"He's shaking his head no." Stacy said. I was shaking my head, and I didn't even know it.
"Okay, get out." Estelle said. "We'll find someone else. It won't be hard."
"No please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just didn't expect . . . I'll do it."
"Too late. We don't have time for this. If you're going to be this hard to train."
"I won't, I'll do better. I promise."
"Stacy, what do you think?" Estelle said. "I'll let you decide."
"Well he did a pretty good job licking my ass. We could give him a chance."
"Okay, one more chance, but you're really pissing me off."
"Even though you haven't peed yet." Stacy said.
"It's not even funny Stace," Estelle said, but I think I caught her give a wink to her friend. "You mister are in for a good belt whipping, then I'll pee into you, then Stacy will pee into you, then maybe we'll train you to be Stacy's slave. So stand up. Fucking hurry. Stacy give me his belt. Hands on the wall above your head. Spread your feet apart. Fucking stick out your ass. You should already know that. You say you've fantasized about being a slave. Then you should know to present your ass for a whipping. Keep your hands on the wall. Every time you move them we add five strokes. You're getting fifty."
"Whoa, fifty that's a lot." Stacy said. I was glad she said it.
"Stacy if you really want a slave, you're going to have to learn that the best way to get them to do what you want is to be firm. He closed his mouth, when I told him to open it. That's disobedient. I can't tolerate disobedience. He'll make mistakes like not licking hard enough, that's one thing, and we still punish him for that, but directly questioning an order? No, no I won't tolerate it."
"You're right. Of course you're right." Stacy said.
Estelle stood behind me and to the side. She lazily swung the belt and it touched my ass, but not hard.
"One." I said.
"Oh come on," Estelle said laughing, "Are you really that stupid? That wasn't a stroke. I was just testing the distance, for my swing. Look, you don't even have to count. Just concentrate on keeping your position, and think about the mistake of questioning me or being disobedient to me, or anyone else, Stacy will you count, but not out loud?"
"Yes."
"First I'm going to come in from the side. Tell me when I get to twenty." Then Estelle swung the belt way back, and holding it with both hands quickly swung it back around and connected with my ass. It almost took my breath away. Before I could process what was happening, it hit again. My hand came off the wall, and I caught myself and put it back. The belt hit again.
"His hand moved." Stacy said. Smack!
"I know." Smack!
The blows kept coming. I concentrated on keeping in position.
"Get that fucking pathetic ass out properly" Estelle said. I tried my best to do what she wanted. This was far worse than I'd ever imagined. I guess that's why they call it punishment.
"Twenty" Stacy said.
"Quickly slave, get on your knees, with your face on the floor, and your ass nice and high up in the air."
I did what she wanted. She swung the belt over her head, and brought it crashing down. "Tell me when I get to forty."
"I could get into it this way." Stacy said.
"Yeah, it is a fun position." Estelle said as she continued to thrash me.
"You're really giving it to him."
"Is he crying yet? I want him to cry." Smack. Smack. Smack.
"I think he's almost going to cry." Stacy said. Smack. Smack.
"This would be better if I had my cane." Oh my Goddess, I don't know if I would be able to take that.
"That's forty."
"Stand up. Bend over, and grab your legs as far down them as you can. Now move so that the back of your head is touching the wall. It will help you from falling forward."
"Thank you."
"Thanking me is the best thing he's done all day. Now I want to hit him right at the top of his legs right below his ass. Tell me when I reach sixty."
"Fifty five." I said. Could I be more stupid?
"Don't question me."
I didn't think the strokes could get any harder, but they did. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I wanted this so much, but was this worth it. No, I made it this far; I've got to make it. Estelle yelled as she delivered a stroke. It scared me. She yelled again. She hit me right where she wanted. Smack. Smack.
"That's sixty."
"On your knees, look at the ground." I did what she said. Tears streamed down my face. I don't know why, but I had a brief thought that Estelle would be nice to me, since I took her beating. I was wrong.
