then back down in her direction. "Well, my boss pushes me. She has to, I'm a bit of a plodder. She says I goof off too much at work." His hands still rubbed each other, trembling, and his eyes flitted from one corner of the ceiling to another: he didn't look her straight in the eye. "Do you goof off at work?" "No, not much, really. Only when everything's caught up and nothing's happening." "Does your boss abuse you?" "I bet your pardon?" His eyes came to meet her in shock. "Does she call you names? Make fun at your expense? Berate you in front of others?" He looked down, his body still shaking and his hands still working in his lap. Phyllis kept her silence, waiting for him to speak, never taking her eyes off him. "Yes," he whispered. "What does she call you?" "Dumbass. Shithead. Idiot. Shit for brains. Jackoff." "Do you deserve it?" Another long pause. "No," came the faint reply. "What do your coworkers do when she calls you those names?" "Usually nothing." He began to lick his lips. "They look away, except Jeff, the owner's son. He joins in." He looked out the window and said almost inaudibly. "The little twerp." Phyllis shifted in her chair, her panties starting to dampen in anticipation. She knew where he could go with his anger, which buttons to push, and how she wanted to use it. "Tell me about your sex life." "What sex life?" She shook her head and pushed onward. "Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?" He looked at her strangely again. "Boyfriend?" he said with a high, indignant voice. "I am a God fearing Christian, Doctor, and I've never had improper feelings for any man. Ever." "My apologies, I didn't know. Have to ask these days, nothing personal. Do you have a girlfriend?" "No. Not ever." "Your boss calls you gay?" He looked away and gave a quick nod of his head. She made some notes on a pad in front of her. "It's not like I don't want a woman. . ." he blurted out. "I know, Mr. Shealy, I know. Do you fantasize?" A nod. "Masturbate?" Another indignant look, which she met calmly. "I'm a counselor, Mr. Shealy, this is in strictest confidence." "Yes." "How often?" "Twice a week." "Do you use pornography to get aroused?" "Yes. And I imagine my coworkers, you know, going out with. . ." "Your boss included?" He sniffed and shook his head, however his foot started tapping on the floor rapidly. "That bitch turns off my libido. I don't care how good looking she is, or how much Jeff lusts after her, I'd never. . ." "Even if she asked?" Another sniff. "Maybe you'd like to punish her?" "Yeah. I'd love to spank the shit out of her." Phyllis stirred in her seat and thought quickly. Now she had to control herself; inwardly, she congratulated herself on her assessment, and shifted her weight as she contemplated her next move. "How about your childhood? Are your parents still alive?" "No, Doctor. I lost them in an auto accident three years ago." "Tell me about them," asked gently, taking the reading glasses off her head. "Well, Dad was a street sweeper, and Mom worked at a laundry." "Were they good parents?" "They were my parents, ya know. Everybody thinks their Mom and Dad are normal. They raised me and my older sisters very strictly, kept us in line, and yes, we got swatted if we misbehaved. That was the way it was." "Did you feel closer to one parent than the other?" "Mom. Dad usually worked two jobs. Mom took care of me, I talked to her. Dad almost never said anything." "You were the youngest?" "Yeah." "How did you lose your virginity?" He began tapping his foot and looked out the window at the sleet. "My sister Joan. I was thirteen, the folks were both at work. She was nearest me in age. My older sisters were already gone, working. It was two days before Christmas. It was wonderful, we did it all day and every chance we could for the next two weeks. Until we got caught." "What happened then?" "Dad whipped our asses until they almost fell off. Mom was so ashamed, she didn't talk to us until Easter, after we went to Confession." "I'm sorry. Is Joan still alive?" "No. Cancer took her, ten years ago." Phyllis got up behind her desk, and opened a drawer, taking something out while Mike looked down, lost in his memories. He was still twisting his hands, and his foot was tapping rapidly. She came around the desk to stand directly in front of him. "Mr. Shealy, I'd like do to some role play with you." He looked up perplexed. "I've done that before. It's never worked." "I think I have something new for you." His worried gestures ceased and he looked up at her with an open mouth. "Okay, I guess. What do you have in mind?" "You have a lot of anger built up, Mr. Shealy--may I call you Mike?" He nodded uncertainly. "Good, and call me Phyllis from now on. I want you to imagine I'm your boss." He waved his hand and turned away dismissively. "Been there, done that." "Only this time in addition to telling her what you think of her, Mike, I want you to act on your feelings." "How?" "I will provide the opportunity." "Are you sure this is a good idea, Phyllis? Lots of anger there." She came a quick, nervous shake of her head. "Oh yes, Mike, I'm pretty tough. I'll let you know if you're going too far. I'll say yellow if I want you to slow down and red if I want you to quit what you're doing." He thought for a moment and said uncertainly: "Okay." "You said you'd like to spank your boss, didn't you?" He nodded his head. She turned around and lifted her black skirt, exposing two large, well rounded mounds in a light green thong. "Well, Mike, here's the butt cheeks of the woman who makes your life a living hell. Let her have it." "This is a little weird, Phyllis." "Give it try, Mike. Trust me, it works." She wiggled her ass at him invitingly. "This is your boss's ass. Give it a spank." He looked away and his hands shook. "This is more than a little weird." "Does this look like her ass?" "Yes. Hers is just about like this, nicely rounded. She always wears knee length dresses at the office." "You've noticed her ass as she walked away from you?" "Yes. I'm not blind." "Teasing you. Playing with you. Making you look but not letting you near." "You could say that." Phyllis' voice changed to a harsh, mocking tone. "You dipshit. How could you screw up that badly? You're so damn dumb." Tentatively, he gave her beautifully rounded white ass a tap. "Oh, come on, you can do better than that," she ordered. A slightly louder twack rang out. "I barely felt that." Another. The tone of her voice switched back to demanding, abusive tone. "Come on, Dumbass. Shithead. Idiot. Shit for brains. Jackoff. You can do better." She worked her cheeks as she taunted him, switching them back and forth. Mike gritted his teeth and began spanking Phyllis harder. She leaned over her desk and closed her eyes as he took out his frustrations, still working her ass. After a couple of minutes he stopped suddenly. "Done already?" she asked. "My hand hurts. My hands are very sensitive." "There's a strap on my desk. Give that a try." He stood up and saw the leather lying on her otherwise immaculate desk. "I don't know." "C'mon you little faggot. Queer. Fudgepacker. Fairy. C'mon, you fag. Hit my ass." Mike stood up, took the strap and started spanking her hard with the foot long implement, gradually turning her ass light red. The aroma of her crotch soon filled the room, and she moaned as her skin grew hotter and hotter. She kept goading him: "You gotta work Saturday, stupid, make those numbers right. It's a miracle I don't fire your ass, you damned moron. You only make my job harder, you dumbass." He moved back and forth methodically, compulsively turning her lily white skin redder and redder. It was beet red when he stopped. She turned and looked at him, smiling. "Feel better?" "Yes, yes." His foot was tapping as he put the ruler back on the desk. His eyes were fixed on her, and darted away. She craned her head sideways, looking at him with searching eyes. "I'm not sure. You're still anxious." "Yes," he whispered, looking at the floor. "How come?" "Dunno. Still mad at her. Still mad at the slut." He turned around and looked at the back wall. "You still have some issues to work out. She dresses well?" "Oh, yes. Fancy suits, lacy blouses every day." "Nice hair, makeup?" "Lovely." "What's her name?" "Elizabeth, Elizabeth Bloom, but her friends call her Betty." "Betty Bloom, Betty Bloom, Betty Boobs! All right, Betty Boobs. Does that work for you?" "Yeah." He sat and thought for a moment and chuckled. "Right, sounds good to me. Betty Boobs. Some of the kids around the office call her that." Letting him stew for a moment, she started to unbutton