The Therapist

1

Hearing the click of Dr. Diana Artemis' heels across her office floor, Jeremy slipped from the swivel-backed chair behind his desk and, quickly smoothing his tie and shirt and adjusting his glasses, knelt beside her door just in time to be in position as it opened. He kept his eyes to the floor and watched as her black heels and stockinged legs came into view. She stood close enough so that her skirt, black and silk, brushed slightly against his cheek. He knew better than to move. He'd done that two weeks ago and could still locate the precise place on his rear where she'd swatted him. She'd only popped him only once but it had been enough to cause him to tear up, mostly from the shame at displeasing her, but the limp had lasted through the weekend.

"Eyes," she said.

As instructed, he looked up at her. She wore a sheer black blouse and glasses; her hair pulled back in the manner she used when seeing client. He was relieved to see a slight smile on her face. The sight caused blood to rush to his cheeks. He felt a single lacquered nail graze his cheek.

"Any messages?"

"No, ma'am."

"Have you filed my client reports insurance claims?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You look pleased with yourself."

The question threw him. A year ago, after his sixth appointment with her, with the exception of one affirmation of his submission, he'd been instructed to speak to her only as "Yes, No, or thank you, ma'am," elaborating only when given explicit permission. Six months ago, when she'd hired him as her secretary, she told him the same rules would be in effect. In all that time, he'd never broken her rule. But he also knew better than to say nothing.

"You've gone pale, Jeremy."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, relieved to again be on firmer ground.

"Is it because of the way I asked the question and you're afraid of breaking my speech rule?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"That was a little test, Jeremy. You did nicely."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome. In fact, Jeremy, you've had a very good week. I got all my messages, had no cancellations and you even helped me with a client."

Jeremy flushed terribly at the memory of being called into her office for assistance with a client who had resisted her diagnosis that he was bisexual. Jeremy had entered and, when commanded, unbuckled his pants and bent over her desk. As instructed so he might be prepared for just such occasions, Jeremy kept himself fully waxed and wore women's lingerie beneath his male clothing. Before he knew it, the man had pulled his panties down, entered him and finished, confirming Dr. Artemis' diagnosis. Jeremy left without a word to clean himself up and let them continue their session, secretly hoping his performance might lead to this very moment. He had a guess as to what might happen next but didn't want to jinx it by hoping too much.

"And you remember our agreement, I'm sure. How good little boys earn their rewards."

"Yes, ma'am." The anticipation was too much. He could feel himself beginning to shake.

"And we know what one little boy desires more than anything else."

Dr. Artemis slid onto Jeremy's desk and lifted a leg to place a heel to his waiting hands.

"Go ahead, pet. You know what to do."

This was certainly true. Careful not to put a run in her stocking, Jeremy's shaking hands slid up her thighs to find a pair of black silk panties, which he carefully slid down her legs. The second they hit the floor, he felt a hand on the back of his head, pressing his face between her thighs, where the skin was smooth and soft and smelled slightly of lavender.

"Kiss her," she said. "Three times."

Jeremy kissed her labia, feeling her clit press against his lips.

"One," she said.

He kissed her again, releasing a slight moan. He hoped the vibration from the sound would feel good enough she'd let him continue. It was a trick he'd tried many times, so far without success.

"One more, pet."

Again, he kissed her, this time receiving a wet kiss in return, and it tempted him into touching his tongue to her clit. Technically, against the rules, she didn't say anything and he slid her panties back into place. Her fingers ran through his hair.

"Such a pussy-whipped little boy you are."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Beta male."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Slut."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sissy.

"Yes, ma'am."

He looked the floor and held out the flat of his hand. It was how he'd been taught to request permission to speak freely. If she touched his hand that meant he could speak, if not, he couldn't. She touched his hand.

"But only yours, ma'am."

She laughed. "Oh I know that. Trying so hard to impress me, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"There was a little catch in your throat as you said that. You know, when you first came in here, I didn't think you could be any more submissive but you've proved me wrong." She punctuated the thought by kissing the top of his head. Jeremy almost toppled over. "Say it."

