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From: tweedled.dee@gmail.com
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Subject: {ASSM} A Psychotherapeutic Encounter (revised and expanded) (mf, nc)
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Date: Wed, 14 Sep 2005 08:10:01 -0400
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This story is copyright the author, sexual content is contained herein,
non-consensual situations are presented as a fantasy.  In no way does the
author condone or encourage such behavior in real life.  If you like it
completed, email the author.  If you don't like it, email someone else. 
Toodles.

   Tweedle

   I had decided to go into therapy for a number of reasons.  Trouble at
work, depression at home and general aimlessness were making me feel a
little desperate and a lot lost.  I didn't have a lot of money because
temping paid jack.  I had a college degree but I was working in
construction.  Easy money, and I liked physical work.  I knew I could
achieve more, but for whatever reason I couldn't bring myself to do the
work to get there.  Blah blah blah, whatever.  I needed help, and an old
teacher of mine had recommended this psychiatrist to me, a lady.  Dr. 
Gilbert.

   I drove up to the office ten minutes early.  She had been curt and
businesslike on the phone, wasting no time in pleasantries, just telling me
a time and giving directions.  She gave the impression of someone in
control.  The office complex was in a residential district, nestled between
sets of condos.  Very beige and nondescript, well landscaped, it barely
looked like an office complex.  Walking up, the only thing giving it away
were the names on the windows.  I came to her office and walked in.

   The waiting room was simple and small.  Dimly lit, a plastic plant stood
in a corner, a few chairs, and a table with magazines laid out neatly, all
current.  The curtain was open, although the view out was largely blocked
by bushes and trees.  It was fall, and the leaves were just beginning to
turn.

   I sat and picked up a magazine.  I could hear muffled voices inside.  I
assumed the office was soundproofed, but I could vaguely hear through the
air-conditioning ducts.  I couldn't make out the words, but I could hear a
man yelling, interrupted by a woman speaking loudly but calmly.  Things
escalated quickly, and in a few minutes I heard a door slam open and the
man's voice became distinct.

   "...fucking bullshit.  She's not going to tell me what to do and you're
not either, you little cunt.  Fucking cunt conspiracy is what it is."

   The door to the waiting room opened and a surprisingly short man stormed
out, opened the second door, and rushed away.  Dr.  Gilbert came right
after.

   "Mr.  Reid!"

   He ignored her and I watched his silhouette disappear behind the trees.
Dr.  Gilbert stood at the door looking after him.  She was about 5'6, thin,
and strikingly attractive, at least in profile.  She had light brunette
hair and delicate, pretty features.  She was lightly made up, and her
clothes were stylish but conservative-skirt, blouse and jacket.  Her
clothes didn't emphasize her figure, but she was clearly well proportioned.
She looked to be about thirty.  She didn't emphasize her looks, but she
couldn't hide them, either.

   She stood for a moment watching after him, her look intense, focused,
and then turned to me.  "I'll be with you in a minute," she said, and went
back in the office.

   I was a little surprised by the whole thing, and a little amused as
well. She stayed in the office maybe a minute, and then came back out,
smiling.  She reached out her hand abruptly.  "Mr.  Connors?  I'm Dr. 
Gilbert."

   I stood up and took her hand - soft, fleshy, feminine, a firm grip but
not challenging.  "Pleased to meet you," I said, and followed her in the
office.

   The office was subtly lit, with a desk at one end and two chairs facing
each other at the other end.  She motioned me to sit in one chair, which I
did.  She sat in the other, facing me, crossed her legs, and placed a pad
of legal paper on her lap.  I couldn't help glancing at the bottom part of
her shins exposed by her skirt.

   "How can I help you?" she asked.

   "I, uh..." I was trying to look her in the eye, and she was looking at
me frankly, directly.  I could feel her breasts pulling my gaze like a
magnet, but I tried to resist, keep her gaze.  I knew my eyes flicked down,
couldn't help it.  They always betray me.  "What was going on with that
guy?"

   For the first time I saw a crack in her armor.  A slight pause, maybe a
flush in her skin.  "You mean the patient before you?"

   "Yeah, the guy talking about the cunt conspiracy."

   "Is that something you think about?"

   I laughed.  Now she was really blowing it.  What kind of 25 cent
psychiatry was that?  Always answering a question with a question.  "No," I
said.  "But what was he so upset about?"

