Cassandra

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                           Cassandra
                       (MF, FF, psych)
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                   (c) Copyright - March 1998
                       All Rights Reserved
                         Crimson Dragon 
                      (dcrimson@yahoo.com)
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"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked quietly from the dark leather
chair where she was seated. She'd been sitting silently, relaxed,
just watching him for some time before she finally spoke.
He sat safely behind his oversized desk and looked at her. Petite.
Long blonde hair. Her legs tucked under herself. She possessed the
most kissable lips that he could ever remember seeing. She was
barely out of her teens. Her dazzling blue eyes were fixed upon his
face. She exuded sexuality. He wasn't surprised by her question. He
was surprised by his immediate response. Yes. Of course, he wanted
her; anyone would.
Instead, he answered her in a quiet and thoughtful voice, "Sarah.
That isn't why you are here. And you know it."
Joyce Moore had referred this girl to him about a month ago. She was
deeply troubled, had violent behaviour, and was extremely
anti-social. Joyce had cautioned him before he had seen the girl for
the first time. Sarah had problems in her past that Joyce hadn't
been able to uncover. She no longer felt comfortable treating Sarah;
no further explanation given. She had warned him about Sarah and her
techniques of avoidance. This was the first time Sarah had been so
blatant with him. She hadn't given any indication at all of her
sexuality up until this point. In fact, she'd seemed almost shy of
discussing anything to do with sex. He wondered if it was a good
sign or a bad one.
The girl leaned forward with her steady gaze still fixed on his
face. Her lovely lips moved forming the dangerous words, "You want
to fuck me. I can see it in your eyes. I see a lot. You can have me,
you know."
He swallowed hard. "Sarah. Let's get back on track here. Okay?"
The lithe girl pursed her lips and leaned back in the leather chair.
"What if I'm not Sarah?" A mischevious smile played around her lips.
"You could fuck me if I wasn't Sarah, couldn't you?"
He considered her words. Multiple? This was her tenth appointment.
She'd never displayed any other symptoms before this. Despite his
initial doubts, he had to take her seriously, even if she was
playing with him.
"Who are you then, if not Sarah?"
"What if I told you I was Cassandra?" She leaned forward in her
chair.
"You want me to call you Cassandra?"
"It doesn't really matter what you call me. As long as you do what I
want. You can use your wife's name, if it makes it any easier."
Cassandra was his wife's name. The coincidence disturbed him.
Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence; though, how this girl would be able
to find out his wife's name was beyond him. He suddenly felt off
balance.
He knew about these. It happened to every doctor. A lovely patient
doing exactly this. His mind was spinning. Her purfume washed over
him. Her sexuality captivated him. His concentration was becoming
fuzzy. This was first year stuff. How to deal with a patient like
this. Every student was warned. Stop? Try to guide her back to the
session? Get someone else into the room? Bury his emotions and
reactions and explore this avenue? Allow her to continue her
advances? Would it lead to her problem? He was almost sure that he
shouldn't encourage her. He just couldn't remember. He felt like
pounding his fist into the desk. How should he handle this?
He'd already failed with her so often. Previous sessions ended with
her lashing out at him; hurting herself, breaking things. Violent.
Unfortunately the human mind wasn't an exact science.
His finger traced the call button on the intercom. He wanted to push
it and get Sheila, his receptionist, in here. He withdrew his hand.
He should be able to handle this. He was a professional. Dammit.
This was just a girl. A lovely girl, a disturbed girl, but above all
a patient. There were responsibilities here. She had come to him for
help, not to his receptionist. He had to provide that help to the
best of his abilities.
He took a breath and continued. "Sarah. Do you want to talk about
your sexuality today?"
"I'm not Sarah. I'm Cassandra. And no. I don't want to talk. Mrs.
Moore asked me the same thing."
"Alright. Cassandra. Who are you?" He thought it might just be
better to go along with her. He decided to let her lead the
discussion though he didn't really believe that she was a multiple,
at least not a classic one. Classic cases of multiple personalities
were exceptionally rare and this girl was smart enough to fake it.
At least until he caught her. What he couldn't figure out was why
she'd want to fake it. Didn't make sense.
"I'm Sarah, but I'm not. I help Sarah. Share her. It's hard to
explain."