"My name is Jeremy Lane. I'm a happy and proud submissive sissy boy. I belong to Dr. Diana Artemis. I am grateful for her attention. I serve Her willingly and happily. My natural place is at Her feet. I accept the responsibility of discovering what pleases Her, and do my best to fulfill Her wishes and desires. I am obedient to Her and realize She has my best interests at heart and knows better than I what I need. I know that my actions reflect upon Her, and will do my best to help others see Her in a positive way. I will never intentionally embarrass or displease Her. Above all, I am honored to serve Her. I will never cause others to think that being submissive means to be weak or a lesser person. I take pride in who and what I am and will never show myself in a negative way. She is a beautiful human being."

They had written the affirmation together, Jeremy contributing the last line, and it was his favorite part. He enjoyed saying it so much he didn't notice at first that Dr. Artemis hadn't said anything. Immediately, he ran over the lines in his head, worried he'd forgotten one. Already upset with himself, it took him a moment to realize she'd slipped her panties off again and put a heel up on his chair.

"I forget how much that turns me on. You're going to make me late for my date."

She grasped his hair with both hands and pushed his face between her legs and thrust roughly against his stiffened tongue until his face was damp with her and she'd finished, waited for him to rearrange her panties and smooth her stockings, and headed to the door.

"I'll leave you to lock up," she said. "Don't forget to feed the fish." Spinning on a heel, she smiled wickedly, "and tell Samantha I'll see her on Monday."

Jeremy nodded from where she'd left him on the floor, his glasses knocked off and under the desk somewhere and relieved the small fish bowl on the corner of his desk was undisturbed. The fish had been a little joke of a gift she'd given him at the start of his employment. It was, of course, a beta. It's name, of course, was Jeremy. Samantha was another matter.

2

Twenty minutes later, Diana slid onto a stool at La Travolta, a ridiculous John Travolta-themed restaurant in the city that she forgave for its absurd theme due to its excellent cocktails. The bartender nodded to her and brought her standard drink, a Bushmills single malt. Her date, a man she'd recently bought a house from, and who had dropped his asking price by thirty-thousand dollars when she'd told him that's what she was willing to pay, had exactly four minutes before he'd be late. With the extra time, she flipped out her phone, texted Jeremy that she wanted him to spend the weekend dressed as her sissy slut and to ride a dildo six times before Monday. She didn't need to add that he wasn't allowed to touch his cock, nor did she have to worry about whether he would. In their third session, she'd implanted a trigger that made it impossible for him to orgasm without her permission. Jeremy responded by dropping his phone, then recovered to say he would do as commanded. She laughed, sipped her drink, and checked the time. Her date was a minute late. Two by the time he sauntered up in an admittedly handsome suit that she'd sadly have to spoil.

"You're late."

"Am I? Is that a big deal?"

His expression told her that he could see it was, and that she'd read him correctly. This was going to be fun. Mean, but fun.

"Do I strike you as the type of woman who likes being kept waiting?"

"No. I...sorry. It was just..."

"You strike me as an intelligent man. I think you know what sort of person you're dealing with."

"Thank you, yes. I think I do."

"And that is?"

"I think you like being in control."

"And you're drawn to that."

"I..."

"You?"

"I...I mean I guess..."

"You guess." She got up.

"Wait!"

"Yes. You're right. I am. I'm sorry I was late."

"I'll let you know if I want to see you again."

"Okay."

"By the way, I'm curious about your cock."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's hard for me to believe you didn't understand me. Stand up."

He stood up.

"Get erect."

"I can't just..." He stopped talking as he'd proved himself wrong. A significant erection tented his pants. He looked nervously to see if anyone was watching."

"That looks like it could be fun."

"It's definitely above average. No complaints, you know what I mean?"

"I could care less, I'll never touch it. I just want to make sure it can take orders."

"I..."

"When I say so, you're going to cum in your pants. Don't look away. Don't touch. Just look me in the eye."

He opened his mouth to speak but, wisely, did not.

"In 3...2...1...cum."

The man's knees buckled but he caught himself on the bar. A large wet spot spread across his crotch.

"How...?" he wasn't able to finish the question before she cut him off.

"Again."

This time he had to grab a bar stool to stay upright.

"Good boy," she said, gathering her purse and knocking back the whiskey. "Thanks for the drink."

The man watched her go, the looked to see if the bartender had noticed. He was pretending to be oblivious. He'd seen it before.

