Anger Management

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Therapist dominates client into submission.
2k words
4.27
25.5k
12

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 06/01/2016
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The door to the therapist's office groaned as I pushed it open, almost as if it were voicing my innermost thoughts for me. I was on my way to yet another court-mandated appointment with a psychologist for anger management and I was not happy about it. Unfortunately, though, if you forget to take your antidepressant one morning then have an epic meltdown at work resulting in threats to your manager of "shoving her timeclock up her ass"...well, apparently you're lucky that anger management therapy is all you get. I tried to remind myself of that as I paid the co-pay for the visit; I needed the job more than I needed my pride. I just needed a few more visits and I'd be off the hook. The only thing keeping me from going completely insane was the therapist - with dark hair, blue eyes, an athletic build, and hands that made my mouth water - I spent more time fantasizing about him during our sessions than actually listening to him.

As the secretary handed me my receipt, I walked into the waiting room. I settled down into a chair and shut my eyes, taking a small moment to relax. The silence of the small room surrounded me and I reveled in it though I remained alert for the telltale click of the door leading to the doctors' area. I didn't wait long. First came the click, then the quiet, confident footsteps. I kept my eyes shut; why rush to greet him? He knew I didn't want to be there.

"Hello, Taylor," he addressed me, "Long time, no see."

God, his voice was like the warmest brandy on a cold day. I felt the fire go all the way to my toes and back up to my brain putting every nerve at attention. I hadn't even opened my eyes and I was already doomed. I cracked one eye open to give him a semi-bored perusal - I refused to let him see how he affected me. That was a mistake. He was wearing a pair of nice gray slacks, a dark purple Oxford shirt, and a matching gray and purple tie. The jewel tone of his shirt against his olive skin drew attention to his powerful hands and I was mesmerized. His dark hair was combed with just the unruly strands in front refusing to comply as they fell unrestrained in his face. I was so wet that I wanted to scream. It was bad enough I didn't want to be there anyway; now, I had to suffer through an hour with a man I couldn't touch for any reason. I also couldn't take care of myself for at least an hour. I felt my mood grow ugly. Fuck politeness. He was a therapist; he could deal with me being a bitch for one session.

"Hello, Dr. K. Do we have to do this now? I was trying to take a nap," I threw out nonchalantly. Damned if my voice didn't waver a little. I could have slapped myself.

"Yes, we have to do this now as you well know. Besides, I'm sure you could think of better places to take a nap," he chuckled. That bastard. I didn't need his corny humor to force my thoughts any further into the bedroom. Seething, I made to follow him through the door. Mistake #2. Damn, he had a fine ass. The slacks he wore had to be tailor-made for him because they left nothing to the imagination. I knew from past discussions with him that he worked out on the regular so I couldn't help but imagine what all that exercise had done for his butt. Just as I realized he was close enough to grab, I snapped out of it in time to walk in front of him. He seemed surprise by my haste but he didn't say anything.

I entered his office and sat on the long, beige sofa along the inner wall. He walked in and quietly shut the door. I kept my eyes away from him, afraid that they'd give me away. So the session began. Dr. K. settled himself in his office chair, collected his notepad and pen, and waited. When it was apparent I wasn't going to open the conversation, he did.

"So, how have you been, Taylor?"

"Fine." Don't talk to me, don't remind me where I am. All you're doing is making me hotter. God, I want to fuck you so bad and I can't. Either touch me or leave me the hell alone.

"You don't seem fine." Oh, you have no idea, Doc.

"I'm tired. It's been a long week."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

"Well, you know, people starving in Africa, children dying of cancer, pollution killing the Earth - those things are probably not helping my mood either."

He smiled, "Now, Taylor, while those things are serious, you know that's not what I'm talking about. How are things at work? At home?"

"Well, I still have a job though my manager acts like I'm a caged animal anytime she comes near me now. Sometimes, I just want to roar at her to see what she does. She'd probably shit her pants. But then, I remember, I need this job more than I need to harass her so I keep my mouth shut. So, she gets to act all afraid and I act like I've learned my lesson and we're all happy."

"Are you happy? At least with how things are going at work?"

I finally turned to look at him. "No, I'm not fucking happy. People are staring at me and talking behind my back like they're waiting for me to lose my shit at any moment. My manager has pretty much tagged me as a psycho. And, all because of one bad day, I'm in here talking to you several times a month for anger management. All I've really gotten out of this whole thing is that I've managed to learn I'm really angry."

Dr. K. nodded and set down his notepad. He turned and reached into a drawer. "I think your problem stems from an issue dealing with speaking before you think. If you had stepped back and considered your words before you went off on your manager, you might have saved yourself." As he turned back towards me, I saw a paper with some diagrams on it. Yet, in my head, all I heard was..."your problem." Vaguely, I heard him continue talking, mentioning things such as breathing exercises and mindful thinking...yet all I heard was "your problem?"