her white silk blouse. "Does your boss have nice tits?" she asked. "Yes, they're huge," he said to the back wall. "She wears low cut blouses all the time, especially when Jeff's around. Probably got a boob job." She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it back, revealing a generously filled lacy green bra. "Like this?" He turned to look at her, astonished. "Yeah, but hers aren't as big at that. What are you doing, Dr. Barbarosa--I mean, Phyllis?" The front clasp came undone and two full breasts fell out. There was a little sag, the skin was porcelain and her nipples were generous. "These aren't fake like hers probably are, but given a little imagination, they'll do. Are the nipples as big as Betty Boobs'?" His eye almost bugged out of his head and his mouth opened. After a few moments he blurted out: "Hell, yes. I've seen them through her blouse almost everyday. Two inches wide, just like yours." "Mocking you. Turning you on when she's yelling at you." "Yes. Can't stand up with the hardon. Embarrassing." "Look at then. Yell at them. Yell at Betty Boobs." Shanking his head, he was transfixed for a short time before he surfaced from his surprise. His face came forward a little and he yelled at her breasts. "You slut. You damned slut. Wiggling your ass at the owner. Wiggling your ass at Jeff." Her voice grew rough. "I ought to fire your stupid ass, Michael, you're such an idiot. You're a waste of space. And you're a fucking wimp, with an empty nutsack. You've got no balls, Mike, no balls at all." "Damn you, bitch, damn you. You turn me on and I hate you, Betty Boobs." "Come over here behind me." Mechanically, he walked around behind her as ordered. "Now reach around and touch them. It's all right, don't worry." He tentatively did as she asked and gingerly placed his hands on her breasts. "Don't be afraid. How long's it been since you've touched a woman's boobs, Mike?" "Ah, don't remember." "Well, reacquaint yourself with the memory. Just rub them and knead them." He complied tentatively at first, then with more and more relish. His breath on her neck was moist and heavy and she smiled as she drank in the sensations. "Now, imagine these are Betty Boobs. Hidden from you every day, toying with you every day. The inaccessible boobs, the boobs that flirt at others but not at you. They make you hard and embarrass you. Squeeze them, savor the feel." He gave them a squeeze, making her breath short and her eyes close. "Yes, yes, yes, again harder, ohohoh, yes, play with the nipples, make Betty Boobs know you're there." Her nipples were fully erect and he milked them. "Harder, harder, remember these aren't the tits that want you. Betty Boobs wants the Jeff's soft little pansy hands." His started grabbing more and more flesh; taking a chance and twisting her nipples, making her cry out. "Yes, big man, yes, do it again. Take charge of Betty Boobs." He started to knead them harder, pinching and tweaking; her face was lost in sensation. After fifteen minutes' play he stopped and moved around in front of her. "How do you feel now, Mike?" His foot was tapping and his eyes a little frantic. "Better--better. It's been so long. You have nice breasts, Phyllis." "No, Mike, they're not mine. These are Betty Boobs, who hates you, who likes to make fun of you, the woman who makes your work day hell." He looked away and looked back, his foot tapping. "Oh, I don't know." "You don't know what?" "I don't know what I'd do with those--those--those. . ." "Betty Boobs, if you ever had the chance." He nodded, looking down. "Would you like to do something?" He nodded again. "Something nasty, something that will make her hurt?" Another nod. "Smack them." A confused look crossed his face, his hand rising up and going down a couple of times. "Smack Betty Boobs, make her hurt. It's worse than an ass paddling, trust me. Smack her." A slap and a red mark appeared on her left breast. "That's all you can do, you pansy? Queer. Fag. Worthless sun of a bitch." A louder slap, and a couple more. "Stupid dipshit. Moron. Cocksucker. That's it, keep it up. Dimwit." "My hands hurt." "Remember the strap you used on Betty's ass. Nice, soft leather. Use it again." She put her hands behind her head, making her breasts stand up with her saucer sized nipples perking in the chill. "Are you sure I should do that to you?" "Never mind about me. Let Betty Boobs have it." A couple of taps touched her skin, and she began goading him with the harsh voice, changing to a softer voice to direct him: "Dumbass. Idiot. You screwed up again. You'll have to stay late, overtime. Ouch. Mandatory overtime, till you get it right. Don't know why I don't fire your sorry ass right now, ow, ow, ow. That's good, Mike, let it out. You screwed up the figures, the auditors will roast you. Ouch. Stupid. Ow. Shit for--owoo!--brains. You can't take a personal day--ouch--you have to work Saturday. Ow-woo!" He paused for a moment and she changed to the softer voice: "Good, Mike, you're doing well. Keep it up, get that frustration out of your system. Take it out on Betty Boobs." Her voice went back into hard mode: "C'mon shitbrain, stupid, dumbass." Several more blows started turning the delicate white flesh pink. "Hit the nipples, they're big enough. You can't miss them. Ow, yes! Dumbfuck, pansy ass, idiot, Owoowoowoowoowoo! He landed the strap across both her nipples, making the breasts swing, then swatting them back and forth methodically. "You damn bitch," he yelled. "You push me around and expect me to be nice to you. Fuck you, fuck your ass. Fuck your goddamn tits that make me so hard and cream my pants. I'll show you, you bitch. I'll make you pay for your arrogant shit." She started sweating and chewing her lip, letting out little mews of pain but standing perfectly still, holding her tits high. Both her nipples were caught again with a single blow, then he gave each one three hard smacks quickly. "That's it, let her have it, let Betty Boobs have it. Ow!" Her knees buckled at an especially sharp blow. "At last," she whispered, then changed to her agitator voice. "Mike, you're so damn stupid. You've been here 25 years and you've learned nothing. Ouch, ouch, yes." After a few last frantic swats, he sat down breathing heavily. She put her arms down and stood there, her tits burning, using all her self-discipline to keep from touching them. "How do you feel now, Mike?" Abused Counselors Ch. 01 "Better," he said between huge breaths, "much better." "Good." He sat up with a start. "Oh my God, Phyllis, your breasts look awful. Can I do something for you?" "We better stay in character. I'll be all right." She said softly and smiled a little. He sat back, breathing heavily. She stood before him, her hands at her sides, breathing heavily herself. Her breasts showed spiderwebs of red stripes and her nipples were puffy. They stood there for several moments, and she looked at him. "You've gotten Betty Boobs back for all the pain she's given you. Well done, Mike. How do you feel?" "Better, much, much, better. I--I--I--" " I see you have a problem." He looked down and saw his cock was making a huge bulge in the front of his slacks. "My, you're a big boy. Can't let you leave frustrated: it would be unhealthy." Phyllis knelt in front of him, her abused breasts swinging. "Now finish it off. You've subdued Betty Boobs. Make her suck your cock, fill her mouth with your sticky sperm, make her swallow it." "But, but, but. . ." "But me no buts. Wouldn't you like to fuck her face?" "I guess so. . ." "Would you like to shove your cock between her lips? Between the lips that mock you, the lips that tease you?" "Yes, yes, yes!" He unzipped his pants, freeing a generous erection. She smiled at him mockingly, shaking her head no, glaring at him. "I don't care if you have a donkey dick, I'm not taking that thing in my mouth. You don't deserve to have your cock sucked. You should live with blue balls the rest of your life." He pushed her head down and she took him into her mouth, licking and sucking. "C'mon, bitch, make me cum," he growled. "Suck harder, harder, harder." He moved her head up and down, fucking her face, and she sucked more and more frantically sensing he was close. His frustration and arousal was so intense it took thirty seconds to shoot a huge load down her throat in several pulses before he fell back into his chair, spent. Phyllis stood up, licking her lips, and removed her bra before putting her blouse back on, buttoning it all the way to the top. Going around behind the desk, she winced as she sat down, made some notes on a pad and looked up at him calmly. "I