The Psychosis of Submission

"I got it for her." I said, my voice trembling. "Then she said.. cream and sugar."

She looked at me with such disdain doctor. Made me feel such intense shame. And yet, I couldn't - I couldn't say no. Not after already getting her the coffee in the first place. Not with it there in my hand. And I - I outrank her. And with every eye on me, I did the only thing I could think of. I went back to get her some cream and sugar. She said thanks. But still....

Worse, every day after that, she would call me on the phone

"Karen Alderman speaking."

"Hi Kari, this is Lynn. Could you be a dear and fetch me some coffee."

Or in the afternoon.

"Fetch me a bottle of water."

"...Make these copies."

I got my courage up and decided I wasn't going to bring her coffee. I remained there in my office ...and then fifteen minutes later she stormed in ..and...she....she..." I couldn't bear to continue.

"What did she do that's got you so upset," Dr. Livingston said. "And don't you dare come. I know that squinched face and what it means. In and out. In and out, but leave that clit alone. If you get too close, give those nips a nice tweak."

If I had any doubts that my relationship with my psychologist had changed, they were quickly being dispelled. Yet that didn't stop me. I still obeyed. Pistoning my index finger into my opening. Making humiliating wet sounds. The urge. The tingling dissipated, if only a bit.

" Oh Doctor, it was horrible. She stormed in and she slammed my door. She strode confidently to my desk. She took hold of my ear and pulled me out of my chair. She marched my over to the corner.

"Let me be...let me be ...or so help me I'll...."

She made me put my nose in the corner. But it got worse. So much worse.

"Or you'll what?" she asked.

"I'll have...you...reported..." I blustered.

"I know what this means," she said fingering my pink collar. "They might not, but I do."

And then she ran her hands over my body. She wasn't attractive. She was an evil evil woman...and yet, I still felt my body respond to her. To meet her touch. To open and spread.

And I knew that she knew. God it was so humiliating. I thought she would...I thought she might, but she just chuckled, said she could do better... and then she called my secretary and told her to watch me. To make sure I stayed like that for fifteen minutes.

Lynn left us alone, closing the door behind her. And with my nose obediently in the corner. Oh God, my secretary came up behind me, rested her hand on the small of my back, and asked if I remembered her last appraisal.

"No I don't," I lied. But I did. It was mostly good. I only marked her down on one thing.

Her hands played with the hem of my short skirt. She lifted it. Exposing me. I wore nothing but a black see through thong. My humiliating was complete.

"Now let's see who needs improvement," Cindy said as she pulled my panties down to my ankles. "Don't you dare move," She warned.

"Please Cindy," I begged. "It's not that you needed improvement. It's only that you haven't worked here but for a few months. There are only so many exceeds expectations."

Then her hand pressed down on the small of my back. She kicked my heels apart.

I was so wet. So tingly. I ached for her touch. I heard a rustle. Then the briefest of whistles. My bottom was on fire. She whipped me with her small leather belt. Again and again.

Now who needs improvement?" she asked with every blow.

I said nothing at first but in the end I broke. How needs improvement? "Me. Me. Me." I cried.

After that I...I God doctor...I fetched Cindy's coffee too. I thought that Lynn was awful, but Cindy was so much worse.

She spanked me at her whim. Even when I did nothing to deserve such horrible treatment.

"It's time for your appraisal," Cindy would say, closing the door behind her.

"Please Miss White," I begged. "I'm still...I'm still sore from last time."

"You are just making it worse for yourself Karen." Cindy said, taking her small belt from her skirt. "Lack of initiative. Ignoring a direct request from a superior."

What could I do? I couldn't fire her...not after what she had already seen.

"Wait," I breathed and quickly slid my panties down to a puddle at my feet. I leaned over my desk. And obediently spread my legs. I had always loved the windowed office. But not now. Not when I was bare-assed in front of it. Spread so wide. With my secretary standing just out of view. Delivering one slow blow after another.

Oh God, doctor, it was so hard. It was bad enough enduring that kind of punishment. But having to take it and keep silent lest someone hear what was happening in my office. That was the worst.

Afterwards...afterwards, she sat in my seat and I knelt beneath my desk. There on the floor. Cramped in the well of the table. My ass burning with the new welts and from the old welts. And I ...I used my mouth on her.

