Claiming Katy Ch 10

--Dr Isabella Pacetti's Notes:

To recap: Sophie's is punishing Katy by making her wear a gag for a week and denying her any sexual pleasure. We pick up the narrative just after Katy has used her tongue to give Sophie a powerful orgasm.

For reasons that will become clear, I wish to stress once again that all participants in the following scenes are adult women and fully consenting.

--Sophie's Statement:

I walked from the cellar, carrying the wine and book as casually as I could, moving slowly and sedately, swinging my hips just a little, feeling her eyes devouring my every movement. At the top of the steps, well out of sight, I leaned against the wall and swallowed the remainder of the wine. I hurried across the kitchen, found the bottle and drank a little more. This helped to increase my dizziness, but at least I knew this was only the alcohol.

I left the wine and took my book upstairs, hurrying ever faster in case Katy emerged from the cellar before I could get away. I tossed the book on my bed, closed and locked the door, and took off my clothes. I crawled naked onto my bed and lay on my side, curled foetal, and thought about Katy.

I wondered if she knew what she did to me. Just the sight of her curled up at my feet, or bowing between my legs... it was electrifying. And then there was the skill of her tongue. Surely I couldn't be her first woman, could I? So young and naïve, yet so instinctively dirty.

I realised I was touching myself. I hesitated for a moment, then thought 'Fuck it, why shouldn't I?' I toyed gently with my aching, tingling pussy and let myself relax. It had taken all of my strength to maintain my coolness with Katy. Even when I was cumming so uncontrollably, I had to remain on my guard, paranoid that I would breath something as natural as 'Oh yes baby' or 'Oh please...', simple phrases that would have diminished my power. And when Katy had continued to work on me after I had told her to stop... I knew I would have been brought to the sort of rapid, stinging orgasm that would have made me convulse helplessly. I wasn't giving the little bitch that sort of power.

Kicking her off the bench had been a horrifying mistake. I could still see the girl tumbling, blind and handcuffed, onto the hard flagstones. For one adrenaline-swollen second I had expected to hear a bone break, and I was terrified until I heard Katy's cries and was reassured the damage was limited. But even then I couldn't quite master my anger. Let her squirm on the floor. Let her clamber dizzy and in agony back onto the bench. Let her learn that she doesn't get to control me, little bitch.

But, oh, what an incredible little bitch she was! I had a clear, shining image of her getting turned on by the prospect of kissing my feet. Kissing my feet. That was just asking for contempt, wasn't it? And did she really believe I had just given her a special treat?

I had looked deep into Katy's wide, kittenish eyes and seen her genuine desire for the punishment and humiliation.

I lay back and played with myself. I had no choice. I lay peacefully for a minute or two, then suddenly remembered the book. Or rather, the bookmark. The little piece of card had been tucked in the pages when I had first selected the book from the shelf. I flipped open the book and slid out the card.

I read it again:

Dr Isabella Pacetti PhD

Specialist Psychology Advisor

followed by an address, a number and a website.

I slid off the bed and padded to the dressing table, where my laptop lay gently purring. I spent a few minutes finding and reading the website.

Within half an hour I had showered and pulled on a dress and sandals, and was out of the front door.

--Dr Pacetti's Notes:

It is here, of course, that I become a feature of the narrative, instead of merely its editor. The reader will have to trust my honesty, and rely on Sophie's perceptions.

--Sophie's Statement:

A dominatrix! An actual, professional dominatrix! You had to read between the lines a little bit: the website was full of all sorts of pseudo-psychological terminology, and talk of "consultations" and "personal progress targets", but I could pick up all the inferences, and so could anyone interested. I could tell this much: this "Doctor" Pacetti ran a service where she promised to provide women with safe and secure submissive experiences. She would control them, psychologically and physically, and give them some sort of "training". She seemed to specialise in women who suffered with frustrated libidos or orgasm failure, and this inescapably made me think of Katy and her agonising lack of climax.

I should have asked Katy directly. She may have only fleetingly considered consulting this woman and thought nothing more about it (though it would have been fun to remind her and watch her squirm). But this might have been serious for Katy, and this so-called doctor may have upset or harmed her in some way. I could have asked Mrs Alderney, but I didn't want to build this into a drama, in case it turned out to be nothing.

