DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction and any resemblance between 
characters in this work and actual persons living or dead is entirely 
coincidental. This work contains scenes of explicit sex between adults and is 
intended for the entertainment of adults only. If you are offended by depictions 
of adult intercourse or if you are less than the age of majority in your 
jurisdiction please do not read or download this file. Because this is a 
fantasy, characters in this work engage in unprotected sex in a universe where 
AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases do not exist. In reality sex 
without protection is unwise and nothing in this work should be taken as 
condoning such activity, or any of the other activities depicted herein.
INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM
by Downing Street
The most interesting thing about this bit of nonsense is that it contains the 
real word "quincunx." Comments always welcome: dowstreet@yahoo.com.
-Downing Street
---- 1 ----
"You wanted to see me, boss?" Aimee said, stepping into his cluttered office. 
She closed the door and the clatter of the newsroom subsided somewhat.
Mr. Hooper grunted and put down his red pen. He held up the article he had been 
editing. It was a long story with a lot of small strike-outs in the text. 
"This", he said, "is good. It's darn good."
Aimee allowed herself a small smile. "Thanks Chief." She threw herself loosely 
into one of the chairs in front of his desk, resting one foot on the little 
table there. Aimee wore faded jeans and a loose T-shirt with an unbuttoned plaid 
workshirt over it. Hooper could see the treads on her worn hiking boots. Even 
her total disregard for the dress code couldn't disguise Aimee's natural build. 
"Hey, why all the red ink?" Aimee demanded.
"I had to tone down the invective. And cut out the sarcasm. As usual." He went 
on more briskly. "Still, it's great stuff. You've got City Hall backed into a 
corner and they know it. There's word of a full investigation. Unfair hiring 
practices and discrimination."
Aimee couldn't contain her sneer. "Is that what they're calling it? 
Discrimination? Systematically rewarding woman workers for sexual favors and 
demoting those that won't play along? Discrimination my ass! Those execs are 
bloody pimps."
Her boss held up a hand. "Aimee, please, cover your fangs. Remember, there 
wouldn't even be an investigation if you hadn't dug up the dirt. Do you have any 
follow-up planned?"
"Maybe. I have an insider in the mayor's office. She says the big man himself 
may have been involved. She's trying to get me some documentation, but this 
isn't the kind of thing that get's written down." Aimee flipped back her blonde 
ponytail. "Man I would just love to nail the mayor on this!" she said, almost 
gleeful. "That sexist pig."
Mr. Hooper said, "But in the meantime, there's something else I would like you 
to look into." He held up a newspaper clipping and pointed at the grainy 
photograph. "This man. Dr. Morton Melrose. He opened a new practice a few months 
ago. He bills himself as the best thing going for quitting smoking, losing 
weight, getting over old boyfriends, that sort of thing." He handed her the 
clipping.
Aimee studied it briefly. "Well, what do you expect, Chief, he advertises in the 
Tribune."
"He advertises with us too my dear, but that's not the point. He has been 
garnering a lot of high-profile publicity. Read the endorsements in the ad. He 
has many enthusiastic clients. Rich clients. Mostly women. There are rumors he 
uses hypnotherapy. It smells fishy to me."
"Boss, don't tell me you want me to go duck hunting."
"That's it exactly. Go see the man. Check him out. If he's on the up and up, 
fine. If not, well, he'd make a great addition to your Quack Medicine series."
Aimee groaned. She got to her feet reluctantly and took the file from Hooper. 
"All right, Chief, all right. I'll go duck hunting. Quack! Quack!"
She turned and headed out the door. "Oh, Aimee, one more thing," her boss said.
"Yes?"
"Don't wear jeans."
 
Dr. Melrose's office turned out to be right downtown, in the Morrissey Building. 
As she stepped off the elevator at the eighth floor, Aimee decided that if the 
man was a fraud he was either very good or very brass.
The outer office was expensively furnished, if a little too feminine for Aimee's 
functional taste. So this is Melrose's Place, she thought wryly. The smiling 
young receptionist told Aimee that Dr. Melrose was with a client right now -- 
she didn't say "patient"-- and invited her to sit in the waiting room.
Aimee had decided on the direct approach. She had simply made an appointment to 
interview Dr. Melrose. She got in to see him that same afternoon.
The chairs in the waiting room were surprisingly comfortable, although the decor 
relied rather too heavily on pastels. There wasn't much to read either, just 
fashion revues and women's magazines. "Women" apparently defined to exclude 
females with a real career and to whom attractiveness to men was not the prime 
measure of success.
The receptionist, Aimee decided, would fit their readership profile perfectly. 
She was a young and strikingly attractive blonde with a figure that could stop 
traffic. The tight, stretch-fit minidress she was wearing would have been 
provocative in a nightclub, much less in an uptown office. It was deeply scooped 
in front, presenting her round, heavy boobs like two ostrich eggs falling out of 
the nest. The receptionist was a stark contrast to Aimee, in her brown sweater 
and trousers, black flats. Aimee wondered idly how long she spent on her hair 
each morning.
At length the intercom chirped. The receptionist pushed a button with one pearly 
fingernail. "Dr. Melrose will see you now," she said to Aimee, beaming. "Go 
right in." Aimee just grunted rudely as she walked by, marvelling at how anyone 
could wear a dress like that to work.
As she approached the inner office the door opened, and a young woman, 
presumably Dr. Melrose's client, stepped out. She was wearing a brief, 
powder-blue suit that suggested one of the exclusive downtown shops. Matching 
shoes too, that Aimee guessed cost as much as everything she was wearing. The 
woman had a sort of goofy, far-away smile on her face. She drifted off to the 
receptionist, swinging her purse on one finger. Aimee heard her eagerly confirm 
her appointment for next week before she closed the door behind her.
The inner office, unlike the cloyingly feminine waiting room, was furnished 
tastefully in light oak. Heavy rows of books lined one wall, behind the polished 
desk. Aimee was surprised to discover much of the office was occupied by 
computers. There were no less than five monitors, four of them surrounding a 
central screen the size of a big-screen television. Disk drives and processors 
hummed quietly. The screens were oriented to face a black reclining chair, sort 
of a cross between a psychiatrist's couch and a dentist's chair.
A small, trim man wearing a conservative black suit and glasses was seated 
behind the desk, jotting down notes. He leapt to his feet to greet her. "Ah, you 
would be Aimee, from the paper. A pleasure to meet you. I'm Morton Melrose." He 
extended a hand.
"Delighted, Doctor Melrose," Aimee said coolly, taking his hand. "I appreciate 
you taking the time to see my so quickly. I hope you won't mind answering a few 
questions about your new practice."
"Not at all!"
"Great. To begin with, Dr. Melrose --"
"Please, call me Morton."
"Dr. Melrose" Aimee said pointedly. "You are practising "therapy", according to 
your ads, on a range of subjects, including sexual dysfunction, depression and 
addictions. But you have no licence to practice as either a psychologist or a 
psychiatrist." It was a fast attack to throw him off guard.
"And I don't need one, either," he replied evenly. "I am a counsellor, nothing 
more. No licence is needed to use that title in this state. If people come to me 
with serious psychological disorders I refer them to a hospital. I merely help 
people work through ordinary life crises, using a variety of therapies."
"Including hypnotism?" Aimee had her notebook out.
"Never," he replied firmly. "I rely on a number of much more sophisticated 
methods, mostly relaxation therapy and subconscious learning."
The last phrase set off Aimee's sensors. It sounded like standard quack 
terminology.
"Relaxation therapy? And that would be?"
"Just what it sounds like. In order to help people you first have to get past 
there defense mechanisms, the mental blocks that resist positive change. I have 
developed a number of very effective relaxation techniques. My clients will 
attest to that."