3

Waiting for the elevator in his apartment building, Jeremy remembered it was the third Friday night of the month. For a time, he'd tried to avoid thinking about his life before he met Dr. Artemis. He'd been so unhappy the memories were like a long gray dream and when he'd said as much in his monthly session, she told him to meditate on it the third Friday night of every month. He was not to go out but to stay home and revisit those times then, as a reward, release in the manner she'd prescribed as healthiest for him. He'd learned to cherish these times and, in thinking about it, he almost didn't notice Christine enter the building. She lived six doors down from him and they nodded at one another shyly and didn't speak in the elevator or until Jeremy was halfway to his door. If it hadn't been so quiet he'd have never heard her say his name.

"Yes?"

"I'll always be thankful for what you did," she said. "She's helped me so much."

"Oh...you don't have to say that. I didn't do anything."

"That's a big fat lie and you know it." She smiled and winked.

"Good night...Clark Kent."

Jeremy laughed and nodded and entered his apartment.

He'd tried to explain to Christine that if anyone deserved thanks it was her. She'd the one who'd been the last straw in driving him into therapy. The fact that Dr. Artemis had then called her and convinced her to come in for a session wasn't really something he could take that much credit for. What had happened in that session was anyone's guess. He wasn't yet working for Dr. Artemis and all he knew was that she'd shown up at his door with an apple pie and an apology. Two months later, he'd met her in the elevator with another woman. The new woman was a full head taller than Christine and exuding more assertive energy from the hand she had cupped securely around Christine's waist than Jeremy had in his whole body. Ever since then, Christine had worn an understated silver collar. Once, he'd seen six women, including the woman he assumed to be her girlfriend, follow her into her apartment.

Whatever had happened, he felt like he shared something with his neighbor. It was Christine, after all, who'd teased him for being shy and called him "Clark Kent" after she saw him without his glasses. He'd assumed she was flirting, had asked her out, and she had laughed and turned him down saying she liked her men a little more manly. In short, she'd been mean and, determined to figure out what she and others like her had seen in him that was so unappealing, he'd done what too man men in his position do, turning to the Internet and various hokey "How to Get Chicks" web sites and books, all of which he found vaguely offensive. But what if they were right? He'd had his credit card out to buy one of their books when he happened upon an article decrying how modern life was "feminizing" men, how feminism had subverted the natural order of things, turned into submissive creatures due to an insidious agenda sponsored by the Illuminati and Hilary Clinton, and so on.

Accompanying the text was a crudely drawn cartoon of a man in an apron setting dinner on a table before a woman in a business suit. It was meant as a critique, but Jeremy thought it looked nice. He gave the screed a closer look and realized it was in response to an article posted by a Dr. Diana Artemis in a psychology journal that Jeremy had never heard of, which wasn't saying much since the only Jeremy hadn't heard of any psychology journals. The Huffington Post had noticed and she'd summarized it for their readers. In it, she explored why equality under the law was just and necessary but that it was often helpful for couples to realize that a great deal of literature suggested that couples understand someone is always more dominant in a relationship and that it's better to acknowledge that openly and agree to it than fight it, or pretend it wasn't the case. But, she'd added, there was no reason to assume the dominant partner, in a heterosexual relationship, had to be male. That was it. It didn't seem like such a wild and crazy idea to Jeremy, but the people behind the chick-getting books weren't having it. Curious, Jeremy looked up Dr. Artemis, finding that she was a practicing psychologist with a practice, fortuitously enough, located exactly eleven miles from his apartment.

"You're what I would call an uber-beta." Those were her first words to him when he entered her office. She sat behind a vast oak desk, a window to her back. He hadn't even spoken yet. "There's no doubt."

"I'm sorry?"

"Yup. Beta. Submissive. If you were any more of a pet waiting for a master you'd be wagging your tail."

"May I sit down?"

"I like that you asked. It confirms my diagnosis. As does your apology as a form of attempting to question me. As does the way you hold your hands in front of your crotch. As does a little hop in your step when you walk. You don't clomp around like an alpha male or have an elongated gate like a dominant female. You get shy around women but admire them, and not just women you find beautiful."

"That's...true."

"I know."

"Have you ever knelt before a woman?"

"No."

"No, doctor."

"I'm sorry. No, doctor."

"Kneel."