After all, the card was in a book which neither of them admitted to reading, in a Dungeon where they apparently never played. It probably belonged to the previous owner of the house, along with everything else down there.

In fact, as I got closer to my destination, I became more certain that I was following a very silly hunch. But the closer I got, the more intrigued I became by the prospect of meeting a real-life professional. And I had a valid and worthy excuse to do so... pretty valid, at least.

And then I was there, walking up the short path to the front door. It was a house in a terraced street, not much to see from the front, but I had the impression the houses went back quite a long way from the road.

There was a small brass plaque with 'Dr Isabella Pacetti Ph.D' engraved on it, and a doorbell, which I pressed, making no sound I could hear.

After a minute I heard a chain and a bolt slide back, and the door was opened on a cool, white interior.

The woman was a fraction taller than me, wearing a knee-length charcoal grey dress, black stockings and black leather pumps. She had long dark hair tied thick and sumptuously at the back of her head, and oval, frameless glasses. Her face was long and brown, with quite heavy eyes, nose and mouth which somehow contrived to look delicate and fine. It was a soft face, but very neat, and when she spoke her voice was the same.

"Good afternoon, can I help you?"

"Hello. Are you um, Dr Pacetti?"

The woman smiled generously and her teeth were smooth and white. "Yes, I am. Were you hoping to speak to me in my professional capacity?"

"Well, I suppose I was. In a way. It's a little delicate and probably nothing, but..."

Dr Pacetti smiled, stepped back and waved me inside. I entered a narrow hallway and the doctor closed the door.

"I'm afraid I will have to leave you alone for a little while in a few minutes, I have a client upstairs."

"Oh, please don't let me keep you..."

"No no, she's fine. Come through. Tea?"

"Yes... please..." I wondered about the phrase 'She's fine'. Presumably 'she's not going anywhere', would have been too much of a cliché.

It was a small, tasteful kitchen with a kettle on a stove, which meant the tea took surprisingly long, but it tasted beautiful. We sat and talked at the tiny breakfast table, and I wondered just what the client was thinking, or indeed doing, all this while.

Almost the first thing Dr Pacetti said was a quick, polite denial of my sleazy suspicions, even though I had not yet voiced them.

"It is important before we discuss anything that you understand I am not a Dominatrix. I say that without prejudice or judgement, but it must be said." She had an odd precision in the way she spoke which suggested an accent without quite being one. It reminded me of Mrs Alderney. Dr Pacetti smiled.

"I know: most psychologists don't have to begin their consultations that way, which must immediately make one suspect something untoward. But my practices stray into unconventional territory, and I guess from your expression that you're still not convinced. I do understand. I should also stress that I do not practice in any medical capacity, and I consider myself a coach or trainer rather than a therapist. With my clients I identify key issues which need addressing, specify clearly itemised goals, and charge a fee based on the attainment of those goals. It's very effective."

"Effective for what? What sort of cases?"

"Mostly sexual dysfunction, orgasm, intimacy issues and so forth. But often confidence, body image problems, anxiety and panic attacks. Phobias."

"And what do you require of your clients?"

She glanced almost invisibly at the clock on the wall, and leaned forward. "Forgive me, these initial meetings are always a little uncertain, and I don't wish to be rude, but are you a journalist?"

I blinked, surprised. "No. Why would you..?"

"I'm sorry, it's just that you seem very detached. I don't mind if you are, I promise, but I might hurry you along a bit more." She smiled apologetically, an expression that was very sweet on her, and I smiled back. "You see, I have two main groups of visitors: those who want to be a client, and those who want my advice in dealing with a friend or lover who perhaps ought to be a client. And amongst both of those groups there are people who think I'm a Dom. All of them are very nervous and trying to find ways of telling me their problems without actually raising the subject. But you are just inquisitive, and wonderfully cool."

"I'm sorry," I said, my turn to look apologetic now. "I'm afraid I may have been wasting my time. Your time. It's my friend, a girl I live with. I wondered if she might have consulted you and... well, she's young and naïve and sometimes a bit silly, and she's vulnerable and..." I caught the feeling of affection welling in me, and I smiled. Then I laughed. "Well, frankly, I thought you were a Dominatrix."

Dr Pacetti laughed too, a strong, bubbling laugh. "Are you and she..?"

