11 comments/ 80677 views/ 20 favorites A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 01 By: PatriciaFCartier Session 1. Not Your Normal Therapy Session It was a cold, miserable, rainy, Tuesday in March, in the late afternoon, and I was sitting on the couch in my therapist's office for my bi-weekly session. Dr. Gupta was treating me for depression and sleep disorder which I've struggled with for in the last ten years. I admit it took me a while to admit that I needed to get help. I'd always thought I was supposed to handle it all: the marriage, the kids (ages 13, 14, and 17), and the job. Admitting to myself that I wasn't able had been a big step. Arranging my schedule, both work and home, so I could make the appointments had taken me a while longer. The therapy had helped for a while, but I seemed to have hit some kind of wall. The depression was drifting back and I was having trouble sleeping again. Last week, Dr. Gupta had tried to talk me into medications for about the hundredth time. She wasn't trying that today. We were about half-way through our fifty-minute session when she sighed deeply. "Pam, you've been coming to see me for how long? Three years now?" Dr. Gupta had grown up in India and come to the States after college. She still had that vaguely English, lilting accent from her native country; it was very soothing to listen to. "Yes, I think so," I said. "About three years." "And you trust me, you're comfortable with me, right?" I tilted my head and looked at her. I had no idea where she was going with this. It was true that I hadn't been comfortable when we'd first me: she was so different from me that I wasn't sure we could relate. She was about ten years younger than me with dark hair and a coffee-colored complexion. The red dot in the middle of her forehead proclaimed her foreign upbringing. I didn't know if she was married or had children and I thought I needed someone who knew those things from the inside. But after we'd talked for about fifteen minutes that first meeting, I knew she was the person to help me. And she had been, until I'd hit this wall. "Yes. Of course, Dr. Gupta. I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you." "I'm worried about you. You've been backsliding lately and I don't feel like I've been helping you. Are you being totally open with me? You're not holding things back, are you?" "No. Why would I waste my time if I wasn't going to tell you everything?" "Exactly. Neither one of us wants to waste our time. But you haven't let go of your guilt and you have started to backslide. You lack discipline. I'm very disappointed in you lately." I looked at her and felt my eyes fill with tears. She had never talked so sternly to me before. It was like she was angry. But I knew she was right. I sniffed to try and hold back my tears. "Can you tell me why I shouldn't be disappointed in you, Pam?" The tears began to drip down my face then. "No, Dr. Gupta. You're right. I'm disappointed in myself too." "So, we're agreed that this therapy is not helping your right now. And you will not accept drugs." "Maybe, I..." "Enough, I don't want to go through those arguments again. I want to try a different kind of therapy. Something radical. But I think it will be helpful to you. I've been using it more and more with my patients lately and I've been happy with the results." "Okay. I'll try anything right now," I sniffled. "You must put yourself completely into my hands. This is not a therapy that is licensed or approved by the psychology boards. But it was developed locally; right at your University in the last two years. It's quite unconventional and as I said, radical. So I need to ask you one more time: Do you trust me, completely?" I looked at her through my tears filled eyes. She just looked back at me, completely serene, completely confidant. I wished I could have that feeling. "Um, okay." I took a deep breath. "I trust you. What do we do?" "This is a physically based therapy. It was developed for people who were stuck in place and needed to find discipline and release. It is based on corporal punishment techniques as well as trust and interpersonal relationships. New relationships. Random relationships." I was stuck on the first part, "Uh. Corporal punishment, Dr. Gupta?" "Yes, Pam. It is a spanking therapy." "Spanking? I'm not sure I..." "Hush, Pamela. You said you trusted me, remember?" "Yes, but..." "No more speaking. Stand up. Come over and stand by me." She indicated a spot to the side of her chair. Mechanically, I got up and moved next to her. "Now, get over my lap." I looked at her blankly. She reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Over my lap," she said again and pulled. We were both wearing dress slacks. She had on a silk blouse and jacket, I had a knit top on. I hadn't really thought about what either of us was wearing until our clothes came in contact as I fell across her lap. She bent my arm behind my back to hold me in place and quickly her hand started raining slaps on my behind. I was still crying; it got worse. "Ow. Ouch. Stop, please stop. Dr. Gupta, please stop." I squirmed on her lap. She didn't stop; she just kept on spanking me. My ass started feeling hot. The warmth spread all over my body. I hadn't been spanked since I was a child and the feeling took me back somehow. But it was more than that. I wasn't sure what, but there was something. I stopped squirming so much, the tears almost stopped. Dr. Gupta did stop. "Stand up again," she commanded, manipulating my arm so I had to. I struggled and stumbled so I was standing next to her again. "That was a beginning. I want you to think about this spanking and the feelings it gives you whenever you start to feel depressed." "Yes, Doctor. I will." "But it's not enough. Undo your pants. Drop them to the floor." "What?" "I said, drop your pants." "I don't understand." I was in a daze, this was so bizarre. "Pamela," Dr. Gupta said harshly. "No, never mind. Just stand there." She reached up and unbuckled my skinny belt, leaving the ends hanging. Then she unzipped my slacks and opened them at the waist. She pushed them down over my hips and down around my ankles. My blouse hung only to my waist, so my green-striped cotton panties were all that stood between me and being naked. I suddenly realized hot wet I was. "Oh my god," I thought. "Don't let her notice please." She didn't give me any time to think about it though. She grabbed my wrist again and pulled me back down over her lap. Her hand lay heavily on my bottom, not moving. I was glad I'd worn full coverage panties. I blushed imagining having her hand there if I'd worn a thong. "Pamela, listen to me. You've been slacking off and letting yourself go. You need to get control of yourself. And this is a method of helping you do that. The spankings will give you a focus. And if you let the pain wash over you, they will give you a manner of relief." Her hand moved. She spanked me hard on each cheek five times. It hurt so much more without my pants in the way. "Ouch, ow. Stop. No." I whined. She didn't stop until she'd counted the five on each side. I felt her reach over to her desk, which was just at the edge of her range. She held a 1-foot wooden ruler down in front of my face so I could see it. "No, please no." I said and squirmed on her lap. It was then I noticed that she wasn't holding me anymore. I could have gotten up. I tried to make myself get up, but I couldn't. She smacked me once on each buttock with the ruler. "Pamela, listen to me." It was like a signal. "Each time you feel yourself slipping, each time you feel yourself feeling bad about yourself, I want you to think of being over my lap, I want you to think about this." She hit me more, 3 or four times on the cheeks, a couple of time on my thighs, which she hadn't hit before. I could feel the crotch of my panties getting more and more wet with my juices. Damn it hurt, so why was I so wet. Did I like this? "Pamela, listen to me. I want you to think about this spanking and let it serve as absolution for all you think you've done wrong." Then she started hitting me again, hard, harder than before. I started crying hard and saying, "Stop. Please. Don't. Stop. Ow. That hurts. You're hurting me." But I made no move to get up. My tears were just flowing like a river -- and so was my sex. But after some number of smacks, I shut up and just took it. I felt a wave of bliss wash over me like nothing I'd ever felt before. It wasn't an orgasm. It was like punching through a barrier and being free on the other side. Later I realized it was endorphins, but at the moment, I felt it as release. I found myself holding onto Dr. Gupta's leg, balling my eyes out, shuddering as she beat me. I didn't notice when she stopped. At some point I realized that I was still crying and she wasn't hitting me anymore. I slowly got control of myself. The tears slowly dried up. Dr. Gupta's left hand was resting on my bottom once again and just holding me steady. Her right hand produced a kleenex from some where and held it out for me once I was no longer oblivious. I had no idea what had happened to the ruler. I lay over Dr. Gupta's lap for a few minutes, catching my breath and blowing my nose. Trying to gain some semblance of my dignity again -- though dignity is pretty hard to find when you're in that position and your pants are around your ankles. When she decided that I'd recovered enough, Dr. Gupta said gently, "There now, Pam. You did very, very well. I'm proud of you. I want you to stand up now and pull your pants back up. Be careful, you might be a little unsteady." I gathered what dignity I'd found and stood up as smoothly as I could, then bent down and pulled my slacks up and started doing them. "You're going to feel very cold in a minute, Pam. And probably very shaky. I want you to go back to the couch and wrap yourself up in the blanket there." I simply nodded and did as I was told. And she was right, as soon as I was sitting with the blanket around me I started feeling the shakes and the chills. I shivered and pulled the blanket more closely around myself. Dr. Gupta poured something hot from a thermos on her desk into a styrofoam cup and then spooned a heavy dose of sugar into the cup. She stirred it as she walked over to me. "Here, drink this, it'll help." I needed two hands to take the cup from her, but the tea was very welcome, even if it had a taste much different from anything I was used to. Dr. Gupta sat back in her chair and looked at me carefully. She seemed happy with what she saw. "This was a big first step, Pam. I am very proud of you. And I want you to be proud of yourself too. When you think back on this the next few days it will give you strength and make you feel better about yourself. Now, tell me, do you have a smart cell phone?" "Yea, yes, Dr. Gupta. A..a..an iPhone." I was still a little shaky and chilled. "Ah, very good. The best. Now, tell me your email address." I gave it to her. "Listen to me, Pamela," she intoned, "I will send you a link to an application for your iPhone. It is not a standard app and the installation is different from others. But you are technical you should be able to follow the instructions. I want you to have the app installed on your iPhone on your next visit. Bring it along. Do you understand?" "Yes. Okay, I will, Dr. Gupta." "Good. Are you feeling more steady?" I'd just shifted the blanket off my shoulders. I was warming up. "Yes, I think so." "I thought so. There's a mirror over there, and some tissues. I think you'll want to fix your makeup." I stood and looked at myself. My face was a mess. Crying will totally screw up your face. I wiped off most of what was left and then bent into my purse to get my makeup kit. I started to put my face back together. Dr. Gupta was writing at her desk. "I want to see you again on Friday, Pamela." "I'm not sure, I can..." "Your university schedule should be flexible enough. Will four o'clock work?" "I, um," I stood looking at her through the mirror, my mascara pen in my hand, feeling dumbfounded. "I will put you down for four o'clock. Tomorrow you will go in and rearrange your schedule if you need to. I can move the time somewhat on Friday if you can not do four. But I want you to come in that day. Do you understand?" For some reason the ache on my ass reasserted itself for a moment. "Yes, Dr. Gupta. I understand." I mumbled. "Good. Go back to your makeup." When I finished I turned back to her. She made me wait for a moment, then turned and gave my face a once over, squinting a little. "That is acceptable. No one will realize unless they took a picture this morning. Here, drink this." She handed me another, bigger styrofoam cup. This tea was just barely cold, but equally as sweet as the previous cup. "Drink it down." I tipped it back and drank it as quickly as I could, barely stopping for air. "Just put it in the trash, dear." Dr. Gupta told me when I'd finished. "You did well today, Pam. I will see you on Friday. Now, I have another session in a few minutes." I felt dismissed. More so than I usually had after my sessions. Drinking all that tea so quickly made me need to pee. I slipped into one of the practice's bathrooms off the waiting area, opened my pants and gingerly sat on the toilet seat. It hurt a lot to sit down on anything that wasn't padded as much as that couch. As I peed, I looked down at my panties, stretched between my knees, it was pretty clear that they were wet and not from tears or sweat. As I noticed that, I couldn't help but notice how wet my pussy still was and then realize that my nipples were hard underneath my bra. I stopped peeing for a minute and touched myself. Oh god! My clit was aroused, my vaginal lips full. I almost, almost, started rubbing myself then and there. Then I thought better of it. With an effort of will I put my hand back on my thigh and looked off to the distance, defocusing my eyes and letting my bladder fully empty. I had to get home and cook dinner. And I couldn't let anyone there know that my ass was as tender as it was. That would be interesting. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 02 [My sincere thanks to estragon for proof-reading this for me. -Tricia] Session II: Bared Bottom Friday came quickly and at 3:45 I was sitting in Dr. Gupta's waiting room, waiting for her to call me into her office. She had been right: I had been able to rearrange my hours easily. I work in IT at a local university and I'm usually running all over the campus. It's fairly easy to change my schedule. And late Friday no one wants to talk to IT anyway. Right at four, the door opened. "Pam?" I stood up. "Come in, please." I followed her into her office and went to take my usual seat on the couch. "No, stay standing, please, Pam." She sat in her seat as usual. "Listen to me, Pamela," she said. "You will receive two spankings today and in between we will talk about how you are feeling. Do you understand?" I nodded. "Now, come over and stand by me." I did so. "Lift your skirt up." I hadn't thought about this moment when I got dressed that morning, but I should have. I'd known what was coming, but I ignored it. I was wearing a red blouse and black jean skirt with red tights. On command, I reached down and grabbed my hem, scrunching it up and holding it at my waist. Without any prelude, Dr. Gupta hooked her thumbs into the sides of my tights and pulled them with my panties down to mid-thighs. "Hey!" I exclaimed, startled. I was embarrassed to be exposed like that. My eyes began to water. "Quiet, Pamela. Over my knees." I hesitated for the briefest second, then lay down where I knew I would wind up even if I argued. My pubic bone lay atop her thigh and I could feel the rough wool of her slacks pressing up through my curly hairs into my mound. She started spanking me immediately with her bare hand. The blows were hard and relentless. Staring out, they sparked a small pain, but like a brushfire erupted into great torrents of flaming pain. At first my tears flowed slowly, but after a few minutes I started sobbing, which was apparently enough for her. Without warning, she stopped. My gasps and tears slowly abated, and when she thought I could hear her again she said, "your bottom is almost as red as your tights, Pam." I was beyond embarrassment at that point and I don't think there was any way I could have blushed. But I wanted to. "Stand up, we should talk now." I stood up and reached down to pull my tights back up. "You might as well just take those all the way off for now," Dr. Gupta said gently. "Go and sit down." I shuffled the couple of feet over to the couch with my tights around my knees and gingerly sat down. I reached down and slipped my shoes off and pushed my tights and panties off my legs. "How does your bottom feel?" "It hurts," I said, "it hurts like hell." "Would you rather stand up?" I was very conscious of sitting there with no underwear on. "Yes, please." "Go ahead, that's fine." I rose. "Tell me about your last few days." I told her that they had been good days for me. I hadn't been depressed at all and I'd been very productive, except when I drifted off remembering my last session with her. "And how did you feel about the spanking you received?" "It was strange. It made me feel better. Like it washed the slate clean or something. And I was proud that I had taken it." "What do you mean, washed the slate clean?" "I don't know. It was kind of, um, like the spanking was like penance, you know. Like I'd paid for the things I'd fucked up." "Do you think you fucked up a lot?" It was a little strange to hear her say, "fucked up." Especially in her accent. She paused just before and after it to emphasize it, I think. "Yeah, I guess I did." We talked about that for a few more minutes. Then she changed the subject. "How have you been sleeping the last few nights?" "Not any better. Still tossing and turning." "When was the last time you and your husband were intimate?" "Bob? Oh God, I don't know. It's been months." "Do you own a vibrator?" "What? No." "They are nothing to be ashamed about. Many women have them. I have several." She reach out and grabbed a pen and pad and wrote down an address. She handed it to me. "This is a very reputable shop in town. I want you to stop on the way home from here and buy yourself one. Here, give that back to me." She took the paper back and wrote a couple of words down. "That's a model they should have. Buy that one. If they don't have it ask the clerk -- don't worry, they're all women -- for something like it. Now, Pamela, listen to me." There was that mantra again. "From now on, every night, before bed, I want you to find some private time, in the bedroom or in the bathroom and use the vibrator to bring yourself to an orgasm. That will help you sleep." We talked about that for a couple more embarrassing minutes. Then she said, "did you download that App to your phone?" "Yes. Of course." "Good. Get your phone and start it up." I crouched down to get into my purse and pulled out the phone. I hit a couple of buttons and started up the App. I'd started it up at home but it had asked for a passkey. I didn't know what to put in, so I'd just turned it off. "It wants a pass key," I told the doctor. "Yes, I know. Give it to me." I handed it over. She punched in something and then handed it back to me. "It will ring occasionally for the next few days and ask you a question or two. You must answer them as truthfully as you can. It should call..." The phone started vibrating in my hand, "...right about now with the first question." I answered the phone and a screen popped up with the question, "How do you feel right now?" Followed by the buttons, "Embarrassed," "Aroused," "Angry," and "Hurting." "It's a multiple choice," I said. "What if more than one is true?" "Pick the one that's most correct or you are most agreeing with." I starred at it for a second then, pushed "Embarrassed." I wasn't sure I was being truthful though, because as soon as I saw the word "Aroused," I realized I really was feeling that. I was just way too embarrassed to say that. "Put the phone back in your purse, Pamela and come back her over my lap." I did as I was told. I remembered to pull my skirt up before I bent over her lap. I knew that if I didn't, she would have anyway. She reached over to the desk and picked up her ruler and the spanking started without any more hesitation. My tears soon followed. After I'd almost gotten used to the pain of the blows on my fleshy bottom, she paused, then I felt the ruler hit between my thighs, right on my sex. I yelped and realized that without even thinking about it, my legs had drifted apart, spreading out while she spanked me. I immediately pulled them back together and Dr. Gupta returned to spanking my bottom. But -- Oh my god -- after a few more whacks to my bottom she struck my sex again. My legs had splayed out once more. From that point on I concentrated more on keeping my knees together than on the crying or the burning pain on my ass. I don't know how long it was before she stopped. Actually she must have stopped well before I noticed it. I think I went somewhere else entirely. When I slowly came back to awareness, I was crying softly and Dr. Gupta's hand was resting gently on my inflamed buttocks. "Time to get up, Pamela," she said when she realized I was back from my zone. "Go and wrap yourself up in the blanket." Once again the cold came on as soon as I wrapped up. I sat and shivered for five minutes before it finally passed. "I want you back here next Tuesday, Pamela," Dr. Gupta said. I nodded meekly. "We will have a group session at two. Two other of my patients also starting this therapy will be here at the same time. Do you understand?" "Yes. Two o'clock on Tuesday." "Good. Now, your time is almost up. I would ask you to please get dressed. You remember your assignments for the way home and every night?" "Yes, Dr. Gupta." "Very good, Pamela." She ignored me for the next few minutes while I pulled on my panties and tights and shoes. When I stood up to go she said, "You did very well again today, Pamela. I am proud of you. Have a good weekend." "Thank you, Dr. Gupta. You have a good weekend as well." She let me out of her office. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 03 [My sincere thanks to estragon for proof-reading and copyediting this story. -Tricia] Session III: Group Session The weekend was one of the best I had had in a while. Dr. Gupta's prescription to help my sleep was working like a charm. It was a little difficult to get the privacy to masturbate, but I was managing. It was one thing to worry about my husband, Bob, who fell asleep like clockwork, snoring by 10:15. But my teenagers were at the age where they were staying up later than I did. If I went into my bathroom it was okay; but I knew I needed to be quiet. There was something freeing about masturbating by prescription: no more guilt. I could do it, and enjoy it, and sleep like a baby afterward. And I hadn't had as many orgasms in ages. I also found myself standing straighter and eating somewhat less. Certainly I drank less. I don't think that was the vibrator though. That was the spankings. I started to make a list over the course of the time of things that I needed expiation from. And I knew that the spankings would release me. Getting the time off from work was a little harder than it had been last Friday. But I rearranged my schedule and got to Dr. Gupta's waiting room, slightly out of breath, just before two. Just as I sat down to catch my breath, the doctor opened the door to the inner sanctum and said, "Megan, Saguna, Pamela, good you're all here. Please, come on in." We were all similar ages, somewhere in our late thirties or early forties, and all had the harried look of suburban mothers/wives/worker bees. Megan was probably the one of us in the best shape, a tall skinny woman with a tight bun of dirty blonde hair. She wore tiny rimless glasses and a business suit of grey cloth and a royal blue silk blouse. I guessed that she might have been a banker. Saguna was obviously Indian like Dr. Gupta. I had noticed over the years that a lot of her clientele were also Indian. That made sense. Anyway, Saguna must have been a nurse or dental hygienist. She wore the sort of pink loose-fitting uniform that someone in that business might wear. She was "plus sized" like me. I assumed that like me she'd put the weight on with the kids and never managed to get it off. Her hair was long, thick, and dark and she wore it pulled back and tied with a red ribbon at her neck. Me, well, I was wearing jeans that day. I had a busy morning moving some new systems and I was in my grubbies. I felt a little bad about that and a little ripe, but it couldn't be helped. That was my job some days. The worst was when I got dressed up to work in the administrative offices and wound up crawling around in the wiring. "Stand in a line, ladies," Dr. Gupta instructed us when we entered her office and she closed the door. The three of us looked nervously at each other and at the doctor. I had maybe seen Saguna in the waiting room once, but Megan was not someone I'd ever run into. We were really all strangers to each other. Dr. Gupta took her seat in front of us. She was wearing a traditional sari, which she did now and again on no particular schedule that I could discern. Usually she wore "regular western" clothing. "Megan, Pamela and Saguna, listen to me. You've all started this new therapy with me in the last week and the first couple of sessions have seemed promising to me. You were each encouraged last session. Is that still the case, Megan?" "Yes, Dr. Gupta, it is." "What about you, Pamela?" "It's working great. I don't understand why, but..." "It's best if we don't worry about why just yet. Saguna?" "It's helped a lot, Dr. Gupta." "Good. Now for the next step, which is to help you reduce your inhibitions even more. I will spank each of you, in turn, while the others watch. And I want you all to make sure you watch. If I catch you looking away or closing your eyes, you'll have extra spankings. Do you all understand?" We all nodded. "Pamela, you're first. Step forward." I moved to a space between Dr. Gupta and the other women, fully aware of their eyes on me. "Pamela, listen to me," the doctor said, "take off your shoes, then your pants and come here for your spanking." I was glad I wasn't facing Megan and Saguna; I could almost ignore their presence. I slipped off my shoes then unbuttoned my jeans, slid them down off my legs and stepped out of them. I was wearing pink cotton bikini panties that were probably mostly obscured by my shirt tails. I went to Dr. Gupta's side; she reached up and pulled my panties down and I bent over her knees. She pushed my bikinis down further and off my ankles. I know I was blushing with being half-naked in front of these strangers, and the shame sharper because she'd positioned herself sideways to the other women. Naked and over her knee, my ass and sex were exposed to the others. The feeling of indignity disappeared though as soon as she started spanking me. I was transported into a totally different space. My worries vanished and my thoughts hyper-focused down to just the pain in my ass. She spanked me with her bare hand for only a couple of slaps, and then switched to the ruler. I knew my thighs were drifting apart. I knew I should stop it, but I didn't. I told myself I couldn't. I don't really know if I could or not. But Dr. Gupta didn't let me get away with it. "Do you think these women want to see your nasty cunny, Pamela?" she said before her ruler hit home right there between my legs. I managed to keep them sort of closed for a few more moments, but they must have drifted apart because suddenly the doctor stopped and said, "I think you do want them to see your cunny, Pamela. Okay, spread your legs." I moved them apart a little more than they were. "Oh no. All the way, Pamela. Spread your slutty legs wide for Megan and Saguna." She pushed one leg, then the other to open me. I was totally exposed to these women I'd never met before. The next five blows landed right on my sex. Then she went back to my ass. I never was good at counting, so I don't know how many times she hit me. I was shuddering with pleasure when she stopped. I was surprised that I didn't shed a single tear. That was strange. "Okay, Pamela. You're done. You were a good girl. Now get up and get back in line." I stood up and made a move to reach my panties on the floor, but the doctor simply waved me toward the other two and I left them where they were. "Step forward Saguna," Dr. Gupta said. The Indian woman stood forward. "Saguna," the doctor continued, "listen to me. Strip down to your panties and come stand in front of me." I wasn't sure why she was being asked to take off more clothes than I. I was happy to have my shirt still on, the more so as I watched the plump woman in front of me shed her top and bra, her pants and her shoes. She stepped in front of the doctor wearing large white cotton panties. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream, her breasts were heavy and sagged more than mine did. But I was glad I still had my top on and the comparison was only mine to make. I was surprised when Dr. Gupta's ruler snaked out and quickly slapped one of Saguna's breasts and then the other. Saguna's hands immediately reached up and covered her breasts with her hands. "Move your hands, Saguna." She complied, her hands returning to her side. The doctor's ruler flashed out again and smacked the nearly nude woman's breasts four or five more times each. I was fascinated to see her nipples getting hard during the abuse. "Turn to your side, Saguna," the doctor said. "No the other way, face away from the others. Bend over and put your hands on your knees." The position exposed the crotch of Saguna's panties to us and I was surprised to see how wet the cotton was. Dr. Gupta stood up and stood between us as she pushed down Saguana's panties. Then she stood on the side and began to whale on the woman's bottom with her ruler. Saguna was crying. Actually she was crying and whimpering and I think she was asking the doctor to stop, but there was no respite. The blows landed repeatedly and mercilessly for I don't know how long. It was embarrassing to watch. And stimulating at the same time. I felt every blow. I wondered why I was folded over the doctor's knees while Saguna was told to stand. I secretly wished for the doctor to strike Saguna between her legs like she did me. But then I remembered the swats to Saguna's breasts and shuddered in thankfulness. I realized that I was soaking wet between my thighs. Dr. Gupta stopped. "Stand up and turn around, Saguna," she said quietly. "Put your hands behind your neck." She hit Saguna's breasts five more times each before she said, "Okay, put your hands down and go back to your place. You were a good girl." "Step forward, Megan." The third woman did so. "Are you dressed like you usually are, Megan?" "Yes, doctor." "I expected as much. Listen to me, Megan, take off your suit and blouse and then face your session mates." As Megan slipped out of her pumps and then took off her suit jacket, blouse and skirt, Dr. Gupta walked behind her desk and opened her drawer. She pulled out something and then came back to stand by Megan. Meanwhile, we learned what Dr. Gupta meant by Megan's normal clothing. Underneath her suit she wore only a camisole, a garter belt and stockings. No bra. No panties. Her pubes were shaved. "Open," Dr. Gupta said and when Megan opened her mouth the doctor held a small rubber stick-like thing to her mouth that Megan bit down on. "Megan is a bit of a nymphomaniac, a bit of an exhibitionist," Dr. Gupta said to Saguna and me. "She needs a slightly more intense therapy." She looked at Megan, "You'd like to be touching yourself right now wouldn't you?" The blonde woman nodded. "Go ahead." I watched with fascinated disgust as Megan reached her hand between her legs and ran her fingers along the length of her opening. She shuddered as she did so. She was looking right at me. Dr. Gupta's ruler flashed out. It struck Megan's hand, then quickly whacked her exposed labia. Megan jerked her hand away. "No, touch yourself again," the doctor ordered. Megan complied and once again the doctor swatted her hand and labia. "Again." Five or six more times, the doctor made Megan repeat her movement, each time she was swatted. "Turn around. Hands on the back of my chair, Megan. Legs spread wide, bend way over." The position was frankly lewd. Megan's sex was wide open, spread for all of us to see. Dr. Gupta seemed unconcerned. She put the ruler back on her desk and picked up a sort of paddle. Then she moved behind Megan and without any prelude started slapping her patient repeatedly between her legs. Megan shuddered with each blow, though with pleasure or pain I couldn't tell. And the bit between her teeth prevented her from making any noise. The doctor continued for some minutes. After the initial volley of spanks between Megan's legs, she started alternating between her sex and her bottom. Then it was predominantly about her bottom. But the last six or seven were viciously hard and all aimed between Megan's legs, right on her exposed clitoris. Finally it was done. "You've done well Megan. Stand up. Turn around." She held her hand before Megan's mouth. "Open," then she took the bit out and put it on her desk. "Go stand in line." She sat back down in her chair, primly adjusting her sari around her. "You've all done exceptionally well. I noted that none of you were looking away every when you were supposed to be watching. And you all took your spankings as well as I expected you to. How are you feeling? Saguna?" "Tingly all over. Like I just completed a race and won." "Good, and you, Pamela, how do you feel?" "Um, like I've been through a mill and reborn on the other side. I'm sort of floating." "Good. Finally, Megan, what about you?" "I hurt. But it's a good hurt. It was good for me." "Very good all of you. Now, get out your phones and start up that app you installed for me." Still half-naked or naked we each went to our purses and got out the phones, and pushed the buttons to bring up the app. Dr. Gupta was typing on her computer. She pushed a key and turned to us. "In a second," Megan's phone rang a tone, followed by mine and Saguna's. "There. You're all tuned in. Are your screens showing green lights?" We all nodded. "Now, you're under the computer's control from here on out. We'll still have our regular sessions, but the therapy will largely be controlled by the central computer. It will track you and correlate you with women who have agreed to perform the therapy. "At times that are carefully calculated," she continued, "but you won't be able to predict, your phone will ring. The app will pop up. When that happens, you'll be given a name and an address. The phone will guide you to the location. When you get there, the person named will be there. They have a similar app indicating that you'll be coming. They will continue your therapy." "What does that mean, exactly?" Saguna asked. "They will spank you. You will follow their instructions. You will not question them. They may ask you about what you've been doing. They may decide that you are being punished. Or rewarded. Or simply treated. It doesn't matter. You will take your therapy." Addressing me, she said, "Pamela, listen to me, when you are told by the computer to do this you will do it. Agreed?" "Yes, Dr. Gupta," I said obediently, unbelieving I had agreed to this. She asked Megan and Saguna in turn the same question. Each answered the same. The doctor told us to get dressed and made sure we all had follow-up appointments and shooed us out of her office. For my part I needed to get home quickly. I needed a bath and I needed my vibrator. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 04 [Once again, my thanks to estragon for finding the bugs in my writing. -Tricia] Session IV: Out in the World Over the next three days, the app on my phone chimed four times, directing me to a spanking each time. Wednesday was the kind of day when I knew I'd be moving computers and finding wires and crawling around under people's desks to get their computers installed or working again. So, I wore jeans and a casual blouse. At the beginning of the day I was wondering when the Therapy App was going to kick in, but by the time the lunch hour had completed, when I hadn't stopped for a minute, I'd forgotten about the whole thing. I was just about to head out to a late lunch when I heard an unfamiliar chime from my phone. I pulled it out of my purse and saw that the app was running. It wanted me to push a button to acknowledge it. Looking around to make sure no one was looking at me, I pressed the button. "Dr. Helen Brooks," the phone said. (I thought I recognized the name, but I wasn't sure.) It gave the address of an office in one of the buildings on campus -- the Social Science buildings -- and a time: right now. It asked for another push of a button to acknowledge it. Of course I pushed it. Then the app switched into a GPS mode and started giving me directions to Dr. Brooks. I knew the way, but I followed it anyway. It led me to the PolySci floor, to a closed door at the end of the hall. It had Dr. Brooks' name on the plate next to the door and underneath a sign with her office hours: she didn't have any hours on Wednesdays. The door was kind of familiar. I thought I'd installed a PC or something here last year. I took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. "Come in," came a voice from inside. I opened it up with the phone still in my hand. Inside was a woman I recognized. She was maybe sixty years old, but looking good for her age. Her hair was long and grey and pleated into a ponytail down her back. While she was sitting behind her desk, all I could see she was wearing was a pretty green blouse. Seeing her, I remembered: I had indeed installed something in this office last year. "I thought I remembered your name," the woman said to me. "Dr. Brooks?" I asked. "Yes. And you're Pamela Burgin. You work in the IT department here on campus, right?" "Yes, that's me." "Shut the door behind you, Pamela. You did some work for me last year, I think." "Um..." I was getting uncomfortable. "Yeah, I think it was a new computer installation." "No, it was just an application they wouldn't let me do by myself. I remember because we talked about our daughters. They went to the same camp last year. My youngest and your oldest, I think." I looked over to the side, thinking. I was suddenly aware my tongue was out of my mouth a little bit. I got like that sometimes when I was thinking. "Right. I think I remember," I said. I felt myself blush. "This is your first session outside of the doctor's office, isn't it?" "Um, yes. How did you know?" "My iPhone told me. It actually told me a lot about you." I felt myself growing warmer. "Like what?" "Oh, that would be giving away a secret, wouldn't it? Pamela, listen to me," she intoned. "Take your shoes off and come stand in front of my desk." "Why?" "Because I said so, Pamela. Weren't you told to follow my instructions to the letter?" "Yeah, I guess so." I was wearing loafers and they were easy to slip out of, so I left them where I was and went to stand in front of Dr. Brooks' desk. She stood up. She was wearing a straight-cut, knee-length, grey wool skirt. She picked up a ruler from the desk and moved out in front of me with it. She casually laid the ruler on the front of the desk. "How is your daughter? Put your hands on the desk." she asked. I bent down to put my hands where she indicated. "She's doing well. She's got some good teachers this year. Do we have to talk about her?" "She's almost eighteen, right? Do you still spank her?" "I've never spanked my kids." Dr. Brooks was behind me now. "You should think about. I didn't spank my kids either until a couple of years ago." The professor reached around my waist and opened my belt and the top of my jeans. "Now I spank all three of my girls when they need it. Even the eighteen year old. She tells me she hates it, but I know she secretly loves it." She pushed my jeans down my legs. "Step out of them." I complied. "You really should consider it with your girls." "I don't think I could do that. Please, I don't want to talk about my family." "No? Doesn't your husband know about this therapy?" "What? No of course not. I couldn't ever tell him." "Oh well. The notes say that you get very wet from your spankings. Are you wet right now?" "No. No I'm not. Why would the notes say that?" "Oh, I'm sure it's true. You don't have to be embarrassed." Her hands grabbed the sides of my white cotton panties and pulled them down. "My eighteen year old starts creaming herself as soon as I tell her she's going to be spanked. At least that's what I figure from how wet her panties get. Just like your panties are wet right now." Oh God. I thought I was going to die from humiliation. She pushed the tails of my blouse up my back. "Hmm. Nice shape of your ass back here, Pamela. But you need to spend more time in the gym. Or more time skipping the elevators and using the stairs. Move your legs apart about a foot, there's a girl. Tell me, after your Doctor spanks you, do you go home and play with yourself?" "What?" I was shaking now. "No, I don't do that." "Go ahead, you can tell me." She picked up the ruler and started to slide it around my bottom. "My girls do. I make them watch each other's spankings and afterwards I can hear them in their rooms. They try to stay quiet, but they're not very good at it. Are you good at staying quiet, Pamela?" "I try." "Listen to me, Pamela, the proper answer at this point is, 'Yes, ma'am, I'll be quiet.'" "Yes, ma'am. I'll be quiet." "Good." She suddenly pulled the ruler back and whacked my ass five or six times, quickly alternating butt cheeks. The first couple I managed to keep quiet for, but the last one was too much, I let out a yelp. "I said to be quiet, Pamela." She came around in front of the desk, holding something -- my panties -- in her hand. "Open your mouth." I complied meekly. She pushed my panties into my mouth. "This'll help keep you quiet. But since I'm on this side of the desk..." she opened another drawer and pulled out a bigger paddle. "...I'll use the real wood on you." She didn't say anything else, she just went back around to my backside and started spanking me quickly and repeatedly. The pain went from bearable to horrendous to transformative. I quickly lost track of where I was or what I was doing or who was doing it to me. Until suddenly she stopped. Then I realized I wasn't standing up any more. I'd managed to lie down completely on top of her desk. My feet no longer touched the floor. Instead, with my hips resting on the edge of Dr. Brooks' desk, I'd been holding my feet up and wide apart. "Wonderful," Dr. Brooks said behind me. "The notes said you did this, but I wasn't sure I believed it. I haven't seen anyone like you before. Why are you showing me your cunt, Pamela? Oh wait, you can't talk. Don't try. It seems to be a nice cunt, mind you. Not my thing, but I imagine the right sort of person would appreciate it. But no matter, there's a prescribed response." Suddenly I felt the ruler whacking my pussy directly, just like Dr. Gupta had done. But while Dr. Gupta had usually only given me one or two whacks on my pussy, this woman was hitting me repeatedly, mostly with the ruler, I think, though once or twice she hit me with her bare hand. Twenty five times she hit my sex. When she finally stopped, she said, "Now close your legs, Pamela, and get your feet back on the floor. We're not done yet." As soon as my feet touched the floor again, she was whacking on my ass again. This time I didn't disappear in my mind though. This time I found myself grinding the front of my sex against the desk. This time I found myself exploding in pleasure as the combination of that and the spankings caused me to come shuddering on the doctor's desk once, twice, three times. And when that happened, she stopped. "Oh very good, Pamela. Very impressive. Only a few women manage that. I'm impressed. We're done. You can stand up again. Take those out of your mouth." I stood up gingerly, removing my panties from where they muffled me. I didn't quite know what to do with them, so I held the damp cloth in my left hand and reached back with my right to my no-doubt red bottom, rubbing it gently. I wanted to do the same to my sex, but I was all too aware of Dr. Brooks in the room with me. I looked over at her, sitting at the side of her desk in a guest chair, clicking on her iPhone. I stood there meekly waiting for instructions while she was finished. It took about a minute, I guess. She looked up at me and said, "In a second....." Just then my phone rang with the distinctive ring of the Therapy App. "Answer that, please, Pamela. There's a quick survey." Feeling strange to still be exposed from the waist down, I went to my purse and dug out my phone. The Therapy App was up and asking for my passcode. Still holding my panties in my hand, I entered the code. It then walked me through a series of questions about the session and my reactions. The last question asked me to rate my orgasm on a scale from 1 to 10. I gave it a six, then looked at Dr. Brooks. "It was pretty sure I orgasmed?" I made it a question. "I entered that, of course." I blushed in response. There was going to be very little privacy in this therapy, apparently. "There'll be another check-in with questions in an hour or two. They like to gauge your reactions immediately afterwards and when you've had some time to think. Why don't you get dressed now?" I started to shake out my panties in preparation to put them on. "You might want to leave them off for a bit, until they dry out a little," she said. I looked at her, then back at my panties, and shrugged. She was right. I put them into my purse then picked up my jeans and slipped them on, wincing a bit as they pulled tight across my ass and rubbed naked against my pubic mound. Then I balanced and put on my shoes while she watched. "May I go now?" I asked. "Yes. I enjoyed this. I hope to see you again sometime for another session. And perhaps if you move on to also providing the service, I'll be assigned to you sometime." That last sentence didn't register for a long time. I just wanted to get out of there and back to work. "Yes, well, thank you. You did a good job," I said, not at all if that was something I should say. "Take care, Pamela." "Thank you, Dr. Brooks. Have a good day." I left and went back to work. ------ I was happy that I was running around for the rest of the day. I didn't really want to spend a lot of time sitting down. My rear-end was pretty sore and moving turned out to be easier. I never did get my panties back on. I was a little startled to see them inside my purse when I went to grab my wallet at the grocery store later that day, and wound up looking furtively around to make sure no one else saw. It never seemed like the right time to put them on, at least until I got home where I felt like I had to get them on. Somehow, I couldn't go pantiless when my kids were around. The next day, though, I was scheduled for a lot of desk work. As per my boss's instructions, on days when we're going to be in the office all day (or rather when we're supposed to be) we're supposed to be more dressed up. So I wore a blue shirtdress and heels and nylons. In a way it was a much better plan to wear the dress anyway, since there wasn't so much tightness on my still tender backside. I was at my desk a little before 10 that morning, working on some server configuration when the App chimed again. I gulped and pulled out the phone. The name was Odessa Adamms and the address was the janitorial office in the campus library. I made my excuses and headed to where I was instructed. I was fairly unfamiliar with the library and needed the App's directions to find the right room. When I knocked the door was open by an African-American woman of about 35, dressed in jeans and a not-entirely clean uniform-like blouse, sneakers on her feet. The blouse had a name tag with "Adamms" stitched over her left breast. She was obviously on the janitorial staff, with muscular arms and a wide pair of hips. Her hair was dark and tightly braided with beads. "Pamela Burgin, right?" she asked staring at me, an iPhone in one hand. "Yes. You're Odessa Adamms, right?" "No, I just stole her shirt. Of course I'm Odessa. Get your ass in here." I entered the room and she closed the door behind me. At the side of the room, she had a rather large and ornate, old wooden chair with a red velvet cushion that had seen better days. It looked like it had been rescued it from a conference room during a renovation. She sat down in that chair and looked haughtily at me. "What are you waiting for? Shoes off. Nylons off. I assume you're wearing panties?" "Um, yes." "Not so sure, huh?" "No, I'm just still not used to all this." "What difference does it make to me if you're used to all this or not? Get those panties off too and get over here. I don't have all day." I frowned when I looked at the dirty cement floor. But I put my purse down and I put a hand to the wall to steady myself as I bent one leg so I could reach behind for one shoe, and then the other. Then I started to squirm my hose down my legs without reaching under. It wasn't very successful. Odessa commented gruffly, "ain't no lady-like way of doing that. Just reach up and get 'em off." She caught my eyes with hers and held my gaze as I lifted the hem of my dress and pushed down my stockings and panties. I only broke eye contact when I had to bend to get them off one foot, then the other. "Pamela, listen to me," Odessa said at that point. My attention snapped back to her. "Drop those down on the table there and get your ass over my lap." There was a small table covered with cleaning supplies. I thought about folding my underwear neatly, but she'd said "drop", so I dropped the pile there. The floor was cold as I walked the few steps to where Odessa sat. It was almost a relief to get my feet off the floor as I folded across her. But then I realized I'd be supporting myself with my hands on the cold, dirty floor. Odessa flipped my dress off my bottom as soon as I was in position. "Ooooh, girl, very pretty red ass you've got here. When was your last spanking?" "Yesterday afternoon, ma'am." "Don't call me ma'am. Call me Momma Dess." "Yes, Momma Dess." "Well, I like to see these nice red honky asses come in here. I bet who ever did this used a paddle?" "Yes, Momma Dess. And a ruler." "Well, Momma Dess don't use nothing but her bare hand. And you can tell me when it's all over whether your ass hurts as much as from the paddle." With that, she began beating me. At first it was just a constant slapping, alternating between one cheek and the other. Her hand landed in different places up and down each side, ranging from the top all the way down to the back of my thighs. She was right, her slaps were as hard as the paddle. Suddenly she stopped. "Get your legs back together, slut. Ain't no one behind you to see your cunt. And Momma Dess sure isn't interested in it." I squeezed my legs back together. Was I disappointed or happy that no blows would land on my pussy today? I wasn't sure. Her spanking became more creative after that. She would slap three times quickly on one cheek then once hard. Or three times on one cheek and once hard on the other. I never knew what would follow. Somewhere along the lines the tears started. God this hurt. And there was no let-up either. I wasn't sure I could take any more and I started to say so. "Please. Stop. That's enough. Please." Odessa just ignored my pleas and kept on spanking. She stopped when she was ready. I held my breath for a minute, waiting for another blow. It didn't come. We didn't move, her hand was on my back, my hands on the floor, my legs dangling in the air. "I think that's good," Odessa said finally. And immediately I began to shiver and shake. A surge of pleasure washed over me and the shakes continued for a minute. It wasn't an orgasm. It wasn't something I'd never felt before. She let me alone until it was done then she said, "That's it. I've got work to do. Get up." Shakily, I got up off Odessa's lap and stood up, my arms hugging myself tightly. "I've got to get back to my job. You can get dressed whenever you want, but you'd better not be here when I get back in a half hour." Without another word, she grabbed a broom and went out the door, closing it behind her. I managed to get my underwear back on and made my way, absent-mindedly back to my desk. My whole attention had telescoped down to my rear end and my pussy. The first hurt something awful and the second desperately wanted me to escape somewhere to pleasure myself. I tried to ignore it all by burying myself back in my work as soon as completed the survey. The questions were different this time; it must have something to do with the data Odessa had entered. -------- I managed to mostly ignore the burn on my bottom for most of the day. But it was strange whenever someone came by to talk to me. I kept thinking that they must know what I'd done or rather what had been done to me. That always made me blush. Sometimes I imagined others where I'd been that morning. What would it look like if, say, Teresa, who had a desk not far from me, had gone down to Odessa's room this morning instead of me? I found myself enjoying the image of her naked ass on Odessa's lap. Which was certainly weird, because I never thought about women's naked asses. Anyway, I was doing okay, until about four, when the phone chimed again. "Oh God!" I thought, "please make it another survey. I can't take another spanking." But it was indeed a therapy session. "Libby Nitsugawa" was the name and the address was on Maple St. I made some excuse for leaving early that day and got in my car, driving by following the Therapy App's directions. It led me to a strip mall that had business offices upstairs. One of the offices on the directory was "L. Nitsugawa, Real Estate Attorney ". I gulped, climbed the stairs and found the office. There was an "Open" sign on the door, so I let myself into a small waiting area. A chime rang somewhere in the office. I didn't have long to wait before a petite Asian woman opened the other door in the waiting room. She had black hair pinned up in a bun and wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a red silk blouse and a grey pencil skirt to her knees, with what must have been four-inch heels. There was a pencil stuck absently into the side of her hair bun. "Yes?" she asked. "Ms. Nitsugawa, please?" "That's me." I held up the iPhone and showed her the Therapy App. "I was sent here for a Therapy Session." She smiled. "Ah, good. Pamela Burgin, right?" "Yes." "Cool. It's been a while since I've done one of these. Come back to my conference room, please. I've got about thirty closings this week, so you'll have to excuse the mess." "Of course." She held the door open for me and I walked past her, then across a short hall into a conference room that had no outside windows, just a window into the hall. "I prefer to do this with you naked. You'll find a hanger behind the door. I need to go lock up and get something." It was all so "matter of fact". I started to unbutton my dress as she closed the door to the conference room behind her and headed back to the reception area. I slipped off the dress and hung it on the hanger, then reached behind me for my bra. I marveled at how nonchalant I had become about taking off my clothes in some stranger's office. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 04 Ms. Nitsugawa glanced into the conference room as she went past, but didn't stop or say anything. I saw her disappear behind yet another door as I sat to take my shoes off. I stood up briefly to slip my hose and panties off my bottom, down off my legs and feet. So much easier to take them off when you're sitting down. I folded them and my bra and put them on to the table. I was standing there, just finishing, facing the door when she came back in. She had a leather belt in one hand and some kind of multi-colored cloth flogging thing in the other. "I forgot to say," she said as soon as she entered, "call me Libby. May I call you Pam?" "Please, Libby. Whatever you want." "Okay. Good. Pam, listen to me. Step out from behind the table." Those magic words again. I stepped around so I was naked in front of her, my hands clasped in front of me; in front of my sex. "Let your hands go. Relax." I let my hands fall to my side. "Quite a bush you've got there, Pam," she smirked, "don't you ever trim it?" For reasons I can't begin to tell you, my nipples immediately got hard. "No. No, I don't. Never really thought about it." "You should think about it. It feels marvelous waxed. Hurts like hell for a minute, but...." she trailed off. "Okay, turn around. Hands on the table. Bend over a bit." I did as she asked and she gasped. "Oh. Oh my. That is one red bottom. This isn't your first Therapy of the day, is it, Pam?" "No." "And did you have one yesterday too? You're just starting out, right?" "Yes. And yes." I was still standing with my hands on her table. She stood behind me, I couldn't see her at all. "I'm not supposed to ask, but who was the therapy with. I think I know most of the girls." "Helen Brooks, yesterday. And Odessa Adamms this morning." "Momma Dess? No wonder you're so red. Well, I don't think your ass needs any more beating. Turn around." I turned around to face her. It had been easier when I wasn't looking at her. She'd put the flogger down and just held the belt in her hand. "Your profile says that you respond to your pussy being spanked. Maybe I should just spank you there. What do you think?" I shivered. "I couldn't say, Ms. Nitsugawa." "Libby," she said, a little exasperated. "Call me Libby. Well, we'll see. You have some good sized tits too. Maybe...." She lifted the belt, which she held doubled in her right hand. Gently, teasingly, she flicked my nipples in turn with the belt, first in one direction, then the other. Then harder, she struck each one with a quick blow to the side, once, and twice. My hands flew up to cover my breasts. That fucking hurt. "Put your hands down, Pam." "My ass is one thing. But not my breasts." "We'll do more than your tits by the time we're finished, Pam. Listen to me, Pamela. Put your arms down." I dropped them to my sides. "Now ask me for your therapy." "Please, may I have my therapy." "Please may I have my therapy, who?" "Please may I have my therapy, Libby?" "Why of course you may, Pamela." Then she turned and put the belt down on a chair and picked up the flogger. In a move like a dancer, she turned back again in one movement, the flogger swinging wide in her arm and it struck me sideways across the breasts. She continued the movement in a figure-eight, rolling it around in her wrists to come down on the other breast. "Count each hit," she said. "One. Two...." I made it to twenty, ten strokes on each breast before she stopped. My breasts hurt but my pussy was on fire. "And now you have a pretty pink clit poking out from that plentiful bush. Maybe I should spank your pussy now. What do you think?" "I don't want you to. Please don't, Libby. Please." "Your words and your clit don't seem to be in agreement. No matter. Get up on the table. Slide back so your feet stick straight out." I complied. "Now hold your hands out in front of you too. Palms up. Good." She casually tossed the flogger down on the table then returned to the belt. If she looked like a dancer a moment ago, her movements now were like a butterfly. The doubled up belt flew through the air, hitting the palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet in a pattern that I couldn't for the life of me discern. She'd hit foot, foot, hand, foot, hand, hand, foot, hand, foot, foot foot. It was a struggle to keep my hands outstretched, but I knew I was supposed to, and I really didn't want to get her mad, so I held them as still as I could. I lost track of how long this continued. Now not only my bottom was red, but my hands and feet as well. And my nipples were hard and I was creaming between my thighs. Thighs, which I realized as she stopped, had drifted wide apart. "My, my, your legs just love to spread, don't they, Pam? Well, as pretty as your pussy is, we're not here to satisfy that urge of yours, much as I might be tempted. But come. Slide your ass forward. No, keep your legs spread. Sit on the edge of the table. Right there." Without warning, she slapped my face with her hands. Once, twice. Then her slaps went to my breasts, hitting them right, left, up and down. And finally, without warning she began spanking me with her hand on my exposed and vulnerable sex. That was enough for me. I started to shiver and soon was shuddering to an orgasm. And when Libby didn't stop, another one. And then she stopped. She pushed my legs together and picked up her iPhone from the side of the room. I hadn't seen her put it there. She sat in a chair, ignoring me while she filled out the survey. And in a second my phone chimed from the Therapy App. I got up off the table and went to my purse, but she stopped me. "You can fill that out later. For now, get dressed and get on your way. I have some business to attend to. You can let yourself out." She left the room headed for her office, leaving the door open behind her. I shivered for a few moments and then managed to get dressed. I left my stockings off and pushed them into my purse since I was headed home. As I was leaving, I turned and looked into her office, expecting to see Ms. Nitsugawa working on her computer. But she was sitting in her chair, her feet spread wide and up on her desk, her hand leaned back and her eyes closed. Her hand was between her legs and I realized I heard a buzzing noise. Oh my God, she's masturbating, I thought. I was actually torn between the desire to watch and the desire to get out of there. The latter feeling won. I turned, left the office and got back in my car to go home. Maybe there'd be time for my own vibrator tonight. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 05 [My thanks to estragon for proofreading and editing! -Tricia] Session V: Breakthrough I didn't get any chance to use my vibrator that night. Mostly I spent the evening thanking God that my children and my husband were all completely oblivious. As long as I provided their food and helped with their homework and kept everyone in line, no one noticed that the palms of my hands were red or that I sometimes winced when I moved into one position or another. I didn't get undressed in front of Bob that night. I went to bed well before him and was able to change into a long nightgown without having to worry if he would see how red my bottom was or the marks on my breasts or thighs. And in the morning everyone was too busy to notice anything anyway. I wished I could get away without a bra, but that just wasn't possible while I was working. I put on an exercise bra because that was the softest and most comfortable. I couldn't bear panties, no matter how soft. So I found a pair of harem style pants -- not the new kind that hang down to your knees -- something older and wore those with a cotton blouse. It was a run-around campus day for me anyway, so pants were definitely in order. I found soft socks and a pair of clogs for my feet. Even though I thought I must have "freak" or "weirdo" tattooed on my forehead, no one else seemed to notice anything strange about me. Or at least no one at home or at the office said anything. Although Teresa gave me a funny look at one point while we were getting coffee from the departmental machine. But I didn't have any time to enjoy that coffee. At quarter-past nine the Therapy App rang on my phone again. "Jennifer Edelman," it said when I looked at the screen. It gave an address in Graduate Student housing. I just stared at it for twenty seconds then hastily put it away. I wasn't sure I could follow through with this. If this was the Jennifer Edelman I thought she was, I knew her. Her parents lived down the street from us and we'd used her as a babysitter for a couple of years while the kids were growing up. I hadn't seen either her or her parents in a while, but I was pretty sure my daughter Alison had told me when she'd run into Jennifer herself. I remember Alison saying that Jennifer was studying for her Doctorate. I turned to my computer and pulled up a student database. Strictly speaking we weren't supposed to use this database most of the time, but we did have access when we needed it. I looked up Jennifer. My hand flew up to my mouth. Oh my God, it was her. She had her own apartment in student housing and was indeed in a doctoral program: cross-disciplinary between psychology and computer science. The App buzzed again. I looked at it and there was a question: "You are not moving. Is there some reason you are delaying?" There was a text box for an answer. I typed, "I know her." The response took a second, but it came back, "Not a valid excuse. Listen to me, Pamela. Proceed to your Therapy Session." I knew I could refuse, but I didn't. Even the damn App was using the magic words on me now. I grabbed my purse and coat and got into my car and drove to Graduate Student Housing. I wasn't totally unknown for my department to come over here; we had to fix the wiring or support Grad Student IT problems as well. So, I was more or less familiar with the layout. I found a parking spot and quickly found Jennifer's apartment. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. She opened it immediately. Jennifer was an average looking girl, with long brown hair pulled back into a tail with an elastic. She was wearing a camisole and pajama pants, like she'd just gotten up a few minutes ago. Her mid-sized breasts were firm and high and her nipples pushed lazily into the front of her cami. She smiled at me when she opened the door. "Ah, Mrs. Burgin," she said. "Come in." She stepped back to let me in. "I was so excited when I saw your name come up this morning." I didn't know what to say. In fact I found I couldn't say anything. "Cat got your tongue, eh, Mrs. B? No worries, that happens sometimes. Come in, come in." She waved me into her living room, which was dominated by a flat screen TV on one wall and a computer with two monitors on a desk on another wall. She picked up a tablet from the coffee table. It wasn't an iPad, but I didn't recognize what it was. "I see you've been to see Dr. Brooks, Mrs. Adamms, and Ms. Nitsugawa in the last two days. That's quite an opening act. Those are three of our most skilled therapists. What did you think of Libby Nitsugawa, eh, Mrs. B? She's quite the artist isn't she?" I still couldn't say anything. I just looked at her mutely. "Oh right, no speech. Well, it's not often the program selects such an august set of Therapists to start out the public therapy. You must really need it, Mrs. B. Show me your hands. The computer tells me that Libby whipped you there." I bent down to put my purse on the floor and held my hands in front of me for her to see. I was having a hard time reconciling this self-confident woman with the nervous, nerdy teenager who had babysat for my kids. "Oh dear. Did anyone notice how red your hands were this morning?" I managed to shake my head. "No, that doesn't really surprise me. We don't notice these things in others, do we? Take off your shoes. I want to see your feet." I slipped off my shoes and lifted up my right foot to take off my sock. "Give my your foot," Jennifer said. Her hand was held out before her. I stuck my foot out and balanced as best I could while Jennifer held my foot and looked it over. "Libby is truly an artist. Let me see your other foot now." We repeated the sock and foot dance and this time Jennifer ran her thumbnail along the sole of my foot, causing me to shiver and almost lose my balance. "Whoa, Mrs. B. Don't fall." She let my foot down. "Take your blouse off." I just stood there and stared at her. It was one thing to let this girl look at my hands and feet. It was another thing to take off my top. "Pamela, listen to me. Take off your blouse. And your bra too. I want to see what Libby did your breasts." I blushed three shades of red but I unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. Jennifer held her hand out and I handed my blouse to her. She tossed it over a chair. I pulled off my bra and she took that from me too. "Oh very nice," Jennifer said looking at me. She extended her hand and touched the red streaked side of my breast. I flinched and stepped back. "Tender are we, Mrs. B.?" My hand went to my mouth and I lightly bit my finger lengthwise. I just nodded. "I'm sure you are, Mrs. B. Listen to me, Pamela, stand still." She moved closer to me again and ran her fingers around my beasts, tenderly caressing the marks from Ms. Nitsugawa's whipping with her belt. I just stared at her face; I couldn't tear my gaze away. Then I felt her thumb flick across my nipple and flinched again. I hadn't realized they were swollen, but they were. "Hold still, Mrs. B." She flicked my nipples with her fingernails for a couple of seconds, sending waves of pain and pleasure through me. "I wonder what was going on while she was whipping you, Mrs. B. Were you hoping it would end quickly? Or hoping it would continue? It's clear from your records that you orgasm after most of your therapies. But you're so quiet today. Maybe I need to look into the records some more?" She stepped back. "Are you ready to take your pants off for me, Mrs. B.?" I just nodded. I had no control. I told myself that I could walk out anytime, but I just couldn't make myself do it. I hooked my thumbs into the elastic waistband of my pants. "No," Jennifer said, "turn around. I want to see your ass and how red it is." That was a relief. I didn't waste any time turning. "Okay, go ahead." I pushed my pants down and lowered them to my knees, then stepped out of them one leg at a time. I stood holding them in front of me, one knee slightly bent. "No panties, Mrs. B.?" Jennifer asked with mock disdain. "What would Alison say? I'm sure you've told her she should never leave the house without panties. But no matter, your bottom is beautifully marked. Did you know that, Mrs. B.? Did you look at it in the mirror?" I shook my head. "Well you should have. Turn around now." I slowly turned around, holding my pants at my waist, letting them fall to hide my sex. "Give me those," Jennifer commanded and I handed them over to her. She put them on top of my shirt and bra on the chair. Then she turned back at me and immediately reached for and grabbed a little bit of my pubic hair. I winched as she gave the tuft a sharp pull. "Women your age all have these pubes, Mrs. B. Why is that?" She made a show of examining my pubic hair. "Don't you know how much neater it looks if you shave? It's much easier to get someone to go down on a bare pussy too, you know." She looked back at my eyes and let go. "But no matter. That's not why we're here, is it?" She stepped back so she could look at me better. "Libby spanked your pussy, didn't she? And Helen Brooks too, right? With a ruler for her, right?" Still I could only nod. "It's so beautifully red. And Mrs. B., are you excited? Your clit is poking out." She was smiling, clearly amused about that. "Well, I guess that's no surprise is it? You're a bit of a slut, aren't you Mrs. B.? Who would have known? But while looking at you like this has been fun, you're here for some Therapy." Brightly, she pulled another chair out from her dinette and sat down on it, patting her lap. "Assume the position, Mrs. B." It was always awkward to do this, but I folded myself across the young woman's lap, preparing myself for the spanking I was expecting. But instead I felt her hand running up my thighs and around the cheeks of my bottom. "So beautifully red," she said quietly. Her hand continued to caress me and I found myself relaxing a little and enjoying the sensation of her hand. "You just can not keep your legs together can you, Mrs. B.?" Jennifer said. "I don't think you need a spanking today. I think you need something else entirely." Her hand slid down from my bottom and without warning her fingers slid into my sex. I wanted to tell her to stop, but I couldn't. I couldn't believe it, but I was moaning in pleasure instead. Oh God. "Yes, that's it, Mrs. B. Just relax and enjoy." Her fingers were sliding in and out of me now, pumping steadily. My traitorous pussy was responding by getting wetter and wetter, quivering with pleasure from it. I'd had three orgasms in the past two days, but those were from pain. This pleasure was going to bring me off and it would be totally different. I managed to say something then. "Please stop, Jennifer. Please." Her hand came out of me and she lifted up the hand she'd had on my back holding me steady. "Okay, Pamela. That's fine. You can get up." But I couldn't move. I just stayed in place. "That's what I thought," Jennifer said. She started fingering me again. Before it had been sort of casual. Now it was insistent. I could feel the orgasm building in me, but it wouldn't come. She kept pumping in and out of me, and I was at a tension point, but couldn't crest. "Please, please," I whispered. In response, Jennifer slid her hand out of my opening and down further between my legs to my clit. A few seconds of hard, vigorous diddling of my clit and I came. I know I cried out louder than I think I've ever cried out in an orgasm before. I was shaking and squirming on her lap and I don't know how she managed to keep me in place. It was one hand on my back, or rather my side and another between my legs as I quivered on her lap for I don't know how long. When I was done, she started again. But this time after rubbing me for a time or two, her fingers came up and I felt her slide a finger into my anus. Oh God, I'd never had anyone do that before. I'd told my husband "no way" when he'd asked for anal sex. Now this twenty something girl -- who I used to employ as a babysitter -- was fucking me in the ass with her finger. And I was letting her. And I came that way, damn it. It was a totally different orgasm than the first one. Gentler, definitely, but somehow more complete. I never would have expected it. Would have said it was impossible. But it happened. Damn. When that come faded she slowly took her finger out of my ass and gave me a gentle pat on my bottom. "Time to get up, Mrs. B. I have a class to teach." With difficulty I got up from the position and made it to my feet. "Go ahead and get dressed, Pamela dear. I'll be out in a minute." She went into the bathroom and I heard the water running as I went numb-brained to my clothes and slowly pulled them on. By the time I was done, Jennifer was out of her bedroom, dressed in jeans and a top, sneakers on her feet and a knapsack in her hands. "Come on, come on," she said, "I've got to go." She hustled me out of the door and locked it, then unlocked a bicycle from a stand and started riding off toward the main campus. It wasn't until I got into the car that my tears started. I sat in my car, shaking, tears streaming down my face, for fifteen minutes. When I finally got myself pulled together, I dried off my tears and pulled my makeup out of my purse to put myself back together. Then I got on the phone to call Dr. Gupta. I got her answering machine, of course, but I left a message for her. "I need to see you. Today," I said. "It's an emergency." A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 06 Session VI: Calling a Halt Dr. Gupta left a message on my machine saying that she had no open slots, but would be willing to stay later than usual and see me at 6 p.m. I was to call her back to confirm, which I did. I called Bob and told him I would be late and left a message on my daughter Alison's cell phone asking her to start supper for me. I was early for the appointment and sat fidgeting in the waiting room for fifteen minutes before Dr. Gupta let me in. The pain from the spankings I had had over the last few days was fading, but I could still feel Jennifer's fingers inside of me whenever I let myself. Every time I did I flushed with shame and looked around at the others in the room, afraid that they could read what had happened on my face. Finally, Dr. Gupta opened the door to let someone out. She beckoned me and led me down the hall of the group practice to her office. I sat on the couch at her wave and waited for her to talk before I said anything "How are you doing, Pamela?" "Horrible. I don't want to do this anymore. I want to stop." "Stop what?" "This 'therapy' that you call it. I can't. This isn't right." My eyes were filling with tears. There was a box of Kleenex next to the couch and I grabbed one. "All right. Let me just review your file," she said. She turned to her computer and typed and clicked for a minute. While she read, one of her fingers tapped absently on her pursed lips. Eventually she turned back to me. "It seems that you have had a rather intense first week, Pamela. Much more intense than I expected or have seen for my other patients. Do you find the spankings so horrible?" "No, Dr. Gupta. It's not that. It's...It's my last therapy." "Yes, with Jennifer Edelman. Did you know that she's one of the founders of the program? I believe that she was the person who wrote the software. Jennifer and her Thesis Advisor were the ones who invented the entire course of study. She's pretty amazing. It said on your file that you knew her personally?" "Yes," I sniffled. "She used to babysit for my kids. A few years ago." "So, is that why you want to stop, because you saw someone you know?" "No, that's not it." "Then why? What happened to make you want to stop?" I looked at her for a long moment, tears starting to run down my cheeks. "She's so young, Doctor. Only a little older than my kids...." "So, it's her age?" "No." She just sat there, waiting for me to continue. It all came bubbling out at once. "She fingered me, Doctor," I said with a shake in my voice. "She didn't spank me, she fucked me. She fucked me to orgasm with her fingers in my cunt and then she did it again with her finger in my ass." I'm not sure how understandable I was. I was speaking and crying at the same time. "Pamela," Dr. Gupta said, "listen to me." I had been looking at my feet. When she said that my head came up and looked at her. "No, doctor...please." "Pamela," she said again. "Listen to me. Come over here across my lap." I stared at her for a full minute. She didn't move or say anything else; she just looked back at me. Finally, I got up and moved toward her. "Pants off, Pamela," she added calmly. I took a deep breath and slipped off my clogs, then pushed my harem pants over my hips and stepped out of them. She indicated her lap and I assumed the position I'd done for the first time in her office a scant week or so ago. Her hand rested on my bare bottom, but she didn't spank me. Instead she said calmly, "Now, why don't you walk me through what happened to you today. Start when you got to Jennifer's place. Be detailed." I took a deep breath. For some reason being in this position made it easier to calm down. "She looked like she'd just gotten out of bed," I started. I told the doctor about how Jennifer had examined my hands and my feet and what she had said about the three other therapy sessions I'd had that week. I told her about being made to take off my blouse and how she'd caressed my breasts and then flicked my nipples. Then I told the doctor that Jennifer had had me take off my pants and turn around so she could examine my bottom. "She mentioned Alison when she saw I didn't have any panties on, Doctor. She didn't have to do that. And she told me I had too much hair down there. She pulled it too." "What happened after that?" "Then she made me get over her lap." "Just like we're doing now?" "Yes. And she began to run her hands over my butt and then I guess my legs started moving apart...." "Just like they're doing now?" "Oh god!" I slapped my legs back together. "No," Dr. Gupta said pushing my thighs back apart. "Leave them. That is how you were. Tell me what happened next." I took deep breath and tried to talk but couldn't. I took another. And another and finally was able to say, "and then she stuck her fingers inside of me and started fingering me." "And what did you do?" "I moaned, damn it! I didn't want to but I couldn't help myself. And then I told her to stop." "And did she?" "Yes, and she said I could go." "So you left?" "No, damn it. I didn't leave. I just stayed there and she went back to fingering me. She fucked me with her fingers until I came. She fucked me, Doctor. I'm not a lesbian. She's young enough to be my daughter. Why did I let her?" "We'll talk about that in a minute. You said she put a finger into your rectum?" "Yes. And I came from that too. I've never even let my husband do that to me." "And did you stop her from doing that?" "No," I sobbed. "And did you come?" "Yes," I whimpered. "Yes, I came." Dr. Gupta just let me cry over her lap for a minute. Then she said, "do you want to know what I think Pamela?" I sniffed. "Yes, please Doctor." "I think you had no right to be surprised at what Jennifer did to you. I think that every time someone spanks you, you spread your legs like a whore. I think you're begging them to finger you. In fact you still haven't closed your legs up for me. I think you want me to finger fuck your nasty, slutty cunt." Her hand slid between my thighs, resting on the outside of my vagina. "No, please don't." "No, Pamela?" She moved her fingers gently over my labia. I moaned. "No?" "Oh god," I said. "Please." "Please which, Pamela? Please 'yes' or please 'no'?" Her fingers slid down further, brushing against my clit. "Please yes. Damn it, please. I need it so badly." She didn't hesitate. The doctor's fingers slid into my pussy and began to pump in and out of me slowly, then more quickly. She was very skilled: her fingers had me moaning uncontrollably in just seconds. After her plunging brought me to a small climax, she slid her fingers out and down further between my thighs to my clit again. She rubbed and flicked my clit, building the sensations until I came again. Then her fingers went back inside me, massaging my g-spot, pushing me further and further along, until I came a third time in a shuddering spasm. My cunt squeezed and held for what seemed like an eternity. For a second or two I felt like I was peeing, but that wasn't it. It was something like it, I didn't know what. She didn't say anything until I stopped shivering. "Roll off me, Pamela. Kneel on the floor." I did as she said, moving shakily. When I got to the floor in front of her I saw that her skirt was very wet. I blushed when I realized it was me who'd done that. Dr. Gupta reached out with her hand and caressed my cheek. Her hand was wet too; it was obviously the one she'd just had inside me. Her thumb ran along my lips a couple of times. "Open," she whispered. When I did, she slipped first her thumb into my mouth. I got the hint and sucked my juices from her. She continued with each of her fingers. Then she stood up in front of me. Her skirt had looked bad enough from the previous angle, when she stood it was even more embarrassing. "Well, Pamela," she said looking down at herself, "it's a good thing I keep a change of clothes in my office. Stay there a moment." She moved over to an armoire against one wall. She was wearing a grey business suit with a white blouse. She took off her jacket and hung it up inside the armoire, then reached behind herself and unzipped her skirt. She stepped out of that, carefully lifting her high heeled shoes around it, and hung that up on a hanger too. I was a little surprised to see she was wearing garters and stockings. And no panties. She turned back to me. "I think it's time for another step in your therapy, Pamela." Wearing just her blouse, stocking and heels, she came back to her chair and sat back down. This time it was her legs that spread wantonly. I stared at her. Her pussy was as hairy as mine, covered with tightly curled, jet black hair. Yet under the hair, peaking out of coffee-colored, very swollen labia, a very pink, very wet-looking cunt stared back at me. I felt her eyes on me, but she said nothing for a moment. I couldn't take my eyes away from her cunt. A moment ago, all I could smell was the scent of my own sex. Now there was another scent in the air. Similar, but different. My nose twitched uncontrolled, inhaling her fragrance. "Pamela," she said finally in a whisper, "listen to me." I nodded. "We have many clinical names to apply to a woman like you," she continued in a matter of fact tone, "but I think that they are all unimportant. Right now the best term to describe you, I think, is slut." Something about her Indian accent made the word sound all the dirtier. I trembled a little. "Yes, 'slut'. And I know you are an intelligent slut so I think your next course of therapy should be apparent to you right now. Is it?" "Yes," I whispered. "It's never come up in our sessions, but I assume that you've never done this before? Never licked pussy?" She pronounced 'pussy' like someone else might say, 'emerald.' "No." "I'm not going to insult you by giving you instructions. A slut like you should be a natural pussy licker. You should take to it like a cat takes to cream." She touched herself, ran her fingers just inside of her opening while I watched, then raised her fingers to her mouth and tasted herself. "Very delicious cream. You may begin whenever you are ready." I wasn't fighting this, which surprised me. At this point I wanted it. Before I lost my nerve, I moved forward on my knees and leaned my face forward. My tongue slid out my lips and I tentatively licked along her opening. She moaned and I was lost. I licked her eagerly after that. Eagerly and energetically. Somehow I knew what to do; mostly I just gave her the pussy licking that I'd always wanted but never had. My tongue danced along her labia and around her clit, or pushed inside of her, seeking out her spicy, hot, naughty flavor. My lips kissed her "down there" like a long-time lover frenching after a long time away. My hand rose without conscious thought and spread her lips for better access by my tongue. Later my fingers slid inside of her; I felt her heated, slippery cunt welcome my entry. I wish I could repeat the things she said while I was eating her pussy, but I couldn't really understand much of it. Sometimes she would say things like, "right there," or "yeah that's good." But a lot of the time she spoke in a language that I didn't recognize at all; I guess it was something she'd grown up with. But it was kind of hot her talking in a foreign tongue like that. She had that Indian/English accent and was saying all of these totally wild things. It turned me on to be making her do this. It also turned me on so much when she came. "I did that," I thought to myself when her words started stuttering and her hips started bucking against my face. It was one thing to have a man come in my mouth. That was always a clear signal that he'd come; a creamy reward for the effort I'd put in. But when Dr. Gupta came it was so different. Men were usually so staid: a grunt and sigh, followed by little or nothing. Dr Gupta's orgasm was wonderful and expressive. I looked up along the length of her body while she came to see her face bloom with pleasure. It wasn't an expression I'd ever seen before on her face. I didn't stop until she told me to. My tongue was getting tired, but I was having so much fun. I never would have guessed that I would have liked this. If you'd have asked me a week ago, I'd have said I'd never do anything like this. I was a good, straight girl and good, straight girls don't lick pussy. But I guess I was wrong. After she told me to stop, Dr. Gupta took a few moments to gather herself together. Then without another word, she got up and went back to her armoire. She took a pair of slacks from another hanger, and pulled them on, tucking her blouse into them. Then she spent a few minutes looking into her mirror primping her hair and touching up her makeup. I just stayed where I was kneeling, watching her, wondering what had changed inside of me that let me just do that. She came back over to me and held out her hand. I took it and she said, "Stand up, slut," and helped me to stand. Then she kissed me, hard, on my lips, her tongue pushing into my mouth. It was a lover's kiss, not a kiss of love. She was thanking me, and I understood that. Still I kissed her back and enjoyed the whole thing. Her hand slipped down between us and into my cunt again. I wasn't expecting that, but then again, what had I