think our role play went very well today, Mr. Shealy. Do you think so?" He nodded his head weakly. "Good. You should sleep very well tonight. Now, when you have trouble at work, I don't want you to do anything to antagonize your boss. I don't want you to lose your job while you're working out your issues here in therapy. Be impassive, take it as best you can, write down all the hurtful things she says to you, even one and remember everything you want to say to her for our next session. Bring the pad with you to our next appointment, or e-mail me a transcript ahead of time. I have the same time next week open for another session, and we'll continue to work through your frustration issues, if you wish." He got up slowly and stood, looking at her with puzzlement and concern on his face. "Okay, I'll do that. Didn't I hurt you, Dr. Barbarosa? Are you all right?" She smiled broadly. "Nothing I haven't been through before. I'm fine, Mr. Shealy, perfectly fine. Please don't worry about me. Next week, same time?" He nodded vigorously, and shook up. She stood and offered her hand, shaking it before he sheepishly crossed the room and left. The sleet had turned to rain outside, and the glass of the office was cold. Phyllis pressed her aching breasts against the glass, indifferent to who may be looking, savoring the relief. She closed her eyes and put as much hot skin as she could on the windowpane. Shortly after he left, Ginger Bain bustled into the room, carrying her winter coat. "Are you all right? I'm sure the boys in the investment firm across the way appreciate the show." Phyllis turned around, licked her lips and pulled up her skirt, putting her crimson backside against the ice cold pane, stroking her abused tit flesh, wincing slightly. "I'm wonderful, Ginger. Won't be able to sit down easily for a while. He's so tasty. Ooo, I'm onto something here." "I'm jealous, I wish I could get my tits were worked over like that. You're unreal. Your ass and tits must be on fire right now. How you can spot the angry ones that won't go out of control is beyond me." "Oh, it's easy, Ginger. He wouldn't hurt a fly outside this room. All it takes is a little ESP, reading the incoming file thoroughly, a police background check before the first session, and some imagination. I put out only the instruments I want used and never let him tie me up." "He's got a monster cock. You sure I can't help you with him?" "No," she said possessively, standing upright. "I need to keep this one to one for the time being. He needs have a consistent partner to work through his issues. Someone he can center on." She wiggled her battered butt against the cold windowpane. "Why don't you find a gloryhole later?" "Ooo, yummy, sounds like a plan. You coming with me?" "No, I came when he filled my throat a few minutes ago." Ginger came over and whacked Phyllis on the side of the head; Phyllis gave her a knowing look. "You're jealous, that's obvious." "Well, you could buy me dinner to make up for it, Dr. Barbarosa. Especially since you've already had your appetizer. Whenever you're done giving the boys downstairs a show." "Delighted, Dr. Bain. The dessert should be very special. Just let me button my blouse and tidy my desk and I'll be ready." Ginger looked over at the wall where Phyllis' doctoral degree hung as she put out her own coat, wrapping a long scarf around her neck. "How long have we known each other?" she mused. "Twenty years?" Phyllis said as she began to put her own coat on. "Sounds right. Who'da thought two women with Doctorates in Home Economics from the University of Panhandle State could not only make a mint, but get their every sexual desire fulfilled?" "Who'da thunk it? But we work hard for the money, and make many sacrifices for our patients. We also get what we want on our terms, and that's what matters," Phyllis said, donning her own winter coat and hat, taking Ginger's arm and leading her out of the office. "Watch your step. It's slick outside." Abused Counselors Ch. 02 Dr. Ginger Bain sat and watched the snowflakes fly outside her window. Five minutes to five on Christmas Eve, and she faced another holiday alone. Her partner in practice, Phyllis Barbarosa, had already left to see her family in sunny Florida, and Ginger was on call in case any of their patients had the holiday blues. Ginger looked at the clock and at her diploma on the wall. Sure, they were stretching the truth, calling themselves "Counselors", but they were inside the law and her Doctor of Philosophy in Home Economics from Panhandle State was legitimate. Her thoughts wandered to dinner and where that may be had, and after that what entertainment she could find for herself. She was a plump 55 year old grandmotherly woman with shocking red hair, and red polish on her pudgy nails, a blue blouse and black skirt, her blue eyes sparkled thinking about how she could amuse herself. The bars would be closed, but the shower attachment in her tub would help give her solace for the next few days. A soft rapping was heard on her door, and her secretary, Martha Cole stuck her head in. "Dr. Bain, an old patient would like to see you. He says it's urgent." "Who is it?" "Harold Mims." She thought for a moment and remembered him. He was a tall, thin man in his mid 60's with dignified bearing which grey hair ennobled and a curled moustache accented. His sister died a year and a half ago, and she'd helped with his grieving process. Like many of her patients, he did not need all the special services she was willing to offer, but through kindness and common sense he had left her care nine months earlier. "Send him in, and you may go for the day. Merry Christmas, Martha." "Merry Christmas, Dr. Bain." A moment later, Harold Mims strode into the room. He looked downcast and shuffled as he approached. She rose to greet him, looking up at his face a foot higher than hers. "Mr. Mims, how's it going? It's been a while." "It has indeed, Dr. Bain. How are you this evening?" "Other than being stuck here alone for the holiday, I'm fine. Just reviewing my plans when you came in. I take it you're not doing well." "That's an understatement, Dr. Bain. The past few days have been extremely difficult, since my relationship with my son and daughter are still estranged, I will be spending the holidays alone." "I'm sorry to hear that. Tell me more." "Well, it's at times like these I miss Lucy, my sister, the most. She always made Christmas quite special for me." He took out a handkerchief and began sobbing quietly. "Yes, it's times like these we miss those we love, especially if we're alone." "I can hardly bear it," he sobbed, "sometimes I think it would be better if I were with her again." "Oh, you will be, you will be. Just not yet." He stopped and put his handkerchief away. "I've been thinking of taking the special cache of pills I've put aside." "I thought I asked you to throw them away." "I've restocked it." "But suicide isn't going to help. You have many good years ahead of you." He started sobbing again. "Not alone, not alone." Carefully, she put a comforting hand on his shoulder as his body wracked in grief. If he could make it through the next few days, he would be all right, she knew it. For a few minutes she held the pose, letting him sob as he had for many times before in her presence. When he was ready, she would find something to make him come to his senses. Finally, he sat up and put his handkerchief away. She looked at him, and said calmly. "Maybe if you remembered and talked through those memories it would help. What did you and Lucy usually do this time of year?" He sniffed, sat down, put his hands on his lap, and looked up. "We would start Christmas Eve at my house. Decorated beautifully, I would make everything perfect for her: a fresh, well decked tree, green wreaths all over the house, scores of candles, a huge bowl of warm, buttered Rum Cider punch, a huge fire roaring in the fireplace." "Mistletoe?" A tear crept down his cheek. "Yes, of course. I loved my sister. We'd have a lovely dinner of our favorite family fare: home made pierogies fried in butter, carp, almond potatoes, lots of wonderful pastries. When we finished, we'd sit by the fire and listen to Handel's Messiah." "That sounds very nice. Very nice indeed." "I did all the decorations and had all the food prepared, but I couldn't take it, I just had to get out of there." "I'm sorry." "Then, after the last chorus, we'd drink brandy together, and things would get a little silly." "Silly, Mr. Mims?" "I'm ashamed to say." "I'm a professional, Mr. Mims, everything you've told me is in strict confidence. Getting it