I lost all respect at work. On Thursday, they- they made me take a leave of absence. Someone had seen the antics in my office through the window and reported them. I don't know what I'm going to do. I - I'm not so sure about this - this course of treatment. I've lost my job. My fiancee. I'm .... I'm frightened Dr. Livingston...I'm terrified...."

"You know Karen, two parents brought their autistic son to me to counsel. I went to their house and arranged everything by color and shape. But what about our son's autism? They asked." Dr. Livingston stood up, walked over to me, and pointed to my head. "Sometimes in counseling we change what's happening up here. But sometimes what's up there is just fine. It's the world that needs to change."

I stopped rubbing as it sunk in. I was lost. Truly lost. I started to cry. This had been a disaster. "You weren't happy with that life anyway," Dr. Livingston said. "Now stop your crying. Let's start your new life."

I was both relieved and stunned to find out she still had a plan. I moved the following day to an apartment she had rented. It was wondrous and deliciously exciting at first. It was a small apartment, one more suited for a single college girl than a woman of my age and means. I was hesitant at first, then I discovered a closet and drawers full of sexy clothes. Outfits. Costumes. French maid. Cheerleader. Brownie. Delicious. There was also a trunk full of sex toys. We were going to have such fun. I was going to be the doctor's Mistress.

But then the next day she didn't call. Nor the following. I began to grow fearful. Didn't she want me? Why hadn't she called. She was a busy woman. But still...if she had wanted me the way I wanted her, she would have been here already.

It was the next Wednesday before she gave me a call.

"I want you ready for a date tonight Karen." she said. "A very special date..."

Her voice was sensual. It made me wet just to hear her. She proceeded to give me very explicit instructions. Instructions that made my heart race. It was 4 hours away, but I hurried to obey. Besides, I didn't have anything else to do, save think of her.

I took a long bath. Shaved silky smooth. I even gave myself a wax so I would me smooth there too. I sprayed on a couple of spritz of perfume. It was cheap stuff that Dr. Livingston bought for me, but if she liked it, it was good enough for me. I curled my hair and put on my makeup. Then came the outfit that was part of her instructions. Thin socks that came to my knees. A pair of conservative white panties. Mary Jane shoes. A pleated skirt. An oxford shirt. Glasses. Pig tails. Then I opened the trunk beneath my bed. It was full of so many kinky and perverted things. Each in a zip lock bag and numbered with a sharpie. There was a note on the outside of the box. Do not open without permission.

But now I had permission. Yet, I didn't get to pick and choose. She gave me instructions there as well. I was to remove items 3, 5, 15, 21, and 32. The bags contained two very large dildos. A crop. A set of large beads I had no idea the purpose of. And a set fur lined cuffs that attached to my bed.

I sat on my bed and teased my pussy. Taking myself to the brink of orgasm several times before stopping. I wanted to wait, to hold off until Dr. Livingston came. I loved her. Was desperate for her. Would do anything for her. Fifteen minutes until eight, I secured my feet to the bed frame. Then I secured one hand, and finally the other with some difficulty since I could only use one hand.

I was well and truly helpless. If Dr. Livingston failed to show, what would I do? What could I do? The keys were on the dresser with the crop and other implements.

At five till eight I heard the front door open and then close. Then the bedroom. I arched my back to show Dr. Livingston my need, then turned to give her my bedroom eyes. Show her the windows to my love.

But instead of love, there was shock. I gasped.

It wasn't Dr. Livingston after all, but a graying fifty year old slightly overweight woman. Her expression was surprised, but then her eyes narrowed and became hungry. She picked up the crop and a dildo.

"Someone has been a naughty little girl," she said as she approached. "And needs to be punished."

Later that night I discovered where the large beads went.

They went in my ass.

====================

Dr. Livingston didn't show up until two weeks later.

"I thought I would pay my girl a house call," she said as she entered my apartment without knocking. "How is everything going Kari?"

"It's good," I answered. "I've missed you Dr. Livingston. I- I don't understand what's going on. I tried to ask you on the phone, but you said to wait until you were here in person."

"Been exercising?" Dr. Livingston asked, ignoring my question entirely.

"Yes...there isn't much...else...to ....do..." Other than TV. And sex. Sex. I kept silent about the sex.

"Good girl. We can get into all of that later. But first, I've been wondering something..." Dr. Livingston asked. "What ever happened between you and Susan?"