I saw red.

"My problem? Why do I have a problem? Could it not be the least bit likely that the bitch I work for has the problem? Can I not, unlike other people, have one bad day at work without others thinking that I have deeper issues? You weren't even there yet you're assuming that I'm the one with the problem. Well, fuck you pal. And fuck their damn job. I don't need this shit and I definitely don't need this on top of staring at your fine ass for an hour if I can't even fuck you." I grabbed my purse and walked towards the door. "Thanks for nothing, Doc."

"Taylor, sit down."

I turned the doorknob and was just about to pull the door open when I heard him get out of his chair and move quickly behind me. His hand shot out and pushed the door shut before I could move and I could hear his breathing in my ear.

"Sit down," he commanded.

"Or what?" I was too aware of his closeness, sure now that I had soaked my dress straight through with my desire.

He laughed again - that throaty chuckle that undid me every time. "I should have known you wouldn't do it willingly. Fine, you don't have to sit. You'll kneel instead." As the last word echoed in his office, he grabbed my hair, turned me around and forced me to my knees in front of him. Stunned, I looked up at him. He was staring back down at me; his pupils blotting out the blue of his irises. "Oh yes, you certainly have a problem with speaking before you think. You also have an issue with thinking your problems are the only ones - that no one else has problems as bad as yours. Well, today, we're going to work on that. You think you've suffered looking at my 'fine ass' during our sessions? You're going to see it and a lot more today because I've done nothing but fantasize about dominating you for months."

My jaw dropped and he chuckled again. "Perfect. You're already anticipating what I want you to do." Grabbing my hair again, he jerked my hair back as he slowly started to undo his belt buckle. I watched in silent amazement as he deftly unbuttoned his slacks and pulled down the zipper. Even before he finished, I could already see the cotton of his boxer briefs straining against his hard-on..and I felt my pussy grow damp again. With the slightest push, his boxer briefs moved down and his erection flew out of the cloth confines, soon joined by his balls. It was, I say without doubt, the most beautiful cock I had ever seen in my life. He slid his hand almost reverently along the shaft as he took a tighter grasp of my hair. He sighed as his cock grew harder before my eyes, making me moan without realizing it.

I could see the tiny bead of pre-cum on the head and I wanted to lick it off more than anything. He must have read my mind though because he jerked me head back as he smeared the pre-cum into his skin. "Oh, no, no, no, Taylor. You've had your chance to use your mouth on your own today. Now, you're only going to use your mouth as I tell you." I started to get angry again but the fear that he might put his cock away kept me quiet. I reached out to touch him but he yanked me away by my hair again. "No, Taylor. You will only touch when I tell you to. If you try to do so when I haven't given you permission, I will not only deny you the chance to touch me, but I will make you watch me jerk off without allowing you any kind of relief."

What the hell? That was the last straw. I wasn't into submission in any part of my life, especially the bedroom so damned if I was going to let this asshole, this oh-so-fine asshole with the gorgeous cock tell me...oh my God.

He started pulling on his cock in earnest now, grunting loudly. The sounds he made called to my primal brain, screaming for purely animalistic release. I moved my hands in the hopes he wouldn't notice and, immediately, he stopped jerking and fixed me with a wicked grin. I slapped my hands back on my thighs, realizing finally he was serious. He began jerking again and I remained still, anxious to see what he had planned. His breathing became erratic and it was clear his orgasm was eminent. He came with the longest and most gutteral of moans while I watched jets of semen spurt all over his hand and cock. Most amazingly, I realized I was shaking - his orgasm had triggered mine and I had not been touched at all. When his breathing calmed, he once again turned that wicked grin onto me though his grip on my hair never weakened.

"Well, I think you earned something today even though it took you a while to get the lesson. Anger management is all about control. If you can control your anger, you can control your reaction. You did, eventually, manage to control your arousal so you were able to control your reaction to my actions. I think I can reward you for that...and it just so happens that I'm out of tissues."

I left his office feeling much more relaxed than I had in weeks and, let's just say, he left with no evidence of his activities anywhere on him.

He says he has many other "anger management" techniques to show me. I can't wait for my next session now. Stay tuned...

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DeathMaidenDeathMaidenabout 3 years ago

That's the kind of therapist I need!!!

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 8 years ago
Ahh wish it was longer.

Well done! I think there was a decent back story. Good build up and left high and dry. I think your description could have had some more tension and teasing but it's a goo start. Cannot wait for the next chapter. Well done :D

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