"Frankly, Dr. Melrose," Aimee replied. "Many of your client's endorsements seem 
a little too good to be true. By the way, how much do your clients pay for this 
very effective therapy?"
Dr. Morton chuckled. "Ah, entirely the hard-nosed journalist, aren't we. Look, 
before you pass judgement on my therapeutic approach, why don't you try it?" He 
gestured toward the chair in front of the computer screens.
Aimee hesitated. "You want me to..."
"Why not? It's perfectly harmless, I assure you. This environment is the 
cornerstone of my practice. All my patients spend time there, learning to relax 
and gain better control of their emotional lives. The technology is proprietary, 
I'm afraid, so I can't tell you much about the details."
"How convenient," Aimee said.
Dr. Melrose sounded only mildly annoyed. "Come come, Investigative Reporter, how 
can you say whether it works or not if you aren't willing to try it? Just lie 
down for a moment. It'll give you a bit of perspective." He cocked an eyebrow at 
her expectantly.
"Oh, all right," said Aimee. She sat down on the long chair. Dr. Melrose sat 
down at another computer console off to the side.
The couch was very comfortable. Aimee felt herself sinking deep into the 
cushions. Without lifting her head she had a perfect view of all five screens. 
There were stereo speakers built into the headrest, she discovered a moment 
later when soft music began to play. The room lights went down. A multicolored 
pattern of lines and shapes began to play across the screens.
Aimee's scepticism remained. The music was standard "environmental music" 
available in any new-age health store. The patterns on the screen looked 
suspiciously like commercial screen-savers. There would be an article in this 
for sure.
After a while she began to wonder if the movements of the screen- savers were 
completely random. The patterns on the small screens seemed to be connected to 
that on the big screen, ramifying and varying it in a dozen different ways. She 
couldn't be sure though.
It was intriguing. Aimee found herself studying the shifting colors, looking for 
an overall pattern in the sequence. Her eyes darted from one screen to the next: 
up, down, left, right, then back to the big screen in the middle. Over and over 
and over. It wasn't relaxing at all. In fact, it took a lot of concentration.
After a while she began to suspect that the music was somehow tied in with the 
screen-savers too. It seemed to rise and fall in time with the patterns on the 
monitors, as if it were leading them or they were leading it, or something. 
Every time she thought she had it figured out the music and the patterns would 
diverge and she would have to start all over.
Dr. Melrose asked her several times if she was relaxing. Of course she wasn't 
relaxed, this was much too distracting. She answered him only briefly, not 
wanting to lose her concentration. When he said something she just grunted in 
agreement so he would leave her alone. She could almost see it, the whole big 
pattern, the lights, the music, everything. Almost....
Abruptly the screens went blank. The music stopped. Aimee lay on the couch, 
blinking at the suddenly bright overhead lights. "Well, that's it," Dr. Melrose 
said briskly. "So, what do you think?"
Aimee thought about it for a moment. "That's uhm, very, interesting," she said. 
She sat up and looked at her watch. Had she really been lying there for twenty 
minutes?
"But did it work? Did it relax you?"
"Well..." Aimee shook her head. She felt a little sluggish, but good. "Yeah, I 
guess. Yes. Yes, I do feel more relaxed." It was like waking up from a sound 
night's sleep.
"Excellent!" Dr. Melrose exclaimed. "So you concede that my methods have some 
validity?"
"Not so fast," Aimee said, her acuity returning. "There's a big difference 
between snoozing on a couch for a few minutes and quitting smoking."
He gave her that little chuckle. "Still the Sceptical Reporter, I see." He 
looked at his own watch. "Say, I have an idea. If you are seriously interested 
in seeing if my technique works, why don't you sit in on a few sessions?"
"What, you mean with your patients?"
"Exactly. That way you could see for yourself that it really does help people. 
I'll need permission from the patients, but I'll try to get you in on one 
session per day. This is Monday. If by Friday you aren't convinced my work is 
legitimate, I promise not to write angry letters. And you could still make your 
story in time for the big Saturday edition."
Aimee smiled lopsidedly. Evidently Dr. Melrose knew something about newspapers. 
"OK, Doctor," she said decisively. "You're on. You have four more days to 
convince me you're not a quack."
"More than enough time," Dr. Melrose said obliquely, moving back to his desk. 
"Now let's see, Mrs. Humpwell is coming to see me tomorrow at two. You could 
join us then. Please check with Holly on your way out so she will know to expect 
you." He extended a hand. "Looking forward to seeing you again, Aimee," he said.
They shook. "Me too," Aimee said. She headed out into the outer office to talk 
to Big Boobs. The hot receptionist was carefully applying a new coat of shiny 
crimson nail polish.
Aimee couldn't believe how good she felt. Unusual for her, she was actually 
smiling as she left the office. She couldn't see that Dr. Melrose, studying the 
readings on his computer screen, was smiling too.
 
Aimee showed up Tuesday afternoon in her best navy-blue suit, the short one with 
the leather trim. She wore a simple white blouse and low-heeled pumps. She had 
decided that if she was going to fit in with Dr. Melrose's clientele, she would 
have to dress the part. Her blonde hair was still drawn back into a tight 
ponytail. She couldn't be bothered fussing with it.
The topheavy receptionist was wearing a suit too, a grey pinstripe with a skirt 
so short it stopped above the edge of the jacket. She wore only a thin camisole 
beneath. Her capacious cleavage was not so much contained as presented by the 
black lace bra. She gave Aimee her megawatt smile as she came in. "Hi!" she 
said. "You're Aimee, right? I'm sorry I didn't, like, introduce myself properly 
yesterday. I'm Holly."
"Hi Holly," Aimee said, with more friendliness than the previous day. She had 
slept very well that night, and had actually proceeded through the day without 
snarling at her co-workers. She was feeling a little guilty about her rude 
attitude on the previous day. She was thinking as well that it might be handy to 
get a look at Dr. Melrose's client list. Maybe she could interview some of these 
happy clients and see if they really were cured.
Aimee studied the buxom blonde still smiling at her. The girl certainly had her 
own sense of style, she had to admit. Not everybody could pull off a look like 
that. You could hardly blame her for showing off her chest a little. If Aimee 
had a rack like that she probably would too.
"Uhm, Dr. Melrose said I should drop in around two today, remember? He said I 
could sit in on a session."
"Yes, of course," Holly said. She brushed back a bit of permed hair and her 
bracelets glittered. "Mrs. Humpwell just went in. Give him a couple of minutes 
to get her settled. You can sit here in the wait--"
"Holly, how long have you been with Dr. Melrose?" Aimee asked.
"Oh, from like the beginning. I even helped him set up his office and 
everything. It's a great job!" She had her knees crossed casually, hiking the 
pinstriped skirt up around her hips. The room lights glistened off mirror-black 
pumps.
"Well, I'm glad you like it. How did you land it? Did you answer an employment 
ad?"
"Oh no, nothing like that. It was... where? Oh, at the university, I think." She 
frowned, bothered by the effort to remember something trivial. "I was a student 
or something. Pre- med? Well, whatever. Anyway, Morty comes up to me one day, 
right after a cheerleader practice, and tells me he's looking for people with a 
particular, like, psychological profile to help him test this new therapy thing. 
So I did, and before you know it, he's offered me a job! Isn't that great? And 
Morty --I mean, Dr. Melrose, is super nice to work for." Her eyes took on a 
far-away look, like she was remembering a pleasant dream.
"You mean you gave up a promising career in medicine to take a job as a 
receptionist?"
Holly looked puzzled by the question. "Well... yeah. I guess so." She shrugged. 
The movement made her heavy chest bounce.