"Cassandra, you know Sarah?"
"Of course."
"Does she know you?"
"Who do you think called me? She likes you."
This was beginning to get deeper. Perhaps Cassandra did exist after
all. The voice was harsher, less gentle than Sarah's voice normally
was. Huskier. He hated to admit it; her voice was sexier. It was
hard to fake complete personality shifts for very long. If she was
faking it, she was doing an excellent job.
"She likes me? In what way?" he continued. He wanted to determine if
she was faking this or not. His ultimate goal here was to find out
what was behind her violence and her other anti-social behaviour.
What was behind her sudden personality shift? Was it all related?
"Likes you, likes you. What do you think?" She'd uncurled her legs,
crossing them demurely and teasingly. She had to be aware of what
she was doing.
"Cassandra. Why are you here?" Changing tacks.
"To fuck you. Why else? Isn't that what everyone wants? To be
fucked? Don't you want me? I'm soft and I don't bite."
He swallowed. Letting his eyes travel her body. He struggled to slow
his heart. Of course, he wanted to scream at her. Of course, he
wanted her. She must have seen his appraising look. Soft and she
didn't bite.
"Can I speak to Sarah again?"
A mischevious grin. "Not until you do what I want."
He took a deep breath. "Cassandra. Sarah. You know that we can't do
what you want. If you even want it." He spoke a bit haltingly.
"But you want to. I can see it. And of course I want it. Don't be
silly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't."
In one fluid motion, the girl rose out of the chair. She kicked off
her running shoes. Her shoes landed with a light thud in front of
the desk. She wasn't wearing socks. She walked over to the desk,
her bare feet whispering across the carpet; she leaned on his desk,
thrust her breasts out against her sweater. He was almost sure he
could make out her nipples beneath the fabric of her top. He tore
his gaze away from her with a huge effort.
"You want me," she spoke in her husky voice. Her voice had far more
experience than he would have imagined in a girl this age.
"Sarah. I'm going to have to stop this session if you can't behave.
We can explore this at some other time. Or with someone else here. I
don't want to stop it, we're making progress, but I will."
"I'm not Sarah." She took a deep breath and returned to her chair.
She purposefully recrossed her legs and flexed her bare toes.
"What's this all about, Cassandra? You can talk to me."
She sat back, crossing her arms under her breasts. "What do you want
to know?"
"I need to know about you. Your past. What you are feeling now."
"I'm hot and I'm wet. I'm aching for you. Your touch. That's what I
am feeling." Her hand stole to her right breast and she gently
traced it through her sweater with her index finger. Her eyes locked
onto his. "Care to help me with that?"
"Cassandra. You must know that we can't do anything. Even if I was
interested."
"I know you are interested."
He felt himself reacting to her again. He reached for the intercom.
"I'm going to have to stop this for today. You can come back
tomorrow, and we'll discuss it then. Okay?"
"You can't handle me alone? Poor man." Then more softly, "I'll
behave."
He looked at her. She looked so innocent. She was able to switch
back and forth. She could turn her demeanor on and off, like a light
switch.
He withdrew his hand from the button.
"Cassandra? Put your shoes back on if we are going to continue.
Okay?"
"Cassandra? Who is that?" A softer voice, almost frightened.
"Sarah?"
"What happened? I. I'm confused." She looked down at her bare feet.
"What happened to my shoes?"
He didn't quite know how to deal with this. "Sarah, you blacked out
for a moment. You kicked your shoes off. Why don't you put them back
on before we continue?"
She looked at him suspiciously. Frightened. She sat unmoving in her
chair. She blinked.
"Because I don't want to put them on. I'm comfortable." The harsher,
deeper voice returned.
"Cassandra?"
"Of course, who'd you think it was?"
"Sarah doesn't know about you, does she?"
"Of course she does. Who do you think calls me?"
"Why are you back? I'd like to talk to Sarah if you'll let me."
"She'll be back after we fuck."
"You know we can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Cassandra, you know why not."
"Don't you find me attractive? Who's going to find out? I won't tell
if you don't."
"I'd like to talk to Sarah."
"I'm not wearing any underwear. You want to see?"
"No. Cassandra. Keep your clothes on. Okay? I'll have to stop this
if you take anything else off. Understand?"
