Thinking of his pleasure and his alone, she didn’t wait for him to start thrusting but called on her thigh muscles to do the job for both of them. Even as her legs burned and her back ached, she smiled down at the man who’d come to rule her world and she’d do anything for.
Holding him tight and secure within her melting pussy walls while allowing his cock to repeatedly dive deep and then retreat became her only existence. Heat flooded her muscles, her veins, her bones even. Quick! So quick! Despite her impending climax, she managed to tune in to what his body was telling hers. He too was close, closer, nearly there, tension and promise roping him. Vulnerable but only for these few seconds.
Me too! I’m so exposed!
As it should be.
Yes, Master.
There! Yes, there!
His cries of release filled the room. Then she added her own explosion, gasping like a wild animal, like a woman fulfilled.
And filled.
MIRRORS WITHIN MIRRORS
P.F. KOZAK
1
The taxi stopped in front of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, a drab brick shoebox several stories high. Patricia checked the address again. “Excuse me driver, are you sure this is 200 East Third Street?”
“This is it, at the corner of Avenue B, just like you said.”
Patricia was already annoyed that she had to travel to the Lower East Side for these appointments; this decrepit building further irritated her. She didn’t want to go near the place, let alone have sessions here several evenings a week. As she paid the driver, she wondered what she had been thinking when she agreed to this insanity.
Not feeling safe standing alone on this street, she hurried to the door, only to find it locked. A metal plate with rows of buttons attached seemed to be the only way in. She couldn’t read the numbers. The address said 4D, so she counted four rows up and four buttons in. She pressed the buzzer, hoping she guessed correctly.
A male voice answered. “Hello?”
“Marc? It’s Patricia.”
“Well, this is a step in the right direction. You showed up! Take the elevator. It’s down the hall, to the left.” The speaker clicked off and the door buzzed.
Taking a deep breath, she went in. Half expecting garbage on the floor and rats scurrying past, she was surprised to see newly painted pale gray walls, with triangular sconce art deco lamps lighting the hallway.
Her heels clicked on the granite floor tiles and echoed in the empty hallway. She found the elevator, pushed the button, and waited. Nothing happened. Then she realized it didn’t open automatically. She pulled the heavy door open and pushed the iron gate to the side, reversing the process after she stepped in.
When she got out on the fourth floor, the lingering smell of paint again filled her nostrils. The gated elevator, gray walls, and art deco lamps made her feel like she had teleported back in time to the 1930s. Smiling, she realized this place wasn’t the dump she first thought it to be.
After knocking on the door of 4D, she remembered she had promised to turn off her BlackBerry. She had just pulled it out of her bag when the door opened.
“Hello, Patricia.” Marc crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait until you check your e-mail one last time before inviting you in.”
“I’m turning it off, like I said I would.”
“Good. I would rather you turn it off yourself than my having to confiscate it.”
Patricia forced herself to turn off the unit without checking her incoming messages, and then put it back in her bag. “There, it’s off. May I come in now?”
“Certainly.” He escorted her into the newly renovated loft. “Have a seat. Let’s talk first and make sure we’re on the same page about this.”
She sat on the leather sofa. “Isn’t the Lower East Side slumming for you? Why aren’t we meeting in your Park Avenue office?”
“This is the East Village, and this loft is a good investment in a gentrifying neighborhood. It’s also a good space for our sessions. There are no distractions here, for either of us. That is, if you keep that damned BlackBerry turned off.”
Patricia glanced at her purse, remembering her unread messages. “That damned BlackBerry, as you call it, keeps me in touch with my office.” She picked up her bag and stood, meaning to leave. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“I think you are, and so does Dr. Richards.”
“Lately, Dr. Dick hasn’t known his ass from his elbow when it comes to what’s going on with me. I told him to stick his Freudian analysis up his bony ass!”
“He noted that conversation in your records.”
“You have my records?”
“Of course I do. You’re the one that requested an alternative to traditional therapy, and you agreed you were comfortable having me handle it. Perhaps you should have read the fine print on the release form before you signed it.”
“My dear Dr. Forrest, I signed a consent form allowing Dr. Richards to consult with you, if necessary. I didn’t realize he would open the confessional door.”
“I’ve known Philip Richards for many years. He trusts me. If we are to make any progress with this, you have to let go and trust me, too. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“And if I decide I can’t do this?”
“There’s the door. I’m sure you can find your way out.”
Patricia squeezed her purse, the BlackBerry hard in her hand. The compulsion to check her messages nearly overwhelmed her. She dropped her purse onto the sofa and sat back down. “You know, the urge to always be on top of things is like craving heroin.”
“And it can be just as destructive, if you allow it to control your life.”
“Dr. Dick says that’s what I’m doing.”
“His name is Dr. Richards, and that’s why he recommended this form of alternative therapy. He knows you have to regain the balance in your life. Based on what you’ve told him about your dreams and fantasies, Phil thinks experiential role playing might give you the breakthrough you need.”