I didn't want to talk about Susan. I wanted to talk about my relationship with Dr. Livingston. But Dr. Livingston was adamant. So I told her what became of Susan. I became her pet for the rest of the year. I dressed like she told me to. I was a slave. A pet. A lover.

It was the best time of my life. Then she went away to private university while I went to a state college. The summers were ours. Then the last year she didn't come home for break. She had met someone. They married. We write. But...

"So you miss her," Dr. Livingston said. "And it seems you are still searching for her in a way. Have you been with anyone else that makes you feel like she does?"

"Yes.." I replied, looking into deep Dr. Livingston's gray eyes. Admitting the truth. "You."

This was just the question I had been waiting for. At last I could talk about what was hurting my heart. Over the course of two weeks I had become a different person. I was no longer so unsure about my place in the world. I knew where I belonged. I was wearing a pair of sexy tight boy cut panties and a half bra. I glided to where Dr. Livingston sat and knelt at her feet.

"Are your feet tired?" I asked, taking off her pumps and rubbing her feet. I stuck her toe in my mouth and sucked it. I kissed the inside of her ankle and began to work my way higher.

"I'm not like that," Dr. Livingston, pushing me back. "Besides I'm married. And I'm sure someone like you would find my tastes rather boring."

I was stunned. I had given up my job for this. I was living in a crummy $400 a month one room apartment next to a bunch of loud college students. I didn't even have a car anymore. My fiancee was history. I had done things with the women she sent over that I couldn't even imagine.

"Oh you poor dear," she said, petted my head, and blotted my tears with a tissue. "If it makes you feel better, if I did prefer women and I had sadistic tendencies, I would keep you for my very own. However, as it is, you can help some of my patients who have those tendencies and more."

"What am I ...some kind of whore?" I was angry and everything, all my hopes and dreams, came crashing down. Now I understood some of the crude comments some of the women had made.

"Most definitely not," she said. "A sex therapist....well more like a contractor."

"How much...how much do I make?"

"Well....there's no set fee. Besides, you have a lot of expenses. Rent. Deposit. Clothes. Accessories. It's all rather expensive."

"What about a car? Food?" It hit me. I was hungry and had polished off the last of the frozen dinners this morning.

"What do you need a car for? You work from home. Other people would kill to have your hours." she said dismissively. "Besides, you should be making out in tips. Ask one of your clients to take you to dinner. They aren't just supposed to just have sex with you, but to talk. To become comfortable with their desires. You haven't just been having sex have you?"

"No...I mean...ye..." To talk. To become comfortable. I hadn't understood. It wasn't my fault. I felt guilty. All I had done was had sex. Perverse. Kinky. Unadulterated. Sex.

"I should have known better," Dr. Livingston muttered. "Like a kid in a candy store. What precisely have you been doing here?"

"I been doing what you've akedasked. But...I don't.. I don't seem to be getting any tips." I admitted, my cheeks blossoming a bright red. Did I have to ask? No one had volunteered. Had they not been pleased? I should be angry, but now I was overcome with self doubt. "Patricia offered me two thousand to go to a bachelorette party and .... " I let it hang, unable to continue. She wanted me to go and lick her and all he friends. To be a party favor.

"I'll speak to Patricia about that," Dr. Livingston said sternly. "If she wants additional services or time, she's to contact me. You get tips for exceptional service. Otherwise I'll have you tossed out on your ass and I'll take my clients elsewhere."

It hit me like a ton of bricks how cold and ruthless Dr. Livingston was. And how truly helpless I was. I could leave at anytime, but what could I do? I had no job, no fiancee, nothing. But, if I wanted ....to get what I yearned for sexually...I was going to do it as her 'sex therapist'. For all intents and purposes...a lesbian sex slave.

"What about..." I could barely ask the question, but I knew I must. "my bank account?"

"I'll look after all the finances," Dr. Livingston said. "Don't you worry about a single thing."

I was worried. I was terrified. Yet my body betrayed me. My fingers found hard nipples and tweaked. "I don't...I haven't received any tips...I have licked. Sucked. Oh doctor, I've crawled on the floor like a dog. Taken it in the ass. Been spanked until my ass was purple and blue. These women...doctor, these are sadistic women ....they haven't volunteered anything...and I...

...perhaps you could give me my checkbook...because...

.....I need to eat...."