out will help you." He sniffed again, and smiled. "We'd play silly games. We'd kick off our shoes and I'd tickle her feet on the bearskin in front of the fire. Oh my God, it was so wonderful to hear her laugh, so bright and cheerful. When we'd laughed ourselves hoarse, we'd go to bed." "Do you have a picture of her?" He pulled out his wallet, and opened it. Lucy stood next to her brother, a foot shorter, and plump. "Would you like to try a little role play this evening, Mr. Mims?" His face had a puzzled look as he raised his head. "Role play? We've never done that before." "I know, I know. Would you like to take something from that a tradition to another setting?" "I guess. Don't know what else I can do." "Fine. Did your wife ever let you tickle her?" "Harriet was a frigid bitch; it's a miracle she conceived, and her children are just like her." "Okay." Ginger reached down and removed her shoes, revealing thick black socks. "What if I let you tickle my feet?" A curious look was her response, complete with arched eyebrows and sparkling eyes. "I don't know. I've never tickled someone else's feet." The socks came off, revealing two chubby feet with alternating red and green nail polish. Harold's face lit up with a broad smile. "Oho, Lucy did that too, at Christmas time. And your feet are almost exactly like hers." She lifted her feet to rest on his knees and wiggled her toes. "Merry Christmas. Call me Lucy. Make me laugh." It began with a finger trailing across the sole of her right foot. It was clever and found every sensitive spot; Ginger smiled broadly as he stimulated her. The fingertips raked the sole and moved to the other, and she let out a yip. "Oh, you're still the ticklish one, Lucy." He started counting her piggy toes, just like a child, and attacked them after he started counting. She laughed and laughed as he tickled her, her balance wobbling back and forth in her chair. Up and down he went, one foot then another, grinning manically and laughing at her amusement. "I'm not stopping until you say Uncle," he warned. "Why should I say Uncle?" she asked between gusts of laughter. "Cause I'm gonna make you." He attacked her feet again, making her shake and wiggle, gasping for breath. "Let's go to the floor," she said when he paused, and they lowered themselves to the floor, her skirt rising above her knees. He reached up and tickled the underside of her knee, making her yelp. "You're as ticklish there as Lucy." "Stay in character: call me Lucy, ahahahahahaha!" Going back and forth between her feet and her knees, he kept her laughing and rolling around for several moments until she finally gasped "Uncle." She lay there, breathing heavily for several moments before she could talk. "How do you feel now, Mr. Mims?" "Better," he said, running his hand through his hair, "Better. You're very ticklish, Dr. Bain." "Yes. It's been a while. Let me breathe and you can tickle me again." "I can? Wonderful. Are your ribs ticklish?" "Yes. I'm pretty much ticklish all over. And before you ask, yes, you can." He smiled broadly and waited impatiently for her to settle down. "You know, it's been a Christmas tradition for us for the past fifteen years, after Lucy's husband left her." "All right, Harold, let's go again. Make me say Uncle." "Harry, call me Harry." He started with the soles of her feet, making her laugh lightly before trailing his fingers up to tease the backs of her kneecaps. Moving between her legs, he tickled her thighs, making her giggle, until he dove into her tummy, running up and down and all around her curves, reaching her ribs and making her shriek time after time. The undersides of her breasts were ticklish as well, even through the heavy fabric of her bra. She kicked her legs and writhed as he knelt over her and made her laugh, bringing tears to her eyes. "Uncle" she said, and the air whooped in as she tried to breathe normally. He sat back, grinning broadly, and ran his hand through his hair. "Dr. Bain, I can't thank you enough." "Wait a minute, Harold. You said you had everything ready at your house?" "Yes. Have to boil the water for the pierogies, but otherwise, all is in readiness." She stood up and turned off her computer. "Would you like to continue the roleplay a bit longer?" He looked at his watch. "How long?" "Three days?" He thought for several moments. "But don't you have family commitments yourself?" She shook her head, her face suddenly sober. "Nope. My children are all off on a cruise, without me. My husband got a trophy wife fifteen years ago. If you don't mind me taking my beeper and running out in case of an emergency, I'd love to play your sister for the next few days." For the next few minutes, his face went through several transformations. At last, he had an answer for her. "Capital." "Let me get a few things from my apartment and I'll be right with you." "I'll be in the lobby downstairs." Ginger saw him out the door of her office and locked it behind him. As she collected her cell phone and other things, she could imagine the voice of her partner Phyllis in her ears: "Ginger, you're taking an unnecessary chance. Remember that little old lady you were sure couldn't hurt you? Who turned out to be a former East German prison guard? And almost maimed you for life once you let her put you in handcuffs? Have you studied this patient's file enough? For all you know, he could have murdered his sister." Stopping, Ginger got out Harold Mims' file and looked through it. He was a retired businessman, living in an exclusive neighborhood, no police record, no indication of psychosis, married, divorced with two children who ignored him, sister died of a heart attack 18 months previously. Therapy progressed well, and he was discharged with no reservations or annotations. Ginger lived in an apartment on the upper floors of her office building, so it was the work of ten minutes to prepare a bag to last her three days. Being a woman of simple needs and no pretensions allowed her to pack efficiently. When she returned to the lobby, she found him waiting for her. "Well, shall we call a cab?" "No need. My driver awaits us outside. By the time we get home, everything will be in readiness." A chill went down her spine, but she smiled and allowed him to escort her to the back of a stretch limo that waited on the curb. They made chit chat during the drive, leaving the core of the city behind and entering the affluent part of town. Snow was starting to fall, and the traffic light as most citizens had found their holiday landing. An automatic gate admitted them to a large mansion, and the driver held the door for her to exit. As they entered, a maid met them at the door and took her bag to the guest room. There were candles lit everywhere, creating a soft glow, and in the dining room a small feast awaited them. "Please, make yourself at home, Dr. Bain." "Lucy. Call me Lucy." "All right, Lucy. This is a special night." He escorted her to the table, holding a chair for her to sit down, and getting her settled at the table. Then he lit the candles on the dining table himself, and fetched two crystal cups full of warm brown punch for them to sip. Everything was delicious and the punch magical. The food was simple, homemade, and delicious, severed on fine china. They sat on the couch afterward, listening to Handel, reveling in the warmth of the fire. It was good and comfortable, but she couldn't shake a sense of concern at the situation. It didn't feel like a brother and sister evening, especially the way he put his arm around her. Finishing the punch as the Oratorio ended, he threw another log on the fire, and sat next to her. "The servants have all left," he whispered in her ear. "Oh," she whispered back. "That means I'm not safe." "No, you aren't, Lucy," he murmured, before his tickling fingers dug into her ribs. They writhed on the couch several minutes, wrestling as well as tickling, and she shrieked at the top of her lungs as he made her laugh. Falling off the couch onto a bearskin rug, she was trapped on her back, he astride her, his eyes glowing in the firelight. She writhed and rolled, kicking her legs, trying to escape but he held her firmly, not letting up until she cried "Uncle". After a pause, he attacked again, and she was lost in laughter, tears rolling from her eyes. He stopped again, smiling broadly, and said: "Dr. Bain, I have a confession." "Yes." She looked up at him, still full of mirth. "This is a bit of a strange place for one, but go ahead." "You know from my file I lived with my sister for many years when our spouses so unceremoniously dumped us." "Yes, I do. You