THE THERAPIST
EPISODE FIVE
J.A. BELFIELD
The Therapist
Published by J.A. Belfield
www.jabelfield.com
Copyright © 2017 Julie Anne Belfield
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.
First Published: 2017
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EPISODE FIVE
Thomas Johnston. Arms built from steroids. A chest the size of Buckingham Palace. And desirer of the dead.
Dressed in rumpled corduroys that his body did a decent job of ironing out and a sweater long gone baggy at every one of its cuffs, his thinning hair combed flat from its far-side parting, he smelled surprising fresh and appealing as he stared at Chase from his spot on the chaise.
“Do you remember what we discussed the last time you were here?” Chase asked, trying to hide his frown.
Mr Johnston nodded. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone else.”
Probably because if he’d told them to just anyone he knew outside of CW Consults, Mr Johnston would’ve lost all his friends. Unless, of course, he had friends with the same tendencies. Chase didn’t want to think about the path a group of friends like that might follow.
Whatever his sexual fantasies, though, Thomas Johnston hadn’t acted on them. He’d booked himself in with Chase’s clinic and gone in search of help—where he’d been surprised to discover that there just might be a legal alternative for the fetishes he’d so far resisted carrying out.
“That’s generally what I’m here for,” Chase said with a small smile. “Do you remember, at the end of your last appointment, I made a suggestion for continuing your therapy in a safe and controlled environment?”
Mr Johnston eyes sparkled for an instant: the look of a guy being given something he probably shouldn’t have. “I remember. I’ve been thinking about it. About what it might be like. How long do you think I might have to wait?”
“Well, I had thought today would work,” Chase said, straightening from his seat and rounding the desk. He waved a hand toward Mr Johnston. Mostly his attire. “Did the ladies at the front desk not invite you to the changing rooms to prepare?”
“Ah … yes.” He squirmed a little. “But I showered this morning, so …”
“I’m sorry, Mr Johnston, but it’s policy at CW Consults. All clients must agree to cleanse here immediately prior to any practical sessions, just as they are expected to wear only the clinic robes for those appointments. It was in the paperwork you signed when you became a client with us.”
The man shot to his feet like his arse had been lit, his towering bulk a heavy contrast to his voice. “I-I could wash now. Get changed. I have time. I do have time?”
Despite his distaste for the man’s eagerness, Chase almost laughed as he nodded. “I’ll get Samantha to show you the way.”
***
The room Chase stood in was usually set up as an office scene, but the desk and chair and filing cabinets that supported the theme had been pushed to the far corner of the room, a wide screen blocking them from view.
Also blocking them from view was a second set of screens, ones with a heavy, denim-blue fabric stretched between their metal frames. Those had been positioned around a specially made gurney, one wider than the regular beds found in hospitals, and reinforced against the clatters and squeaks often created by those, too.
On the gurney, a woman lay, with only a white sheet for protection against the chill blasting from the air conditioning in there. Skin pale, body rigidly still, lips a morbid blend of blue and purple. Chase tried not to stare at the damage to her temple, as the specialist he’d ordered in checked the prop over.
After a few more nods and quiet whispers, the man from Taboo Services nodded Chase’s way. “Everything’s ready. Should I …?”
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Chase said, and the specialist took himself off toward a discreet corner of the room and positioned himself out of sight.
They waited only a few more minutes for Samantha to push open the door and usher in Mr Johnston. The soft fabric of the clinic robe barely contained his mounded chest, and the terry-cloth slippers strained around his feet that were, Chase noted, as muscular as the rest of him.
Sending a quick glance toward the awaiting scene, he had to wonder if the gurney would hold up.
The door closed at Mr Johnston’s rear, and Chase studied his expression as he shuffled over. The way his eyes darted about the room as if trying to gain its measure. The way those same eyes stilled as his gaze reached the vicinity of the screen-enclosed gurney. His throat bobbed with a swallow. His tongue swept across his lips. And he turned to Chase with an expression of gormlessness like he couldn’t figure out what was happening, or how the hell he’d got there.
“Welcome to your practical session,” Chase offered. “Did Samantha explain to you how these work?”
He nodded, his half-open mouth making him look almost comical.
“Then, you understand that, for both your protection and of those involved, today’s session will be secondarily observed at all times and, where it deemed necessary, recorded?”
Another mute nod.
“In that case, I see little reason in delaying. I’m going to take an unobtrusive seat over there.” He pointed to one he’d set up in the corner of the room facing the inner ‘U’ of the screens. “And I think the best case here will be to allow you to commence as soon as you’re comfortable, and then we can discuss your session in my office once you’ve had a chance to change. Any questions?”
His mouth finally closed for his headshake, and Chase withdrew a small foil-wrapped package from his pocket and held it out to his client.
“You will be expected to use this.” He waited until Mr Johnston had taken it from him. “Failure to do so will result in the session being terminated, and may affect your eligibility for future practical sessions. Do you understand?”