   Now she smiled, a little bit calmer.  "I can't discuss other patients,
I'm afraid.  That's confidential." Back on safe ground.

   "Do you always get your patients so upset?"

   She smiled again, but this one was nervous.  It was so interesting to
watch her vacillate like this.  "Sometimes people need to get upset. 
Sometimes that's part of the process."

   Looks like you're a little bit upset yourself, I thought.  "That sounds
like something they tell you in school.  It could be that sometimes
psychiatrists screw up, too.  Do you think he's coming back?"

   She paused a moment, considering my question.  Or, I thought,
considering how to answer my question.  She already knew what she thought.
"I don't know," she finally said, with a shrug.

   Ah, wrong answer, I thought.  Honest, but now I saw she wasn't as sure
of herself as she appeared.  Two minutes into our first meeting and some
doubt was showing.  She should have lied to me.  God but her legs looked
beautiful.  Shapely, young, creamy, smooth.  I was noticing their outlines
continue under her skirt.

   "Everything about this experience has been unprofessional," I said. 
"First this guy comes out yelling like that.  Now, you're telling me
confidential information.  You shouldn't be telling me whether you think
he's coming back or not.  Are you going to talk about how you feel about me
with other patients?"

   "Is that something you're afraid of?"

   I couldn't help myself, I literally rolled my eyes.  "Jesus, lady, get
real, would you?  These are legitimate questions I'm asking.  This is like
amateur psychiatry.  I don't know what my friend was thinking when they
recommended you." I got up and grabbed my coat to go.  Looking down at her,
I continued.  "And those clothes.  Who in God's name told you to dress like
that?  A skirt that short.  Is that how you deal with your patients?  Dress
up in a short skirt to impress them with your professionalism?" She just
looked up at me, not saying anything.  I turned to leave.

   "Would you like to see what's underneath it?"

   Whoa.  I stopped dead in my tracks, my hand on the doorknob.

   "Why don't you tell my why you came to see me, Mr.  Connors?"

   I turned around, looked at her.  She had her stone face on again.  What
game was she playing?.

   "I'm here cause I can't fuck a woman without tying her up first, and
it's screwed up all my relationships.  I'm trying to figure out who's
fucked up, me or my girlfriends.  I'm trying to figure out if I should try
to fix this in me or if I just need to find the right woman."

   "And trying to figure that out is what you're already doing.  We both
know that my skirt is perfectly appropriate and professional.  But you
can't help but looking at it.  Now you're attacking me not because I'm
wearing a skirt, but because of what's underneath the skirt, isn't that
right, Mr.  Connors?  The relationship you're already building with me is
typical of the way you relate to all women."

   I walked back to the chair and sat down, crossed my legs, leaned back,
held my hand to my chin, and just stared at her.  Not blinking, locking my
gaze with hers.  She didn't say anything back to me, kept her neutral
shrink gaze.  She was well trained.  Five minutes we must have sat like
that.  She didn't flinch, but I didn't either.  I felt totally calm.

   "You're right, I would like to see what's underneath that skirt.  Take
it off."

   I was hoping for a response, another chink in her armor, but I wasn't
getting anything.  "If you really want to deal with this issue, Mr. 
Connors, this needs to be a safe and neutral place to do it," she said,
cool as a popsicle, didn't miss a beat.  "Just replicating the patterns
isn't going to help you resolve them.  I'm not one of your girlfriends and
I'm not going to become one.  I am a psychoanalyst and I can help you talk
them through."

   As she was saying all this I let my gaze clearly drift down to her
breasts.  Not looking her in the eyes, but staring at her breasts, I said,
"Take your skirt off, Dr.  Gilbert."

   "I'm not going to do that."

   "Did you notice that your nipples are hard?" I let my eyes go back to
her face.  She couldn't deny it, her nipples were pushing out against her
blouse.  Whatever cool exterior she was showing, I was getting to her.  And
now her face was flushing.  She wasn't sure how to handle this.  There was
a long moment of silence, but it was like an awkward moment at a cocktail
party.  She wasn't sure what to say.

   All of which was great for me.  I stood up and stepped close to her, she
had to tilt her head back to look up at me.  She was trying to stay

   professional but I could see there was a hint of fear.

   "Please sit down Mr.  Conormmmph!"