lived here, didn't you?" "Of course. I was one of the best commodity traders the Exchange ever knew, and I quit the game far, far ahead. I gave my ex-wife and my children sufficient for them to leave me alone and wrote them out of my will knowing they would have enough money for a lifetime." "Interesting. But you were closest to your sister." "Lucy was such a grand woman. She was everything to me. Everything." "I know. We talked a lot about that." "I didn't tell you how much." "Oh. Does this have to do with the erection in your pants?" "Yes. I used to tickle my Lucy on Christmas Eve right here at this fireplace until she screamed." "Yes, I know exactly what you mean now. Then what?" "I would strip her clothes off and we'd fuck in front of the fireplace like maniacs" "Oh." A stately grandfather clock ticked away on the other side of the room. "Do you still want to play Lucy the next three days?" She thought for a moment, then asked: "Where are the servants?" "Gone home. I always sent them off for the three days around Christmas." She thought for another moment, then dug her fingers into his ribs, making him scream, but his legs were strong enough to maintain his grip, and he retaliated until they both were shrieking like children. Then their clothes came off, and they fucked like maniacs until the fire burned out. She was worried about the color of his face as he approached his orgasm, but she reveled in the touch of flesh on flesh, and surprised herself with the intensity of her own climax. Ginger awakened Christmas morning in a strange bedroom. It wasn't the first time she ever did that, but the first time in a decade or so. Harold slept soundly beside her; she stroked his grey head and smiled. Thank God he hadn't turned out to be a monster after all. Somehow she'd put on her pink nightie with fur trim, a Rubensian goddess updated for the 21st century. Her shocking red hair was disheveled, and she wore no makeup. Harold looked rather cute as he slept, and looking at the digital clock told her it was 9:30AM. Her stomach rumbled, and she wondered what she could rustle in the kitchen. He was sound asleep, so she thought she'd fix him breakfast. It was a little difficult at first, working in a strange kitchen, but soon she had made biscuits, fixed sausages with gravy, scrambled eggs, coffee, orange juice, and fetched the morning paper from the driveway, shivering in the cold in her transparent wrap. Her doctorate in Home Economics came in useful from time to time. Fortunately, the estate was big enough the neighbors hadn't seen her and his servants were on Christmas leave. Leaving everything to keep warm, she returned to find him still asleep in the bed. Smiling, she thought of how to wake him. Slipping under the covers, she moved down to his midsection, taking his limp worm from his pajamas. A few licks on his testicles and hot air made the worm stir from its lair, and she began licking the head slowly, teasing the end. He laid back and caressed her head through the blankets, purring as she aroused him. Soon he was fully erect, and she took his corona in her mouth, swirling and sucking. Pausing, she dropped to the soft skin beneath, and licked his balls again while stroking his shaft, producing wetness. He started quivering, and she went back up to suck him in, receiving her morning appetizer in fifteen seconds. "Good morning, Lucy. Merry Christmas," he purred. "Merry Christmas, Harry." "You look lovely today." "Thanks. You ready for breakfast?" He nodded, and started to crawl forward. "I've got food ready downstairs." "It can wait," he murmured, and pushed her to her back, parting her legs. His tongue began flicking, and his hands reached up to stroke her breasts. His technique was unimaginative, but effective. His tongue found all the right places in her crotch, his fingers found her delicate nipples and played them like a virtuoso, and before long she screamed in joy as she climaxed. "Now what did you say about breakfast?" he inquired. "What breakfast?" Harold enjoyed the food immensely, and said it was the best Christmas breakfast he ever had. Ginger cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwater. "Now, dear brother, what shall we do to celebrate this glorious day?" "Well, we usually spend part of the morning in the hot tub on the deck." "Do we?" "Oh, yes. I usually make a pitcher of Mimosas, and we sit in the hot water naked." "Sounds good to me." He prepared the pitcher, she started the hot tub on the deck and they went to out to bathe when it was ready. Snow was starting to fall and catch on the bare limbs on the trees in the back yard. The sky was grey and fluffy, and they could see the huge Christmas tree lit through the deck window. It was an eight foot tree, festooned with a galaxy of multicolored lights and decked with multiple ornaments. Ginger sipped her drink, reveled in the water, and gazed at her partner. His body was worn but still strong, the grey hair of his chest enhancing the power remaining in his upper arms and chest. She was painfully aware of her sagging breasts, her pert nipples barely above the waterline, her fat stomach, the grey hair invading her pubic region. If she'd known this was going to happen, she would have gotten a waxing, or at least dyed it to match her head. The water was warm, and she didn't feel the chill of the north wind as it blew across her. He kept staring at her, smiling broadly, his eyes unsated by the sight of her. "You know, you look very much like Lucy." "Oh? In what way?" "She was always a bit plump. My wife was a fence rail, and I've always been found of ample women more appealing. Earthy. Sexy." "Why did you marry your wife?" "I was crazy, I was stupid. Going through a period of self delusion, didn't realize she just wanted to use me to give her the lifestyle she wanted. I settled for the only woman who seemed to like me, hoping for a dynasty. I was wrong." "And Lucy was. . ." "Lucy was my ideal. She was funny and smart, lumpy and luscious, huge knockers like yours, thick nipples, magic blue eyes. We fooled around when we were kids; my folks never found out, thank God, that we took each other's virginity. We knew it couldn't last, and we went our separate ways to marry and live our lives apart." "And you ended up back with each other?" "Yes. It was magic. Until she was gone." Abused Counselors Ch. 02 There was a long moment as the wind sang through the trees. He started sobbing again, and she brought him to her chest, holding his head and stroking it as he cried on her bare shoulder. His hand went to her breast, caressing it and playing with the nipple, and she let him. He lifted the heavy boob to his lips and kissed her wet skin. He recovered and sat back and they drank the pitcher dry. "What comes next, dear brother." "We play gin rummy in the family room, listening to Christmas Carols. Maybe fix a light supper later." "Anything else special you used to do? In the bedroom?" "I think I'm about worn out. I'm not a young man anymore." "This is your day. This is about what you like to do, within reason. Is there anything you did to Lucy that you'd like to do again?" "Well, there's something a bit kinky." "Yes." "Candles. I used to drop candle wax on her skin." "Where?" "On her legs, her tummy." "How about her crotch, her breasts?" "I did that once, she didn't like it." "Maybe she'd let you now ." They left the hot tub, dashing in before they chilled overly, and dressed simply for the day. After a snack, they played gin rummy in the family room in front of a roaring fire: she defeated him thoroughly, which is what his sister used to do. Afterward, they took a nap in each other's arms, then savored a pitcher of martinis while watching "It's a Wonderful Life." When the movie finished, they snuggled on the couch, kissing and fondling each other for hours while the daylight faded. When evening came, they went back up to the bedroom, lighting every candle in the room. Ginger stripped and lay naked on the bed. Harold lit a thick, white candle and stood holding it. "Usually I had to tie Lucy down for this." Remembering her partner Phyllis, she said: "No, I don't think so. I'll stay still, don't worry." "All right. Let me know when to stop." The first drop hit her upper right arm. Another near her belly button, then on next to her left knee. She closed her eyes, wondering where the next one would land, as he methodically covered her upper arms and legs with wax. Next was her tummy, higher and higher, and she started breathing heavier and heavier as he came up. Then a long pause. "I don't know about going forward." "I do. Go