“Oh, then you prefer I call him Dr. Phil?” Patricia laid her head on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. “Well, then, how many of my dreams and fantasies did Dr. Phil put in my file?”
“There are notes on every session. Whatever you’ve told him is in there.”
“Jesus Christ, then you know it all?”
“I know what your subconscious is telling you.”
Patricia sat up and slid forward, her legs sticking to the leather. “Why the hell did you get a leather sofa?”
“I like leather, so I bought leather furniture. There’s more coming later this week. I thought leather furniture would work well in this space, especially considering the role playing we will be doing.”
“This role-playing thing. I don’t understand how it will work.”
“I talked this over with Phil. We both think that your dreams are the best place to start. We’ll take a scenario from one of your dreams and act it out together. From there, we’ll see where it goes.”
“If you’ve read his notes, then you know they’ve been over the top lately.”
“I know they’re edgier than I expected. Why didn’t you tell me something had changed?”
“Yeah, right!” Patricia stood and paced around the sofa. “And tell you what? That I’m a pathological submissive and I want to be slapped around?”
“Tricia, that’s not what this is about.”
“Don’t call me Tricia. You know I don’t like it. My name is Patricia.”
“That’s what this is about.”
“Excuse me? That one flew over my head.”
“I think it’s about damn time someone called a spade a spade with you! You’re beyond the pale with your obsessive need to be in control. You compulsively dictate what people can or can’t do, and your micromanagement of every detail is isolating you. You’re like this tyrannical despot no one can get close to. Your subconscious is finally saying enough!” Marc stood and he
ld her stare. “I prefer calling you Tricia, and that is what I will call you!”
“You’re an arrogant son of a bitch! You know I have to be on top of my game in order to stay there. If I didn’t pay attention to detail and work at being a good manager, I wouldn’t be where I am today! I’m still the only female partner at Swenson Securities, and my investment portfolio is the best they’ve got!”
“You’re not dreaming and fantasizing about your investment portfolio, now are you?” Marc walked over and took her hand. “And you’re so damn angry and frightened about losing control over yourself you can’t see straight.”
“You need to read some more of Dr. Dick’s notes. And I prefer calling him Dr. Dick. Dr. Phil is so over.”
“Come here and sit down. I want to ask you some questions.” He led her back to the sofa. Before he sat down, he picked up her purse and tossed it onto the leather chair where he had been sitting. “Best that thing is out of reach.”
Patricia crossed her arms and glared at Marc. “What could you possibly want to know beyond what you’ve read?”
“I want to know the last time you had an orgasm, and how it happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it will help me to understand what you need. Since you’ve been having difficulty feeling sexual, I want to know what excites you.”
“All right, you asked for it! I had another dream last night, and I got off in the shower this morning thinking about it.”
“Tell me about the dream.”
“Now you really sound like Dr. Dick.”
“Tricia, the whole point of this is to help you, before your life spirals out of control. If things don’t change, and change soon, all you’ll have is your precious career and nothing else. Is that what you want?”
“No. That’s why I agreed to this bizarre experiment in self-abasement.”
“Then tell me about the dream.”
“I can’t just sit here and tell you. I’m too damn stressed.”
“Then get up and walk while you talk. Just tell me.”
Patricia hugged herself as she walked, squeezing her upper arms hard enough to bruise them. “This dream starts the way they usually do. I’m in a large house. The house feels familiar, but I’m not sure what I’m doing there. I hear someone calling my name from one of the rooms. When I open the door, an older man is there wearing a robe. He yells at me, telling me I’m late.
“I remember I’m supposed to draw his bath. He follows me into the bathroom and takes off his robe as I run the water in the tub. I know he wants me to wash him, and I’m to wear nothing but my panties while I do. He gets in the tub, and then watches me take off my clothes.
“When I kneel over the tub, I see he has a hard-on, a big one. He feels up my tits while I wash him. When I touch his cock, he gets very angry. He accuses me of being a cockteaser and tells me I have to be punished.
“He gets out of the tub, dripping wet, and takes a razor strap off of a hook by the sink. Then he tells me to take off my panties and bend over. The anticipation of having that strap across my ass makes me crazy. When he swings it, and the leather bites into me, I am close to coming. He continues to strap me, the whole time telling me this is what happens to cockteasers. I want to come, but can’t unless he fucks me. He never does.”
Even with her hand trembling, Patricia needed to brush the beads of sweat off of her upper lip. “Can you open a window or turn up the air or something?”
Marc went across the room and adjusted the thermostat. “Then you didn’t have an orgasm in the dream?”
“No. But damn, it turned me on! When I got in the shower, I finished it, imagining him fucking me from behind. In the dream, his cock was so hard, like concrete.” Patricia leaned against the window sill. “I fucked myself with the handle of the bath brush, thinking about being bare-ass strapped and then fucked.”