   Her phrase was interrupted by the index and middle finger of my right
hand being authoritatively thrust into her mouth.  Her eyes went wide with
shock and she immediately grabbed my arm with both her hands, trying to
push it away from her mouth.  She started to shake her head violently back
and forth, and I let her succeed in pushing my arm away only so that I
could twist my hand around and grab both of her petite wrists.  I pinned
her hands quickly in her lap and grabbed her chin with my left hand,
holding both fingers at her lips.  She shut her mouth.

   "Open your mouth Dr.  Gilbert." She kept it tightly shut and shook her
head, looking at me in terror and fury.  "What do you think your governing
board is going to say when I go to them and tell them you asked me if you'd
like to see what's under your skirt?  Do you remember you said that to me,
Dr.  Gilbert?  Regardless of whether its length is appropriate, do you
think that's a very professional question to ask one of your patients?  I
will ruin your career, I swear to God.  I will find every professional
journal I can find, I will complain about you to every organization that
exists.  Now open your goddamned mouth right now!"

   She hesitated, doubt and fear flickering over her eyes.  My threat was
total bullshit, of course.  What kind of organization is going to listen to
a crackpot patient with no evidence who'd only known this doctor for two
minutes?  But she just needed an excuse.  I could tell.  I felt like I got
this woman.  I had no doubt at all, and I was pounding that into her,
building her doubt with my certainty.  I pushed my fingers against her
mouth, and she didn't quite open up, but now I could push my fingers
roughly between her teeth., deep into her mouth.  She made a gagging sound.
I pulled my fingers back and pushed them in again, I started fucking her
mouth with my fingers, holding her hands hard against her lips, pushing
down against her clenched thighs

   "Suck," I said.  She looked at me with real terror now, her eyes wide.
"Suck or I am going to hurt you." I emphasized the last two words by
bending my palm down as I thrust into her mouth, whacking her jaw hard with
the heel of my palm.  She grunted in pain, but got the idea.  She closed
her eyes, tilted her head back, and using her tongue on my fingers.  Really
sucking them, slurping them.  The sound was obscene.

   I did that until my fingers started to get sore from the friction
rubbing them along the roof of her mouth and her teeth.  I pulled my
fingers out, grabbed her by the hair behind her head, and lifted her up out
of her chair.

   "You know what I'm going to do to you?" I said, arching her head back.

   "No," she gasped.

   "Guess."

   Her eyes were wet as she looked at me, tears starting to pool.  She
weakly tried twisting her wrists out of my hand.  I shook her by the head
to make her stop.  "Please don't."

   "I'll make a deal with you, doctor.  I'll reach under your skirt right
now, and if you're dry, I'll let you go, I'll never see you again.  But if
you're wet, you're mine, every hole you have, every fuck-hole in your
body."

   "No." Tears were flowing freely now.

   "I'm not giving you a choice.  Spread your legs."

   "No, please."

   She knew she was lost.  I could feel the heat coming from under her
skirt.  It was like the heat from a furnace.  She must be soaking.

   "For the last time, spread your legs."

   "No."

   I let go of her arms and gave her a swift, hard slap in the face and
quickly shoved her to the center of the room.  She stumbled forward, almost
falling over, but kept her balance and stood with her back to me, slightly
hunched over, her arms held out for balance.

   "Take your skirt off," I said.

   She didn't turn around.  She didn't change her posture, just stood there
with her arms held out like that.  I could see her hands trembling.  I was
wondering if she was really sobbing now, but I couldn't tell.  Her back
wasn't shuddering.  She was standing so still.

   "I don't want to," she finally said.

   "I'll give you a second and final chance.  Take your skirt off."

   "No," she said, still not moving, standing hunched over, like she was
waiting for someone to hit her.  I grabbed her by her hair and swung her
back towards the chair.  She grabbed my arm with her hands, trying to
relive the pressure.  I pushed her down over the arm of the chair, so her
hips were balanced on the arm, with her torso splayed over the seat and her
legs extended back for balance.  I pushed my foot against the back of her
knees and pushed forward on her head, forcing her to lean all her weight on
her hips.  She held onto the other arm of the chair.  I kept my left hand
pushing her head down, and with my right hand I started spanking her.  I
kept her skirt on.  It wasn't going to be me taking it off.  I spanked her
through her skirt, hard and long, letting my hand occasionally slip between
her legs on a spank.  Every spank she grunted or squealed.  But she didn't
scream.  And she had stopped crying.