"You fucking slave. You never question me. You got five extra strokes for moving your hand, and you got five extra strokes for changing positions too slowly."
"I'm sorry." Estelle slapped me.
"You're pathetic. I've had to deal with your pervert ass coming in to my coffee shop these last few months. I'm sick of it. Then you disrespect Stacy, by staring at her ass. Wait look up. Stacy slap him."
Stacy slapped me, even harder than Estelle had.
"Then you make a mess. You don't even know how to lick an ass, until we tell you. Now you've made me hold going to the bathroom, because I had to punish you. Lie down, and open your mouth toilet. You better get used to this, hundreds of people are going to use you toilet. She stood over me again, and this time I had no fantasy of eating out her gorgeous cunt, I knew what she was going to do. She wasted no time, she just let go, and her piss came at me hard and fast. It hit my eyes, then my nose, and then it went right in my mouth. I wasn't ready. It stung the back of my throat, and I coughed and spat. She stopped while I recovered. When I was somewhat better, Estelle reached down and smacked my face a couple times. "Do better. Open." I opened my mouth, and she blasted me again with piss. I tried to keep it in my mouth, but didn't do a good job. After what seemed like a long time she stopped. "Lick me clean toilet." I gladly did. She threw me a rag and had me wipe up some on the floor. When the rag was full she made me ring it out into my mouth. She was so mean. I loved it. I always have wanted someone to be mean to me, I don't know why. "Lay back down, Stacy has to pee toilet. Do a fucking better job than you did with me."
"I want to slap him again." Stacy said. "I don't know why."
"Go ahead slap him. He's your slave."
Stacy slapped me very hard, and then again. I was starting to get concerned that Estelle was the really mean one, but Stacy might be more than I was giving her credit for.
"I love that." Stacy said. "Okay, be the toilet slave I've got to piss even more than Estelle did." They laughed. I lay down and opened my mouth. Stacy started to pee, and I was still not doing a good job swallowing. As she peed on me, she stopped five or six times and slapped me. Yeah, my mistress was going to be mean enough all right.
The End.
Erotic Transference
"You know, Nate, after all this time, I've forgotten to ask you about your romantic life. So?"
I had looked forward to this moment and, at the same time, dreaded it for so long. Crimson shades run up my neck and I have no way of keeping them from going further. This always happens. And it only makes my embarrassment worse.
"Nothing," I whisper.
"Okay, well, anything in the past I should know about?"
"No."
"So nothing at all?"
"No."
"All right, how about interests. Romantic interests?"
How about you, Nell? But I can never tell you that.
Nell's skirt is rather short today and it's riding up her crossed legs. It's hard for me to keep my eyes from running over the length of each one. But that's not why I love her.
Doctor Nell Calkins, for the last six months, I've poured my soul out in this room, your office. I've divulged every secret, no matter how deep it was buried. I've revealed every foible, no matter how shameful. You know more about me than anyone else in this world. How could I not love you?
But Nel
l is a psychiatrist, a very professional one at that. If I tell her the truth, I don't know what would happen. I've never told a woman the truth before anyway.
Her eyebrows arched. Was she getting impatient?
"Um, well, there's one girl I really like."
"Who?"
"Bijou. She's in one of my classes."
"What do you like about her?"
I think of her long billowing sweaters and skirts that hang from her delicate frame. How her hand brushes against mine when she wants me to look at her work. The way her voice is so soft I can barely hear her accent. And how I am absolutely in love with the pale skin of her face. How can I put this into words for Nell?
"I don't know."
"There must be something that makes her different if you like her." A long silence. "What about other girls? Do you think any like you?"
"Yeah, there were a few that liked me. But I never liked them. They just kind of latched on to me. I don't even know why they liked me."
"Well, what happened?"
"Nothing," I lie. It's the first time I've lied to Nell. I could talk to her about anything but that. I had talked to her about everything but that. But I should be honest. She has to know if she's going to help. "Except one time."