"I understand. I'll be good." She grinned mischeviously. She knew
that he wasn't going to force her to replace her shoes. She flexed
her bare toes, almost casually, except he knew that nothing she did
was casual. At least in this persona. His eyes were glued to her
small bare feet. And she knew it.
He took a deep breath, wondering how to proceed.
"If I've been bad, you can spank me," she spoke softly before he had
a chance to gather his thoughts.
Now this was interesting. He idly wondered if physical abuse had
contributed to this. In cases of multiple personalities, often some
of it could be traced back to sexual or physical abuse in the past.
The alternate personality was created to absorb the pain that the
original personality couldn't. Perhaps, she was trying to tell him
something unconsciously. He remained silent letting her continue.
This was almost certainly a genuine case of multiple personalities.
He could tell the difference. There was simply no way that she could
fake it this long without slipping somewhere.
"You want to spank me, don't you?" she spoke again, softly.
"Not really." Though he did. He couldn't get the image of himself
spanking her writhing body out of his mind. "Have you been spanked
before?"
"You can you know. I'll let you." Her hands stole to the base of her
sweater, fingering the material. Her fingernails almost sparkled in
contrast with the pale skin of her hands. His thoughts roamed to
what else she might be able to do with those soft hands. Red nails
stroking. Her body slowly slipping to her knees on the carpet. He
forced his mind back to the job at hand.
"Have you been spanked before?" he asked again patiently, trying to
control his breathing.
"Lots of times. I like it. It turns me on."
"Cassandra? Does Sarah like to be spanked too?"
"I don't know. Does it matter? She likes you. If she likes you, she
will do anything for you. Right?" Her fingers still played casually
with the fabric of her sweater. "Let me take off my clothes for you?
You want me to, don't you?"
"Cassandra. I'd prefer if you didn't do that." He hated lying to
patients.
She stretched out like a cat in the chair. She extended her long
legs towards him.
"You can tie me up if you want. Spank me. Right there. On your desk.
Tie my hands. My feet. Tight. I'll be helpless. Then you can spank
me. My breasts. My legs. My feet. My face. Even between my legs.
You'd like that wouldn't you? I don't mind." She held her wrists out
towards him, close together, offering herself.
He could feel his heart racing in his chest. It felt like it was
hammering into his ribs. He closed his eyes seeing pictures of this
lovely creature exactly as she'd discribed. Naked. Helpless.
Spanked. He fought it, trying to think of his wife. His daughter.
His car. Anything but her. He drew in a deep breath and opened his
eyes.
She had taken advantage of his inattentiveness, removing her sweater
while images of her flitted beneath his closed lids. Her sweater lay
crumpled on the ground by her bare feet in front of her chair, a
flash of blue against the mottled carpet. She was smiling at him,
proud of herself. His eyes had been drawn to the flash of colour on
the ground. He slowly raised his eyes. She had been telling the
truth earlier about the underwear, at least up top. Her breasts
were even more perfect than he'd imagined. Upthrust. Firm. Her
breasts heaved as she gazed at him with her ragged breathing, her
nipples noticeably erect.
"You want me. I know you do."
And she was so right. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
"Cassandra. You have got to put your shirt back on. Please."
"You don't like my breasts?" She gently squeezed them, playing with
her nipples. They hardened further under her touch.
"Cassandra, please. I will stop this."
She settled back into her chair, a mischevious smile gracing her
full lips again.
"Don't you want to know if I've done this before?"
Christ. If he stopped this now, then what? Would he ever get another
chance to probe this deeply into her psyche? His rational mind
screamed that he was a professional and that he would be able to
break through her defenses without resorting to this. It would just
take some time. This wasn't right.
"Have you?" his irrational mind had to know.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she whispered again. "Answer me and I'll
answer you."
"Cassandra. This isn't how it works."
"Why? Because you are the big doctor? I get to bare my soul? And
what do I get in return? I don't even get to bare this body for you?
Why do you get to ask all the questions? Make all the rules? Hmmmm?"
"Cassandra, put your top back on. Now. Please."
"No. Do you want to fuck me?"
He took a deep breath. "You know we can't. When have you done this
before?"
"Joyce wasn't as hard to break as you are. But then, she quit the
first session when I kicked off my shoes for her."