"Hmmmm....." Dr. Livingston put a finger to her lips. Then she opened her eyes and smiled. "I've got just the thing." She went into the refrigerator and took out the glass orange juice bottle and poured it down the drain. I felt a stab of regret,regret; those were valuable calories she so haphazardly dumped down the drain. Now, I had nothing left to drink but less than a cup of spoiled milk.

Oblivious to my distress, and taking out a sharpie, Dr. Livingston wrote in block letters. TIPS. Then in little letters...not required, but for exceptional service...anything is appreciated. She underlined 'NOT' once, 'EXCEPTIONAL' once and 'ANYTHING' twice. Finally, she drew a big heart at the end.

She opened her purse and stashed the pen. She dug out her wallet, shuffled out seven ones and put them in the jar and tossed in a little over a dollar in change. As she did so, I noticed she had a wad of money with twenties and a few hundreds left.

"There - that should get you started," she said.

I could have said no. I could have left. Taken her to court over the power of attorney papers I had signed.

Instead, I looked over at the tip jar. If she had put in several hundred dollars, my next 'customer' would have seen it and thought she needed to leave a big tip. But this jar with seven measly dollars and some change and the word exceptional underlined once and the word anything underlined twice...I didn't need my college education to know what would happen. The women would use me sexually, and they would see my little tip jar.

And they would smirk and they would smile. And they would look at me with that look...so condescendingly. Then they would add a couple of crumpled dollars to it to join with Dr. Livingston's. They would sneer. Oh how they would look down their nose at me. Worse, I was hungry. I now had enough money to have a small pizza delivered with no tip, but it would take it all.

Worse, if my customers saw nothing but change in the jar, that's all they would assume I was 'worth'.

My stomach growled. My brain begged me to leave. To see if Mitch would take me back. But my pussy was hot...hot and so so tingly. I was nothing more than a sex starved whore - a humiliation junky, and deep down I loved it.

"Do I have any clients tonight?" I asked. "I could even...I could even take on more than one a day." That was giving quite a lot. My clients were not ordinary clients. They were demanding...mentally...as well as physically. Some liked to spank me. Some liked to see just how big of a dildo could be fit inside me. Others had an ass fetish. It took time to recover. To be ready for the next client.

"There's a client tonight," Dr. Livingston said. "But only one. I don't want you over-working yourself. But I like the way you are thinking now Kari. And I appreciate your eagerness and hard work. But, you should be using your spare time to make each client feel special. Your client tonight is named Sharon. She caught her husband in bed with the nanny three months ago. Tonight, you are going to dress up as the nanny. Your name will be Betsy. Her husband's name is John. She has some anger issues to work out and she's been having fantasies that are disturbing her."

"Okay...I'll do my best." I said. Fearful and oh so wet at the prospect.

"About that," Dr. Livingston said. "I'm sure you are doing good work, but I need a bit more professionalism from you. Otherwise, I may have to find someone else."

She took out a tape recorder and a handful of tapes. I want you to start keeping a journal of each of your clients. What they want to do. What they want you to do. What they say while they are here. That sort of thing. I'll pick them up from you once a week. This way I can monitor each client's progress."

My cheeks were hot. I had no computer, no car, no fiancee, and empty refrigerator. Only small used black and white TV, a phone, a tape recorder, a treadmill, a trunk full of sex toys and a closet full of costumes. But I had my fantasies and a client every night. The journal was going to be tough. Having to record each and every humiliation and send them in to Dr. Livingston. She said she wasn't a sadist, but I didn't believe her for a minute.

Having to tell the recorder about being tied up and spanked. Being taken in the ass. Having my head shoved in the toilet. Being pissed on. Being made to crawl around on a leash, and bark like a dog. To lick and suck. Dr. Livingston was so convincing - I could almost believe it was for some psychological purpose...almost...

But the tip jar. Knowing that Dr. Livingston was being paid thousands of dollars for each client, but that I was going to be forced to earn each and every crumpled dollar in tips.

Earn them with my tongue. With my mouth. With my ass. Just to quite my growling stomach.

She was a sadist.

....a true sadist.

No matter what she said.

I knew that now.

I could just imagine her there at home, listening to me relate tales of my depravity and humiliation. Knowing this, I was determined to give her every last detail. Through the tapes, I'd make her want me. She was a true sadist..it was her nature. I knew that my tapes would turn her on. She'd sit and masturbate to them. She'd want me. She may not know it, but she'd learn to love me.