"What time?" She touches the eraser of her pencil to her lips. She would have to dredge it out of me. But when Nell asks prying questions, I don't feel intruded upon, because I do want to tell her everything.
"This one girl, I thought she was okay, I guess. She hit on me sometimes, and she asked if she could kiss me." I could feel myself turning red. "And I was curious about it, so I let her."
"Now that's the kind of thing I wanted to know when I asked you about romantic interests, Nate. So tell me what happened."
"I did tell you what happened." I wriggle in my seat.
"You seem awfully uncomfortable about it. I think there is something else that happened." She waggles her clipboard, drawing her skirt up her legs a tiny bit more.
I'm not just lying to her, I'm lying to myself. I didn't throw out that first hint because I wanted to help her in the "therapeutic process." I did it because I wanted to get closer to her. I wanted her to accept the part of me that I was most ashamed of.
"She tried to take my shirt off, so I told her to stop, and I ran away."
"Why did you do that?"
I have no choice but to be brutal about it now. "Because I didn't want her to see me naked!"
"Huh, gymnophobia? You're afraid of nudity?"
"Well, I mean, I can be naked. It depends. I feel less embarrassed around people that make me feel safer. But even then, it's weird. I don't even like to take my shirt off in public. And I feel kind of weird being naked even when I'm alone."
"Hmm, maybe it's not just a plain old phobia if that's true. Maybe it's related to your anxiety issues. Have you had any other experiences? Any other times you were afraid of being exposed?"
"Well..." She's hit on a second incident that I don't want to relive. "Back in high school, I was at the beach with some friends. I was wearing these loose baggy trunks and standing in the ocean. A big wave hit me and pulled my shorts off. By the time I saw where they were, they were too far out to get back. I had to run back to the beach, and it was the most embarrassing moment in my life."
"I see. I want to go back to the girl you were talking about earlier. Would you have gone further if it weren't for that?"
"I couldn't say. It happened so fast, I just didn't know if I liked her enough to go further. And then the whole nudity thing, I couldn't handle it."
"Maybe it's erotophobia, then, sex in general. Though, I'm reluctant to say it's a phobia, really, given your issues with anxiety. I think maybe it's just that you're especially anxious because it's the most personal form of contact between two people."
As usual, Nell explains me better than I can. I let out a sigh, my eyes wandering back to her legs while she scribbles. If Nell asked if she could kiss me, I would let her. She's the only woman I would let see me naked, the only woman I would let make love to me. Bijou, perhaps, but she is only nineteen. Still a girl, not a woman.
And here I am talking about sex to the one woman I can't have. And I'm watching her scratch her leg, watching her skirt ride up even more so that I can almost see all of her thighs. When she uncrosses her legs, I catch a glimpse of her white panties.
A swelling sensation begins. Being reminded about my one "sexual" encounter also reminded me of all the sensations that came with it. And on top of that I was telling it out loud, to Nell. This is another problem – I am sensitive, easily aroused. I have to cut the tags out of my shirts, I can smell foul cologne from a mile away, and I sneeze when the sun gets too bright. And, of course, I'm easily aroused down there.
When sex is mentioned, it lingers in the air like some kind of inscrutable odor. That odor all too often reminds me of my solitary kiss. The smell of raspberry from her hair, her belly undulating from her rapid breathing, her tongue exploring my mouth. I had sprouted an erection the second our lips met. And I always think, if kissing felt like that....
My arousal only made things worse. I didn't want her to see me naked, much less see that I was hard as stone. It was just so irrational, though. She was unbuttoning my shirt – what else would she be expecting? But my mind always shoots back to that incident on the beach. I neglected to tell Nell that being exposed had given me a raging hard-on, and the thought of the girl undressing me had done the same.
Whenever I relive the moment, I can't help but think of how foolish I am. What if someone had seen that? What if someone sat in on my sessions with Nell? My mind immediately conjures a guy with a popped collar and backwards cap, saying "Christ, dude, just get laid already! You're making way too big a deal out of this, you goddamned pussy!"