He swallowed. Joyce? His head felt fuzzy. His rational mind kicked
in. She was lying. Trying to trap him. Trying to shock him.
She took advantage of the pause. "Do you want me to take off my
shorts? I will you know." Her fingers were playing with the button.
"I'm not wearing panties."
"No Cassandra. I want you to put back on your shirt and your shoes."
"I made love to Joyce. She's your friend, isn't she?"
Perhaps her delusions would provide an answer.
"She's my friend. And she isn't homosexual. When did you make love
to her?"
"Have you ever made love to her? How could you possibly know she
isn't a closet lesbian?"
"How I know isn't relevant here." He and Joyce were good friends.
Collegues. There had been some attraction, but it hadn't developed
into anything. He was married. She was married. They respected that.
They'd attended some functions together, even danced. But they
hadn't proceeded beyond harmless flirtations. Overall, he supposed,
he didn't really know if she was bisexual, or homosexual for that
matter. But Joyce's sexual preferences weren't the issue here.
"You haven't had her. I can see it in your eyes. That's too bad. She
was quite an attentive lover. You would have liked her almost as
much as you are going to like me."
"Cassandra, you know we can't do this. We can talk all you like. And
you don't need to be naked. Put back on your sweater." The words
were becoming an effort to say. The sight of her breasts was
rattling him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her half naked
body, her long bare legs, her small toes. He couldn't help wondering
just what was beneath those shorts.
"I like being naked. She resisted, too, you know. Longer than you
will. I had to work on her for three full sessions before she let me
do what I wanted. She stopped the sessions twice. But she was
easier than you."
"Who? Mrs. Moore?"
"Joyce. Yes."
"So you are bisexual then?"
"Isn't everyone? Isn't that what they teach you in your precious
psychology courses?"
"Let's get back to how you like being spanked."
"You liked hearing about that? You want to spank me? You can. As
much and as hard as you like. Where ever you like. I'll let you.
Have you ever spanked a woman during sex? I have. It's quite a rush
hearing her scream. I can scream for you. Or I can keep quiet. You
can even gag me if you like. I'd even let you gag me with my own
panties if I was wearing any. I'll do whatever you want."
"Cassandra, I don't want to spank you." He tried to lie convincingly
to this vixen. His arousal was mounting by huge increments as he
listened to her.
"You want to tie me up, then? Fuck me while I'm helpless? Spank me
when I'm helpless? That's what finally got Joyce."
"When was the first time you realized that you liked these types of
things?"
"A long, long time ago. It doesn't matter. Joyce liked tying me up."
He swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to will the images away.
Images flashed though his mind of this girl, squirming, tied down on
Joyce's desk. Crying out as Joyce hit her. The two of them making
love tenderly.
"You're picturing it, aren't you?" she asked. "Me. And Joyce."
"Sarah. We are going to have to stop for today."
"She finally let me strip. And then we moved all her pads and
pencils and things off her desk together. She used her scarves. Tied
my wrists. And my ankles. My legs apart. We kissed. Right there in
her office. Like that. Me helpless. Vulnerable. Joyce loved it."
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore her voice. He couldn't stop
her. He couldn't will the mental images out of his mind. He was so
bloody aroused. He tried to will his hand forward to touch the
intercom. Stop this. Get Sheila in here. His hand wasn't listening
to his brain any longer. He was captivated by Cassandra's husky
voice.
"Do you want to know more? Or should we stop this?" she asked
innocently.
He opened his eyes. She'd shifted again. She was standing closer in
front of his desk, her breasts inviting him, drawing his full
attention. She smiled at him and slowly, deliberately unbuttoned her
shorts. She hooked her fingers into the waistband and slowly pushed
them over her hips and down her long legs. Her deep blue hynotizing
eyes still locked on his. She stepped out of the shorts towards the
desk, placed her hands on the edge, and leaned towards him.
Completely nude. The only coherent thought running through his head
was that she was a real blonde. This couldn't possibly be happening.
"C-Cassandra. You have to stop this. You can't do this. Not in here.
You have to get dressed."
"You don't like my body? Why should we be ashamed of our bodies? I'm
not."
He could see that. She didn't have a trace of self-consciousness.
She seemed almost happy to be romping around nude in front of him.