ahead." "Your tits are so lovely." He picked up a heavy orb and hefted it in his hand; she purred at his touch. Putting down the candle, he licked his palm and rubbed her nipple, making her moan. "Don't be afraid. I like it. Go ahead, brother. Drop a little on my tit." He paused, then let a drop fall from on high. It landed just beside her left nipple, she moaned and writhed a little. "That's it, brother. I like it now. Wax my tits, please." Another drop followed another. He got bolder and bolder, working from the outside in, gradually covering her huge mammaries, leaving the nipples free. When he finished, he stepped back. "You aren't done, brother." "I'm scared to. I might hurt you." "All right. Go get some ice. If you make them cold, the heat can't hurt them." He went to the kitchen to fetch an ice bucket. She purred as he rubbed the cube on her huge brown nipple: it perked immediately and became very hard. Rubbing the cube around and around and she stroked his hand, directing it to stay in place until her bud was thoroughly frozen. "Now, brother, now." He dropped some wax on the freshly chilled area, and she moaned again. Another glob and another, she shifted and squirmed: "More, more." He continued until her breast was a solid cast in whiteness. "Where should I put this ice cube, sister. It's almost gone." "Put it inside me," she whispered. "It's all right." Tentatively, he rubbed her lower lips and teased them with the coldness; she parted her legs in welcome. Pushing gently, he worked her bud until it slipped inside. A loud, long groan escaped her lips. Another ice cube was brought out, and her other nipple was frozen gradually, orbiting the bud until it was a frozen asteroid as well, before the hot wax dripped to cover it. This cube also teased her lower lips before insinuating itself deep inside her. "You've done a lovely job, brother," she said, examining her waxy orbs. "I love the way my breasts look. I see you like them, too." "I don't know what to do. Don't know how long I can keep it up." Taking an ice cube from the bucket, she sucked it until her mouth became an ice cave. Fishing his manhood from its lair, she took it into her chilly suck, making him hard beyond his dreams. "Nobody's ever did that before, sister." "My pleasure, brother." Taking another cube, she put it between her legs. "Let me put this in, then fuck me hard." "What?" "Fuck me hard. Take your stiff rod and stick it inside me." He climbed onto the bed, and waited while she stroked him to fullness. She couldn't believe the sensations as her cold cunt accepted his hot cock; he fucked her slowly at first, getting faster and faster until he spewed his juice into her vagina. She held him between her legs until he was limp again. Rolling over, she wiggled her huge ass at him. "Now do my butt." "This I've done before. Lucy loved me to cover her butt with wax." "Do it again, brother. Cover my butt with wax." He took another candle, and started dripping the lava on her huge, white expanse. She wiggled and wiggled as each drop hit, smiling and encouraging him. Soon her entire ass was covered, and on an impulse, he slid the candle toward her still dripping cunt. "Yes, brother, yes. Fuck me with the candle." He blew the candle out and pushed the wide, blunt instrument toward her. Still on her stomach, she widened her legs and took it in as far as he would push it. She fucked the candle, pushing back against him vigorously, until her body shook and she ascended the plateau of pleasure once again. Rolling over when she was done, she held the candle between her legs, the cracks in the wax on her torso showing. "Now pull it off." With glee he pulled the wax from her body, taking the opportunity to dig his fingers into her ribs, and soon they were a heap of giggling flesh once again. They slept in each other's arms, and the next morning he took her to an elegant breakfast at a downtown hotel before returning her home. Abused Counselors Ch. 03 Three days after Christmas, Dr. Ginger Bain was back in her office talking with her partner, Dr. Phyllis Barbarosa. Ginger wore a plain blue dress with a low cut neckline; Phyllis wore a white sweatshirt and jeans, and both wore a minimum of makeup and jewelry. Ginger was a plump, grandmotherly type of 55 with shocking red hair; Phyllis was a statuesque beauty of 45 with dark hair. "So, how was Christmas?" Phyllis asked. "Not bad. Had to make a house call." "How long was it?" "Oh, he had about six inches, but it was enough for this girl." "Ginger, you're incorrigible. Who among our patients needed an emergency fucking over Christmas?" "Harold Mims." "Don't remember him. One of yours?" "Yes, one of mine. Grief case, suicidal." "So you fucked somebody to save their life?" She gave her partner a deadpan look of disbelief. "You make it sound so ignoble." Phyllis laughed and patted her hand. "I hope you didn't take any unnecessary risks." "Only dietary. The food was wonderful." "Christmas time isn't for diets." "How was your holiday?" "All right, but my love affair with Brian is over. Bastard stood me up without an excuse." "Sorry to hear that. Your mother all right?" "Yes. My daughter and granddaughter, too. I love the little imp, but I'm glad to be living by myself these days." "At least your daughter knows better than dump her on you." "Amen. So, you got any appointments tomorrow?" "The usual lot. Nothing exciting. You?" "I see Mr. Shealy later today. He's put in a lot of overtime over the holidays." "Good for you. He's really giving you a workout." Phyllis smiled broadly. "Sweet Jesus, yes. It's been a while, and I'm so ready for a hot time. It's good I keep a change of clothes in my closet; his boss always dresses immaculately and I need to keep up appearances." "Well, I gotta work on these damn numbers. See you later." "Right. Be careful." "Always. I should be saying that to you." Phyllis left, her jeans twitching in anticipation. Ginger focused on her bookkeeping program: she handled the money for them, and needed to check over the entries before the end of the month during a lull. A knock on the door and Harold Mims entered, wearing a dapper dark suit and holding a single red rose. "Good morning, Dr. Bain." "Good morning, Mr. Mims. Is there anything I can do for you today?" Inwardly, she groaned that he found her dressed down. "Undoubtedly, but I am not making any demands on you. Just making an offer." He laid the rose on her desk. She kept her focus on the screen. "Are you feeling better after the holidays?" "Oh yes, the dark clouds are all gone. No need to work out my grief; once again, I remember my sister fondly and without much pain, grateful for what she gave me. Thank you." "You're welcome; just doing my job." She took a quick glance at the flower and returned her attention to the numbers before. After a long silence, she said with her eyes fixed on the computer screen: "Does that rose mean what I think it does?" "I don't know. There is a conventional meaning to this gift. In this case, it's a sign of my gratitude to you, personally, Dr. Bain." She sighed and looked at him. "You know those three days were therapy, an act. I was trying to keep you from taking your stash of drugs. Trying to keep you alive." "Of course. If you say so." His eyebrow lifted and a smirk came across his face. She put her hands on her hips and tried to bore holes through his head with her eyes. "What do you mean by that?" The smile was unflappable, and the eyes were relentlessly warm. "What you did was more than Lucy would do. You took her spirit and pushed it farther. This is not what therapy of any kind requires; you were looking for enjoyment and solace as much as I was." She sat quietly, dumbfounded. He took the rose and stroked her chubby cheek with it. "You didn't want to be lonely at Christmastime, either, in fact, you don't want to be lonely now. You try to drown yourself in work and it doesn't work. Not that you're not good at what you do, helping people. I just want to help you." She closed her eyes and felt the gentle petal across her cheek. "What do you want?" she said huskily. "What do you want, Dr. Bain? I want to help you. I want to make you feel like a woman, feel loved. Will you let me do that?" "I'm not the person you think I am. I'm not an innocent, I'm not perfect." "No, of course not. None of us are. And we'll probably have to start over from scratch, person to person rather than Doctor to patient. Would you like to give that a try?" Harold traced her skin from her cheek down to her cleavage. The rose teased the tops of her breasts, back and forth, and she took a deep breath. "What do