expected? "Come for me, whore," she whispered. I writhed on her fingers to the sound of that word. Then she began to frig me. Her insistent fingers brought me to another come standing there in the middle of her office, her face inches from mine. She looked deeply into my eyes as I came, and she held her fingers inside of me as my pussy tightened and released. She let go of me then and said, "Put your pants on, Pamela. I think your therapy has been very successful. You can check yourself in my mirror when you're dressed." As I pulled on my pants and adjusted my hair in her mirror -- I needed to use the bathroom to wash my face and do my makeup -- Dr. Gupta spent the time typing on her computer. I finished before she did and waited patiently for her to turn to me. "You won't have any therapy tomorrow, Pam. And I've requested that your future therapies are toned down just a bit. I don't think you'll have anything anywhere near as intense as your last two days." "Thank you, Dr. Gupta." "There might be more like today though." "That would be okay." "There'll definitely be some less, um, experienced therapists. Most patients get someone like Dr. Brooks or Ms. Adamms or Ms. Nitsugawa occasionally. But clearly this has been successful for you. I would like to see you next Thursday. At the same time. Will that work for you?" "Let me check," I said and took my iPhone out of my bag, opening my appointment app. "Yes, that's fine. Will, um, will we have more of this type of therapy?" "I think we can do that, if you'd like." "I think I would like that, Doctor." "Good, let me walk you out. You'll probably want to clean up a bit more before you go home." "Yes. Probably, Thank you doctor." A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 07 [Thanks to estragon for the proofreading on my story once again. --tricia] Session VII: Missing the Feeling As the day passed on Thursday, the redness passed from my skin and the low-grade pain that reminded me of my beatings slowly faded. By the end of the day, I was missing it. No one had spanked me on Wednesday. Dominated me, fingered me, made me eat pussy, all that yes. But I hadn't felt the sweet pain of my ass being beaten in two days. The App buzzed me twice during the day and once at 7:30. Each time, it asked me a series of questions and asked me to relate my mood. I found myself disappointed when it buzzed and I wasn't ordered to report for a therapy session. I went to bed on Thursday night missing it. I woke up in the middle of the night with my cunt on fire, dripping wet and a vivid dream filling my head. I had been in Odessa's closet, kneeling between her naked thighs, hungrily licking her cunt while she called me dirty names. It was so lifelike. I had to get up and go downstairs to the family room and frig myself off. I was afraid that one of the kids would discover me there, but I couldn't stop myself. I had to get off. No one discovered me, thank god. My little self-session wasn't what I needed, but it let me get back to sleep. I woke up on Friday feeling naughty and still horny. I found myself needing a spanking and wondering when I would get it. I was scheduled for an out-of-the-office day, so I pulled on jeans. But I "forgot" to put on panties. I felt a twinge of guilt and a flood of naughtiness when I talked to my children. If one of the girls left the house without panties, I would have been furious. But then again, I blushed as I thought, maybe they had been doing just that and I had no idea. They were growing up. As soon as I got into the office to pick up my schedule, the App buzzed. I answered it excitedly, hoping for a therapy session. But it was only another check on my mood. I answered "8" out of possible ten when it asked me how bad a girl I was. I went about my job completely distracted. I began to crave the session, to look forward to being bent over a knee or a table and having my bottom spanked red. I took out my iPhone more than once and looked at it, willing it to ring. It disobeyed my wishes until 1:30. When it finally chimed for a session, I felt a surge of excitement rush through me and a throb of heat between my thighs. Until I saw the address; then my stomach seemed to fall down a deep hole. "The Reverend Cheryl Rusk," the App told me, "St. Lucille's Rectory." St. Lucille's was the Episcopal Church in town and nominally it was my church. I got there maybe once a month, if I was lucky. I wasn't sure I was a believer at all, but I felt guilty if I didn't go. And now I was being sent to the Rectory to see the priest. For a therapy session. As I started my car, I thought about refusing. But I remembered that I'd tried to refuse the appointment with Jennifer Edelman too and had wound up going. I tried to get myself to drive elsewhere, but in a few minutes I found myself pulling up to the Rectory. Getting out of the car and heading toward the front door, I thought about Cheryl Rusk and what I would say to her. She'd been at the parish for about a year and a half, she and her husband who worked at the University. She is a little older than I am; I think she has a couple of children who are in college. She's always been very friendly to me, but I've always been unsure how to respond. She answered the door moments after my knock. A slight woman, maybe 5'2" without her heels, she had straight blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She wore a tweed skirt and a black shirt with the priest's collar. She smiled at me and said, "Pamela, good. I've been expecting you. Please come in." She led me to an office in a wood-paneled room that was built to be masculine but had been somewhat transformed by a woman's touch. Pictures of her children were everywhere and on one wall were framed diplomas from some religious school. Cheryl sat in a chair in front of her desk, but left me standing. "I understand that you've been a bad girl?" she asked. I should have known better than to put that into the Therapy App. I hesitated for a moment. But this was what I wanted, so I answered truthfully. "Yes, Reverend Rusk. I have." "Would you like to tell me about it, Pamela?" "No, not really, Reverend." "Call me Cheryl, Pamela." "Okay." "How have you been a bad girl?" "I'm not wearing any panties." "Show me." "I'm sorry?" "Show me that you're not wearing panties. Open your pants. Push them down." "Please, no." "You'll be showing me in a minute anyway, when we get to your therapy. Do it." "Okay." Blushing madly, I unbuttoned the tops of my jeans and unzipped them. I hoped I could get away with that, but it wasn't to be. "Push them down. Let me see." I pushed my jeans down so they were sitting on my thighs. "Well, at least I don't have to add lying to your list of transgressions. What else have you been bad about?" "Last night, I uh, I got up in the middle of the night, to uh, well, you know. I was horny and...." "And what?" "I kind of touched myself." "You touched yourself? Is that it? You had to get up in the middle of the night to touch yourself? Tell me what you did." "I masturbated." "That wasn't so hard, was it, Pamela? Tell me again. And from now on, use my name when you talk to me." "I masturbated, Cheryl." "I understand. And what were you thinking about, Pamela?" "Odessa, Cheryl." "Who's Odessa? Odessa Adamms? Did you have a session with her?" "Yes, Cheryl. I had a session with Odessa Adamms. I had a session with her on Tuesday." "Well. What were you thinking about Odessa that made you get up and finger yourself last night?" "I was licking her, um, Cheryl." "Licking her? Do you lick a lot of women, Pamela?" "No, Rever...er, Cheryl. Only one. Dr. Gupta on Wednesday. At my therapy." "So, you are now dreaming of licking your therapists. Very interesting. If I spank you, will you want to lick me?" "Um..." I looked at her, wearing her collar; thought about the sermons she'd preached. "Would you want to put your tongue between my cunt lips and lick my clit until I come, Pamela?" "I don't know." "Cheryl..." "I don't know, Cheryl." "Why don't you know?" "Because you're a, you're my..." "Ah yes. Well, anyway, there won't be any pussy licking today, Pamela." "Okay, Cheryl." "But there will be some spanking." "Yes, Cheryl." "Do you think your cunt will get wet like your records say it does every time you get spanked?" "Um, it already is." "What already is what, Pamela?" "My cunt is already wet, Cheryl." "Then you have been a bad girl. Get over my lap, right now." I shuffled over to her and awkwardly folded myself over her lap, setting my hands on the floor to steady myself. The spanking began immediately. She used only her hands, but she was good at it. She moved the blows around some and sometimes just concentrated on a single area. Because my jeans were around my thighs, for the first time ever my legs didn't move apart. For that I was grateful. I was grateful for the spanking too. I had needed it so badly. I felt my ass slowly redden and reveled in the tears that built in my eyes and then dripped to the floor. When she stopped she said, "Get up. Go stand in the corner." I struggled to my feet. She pointed to one of the corners of the office that was empty of furniture. "Face in," she said as I shuffled over there. "Don't look anywhere but the corner." The doorbell rang just then. "Don't move," the Reverend said to me. She left the office and closed the door behind her, but in a minute the door opened again. "Pamela, don't move," she said again. Then, "Lucy, Pamela is still in the middle of her session. She needed corner time as well as a spanking. When your session is done, you'll stand in the corner and Pamela will leave." "Um, okay," said the tentative voice. I was dying of embarrassment that someone else was seeing me like this. "Pamela, Lucy has been coming to me for therapy for two months now. I want you to listen to her session." I heard her settle herself in her chair. "Lucy, you know what to do." I heard a rustle of clothing and then a couple of strained breaths as I guess Lucy lowered herself to the position I'd just been in. As Lucy's spanking began, I felt every blow that landed on her as another blow on my reddened bottom. It was like I was getting spanked all over again. Eventually it finished. "Stand up, Lucy, and go stand in the corner. Face in. Don't look anywhere else. Keep your skirt up." I heard Lucy's shuffling step as she moved to the corner opposite mine. "You can turn around now, Pamela." I shifted around. The other woman was standing in the corner, her red skirt hiked up around her waist. A pair of underwear was scrunched and pushed down around her mid-thighs. Her bottom was bright red. I can't say I remember anything else about her that day. "You can pull up your pants now, Pamela." "Yes, Reverend." I pulled them up, wincing as the denim squeezed my bottom. "You did well, Pamela. I hope that we will be able to make these sessions fairly regular. Will we see you in church on Sunday?" "Um...." "We will see you in church on Sunday, won't we Pamela?" "Yes, Reverend Rusk. On Sunday." "Good. Now get out of here. I need to talk to Lucy." I let myself out of the rectory. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 08 [Thank you to all the people who've given comments or votes or written me. I enjoy hearing from you. Thank you also to estragon for copyediting -Tricia] Session VIII: A New Week The Therapy App left me alone on Saturday, which I was partly happy about because I had to deal with the normal family stuff. But it also frustrated me because I was already needing another spanking and my encounter with Reverend Rusk had left me horny and craving another session like my one with Dr. Gupta. I was still feeling frustrated when I got up on Sunday morning and then got Alison, Jeff, and Sarah up for church. There was no way that Bob would be going. It was a cold, drizzly day, but I wore a dress anyway. Somehow I felt like I had to dress up for the Reverend. The kids, like they always do, dressed casually. I didn't feel like arguing. To say I was distracted when we got there was a serious understatement. As Cheryl led the service, I couldn't help but think about my therapy session on Friday. I vividly remembered the embarrassment I'd felt as I'd told her about my dream and my shame as I had lowered my pants at her command. I kept replaying the feeling of laying across her lap and the strength of her hands as the spanked me. And God help me, as I knelt, all I could think of was to imagine kneeling in front of Cheryl as she spread her legs for me. My panties were soaked by the end of Mass, I'm sure my pantyhose were too. I had hoped to just quickly sneak out at the end, but the final song was one of Sarah's favorites and I couldn't make her miss it. And so we wound up in the line heading out the door, waiting our turn to say "good morning" to the priest. I kept looking around for an excuse to leave the line at the same time as I was trying to keep my kids corralled. Alison was reasonable, thankfully. But Jeff and Sarah had the fidgets. And after the way I'd fidgeted through the service, I couldn't really criticize them. When we reached the front of the line, Cheryl talked to each of my kids first, asking them each something that showed that she paid attention to her parish and what happened to its members. Then she held out her hand toward me, "And Pamela, its good to see you back. Sorry you've been away for a while." Her hand held mine after we shook. It was warm and strong and I couldn't help but think of where it had last touched me. "Well, you know, life gets crazy sometimes, but I'm trying to get it back on track." "That's good to hear. It's sometimes hard to correct oneself. You need help. That's why we're here." "Um, true. Your sermon was good today by the way." "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I wrote it Friday afternoon after a counseling session that went very well. I think I was inspired." I blushed. "Er, that's good. I guess we're all the beneficiaries." "Yes, definitely, Pamela. But you didn't think I was too strict in places?" "No," I laughed nervously. "Not if that's what you think we need." "So how have you been, Pamela. Are you following your dreams?" I felt my knees go weak. For a moment I imagined that everyone around would know what we were talking about, that she was announcing that I dreamt about going down on another woman. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that no one really knew. The conversation was completely innocent on the outside. "No, I don't think so," I managed to say, "too many things get in the way." "Well, you know my number, Pam. Call me if you need help stripping those things away." "Um, I've got to get going, Reverend. The kids are going to start misbehaving." She laughed. "Okay, see you soon, Pamela." "Have a good day, Cheryl." I let Alison drive. I was too nervous. I didn't breathe easily again until we'd pulled out of the church parking lot in the car. On the way home my phone buzzed. It was a text message from "Therapy" and read only, "Make sure they *all* go. You stay." I had no idea what that meant until I got home. When we got into the house Bob greeted us all with a big smile. "Hey. Anyone want to go to the movies? I got four free tickets." "Cool!" Jeff said, unusually excited. He mentioned the latest thriller that he wanted to see. "Yeah, I want to see that too," Bob said. "I can't go," Alison said. "I need to go to Deb's house to work on a project. Can I borrow your car, mom?" "I think so, Ali," I said, my head spinning a bit. "Wait a minute: Where'd you win these passes, Bob?" "The cinema called, then sent tickets right to my phone. I thought it was junk at first but they said they were testing a new system for ticket sales." "Oh," I said a little stunned. The message on my phone made sense now. "I want to go too," Sarah chimed in. "What about you, honey?" Bob asked. "I don't think so. I've got laundry to deal with." "Can I use your car, Mom?" Ali asked again. "Yes, I guess so." "Are you sure you don't want to go?" Bob asked me. "No, I can't." "Okay, Sarah and Jeff said, just the three of us. We'll leave in 15." They all disappeared in different directions. My phone buzzed again; it was the Therapy App this time. "Click here when they are gone," the screen showed. Underneath was the text, "Don't change your clothes. You look good." I blushed and then started wondering about how it knew what I looked like. A second later Ali reappeared in torn jeans and a tight t-shirt. I was suddenly aware of just how big my little girl was getting. She just grabbed my keys, grabbed her coat, but didn't put it on, called out a quick, "see ya," and was out the door. I did actually have laundry to do, so I collected it out of the hampers and took it all down to the laundry in the basement, sorting the whites into the washer and the colors for the next wash. I was still there when Bob stuck his head in the doorway and said, "we're out of here, honey. See you after the movie." "Okay. Have a good time!" I called back. I started the washer and then went upstairs to get my phone. I pulled it out and pushed the button. It immediately responded with "Put on a cup of coffee then sit and wait." What could I do? I put on the coffee. Ten or so minutes later the front door opened. Startled, I got up front the kitchen table and went into the living room. Jennifer Edelman was standing inside the door, taking off her big winter coat. A backpack lay casually on the floor next to her. She wasn't at all dressed for the weather either: she was wearing a mid-thigh length, pleated plaid skirt and a tight white blouse. Knee-high socks were her only leg coverings. Her lips were bright red, her makeup playful and slutty. Her hair pleated into two braids. She looked like a private-school girl in a porn movie. And God help me, she looked hot to me. "Hi, Mrs. B. The house looks good. I haven't been here in ages. Take my coat, will you Mrs. B." She held it out and I mutely took it. "Just a second," she said as I moved to hang it up. She squatted down and pulled her tablet computer out of her knapsack. She stood up and handed me the bag. "Don't hang them in the closet, Mrs. B. Put them on your bed. I'll be in the kitchen." Like I was in a dream, I trotted up the stairs and deposited the coat and bag on my bed as I'd been told. Then I came back downstairs to find Jennifer seated at the kitchen table. She smiled sweetly and said, "Coffee, please. Black with sugar." I poured a mug full of coffee and put in on the table in front of her with the sugar bowl and a spoon. She took a moment to fix it right and take a sip and then she looked back at me standing there. "Back up a step, Mrs. B, let me look at you." I backed up. "Turn around, slowly. You do look nice, Mrs. B. But you look tense. Are you worried about something?" "I don't know why you're here." "You need a session, Mrs. B. You know, you do look good in that dress, but I think it'll have to come off." "Here?" I squeaked. "Yes. Here. Now." As she sipped her coffee, I went through the awkward contortions to unzip the back of my dress and slide it off. Jennifer indicated a chair and said, "Put that there." I folded my dress over the back of it. "I think you need a better class of bras, Mrs. B. Where do you buy them? "JC Penny. Marshalls. Like that." "No Frederick's? No Victoria's Secret?" "I have one." "You should get more. But take that one off now." I reached behind me again to unhook my bra. My traitorous nipples were hard. "Have you ever tried front closing?" "I've had a couple. I can't get used to them." "Really? They're so easy to get off. Let me show you." Jennifer stood up and quickly unbuttoned her blouse and then unhooked a white lace bra in front. She tossed the shirt and bra casually on top of my dress. "See?" All I could see where how firm and tight her breasts were. They were grapefruit sized, and her nipples were also hard. I gulped as I noticed. She smiled sweetly and sat back down, not bothering to sweep her skirt back underneath her. "You can put your bra down now, Mrs. B." I mutely complied. "Do you like my tits, Mrs. B? You're staring at them." "What? Oh, they're very nice. Mine were like that once." "Yours are great for a forty-something woman." "Thank you, Jennifer." "You're welcome. Take off the rest of it now, Mrs. B. Show me all of your glory like you did on Wednesday." "Can I sit down?" "Until you get them off." I pushed my panties and pantyhose down and sat in the chair to kick off my heels and take the rest of my underwear off. "Put your heels back on," she said, "and stand up." I stood in front of her wearing just my heels, a three-strand necklace of mixed-colored beads, my rings and earrings. I've never felt more naked in my life. "Get yourself some coffee, Mrs. B. and sit down." I reached up in the cupboard to get another mug then poured some coffee, opened the fridge to get the cream, feeling the blast of cold air on my naked skin. I was about to sit down again when Jennifer asked, "Do you have some cookies, Mrs. B? You used to keep some really good cookies down in the lazy susan." "I'll get some," I said. That required me to get a small plate down, then squat in the corner to reach the bottom shelf of the lazy susan, before I could put them on the plate and bring them back to the table. All the time, Jennifer sat there, topless, watching me and sometimes typing on her tablet. It was all so weird. I sat down opposite her, tucking my leg underneath me. It seemed somehow more demure than parking my bare bottom on the chair. I took a sip of coffee and waited. Jennifer finished typing something and the looked back at me. "I'm so pleased with your progress, Mrs. B. The report of your session with Sathi was a sublime read." She must have seen the confusion on my face. "Sathi Gupta. She's wonderful, don't you think?" "Um, yes." "And you enjoyed licking her cunt?" "Sorry?" "I asked if you enjoyed licking Sathi's cunt, Mrs. B. Come on, don't be shy with me. We've known each other since I was in High School." "That's kind of the problem." "How long I've known you? Come on, I'm one of your therapists, Pamela. Tell me. Did you enjoy it?" I looked down at the table and whispered, "Very much." "And you dreamed about licking Odessa Adamms' cunt too, right?" "Yes." "And what about mine? Would you like to lick my cunt too, Mrs. B.?" Her eyes locked to mine. I fought a million different battles in my head. Lust. Propriety. How sexy she was. How young she was. The feel of her fingers in me the other day. The child who had baby sat my kids. The look of her tits. The... "Yes," I finally said. "Very much." Just then the washing machine buzzed. "What's that?" Jennifer asked, "Are you doing laundry?" "Yes," I answered, my eyes on her nipples, unable to tear them away. "Oh, good. We'll have to move the clothes to the drier later. But first, I've got some questions." We sat there for the next ten minutes as she asked me questions that drifted from the mundane, "how many eggs do you eat in a week?" to the highly personal, "when was your last period?" to the even more personal, "what were you thinking about the last time you diddled yourself?" All the answers went into her tablet. My blushes were ignored. She was completely unemotional as she asked and answered. Finally she finished and looked up from the tablet with a bright smile. "Thank you. Your answers will help me in my thesis and will also help guide your therapy. We have a database of hundreds of profiles like yours. I wish I could give them all the personal attention I've been able to give you, but I really only get to thirty or forty percent." Jennifer closed the flap on the top of her tablet and stood up, her breasts bouncing gently from the movement. "Grab your clothes. Let's go up to your room." She turned and headed for the stairs. "What for?" "What do you think?" she looked over her shoulder and smiled with laughter in her eyes and her tongue slightly sticking out. I grabbed all the stuff and hurried to follow her. She was far enough ahead of me that I was practically looking up her skirt when I got to the bottom of the stairs. I immediately looked down when I realized that. And then I wondered why I had. She was faster in her heels than I was in mine. When I got to my bedroom, she was seated on the side of my bed -- my husband's and my bed -- with her leg crossed over her knee. It seemed a contrast to be so demure with her breasts brazenly on view. "Be a dear, Mrs. B, and take off my shoes for me." I knelt in front of her and unzipped her short boots and took them off, one then the other. I glanced upwards once while doing it and didn't see any underwear. Maybe they're flesh colored, I told myself. Or maybe not. She patted the bed when she was finished. "Come up on the bed, Mrs. B. Lie down on your back." I stood but I hesitated before I got on the bed. "My husband..." "Oh, don't worry about Bob, Pamela. You'll have time to change the sheets before he's home." I swallowed hard, but I followed her directions. "Put your head down here," she indicated the lower end of the bed. "Scoot up the bed. Put your feet up on the head board. That's my girl." "Now, slide your legs apart. No, keep them up there. Are you wet?" "Yes," I said nervously. "Touch yourself." "I don't want to." "Yes you do." She was right. I put my right hand between my thighs and slid it along my opening. I shuddered. "Good. Keep it up. Slowly now. Very slowly." Jennifer stood up. I realized my eyes were closed when I felt her weight get off the bed. I turned my head and opened them to look at her. She smiled slightly and reached behind her to undo her skirt, letting it drop to the floor. She hadn't been wearing any panties and now she was fully on view. I remembered what she'd said about my pubic hair the other day. I remembered because she didn't have any. She was shaved bare. I could see the outer folds of her sex clearly. Oh god, there was nothing hidden. She got up on the bed and stood over me, one foot on either side of me. I continued stroking myself as she'd commanded, but I found it hard to keep going slowly. From my position, with her legs apart, I could see the pink, wet inside of her pussy. And then she slowly lowered herself to her knees. Her pussy was just inches from my mouth. Her eyes were locked on mine. My eyes kept flicking back and forth between her eyes and the pink beautiful view of her pussy. "Do you want me to lower my cunt onto your face, Pamela?" "Yes, please." I was more eager than I thought I'd be. "What will you do if I do?" "I'll lick you." "What part of me will you lick?" "Your pussy. I'll lick your pussy." "I don't have a pussy, Mrs. B. I have a cunt. A juicy, wet, slippery, horny cunt. Is that what you want to lick?" "Yes, Jennifer, your cunt. I want to lick your cunt." "Will you make my me come when you lick my cunt, Mrs. B.?" "Yes. Of course." "Are you still playing with yourself?" She looked over her shoulder, "Oh yes, you are. Good girl. Now, tell me what you want." "I want, I want you to sit on my face so I can lick your cunt, Jennifer." She lowered her self an inch, two, then backed up. "Please," I found myself pleading. "Please, sit on my face." She lowered herself all the way. I opened my mouth to kiss her lower lips and my tongue flicked forward to taste her, to lick her, to please her. If Dr. Gupta tasted of spice, Jennifer tasted of honey. The sweet complex honey from bees fed on wild flowers. And like a flower her pussy slowly opened up to me as I made love to her. Her clit swelled slowly and tantalizingly above my tongue and her moans as I licked it were music to my ears. I found myself fingering my own sex in echo to how I licked Jennifer. As my tongue glided over her lips, my finger traced my own. As my lips squeezed her clit, I squeezed my own clit between my forefingers. When I thrust my tongue into her cleft, I thrust my fingers into my own. All until she reached behind herself and grabbed my hand, pulling it around and sucking my fingers into her own mouth. She started moving on top of me then, rubbing her cunt in my face taking yet more control of the situation. Her moans became deeper, more guttural and she alternated between frantic rubbing and slow hard thrusts. I had trouble breathing, her thighs held my face in place and her cunt alternately covered my mouth and nose. She was using me, fucking my face, all for her own pleasure. And I loved it. She came in a gush of her fluids and a long slow cry of pleasure. And she collapsed over me, finally lifting her sex off my face as she supported herself by her hands above my head. From up close, I watched her pussy flinch repeatedly; each spasm eliciting a squeak of pleasure from my former babysitter. "Oh, that was nice, baby. Very nice," she said. "Who would have known that Pamela Burgin was such a slutty, pussy eating MILF? I had fantasies about you when I babysat, but, wow." "You had fantasies about me?" I said still trying to catch my breath a little. "Never mind that," she said, getting up off the bed, suddenly full of energy again. "Get up. Time to get up, Mrs. B." "Why?" I said as I slowly rolled toward the edge of the bed. My face was wet with her juices and there was a damp spot on the sheets. I was all too aware that I hadn't come yet. "You have laundry to do. I want you to go down stairs right now and move the laundry into the dryer. I'll be down in a minute." "Yes, Jennifer, okay." I reached for my robe. "No robes. Get your naked ass down stairs." She was reaching for her backpack. I wasn't used to walking through my house naked. Or, is it naked if you're wearing your heels? I don't know. But it was weird. I went down to the first floor and around to the cellar stairs and down to the laundry. She'd told me to move the clothes, so I shifted clothes from the washer to the dryer. And I was bent over the laundry basket lifting clothes for the dryer when Jennifer quietly descended the stairs. "Nice view," she said from behind me and I practically jumped out of my skin. "You startled me," I said, standing up and looking back at her. I gulped when I saw what she was wearing. It was a strap-on dildo, large and very pink. I'd seen pictures of them, and seen one in a dirty movie once, but never seen one in the flesh. Well, I guess not flesh, but you know what I mean. "Finish loading, Mrs. B. I'll wait. I like watching you anyway." Totally self conscious, I loaded the washer and put in some detergent. I turned around and leaned back on the washer. "Now what? "Turn them on, of course," Jennifer said dryly. I pulled the knobs on both machines, starting them into their cycles. "Sit up on the dryer." I wriggled up. The vibrations rose through my bottom and spread though me. "Spread your legs," she ordered, her hands on my knees gently pressing. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 08 My legs opened and Jennifer moved closer, kissing me, her dildo pushed up between our bellies. The dryer's vibrations throbbed through both of us. I was so aware of her being a woman, of the difference in our ages, in our nakedness. I had never done anything like this with Bob. But here I was, with a girl a few years older than Alison. "I like the way you kiss," Jennifer said. "But you're going to love this." She backed up half a step and grabbed the dildo in her hand and pointed it directly at my opening. Then she moved forward, sliding the pink plastic cock deep inside of my very slippery opening. Oh, damn, it felt good. The pulses of the spinning dryer gave me one sensation, the thrusts of her dildo gave me another. I was already close from everything that had happened so far. "Fuck, oh fuck me," I remember calling out just as an orgasm washed over me. Jennifer kept going, still pumping her dildo in and out of me through the orgasm and after. I lost track of the comes she gave me. It felt like one building into another flowing into another, shuddering, screaming into yet another. Her lips found my nipples and sucked, sending me over another edge, even though she'd stopped pumping. The dildo was still inside of me, and the dryer still spun beneath me, and her sucking my nipple was all I needed to come again. Damn. Jennifer slipped her dildo out of me and helped me down onto my very shaky legs. She guided me to sit in the cold plastic chair where I sometimes put the laundry basket. Then she reached down to start to unbuckle the harness that held the dildo. "Did you know, Mrs. B. that when I used to baby sit for you, when the kids were in bed, I used to come down here and turn on your washing machine right to the spin cycle. Then I'd take off my pants and get up there and play with myself. Did it almost every time. Sometimes I hoped you'd catch me." She slipped the dildo out of the leather straps. "I didn't have a dildo then though." I watched her climb on top of the washer just as the spin cycle started. I watched, fascinated, as she took the dildo and thrust it into her smooth, shaved, cunt, sliding it in and out. "Oh God, Mrs. B. this is good. Oh god. Mmmm. You should try this some time. Uh. Uh. Oh yeah. Fuuuck. It's so good. Not like getting fucked by someone, but good when you don't have a choice. Fuck. Yeah. Oh, nice. Coming...." I couldn't tell what shudders where hers and what were caused by the washing machine. She fucked herself all through the spin cycle, obviously enjoying herself the whole time. And I didn't look away once. I was absolutely entranced. She slipped the dildo out of herself and slid off the washer when it slowed down. "Clean that off for me, Mrs. B." she said, handing the dildo for me. I knew she didn't mean with soap and water. I found myself eager to taste her again and I sucked the dildo into my mouth like a slut. Like the slut Dr. Gupta told me I was, I guess. Jennifer took the dildo back from me and told me we should head back upstairs. Mostly ignoring me, she trotted up the stairs. I followed her out of the cellar and back up to my room. She was buttoning her blouse when I got up there. She'd left her bra off. "Better get dressed, Mrs. B. Alison'll be home soon." "Oh shit," I thought. I pulled jeans out of my bureau and new panties and a bra and a blouse. Jennifer headed down the stairs before I could really start to get dressed. I heard the front door open when she was still on the stairs. Rushing to pull on my clothes I heard Alison's excited greeting of Jennifer and Jennifer's happy reply. They moved away from the stairs and I stopped being able to hear them. I finished dressing and was about to head down, then I noticed Jennifer's bra on the floor next to her backpack and her coat on the chair. Her dildo and harness were still on the bed. I stuffed the bra and dildo in her backpack and brought them downstairs with me, looking for my daughter and the woman who'd just fucked me. I found them in the family room, catching up on old times. Alison seemed oblivious to Jennifer's breasts pressing into her blouse or her disheveled look. (She was almost always oblivious to how I looked.) They talked for a while as I stood there silently, trying to come up with an excuse for why I was standing there holding Jennifer's knapsack and coat like a hired servant. I was especially nervous when Jennifer said, "You're gonna be 18 soon, right, Ali?" "Three weeks. I'm not sure what I'm doing. Probably we'll have a sleep over. Do you want to come?" Jennifer looked at me. I must have been white. "I can't," she said. "But how about I take you out to dinner sometime for your birthday." "Sounds like fun," Alison said. "Cool. Give me your number, I'll call you." Alison rattled off her numbers and Jennifer put them into her tablet. Where'd she get that? I thought. She'd left it in the kitchen. She must have grabbed it when she came down. "Ali, I can't wait to catch up more, but I have to get going. I got thesis writing to do." Alison walked Jennifer to the door. Jennifer grabbed her knapsack and coat from me as she went by. I just watched them, leaning back against the wall, hoping it would hold me up. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 09 Session IX: Just Another Manic Monday It wasn't until later that night that I realized that, once again, Jennifer hadn't spanked me. Why was I so disappointed by that? Why did I crave correction from her so much, when I was getting such wonderful pleasure from her? I didn't know. But I did know by Sunday night that I was yearning for a spanking. It was, in theory, an office day on Monday. Feeling a mood I hadn't felt in years, I put on a dress and stay-up thigh high stockings. The weather prediction was for a blustery day, and I knew that I would feel the cold up my skirt while I was outside. But I sort of looked forward to that. For extra measure, I dug into the bottom of my underwear drawer and found my thong. It wasn't going to feel as naughty as going without panties, but it would be close. I practically dove for my phone when it went off at 10 o'clock. In my haste, I fumbled my password the first time, but I got it right on my second try. I had a session! I couldn't wait. "Natalie Flanders" was my therapist's name and she had an address not too far from campus. I made up a service call and headed out to my car. Following the app's directions, I soon found my way into a suburban neighborhood, pulling up into a nondescript, blue, two-story house, with a single car in the driveway. I pulled in behind that car and climbed the steps to the front door. Just before I hit the doorbell my bladder checked in with me. This morning's coffee was starting to catch up with me. That's embarrassing, I thought to myself as I pushed the buzzer. The door was opened by a middle-aged woman in jeans and a red knitted blouse. She had short brown hair and brown eyes, and like me, she was somewhat overweight. She wore big glasses and matching big earrings dangling from her ears. "Mrs. Flanders," I said, holding up my iPhone. "Pam Burgin. I'm here for a therapy appointment." "Yes, yes, come in. Please." She let me in and I noticed that she took a look around the neighborhood as I went by her. I stopped inside the door, in an immaculately kept living room. There was a couch, a couple of formal looking chairs and a coffee table. A set of magazines was piled neatly in one corner of the table. A pair of impressionist prints hung on the wall. She seemed pleased that I was looking around. "I was in therapy too until a few months ago," she said with a smile. "Before I went in, I was a horrible housekeeper. Now, well, I've reformed." This was new to me. She used to be in therapy. "I didn't know you could go from receiving to giving." "It's a fairly new part of the program," she said. "This is my second time. I'm excited to be doing this." She seemed so earnest, so hoping to do good. "Um, Mrs. Flanders. Or can I call you Natalie?" "No, Mrs. Flanders will do." "Okay. Mrs. Flanders, before we start, do you mind if I use your bathroom? I had a little too much coffee this morning." She stepped back and looked me up and down. I saw the wheels turning behind her eyes. "No. You can wait." "I really could use...." "No," she repeated. "You can wait." She walked over to one of the formal chairs and sat down. "Come over here, Pamela." "But...." "Listen to me, Pamela," she said firmly. "Come over here for your therapy. You can use the bathroom afterwards." I looked at her for a second and then walked to where she was sitting, all too aware of the pressure from my bladder. She was sitting up straight in the chair, her lap flat in front of her. She indicated her side and I stood next to her. "Are you wearing panties, Pamela? I understand you don't always wear them when you report for therapy." Geez, did they tell the therapists everything? "I'm wearing a thong," I said. "Panty hose?" "Stay up," I answered. "Raise your dress and show me." Obediently, I collected the fabric of my skirt up my sides to reveal my thong. The white fabric covering my sex was soon visible. "You could use a little trimming," she said to me, making me blush. "Take them down. No, off, then get over my knees, Pamela." "Yes, ma'am," I whispered and switched my hands to my thong and pushed them down. As I bent to move them around my shoes and off my feet, my face was near Mrs. Flanders' breasts. She was wearing a strong dose of perfume that made my nose itch. I stood up again and gathered my skirt again, then bent over her knees. "Give me your right hand," she said. I bent my far hand back over me and she grabbed it and held it, bent upwards. It held me immobile; any squirming would wrench my arm painfully. "Count," she said and whacked my ass. I was actually kind of thankful that she made me count her spanks. It gave me a way to keep my mind off my bladder. The position I was in put pressure in just the wrong place and I felt the need to go get even worse. But soon, at about number 25, my bottom started burning from her blows. She was a little clumsy. Once she even said, "Oh sorry," when her blow landed awkwardly. But she followed it up with an even harder slap. "No I'm not. You will be though," she corrected herself. I felt my legs start to drift apart on number 40. At 50, I started hoping that she would smack me between my thighs or finger me when she was done. But she kept raining the blows on my ass. She stopped at one hundred. "You'd be surprised how much that hurts your hand," she said. Then, "But your ass is nice and red. You know, you're very wet between your legs." She continued to hold my hand and put a little pressure on my arm. "Yes, ma'am. I know I am. I always get wet." "Does this get you horny?" she seemed surprised. "Um, yes. Very much so." "Do you expect me to do something about that?" "Please?" "Don't be ridiculous. I don't do things like that. Now get up." She let go of my hand. I got up as awkwardly as ever. It really wasn't an easy position to get out of. "You can use the bathroom now," she said. I looked down at my thong, lying on the ground then around the room. "Oh, right," she said and stood up. She walked to the archway out of the living room. "This way." Mrs. Flanders gestured me through the archway and into a guest half-bath. I walked by her and tried to close the door, but she didn't let me. "No. Sit. Don't pee yet." Blushing I lifted my dress around me and sat tenderly on the toilet. My ass was on fire and though the toilet seat was cool, it was also hard. I looked up at Mrs. Flanders. "Now may I?" I asked. "Are you still horny?" "Very much." "Would you like to do something about it?" "May I? Please?" I couldn't believe I was asking to play with myself. And right in front of her, obviously. "You may choose. Pee or masturbate." I looked up at her, maddened, feeling the war of conflicting needs in my groin. I had to pee, but I was fucking horny. My face as red as my ass must be, I leaned back against the back of the toilet and spread my legs a little wider. My right hand moved to my sex and I closed my eyes and began to pleasure myself, sliding my fingers into my opening. "Don't close your eyes, you slut," Mrs. Flanders said to me. "Open them and look at me if you're going to finger-fuck your cunt in my bathroom." My eyes opened immediately; I was attuned to her command at this point. She held my eyes as I diddled myself. I was dripping wet from the spanking. My fingers slid in and out without resistance. Needing to pee intensified everything. As did being watched by my "therapist" who stood over me, her hand twisting on the door handle, her lower lip folded under her upper teeth. In seconds I got close. I let my fingers slide up out of my pussy and find my clit. With my middle finger, I pressed and vibrated against myself, like I'd seen a cellist do to his strings once. Closer, closer. "Yeah," I groaned as reached the crest. I came and as the orgasm flooded my nerves with pleasure, my bladder released. I shuddered with relief that was like a booster shot to the orgasm and the pee jetted into the toilet bowl beneath me. I was momentarily ashamed at the pee, but then I realized that compared to having been spanked and masturbating myself to an orgasm in front of this woman, the pee was nothing. I held my fingers against my clit and just let the feelings wash over me. "Come back when you're finished," Mrs. Flanders said unsteadily and turned back to the living room, leaving the door open. I considered going again. I could have. I was still that horny. But I knew I shouldn't. I concentrated on squeezing my bladder to empty it completely, then took some paper and wiped. I automatically reached to pull up my panties then remembered that I didn't have them on. I stood and flushed, then went back to the living room. Mrs. Flanders was back in her chair, my thong held nervously in her hands, which rested on her lap. "That was very, um" she paused. "Very educational to watch." She looked down at her hands, remembering she held my thong. She held it out to me. "Here." I reached out and took them. "Thank you for my therapy, Mrs. Flanders," I said. "Am I done? May I go?" "Oh, yes," she said. She got up and walked me the few feet to the door. "I hope the rest of your day goes well." "Thank you," I said, making my underwear as small as I could inside my fist. "And you have a good day too." I winced as I slid into the car. My bottom hurt so nicely. My thong went into in my purse when I got into the car; somehow it never came out. I had meant to put it on when I got back to the office, but I got distracted. I'm not sure how you forget you're not wearing any panties, especially when you're wearing a dress, but I did. Maybe it just felt good. Or maybe it was the fact that my ass hurt so much. The app went off again at 3. "Dr Hannah Barrows," it said with the address. Was this another shrink, I wondered? That would make sense, getting other therapists involved in this kind of therapy. But when I got to her office, I found out that Dr. Barrows was a GP in a private practice. I wasn't really sure when I walked into the waiting room and saw a man in his seventies and a pregnant woman in her thirties waiting in the uncomfortable seats, reading out of date magazines. Should I go up to the receptionist? Would she know about my appointment? What else could I do, I figured, and went to the frosted glass window that separated the waiting room from the rest of the office. Behind the desk was a middle-aged Hispanic woman wearing multicolored nurses' scrubs. She looked up at me. "Can I help you?" she asked. "Pamela Burgin." I said. "Um, I think I have an appointment with Doctor Barrows?" "You think? Let me see." She looked at her computer and clicked the mouse a few times. "Oh yes, you're right here. Right on time too. Please have a seat and Janet will be right with you." I sat down gingerly on one of the hard padded seats, squirming to find a comfortable position. I hadn't, when the door opened and a tiny red-headed woman, also in scrubs and holding a clipboard in her hand, appeared. "Pamela?" she asked. I stood up while the other two patients in the waiting room glared daggers at me. She led me into the back, weighing me and measuring my height before directing me to an exam room. Inside she took my blood pressure, pulse rate, and my temperature, noting the results on her pad. "Does your pulse normally run high?" she asked. "Um, what? Oh no. It's been just a, um, eventful day." "Okay. The doctor will be with you in a moment. Please undress to your underwear." She left me in the room. I gulped because I had left my purse with my thong in my car. "She's a doctor," I told myself as took off my dress and hung it on a hanger provided on the back of the door. I got back up on the exam table in my bra and stockings, all too aware that my still lubricated sex was making an obvious stain on the white paper pulled across the table. I sat there uncomfortably, looking around and reliving my morning's therapy even though I wanted to think about almost anything else. In a few moments there was a knock on the door, after which it opened. In came a tall, thin, woman with round, wire-rimmed glasses and dirty-blonde hair braided and pinned up on her head. She wore a white coat and had a stethoscope hanging over her neck. She held out her hand, "Pamela," she asked. "I'm Hannah Barrows." "Nice to meet you, Dr. Barrows," I said, all too aware of my semi-nakedness. "I don't need to ask you why you're here," she said, pulling an smart phone out of her pocket and looking down on it. "This is your second therapy session of the day, yes?" "Yes, Doctor. I had a session this morning." "And this says that you had a spanking and an orgasm? Self provided?" I blushed. "Um, yes Doctor." "Well, I'd like to take a look at your vagina to make sure everything is going well. I see I don't need to ask you to take off your panties," she arched her eyebrow. "No, Doctor." "When was the last time you did a breast exam?" "Um, it's been a while." "Hmm, okay, please take off your bra and lie back on the table." She turned and washed her hands in the sink. I reached behind me and unclasped my bra, leaning back on the table and holding my bra awkwardly until Dr. Barrows turned around and took it from me. She pulled the stirrups up from the side of the table. I knew enough to put my feet in them. Usually I had a modesty sheet over me in this position. But now, I felt totally exposed, all too aware that my nipples were engorged and my pussy was increasingly slippery. The doctor stood next to me and began to examine my breasts, sliding her bare hands around them to check for lumps and squeezing them gently at first and more firmly after. She flicked her thumbs over my nipples and I couldn't help but moan. "That's a healthy reaction," the doctor said and flicked my nipples again. I bit my lower lip. "Does that feel good, Pamela?" she asked, holding the pad of her thumbs on the tip of my nipples and slowly making circles. "Yes, Doctor," I answered breathily. "Very much." "Good. It is supposed to." She let go of my breasts and moved to the end of the table, standing before my opened legs. "You have a very healthy lubrication response," she said with a little smile, just before she ran her forefinger slowly along my opening from bottom to top. "Damn," I sighed. Her touch was delicate, yet firm. "Yes, 'damn' indeed," she repeated before she rotated her wrist and plunged her middle two fingers into me, sliding in as far as she could before pressing upward to my g-spot. I inhaled quickly as the shocks of pleasure ran through my nerves. "An excellent pleasure response," she said, and then pulled her fingers out of my cunt. She looked at her fingers then licked them. "Hmm, I'd have to run a test to be exact, but I'm pretty sure your pH is right where it should be." She turned around and opened a drawer, pulling out a foot-long ruler. She faced me again and looked at my face and caught my eyes with hers. I didn't see her move the ruler, but I felt it, slapping with a sting into my sex. "Ow," I whispered, not wanting to be heard. "Ow," I said again as she struck me once more. "Ow?" she asked. "Does it hurt?" "Yes, Doctor." "But does it also turn you on?" She reached out and touched my now swollen clit. "I can see your clitoris is reacting positively to it." "Yes," I moaned. She was manipulating my clit with her thumb and forefinger. "Yes to both, I imagine." She released my clit and then began to hit me again slowly, moving the blows all around my crotch, slapping my clit, and each of my labia, both low and high. I let my head flop back on the table and closed my eyes and let the sensations wash over me. She didn't hit me many times. Maybe twenty, but I was approaching an orgasm when she stopped. "Okay, Pamela. Very healthy reaction. Now, please step off the table and bend over it. I would like to check Mrs. Flanders' handiwork." I clumsily took my feet out of the stirrups and climbed down off the table. "Just lie over it," the doctor said. "Face down." I bent, exposing my bottom and sex to her totally. "Hmmm," she said, gently manipulating my butt cheeks, "she did very nice work. Your derriere is a nice shade of red still. I don't think I need to do any more reddening." I started to rise up, "Oh, no," she put a hand on my back. "Stay right there." I heard her turn and then heard the snap of a latex glove pulled onto her hand. She stood behind me and I couldn't tell what she was doing until she said, "Try to relax, Pamela." Then I felt the cool slipperiness of a lubricated finger press against and then enter my anus. At least it was one finger at first. In a second I felt another slide in next to it. "Fuck," I whispered, without thinking. "If you insist," she giggled. Slowly, ever so slowly, she slid her fingers in and out of my ass, twisting them as they entered or left me. "Fuuuck," I said as the pleasure started to build. "Try to move your legs more apart," she said clinically, pausing her movements. It was hard to move like that with her fingers where they were, but I managed. She resumed. My breathing sped up and became very shallow. My whole world seemed centered in my anus. Just when I didn't think I could take anything else, she reached her other hand down and between my thighs. She fumbled for a second until she found my clit and squeezed it hard between her thumb and forefinger. I passed out then. I'd never done that before, ever. But the orgasm was so intense that I lost consciousness in a pleasurable nirvana. When I came to, probably no more than a couple of seconds later, Dr. Barrows' fingers were out of me and she was once again washing her hands in the sink. "I don't think there's anything at all wrong with you, Pamela," she said. She turned and picked up her clipboard and a pen and made some notes on the paper. "But I'm a little worried about your black out. I'd like to follow up with you on Friday. Can you come in late in the afternoon? The office normally closes at three, and I'd like to see you then." "Um, sure, Doctor. Friday at three." "Good. Leave your email with my receptionist and I'll send you an appointment notice. We'll give you a more thorough examination, okay?" She didn't wait for an answer, just let herself out of the room. I got dressed and let myself out, walking a little unsteadily, still recovering from her exam. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 10 [My thanks to estragon for his editing of my tangled prose. Postings will slow down now, I'm afraid. I caught up with what I had written before I started posting. And life has gotten busy. So, please be patient with me, dear readers. One more is almost ready, then, I don't know how long it'll be. This is a little mellower than the previous chapters. I hope you still like it. -Tricia] Session X: An Amazing Afternoon Tuesday dawned as one of those days of late March that promised Spring. When the alarm went off, there was light peeking through the windows in a way we hadn't seen in a while. The weather report said it would be warm, so I dug a lightweight dress out of my closet. I'd worn my only thong yesterday, and I thought I might just skip my panties today, but I settled on something skimpy and cotton. Last night I'd surfed over to Victoria's Secret and ordered myself five new thongs to wear. Of course, they wouldn't come for a couple of days. I wasn't the only one who was dressing for Spring. I had to send Alison back to pick something else to wear to school. She couldn't go looking like that. She'd tried to go without a bra, for God's sake. Of course, it only made me wish I could get away without one. Ah, to be that young again. But, truthfully, I felt younger than I had in years. And I was wondering what the day would bring for me. It had certainly been one surprise after another for the last two weeks. When I got to the college, I found myself noticing the students -- the girls anyway -- in a way I'd never really done before. The ladies of the campus were all dressed for this Spring-like day in short skirts or shorts and any number of them were bra-less. For the first time in my life, I found myself wondering if any had left their panties at home as well as their bras. I found myself thinking about kneeling in front of them like I'd knelt in front of Dr. Gupta or having them ride my face like Jennifer had done on Sunday. It was hard to concentrate. Even the simple act of slipping into the bathroom to pee had, since my experience with Natalie Flanders, become erotic for me. I surprised myself by imagining watching another woman pee like she had watched me. Would I be as affected by it as she seemed to be? My pussy was damp with excitement all morning long. I tried to throw myself into my work -- trying to spec out a new server for the Library -- but my mind kept wandering. I leapt for my phone when I heard it ring just before noon. I signed into the Therapy App quickly and eagerly read the name: "Cheryl Rusk," it informed me, but instead of the Rectory, it listed "St. Agnes' Woods." I told my co-workers I was out for lunch and got into my car and headed to where I'd been directed. St. Agnes' Woods were ten mostly undeveloped acres owned by the Parish on the edge of town. A dirt road led off the bumpy paved road into the trees and eventually came to a clearing far from most signs of civilization. In the clearing there was a building that used provide some income to the church as a retreat center. It wasn't used much anymore, but I'd been to the site for a couple of church events over the years. When I emerged from the wooded road and into the clearing, there was one car parked in front of the two-story wooden structure. I pulled up next to it and got out of my car. I started toward the door when I heard a call from behind me. "Pamela, over here," Reverend Rusk's voice carried across the clearing. I turned and saw her. She was standing on the other side of the dirt and mud parking area by the covered pavilion that was mostly used for church picnics. I walked across the squishy lot toward her, wishing I'd worn some kind of shoes that didn't have heels. But I wasn't expecting to be out in the mud, had I? As I walked Cheryl's eyes were on me, looking me over from head to toe. I returned the favor. She was wearing what I thought of as her normal attire: a dark-gray, knee-length wool skirt and a black blouse, with a white clerical collar at her neck. Unlike her normal dress, though, she had sneakers on her feet. She smiled when I got over to her: we stood on the brown grass at the edge of the cement floor of the pavilion. "Pamela, listen to me," she said immediately. "I want you to take off your clothes and put them on the table there." I looked at her for a moment, then undid my dress's buttons that went from collar to waist and pulled it off over my head. I folded it neatly and put it on a reasonably clean spot of the table. I stepped out of my heels onto the cement floor, immediately feeling the cold through the almost non-existent protection of my pantyhose. I picked up my shoes and put them onto the table, then took off my slip, bra, hose and finally panties. I arranged these all on top of my dress, turning my shoes over on top of the pile in case we got a gust of wind. I turned around back to Cheryl feeling chilled. The warm Spring day wasn't so warm when you were naked and outside. I don't think I have to say anything about the state of my nipples. There's a huge power differential when you are naked and someone else is not. I felt the Reverend's gaze slip over my exposed body. I was cataloging my faults as I followed her eyes. Saggy breasts, need to lose weight around my middle, untrimmed pubes, cellulite on my hips. She walked around behind me, continuing her inspection. A thought passed through my mind and I couldn't contain a snort of laughter. "Is something funny, Pamela?" "Sorry." "No, what made you laugh?" "I couldn't help thinking: 'Does this forest make my ass look big?'" She laughed an easy laugh. "Why yes it does, I'm afraid, Pamela. Your ass is big and very spankable. Put your hands on the post there and lean against it." I did as I was told and without further ado my bottom was treated to a series of slaps. Not too many, just enough to put me into the right state of mind and send warm tendrils of excitement from my ass to my brain and right back down between my thighs. Before I'd been damp there. Now I was definitely wet. "Stand up now, Pam," the Reverend said with kindness in her voice. "Walk with me." She took a step then waited for me to move to her side. We began to walk around the clearing. "How are you feeling right now?" she asked. "Right now?" I laughed. "Like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff and about to lose my balance." "Am I so scary, Pamela?" "No, not you. I'm afraid someone will drive up and see me like this." "Like how?" "Naked. Probably with a red butt. Exposed." "And you're worried what they will think?" "Of course," I said. We were walking on the edge of the woods. I kept my gaze down to watch where my feet fell. I didn't want to step on anything sharp. "Like I was worrying about what you thought when you inspected me." "Did you think I was judging you, Pamela?" "Um. Yeah. Weren't you?" "In a way," she said gently. "But not the way you think. I wasn't looking for your faults, not like we all do in the mirror in the morning." "Then what were you seeing?" "A beautiful woman." I stopped and looked at her, incredulous. "A courageous one. Someone who's come a long way in a short time." She took my elbow and pulled me back to walking. "Tell me, how do you feel about your therapy so far?" "It's been like nothing I've ever experienced before. Strange. I never would have thought I'd have done some of these things." "And are you happy with it?" "I think so. I don't know." "Do you know what a labyrinth is, Pam?" "A maze, right?" "Not quite. In a maze you have lots of choices and can easily get lost. A labyrinth is a winding path where you don't know where you're going, but you have to just walk and trust." "I'm not sure I understand." "It's hard to, until you walk it. We have a labyrinth here." She stopped and I looked up. In the short grass in this part of the clearing was a thick white line of chalk, sort of like the boundary or yard lines on a ball field. But this wasn't straight. It wound around in a circle, twisting toward the center and then out again. It was hard to follow the pattern while you looked at it. It made me a little dizzy looking at it. "It's an ancient meditation technique," Reverend Rusk continued. "You walk the path, letting your mind think whatever your mind thinks. Some people pray. Some people think. Some people just let their mind go blank and follow the path." "Am I going to walk the labyrinth?" "Of course. Why else would I have brought you here and told you about it?" "Are you going to walk it too?" "No. I will wait for you on the other side." "How do I start?" "Just take the first step." I looked down at the chalk path and considered for a moment. I felt Cheryl move away from me, circling wide around the outside of the twisting line. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the line, then began to walk. Immediately I was struck with the idea of just how strange this was. I was naked, in the middle of a field, where literally anyone could drive in and see me. I felt the touch of the Spring sun down on me, which was nice. But I was all too aware of all of the faults and extra padding of my body. If someone saw, say, Giselle naked walking in the field, it would be beautiful. Me, I wasn't Giselle. I kept my eyes down on the white line as it curved gently then tightly turned back on itself, twisting its way more-or-less toward the center of the circle. I was vaguely aware, at first, of Cheryl standing opposite the entrance to the labyrinth, watching me. Then, I turned away. Around another curve, I saw her spreading a blanket or something on the ground. But then the sinuous footpath absorbed all of my attention and Reverend Rusk disappeared from my consciousness. Then the woods faded from thought. Then the sun. Soon I was just a naked woman following a line, my mind peacefully at rest and blissfully oblivious. After meandering my way around toward and away from the center, winding all the way around the circle, I eventually reached the center. The path from there was straight and led out of the labyrinth. Realizing that I was near the end, I looked up and straight ahead to where I'd last seen Cheryl. I think I gasped when I saw her again. She was still in the same spot where I'd last noticed her, but she was no longer standing. Instead she was seated on a bamboo yoga mat, naked and bent into a lotus position, calmly breathing and watching me. I was pretty amazed that I had zoned out enough that I hadn't noticed her disrobing. How could I have missed that? But I didn't really have much time to think about it. It was just a moment before I reached the far end of the white line. "Sit," Cheryl said, indicating a second bamboo mat between us. I lowered myself to the mat, facing her. I crossed my legs and started to lift one foot onto my knee to mimic her position. I winced. "Don't try the lotus if you're not used to it. Just sit like that." I was all too aware at how the position left my pussy open and exposed. And then I realized I was looking at Cheryl's open and uncovered sex. I jerked my eyes up to her face. "It's okay. You can look at me," she said gently. My gaze travelled back down past her small breasts, only slightly drooping without a bra, past her belly marred with a caesarian scar, to her exposed sex. Unlike my hairy groin, hers was well groomed, partly shaved to leave only a salt-and-pepper "landing strip" above her opening. Her labia were parted like mine were, but hers were much more prominent for being shaved. Her clitoris was swollen and larger than any I'd ever seen, though admittedly I hadn't seen all that many aroused clits. "Did you enjoy the labyrinth? How do you feel?" Cheryl asked quietly. "It's very calming. That's how I feel: calm." "And turned on? Your nipples are engorged. Your pussy is wet." "Yes," I blushed. "Very turned on." "And can you see how turned on I am?" She could see my gaze was still between her thighs. "Yes, I can." My tongue, uncontrolled, licked my upper lip. I bit my lip to try to control myself. "What would you like to do how you feel?" "Can I..." I couldn't believe I was about to say this, "Can I lick you?" She laughed, pure joy. "A wonderful thought, Pamela, let's talk about that, shall we?" "Is talking about it part of my therapy?" "Of course." She reached up and started slowly moving her fingertips on her nipples. "Do this with me, Pam," she ordered. I shivered as soon as I touched my own nipples. "Are you so much into licking pussy now, Pamela? You told me about Dr. Gupta. And you were dreaming about Odessa Adamms. Did you get back together with her?" "No." "No, so you have only licked Dr Gupta?" "No," I blushed. "Sunday. After church. I was with Jennifer Edelmann." "Do this," she licked her right middle finger, leaving a slippery coating of saliva on it and then moved it back to her nipple, touching it to the tip and slowly moving it around. I mirrored her. "Tell me about Dr. Gupta, was it in her office? Were you kneeling for her?" "Yes, in her office. After she spanked me, she took off her skirt and had me kneel in front of her chair and I...." "Yes, she's very fond of that position. She had me there once myself, but I prefer her in lying on her back in bed." I stopped moving in a little shock. I wasn't sure why I should be shocked, but I was. This was my priest. And the picture of her in my mind with Dr. Gupta was a bit much. "Just keep doing what I do, Pam," Cheryl said, bringing me back to the here and now. She let her left hand drop to the ground, but her right hand moved between her legs and her middle finger traced her labia. "What did she taste like?" Cheryl asked. "Do you have to talk about this?" "Do you still want to lick me?" "Damn it, yes," I whimpered. "Then we need to talk about this. What did she taste like?" "Spice. Musk. Pepper and coffee and cream." "Mmmm, that sounds about right. What about Jennifer? What did she taste like?" "Honey. Wild honey with musk." Cheryl pushed two fingers inside her sex and then drew them back out and up to her mouth. I followed her lead, tasting myself as she tasted herself. "What do you taste like, Pamela?" "Tangy, like an orange, but not orangey. The flavor's more like vanilla," I giggled a little, "but with musk. I guess we're all musky." "Not everyone, but most," she said as she dipped her fingers again. "Mmm, yes, I'm musky too. It's like rosemary, I guess, but a strong coffee taste. Too much coffee maybe?" I wanted to taste her myself. Cheryl levered her legs out of the lotus. "Come here, Pamela." I got up, slower than I wanted to, but I wasn't as lithe as I used to be. I crawled the two feet between us as Cheryl shifted to her side. She put a hand behind my head and pulled me in for a kiss. I kissed her eagerly, fervently, and hungrily. Our mouths were open from the first and our tongues slid around each other. She was hungry too. She broke the kiss and bent to my breasts. The nipple from one breast disappeared into her mouth and she suckled for a moment. I closed my eyes and moaned in pleasure. I remembered that we were outside and the excitement of that doubled the feeling. My pussy was dripping. Her right hand found its way between my legs and began to explore me. My left hand mimicked her, gliding around her smooth pussy lips, dipping slightly into her wetness. This was the first pussy I've felt with my fingers, besides my own, I thought, even though I've now licked two. It felt wonderful, a new territory to explore. Similar to my own, yet so different, not in the least because of the size of her clit. I was intrigued so much by that and was rewarded by her expressions of pleasure. As first those moans were muffled by my breasts as she sucked on one, then the other. But then her head tipped back and her moans were joined by whispers of "Yes, there," or "Damn, that's good." And she was making me squirm and moan too. "Fuck me, Cheryl, fuck me," I said. "Finger me, oh God!" We writhed and moaned together as we both built to climaxes. She came first, but I was so close behind that it was hard to tell. She just started shaking and making the sound of "oh, oh, oh" repeatedly. My fingers were on her clit and I struggled to hold them there as she thrashed. Her fingers were inside of me and she didn't move them as my pussy convulsed through my come. When we both past our crests and began to settle, she looked me straight in my eyes and said, "Again, Pam, again." Our fingers began to move again, mine sliding inside of her, hers moving out to my clit. "Oh yes," I moaned, "rub my fucking clit. Rub it." Our next orgasms weren't as coordinated; instead we traded off, first mine, then hers, then mine again, then hers again. After three each we both just lay there, hands between each other's thighs, basking in the pleasure and the contact, catching our breaths. Eventually, she raised her hand to her mouth, sucking the slippery fluid off her fingers. "Mmm, you're right," she said. "Vanilla. Yummy." I laughed and moved my hand so I could taste her. "Not too much coffee," I said. We both giggled. Then I remembered something. "Um, sorry about the 'fucks', Reverend. I kind of um...." "We'll give you some penance next time," she smiled. "Another spanking perhaps." "I still want to lick you," I said. "We'll save that for next time too, sweet child," she said and kissed me gently. "But now, we need to go. You're late for being back to work. And I've got a meeting I can't miss." I still had my watch on my wrist and I glanced at it. "Oh shit," I blurted then looked at Cheryl. "I'm sorry, again." She waved her hand at me, "Not like I haven't heard it before." The she pushed herself up. "Go on, get moving, you need to get dressed." As I levered myself up, Cheryl reached behind her and grabbed her bra, hooking the clasp in front of her, before turning it around and slipping it over her shoulders. I was self conscious again as I crossed the clearing back to the pavilion where my clothes were. I found myself looking at the road back through the woods again and again, once more worried about being seen. I dressed in a hurry and finished adjusting my pantyhose while Cheryl stood next to me. When I stood up, she leaned in and kissed me again. "I enjoyed that very much, Pamela," she said. "Me too," I smiled back at her. "Now go," she said sternly, slapping me gently on my bottom. "You're late." I drove back to work in a bit of a daze. I kept raising my left hand to my face to inhale Cheryl's scent. I remembered that way back when I was dating Bob, he once told me that he did that while he was driving home after dates where he'd fingered me. It was strange to think about how I was doing the same thing now. I made up an excuse about why I was late when I got back to work, but no one really cared. The day was slow and I kept zoning out for the rest of the day, remembering what happened at lunch. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 11 [My thanks once again to estragon for editing my prose. I appreciate all the feedback and love hearing from you. Please write. I love the suggestions, but may or may not incorporate them in the story. I have no control of where my Muse leads me. She is a wicked domme. :-) -Tricia] Session XI: Caught in a Web I woke up on Wednesday morning to the vibration of my iPhone. I slid my finger across it to open it up and the Therapy App was awake. It had three messages for me: "Call in sick for work today," was the first. Then, "Dr. Gupta's appointment has been moved to tomorrow at six-thirty. Make an excuse to be out all evening." I gulped. The last message was, "Press here when everyone is gone." I feigned illness to Bob when he woke up and went downstairs in my bathrobe to make sure that the kids got off to school. I wasn't going to make lunches if I was "sick," so I told them to buy lunch on their accounts. By eight I was alone. I picked up my iPhone and pulled up the Therapy App. I pressed the button. "Have you showered?" the App immediately asked. I pushed the "No," button. "Do not shower. Do not apply deodorant or perfume," came back to me, with a button for "Acknowledged." When I pushed that, the instructions came back in a smaller font. "Your next Therapy session is at 10AM. Your therapist is Caroline Nail," and it gave an address. "Pack a bag with jeans, underwear and shoes. On your way to the session, wear only one of your husband's shirts. Unbutton it to your navel." I gulped once more. Thank god my car was in the garage. "Drink plenty of water; hydrate. Do not be late." The address was two towns away. When I looked it up on the computer, Google showed me a horse farm. It would take me a half hour to get there, so I had an hour and a half before I needed to leave. I went to get some water to drink. At 8:30, the App made my phone vibrate again. "Strip naked," it read. "Do 25 jumping jacks. Jog in place for five minutes. Do 20 stomach crunches. Drink more water." I stared at it for a moment in disbelief; it had been forever since I'd done that much exercise. But I took off my robe and my nightgown and did what I'd been told. I finished in about fifteen minutes, sweating profusely and breathing heavily. I needed more water and I needed to pee. I caught my breath and took care of the bathroom and getting more water. At 9:00 the App buzzed me again. "You should still be naked. 20 more crunches. Five minutes jogging in place. Touch your toes 25 times. Drink more." God, I thought. I already stink. What are they thinking? I was still naked. I went through the exercises as instructed, then caught my breath and got more water. I was standing next to the kitchen sink at 9:20 when the phone vibrated again. I groaned. I couldn't do more exercises. I had to leave soon. "Eight ounces of water. Now," the App told me. I wanted to object. I was already starting to float. But I filled up another glass of water and drank it down quickly. I needed to get a shirt and get into the car. I sniffed my underarms as I moved quickly to my bedroom. I never left the house this ripe. And I blushed when I realized I needed to shave too. But there wasn't any time for that. I grabbed one of Bob's shirts quickly and pulled it on, buttoning a few buttons on it while I headed back to the kitchen where my purse and keys lay on the counter. I got into the car and opened my iPhone for directions to Caroline Nail's farm. I tried to arrange the tail of Bob's shirt so it was between my sex and the fabric of the car seat. I didn't need to leave any spots. Like spankings, the embarrassment of being exposed was making my pussy wet. I was decidedly nervous while driving. What if I got pulled over? I thought. How would I explain this? I guessed I needed to make sure I wasn't. I was immensely glad that the minivan had me seated up higher than a sedan would have. I concentrated on looking normal and getting to where I was going. When I was almost there, I noticed I seemed to be following another another minivan. It took me a moment before I realized that I had seen it before. When I'd left the rectory after my session last Friday, that minivan had been parked next to mine. I gulped for the third time today. As Google had revealed, we were headed to a horse farm. "Horseshoe Nail Farm," seemed to be grass covered, with fenced-in fields on either side of the road. I could see five or six horses in the fields, heads down, quietly eating the grass. In one field a rider was putting a horse through its paces, riding in red jacket and black helmet. There was a big, old, white farm house and two barns: a large modern one of some kind of metal and a somewhat smaller traditional red wooden one. I followed the other car -- was her name Lucy? -- into the parking lot. We parked next to each other, in spots right in front of a woman apparently waiting for us. The woman was in her early forties, with copper colored hair hanging loose on her shoulders and a serious expression on her face. She was clearly in shape from working the horses. She was wearing brown leather pants with a white silk top. There didn't appear to be a bra under her blouse. She had sandals on her feet. I looked over at the woman in the other car, then dropped my keys in my purse, grabbed it and the bag of clothes I'd packed and got out of the car. "Leave your purses in the cars," the woman in the leather pants said flatly. "Bring your clothes." I had almost closed the door, but I opened it back up again and tossed in my purse, then closed the door. I walked to the front of my car. "Drop the bags. Which one of you is Lucy?" our host asked. I looked to my left at the woman from the other car. She responded, "me." Lucy was also wearing a man's shirt and nothing else. Also in her forties, she had short blonde hair and a few extra pounds. When she glanced at me, I saw she had blue eyes. Like mine, her hair looked like it hadn't been washed yet today. "And you must be Pam. I'm Caroline Nail," the woman in front of us continued. Her tone was strict, like she was used to being obeyed. "You will call me 'ma'am'. Erica Landry is out riding and will be joining me for your therapy shortly. You will call her Mrs. Landry. Take off your shirts." I unbuttoned mine and pulled it off. Lucy hesitated however. "Take it off now, cunt. I will not repeat myself again." Lucy jumped and pulled her shirt over her head without unbuttoning it. "Leave them on your bags," Caroline said. She looked us up and down appraisingly. "Aren't you two cunts sorry excuses for women? Don't you ever exercise?" We stood there mutely. "I asked you a question. Don't you ever exercise, cunts?" "No," I stammered. Lucy's "no" was a second later. "I told you bitches what to call me. Try again. Don't you ever exercise, cunts?" "No, ma'am," our answers were synchronized now. "Well, I expect a different answer if your sorry asses are ever in front of me again. Do you understand?" "Yes, ma'am," we answered. She stepped up close to me and grabbed a tuft of my pubic hair. "You probably haven't trimmed since summer. Am I right?" "Yes, ma'am." "Well, that had better change too by the time I see you again. Raise your arms. Phew, you stink. And all that stubble. You need a shave there too. What's wrong with you, cunt? Don't you care how you look?" "Nothing's wrong, ma'am. I do care, ma'am." "Then why haven't you shaved?" "I don't know, ma'am, I haven't had time." "Well, at least we know you don't color your hair." She let go of me and stepped in front of Lucy, grabbing her pubic hair. "Well, cunt, you've trimmed, but do you think this black looks good with your blonde hair on top?" "I don't know ma'am," Lucy said, "I didn't think of it, ma'am." "Well think about it. Raise your arms. Ah, good, you've shaved." Caroline let go of her pubes and slapped Lucy's thick belly. "But look at this flab. Tisk, tisk." "Ma'am?" Lucy's voice was hesitant. "What is it, bitch?" "Ma'am, I um, I um...." "Get it out, cunt." "I have to pee, ma'am." "Yes, well, you were instructed to drink heavily. Go ahead. You too, Pamela." Lucy looked around, trying to spot a bathroom. "Where, ma'am?" "Right there, on the grass." "Right here, outside?" "Yes, bitch. Right where I tell you. Both of you. Squat and piss. Face each other." "Ma'am," I said, "I don't have to...." "I don't care. You'd better piss now. You won't get a chance later. Now. Both of you. And face each other." I turned toward Lucy as I squatted down on the grass. She was already squatting, her feet apart, a pained expression on her face. "What are you waiting for, bitches?" "I can't," Lucy said. "Well, then you'll stay there until you do." I tried hard to relax my bladder and managed it. My piss started draining out of me onto the grass. Lucy saw and I guess that helped her. Her stream squirted out of her like from a hose, wildly spraying between and sometimes onto her feet. I couldn't stop watching her, staring right between her legs as the liquid drained from her. I kept thinking back to Natalie yesterday and how she watched me so intently. I don't know why, but I found it strangely erotic. What was wrong with me? As we finished, the pee sputtering out as we squeezed out the last of it, Lucy and I looked at each other. Our faces blushed bright red in embarrassment. "See, that wasn't so hard," Ms. Nail said. "Now, get up." We both stood. I wished I had some paper to wipe with, but apparently that wasn't going to happen. Ms. Nail pointed into the middle of the field. "See that jumping fence there? The blue one with the white stripes?" "Yes, ma'am," we said. "I want you both to jog around there -- neither one of you look like you can run. Jog there, then around the back the big barn, then meet me in the red barn. Go. Now." Neither of us wasted any time. We began to jog the course she ordered. "You were at...at the rectory...on Friday," Lucy panted as she jogged naked next to me. Neither one of us, I thought, were in any kind of shape. "Yes," I said. "I heard...your spanking." "I could tell...," Lucy replied, "that you'd been...spanked too." She gulped for breath. "How long...have you been seeing...seeing Reverend Rusk?" "That was my...first time. You?" "My third..." We reached the blue horse gate. From across the field we heard and then saw the galloping hooves of a horse approaching. As it quickly got closer I was all too aware that I was naked out here where anyone could see me. Naked and running with another naked woman through the horse fields. As we turned around the far end of the gate, the rider we'd seen earlier thundered up and jumped the gate with her horse. We stopped, totally startled by the beauty of the jump and the power of the horse. The rider looked back over her shoulder at us, turned her horse and pulled up in front of us, scowling down at Lucy and I from her perch. On top of such a muscular animal you could tell that she herself was a muscular woman. In her thirties and African-American, her tightly curled hair was held close to her head by the black riding helmet. Her riding pants were leather and tucked into leather boots. Her red jacket was the traditional wool and she held a riding crop in her gloved left hand, which rested on her hip. The horse's reins were in her right hand. "What are you two whores doing just standing there? Weren't you supposed to be running?" "Yes, ma'am," I said. "Sorry ma'am." I started to jog again. "Wait, bitch. Get back where you were." In my haste to comply, I heedlessly stepped in some droppings. "Shit," I cursed and started to wipe my foot on cleaner grass. "Stop that, bitch, or I'll make you roll in it. What are your names, whores?" "Lucy, ma'am," my sister therapy patient said. "I'm Pamela, ma'am." "You must have met Caroline. Did she tell you who I am?" "Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Landry," I said. "Very good," the woman said, then she directed her horse to move so it was almost right on top of us. I wanted to back up but I was afraid to move. Somehow being in the presence of this powerful animal made me even more aware of my nakedness and my nakedness made me more aware of the animal's power. "Then she told you," Mrs. Landry yelled, "what you should call me. I'm not 'ma'am'. Don't make that mistake again." "Yes, Mrs. Landry," we replied in unison. I felt Lucy trembling next to me. "Are you afraid of my horse, cunt?" Mrs. Landry asked Lucy. "No ma.... I mean no Mrs. Landry. Well, maybe a little." "Turned on by her? Don't lie to me, bitch. Feel your cunt. Are you wet?" Lucy reached between her legs, "Yes, Mrs. Landry. Very wet." "Well, isn't that sick, getting turned on by a horse. It's a good thing we have only fillies here. No telling what you'd get into otherwise." "No, Mrs. Landry. I mean, I wouldn't do that, Mrs. Landry." "Feel the other bitch's cunt, Lucy. Is she horny too?" Lucy looked horrified. She looked up at Erica and then at me and then back at Erica. "Please don't make me," she said, shivering. "I'll make you do what ever I want, bitch," came the angry reply. "Put your skanky-ass fingers into this other bitch's cunt and tell me if she's horny too." Lucy stood frozen. Erica raised her riding crop menacingly. "Now, bitch." Haltingly, Lucy turned toward me and stretched her hand toward my crotch. "It's okay," I whispered. "Go ahead." This was a bridge I had crossed not too long ago too. I knew what she was feeling. Like I might be poison or something, Lucy gingerly reached out her hand and touched my vulva. I shuddered in pleasure with the touch and she snapped her hand back. Mrs. Landry kneed her horse ever so slightly, causing the mount to shift its weight toward us. "Listen to me, Lucy," she said evenly, "Feel her cunt. Tell me how wet she is." Lucy reached out again and this time managed to slip her fingers inside me. They went in easily. She pulled them back almost immediately, like she'd touched a hot stove. In a way she had. I'm sure I was burning up down there. "Well?" Erica asked impatiently. "She's very wet, Mrs. Landry." "Hah," Erica laughed. "Two horny bitches. What are we going to do with you?" She turned her horse so it was headed toward the barn. The filly's tail swept into each of us, first me then Lucy. Erica looked back over her shoulder. "Once more around the gate, whores. Then whatever path Caroline already gave you. I'll see you in the barn." She clucked and shook the reins and the horse trotted away from us, throwing dirt up on us. We started jogging again, making a circle around the gate before heading back toward the barns. "I hate," Lucy said when we were moving again, "how wet this all makes me." She breathed heavily for a couple of strides. "It's like my pussy is a traitor." "I know," I answered. "The first time...I got spanked...I couldn't believe...how wet I got." Lucy caught her foot on something then and went sprawling in the grass and dirt and dung. I helped her up and we kept on jogging. "Did you know," I asked between breaths, "that...you got...turned on by... being... humiliated?" "No...but there's a lot...that I've learned...about myself." "Don't I know...it," I said. "Never thought...I'd like...eating pussy." She stopped then and held her hand on my arm to stop me. She turned us toward each other. "They made you...you know?" "Lick them?" I panted. "Not really....I kind of wanted to. You haven't?" "No," she said with a swallow. She wouldn't look at me all of a sudden. "Look we'd better get going...." We went back to running. The grass of the field gave way to a hard packed dirt path then across a gravel driveway that stung our feet and then back to dirt as we found our way inside the front of the barn. Inside the barn, Mrs. Landry was brushing down her filly. She'd taken off her helmet and her hair stuck, sweaty, against her head. The horse was tied to the outside of a stall by her bridle. Caroline Nail was standing next to rider and horse, apparently talking. She looked up when we arrived, panting, at the door. "About time you got here. I was afraid I'd have to send the dogs out to look for you. Come over here. Quickly." As we both hopped into a slow jog, Caroline looked down to her blouse, pulled the tails from her pants and unbuttoned it, top to bottom. When we stood in front of her, she slid it off her shoulders and turned to hang it on a hook on the stable divider. She turned back to us, her breasts free of restraint, standing firm and high on her chest. Her areolae were small and her nipples firmly stuck out from them. Her skin was well tanned, without any lines from a bathing suit. It was one thing to have compared my sagging breasts with Jennifer the other day: she was only twenty-three or something like that. This woman was more my age and her breasts put mine to shame. I looked over at Lucy, who I guessed was thinking much the same thoughts. "You two must be thirsty after that run," Caroline said evenly. She pointed to the side, "There, have a drink." Her hand directed us to a metal trough, about six feet long and a couple deep, about waist high, filled with water. It was clearly for the horses, but we just as clearly had no choice in the matter. Lucy and I walked slowly to the trough and we each cupped our hands in the water to pull a drink up to our mouths. "Not like that, you cunts," Mrs. Landry said scornfully. "Bend over. Put your faces in it and drink." I looked over my shoulder at her in disbelief, but I knew she was serious. With Lucy doing likewise, I bent over the trough and tried as best as I could to lap water into my mouth like a cat or suck it up like a horse might. We were so busy that neither one of us noticed Caroline walking over and between us. The next thing I knew, I felt a hand on the back of my head as my face and half my head was pressed under water. I struggled against it, writhing back and forth, but her grip was strong and I couldn't lift my face until she let me, some long, long seconds later. "You two were filthy; you needed your faces washed anyway," Caroline said cruelly as we sputtered water from our mouths and noses and tried to catch our breath. "Which one do you want, Erica?" "I know you like the blondes, Caro. I'll take the brunette. It's Pammy, right?" "Pamela, Mrs. Landry, if it pleases you." "No, Pammy pleases me, bitch. Give me your hands." I lifted them to her and she grabbed both my wrists in her own strong hands. She pulled me toward the back of the barn. There she pulled me to the side of a strange contraption. It resembled a spider's web made out of wood and rope; the rope tied in concentric hexagons around six radial lines. She roughly threw me against the side of the web and pressed into my back as she reached up and grabbed two cuffs hanging above my head and to the sides and tied to the web. As she attached my wrists to the cuffs, Lucy was pushed against me from the other side of the web and Caroline proceeded to attach her hands to cuffs that hung from that side. The web wasn't very dense, so Lucy and I pressed as much against each other as we did against the rope. My left breast was mashed into her right one, while my right nipple was pressed painfully into a knot in the ropes. Our bellies pressed against each other through the web and our faces were level, facing each other through an opening. When we our arms were secured, we were roughly pushed closer together and our heads were cheek to cheek, with a rope just an inch or two beneath our chins. "Lift this foot, Pammy," Mrs. Landry said, tapping on my right ankle. I complied as Ms. Nail said, "You too, Lucy Goosey." I felt Lucy stiffen at the name. I lifted my foot and Mrs. Landry roughly pulled it to the side to attach it to another cuff that I couldn't see. We repeated the maneuver with my left foot and Lucy and I were soon spread-eagled, against each other and the web. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 11 This close to my companion, I was all too aware at how dirty she was from her tumble in the field and how fragrant she was from the morning's exertions. And while I was put off by that, I was even more mortified because I knew I was in the same shape. I needed a shower. My hair needed washing. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon. "Would you mind getting their bellies, Caro, dear? I want to get out of these boots." "Sure thing," Ms. Nail said. She moved away where I couldn't see, while Erica went to sit on a hay bale clearly in my view. She pulled off her boots, then stood up again and unbuttoned her riding jacket. Like her partner, she too was braless. Her milk-chocolate colored breasts were tipped by large areolae of a darker shade and I could see even from where I was that her nipples were stiff. But I didn't get to enjoy the view in leisure. While Erica was taking off her boots and jacket, Caroline took some kind of belt and wrapped it around Lucy and me. She had to lean up tight against Lucy so she could pass through the web it around my back. Then she pulled it tight and cinched it somehow, so Lucy and I were pulled tightly together at another point. "Don't they look sweet, Caro," Erica said malevolently. "Our two bitches are inseparable. Why don't you kiss before your beatings, bitches?" Lucy and I looked at each other and then I leaned forward to kiss her. I was turned on by what had been happening and I had shared much with Lucy already this morning. So I was okay with kissing her. But she just pecked me and turned away. "That's not much of a kiss, Lucy Goosey," Ms. Nail said. "Give her a real kiss." "Don't call me that!" Lucy said angrily. "What? 'Lucy Goosey'?" Caroline Nail grabbed Lucy's hair and turned Lucy's head to face her. "You don't mind being called 'cunt' or 'whore' or 'bitch', but you don't want me to call you Lucy Goosey? You're fucked up, bitch. And I'll call you anything I want. Understand, Lucy Goosey?" I saw Caroline's hand tighten, pulled Lucy's hair. Lucy's head went back to relieve the pain but she could only go back so far. "Understand?" Caroline asked again. "Yes, ma'am." "Now, give her a real kiss, Lucy Goosey." Caroline turned Lucy's head back to me. We kissed again, more then a peck this time. But Lucy's mouth didn't open when I invited it with my mouth. Lucy's head was pulled back again. "What's the matter, Lucy Goosey? Don't you like kissing girls?" "No ma'am," Lucy said through obvious pain. "Pammy here doesn't mind. Do you cunt?" "No," I said truthfully, though I felt like I was betraying Lucy. "I had to practically horse whip the bitch to get her to feel up the other one's cunt," Erica said from behind me. "Really," Caroline responded. "Why, Lucy Goosey?" "I've never, um, touched, ow, another woman like that before," she said. I could see her eyes watering. "No?" Caroline laughed. "Well, Lucy Goosey, my smelly little virgin, you're gonna do a lot more than that today, I guarantee you. Today, you're going to learn to kiss a girl. You're going finger a girl if I tell you. But one thing I promise you is before you leave here today, you're going have your pretty little face in my crotch and you'd damn well make me come when you do. Now, kiss this other skanky whore and make it good." Caroline turned Lucy's head back at me and pushed her toward me. Lucy kissed me back this time. Her mouth opened up and she let my tongue explore her mouth. I felt the pressure ease on the back of her head and I presumed that Caroline let go of her hair. Then I felt Mrs. Landry move up behind me and slide her hand between my legs, her fingers sliding inside my pussy. "No! Don't!" Lucy's head jerked back from me. "Just kiss, bitch," Caroline growled. She grabbed Lucy's hair again and pushed her face back at me. Mrs. Landry's other hand grabbed my hair and held it in place. We began kissing again while Mrs. Landry finger-fucked me. From the way Lucy was squirming, I assumed that she was getting the same treatment from Ms. Nail. "You know, Erica," Ms. Nail said meanly, "For someone named Lucy Goosey, she's pretty damn tight. And frigid too. How about yours?" "Well, this bitch ain't frigid. She'd be fucking me back if she could move. But yeah, pretty tight. Don't your husbands ever fuck you, you skanky whores?" Lucy's kiss changed in timbre. Once second she was doing it just to make it look good. The next there was passion behind it. I felt more than heard her moan into my mouth. "That's right, Lucy Goosey," Caroline cajoled. "You're starting to enjoy it. Fuck my fingers back. You're just a bitch. Ride your mistress's fingers. She knows what a dirty skanky whore you are. It's probably better than your husband ever gave you anyway. You're so wet for me, you know. So wet for another woman. Didn't know you had it in you, did you cunt? Are you going to come for me? It feels like it. Are you going to come?" Caroline jerked Lucy's head back so she could answer. "Yes," Lucy said like she was being tortured. "Please. Oh, so close, so close." And like those were magic words, Mrs. Landry's fingers pulled roughly from my cunt, eliciting a ragged sigh of frustration from me. The same must have happened to Lucy because she suddenly stiffened. "No!" she cried. "Don't stop. Please. Please make me come." "What's that, bitch?" Mrs. Landry asked mockingly. "You want a woman to make you come? Are you some kind of dykey cunt?" "Please. I don't care. I just want to..." "Too bad, Lucy Goosey," Ms. Nail laughed. "Just too bad. Maybe in a bit. For now...." Mrs. Landry quickly slipped a strap over my head and pulled something like a rubber bit into my mouth, tightening the strap from behind. I could see Lucy had the same thing in her mouth. It effectively kept us from saying anything more. Then a length of black silk was pulled over my eyes and tied against my head. I couldn't see a thing through it. It was only a moment later that the blows began to land on my bottom, my thighs and my back. Lucy must have been getting the same treatment, her body kept jerking into mine the same way mine was being pushed into hers. The implements varied. There was something that felt like a paddle: the pain was spread out and almost bearable. But it was like a tenderizer making way for what I assumed was a crop. That slammed into me with a sharp pain that traced a straight line across my ass or thighs. Occasionally there'd be a brief halt and I'd feel Mrs. Landry move up close to me and bright, intense shots of pain would bloom around me backside as she used something I wasn't at all familiar with. Through it all Mrs. Landry and Ms. Nail were quiet, working steadily and purposefully. All I could hear was the impact of the paddles and crops, Lucy and my muffled cries of pain through our bits and the horses in the stalls around us. I think I came from the beating twice. I can't say I'm entirely sure. It was a period of intense sensation. Of pain mixed with pleasure. Of pain that became pleasure. I have no idea how long it lasted. Probably not long, and when it stopped I was in a different world. It was like I was in a dream as my ankles were untied and my feet placed on the ground. I was glad then for the other things that held me and gave me a chance to set myself steadily. The belt came off around Lucy and me next. Then the cuffs that held my hands were untied from above me, but they were retied behind my back. Someone, I assumed it was Mrs. Landry, guided me across the rough floor until I was standing on hay. Her hands pressed on my shoulders and I knelt. The hands left me and I heard some movement in front of me, I couldn't really tell what. Then my face was pressed into someone's smooth belly and hands reached behind my head to undo the blindfold and unbuckle the bit from my mouth. She stepped back and I could see it was indeed Mrs. Landry, though now she was naked. She must have discarded her pants a second ago when she'd left me alone. Her muff was right in front of me: covered in dark, tight curls, trimmed neatly in a patch above her vulva, but shaved bare on her labia. Being this close I could smell her too. She smelled of lust and leather, sweat and heat. I glanced quickly to my right side where Lucy was, like me, on her knees, her hands bound behind her back. Ms. Nail stood before her, also naked. "As you see, my lovely whores, unlike Lucy Goosey here, my carpet matches my drapes." Lucy's eyes were big and locked on Caroline's sex in front of her. Like the hair on her head, Ms. Nail's pubic hair was copper, bright against her pale skin. Unlike the wild mane on her head, this was trimmed, but it clearly covered her lips as well as her pubic mound. She ran her fingers across herself. "What do you think, Lucy Goosey? How do you like my cunt?" "It's...it's...I don't...." "Cat's got the skank's tongue," Erica said. "But that's okay, the pussy will get it in a minute." Caroline snorted. "What about you Pammy? How do you like my cunt?" "It's beautiful," I said. "See Lucy Goosey, that's how you talk to a lady," Caroline said, "You tell her she's beautiful. Now," she grabbed Lucy's chin and rubbed Lucy's nose against her sex, "try again Lucy girl. How do you like my cunt?" "It's...it's...beautiful, ma'am," Lucy stuttered. "That's a girl," Caroline said and patted Lucy's cheek. "Good enough to eat, do you think?" "I...I don't know, ma'am," Lucy said in little more than a whisper. "Well, I do," Caroline said. She grabbed Lucy's hair and slowly lowered herself to a seat on a hay bale behind her. She spread her legs and held Lucy's head between her thighs inches from her sex. "I don't think I need to force you, do I, Pammy?" Erica Landry asked me. She plopped down on a bale next to her friend, opening her own thighs to me. "Come, look at me, Pammy, you slut. Get a good whiff of me. I'm hot and I'm horny, just like you are." It wasn't comfortable to bend down between her legs with my hands tied behind me, but I did. I leaned forward and moved closer to her pussy. Her scent, clear to me before, was overwhelming now. The notes of leather were strong, from her riding no doubt, but stronger still was the scent of animal musk and the salty stale smell of sweat. Her pussy was wide open, showing hot pink inner flesh, sopping wet with her juices, surrounded by chocolate lips and thighs, topped by her curly short hairs. I was intoxicated, entranced. I wanted her. I could barely restrain myself. "May I...can I...?" I trembled. "May I lick you, Mrs. Landry?" I managed to say. "You damn well better, bitch," the dark skinned woman said to me, leaning backwards. I dove in greedily. Off to my side, I heard Ms. Nail say angrily, "See, Lucy Goosey? See how easy it is? Get to it?" "No," Lucy sobbed as I enjoyed Erica's luscious cunt. "Please don't ma...." Lucy's sentence was cut off in the middle, her voice no doubt muffled into Caroline's own cunt. Erica's taste was intense: bitter and sweet at the same time, strongly mixed flavors of something like rosemary and the leather she'd been wearing before. Musky with a taste almost like a well aged tequila. Her lips and her clit were small, but oh so responsive to my tongue. I let my tongue's tip wander around her complicated folds and was rewarded with Erica's squirms and moans. When I flicked her clit, fluttering my tongue like a hummingbird's wings, she shuddered and cried out softly. While Erica was mostly quiet, Mrs. Landry, next to her was vocal in her commands to Lucy. "That's it, Lucy Goose, lick me, right there. Yeah, I knew you'd be a pussy licking slut. Fuck. Oh yeah, that's good. Lezzy whore. You know you love it. Why'd you fight it, bitch? You probably wanted to for years. Didn't you, slut? Didn't you? Oh yeah. Right there. Right there. Now, stick your tongue in me. Stick it deep. Fuck me with your tongue you dyke. Fuck me you whore." Feeling like I'd been rewarded with a small orgasm from Erica, I sought something stronger. Taking my clue from Caroline's commands, I pushed my face hard against Erica's cunt and forced my tongue deep inside of her. My nose pressed against her clit. Her taste was all to me right then. Her taste and the feel of her slippery folds on my cheeks and the heat of her cunt on my tongue. I began to piston my tongue in and out of her, fucking her as best as I can, rubbing my nose at the same time against the nub of her clit. "Oh, God, bitch," Erica finally called out. "Fuck!" Suddenly her sex was flooded with so much liquid that I thought for a moment that she was peeing on me. Then I realized she was "squirting." I had read about that in Cosmo or something. Erica's sex squeezed hard on my tongue and her thighs quivered on my shoulders. I back up a little to let her juices flood onto my face. Erica was making some grunting noises now. Nothing comprehensible but clearly pleasurable. I let my tongue slide from inside of her hand began to slowly, sensuously lave her outsides. "Yes, bitch, my clit. Yes," Caroline was instructing Lucy. "That's it. Suck it. Suck my clit. Suck it between your lips bitch. Yeah, like that. Like that. Suck my juicy clit and show me how much you love it. Show me, fuck yeah, show me how much you love my cunt. Show me, oh yes, show me what a sluty dyke you are. Show me. Oh fuck. Oh Lucy. Oh yeah. Yeaaaah." I glanced upwards at that moment and I saw Caroline's hand in Erica's, both arms tight against each other, fingers intertwined and holding tight. From the corner of my eye I could see Caroline's face squeezed tight as she came. "Keep licking," Caroline commanded when she could talk again. But Erica pushed me away. I fell back on my knees, looking over at Caroline and Lucy, the latter's blonde hair in a total mess, plastered with sweat against her head as she bent to her task, no sign of distaste in her posture anymore. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Certainly, she no longer needed Caroline's hand in her hair to hold her in place. Erica stood, then turned her back to me, and knelt between me and the hay bale, then leaned forward, laying across it. The position totally revealed her to me, both her pussy and her anus open to my gaze. I knew what she wanted. I had submitted my will enough that I would do as she wanted without her even saying it. I leaned forward again and extended my tongue and began to lick her asshole. The taste was strong, though not as unpleasant as I thought it would be. The skin was smoother than I expected and I quickly overcame my initial abhorrence. I began to lick with enjoyment. And Erica was definitely enjoying it too. While she'd been fairly quiet while I ministered to her cunt, she wave very vocal now. "Good slut. Good. Lick my ass, bitch. You know you love it. Ain't no ass like black ass. Ain't that right, cunt? No don't talk. Lick, bitch. Lick my ass." Caroline was saying something too, continuing to talk Lucy through her paces. But I don't really know what she said. I was concentrating on Erica. But now she was almost yelling. Her hand slipped down underneath her and I felt more than saw her fingers beginning to diddle herself. "That's right, bitch. Lick my black ass. Lick it bitch. No, fuck my ass. Fuck my black ass with your tongue, white bitch. Yeah, like that." Her asshole was so tight against my tongue, but I loved the way it felt. Or rather I loved the way it seemed to make her feel. I wanted to please her oh so badly. Wanted to give her everything she wanted. "Fuck, don't stop. Oh fuck," she continued. Then, with my tongue pushed as far into her as I thought I could, she screamed in pleasure and her body shook uncontrollably. I was forced from her by her body quake and just sat back on my heels to watch this magnificent woman have a magnificent come. I didn't even notice it, but Lucy must have achieve something similar with Caroline. The red head was lying back, muscles slack, against the wall behind her hay bale, her legs still spread, with a contented smile on her face and her eyes closed, breathing quickly and shallowly. She languidly pushed Lucy away and Lucy sank back like me onto her haunches. We looked at each other. I have no idea what I looked like, but Lucy was enormously sexy with her hair totally messed up and her face relaxed, triumphant, and slick with the juices from Caroline's cunt. After a second, I leaned hesitantly toward her, as awkward as that was with my hands bound. But she leaned in hesitantly too, and in a second we were tilted against each other kissing passionately, our tongues meeting inside our open mouths. I knew I could taste Caroline on her and was sure she could taste Erica on me. It was wonderful. I'm not sure how long we kissed, we stopped when we heard Erica say, "She sure seems to like it now, Caro. Why'd she fight it so much before?" "How should I know, Eri. Shall we let them come now?" "They did good, I think they're in for a reward." They continued their banter as they both got up and stretched, then came around behind us and unbound our hands. Erica had me stand and lay on my back across the two hay bales that she and Caroline were recently sitting on. The rough hay on my recently beaten backside sent shivers through my body again. Erica raised my knees and spread my legs apart. Then Caroline instructed Lucy on top of me, her head toward my feet. We were soon positioned into a classic sixty-nine position. I was immediately reminded about just how much Lucy and I each needed a bath; how dirty and sweaty and smelly we both were. But neither of us really cared. As soon as we were each face-to-cunt, we both leaned forward to greedily enjoy the other's cunt. I had thought Erica's taste strong, but it was nothing to compare to Lucy. I'm not sure I could say that Lucy tasted good (Not right then anyway, I learned otherwise another time), but I didn't really worry about it. I was horny, I wanted to please this woman who had gone through so much with me and, oh fuck, she was licking me and that felt wonderful. I'd never managed a sixty-nine with a man that was worth the time to get into position. With Lucy, on the other hand, it was wonderful. There was a feedback loop that was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. When I tried something different with my mouth, I soon felt the same on my own sex. And when Lucy became experimental and ventured into new territory with her lips or tongue, I found myself emulating her, letting her feel what she was doing to me. Our hand were on each other's thighs, holding onto each other. Our tongues and lips wandered from cunt lips to clitoris to pushing deep into slippery wet cunts. We brought each other off and just kept on going. We never even noticed that Mrs. Landry and Ms. Nail had stopped talking and moved away from us for a few minutes. They made us aware of them again rather abruptly. Without warning, as I was licking upwards against Lucy's pussy, my head was pushed downward and I watched Caroline push a thick, strapped-on, dildo into Lucy. At the same time, Lucy's tongue was removed from my cunt and I was filled with something large. Without much pause, Erica -- it had to be Mrs. Landry -- was fucking me and I watched from an unusual angle as Caroline fucked Lucy. Damn it, but it felt good. Fucking wonderful actually. I tried at one point to reach up with my head and lick Lucy while she was being fucked, but it didn't work. She was moving around too much and Caroline kept hitting me in the top of my head. So, I just let my head lean back and enjoyed what Erica was doing to me and the view of what Caroline was doing to Lucy. They fucked us through a number of orgasms. Caroline even managed to get Lucy to squirt, the copious liquid falling on to my face and shocking me before it triggered another come on my part. By the time they'd decided they'd finished, I had been fucked more than I'd ever been fucked in my life. Certainly Bob had never managed to go that long. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 11 When they pulled out, Caroline looked down on us and said, "There's a shower in the back of the barn and plenty of soap. Clean up and then follow the sign." With that they disappeared from view, leaving Lucy lying on top of me and our faces still perched between the other's thighs. "Oh my god," Lucy said after a second. "That was unbe-fucking-lievable." She slowly levered herself off me and off the hay bale. "I know. I know," I struggled up to a sitting position. Then my hand snaked out and I grabbed Lucy's wrist. "Come here, babe," I whispered, pulling her gently. She didn't resist and we came together in a passionate kiss. I'm not sure how long it lasted. But when we separated I said, "I've never really met you before today, but I feel like what we went through together just did something to us. Am I crazy?" "No, I know what you mean. Like we're sisters or something." I laughed, "I got a spanking once, with my sister, but ain't never done with her what I did with you." She laughed too. "No, me either. But wow, I don't know. I haven't done anything like that with anyone. And how it felt to be up against you as we both got whipped. I don't think I would have survived it without you. Thank you." She kissed me again, shorter this time, but just as meaningful. "We should wash," I said. "It didn't sound like we were done yet." She stood up and grabbed my hand to pull me up too. "No it didn't. I hope we get to do whatever it is together." "Oh, god, yes," I said. We held hands as we walked to the back of the barn where there was indeed a shower stall surrounded with cobalt blue tile separated by a shoulder-high wall also covered with the blue. There were three shower heads and plenty of room. We took turns washing each others bodies and hair and I very much enjoyed the gentle nature of the caresses I both gave and received. I was fascinated by her breasts as I washed them. I realized that while I'd eaten a few pussies over the past week, I hadn't spent much time with anyone's breasts. "Lucy," I said as my soapy hands moved around her body. "How would you feel about maybe getting together sometime. Maybe for another shower if nothing else. I like this." "Mmmm," she said, "me too. More than just a shower though," she kissed me. I flicked her nipples gently with my thumbs, "Okay! More." We laughed. It felt wonderful to finally be clean. There was a pile of fluffy white towels outside the shower area and we dried off and wrapped ourselves up, sarong style. Another pair of towels went around our hair. We had discussed whether we should be still naked but since we didn't have any directions, we figured we might as well act like normal. Though this "normal" wasn't like the old "normal." There was a sheet of paper tacked up next to the towels. It said that we should go out the back of the barn and along the path marked "H.T." and report in when we were clean. The path led around behind the back of the farm house where we found our therapists sitting together in a hot tub. "Lucy! Pam!" Caroline said, waving at us and smiling. "Come in and join us." Lucy and I looked at each other and the expressions on the other women's faces and shrugged. We were exactly going to argue though, we'd been literally beaten into submission. We unwrapped our towels from around us and climbed into the tub. There was room for more than the four of us. Caroline and Erica were sitting close to each other on one side of the tub. Lucy and I sat on the other, hip to hip under the water. "You guys were fabulous," Erica said, beaming. "How are you feeling?" "Um, confused, Mrs. Landry," I said. "Not Mrs. Landry now," she waved her hand. "Erica's fine. Therapy's over." "She's right," Caroline said, "Therapy's over and you guys did great. Lucy, your tongue was marvelous. Are you still so set against going down on me?" "No," Lucy said shyly. "I liked it. You were right. I always wanted to. Do you want me to do you again? Now?" Caroline laughed. "No, but I will take a rain check. We're all pretty wiped out. I love doing therapy, but I can't keep up the pretense for too long. I like it when we can all finish up like this." And so we spent another hour in the hot tub, soaking and relaxing and recovering from what just happened and not incidentally going over it again and discussing it. I realized later that was their sly way of just a little more psyching us out. It wasn't like what had happened at any of my other therapy sessions, but I guess Caroline and Erica were different. They both lived at the farm, more or less as a couple. The horses were Caroline's passion though. Erica, surprise, surprise, was a psychologist, one of the first ones brought into the program by Jennifer and her partner. Eventually it was time to leave and Lucy and I got dressed in the clothes we'd brought. Leaving Caroline We exchanged phone numbers and emails and promises to call in the parking lot before we eased ourselves into our cars and drove back to our homes. I got home a half hour before Alison came home from school. Plenty of time to slip into a nightgown and crawl into bed, pretending I'd been there the whole time. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 12 [My thanks once again to estragon for editing my prose. I wish it hadn't been so long between chapters, but alas life is sometimes not in my control. I appreciate all the feedback and love hearing from you. Please write. I love the suggestions, but may or may not incorporate them in the story. -Tricia] Session XII: April Fools Thursday was April 1st and the warm spell continued. As I showered, I mentally prepared myself for the pranks and false alarms that always plague the University every April Fools' Day. Every year I found myself wishing that the professors would schedule tests that day, just to put a damper on the foolishness. And then each year I would realize I was getting old and I would try to enjoy the pranks even as I had to deal with them. The truth was, however, that these days I was finding other ways of enjoying myself. Lucy and I had exchanged a dozen email messages in the afternoon and evening yesterday and we'd made plans to meet for lunch today. We'd talked about everything: our therapy, our lives, our new-found desires. It was mind-opening and so reassuring to talk to another married mother, my age, who was going through the same things I was. When I saw how beautiful the day was, I sent a text to Lucy, "How about our own April Foolishness: I declare a no panty day. ;-)" She responded quickly with, "Your so naughty. I love it. Your on." My inner nerd winced at the two wrong "you're"s, but I let it slide. There was nothing on my schedule to have me running around campus, but normally on April 1st, I'd wear jeans defensively. Most years I wound up making some service call or another. But a no-panty day isn't as much fun if you're wearing jeans, so I hoped I wouldn't get a call and I put on a knee-length jean skirt along with a blue and green blouse. Wanting to look extra nice for my lunch date, I spent a little more time than normal on my hair, clipping it back off my ears. My husband had bought me emerald earrings the year before and I never wore them, so put them on too. I was pretty sure he wouldn't notice. Once at work, I managed to avoid having to take any of the morning's outside service calls; I spent the time debugging problems over the phone and setting up new configurations from my desktop. The morning passed pretty quickly, but Lucy and I did manage to exchange a few texts. I left the office a little before noon and headed through the back part of campus, by the aggie barns and through the back roads. Lucy worked in the next town over and had less time for lunch, so I was going to her. On one of the back roads, I passed a police car, but I was driving the limit, so I didn't worry about it when it pulled out behind me. I was pretty surprised when the cruiser's flashers went on: I didn't think I'd done anything wrong. Of course, I pulled over. I was hoping that the cop just needed to get by me, but he pulled over right behind me. Or rather, I should say, she pulled over right behind me. As I sat nervously looking in my rear view mirror, I watched the cop get out of the cruiser and realized that it was a woman. It was hard to tell much about her at first, because she was wearing aviator sunglasses, but she seemed to be in her middle thirties, trim and fit. The blue uniform fit her tightly, on slightly curving hips and breasts. I rolled down the window as she got there. "May I see your license please, ma'am?" the officer asked me. I looked at the name tag on her left breast, "Did I do something wrong, Office Cardones?" She took off her aviators, staring at me with steel grey eyes. With her sunglasses off, I could easily see she was Hispanic and from this close I was able to pick up other details too. Her light brown hair was done up in a French braid. Her skin was olive-brown, a beautiful hue, I couldn't help but think. And she had on much redder lipstick than I thought a cop would normally wear. "Your license, ma'am," she said again, more firmly. I nervously reached over to my purse on the passenger's seat and dug out my wallet. I pulled out my license and handed it to her. "I was pretty sure I was under the speed limit, Officer." She peered carefully at my license, then she handed it back to me. She pulled a notebook and pen out of her back pocket and started writing in it. I couldn't see what she was writing. "Please, Officer, can you tell me what this is about?" "Please step out of your car, Mrs. Burgin," she commanded. "But why? What've I done wrong?" "Listen to me, Mrs. Burgin. Just step out of your car, ma'am. I don't want to have to repeat myself again." There was a flock of butterflies taking flight in my stomach as I pulled the door handle and opened the door. I stepped out and, as soon as I had two feet down, she grabbed my right wrist, holding me tightly. "We need to step around to the other side of the car, ma'am." "Please," I was near tears. "Why won't you tell me what this is about?" She didn't say anything, but the pressure on my arm propelled me around to the side of my minivan that faced the woods. "I need to conduct a search, Mrs. Burgin," she guided me so I was facing my car. "Put your hands on the top of your car. Spread your feet shoulder width apart." "A search?" I was shocked, I tried to turn my body to look at her, but her hand on my wrist wouldn't let me. "What for?" Then I remembered what I wasn't wearing. I got even more nervous about how extensive this search might be. And then I realized that I was beginning to cream myself. Oh God, this could be seriously embarrassing. "Please tell me what I did." "Listen to me, Mrs. Burgin. I will not repeat myself again. Just do what you're told." She released my hand and I put both compliantly on the top of the minivan. I shifted my feet apart. Officer Cardones' hands started along my back, sliding down from neck to waist, not missing anywhere. She ran her fingers along the lines of my bra, apparently feeling for something underneath it. She paused briefly in the middle, expecting I guess to find the lump of the clasp, but I was wearing my only front-opening bra today. Then she ran her hands over my bottom and along the sides of my hips. I felt her squat down a little as she ran her hand up on leg, from ankle, to, oh my god, her hand went all the way up my leg to my crotch. I felt her side of her hand briefly touch the dampness between my legs. Then her hand went back to my other ankle and all the way back up again. At this point, I was still completely freaked out and afraid, but I was also really starting to get turned on by this powerful woman who was handling me without compunction or limits. I felt and heard her stand up behind me. "Turn around, Mrs. Burgin." I took my weight off my hands and stood, then turned around and faced her. She pushed me roughly back so I was leaning against the car. Her foot reached out and firmly shifted my legs wide again. "I need to know if you have anything in your bra, Mrs. Burgin. I can reach in and check myself, or you can open your blouse and bra for me. Your choice." I began to wonder once again just what was going on. I'd never heard of the cops doing this to anyone before. But I paused and she didn't like it. She reached up to undo the top button on my blouse. I blurted, "No, I'll do it." Her hands moved back to her hips and I unbuttoned my blouse from top to bottom, pulling it out from the top of my skirt. I reached up and unclasped my bra, and pulled it to the sides away from my breasts. My traitorous nipples, already hard, grew even harder as they were freed. She reached up immediately and cupped my breasts in her hands, her thumbs against my nubs. She flicked them. "Are you aroused, Mrs. Burgin? I find that quite suspicious. An innocent woman wouldn't be aroused by having her tits fondled by a cop. Are you innocent, Mrs. Burgin?" Her thumbs continued to roll around the tips of my breasts. "I, um, yes, I haven't done anything, oh." She was having an effect on me, for sure. The feel of her holding my breasts and teasing my nipples were sending jolts of energy down to my crotch. I felt my temperature rising. "Really? Well, I'll be the judge of that. I think we need a cavity search." I knew I should protest but couldn't get it out. Her left hand remained against my breast. Her right hand plucked a latex glove from her front pants pocket. She brought the edge of it up to her mouth and slid her hand into it, pulling it on with her teeth. "Please don't...," I managed, as both her hands lowered and started to lift my skirt. But that was all I managed. I soon felt her latex-covered fingers slide into my slippery pussy. "I'd say you are aroused, Mrs. Burgin," Officer Cardones said with a wicked smile. "Very, very aroused." Her fingers started slowly sliding in and out of me. I wasn't protesting any longer. Her fingers felt so good in my sex. "You asked what this was about, Mrs. Burgin," she said as she continued to pump her fingers, continuing to send shots of pleasure along my nerves. "I have a message for you." "A message," I said, confused. It is hard to think straight when someone is fingering you. "What?" "From Jennifer Edelman." Her fingers slid suddenly out of my opening and quickly around my clit. But not enough to make me come, damn it. "Jennifer? Huh?" Her fingers slid into me again. "Jennifer wants you to know that she's reading your text messages. And she hopes you have a good lunch with your new friend, Lucy. And," her pace suddenly quickened, bringing me closer, closer to the orgasm I desperately wanted. Then just as suddenly, just as I could feel my release approaching, Officer Cardones pulled her fingers out of me. "And April Fool, Mrs. Burgin. Aprils Fool!" She looked at her hand, covered in latex and that covered with my slippery juices, then she rubbed it onto my neck and between my breasts. Then she pulled off the glove and shoved it back into her pocket. "Wait," I said suddenly desperate. "Why did you stop? Please, don't leave me like this." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Burgin, I have no idea what you're talking about. I suggest that you cover yourself up, before I have to arrest you for indecent exposure." As she took out her notebook again, I quickly did up my bra and began to button up my blouse. She tore a page out of the book, then reached toward me and slid the paper into my bra before I closed up the top of my blouse. "My number's there. Call me sometime. I'd love to see you in cuffs." Then she turned and, without another word, went back to her still running cruiser. She pulled away immediately. I was so horny I thought about sinking to the ground right there and pleasuring myself. But I realized I was late for lunch and I couldn't wait to tell Lucy about this. ------- About five minutes from the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Lucy, I got a text from her on my phone. She had beaten me there and gotten a table. I pushed the button to call her. "Pam!" she said when she answered the phone. "Are you okay?" "Yes, I'll be there in a minute. Order me a margarita, okay?" She sounded amused as she said, "Will do. I think I'll get one myself." "See you in a second. Can't wait. Bye." "Bye," she said. "Can't wait either." The restaurant was an out-of-the-way Mexican place. It did a good business in the evenings and on weekends and on Fridays they had a lunch special that my department mates and I sometimes took advantage of. But Thursdays were never busy. There were only a couple of cars in the parking lot. Lucy got up from the booth when she saw me come into the main dining room. While I was dressed fairly casually, her job as a legal assistant required her to dress in a more business-oriented outfit. She had a blue, A-line, knitted skirt that came to her knees and a white cotton blouse, with a blue blazer on top. She had glasses on today; I guess she had been wearing contacts yesterday. She looked good. We kissed each other's cheeks and greeted each other like old friends. After all we'd shared yesterday, we were like sisters. Lucy slipped off her blazer before she sat down; I slid quickly into the booth. A margarita was already sitting on the table in front of me when I sat down, matching one in front of Lucy. I gratefully took a sip, then a bigger gulp. I felt it flow through my veins, teasing my already excited nervous system. I shivered with the cold of it. "Wait until you hear what happened on my way over," I said, excitedly. I slipped my left foot out of my shoe and touched Lucy's calf. I was so horny. "Oooh," Lucy said with only a little surprise. "That feels nice. Tell me." "First," I said, "are you...did you...like we agreed?" "Uh huh," she said with a smile. "I've been trying to find a good phrase for it all morning. I don't like 'commando', that sounds too military." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "So, how about 'free range pussy'?" We both laughed and I said, "I love it. Me too, of course." My voice lowered, "Are these stockings then?" "Of course," she said with mock shock. "It wouldn't be free range without." Then she grinned, "Why, are you planning an inspection?" "I might," I said. "I more or less had one on the way here." "What? Tell me...." "Can I tell you ladies the specials?" The waitress suddenly appeared by the booth. She was in her late twenties, with wispy dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes. She wore the usual tacky uniform of the restaurant: a short, black, tight skirt and a flouncy red blouse. Her hair was pulled back and tucked under a bandana. "Um," I said. "Can we just have a plate of your nachos? Is that okay with you, Lucy?" "Sounds good to me," Lucy replied. "I'm not that hungry anyway." "Do you want the regular or the super?" our waitress asked. "Just the regular," I replied. "I'll put that right in," she replied and headed off to the kitchen. I watched her walk away, enjoying the swing of her hips in the tight skirt and her cute ass. Lucy interrupted my reverie, "Are you usually that brazen?" "What?" "Watching women's asses like that?" "No," I said, giving her my attention again. "It's just...well, she left me on edge." "On edge?" "Right on the edge of," I looked around and lowered my voice, "orgasm." Lucy leaned back with a smile. "All right," she said, and now I felt her stockinged foot on my shin, running lightly up and down. "Now you have to tell me." "You're not going to believe this," I said and we leaned together as I started to tell about my encounter with Officer Cardones in a whisper, anxious not to have anyone else hear me. "Driving over here...." I began the story and related how she had pulled me over and gotten me out of the car and around to the back. I told Lucy about how she'd "searched" me from behind and then turned me around and made me open my blouse and how she'd put her hands on my breasts. Lucy's foot never stopped rubbing me. I swear I wanted to lift my foot to her crotch and feel her sex with my toes. I kept up the story. "And then I felt her flick my nipples," I was saying as the plate of nachos appeared between us. "There you go, ladies," our waitress said, with one eyebrow up. "Anything else I can get you today?" I quickly glanced at her nametag. "No, Melissa, we're good." "Yes, you seem to be," she smirked. "Let me know if you need anything." And she walked away while Lucy and I blushed furiously. We looked around us, but no one else seemed to have noticed our conversation. I was glad for the slowness of the restaurant's business because I wasn't sure if I'd have been able to contain myself even if it was packed with people. "Go on," Lucy said, "this is getting good." Lucy's eyes got big as I told her how the cop's hands hand pushed my skirt up and how it felt to have her fingers on my cunt. Her breathing slowed down. "Oh God," she squirmed in her seat, "this has got me going. And she didn't finish you?" She took a big gulp of her drink. I noticed that both hers and mine were getting close to being finished. "You must be going crazy. Why'd she stop?" "Jennifer told her she had to. Said it was an 'April Fool's''" "Wait, who's Jennifer?" "You don't know?" "No of course, not. Tell me." Melissa made another appearance then. "Can I get you ladies another drink?" "Um, water for me. I've got to drive," I said. "Me too," Lucy added. "Still working on the nachos?" We'd hardly touched them. "Yes, thank you." I kept my eye out for Melissa as I started to tell Lucy about Jennifer. I quickly went over how she used to babysit my kids and then how I found out she was involved with the Therapy and about my first session with her. "No, she didn't spank me, much as I wanted her to," I'd just said as two glasses of water appeared on the table. Melissa was looking at us curiously and I knew she'd heard me. But I didn't know what to say to cover it. "Um, thank you, Melissa," I stammered and she moved off. I picked up the drink and took a big gulp. I noticed that Lucy's hands were pressed into her lap. She mimicked me and took a big sip of water through the straw. "How much do you think she heard?" Lucy asked. "I don't know. I hope not much." "So, was that your only session with this Jennifer?" "No." I took another sip of the water and suddenly felt the cold and the margarita I'd drank and the coffee from this morning all ganging up in my bladder. "I'll tell you about it in a minute. But I need to go to the little girls' room." I slipped my heels back on and started to slide out of the booth. "Let me go with you," Lucy said, sliding out of her side. ------ The Ladies' Room had two stalls and a sink. It looked like the door locked, but there was no way to turn the lock. Fortunately, it was empty. Lucy and I were kissing as soon as we got the door closed. It was a heedless, hungry kiss. Both of us were in overdrive from the events of yesterday. And I was still turned on by my encounter this morning and then relating it. Lucy, well, she must have liked my story. After we'd been kissing for a couple of minutes, I felt her hand slide down and start to pull up my skirt. "Wait," I said, grabbing her hand. "I want this too, but I have to pee first." "I have an idea," she said with a spark in her eyes. "I saw it on 'The L Word' ages ago. After I watched you pee yesterday...." She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the handicapped accessible stall. "Lock it," she said. She quickly grabbed some toilet paper and wiped the seat. Then she sat, pushing her skirt all the way up to her waist. Her dark haired pubic hair was beautifully framed by the white garter belt holding up her stockings. "Come here," she said in a husky voice. I moved in front of her. She slid my skirt up to my waist. "Sit on me," she said. "Facing me." I started to get the idea and not-too-gracefully maneuvered so I was sitting on top of her lap, facing her, my legs spread wide and hips to either side of her. Her legs were wide as well, I could feel nothing immediately beneath me. She began to kiss me again and I kissed back fervently, but only for a moment. "I really have to go," I said plaintively. "I know," Lucy said back with a sly smile. "Go ahead, my legs are far enough apart. I'll go too." I pulled back a little bit and looked at her, "Really?" "Yeah, try it. Like I said, I saw it once on that show and its stuck in my mind." It was a relief to relax and let it out. I guess I trembled as the pressure on my bladder eased. I heard my pee hitting the water and another stream as well as Lucy relaxed and let go as well. "This is kind of fun in a perverse kind of way," I said. Lucy just giggled. "Am I getting any on you?" "A little, but its okay. God, Pam, I want to taste you again." We began to kiss again. Then we heard the door to the restroom open and close. Both of us went wide-eyed; I pulled back from her in horror. We could see each other's thoughts in our eyes: by all means, don't move and be quiet. Maybe whoever it was wouldn't notice. A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 12 We heard a click as someone with a key locked the outer door. A second later, the latch on the stall turned quickly and opened outward, revealing our waitress, Melissa, holding a short screwdriver and smirking at us. "Get out!" I said, startled by her boldness. "How dare you?" Lucy said almost at the same time. But Melissa just raised her other hand and pointed her phone at us. We heard the click of a photo being shot. "I don't think so, bitches. Aren't you two cute? What? Are you, peeing on each other? You skanks." "No, it's not like that...." I sputtered. "Sure, sure. Kiss each other again. I want a picture of that." We didn't move: we were too stunned to get up like we should have. "You both got rings on. You think your husbands would like the photo I got? Kiss." We turned and our lips met again. We heard another click of the camera. "Keep it up, bitches. Make it look like you like it; I know you do. I heard you talking. Getting spanked and fondled and fingered. Made me wet hearing it. Of course, you didn't order enough to make a decent tip for me. Well, I'll get my tip. That's enough for now. Get up, you old sluts." We untangled and I stood up. "No, don't let your skirt drop. Tuck it up. Where's your panties, eh? Neither one of you has panties on?" Lucy stood too. "You too. Hell, just unzip your skirts, both of you. Let them drop." We each undid our skirts. "Do you work for Jennifer?" I asked. "Or Dr. Gupta?" "Who're they? Your dommes? No, I'm just a girl who's gettin' her freak on. Finger each other, I want a picture of that." We hesitated. "Go on, I got pictures enough to screw you. If you're good, I'll just keep them to myself." I reached out and touched Lucy's sex at the same time as she reached for mine. "No, inside. You know you want it," Melissa ordered. We complied. I swooned uncontrollably at the sensation. Lucy wasn't as bad, but I could feel her pleasure. "Geez, you two are sluts aren't you. You're making me drip." She took two more pictures. "Fuck, I want some of that. Stop that." The blonde-haired waitress pushed us aside and turned her back to the wall which, had a thick horizontal bar to assist the handicapped. Her hands slipped under her tight skirt and without taking off her shoes, she stepped out of a cotton thong, which she hung nonchalantly on the bar. Her skirt was soon gathered around her waist and she stuck one foot on the edge of the toilet and lifted herself an inch or two to rest her ass on the bar. There she balanced, legs wantonly spread, her hairless pussy glistening with desire. "You first," Melissa said, pointing at me. "Don't pretend you don't want to do it." I didn't want to want it, but I couldn't help myself. I knelt on the floor in front of her, the hard tiles painful on my bare knees. I knew I didn't have much choice, but that didn't matter. I couldn't wait to taste her. But I also couldn't help but think of what a slut I'd become. I was kneeling on the dirty floor of a public restroom, my skirt somewhere off to the side, about to go down on a woman I'd never met before. It was so hot. I leaned forward quickly, mouth open, tongue out, hungry for her taste. Voraciously I licked the sweet, tangy juices leaking from her quim. "Oh, you're good, bitch. Very good," she moaned. I sped up my tongue. Her lips were tiny, but sensitive. And she kept getting wetter every second. "Very, very, good." I tasted the cream inside her opening. I wanted to force my whole face inside her, knowing it was impossible. Her hips began to buck against me. "Yeah, yeah, oh yeah. Do my clit. My clit," Melissa whispered throatily. I transferred my concentration to the fleshy jewel above her opening. It seemed to be split into two portions, like a pair of butterfly wings, all of it obviously highly reactive to the touch of my tongue. I swirled around it. "Oh you sweet. Little. Bitch. Lick me. Lick me." I flicked my tongue rapidly from one half of her clit to the other. "Oh yeah. Oh God. Oh God." She grabbed my ears tightly as she came, holding me against her, pulling me into her cunt as she shivered through her climax. Then she pushed me just an inch away from her, holding me tight and looking down at me. I looked back up at her, and she smiled a nasty smile. "But since you girls seem to like it...." I felt a warm splash on my face and tried to pull back in shock and horror when I realized she was pissing on my face. She laughed evilly when she saw me recoil and the panic on my face. Her hands were locked painfully onto my ears and she was stronger than she looked. I couldn't move. Her salty, bitter urine splashed all over my face and up my nose. I squirmed my body and held my hands up at my neck, deflecting the liquid off my blouse. The stream only lasted a couple of seconds, but by the time it ended my face was all wet, my makeup ruined and tears of shame joined the urine on my face. She tipped my head back and looked down at me. "Tears, slut? It's almost like you've never been peed on before." She laughed. "I haven't," I said, holding back a sob. Melissa pushed me away, "Like I care. Get up. It's blondie's turn." I got up awkwardly, and moved out of the way gratefully. "Get over here, slut," she was saying to Lucy, who seemed frozen in place. "Are you going to do that to me too?" Lucy asked, trembling. "Only one way to find out," Melissa glared. "Let me take off my top?" "Get naked for all I care, bitch. Just do it quick." Lucy hands trembled as she quickly unbuttoned her blouse and handed it to me, but her eyes were blazing with excitement. "Where did you sluts come from?" Melissa asked in amazement. Lucy took off her bra and gave that to me too. Her nipples were standing erect. She moved hastily to crouch where I had been a second before. "I'm ready," she said, looking up at our erstwhile waitress. "Then go ahead and eat me, slut." "No!" She said with fear mixed with certainty. "You did her. Piss on me too." Her eyes were huge with pleading and her mouth hung open. "God, no one's gonna believe this," Melissa said to herself. "You want it, piss slut? You want me to pee all over you?" "Yes. Please, Mistress. Before I chicken out." The younger woman's hand moved to her sex, two fingers on either side of her pee-hole. Suddenly, liquid gushed from her, splashing over Lucy face and into her open mouth. Lucy didn't shrink back from it. No, she maneuvered to catch more in her mouth, while her hands spread what missed her mouth around her skin, from face to neck to breasts. It was horrifying and sexy at the same time. But Lucy was writhing in apparent ecstasy from the stream. When the flow slowed, Lucy moved her face closer, mouth open, catching the last of the liquid. I could see her throat move as she swallowed. Lucy moved quickly from drinking to licking and Melissa started moaning immediately. She came in just a second, Lucy's hungry tongue and lips working magic on her sex. Lucy's fingers came up then, sliding into the other woman's cunt from below. She concentrated her licking on Melissa's clit and her fingers moved, piston-like, in and out of her lover's cunt. I leaned against the wall, holding Lucy's clothes, my fist in my mouth with a heady mixture of shame, disgust, and lust. I couldn't believe Lucy had just done that and yet I wished I had had the guts to have done it too. My eyes were glued to the joining of Lucy's mouth to Melissa's pussy and I didn't miss a single movement of Lucy's lips or a single orgasmic sound emanating from Melissa's mouth. Melissa's orgasm was incredible, convulsing her body so much that her leg came down from the edge of the toilet, sliding her ass down off the bar she'd been leaning on. Her eyes seemed to roll back into her head and the only sound she could make was a moan. Lucy and I just watched in awe as the wave crested over her and aftershocks shivered through her body. At some point she came back to herself and leaned down kissing Lucy deeply on her mouth. "That was amazing," she said with tenderness in her voice. Then she looked up and saw me. "Are you still here?" she blurted. "Put your skirt back on, slut." Then she turned back to Lucy, her hand caressing the older woman's cheek. "Don't move, sweetheart." Melissa pushed her own skirt down and grabbed me by the upper arm as I was fumbling to zip up my skirt. I didn't get a chance to tuck in my blouse. She walked me to the outer door of the bathroom and pulled a key out of a pocket in her skirt. "Go to your table, grab you purse and get out of here, slut." "But Lucy...." I started to object, looking back toward the stall where my friend remained. Melissa grabbed my arm again. "Don't worry about Lucy. Is that her name? I'll take good care of her." "Lucy," I said. "Call me, Love." Melissa snorted and opened the door, pushing me out. I hurried through the restaurant, mortified by how I must look. I grabbed my purse and went out the door as quickly as I could. Lucy's blazer and purse remained so no one stopped me about the check. The tears started again in my car as I drove home. So did the confusion. What was more humiliating, I asked myself. Was it how Melissa had found us? Or that she had peed on me like that? Or that I gotten shivers of excitement from it? No, the worst was that she had rejected me and kept Lucy. Was I not good enough? Was Lucy's tongue so much better than mine? And the whole time, poring over this in my head, I kept wondering why even this was turning me on so much. The humiliation should turn me off, but as it had since the beginning of this adventure, the more I was degraded, the more I got turned on. I managed to sneak into the bathroom in my building without being seen and I cleaned up enough so no one seemed to notice that I wasn't as prim as I'd been this morning. I kept thinking, of course, that everyone I met knew what I had done at lunch. I just tried to sink into my desk all afternoon, hoping no one would talk to me. I was relieved when Lucy called me about 3:30. "I can only talk for a minute," she said. "I'm all right. Better than all right. It's amazing. Melissa and her friends are...well I'll tell you tomorrow okay? Gotta go. Love you." Melissa and her friends, I thought after the click of the phone. What had she gotten into? And why was I jealous? Then I stared at the phone a minute, wondering when we had each decided to say, "Love."