Aimee said, "Holly, about Dr. Melrose's clients, I was wondering--"
"Oh, there's the signal," Holly said, pointing out the blinking light on the 
intercom. "You can go in now. It was nice chatting with you, Aimee."
"Sure," said Aimee. Dr. Melrose opened the door to the inner office in answer to 
her knock. He put a finger to his lips to indicate quiet.
"Please come in, Aimee," he said. "Mrs. Humpwell is just starting her relaxation 
program for this week." A petite, dark-haired woman in a designer dress was 
lying on the couch, watching the colours shift and flow on the computer screens. 
Soft music filled the darkened room. She didn't appear to hear them.
"What's her problem?" Aimee asked.
"Mrs. Humpwell asked for a little help quitting smoking. This is her second 
session and it's going very well. Another couple of sessions and she should be 
able to kick the habit for good."
"Are you saying you can cure smoking in just four visits?" Aimee cried 
incredulously.
Dr. Melrose shushed her urgently. "Please, keep your voice down. Look, there 
will be plenty of time for questions later. Here, you can sit back here where 
you won't miss anything." He led her to a black leather office chair situated 
behind the big couch. Sitting comfortably, Aimee could clearly see the five 
screens and hear the gentle music playing in the headrest speakers.
Dr. Melrose took a seat on his little leather stool, facing toward Mrs. 
Humpwell, and away from the screens. He began talking to her in a low, gentle 
monotone. "Mrs. Humpwell, listen to me. You don't want to smoke. You want to 
stop smoking. Look at the images. Listen to the music. Let them relax you. The 
next time you feel the urge to smoke, let the images and the music relax you 
instead. Let them take you to the comfy, safe, warm place you are now. You don't 
need to smoke. Look at the images... Listen to the music....
It all sounded like pretty standard stuff to Aimee. Monotonous too. Aimee 
settled deeper into her chair to watch. It was a little distracting, having the 
monitors right there, because she could see the screen-savers doing their slow, 
fluid dance, and they drew the eye. They formed globes and teardrops and 
crescents and flower petals, all wheeling and rolling gracefully about the 
screen. The music was very pleasant too.
Again Aimee had the impression that the small screens reflected the images on 
the main screen in the middle. They were all moving and dancing randomly, 
independently. Yet there seemed to be some sort of connection, a common sequence 
or pattern. If she could only find it. Her eyes darted from one screen to the 
next. Dr. Melrose continued his treatment of Mrs. Humpwell: "Listen to the 
music. Watch the images on the screens. Let them relax you. Relax you. Relax 
you...."
"Excuse me. Aimee. Wake up Investigative Reporter." It was Dr. Melrose's voice. 
He was gently shaking her shoulder.
"Wha? Huh?" Aimee said dully. She looked around. The computer screens were blank 
and the music had stopped. Mrs. Humpwell was gone.
Aimee worked to throw off her grogginess. "I'm sorry," she said, "I, I must have 
drifted off."
"So it would seem," Dr. Melrose said, chiding her gently. "I thought my 
technique was a little more interesting than that!" He chuckled.
How.... um, how long have I been dozing?"
"Just a few minutes. I thought it best to finish with Mrs. Humpwell first. But 
now I'm afraid I have to show you out. I have another client waiting."
Aimee got to her feet. She felt incredibly relaxed. Her whole body felt loose 
and limp. It reminded her of the time she and a friend had gone out for a full 
body message. "Uhm, I have...., uh.... questions?" she said.
"Not today, I'm afraid," Dr. Melrose said quickly. "I don't like to keep clients 
waiting. But there's still tomorrow. Tell Holly to book you in with Mrs. 
Lovemee. All right?"
"Sure," Aimee agreed, heading for the door.
Back on the street a few minutes later, Aimee felt the warm sun against her 
face. She stretched lazily. She must not be getting enough sleep at night, she 
told herself. That little midday nap had done her a world of good. She looked at 
her watch. It was three-thirty, quite a bit later than she had guessed. She 
considered going back to the office and giving her City Hall contact a buzz, but 
decided against it. Hardly worth it for just an hour or two. She was right 
downtown already, and she suddenly felt like doing a little shopping.
She hailed a taxi and watched the driver study her legs as she climbed into the 
back. It occurred to her briefly that she had meant to get a look at Dr. 
Melrose's client list. Oh well, tomorrow would be soon enough.
 
Late that evening Aimee lay comfortably on the rumpled bed in her apartment. 
Boxes and bags and items of clothing were scattered everywhere about the room. 
She hadn't been on a shopping spree like that one in a long time. She had 
discovered she was missing out on a whole range of really hot fashions. When she 
got home, she spent the rest of the evening excitedly trying on different 
outfits.
Now she was just resting, pleasantly tired, unwinding a little before turning in 
for the night. She was still wearing the last thing she had tried on, a little 
shortie nightgown in satiny mauve. Generally she was an avid watcher of the 
nightly news but she decided to skip it tonight. It was always the same old 
stuff.
She smoothed down the skimpy nightgown, enjoying the feel of the luxurious 
fabric against her body. She admired the smooth mounds of her well-shaped 
breasts. The nipples were hard, poking through the fabric. Aimee knew she was a 
beautiful woman, despite her practical nature.
She shifted on the bed a little, rubbing her thighs together. Her hands roved 
searchingly. She had been sleeping alone far too often, she realized. She would 
have to do something about that. Her questing fingers found her lovebox, already 
moist, and began to stroke urgently. She gasped, and threw her head back on the 
pillow.
Later, the fire in her loins slaked for the moment, Aimee slept. Swirling 
patterns of line and colour danced behind her eyes.
 
Aimee pretended to ignore the looks of surprise and appreciation she received at 
the office on Wednesday morning. She didn't mind that much. She was wearing a 
carefully matched ensemble she had purchased the previous afternoon. The little 
black jumper was quite a bit shorter than what she usually wore. It contrasted 
fetchingly with a daisy-yellow sweater, tight enough to make no secret of her 
assets. Her two-colored loafers with the inch-thick platforms had a lot more 
heel than she was used to wearing, but hey, her legs were her best feature, so 
why not show them at their best? She liked the way the shoes lifted and shaped 
her legs. So, evidently, did pretty much every guy in the office.
She settled into her desk and started sorting through the various stories she 
was working on. There wasn't much new on the City Hall scandal. The mayor had 
promised a full inquiry and suspended a bunch of planners. Aimee guessed she 
probably should be calling his office every hour or so, letting them feel the 
heat, but it seemed like too much bother today. Her appointment with Dr. Melrose 
was at ten, so there wasn't much point starting on anything else. She examined 
her fingernails critically.
What about this Dr. Melrose? He did seem to be a very likable fellow. Aimee was 
almost convinced he was legitimate, though she hadn't been able to pin him down 
on a lot of details yet. She found herself thinking about the screen savers 
again. She could almost see the patterns in her mind, the flowing lines of color 
shifting this way and that, almost but not quite pulsing in time with the soft 
background music. So maddening, yet so relaxing.
Aimee slipped into the ladies' room and inspected herself in the mirror. Should 
she do something different with her hair? She had spent a good deal more time on 
her make-up that morning than had been her habit. She had decided to highlight 
her eyes more. It had made her a few minutes late for work.
Mr. Hooper had looked at the clock when Aimee waltzed into the office. Then he 
had noticed her new outfit and decided against chastising her. She grinned at 
that. Boss or not, the man had a serious weakness for her legs.
Aimee decided to head off to Dr. Melrose's office right away. She would be a bit 
early, but she wasn't getting much done anyway. She wanted to chat with Holly 
for a while. She freshened up her lipstick a little, then headed out onto the 
street to find a taxi.
"Hi Aimee!" cried Holly when Aimee walked in, "Hey you look great!"