you ask me?" "Dinner tonight." "And after?" The rose traveled up her neck to work just under her ear, making giggle and pull away, but he kept the blossom there. They contested: her reluctance against his persistence. He switched sides and she tried unsuccessfully to evade him. The hilarity built and built until he finally let up and moved the rose back to her chest. She looked up at him, questioning with her eyes. "We'll see" he said at last. "Brandy in front of the fire, perhaps? A night under the starts in a warm frothy pool? Games from our childhood, conversation with a contemporary? Candlelight. Roses. Warmth and fuzziness." She thought for a long moment, savoring the soft flower on her skin. "Done." Closing the program, she turned to him. "You need to pick me up around 5:00. My partner has a session later I have to monitor." "Fine. I'll be back." She licked her lips. "I know you will." Later that afternoon, Phyllis was sitting at her desk looking like a corporate princess. Her hands trembled as she tried to play a computer game, killing time. After a couple weeks off, she was looking forward to what he was about to do for her, and she was hoping to try a new thing or two. The office was warm, but she shivered in anticipation. Mike Shealy came through the door, wearing a snazzy new suit, cufflinks, and a broad smile. His whole bearing was different: confident, assured, optimistic. Phyllis looked him over and nodded in affirmation. "Well, this is a definite upgrade. You must have had an excellent holiday season. What's going on, Mr. Shealy? Today seems very different, you seem very different." It looked like Mike's smile couldn't be pried from his face without radical surgery. "Betty Boobs got fired for mismanagement. Left yesterday; pitched a fit and bitched between the notification and the departure. It was so sweet seeing the look on her face as she stumbled out the door with her box of personal items. A wonderful, late Christmas present." "Excellent. That must be a load off your mind. Who got her job?" "I did. They gave it to me, and I feel ready, ready to run. Things are going to be good. It will be a Happy New Year, a happy new life." She sat down behind her desk. "That must be great, Mr. Shealy. This may be our last session." "Oh, really?" he said with some disappointment. "Probably," she hedged. "You're feeling good right now, but we probably need to let some of that last resentment out, wring every drop of anger from you. Once that's gone, you're free." Mike rocked back and forth rubbing his hands, anxious. "Okay. Sounds good to me. Bend over." Standing quickly, she waved her finger in front of his face. "Now, now, now, not so fast; I'm in charge here. Who's the counselor? Today we do things differently. You'll get to do what you've always dreamed of doing, don't worry about that. But things will be different. Have to be this last time." She unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a bright red bra. "I'm going to make you wait today, Mr. Shealy. Betty Boobs won't be around to tease you everyday from now on, so we'll have to make this longer, more intense, bring about some closure." "I don't understand." "You will, Mr. Shealy, you will. Trust me." She got a couple of things out of her desk, then came around to sit on the desk in front of him. "For now you sit still and watch." Her blouse dropped to the floor, and her bra joined it shortly. Her breasts hung free, swaying slightly, nipples perking, and he licked his lips. "I want you, Betty Boobs," he growled. "I know you do. Down boy, keep it under control. Patience. Revenge is a dish best served cold." He almost salivated in expectation as he looked at her tits, the orbs that represented his chief tormentor for months. "I want to make you pay, Betty Boobs. I want to make you really pay." "You will. Don't worry." She cupped her breasts, mashing them close together, and held them in front of him, not six inches away. "Stare her down. Look at her. Keep your hands on the arms of your chair until I tell you." Her nipples were starting hard and erect. "Tell her what you want to say. Tell her what you want to do to her." He spat on her, his saliva running down her lustrous, white skin. "You made me suffer just to get your kicks. You enjoyed giving me pain." He spat again, and the creamy liquid trailed down like semen toward her huge brown nipple. "You're worthless, cruel child. You deserve getting your ass fired, Betty Boobs." "Your stupidity got me fired," she said with a harsh voice, rubbing her breasts together slightly as she spoke. "You can't do anything right, and I got the blame. Now I'm out of a job and it's your fault." He spat on her lustrous, rounded flesh again."You toyed with me. You frustrated me." "You deserved it." He spat on her breasts again and again, making them wet and slimy. "I want to make you pay this one last time; I want to make you suffer like never before." Her voice shifted: "What you like to do to Betty Boobs? Slap her, choke her?" A loud slap rang out and a handprint appeared on her left breast. "I'd like to tie her up and fuck her," he said, his eyes intense and his hands wringing in his lap once again. Phyllis looked at the fire in his eyes and smiled. For a moment, she was afraid he expected to try to handcuff her or bind her, leave her helpless. But her preparation and expectation gave her an option. This would be special, and if it was farewell, would be a fit finale. "All right. You can do that. I have a way." She reached back and brought out a long, red silken rope. "We'll tie her up with this rope. All you need do is hold this when I ask you." She looped the rope underneath her breasts and wound a couple more strands. "Here, hold this here in the middle." He did, holding the triple loop as she wrapped the cord around base of each breast a couple times, then a couple of times around both to pull them together. Finally, the end went over her shoulder and around her neck, creating a halter effect. She had him tie it off by her right arm, then pushed him back in his chair. "Well, Betty Boobs is tied up. Like what you see?" "I've never seen anything like that before. That's. . .that's. . .that's amazing. Is it comfortable?" "Of course not, Mike. Betty Boobs doesn't like it at all. She's helpless before you. You can do anything you like and she can't help it." "How am I supposed to fuck her?" he wondered. "Just a moment." Phyllis turned around and took a pair of sharp scissors and a roll of surgical tape. She cut a piece almost long enough to run from one armpit to another, and put on end on the side of her right breast. Then she started applying it, pushing her breast inward to its maximum until she got to the end, her nipple half covered. The other breast was pushed in, and the tape brought the two nipples together, going on to the ending toward her left armpit, holding her breasts tight against each other. "Now I have to position things carefully, and you may need to put your hands on my desk to balance yourself." She knelt before him, leaning back, her newly created cleavage vagina slightly under belt high. "You were very good at reviling her a moment ago. If you do the same thing, spit on her and aiming for the underside, she'll be slick enough you'll get to fuck her really hard." "Sweet." He spat on the underside of her breasts. "You slut. You deserve this. You deserve all the shit the world can throw at you. Dimwit. Idiot. Bitch. Whore. I'm going to fuck you and there's nothing you can do about it, nothing at all. I'm going to fill you up." "You don't dare. I hate you, I hate your little cock, I hate your stupid face. You can't do it, limpdick. You couldn't possibly fuck me. You'd die trying and I'd die laughing." Again, he spat at her, thrusting his hand between her breasts to lubricate them. "You're ready enough. I'm going to fuck you Betty Boobs, I'm going to fuck you hard. I'm going to make you like it and miss me when you're gone." He pulled his rigid pole from his pants, and thrust it between her tits, making her moan. Starting slowly, he worked up speed, watching the end of his thick rod piston up and down the other side of the titcunt. She leaned back on her knees, holding herself by her hands flat on the floor, athletic enough to use the awkward position to please him. His cockhead came close enough to her lips for her tongue to slip out and lick it, which she did with every thrust. "C'mon, tell her what you think. Give it to her." "I'm fucking you, Betty Boobs, I'm fucking you with my big cock. You're going to miss me, now you know I've got a pole in my