"I swear. Cassandra. If you don't stop this, I will get someone else
in here to stop this. Please. Get dressed, go sit down, and we'll
continue."
She pouted for a moment, her full lower lip quivering, her eyes
silently pleading. She eventually turned, presenting a beautiful
backside, and strutted back to her chair. She settled into it,
making no move to gather her discarded clothing. No move to cover
herself at all. Her face had lost the pout and she stared at him
almost defiantly.
"Clothes," he motioned at her garments on the floor.
"I prefer not wearing them. I'll tell you what you want to know if
you just let me stay here like this. Nobody has to know. I won't
come on to you if you don't want me. All you have to do is tell me
that you don't want me. Please let me keep them off? I'm just more
comfortable this way. Okay?"
He would lose his license. He just knew it. May as well just take
the useless diploma off his wall and light a match under it now.
"Tell me about Joyce."
"You don't believe me. You don't believe that we had sex. Do you?"
"I think that it will help me understand you if you tell me what you
think happened between you."
"You just want to hear me tell you what we did. Even if it's a
twisted fantasy of mine. You think it will help you understand me?"
She paused for a second, thinking. "You think it will turn you on."
"Does it matter?"
"To you it does. Will it turn you on to hear about two women having
sex? Two women tying each other up? Spanking each other? I'll tell
you gladly if it will turn you on. I want you turned on. Are you
jealous of Joyce? She's had me and you haven't. Yet."
"Cassandra, will you please dress yourself?"
"Not yet. After we fuck. I'll get dressed after you screw me. You
want to hear about Joyce? It isn't a fantasy," she was barely
whispering but he could make out her words just fine.
"Tell me about Joyce." He had resigned himself to her game. It
couldn't hurt to continue; she was already nude and unlikely to get
dressed without outside intervention. Not like he'd ever be speaking
to any other patients again. Maybe this would tell him something
about this naked enigma in front of him. Perhaps he could still
help her.
"I was stretched out on her desk. Bound with her scarves. Just as
you are imagining me stretched out on your desk. Only you want me in
chains, something harsher. I like harsher, by the way. And I was so
turned on. And so was she. She locked her door, drew the drapes.
She stripped, too. Except she left her shoes on. God, she was
beautiful. She hit me with her hand. It felt so good. Almost like
the warmth you get from hot chocolate after skating all day. And she
liked it. I could tell. It was in her eyes. She spanked me. My
breasts. They hurt for a while, but nothing major. I've been hurt
worse. I didn't even cry. She couldn't hit me as hard as you could."
She paused, watching him. His eyes closed, seeing the images.
"Then she let me go. Untied me. We used our tongues on each other.
Sixty-nined in front of her desk. Her on top. God. It felt so good.
She climaxed twice. Quite a woman. You'd have liked her. You should
really try to get in her pants. She'd let you. Might take a while
and a bit of effort on your part, but you could have her. The
hardest part will be getting past the respect she has for you. She
might even let you tie her up as well."
He opened his eyes. Her right hand was slowly stroking her left
nipple. Her face was flushed, her left hand played with her blonde
curls between her legs, her legs slightly parted. She presented a
tantalizing view and she was fully aware of it.
"Cassandra. You have to stop this."
"I thought you wanted to hear about me and Joyce. I'm just doing
what you wanted."
"I want to know why you came up with that fantasy."
"And why I'm coming on to you?"
"Yes."
"I'm doing it because Sarah likes you. Simple. And I know you want
me. No reason you can't have me."
"Can I talk to Sarah, please?" His breathing was ragged. He was
having trouble concentrating. He had to clear his head. Talk to
Sarah. Or had to get away from the sight of her. He was going to do
something he'd regret. Like not forcing her to get dressed. Like
not stopping this crazy session. Like not calling Sheila well before
this got out of hand. Like still not calling Sheila, even though it
had gotten way out of hand.
"If you fuck me, she'll come back."
"I have to get a drink of water, Cassandra. Do you want anything?"
He had to get out of this room. Away from her. Just for a moment.
"I just want you," she purred.
He gathered his strength. He tried to tear his eyes away from her as
he rose to his feet.
"I'll be back in a second. Alright? You stay there. And get
dressed."
"Yes, sir."