   I don't know how many times I spanked her.  Thirty?  Fifty?  My hand was
sore by the time I was finished.  I slipped my hands under her arm pits,
lifted her on her feet, and moved her to the center of the room.  I turned
her to face the chairs and then walked in front of her.  For the first time
since I'd first pulled her out of her chair, I saw her face.  She had been
crying a little, but not hard.  Her breathing was heavy, her face flushed,
and her nipples were still poking out from beneath her blouse.  The look on
her face I couldn't quite describe.  Not frightened, not angry.  Stunned, I
would say.

   "Now take your skirt off."

   She held my gaze for a long moment.  I considered pointing out to her
how much of a role she was playing in this.  I considered telling her that
all she needed to do to stop this was scream.  There were people in offices
all around the building.  But I didn't.  She needed to feel like she was
being forced.  She needed to feel like she had no choices to go into this,
even if on some level she knew there was a choice.  She wasn't ready to
face the fact that she was a willing participant.

   Without a word, she reached behind her back, undid a clasp, and pulled
down a zipper.  She pushed down on her skirt and it fell easily to her
feet. Her blouse still gave her some modesty, covered her hips.  But God,
her legs.  Amazing, luscious, firm, healthy.  When I looked back up at her
face, I could see she had been watching me the entire time.

   "Now your blouse."

   Still looking at me, she deliberately undid the buttons on her blouse
and held her arms behind her back to let it slip to the ground.  Her firm
breasts were held by an unadorned green bra.  Her panties were white and
entirely unremarkable.

   "Now your panties."

   I could see her breathing deepen.  "Don't do this," she said.

   "Don't test me again, bitch.  If you thought it hurt the last time, you
ain't seen nothing yet."

   She put her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and pushed them
down.  She had to bend over to push them all the way down.  When she
straightened, she held her hands clasped in front of her crotch, and looked
at the ground.  Her lips were trembling.  I went and stood behind her and
placed my foot between hers, and pushed her legs apart.  Then I reached
around, took her hands from in front of her, and guided them behind her
head.  I ran my hand down her back and held her ass, which was bright red
and very warm.  I slid my hand down the inside of her thighs.  She was
shuddering, trembling, wearing only her bra.  I was leaning down now,
running my hands all the way down her thigh, and then back up between her
legs, to her open crotch.  I ran one hand through her bush, up to her
stomach, and then down again, between her legs.  Her pussy, not
surprisingly, was drenched, her lips swollen and parted.  I slid my index
finger along the folds of her lubricated flesh up and over her clit.  She
gasped, jerked her hips, and instinctively put her hands on my shoulders.

   I stood up and grabbed her by her hair with my left hand and arched her
head back.  "You moved your hands," I said, keeping my right hand between
her legs.

   "I'm sorry,ah!" She gasped as I pushed a finger inside her pussy.

   "Take your bra off." She looked at me uncertainly.  Now?  It was an
awkward position she was in, arched backwards, holding onto me for support.
If she let go of my shoulders, the only thing supporting her would be my
hand grasping her crotch, my finger up her cunt.  "Don't look at me without
permission.  Look down or keep your eyes closed."

   She looked away from me.  "If I let go of you I'll fall over," she said.
She closed here eyes.  I let her straighten slightly but kept her quite off
balance.

   "Try it and see what happens."

   She gingerly let go of my shoulders.  I felt her weight on my hand
between her legs and I had to really hold her up now.  I pushed two fingers
inside of her for leverage.  She exhaled sharply but was reaching behind
her back to undo her bra clasp.  She succeeded and let the bra fall to the
floor.

   Her breasts were fucking unbelievable.  This lady was in her thirties
but her breasts looked like she was 18.  Natural, pert, just the right
size. She must work out like a maniac.

   "Hold your elbows behind your back," I told her.  She glanced up at me,
questioningly, making eye contact.  That pissed me off.  "Don't fucking
look at me unless I tell you to!" I barked at her, jerking her hair for
emphasis.  She let out a little pained "Ah!" at each jerk and she was
struggling to keep her balance.  She quickly folded her arms behind her
back, holding onto her elbows.  She got the idea.

   And she kept her eyes closed.  Now we were getting somewhere.