Aimee smiled in return. "Thanks, Holly. I...uh, did a little shopping 
yesterday."
Aimee's new outfit was still sedate compared with Holly's. The receptionist was 
wearing a criss-cross baby-T in soft blue that looked to be about two sizes too 
small. The pullover stretched lovingly over the generous orbs of her breasts, 
which in any case were spilling eagerly out of her cleavage. The thin blue skirt 
was floor length. Like the top, it hugged every curve and hollow of her 
exaggerated figure as faithfully as flowing water. The skirt was saved from 
touching the floor by the towering platform sandals on Holly's dainty, nyloned 
feet.
"You're a little early," Holly said casually, "Mrs. Lovemee's appointment just 
got started. You can sit --"
"Over there in the waiting room," Aimee finished for her, laughing. "Holly, you 
always say that!"
"Do I? Yeah, I guess I do." She laughed too. Aimee found herself watching the 
gentle bounce of her bra cups, clearly outlined beneath the baby-blue top. She 
was coming to rather like Holly. The girl dressed boldly, but she had a great 
sense of style and she was fun to talk to. Aimee was a little bit envious of 
Holly's voluptuous figure.
They chatted lightly for a long while, laughing like old friends. Aimee had 
intended to steer the conversation around to Dr. Melrose's clients, with the 
hope of coaxing out a name or two. Somehow they were still discussing hairstyles 
when the light on the intercom winked, indicating it was time for Aimee to join 
Dr. Melrose.
She knocked on the door of the inner office. "Morning Doc," she said, slipping 
into the darkened room. Dr. Melrose was seated on his stool beside the couch. 
Swirling lights from the monitors reflected off his glasses. "Ah, Aimee, good to 
see you," he said softly. "Please, sit down." He gestured toward the black chair 
Aimee had enjoyed the day before.
"Mrs. Lovemee has been getting some help with weight control," Dr. Melrose said. 
He indicated the svelte, fortyish woman lying on the couch. She was watching the 
monitors intently.
Aimee settled into the chair. She could hear the gentle music rising from the 
speakers in the headrest. "She doesn't look like she needs to lose any weight," 
she said. Mrs. Lovemee was wearing a surprisingly brief tailored suit with 
matching high heels. In the half light Aimee could make out a bit of a garter 
strap at the top of one leg.
Dr. Melrose said, "No, she doesn't. The counselling is to help her realize a new 
body image, and defeat the endless cycle of weight gain and dieting."
Aimee nodded, watching the screen savers. That made sense, she conceded. She was 
having a little trouble maintaining a sceptical attitude. Even if Melrose's 
therapy wasn't science, how could these little talk sessions hurt anybody? She 
snuggled more deeply into the chair.
Dr. Melrose began speaking to Mrs. Lovemee. In a calm, reassuring voice he urged 
her to relax and let the music and the patterns take her to a safe, warm place. 
He reminded her that she was beautiful, that she didn't need food as a reward, 
that she was confident enough to face life without the crutch of sweets.
Aimee tried to listen but it was pretty trite stuff. The screen- savers kept 
crying for her attention. The shifting, flowing colors on the four small screens 
danced around the big one in the middle like brightly dressed villagers dancing 
around a maypole. There had to be an overall pattern in the five screens, and 
the music too. She could almost see it. If she just watched a little closer, 
listened a little harder. Any moment now....
Someone was speaking to her. "Hmmm?" she said softly.
"Aimee. Aimee. It's time to wake up now. Come on. Up and at 'em." It was Dr. 
Melrose.
Aimee struggled through the cloud of pink fog that enveloped her mind. "Wha?" 
she managed.
"You fell asleep again. I let you sleep for a while."
Aimee sat up. She felt dazed. "How.... how long?"
"Oh, about half an hour. You were sleeping so soundly it seemed a pity to wake 
you. I have a client coming in now, so I'm afraid you'll have to go."
"Oh." It was all she could think of to say.
"I wonder, Aimee," Dr. Melrose said helpfully, "are you getting enough sleep at 
night?"
"Well, I... um, I guess. Yeah. Sure." In fact she had been sleeping like a baby 
for the last few days.
"Just wondering." He chuckled. "I thought maybe a pretty girl like you had 
better ways to spend her nights than sleeping." He winked at her.
Aimee laughed. "Don't I wish," she confessed. She got to her feet, automatically 
pulling down her mini-length jumper. She felt marvellous.
"Don't forget to come back tomorrow," Dr. Melrose reminded her. "Say about 
four?"
"Sure thing, Doc," Aimee said, shuffling to the door.
Aimee passed through the outer office and said good-bye to Holly. There were two 
women sitting in the waiting room, a shapely blonde in a head-turning designer 
dress and a young girl, also blonde, wearing the uniform of one of the city's 
most exclusive private schools. The woman was leafing through a fashion 
magazine, but the schoolgirl was fidgeting.
"But Mom," she said, "I don't need to see a counsellor! I talked to the 
counsellor at school about the divorce and everything."
"Well it obviously didn't do any good, did it?" her mother replied. "You still 
have temper tantrums every time I mention moving in with Roger. So we're going 
to talk to Dr. Melrose, and help you accept that you have a new father now."
"I don't like him, mom! He's a jerk! He spends all your money, and tells you 
what to do all the time. He's always drinking and acting crude."
"Young lady you are talking about the man I love."
"But Mom, you haven't seen the way he looks at me. Whenever we're alone, he--"
"April, stop it right now. I don't want to hear another of your childish rants." 
Then she put down the magazine. "Don't worry, dear," she said more softly, "Dr. 
Melrose will help you. The man is a miracle-worker." She sighed happily.
Aimee made her way lazily to the elevators. She felt perfectly at ease, utterly 
without tension.
And unexpectedly horny.
Dr. Melrose's remark about her unfilled nights had reminded her poignantly of 
her solitary condition. How had she let that happen? She was clearly in 
desperate need of some regular loving. You have got to get something between 
your legs besides your own hand, she told herself sternly. She bit her lip. She 
retraced her steps to a washroom and darted inside. She found a vacant cubicle, 
yanked down her panties and pantyhose and began to pleasure herself urgently. 
The orgasm was so intense she almost fell over.

---- 2 ----
Thursday morning found Aimee sitting at her office desk, staring idly at the 
computer screen. She had come into work quite late, and hadn't gotten much work 
done since. It had been another night of wildly erotic dreams. When she awoke 
Aimee had been in such a state that she just had to bring herself off a couple 
of times in the shower.
Aimee's arrival caused a bit of commotion in the office. She was wearing one of 
her new outfits, this one a bright red jacket and black miniskirt. The jacket 
had only two buttons. The deep cleft of the lapels showed off just enough of her 
push-up demi-bra, and its delightful contents, to invite a man's eyes downward. 
The rump-hugging mini was daringly short. It displayed the entire length of 
Aimee's long, faultless legs, from the top of her thighs to the seven narrow 
straps on her red platform pumps. Aimee had chosen semi-opaque black nylons with 
darker stripes up the sides. Sitting down was a major challenge in the new mini, 
but that was part of the fun. So was walking in the elevated heels.
Aimee picked up the hand mirror and examined her make-up again. She had spent a 
long time that morning combing out her long blonde hair and shaping it just 
right around her face. Her red lips were curved upward into an almost permanent 
smile. She felt wonderfully alive this morning.
Aimee's new look had hardly surprised her co-workers more than her sunny 
disposition. When she finally sauntered into the office she had chirped a 
sing-song "good morning!" to everyone she met. She had been smiling at everyone 
since.