pants. Harlot, asswipe, brown noser. I'm getting you back for all the blue balls you gave me the past year. I'm gonna spray my load down your tight little cunt. I'm gonna sperm you, I'm gonna, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, NOW!" His cherry red member shot several pulses of creamy whiteness over Phyllis' chest and face; she licked and sucked all the fluid in reach, capturing the cockhead and sucking him dry. He sat back, his pants open, and she stood to sit on her desk again, her shoulders and face glistening and her breasts turning red in their confinement. "Is it good, Mike?" "Yes. Yes. Yes." As he looked up at her, a realization crossed his mind. There wasn't much time for a plan, but he had to take a chance. Time to make a play for his real desire. "One more thing." "Yes?" she asked. "I'd like to choke Betty a little." "Oh. All right. How fitting. Yes, that makes sense, I can see that." She was a little puzzled, nervous before remembering Ginger was observing, protecting her from real mayhem. She relaxed and started to open her mouth when he cut her off. "I know how to do it," he said. "Really? How?" "Really. Take the ropes off." He grabbed one end of the surgical tape by her armpit and ripped it off with one quick jerk, making her scream and bend over in surprise and pain. "Yes," she whispered, taking the shears from her desk and cutting her breasts out of their ropy confinement in seconds. They hung free, swaying slightly, returning to their healthy color. Eagerly, she waited for his idea. Getting up, he looked around her. "There's a pair of ice tongs on the desk." "Yes?" she said with lust in her voice. He spotted them and picked them up, inspecting them closely. "Know what should I do with these? I think I know what you're going to say." She smiled: "Take one of the nubs with the tongs and squeeze it. Dig the little teeth in if possible. Squeeze it like you'd like to squeeze her throat." Coldly, he took the jaws and snapped them menacingly. Taking his time, he approached her delicate curve and rubbery brown bud, smiling broadly Letting her feel the cold metal for a few moments, he clamped the tongs down on her right nipple, getting a generous portion of brown flesh in its grip. "Hold on tight, yes, and watch," she said, breathily. "Watch it. Watch it suffer and turn color like she would." He sat down, breathed heavily and held fast, making her wince. Her breathing became deep and shuddering, then she got control again. They sat in that tableau, punctuated by a passing rainshower, his eyes fixed on the captive flesh, her eyes fixed on his. Her mind traveled a marathon: was he what he seemed to be? Could she trust him? Could he see her as she was and feel the same as he did now? The nipple turned red, then deepened and went to light purple. Her head went back and forth, her mouth opened, her hands quivering, but her body stayed still. When it reached deep purple, she pushed his hand and whispered: "Go to the other one. That's all that one can take." He obeyed and she almost convulsed as the blood rushed back to her strangled flesh. He held fast to his meditation as he watched the left nipple progress from brown to red to purple; she tried to look through his forehead and see the workings of his mind beneath the surface, the thoughts she could not deduce. "Let go, she's gone. She's gone," she said when the limit was reached, and bent over backward in agony when he released her. Reaching up, he took her breasts into his hands and started milking them, making her gasp and shudder. "I've realized something," he asked. "Oh. What did you realize just now?" He reached under her skirt and ripped a red thong from his body, throwing it over his shoulder casually. "I'm haven't fucking Betty Boobs, not at all. I'm was fucking you, Phyllis, always, and you wanted it." She started to speak, but he silenced twisting her tits. "This isn't all about my therapy, I was doing your will, following your orders. You build up this fantasy to get me to torture you. I was turning YOUR skin red and raw, I was punishing YOUR ass and tits, I was fucking YOUR face and YOU were swallowing my dick juice. And most importantly, YOU were enjoying every moment; YOU were expecting me every week to give YOU what YOU wanted. You've been using me." Phyllis looked at him coldly, and he reached down with his right hand, playing with her clitoris, while still milking her right nipple. "All right, Mike. I've been using you. I admit it. Ahhh, Ahhh! And you've enjoyed it, too. You've benefitted from this as well. O my God, what are you doing to me?" "Yes, I have, and I'm trying to get to the next level." A hard slap on her tender globe rang out and a groan replied. "You've been doing all this, you've been setting all these sessions up to turn you on, because you're a slut." Another slap. "Yes, yes, yes. I'm a slut, I've always been a slut. Hit me again." Another slap, and she gasped for several long moments. After she recovered she said placidly: "Now what?" He lifted her to sit on the edge of the desk and positioned his mouth even with her crotch. "I'm going to eat your cunt, and I hope you have a screaming orgasm." "Already did, twice today," she said, smiling. "Here's number three." Then he buried his face between her legs. His right hand came back up again and he kneaded her boobs roughly, while using his tongue, lips and teeth in her dripping valley. She gibbered and wailed, her sore boobs flopping wildly. Thrashing back and forth, she cradled his head until she orgasmed with a long, low wail that threatened to crack the windows. After he finished, he licked her clean, spitting hair from his mouth as he fell back into his chair. Putting his cock back and zipping up, she sat down on the floor before her desk and looked up at him, her makeup askew. They looked at each other, daring, questioning, wondering. "You like being spanked," he began. "I love being spanked," she replied. "You like being abused." "I love being abused." "You like big dicks." "I love big dicks. I worship big dicks. I'd suck your big dick eight days a week." "You know, I looked forward to these sessions so much, I can hardly walk over here, my dick's so hard." "Good. I'm glad. You're nice guy, Mike. I'm on your side. I want you to feel good. Didn't our sessions help you at work?" "Yes. I couldn't take Betty seriously after I finished with you every week. I relaxed, and she didn't know what to do with me. She'd yell at me, I'd take notes, and give her a damn big stupid smile which unhinged her completely." Abused Counselors Ch. 03 "How about your other co-workers?" "We got along fine. We could laugh, we could laugh about Betty and Jeff's stupid lust after her. The security guard showed me a video where they spent some time in her office after hours." "Really?" "It was pathetic. They looked like a couple of high school students, fumbling to get anything done. He came too soon, and she went home frustrated." She laughed and gave his knee a gentle tap. "You slept well?" "I slept very well." "You ate well?" "Oh, yes." "Bad dreams?" "Never. Just remembered what happened here, and the nightmares stayed away." "Good. Your love life improved?" "My love life was here. I could hardly walk down the street to my appointment thinking about how you were going to suck me dry at the end of the session." "And this is the last session?" she asked sadly, remorsefully. He reached down and stroked her cheek; she melted into his touch. "I hope not. Where do we go now?" She sat there and thought for several moments. Looking at her, her body porcelain white except where abused, her dark hair mussed, her lipstick smeared, gave her an elegance in spite of her situation. "This doesn't have to be it. I want you," he growled. "But, but, this was. . ." "No it wasn't therapy. It was sex. Pure and simple. You and me. Nobody else. Yes, it helped me. Now, I want something else. I want more." "What?" "You. Your heart, your mind, your wonderful body. I want you to come to my house this weekend." "Why?" "My big dick. Outrageous sex." "What about the rest of it?" "Bring your toys and tell me what you want. I'll do it to you, I'll do everything for you. I adore you. And I'll tell you what I want done." "No, what about us?" He scratched his face. "We'll work that out as we go along. Do you cook?" "Like a master chef." she said with a proud sneer. "We won't need to go out to eat. We can stay in the whole weekend. Do we have a deal?" She looked up at him with fire in her eyes, her breasts aching, her lust sated for the moment, her mind spinning with possibilities. "Done. I'll be there."