I shrugged. "It's complicated."

"But you take responsibility for her. You take care of her. I don't need to know any more. I should say that, even if your friend had visited me, I couldn't possibly confirm that or discuss it. You understand."

"I know. I just wanted to check you out, see what you were about. If I want to know, she'll tell me. But I think I've already decided she didn't visit you."

Dr Pacetti smiled with a shrewd and teasing pout. "Aha. I see. If you want to know she'll tell you. Complicated."

I allowed myself a broad, wicked grin.

"Well, for a moment I thought you might be here to ask my advice, but you don't need that. You're quite confident." She drummed her fingers on the table once, twice. "Would you like to meet my client?"

I was startled. "Is that ethical?"

Again the smile, the smooth bright teeth. "It's complicated."

--

Dr Pacetti paused at the foot of the stairs to remove her shoes, and I immediately did the same.

"Oh, no, no, not necessary. It's just something I do as part of the atmosphere. Less formal."

I waved away her protest and said I didn't mind.

At the top of the stairs the doctor stopped at a closed door.

"Enter quietly please. You can speak, but quietly. And er..." I was beginning to enjoy that laugh. "And please remember what I said about not being a Dominatrix..."

The room must have extended back for the full depth of the house. It had soft carpet and pale walls, a fireplace, sofas and chairs, and towards the back a desk with chairs on either side of it. It was light and cool.

And there was the client.

The client was girl of around my height and probably a little younger, although these were tricky to determine as she was naked, kneeling, and had a hood over her head. The hood was very similar to the blindfold I had made Katy wear that very afternoon, and exposed only her mouth. She had a broad, lean torso with small, perky breasts and dark nipples. She was kneeling on the floor and rhythmically pumping three fingers deep into her vagina.

As we approached her, I saw that she had headphones under her hood, and these were attached to an old iPod at her side. There was a broad, shallow ceramic bowl caught between her knees.

Dr Pacetti spoke softly, but didn't whisper.

"Her name is, well, for the purpose of confidence I shall call her Ruth, I'm sure you understand. Ruth is adorable, but she is afraid of orgasm. Her own, I mean. She doesn't like the mess she makes, or the smell, although both are quite normal. At least, she used to be afraid, we are making great progress. Please sit."

The doctor sat on the chair behind Ruth, and I sat opposite. The doctor laid a gentle hand on Ruth's arm, and the girl's expression changed immediately from one of fevered concentration to one of pleasure.

"Doctor!" she breathed. Dr Pacetti stroked her arm.

"Noise cancelling headphones, and a recording of my voice, describing her body, her scent, and the mess she makes, all in positive terms. There's much more to the process, of course, but you see how that bit works. Watch this." She gently pulled Ruth's arm so that her hand came away from her pussy, briefly exposing a small dark bush, before her other hand took its place. Ruth's mouth opened.

The doctor pressed the wet fingers to the waiting lips, and wiped the liquid around the lower part of her face. She let go and Ruth immediately pushed her fingers into her mouth, and sat there contented, masturbating rapidly and deep, and noisily sucking her fingers. The doctor sat back and gently stroked her stockinged foot down the girl's back, slowly, repeatedly.

"This just reinforces that I am here and satisfied."

I leaned forward, fascinated, and was suddenly very aware of my own naked legs and feet. "It seems like very intimate contact, just to communicate that."

"Yes, you're right." Dr Pacetti gazed at the back of Ruth's head as she stroked. "It's affectionate, too. The nature of my technique means that my clients are somewhat... regressed. Not exactly infantilised, that would be unhealthy, but very vulnerable and in need of emotional reinforcement. I could simply comb her hair, lay a hand on her shoulder... in fact Ruth likes the texture of my stockings on her skin."

I had seen Ruth's reaction, and was sure the doctor was correct.

"But... I'm sorry, I still need you to explain how I can be here, watching this. I feel like even I'm betraying her trust, never mind you. How can this be ethical?"

"Ruth was fully involved in the planning of her training. She is quite aware that at some point she will be observed by a third party, another woman. It might be another client, another professional, or someone else. But someone I trust."

I felt awkward. "Should you trust me? Good God, you know nothing about me. I wouldn't trust me."

Dr Pacetti shrugged. "Well, maybe I'm a better judge of character than you."