She was especially friendly with all the men. She chatted and flirted with 
reporters and layout guys she had always ignored. She felt a little tingle every 
time she caught one of them checking out her legs or her chest. She had made 
numerous unnecessary trips to the coffee machine or the files room just to give 
the guys a good look. There had also been a couple of quite necessary trips to 
the washroom to relieve the tingles.
When Aimee had returned from the washroom the second time, after pausing to 
carefully fluff out her hair, the screen-savers on her computer had switched on. 
Aimee sat and watched them happily for a long time, thinking of the patterns in 
Dr. Melrose's office. They were so pleasant.
Aimee was supposed to be doing the follow-up on the City Hall scandal. She was 
having a hard time getting into it. OK, the planning department had bent the 
rules a little, but was there really any harm done? Boys would be boys after 
all, and men, bless their pussy-pleasing wangs, would be men. Local government 
would be better off if those silly office girls had just relaxed and had some 
fun instead of raising a big stink. She admitted that her thinking wasn't too 
critical today; the idea of screwing in the office was such a turn-on.
The warble of her telephone distracted her from her reverie. She had to take off 
one of her big gold earrings to use the handset. "Hello," she said.
"Aimee. It's me. Mayfair" It was her contact in the mayor's office.
"Well hi there, honey. Long time no hear. How have you been?"
"I can't talk now," the caller said. Aimee could hear the nervousness in her 
voice. Fairly young, she guessed. "The office is really buzzing. The mayor has 
gone totally paranoid, and everybody is watching everybody else."
"But have you got anything for me?"
"I think so. I've found a couple of memos indicating particular female employees 
were to be given bonuses, for no obvious reason. They're initialled by the 
mayor."
"Well, that's... great. Can you get it to me?"
"They won't let anybody leave the office during the day. Can you believe that? 
Meet me some place after five."
Aimee caught her reflection in the computer screen. "I know! Let's meet in the 
Uptown Mall, the south end, near Miguel's Salon." She was thinking of getting 
her hair permed.
The telephone was silent for a long moment. Then: "I meant some place private."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry." She giggled. "OK, uh, how about this, down by the stadium. 
Wait around exit G."
"Better. I'll be there at 5:30 sharp. Don't disappoint me."
"I'll see ya," Aimee said, and rang off. It looked like she was going to get her 
story after all. She put her earring back on.
By early afternoon Aimee hadn't gotten a great deal done but her new outfit had 
improved office morale considerably. She had been asked out on three dates and 
accepted all of them. Maybe she wouldn't have to rely on her fingers any more.
Mr. Hooper called her into his office. "You wanted to see me, boss?" Aimee said 
softly, closing the office door behind her.
Mr. Hooper looked up from the article he was editing. "Yes, I just wanted to 
check -- Aimee!" Mr. Hooper had been in his office all morning, so he hadn't yet 
seen Aimee's new look. He was seeing her now though.
It was pretty obvious he liked what he saw. His eyes swept down her lithe 
figure, taking in the carefully shaped blonde hair and smiling red lips, the 
upthrusting cleavage, tailored jacket, super- short mini, dark-nyloned legs and 
crimson high heels. Then they reversed and scanned up the other direction, as if 
his brain didn't believe what it saw the first time.
"Aimee," the editor managed at last, rising from his chair, "What's all this?"
"What's the matter, boss," Aimee teased, "You've never seen a woman in a mini 
before?" She didn't feel the least offended by her boss's stare. It gave her a 
warm glow. She shuffled toward his desk, still a little unsteady in the stacked 
heels.
Mr. Hooper was having trouble taking his eyes off her legs. "Well, no! I mean, 
yes. Sure, of course. But Aimee, this is so unlike you. What's going on? Is 
there some sort of special occasion?"
Aimee shrugged, still walking toward him. "No occasion, Ted," she said. "I just 
felt like it. I mean, you are always telling me to stop wearing jeans to the 
office." She studied him from beneath lowered lashes. "This is OK though, isn't 
it?" she husked.
From the look on her editor's face, Aimee could tell that it was rather more 
than OK. "Well, this isn't, you know, exactly what I had in mind," he replied. 
The overhead lights glimmered on Aimee's black-striped nylons. "But if I may say 
so.... you do look.... very... attractive."
"Why thank you, Ted", Aimee said warmly. She posed in front of him with one foot 
thrust forward. Sexual tension had been building between her and her boss for 
months, she realized now. Mr. Hooper was a solid man; not overweight 
particularly, just big all around. Aimee found herself hoping that his equipment 
was proportionately sized. She felt herself moistening.
"But uh, look," Mr. Hooper said abruptly, pulling his gaze away from Aimee's 
thighs, "I just wanted to know how the City Hall story is going."
Aimee shrugged. "So-so, I guess."
He shot her a quizzical look. "So-so? What's that mean?"
She flipped a hand. "I'm waiting for my insider to come across. Not much I can 
do till then, is there?"
Aimee felt a little irritated by this turn of the conversation. She would get to 
the story soon enough. She just didn't see it as a big priority. After all, who 
could blame the guys in the planning department for having a little fun? With 
all those choice office girls wiggling around, why wouldn't healthy young men 
want to bed a few? It was just human nature. Men were naturally inclined to want 
to fuck sexy women, and women, if their heads weren't stuffed with modern 
nonsense, were naturally inclined to encourage them. That was the wonderful 
thing about men.
Mr. Hooper was looking perplexed by his best reporter's indifference. "Aimee, 
there's lots else you could do. You could call up other contacts. You could look 
for evidence of past indiscretions by the mayor. There were rumors of affairs 
all through his last election campaign."
Aimee gave her boss a motherly smile. "It's OK, Ted. You don't have to project 
your frustration. I know why you're really upset."
"What?"
She took a deliberate step toward him. "It's me. And you. Us."
Mr. Hooper looked nervous. "Aimee, what are you talking about?"
Aimee let her voice go low and throaty. "Teddy, you light my fire," she 
whispered. "I can tell you feel the same about me. Let's not fight it any 
longer." She took another step around the desk.
"Aimee, I don't think this is approp...." Mr. Hooper began, but his voice 
trailed off when Aimee began to run one finger along the hem of her foxy 
miniskirt.
"Ted, I'm guessing you're something of a leg man. Is that right?"
"What? No, wait, this isn't --"
"Tell me," Aimee insisted.
"Well, uh, yes, I guess you could say that." His gaze followed her finger.
"I thought so." She sidled up close to him. "In fact, I bet you'd be a lot 
happier if I wore a mini to work every day instead of jeans, wouldn't ya?" She 
ran her hands up and down his red suspenders.
He gulped air. "Uhm, well, uh, yeah, yes, I uh, guess so."
"Course you would. But you do like the rest of me too, don't you?" Aimee pouted. 
Now one hand traced the lapel of her revealing red jacket.
The movement brought Hooper's attention to the gentle swells of Aimee's breasts, 
now just inches away from his chest. They distracted him while Aimee deftly 
lowered his suspenders.
"Aimee, for chrissakes... stop this... what's going on here..." Hooper 
sputtered, struggling vainly to extract himself from his oversexed reporter.
"Teddy, I want you," Aimee breathed. "You make me hot! You want me too. I can 
tell. So let's get together, just you and me. Real soon. Think about the hot 
times we could have together!"
"But, but, I'm m--" Aimee silenced his protests with a lustful kiss. Hooper's 
pants began to slide down his hips. Aimee helped.
When Aimee finally let him go, her boss was glassy-eyed and bewildered. Aimee 
kissed him again, this time taking advantage of his exposed boxers to confirm 
the adequacy of his maleness. Hooper squirmed. "Aimee, please," he gasped, 
almost begging. "S-stop this. We're in the middle of the office!"