“Did you climax?”
“Hell, yes! That’s the only way I’ve been able to have an orgasm in several months! Why do you think I’m still seeing Dr. Dick?”
“Do you know if you can feel sexual with a partner?”
“What’s the female equivalent of not getting it up?”
“Frigid?”
“There you have it. That’s what happens when I think about having sex with a partner. Except for my dreams, I would be a total ice queen.”
“Phil thinks that if you can find orgasmic release alone, you can also do it with someone. I agree with him. But it has to be the right partner.”
“Do you think you’re man enough for the job?”
“I’m sure of it. But, as they say, it takes two to tango. I can’t do this alone.”
“The other day, I overheard a couple Generation X associates joking about how I wouldn’t be such a bitch if I got laid. I could have had them fired on the spot. But I didn’t. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I think they’re right.” Patricia chuckled bitterly. “They call me Ms. Piranha. Instead of sleeping my way to the top, they say I’ve eaten men alive to get there.”
“Tricia, you excel at what you do. The investments you made for me paid off tenfold. Men can be crass when it comes to a woman holding her own in their world.”
“Yes, but Marc, what price have I paid to get there? I’m so fucked up! I don’t know how to be a woman anymore.”
“You’ve recognized that, and now we’re going to do something about it.”
“You aren’t afraid I will eat you alive?”
“My dear, that should be your concern, not mine.”
“Confident, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Dick thinks you are a natural alpha male, and that you can handle my proclivities. Is he right?”
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think so.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“To find out who you really are. Your career is not you. The real you is sending you messages in dreams and screaming at you to stop pushing what you really want into your shadow.”
“Great! I get up from Freud’s couch and lie down on Jung’s. What is it with you guys? Everything I say or think is psychologically categorized and analytically pigeonholed!”
“Why does that make you angry, Tricia?”
“Because I am so fucking sick of it! I don’t want to talk about it or think about it anymore. I just want to turn off my mind and feel!”
“Feel what?”
“Anything! Maybe that’s why my dreams are becoming more intense. It’s getting harder for me to feel anything. At least with a leather strap across my ass, I feel something!”
“And what if we make that more than a dream? What if we make it real?”
Patricia’s stomach tightened. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“All you have to do is to trust me and allow yourself to feel. I’ll do the thinking.”
“Now there’s a scary thought!”
Marc chuckled. “What, you don’t believe I’m capable of thinking?”
“You’re a shrink. Who knows what you’re capable of?”
“Shall we get started?”
“Now? Just like that?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Patricia glanced at her bag on the chair. “You’re not going to let me check in while I’m here, are you?”
“Absolutely not! If need be, I will lock your BlackBerry in the closet, if you find it too much of a temptation.”
“You don’t need to lock it up. Just put it somewhere where I can’t see it.”
Marc took the purse and put it in the closet. When he opened the door, Patricia glimpsed what seemed to be a skirt, among other garments hanging on the rod. “What do you have in there?”
“Costumes.”
“Costumes? Halloween isn’t for several months.”
“My dear, those aren’t for Halloween. They are for our sessions.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I am absolutely seri
ous. In the notes Philip took, there are some colorful descriptions of the clothes you’ve mentioned. I thought it a good idea to invest in a few of the things that recur in your dreams and fantasies.”
“That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?” The reluctance Patricia felt did not quell her curiosity. She strained to see the closet contents behind Marc.
Marc closed the door. “What’s in there will be seen and used when I decide it is appropriate, not before.”
“Really!”
“Yes, really. We will start slowly, to make sure you can handle this scene.”
“And what do you know about this particular scene?”
“Enough.” As Marc stood looking down at her, Patricia noticed his expression changed. The lines in his face became more defined, and his ruggedness evident.
“Do you know you look like Sean Connery when you get serious?”
“You’ve mentioned that before. I don’t see it.”
“I do.” He didn’t look away and neither did she. The challenge in his eyes drew her in. She knew he meant to see this through. She waited for him to make the next move.
“I think we need to establish some ground rules, which in this space will be obeyed.”
“All right, what are they?”
“First and foremost, I am in charge. You do not call the shots here. I do.”
“And if I don’t agree to that?”
“There’s the door. Don’t forget your BlackBerry on the way out.”
Marc moved from in front of the closet door. Patricia could see he meant what he said and would not try to convince her to stay. She also saw an erection growing in his trousers, which he made no attempt to hide. Her clitoris pulsed with anticipation. “I’m not leaving. I accept your condition. What else?”
“You agree to play the role I select. Some will be familiar to you from your dreams, others may not be. There may also be times when we will be ourselves. Whatever it is, you agree to follow my lead and wear what I choose.”
“I’m not much of an actress. But if that’s what you want, why not?”
“I also reserve the right to discipline you if you overstep your boundaries or break the rules. That includes being a bitch and mouthing off inappropriately.”
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