He strode purposefully to the door and slipped through. Sheila
looked up at him quizzically. She was a psych major at the local
university. She knew that there was no way he should have left that
room, leaving a patient alone. Not during a session. She watched him
as he poured a glass of water from the cooler.
"Are you alright? You looked flushed," Sheila asked quietly.
Concerned.
"I'm fine. Just a little thristy."
Sheila shook her head and bent back to her computer filing, not
willing to question her employer further. Patient confidentiality,
and all. She thought it was a bit odd that he hadn't just buzzed her
and gotten her to bring in refreshments like normal. After all,
that's what she was paid to do.
He slipped back into the room leaving Sheila to wonder to herself.
Any explanations that Sheila concocted would be so far from the
truth that it was almost comical. Sarah was still nude, idly playing
with her bare breasts. An excited flush had spread across her
cheeks.
"I missed you," she whispered.
He returned to behind his desk. "I thought I asked you to get
dressed."
"What are you, my father?" she started to get flustered. She visibly
fought her emotions under control and rose again to her feet.
"I'm not your father," he responded automatically. A faint look of
confusion crossed her features and then vanished. "I just want you
to get dressed. For both our sakes."
"And I just want to fuck you. For both our sakes. I'll get dressed
afterwards. I want you. Don't you want me?" She threw her bare
breasts out towards him again. He tried to avert his eyes, but
failed. "You can have me any way you want me. Doggie style?
Straight? Tied up? My ass? I can give you a blowjob you'd never
forget. Better than your wife. I swallow. Your wife ever let you tie
her up?"
"Cassandra. Why are you doing this?"
"Joyce has a tattoo, you know," she remarked quietly. She stepped
around the corner of the desk, her bare feet light and silent on the
carpet.
"She does?" He knew Joyce had a tattoo. At some function, he'd
remarked on it. She'd been wearing a rather low cut evening gown and
the tip of the tattoo had just cleared her neck line. It was a small
panther, low on her right breast, though he'd only seen the nose of
it. It had been barely visible and only because of the daring dress
she'd worn. He'd been surprised that she had a tattoo at all. She
didn't seem the type. She had seemed very embarrassed about it,
especially considering its location and that he'd noticed it. She'd
gotten it one night as an undergraduate, after a party, she'd
explained.
"A small black panther. I think you know where."
He swallowed. How the hell could she know that? Unless ...
"Oh my God," he whispered, suddenly frightened, realizing the
implications.
She was right beside him. Her female scent and arousal washed over
him in waves. He closed his eyes again, breathing her. His arousal
mirrored her arousal, whether he wanted it to or not. His fright at
her revelations simply melted into his deep arousal.
She sat up on his desk and he pushed himself back. Hard. His chair
ended up against the window. He tried to clear his spinning mind. He
had to get as much distance between them as he could.
"Joyce was fun, but you'll be better. I think," she whispered
seductively. "You and I both know that this is going to happen
sooner or later. Why are you fighting me? You gay? I doubt it. I can
usually see those things. Don't you like me?"
"Cassandra. You have to stop this. Get dressed. We'll finish this
tomorrow. Please?"
"Begging me? I thought I was begging you. Master?" Her eyes shone
playfully. "I can be your slave, if you want."
She inched her legs up onto the desk. Carefully, she watched his
eyes, ensuring that he was entranced by her. Like he could tear his
eyes away.
She curled herself up on his blotter, watching him like a lioness.
"Come here," she spoke softly but commandingly.
Despite himself, he found himself moving forward towards her. He
struggled with his own impulses. He was married, for chrissakes. He
couldn't do this. Wrong. Even if he couldn't remember the way to
handle it, he did remember the instructor's warnings. Wrong. Wrong.
Wrong. No can do. License revoked. And he was obviously handling
this wrong. Completely out of control. There was the beautiful naked
Siren perched on his desk to prove his incredible incompetence.
"Cassandra. We are going to stop this. Now. Get off my desk. Get
dressed."
"You sound like my father. I just want to make you feel good. You
can make me feel good. What's wrong with that? Just pretend I'm a
younger version of your wife. She doesn't have to know. Nobody has
to know. Just you and I. Our little secret," she was whispering
again. She bent to kiss him as he neared her.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slapped her. Her face
rocked back onto her shoulder. She cried out in pain. Her hands flew
to her face, rubbing at her stung cheek. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He was
almost sure that his instructors had never mentioned slapping a
patient as an option for therapy. Not even in the advanced classes.