Jeremy half-collapsed to his knees. He felt as if he was having an out-of-body experience, or more precisely that she'd crawled inside his mind and set up shop. Only in the semi-stable stance of being on hands and knees before her was he able to look over her desk and notice she had an almost regal beauty to her. He looked away.

"Look at me. In my eyes. Tell me why you looked away. Is it because you're attracted to me?"

"Yes." How could she know?

"I know because submissives are drawn to dominants. Moths. Flame. Use whatever metaphor you want. But part of your attraction is also that you want to fuck me. Don't you?"

Jeremy had, of course, had sex but he wasn't sure it qualified as "fucking." Fucking sounded a lot more intense than what he'd offered.

"I..."

"You want to see me naked. Stick your cock in my pussy. Pump it up and down. Make a big show of it and shoot your load like a big boy. Isn't that right?"

"I..." Jeremy had a sudden urge to cry. First Christine had mocked him, now the person he'd come to for help seemed to be doing the same thing.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

"Yes, I...thought about sex when I saw you. But not in an aggressive way..."

"Why is that? Aren't you a man?"

"Yes. I don't know."

"You don't know if you're a man or you don't know why you don't want to take me like some porn star hopped up on steroids and Viagra?"

"I..."

"Maybe this will help." Dr. Artemis stood, and walked around her desk to stand before him. It would have been unremarkable but for her lack of clothing from the waist down, unless you counted her stockings and heels.

Jeremy felt dizzy. He'd never been in therapy before but this wasn't at all what it was like in Woody Allen movies.

The doctor leaned back against her desk, her legs spread slightly.

"Look at her, Jeremy. She's pretty isn't she?"

Jeremy's first attempt at a "yes" was lost in a dry mouth. He coughed. "Yes."

"Wet all the time."

Jeremy had zero idea how to respond.

"Do you know what an alpha male would do in your situation?"

"Yeah." Jeremy knew. He sure wouldn't still be on his knees.

"Of course, he wouldn't get anywhere with me. I do not submit. To anyone. He'd try and end up right where you are, so it's good that you haven't moved. Saves us time."

She smiled at Jeremy in a way that, strange given the situation, made him feel safe.

"So what was your answer? You said you didn't know when I asked if you were a man or why you weren't trying to take me like a macho, top, bro-tastic, alpha dude."

"Oh. The second one."

"But you think because you don't want to do that you are less of a man. That's why you answered so ambiguously."

"Yes." Jeremy thought he knew where she was going. He was wrong.

"Crawl over here."

He did as told, taking a break from admiring her spectacular everything to notice she had spectacular taste in heels.

She took his head in her hand by the chin and angled it up to her gaze.

"Anyone who makes you feel ashamed for being submissive can fuck off. Is that clear?"

Jeremy felt himself begin to tear up.

"Is that clear? Don't make me ask a third time."

"It's clear."

"What is?"

"That anyone who makes me feel ashamed for being submissive can fuck off."

"Jeremy, just because you're a beta male doesn't give you license to mumble."

"Anyone," he said, pulling his shoulders back, "who makes me feel ashamed for being submissive can fuck off." Dr. Artemis, Jeremy decided, was pretty great.

"Jeremy, you eye-fucked my heels pretty hard a second ago. I think you owe them an apology."

Jeremy looked at her feet. "I'm sorry I—"

"Oh Jesus, Jeremy. I didn't mean send them a greeting card. Kneel down there and kiss my feet, you goof."

Jeremy knelt again, kissing the tops of her feet where they met the edge of her heels. She smelled like lavender and he fought off a sudden urge to curl up at her feet, looking up at her for approval.

"Jeremy, what are you?"

"I'm submissive beta male."

"Pussy-whipped, too."

"Pussy-whipped, too."

"And from this day forth a Sissy-in-Training."

"And from this day forth a...Sissy-in-Training?"

"You'll find out what that means soon enough. That'll be all for today. I want to see you twice a week. Be here Thursday at the same time."

He scrambled to his feet, turning to her with his hand on the knob. "May I kiss your feet again?"

"No. That'll give you something to think about until then. Oh, I almost forgot. How often do you masturbate?" She was looking at him over the tops of her glasses and taking notes on a legal pad. She was so casual in her delivery she might as well have asked what his favorite color was.