He tucked the condom into the pocket of his robe. “I understand,” he said, finally speaking.
“Okay, this session may commence.”
His client went to step forward, but hesitated. “Is there a way I can do this without someone else in here?”
Chase shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
He nodded like he’d expected as such, and after a final glance at Chase, one that told him he really didn’t like his presence, he lumbered over toward the setup.
The stool Chase had set up for himself elevated him for a better view of the session. Ahead of him, Mr Johnston stood at the foot of the gurney. Not moving. Just staring. Almost as if afraid to believe he really saw what his eyes showed.
Adjusting on the stool until comfortable, Chase watched as, almost reverently, Mr Johnston circled the gurney, his gaze downcast toward the body atop it, his hands brushing just outside of the form beneath the sheets. Reaching the woman’s head, he finally touched her, his fingers stroking around the deep gash there.
Moving alongside the gurney again, he gripped hold of the sheet’s hem, drawing it down from the body, until she lay pale and exposed, and as if once more in disbeli
ef of his situation, he paused at the foot of the bed, his hands coming up to link behind his head as he drew in deep breaths. For a moment, he closed his eyes. Like he needed the disconnect to gain control of himself. Like he never imagined he’d be stood before the very thing of which he fantasised. And in that moment, he represented a need no different to that of any other man out there, regardless of how Chase, or anyone one else, might feel about his urges.
Because he didn’t look sleazy, as Chase suspected he may have. And he didn’t resemble any of the pictures Chase had painted in his head, of a session such as the one he led then. No, Mr Johnston simply looked as though he considered himself blessed. Blessed to be standing there. To be given such an offering. Blessed to finally be given an outlet for his desires.
His hand reached out, and Chase couldn’t help but notice its tremble as the man brushed over the woman’s calf. Her knee. Gently moving that leg aside created a small gap, which Mr Johnston widened by shifting her other leg over. Although he hadn’t spread her legs wide, he’d still placed her pussy on show, and the breath he gave as he stared down toward it shuddered from him.
Slowly, as if unwilling to jostle the frozen body, the man climbed onto the foot of the gurney, one knee at a time. His thighs nudged against hers as he moved closer to the woman’s core.
For the next six minutes, Chase quietly observed, as his client caressed the body laid out before him. Over high-ridged hips. A slightly rounded stomach. Breasts full in flesh but flattened from position, their tips puckered tightly against the cold.
No matter where Mr Johnston touched her, he did so with a tenderness Chase hadn’t been expecting. Not just because of the nature of his request, but because of the man’s size and gait. And Chase silently chastised his own preconceptions that’d set his client into a mould he didn’t really deserve. Not when he’d sought help and hadn’t simply acted out his desires regardless of respect or legalities or boundaries.
Ahead of him, Mr Johnston held himself rigid above the woman. His knees between her thighs. His hands aside each of her shoulders. His solid arms trembling as they supported him there. When his body lowered to hers, and his lips claimed the job of exploring the woman’s body, Chase doubted his client would be holding out much longer.
***
After finally finding the sexual outlet he’d sought, Chase had expected Mr Johnston to return to his office refreshed and full of beans. Not edgy and twitchy, with a face full of shame, which was how he actually stepped through the door after cleaning up.
Inviting the client to take a seat on the chaise, Chase drew a chair closer for himself, waiting until they’d both settled, facing one another, before he gave the order of, “Talk to me.”
The man’s arms kept lifting from his sides, like he felt the need to gesture but didn’t know how. “There’s something wrong with me. Isn’t there?” His voice sounded as full of hurt as his expression looked.
“What did you get out of today’s session?” Chase asked, instead of responding to the client’s self-accusation.
“This …” He took a deep breath, his chest full of tremors as it lifted. “Me … it’s illegal … for a reason.” He hissed the last word, as if to say so had pained him.
“May I speak candidly for a moment?” Chase asked, and at the jerked nod of assent, he clasped his hands in a loose knot of fingers. “Everyone fantasises. Everyone. And whether they admit it, or not, I can guarantee you that around eighty percent of those who fantasise do so about the taboo. They fantasise anything from extramarital affairs to orgies, to sex with non-existent beings only the creator has heard of—some even fantasise of the very deeds they fear the most.”
“Like rape,” Mr Johnston offered, his voice a little steadier.