Reluctantly, Aimee pulled her hand away. "Well, let's put in a little overtime, 
OK, Teddy? Sometime soon?" She checked her watch. Time for her appointment with 
Dr. Melrose. Getting hammered with her boss's prick would have to wait for 
another day.
Aimee held his face in one hand while she gave him one more long, lingering 
kiss. Then she turned and strutted to the door. She paused on the way out to 
deliberately adjust her pantyhose. Hooper watched helplessly. Aimee licked her 
lips as she slipped out of his office.
Out in the hallway, Aimee leaned back against the door and let out her breath. 
Maybe she had come on a little strong to Mr. Hooper, but shit, she needed a man. 
And Hooper was definitely hung. She paused for a moment, reliving the feel of 
his member through his boxer shorts. It was going to be a yummy treat getting 
stuffed with that. She closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe just one more visit 
to the washroom before she headed out.
With the time it took to bring herself off a couple of times in the washroom, 
plus fixing her hair and checking her make-up, it was after three before Aimee 
finally made it out of the office. She was still way early for her appointment 
with Melrosy. There were other things to do. In particular, she wanted to check 
out this really hot boutique Holly had told her about. The outfit she was 
wearing now was all right for the office (though it was turning more than a few 
heads here on the street) but for Melrosy she wanted to look her absolute best.
 
"Thank you, you're very kind," said Aimee to the man who was unnecessarily 
holding the elevator door for her. She flashed him a winning smile. As she 
tottered down the hallway in her new black suede ankle boots, Aimee was 
confident that the man was avidly watching her receding figure.
For once there was no one in Dr. Melrose's waiting room when Aimee came in. She 
made a mental note to ask Holly about his client list. "Aimee!" cried Holly in 
delight when she saw her. "Hi! Hey girl, you look terrific! Did you get that at 
Dazzlers?" She got up from her little desk and came around to where Aimee was 
standing.
"Sure did," Aimee replied. "What do you think?" The ripe reporter sported a 
strapless, black velvet bustier that showcased her buoyant young tits, matched 
with tight short-shorts that cupped her backside like a lover's embrace. The 
bustier had a big zipper down the front, clearly intended to suggest the 
consequences of pulling it down. Another zipper continued down the middle of her 
skin- tight, velvet shorts. Both the bustier and shorts were covered, sort of, 
by a loose, open wrap of transparent black silk. Her luscious legs were encased 
in shiny, dark nylons, topped off with silver-zippered, suede ankle boots with 
enormous platform heels.
Aimee had never even considered dressing this way before. She had fallen in love 
with the outfit in the store though, and impulsively decided to wear it. The 
stares and whistles she had received just walking into the building were enough 
to convince her she had made the right choice. She loved showing off for men.
"Oh it's simply marvellous!" Holly enthused. "You look hot, girl. Like totally 
awesome! You know, I never thought you had it in you."
Aimee laughed, feeling proud of herself. "I never thought I had it in me 
either," she conceded. "But Holly, you look darn good yourself." Holly was 
wearing shorts too, glossy black ones with gold trim that matched her bright 
tube top. She wore golden fishnet stockings and black platform sandals. The 
combination, on Holly's overcurved figure, was nearly enough to set off the fire 
alarm.
Both blondes laughed amicably. Finally Holly looked at her watch. "You're a few 
minutes late today, Aimee. Dr. Melrose says you can go right in."
"Oakie-dokey." Aimee said. She admired the way the receptionist's tube top clung 
to her pneumatic boobs. Wasn't she supposed to ask Holly something?
Holly said: "I get off at 4:30, so I won't be here when you get out. But I'll 
see you tomorrow, all right?" Impulsively she stepped forward and gave Aimee a 
full hug. The action caught Aimee by surprise, but she responded warmly. She 
liked Holly. She also liked the feel of Holly's big tits against hers. She held 
the embrace, reluctant for a moment to let go. She could feel the warmth of 
Holly's body, the smooth, undulating curves of her lush figure beneath her 
hands. The hug didn't seem to have an end.
Finally, a little embarrassed by her own enthusiasm, Aimee pulled herself away. 
"Well, good night. Uh, I'll go in now." She smoothed down her clothing 
distractedly. She wished she had a mirror. "I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"
"Sure thing!" Holly returned brightly. Aimee turned and made her way to the 
inner office, carefully negotiating her outrageous block heels. She had 
forgotten all about Dr. Melrose's client list.
Aimee knocked once, then sidled into the inner office. The lights were on. "Hi 
Morton," she said softly.
Dr. Melrose was sitting at his desk, poring over patient records. He looked up, 
smiling. "Ah, Aimee, how nice to see you again." He regarded her with open 
appreciation. "My goodness Skeptical Reporter, you are looking... well, 
altogether smashing today."
Aimee felt herself warming as Dr. Melrose's gaze lingered at all the places her 
new outfit was designed to make him look. She shifted one foot back and forth. 
Melrosy was such a sexy man. "I hope you don't mind that I'm late, Morton," 
Aimee said. "I was just talking to Holly for a minute."
Reluctantly, Dr. Melrose turned his attention from Aimee's legs to her face, 
taking the scenic route. "Not at all, not at all," he said good-naturedly. He 
put aside the folder he was working on. "As a matter of fact, I've had a 
cancellation this afternoon." He gestured toward the empty therapy couch. "So 
I'm afraid there is no session for you to sit in on."
"Oh, that's too bad." Aimee said. She wanted to see the screen- savers again.
Dr. Morton said: "I'll tell you what, though. If you like I can give you another 
session yourself. It might give you a bit more background for your article."
"My what?" asked Aimee, blankly. "Oh, right, for my article, of course. Well, if 
you don't mind...." She was already heading for the couch.
"Oh, I don't mind at all," Dr. Melrose replied, watching the shapely reporter 
settle herself into the soft cushions. He grinned privately.
"OK, I'm all ready," Aimee said. Eagerness showed in her voice. "You can start 
any time!"
Dr. Melrose took his usual place at the side of the bank of computer screens and 
began tapping on the keyboard. At once the room lights dimmed and the now 
familiar patterns of shifting colors appeared on the quincunx of monitors. Aimee 
sank back into the couch, delightedly letting the soft music wash over her. This 
time she was going to watch the screens especially close. This time she was 
going to figure out the pattern underlying everything. This time she was going 
to put it all together....
Dr. Melrose wheeled his little stool around beside Aimee, facing away from the 
screens. He asked her how she felt. That was easy: Aimee felt more contented 
than she had ever been. Her eyes flicked from one screen to the next. Dr. 
Melrose continued to chat with her as she watched the screen-savers do their 
slow-motion dance. He had such a charming voice: so mellow; so masculine. It 
seemed to blend with the music, floating just beneath the surface like the 
peaceful strumming of rain on the roof. Her eyelids drooped.
Floating. Adrift on a cloud of cottony soft happiness. Lying on her back, 
blissfully at ease, feeling the warmth of the bright sun in the sky above. There 
were several suns, each showering her with warmth and comfort. Many suns, in 
neat rows. They were overhead lights. She was back in Melrosy's office.
"Ah, awake at last," said a familiar voice. Dr. Melrose got up from his desk. He 
walked over to look down at her.
She smiled up at him. "Hmmmmm?"
"You fell asleep again. I guess that proves my relaxation therapy works, 
wouldn't you say?"
Aimee made no move to get up. She felt much too comfortable. She looked at her 
watch. The numbers were too fuzzy to read. That struck her as funny.
"It's about a quarter past five," Dr. Melrose supplied. "Here, let me give you a 
hand up."
Aimee took the proffered hand and rolled bonelessly off the couch. She had 
trouble finding her balance on her new heels. She let herself fall loosely 
against Melrose. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she whispered, holding him. "I mus' be more 
relaxed than I thought."