My reply was halted by a sudden desperate moan from the girl known as Ruth. She hunched forward and the doctor slid from her chair to the floor and put her hand gently on her neck. Ruth continued to moan and began to shiver, and suddenly a brief, violent torrent of fluid erupted from her pussy, falling in the bowl beneath and making a tinny pattering on the ceramic surface. I was utterly engrossed as I watched the girl double over and straighten again, then flick more fluid from her hand and pussy into the bowl. The wet hand went to her mouth and was replaced by the other, which she continued to use, but less frantically now.

Dr Pacetti put her own lips against the girl's head, just behind her ear and said: "Well done. Good girl."

Ruth beamed breathlessly and nodded. Her hand fell away from her mouth and she allowed her head to be pushed forward and down until it was almost between her knees. She looked less happy now. Dr Pacetti pulled the bowl out a little so that it was directly under her client's face. Her hand gently traced the contour of her spine and she watched her and waited.

"She finds this hard. She doesn't want to drink it. But, you see, this is why it helps to degrade her a little. She will do it because she's submitted to my control. And then she'll be rightly proud of herself. She might even cum in a little while."

"Oh, that wasn't it then?"

"No, just a squirt, it means she's on her way. She's getting good at them."

Ruth gripped the bowl with a whimper and lowered her face to it. With her hand still caressing her pussy, she began to lick the bowl and lap up the fluid. The doctor smiled.

"Well, she was supposed the pick up the bowl and pour it into her mouth, but..." she leaned down to speak into Ruth's ear again. "Thank you, bella, I'm so proud." She returned to her chair and placed both feet flat on the girl's back. "I thought she would take longer to want to lap it up, but this is excellent progress."

She sat back, straightened her legs and crossed her ankles, now effectively using her client as a foot-stool. She smiled naughtily at me.

"You asked what I require of my clients? Dedication to her training, whether through submission or strength of character. And -- outside of their sessions, and unless contra-indicated -- I require that they eat healthily and undertake regular exercise."

"Fair enough, I can see the benefits..."

"Because I don't like flabby girls. And I do like obedient girls."

I hooted with laughter, then silenced myself with a glance at the oblivious, industriously working Ruth. I sat back in a mirror of the doctor's pose and grinned at her. "I like you, Dr Pacetti. You have defined your own moral line and you walk thrilling close to it. Elegantly."

Dr Pacetti looked demure. "I don't pretend to be a saint. But no client has ever left here dissatisfied. I take all kinds of pleasure from my work, but I never overstep my -- as you say -- my own moral line. I never... stray from the agreed program."

I nodded. "I understand. That's what I thought. For what it's worth, I also trust you, not that I need to."

"But I'm glad you do. I don't often share my work with anyone. Well, you can imagine."

I smiled. I thought Dr Pacetti suddenly looked very lonely, but the impression passed. "Actually I do have a question for you. A professional opinion, if you like. Do you think it's possible... or likely... that a girl might genuinely be unable to reach orgasm without first receiving pain?"

The doctor's heavy-lidded eyes regarded me for a moment. "Hm, well. That would be a remarkably extreme pathology. My guess would be that she had been conditioned by a trusted authority figure, effectively trained or brainwashed. Alternatively she would be playing a sort of game, dramatising a favourite fantasy, if you like. It may be a fantasy that pre-dates her first orgasm and therefore she has come to believe it. Is that any help?"

I realised I was blushing, as though the doctor had just told me off. I chuckled and spoke, almost to myself. "Well, I suppose I never pretended to be a saint either."

Ruth's voice echoed weirdly in the bowl as she began to moan again, this time more gently. The doctor removed her feet and let her kneel more upright, then returned to running her foot down her back. Without making a sound, I knelt on the floor and shuffled round in front of Ruth, where I could see her lips gasping and her fingers working like a machine on her clit. I knelt close enough to feel her breath, whilst taking care to breathe gently and away from her. The doctor watched me.

Slowly Ruth reached a climax, emitting long, shuddering moans. Her body rocked and convulsed and occasionally twitched, making her voice jump and shake. She grew quiet and began to suck her fingers again, looking tired and contented. Dr Pacetti stood and beckoned me to her side.

"I will make her bend double again, and leave her for a while. Would you like to push her head down?"