Chase nodded. “Amongst other scenarios. And yes, a lot of those fantasised about are dark and very much considered immoral or unnatural. Illegal. And yes, a lot of those who do the fantasising will never carry out a single one of those dreams. To have come to me when you did, and admit the feelings you were having, took bravery, Mr Johnston. And the fact that you came here searching for a solution, or a way to cure yourself of your thoughts, tells me you have a greater understanding of your situation than most. However, in my experience, fantasies don’t vanish through mere will power alone. Nor do they evaporate with a few therapy discussions, where another person tries to figure out why you have these feelings, or tries to steer you toward a ‘healthier’ route of sexual needs.” He did air-quotes for the word, his expression probably conveying exactly what he thought of that. “The fantasies in our mind are what we, if brave enough to admit to ourselves, truly crave. They are the darkest part of our soul. And yes, for some, they can be left untended with no diminishing effect on the individual’s life. But with the correct understanding of an individual’s needs, very often a safe and legal solution can be found, if only the individual knows where to look.”
“But … what I did today was illegal,” the client insisted, and Chase shook his head.
“CW Consults would never condone illegal sexual practices within its establishment.” He smiled, as much at the confusion blanking the other man’s eyes as to reassure. “Have you ever heard of the term pseudonecrophilia, Mr Johnston?”
The deep grooves that appeared on his brow told Chase he hadn’t. “What?”
“The kind of sex you crave is termed necrophilia.” Chase paused, and the client nodded his agreement. “Pseudonecrophilia re-enacts the desired scenario … except nobody involved in the situation is actually dead.”
He watched as that sank in. As Mr Johnston’s eyebrows went from crouching over his eyes to leaping up toward his hairline. “She wasn’t dead!” He sounded almost affronted. “Jesus, no wonder she wasn’t as cold and stiff as—”
Chase held out his palms. “Before you judge this, let’s take a moment to evaluate it. During your practical session—and think only of during your practical session—did you once question whether the woman you interacted with was actually dead.”
“Well, no, but …”
“Why not?”
“Because …” His mouth seemed stuck open, then he snapped out of it. “Because she looked dead. She acted dead. She—”
“And because of that, you enjoyed it. Yes?”
“Well … yes.”
“Because having the illusion of what we seek in our needs is often a successful solution.”
“But … it all seemed so real.”
Chase smiled. “I’m going to introduce you to the people responsible for making today’s session happen. Do you think you’re ready for that?”
At the client’s nod, albeit a hesitant one, Chase reached over his desk and pressed the intercom. “Can you show our guests in, please?”
A couple of minutes later, Raelyn swung open the office door, and the technician from earlier entered, alongside a woman who resembled the body from the gurney, except she had colour in her cheeks and the gash from her head had disappeared.
With her pale wispy hair tied back into a neat bun, she tapped her way forward in low heels, which she’d topped with tailored trousers and a sheer blouse. The smile she sent toward Mr Johnston as she sat beside him was obviously meant to reassure, but the man seemed stuck gawping. Only when she held out a hand in greeting did he snap out of it.
“Hi, my name’s Colleen.”
He gave a nod that made him appear dumb as he accepted her hand, his free hand lifting toward her head. With gentle slowness, he traced over the edge of her forehead, where the skin had been damaged earlier. “How?” he asked.
“Makeup,” the technician said, hovering at the side of the chaise. He stepped forward, extended his hand. “Brian.”
The two men shook, and Mr Johnston turned back to Chase with a look on his face that said what the hell’s going on?
Chase gestured toward the new arrivals. “Colleen and Brian work with a company called Taboo Services. It’s a company that caters to clients with specific, often unconventi
onal, sexual needs. Like your own,” he added, flicking a hand toward the client. “I invited them to join us for today’s session, because I wanted to show you that there are healthy and legal alternatives to the outlet you seek. And for the same reason, I didn’t tell you in advance, because I wanted you to enter into the session without a preconceived opinion of it.”
Mr Johnston blew out a weighted breath, but he nodded. Nodded like he’d finally gotten on board with the stunt Chase had pulled. And like he didn’t think it was such a shitty thing for him to have done, after all.
“And I invited Colleen and Brian in here with us now,” Chase continued, “because I think you remaining in touch with them and trying their services over a longer period would be of great benefit to you. I truly believe they can offer what you need.”
“Would it …. Would it be the same woman every time?” he asked.
“Our aim is to cater to the client’s wishes,” Brian said. “So, if a specific model was requested for every appointment, we would try to provide that—or if the client preferred a different model each time.”
“Would I still need to come here for the appointments?” Mr Johnston asked, turning to Chase.
“Not unless you wanted them to be held here. If you’d prefer, you could arrange with Taboo Services for the appointments to be held somewhere else—somewhere you’re comfortable with.”
“Most of the time, appointments take place at our therapy centre,” Brian said.
“Okay?” Chase asked.
“Okay,” Mr Johnston said, sighing as he nodded.
“If you have any other questions, I’m sure Brian will have all the answers you need,” Chase said.
“So, I don’t need to come back here?” the client asked.
Chase smiled. “Not unless you feel you need to. Sometimes, there are others out there better equipped to suit a client’s needs. Taboo Services and yourself are a perfect match, Mr Johnston.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, his soon to be ex-client smiled.
The Therapist (Chase Walker Book 5) Page 1