He helped her find her feet. Aimee noticed vaguely that the big zipper on her 
bustier was half undone. She didn't bother to fix it.
"Well now," Dr. Melrose said, pretending to ignore Aimee's stupefied daze. 
"That's our session for today. What time would you like to come in tomorrow?"
Aimee gave him a smoky look. "I'll come in for you anytime," she said. She was 
still holding his arm.
Dr. Melrose grinned and led her back to his desk. He checked his date book. 
"Hmmm, why don't you drop by around three? I have a few minutes between 
appointments. We can discuss any final questions you might have."
"Sure Morton," said Aimee. She leaned against the desk with her shapely legs 
extended. "I'm sure you'll give me just what I need." She toyed with the zipper 
halfway down her chest, but didn't actually pull it up. Melrose's eyes dropped 
to where one nipple was threatening to pop right out of her velvet bustier.
Dr. Melrose looked distracted. "Oh, uh, Aimee, your office called, while you 
were sleeping. Something about the deadline for your article on City Hall. I 
didn't want to wake you up."
Aimee flipped a hand. "That's OK. It's nothing important. The mayor's still just 
a man, you know." She liked the way Melrosy was looking at her. He was a man 
too, and a hunk.
Melrose lifted an eyebrow but his expression betrayed nothing. He said, "Well, 
it's after closing time, so if there's nothing else, maybe we should continue 
this discussion tomorrow."
Reluctantly, Aimee took the hint. She was enjoying flirting with him. "Sure 
thing, Morton, tomorrow at three." she said, walking away with an exaggerated 
sway of her delectable derriere. "I won't be late." She paused for a moment at 
the door to deliberately tug down the edge of her rump-hugging shorts. "See ya 
tomorrow," she said softly. But then she bumped into the doorframe on her way 
out. "Oops," she said, laughing.
Still riding high from her session on the couch, Aimee stumbled down the outer 
hallway toward the elevator. She had an appointment of some kind at 5:30, she 
remembered. Better not be late. Still, she decided to stop in the washroom 
again, just for a few minutes.
 
Her reflection in the mirror over the sink brought her up short. "Oooh, baby you 
look positively edible," she thought to herself. "This outfit will get you laid 
for sure."
At this time of day the washroom was deserted. Teasingly, still watching herself 
in the mirror, Aimee tugged down the oversized zipper on her shorts. Then she 
slipped one hand beneath velvet and nylon and stroked herself with one finger. 
When she found her clitoris, the jolt of sexual pleasure that shot through her 
made her gasp for breath. She started using two fingers.
Her short fuse was only to be expected, Aimee reflected as she energetically 
played with herself. She was a healthy, horny woman, and she needed loving. She 
needed to be fucked. Regularly. Daily even. It was just her nature. She had only 
herself to blame for going so long without a man pistoning his rod between her 
legs.
She had dates every night this weekend, but the first wasn't until tomorrow. 
What was she supposed to do in the meantime? Her fingers were a poor substitute 
for a cunt-cramming cock, but for the moment they would have to do. She spread 
her legs a little wider and pumped faster. When she came, her shout reverberated 
off the walls of the small washroom, making it sound even louder.
Well, that was nice, Aimee decided, as she panted for breath. Maybe she had time 
for just one more before her appointment with... with whoever it was. She wasn't 
any too stable in these new boots. She stepped into an empty cubicle and wiggled 
out of her shorts completely. Then she sat on the toilet seat, pulling her 
pantyhose down just far enough to uncover her wet pussy. She leaned back 
contentedly, stretching out her long legs as her fingers again began to dance 
along the pink moistness of her labia. Mmmmmm, really really gotta get laid, she 
thought dreamily.
Aimee's second climax was so special she decided to go for a third. When she 
finally got her shorts back up she still had to spend a long time in front of 
the mirror, making herself presentable again. So it was almost six when Aimee 
stepped out on the street, still flirting with the bug-eyed security guard who 
let her out.
She looked at her watch. She had missed her rendezvous with... who was it? Oh 
yes, that frigid chick from City Hall. Too bad. Anyway, it was Friday night, 
which meant the shops were open late. Including a few special places where Aimee 
could pick up some toys. She hailed a taxi.
 
Aimee didn't show up for work at all on Friday. Thursday evening had been a 
happy bedlam of self-love that continued more or less unabated on Friday 
morning. She spent most of the morning just lying in bed playing with her new 
toys. She was still using a vibrator with one hand while she ate breakfast with 
the other. Then she spent a few more hours experimenting with the sexy new 
outfits she had bought and making herself pretty. Looks were so important if you 
wanted to get a man.
Aimee finished adjusting her white lace gloves and studied herself in the 
bedroom mirror. Now this was more like it. She tugged down the red-laced edge of 
her tight, white crop-top, admiring the way the stretchy material flowed over 
her braless breasts. The crop- top ended at about the level of her sternum. It 
had a shiny red heart in the middle.
The belly-baring top was matched with a tiny off-white skirt, wide but very 
short, held up by a big red belt. Like the top, it was edged with frilly red 
lace. Her legs looked mouth-watering in sleek white stockings that stopped near 
the top of her thighs but still an inch below the hem of the skirt. The 
stockings were held in place by made-to-be-seen white garters, four on each leg, 
with clips shaped like little red hearts. The outfit made her look like a 
sex-crazy teenager out to seduce her geography teacher.
Aimee spent a few more minutes fussing in front of the mirror, making sure her 
hair and make-up were just right. Her big white hoop earrings complemented the 
white outfit perfectly. Aimee had piled her blonde hair up on top of her head, 
letting one thick lock fall fetchingly over her right eye.
She walked in stocking feet to the door of her apartment, then slipped into her 
new shoes: glistening white clogs with platforms about two inches thick and 
block heels high enough to prop up a building. Walking was an adventure in the 
open-toed clogs, but gosh, she felt so sexy wobbling around in super-high heels! 
She didn't have to walk far today anyway.
Grabbing her white purse, Aimee made her careful way to the door of her 
apartment building to hail a taxi. She had barely lifted her arm before a 
passing cab swerved across three lanes of traffic, tires squealing, to pick her 
up. "The Morrissey Building please," Aimee said, concentrating on the impossible 
task of climbing into the taxi modestly.
The taxi driver, like the doorman of her apartment building, couldn't seem to 
take his eyes off her. He kept checking her out in the rear view mirror. The 
attention made Aimee's pulse quicken. She took out her compact and made a show 
of freshening up her lipstick. Casually, she let her legs slip apart, a little 
at a time, until the driver was sure to notice she was wearing no panties. He 
almost ran a red light.
Aimee arrived at Dr. Melrose's office an hour early and horny as hell. Holly 
wasn't at her usual place behind the receptionist's desk. There was only one 
person relaxing in the lovely waiting room, a stacked, thirtyish woman with 
endless ringlets of platinum blonde hair. She was clutching a teddy bear and 
reading a teen fashion magazine. She looked up at Aimee and smiled vacantly.
The door to Dr. Melrose's inner office opened and Holly stepped out, smoothing 
her clothing. She looked stunning in a black Spandex minidress and high black 
boots. The stretchy fabric contrasted fetchingly with her bright blonde hair.
"Aimee! Look at you, girl!" Holly exclaimed when her eyes landed on the other 
woman. "Baby you look awesome!"
Aimee tittered. Her unrestrained breasts bounced. "Do you like it? I just got 
this yesterday. I couldn't wait to come and show Morty!"
Holly approached her and put a hand on each arm, inspecting her like a 
prize-winning orchid. "Sen-sational," she pronounced admiringly. "I guess you're 
set for some action, huh?"
"Mmmm, any time" Aimee replied, her eyes bright.