A small, higher voice emerged from her throat. "Daddy?"
He was dumbstruck that he'd slapped her. Knowing his license was
long gone, he moved back again, rolling the chair frantically back
towards the window, watching her. He couldn't quite believe what was
happening. She had her eyes closed. A frightened look on her face
replaced the wanton lust from seconds before.
"Daddy? Please? I don't want to tonight. Please?" Her breathing was
becoming laboured. "I. I don't like him. Please? Not the ropes. Oh
God. Please? I. I'll do it. You don't need to tie me up. Nooooo!"
She screamed. "Oh God. No more. It hurts. I'll do him. I'll suck
him. I'll behave. I'll obey. I'll be good. Please. Not the belt.
Not there. Oh God. No. Please. Daddy? Please no. It hurts."
He was in shock. Psychology courses can't prepare you for this. No
way. Not ever. Nothing can ever prepare you for this.
"Sarah?" he spoke gently to the naked girl sitting on his desk.
The girl finally opened her eyes, but she still wasn't seeing.
"Please?" she begged, still in the higher, younger voice. He had no
idea what daemons she was fighting. What she was seeing. What she
was even begging for. She looked down at herself. "Oh God. Not
again." The voice older. Softer. Sarah. "What have I done?"
"Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all."
"I. Where are my clothes? I've done it again. Haven't I?" Her hands
reached to cover herself, across her bare breasts. She pressed her
thighs together tightly.
"Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet. And you aren't going to either.
You're safe here." After some of the images that he knew were still
in his head, he doubted the truthfulness of that reassurance.
Her free hand traced up to her face, rubbing at the hand print
across her left cheek. Tears coursed down her face. Her mouth formed
the word soundlessly, as though calling an invisible person,
"Cassandra".
The girl stretched out again. She was back in control. The
transformation stunned him. Her long bare legs tantalized him as she
stretched herself back out on his desk, pulling her hands away from
her breasts, displaying herself again for him. She knocked his pens
down to the floor with her outstretched legs. He remained safely
pushed back from her near the window.
Her fingers still traced down her reddened cheek. She looked at him.
"See? I told you that you could hit me. That you wanted to." Her
hand dropped back between her legs. She moaned slightly as her
fingers found her lower lips, lightly stroking herself. "You liked
it, didn't you? I did." She offered her other cheek. "You can hit me
again if you like. Harder if you want. I don't mind."
"Cassandra?"
"Who else?"
"Let me talk to Sarah."
"I don't think so. I may have been out of it for a second there, but
I know we haven't done the wild thing. You're still dressed. I want
to see you naked. I want to fuck you. I'm naked. You should be too.
Please? For me?"
"I need to talk to Sarah." Cassandra was getting in the way here.
"No. I want you first."
"I thought Sarah wanted me."
"She does. She just doesn't want to admit it."
"Sarah needs me. To talk with. To help her. Not anything else." It
was getting easier to resist this gorgeous creature. He'd seen her
soul. However briefly, he'd seen the hurt, scared, little girl
buried within her. He consciously tried to ignore her scent, her
lithe, adult body, her irresistable sexuality. There was a little
girl in there, somewhere.
"Says you. I didn't ask for your help." Her face became a bit more
distant. An inner struggle was in progress just below the surface.
"What did your father do to you, Cassandra?"
"My father?" she paled a bit. "Don't you want me? Please? I don't
want to talk about him. I just want you."
He struggled with himself, knowing that he had to stop this. He'd
already slapped her, stepped way too far over the line. But he was
so close, yet so damn far.
"Your father."
"I loved my father."
"Did you?"
Her face began to collapse again. A single tear coursed down her
cheek. He couldn't tell who was going to surface. Still wasn't sure
even as she spoke again in a quiet whisper.
"It would have been so much easier to fuck you."
She closed her eyes, tears falling helplessly down her pale cheeks.
She hung her head almost looking like a defenseless, helpless,
little girl sitting up on his desk. Defeated. She took a deep
breath, looked at him with her pleading eyes, and then gently
touched the intercom button with her bare toes.