"...you need some pussy," Nell says, breaking the silence. I jump in my seat.
"Whuh?"
"I said, 'I don't mean to be pushy.'"
I exhale, relieved, but almost a tiny bit disappointed. My thoughts had flown so far while she sat writing. Now I snap back to the present and feel my member crawling down my thigh. I crossed my legs just in case.
"But, can you tell me more about Bijou? Would you have gone through with it if she had been the one kissing you?"
"I don't know. Yes, I guess. I mean, I would be nervous but I think I could do it."
"Yes, I know Bijou. She's a nice girl."
"What? How?"
"I'm in an evening class with her. I can tell she's a nice girl. But I know why you like her. She makes you feel safe, doesn't she? She's a lot like you."
For the first time, I feel Nell knows almost too much about me. But I can't deny that she's entirely correct. "Yes," I whisper.
The corner of her lip turns up. "Even the fear of nudity." She leans over, pulls a canvas from behind her desk, and turns it around so I can see. I jump in my seat just like before. It's a portrait of Bijou clutching a sheet of cloth to her nude body so only her shoulders on up and a hint of leg can be seen. I can see the brush strokes. They make a painterly image of Bijou, but in a bad way. Like a failed attempt at Impressionism. The crudeness of it doesn't do her justice at all.
"Do you like it? I know I'm not an artiste, probably not even half what you are, but I think I'm coming along."
"Oh, yeah, it's very nice." That was the second time I had lied to Nell.
"Thank you. The model that week didn't show up and I managed to convince her to pose for us. She wouldn't go fully nude, though." She puts the painting aside. "Anyway, that's besides the point. Now what I'm thinking is that we need to try something new. You've been coming here for months. I think we have made some progress here in this room, but that's where it seems to stay. And you've told me that the medication is having less of an effect than it used to. I don't mean to be critical, but I think maybe it's time you're pushed headfirst into the water rather than dipping your ankles in and trying to acclimate to it forever."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that we need to solve this problem. I hadn't realized sexuality was such an issue with you, but I guess I had just assumed the problem and never looked into it. I have to apologize for that oversight. But what I'm getting at is that I think if you could become comfortable with your own body, especially in intimate settings, it would help you in every area of your life. If you can break that boundary you fear most, everything else will be a breeze."
"Okay."
"Well, we have a few minutes left. Why don't we try something to get you started? I just want to help you get used to revealing yourself, so to speak. I know this might sound unprofessional, but I did do a little bit of sex therapy back in my younger days. I want you to undress."
"What?! Right here?" My heart raced even though I'm sure I just misheard her like I had earlier.
"First step, we'll make it easy," she says and holds her clipboard over her eyes. "I won't look. It's a win-win situation. You can start off easy, just being naked in an unfamiliar setting in someone else's presence. And I can maintain my professional decorum because I won't see a thing."
"Are you serious?"
She keeps the clipboard over her face. "I expect to hear a zipping sound soon, Nate."
I force a lump down my throat. It's okay, she can't even see me. It's nothing. Besides, how long have I fantasized about something sexual happening with Nell? I flick open the two buttons on my polo collar. It's nothing, it's nothing. It's just the same as taking a shower.
I pull off the polo and drop it to the floor. I unbuckle my belt and finger the button on my jeans. It's nothing. I pop the button open, unzip, and drop everything. The second my pants hit the floor, my penis pulls itself into the air, hard as can be. That vicious cycle of embarrassment and arousal has started. Damn, why couldn't I be normal like the guys who couldn't get it up when they were nervous?
"That's it. See, wasn't so hard now was it? Why don't you get comfortable, walk around a little?"
All I can think is, "I'm nude in Nell's office." My inhibitions are making me queasy, my sense of normality is scratching its head, and my libido is shouting with joy. But it all comes back to that simple statement. I kick off my shoes so I can pull my pants all the way off and walk circles around the chair. My erection bobs in time with my steps. You know, this doesn't feel half bad.
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