Holly leaned close. "I think you'd better go right in to see Morty," she 
whispered. "He won't want to miss this."
"But, but there's somebody waiting."
Holly waved a hand. "Oh don't worry about Mrs. Mountjoy. She has plenty of time 
now that she's quit working. Hold on, I'll tell him you're here." She sauntered 
over to the desk, casually pulling down the hem of her stretch-fit mini, which 
instantly sprang back to where it was before. She pushed a button on the 
intercom. "Dr. Melrose, Aimee from the paper is here. I think you'll want to see 
her right away."
"Very well," Dr. Melrose's voice came back. "Send her in."
Aimee tugged at her clothing self-consciously for a minute. She wanted to look 
perfect. She minced over to the inner office door in her impossible heels and 
quietly stepped inside.
Dr. Melrose was fiddling with something on one of the computers. "Glad to see 
you, Aimee," he said casually, "I wasn't expecting you until -- my word!" The 
burst of unprofessional language came out as he looked up and saw Aimee. His jaw 
dropped.
Aimee tottered toward him, swinging her white purse lazily. "What's the matter, 
Morty, honey," she teased, "See something you like?"
Dr. Melrose was looking Aimee up and down with something akin to awe. "Aimee!" 
he gasped. "I'm, I'm dumbstruck. I mean, I knew you were highly susceptible to 
the programming, but I never expected.... why this is marvellous."
"It's all for you, honey," Aimee said. She tossed her purse away and slid two 
white-gloved arms around his neck. "I hope you'll do a lot more than just look!" 
She pressed herself to him and kissed him eagerly. The therapist responded as 
she had hoped. A moment later his hands were around her bare waist, feeling the 
warmth of her skin as he drew her pelvis against his.
"Morty, honey, I want you," Aimee groaned between kisses, thirty seconds later. 
"I'm so horny I think I'll die."
One of Dr. Melrose's hands had already found its way down onto the randy 
reporter's little rag of a skirt and was sliding the fabric across her 
asscheeks. His smile was cocky. "Hold on there a minute, Ms. Great-Ass Reporter. 
What about your tell-all article about me?" His hand moved smoothly under her 
microskirt.
Aimee just moaned in heat. She peppered him with kisses, twisting and twitching 
beneath his roaming hands. She wrapped one stocking- dressed leg around him. 
Melrosy was the sexiest man alive and she was in heaven.
"Oh, god, fuck the stupid article," she gasped. "Who needs a fucking nowhere job 
like that anyway. Come on, Melrosy, stop teasing. Please fuck me!" She already 
had his jacket off.
He did not resist as she pushed him back toward the therapy couch. They sank 
onto the plush fabric, still embraced, as Aimee hurriedly began peeling off more 
of his clothing. When his cock came into view she was on it in an instant, 
shuffling down the couch to take him deep into her mouth. She sucked his member 
with abandon, like it was a sacred straw from which she could draw the elixir of 
life. Her big hoop earrings flew about wildly.
Finally she slipped off him, gasping. She moved forward to sit astride him. The 
sleek material of her multiple garter-straps stretched smoothly over her thighs 
and bum. Sitting up, she peeled off her tight crop-top, letting her proud, round 
breasts bounce freely. Then she reached down to take his shaft in one hand. 
Guiding it gently with her fingers, she impaled herself upon his length. Both 
partners groaned at once. Aimee's eyes were closed. "Ohhh, yessss," she sighed 
blissfully. "Fuck me forever."
She fell into a pounding, urgent rhythm, raising herself up on the muscles of 
her thighs, then plunging downward again to ram his rod back into her. Blonde 
hair tumbled out of its careful coif and fell across her face. Her nipples stood 
out, red and swollen, inviting the pinching caresses of Melrose's fingers. As 
she felt the beginnings of an orgasm like an earthquake begin to build within 
her, Aimee realized that fucking with Morty was about the most deliciously 
pleasurable thing she could ever hope to do.
Some time later it was Aimee's turn to be on her back, heels pointed at the 
ceiling, as Morty fucked her leisurely from a standing position at the end of 
the couch. He had her white- stockinged legs over his shoulders. Aimee didn't 
remember when she had lost her skirt, or one shoe. Morty's wang felt divine.
"Oh, by the way," the naked therapist said conversationally, as his pace began 
to accelerate, "I anticipated-- ah, nice! -- that you, huh, might lose, uh, 
lose, interest in the article." He gripped one leg in each hand, spreading them 
wider. "So I, huh!, w-wrote one, uh! for you! How's that!" He gave her a 
specially deep thrust.
Aimee swept damp hair out of her face and bit the back of her hand. "Oooh! 
That's wo-wonderrrrrful, Morty," she purred. "Fucking wonderful. Fuck me 
wonderful! Unh! Oh god, Morty darling, I'm, I'm going to come again!
"Me too!" cried Dr. Melrose, and he exploded inside her a second time.
Some time later still, Dr. Melrose sat down on the couch beside Aimee, 
straightening his tie. She gazed up at him, dishevelled, satisfied and utterly 
adoring. "Aimee," he asked gently, "what was that you said yesterday about the 
Mayor?"
 
"Excellent!" said Dr. Melrose in satisfaction. "All together excellent. This 
spread should be a real boost for the practice." He had the Saturday edition of 
the paper open on the desk in front of him. His own picture looked back from the 
middle of the full- page article under Aimee's byline. The article presented a 
wildly enthusiastic endorsement of Melrose's methods. It abounded in quotes from 
contented female clients.
"Congratulations, Sexy Reporter," Dr. Melrose said. "You did a sparkling job."
Aimee shrugged and went back to kissing Morty's neck. She was sitting in his 
lap, wearing very little beyond knee-high white boots. "I hope it's OK, 
darling," she whispered. She paused to nibble his ear. "I had to fuck my editor 
a few times to get him to run it."
Dr. Melrose chuckled. "I knew I could count on you. You're very resourceful. The 
City Hall affair is winding down then is it?" He fondled a bare boob 
affectionately.
"Oooh! City Hall? Oh who cares. They transferred me to the fashion section 
anyway. "Mmmm, do that again, honey."
The intercom chirped. "Yes?" Dr. Melrose responded, holding Aimee at bay.
"Sorry to disturb you, Morty," came Holly's breathless voice. "But the Mayor is 
on line 3. Oh, and Ms. Mayfair is here for her 10:30."
"All right, I'll talk to hizhonor. Give Mayfair a lollipop while she waits."
He picked up the telephone receiver and punched line three. Aimee returned to 
kissing and nibbling, not paying much attention to the conversation. The Mayor 
seemed interested in some sort of group rate for all the women in the planning 
department. Aimee thought that was a great idea. Those chicks were so uptight.
Aimee was hoping Melrosy would fuck her again before she had to go back to work, 
but there probably wasn't time. She would have to survive until her date with 
that sports guy this evening. The conversation with the Mayor was brief. 
Immediately there was another call, from a client.
Aimee began to fidget. She could feel Melrosy's beautiful cock through his suit 
trousers, pressing against her bare leg. It was just too good to waste. 
Gracefully, she slid down off the chair until she was kneeling between his legs, 
her shiny white bootheels protruding behind her. Red-nailed fingers pulled his 
zipper down.
Dr. Melrose stroked her hair, like he was petting an affectionate cat, as Aimee 
found his member and eased it free. She began to salivate. With a quiet sigh she 
leaned forward and took him in as deep as she could. As Dr. Melrose explained to 
his client, somewhat brokenly, how she could have half of her paycheck deposited 
automatically to his account each month, Aimee licked and tongued and sucked and 
sucked. She closed her eyes, shutting out all stimulation unrelated to sucking 
Morty's magnificent cock.
Swirling patterns of color danced behind her eyes.
END