   Meanwhile, I had two fingers up her sopping cunt the entire time.  Now I
pushed her up to a standing position, let go of her hair, and started

   pumping my fingers in and out.  She kept her eyes, closed but turned her
head away from me, like she was embarrassed.  She was breathing heavily
now, biting her lip, and she couldn't keep her hips from rocking slightly
to meet the thrusts of my fingers.  I leaned my head down to her perfect
breasts and started to lick her nipples.  She audibly sucked in her breath.
I could feel her pussy tightening around my fingers.  I bet her nipple
gently and she gasped.  Then I bit it hard.

   "Ow," she said I bit harder.  "Ow ow ow ow, that hurts, that hurts." I
stopped and looked up at her face.  She was looking at me.

   "I know it hurts," I said.  "That was a test to see if you'd keep your
hands behind your back.  Which you passed.  Unfortunately, you chose to
look at me, so that you failed."

   She immediately looked at the ground.  "I'm sorry." Her face, already
flush, was turning beet red, and most amazingly, her pussy wetly clenched
hard around my fingers.  Being caught embarrassed her, ashamed her, and
really turned her on.

   I pulled my fingers out of her cunt and rubbed my fingers up and down
her pussy, rubbing up and down but focusing on the top, her clit.  "That
was a test," I told her.  I started to rub two fingers around her clit. 
She was looking down, but now she closed her eyes and lifted her head back.
She was already so turned on, I'm sure she wasn't far from the edge.  "And
this is punishment." This time I grabbed her nipples between my fingers,
pinched, and twisted, hard.

   "Oh, God, ow, ah, ow." Her eyes were furrowed in a focused kind of pain,
my hand was rubbing her clit hard, and I was really laying into her nipple.

   "If you want to cum, you'd better ask permission, you hear?" I gave
another hard twist to her nipple for emphasis.

   Immediately, she said, "Can I cum, can I cum?  Oh God, can I cum?" Her
head was back, her hips pushing as best they could against my fingers, her
knees were bent, her face twisted on the conflicting pleasure in her pussy
and pain in her tit.  I stopped rubbing her clit and started finger fucking
her pussy again.

   "Not yet," I said

   "I'm...so...close..." each word punctuated by her rocking hips, her
shortness of breath.

   "Not without permission.  Don't you dare." I took my fingers out of her
pussy and started on her clit again, rubbing in hard circles at the top of
her pussy.

   "Oh, but, oh God, but you can't, I can't, ah, ah, ah, I can't stop." She
had to bend her knees into a slight crouch to keep her balance as her hips
thrust more and more against my fingers.  "Oh God please, please, can I
cum, oh God..."

   "No you may not," I said, rubbing faster, harder against her bucking
hips.

   "Oh God, oh God, ah-ha!  God!" Now she came in a last, violent thrust
that sent her off her balance.  Her arms shot towards me and she grabbed
onto my shoulders for balance as she lost control of her spasming pelvis
and hips.  Her face was contorted in a look of painful ecstasy - she thrust
her whole body against mine, buried her head in my neck as pushed her
breasts against my chest and kept pushing her clit and pussy against my
hand.

   Her body slowly came down.  I kept hold of her pussy, her body relaxed,
and as she let her breath out, she started do cry.  Quietly, gasping
against my shoulder, I could feel the wetness of her tears against my neck.

   "You came without permission," I said.

   "I'm sorry," she said into my neck.

   "You moved your arms from behind your back without permission."

   She seemed to cry harder.  She didn't say anything, but instead kissed
me gently on my neck and rested her forhead against my jaw.  Trying to get
control of the crying?  I couldn't tell.  She kissed me on my cheek and
then tried to kiss me on my lips, but I pulled my head back.

   "Without permission?" I asked.  She opened her eyes and looked at me,
shocked, hurt, tears welling over.  She took her arms from around my neck
and wrapped them behind her back.  She looked down and stood before me,
head bowed, legs together, naked, exposed and crying.  I went to her and
lifter her chin up.  To her great credit, she didn't open her eyes.  I
kissed her, full and hard, our lips parted and our tongues thrust together.
She pushed her body into mine and I wrapped my arms around her, one hand
pulling her torso into me, the other hand clenching her ass.  She spread
her legs as she pushed her hips into me, searching for and finding my
hardness.  We kissed like that for a few minutes, passionately, my cock
throbbing so hard I thought I might have a hard time keeping my own orgasm
in check.

   And through all this she didn't unfold her arms from behind her back or
open her eyes.  And she made it very clear she wanted me to fuck her.  And
I was going to.  Just not the way she expected.

   "Do you have any hand lotion?" I asked.


   Continued...  

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