"Take them down, Stuart...like the shameful little boy that you are!"
Stuart couldn't believe Dr. Townsend was talking this way. And right in front of Moira, too.
She looked horrified at Stuart's therapist, a muscular silver haired, pinstriped John Forsythe look-alike--yes, he looked very much like Forsythe's "Blake Carrington" character on Dynasty.
Dr. Townsend had always intimidated Stuart a bit, from the first time he and Moira had gone for therapy at Dr. Townsend's comfortable, Grecian Scroll Wood Wall tiled office.
"Topham Townsend, Mr. Ambrosio, good to meet you."
Dr. Townsend's handshake had been firm, and his tone respectful, but Stuart had never gotten the impression that the doctor had seen him as an equal. Now, it was so clear.
Oh, it was mortifying! Dr. Townsend was now taking off his jacket, and now his broad leather belt.
"I'm not going to ask again, Stuart" Dr. Townsend said impatiently.
"I told you that you needed some serious consequences to break your disgusting masturbation habit.
That's what you're paying a therapist for isn't it? Take down your britches and bend over my desk! You're getting a whipping!"
Dr. Townsend turned to Moira, reverting to his polished manner. "I'm sorry, Miss Poynings.
Truly, I am, to expose you to this unpleasant scene.
If you'd prefer, you can go into my waiting room, while Stuart receives his punishment.
But I told both of you last week that Stuart needs more than talk-therapy to break him of self-abuse."
Stuart gasped as Dr. Townsend turned to him again. "I'm waiting, sir! Are you going to take those pants down, or must I take them down myself?"
Stuart looked at Moira, wondering if he should grab her hand and pull her out of the office. But her face was more curious than horrified.
Stuart noted that Dr. Townsend's eyes were narrowing, and, his face burning, he found himself unsnapping his three button charcoal suit trousers, and pulling them down, along with his Royal Silk boxer shorts, bunched in his hands.
Moira's jaw dropped as she saw the beginnings of an erection like she'd never witnessed on her fiancée in the eighteen months she'd known him.
"That's right, Stuart, now come over here."
Dr. Townsend tapped the distressingly thick leather belt in his hand as Stuart shuffled over to the desk, his pants and undies bunched around his ankles.
He gave Dr. Townsend one more beseeching look before bending over the desk.
Moira Poynings watched in combined horror and amazement as her normally quite arrogant fiancée's white buttocks shone in the darkened office.
How had it come to this?
Stuart certainly had a problem, all right--she'd gotten him to give up cheating during their dates, and had almost eradicated his pornography addiction, but he never seemed to have any energy for her.
"Sorry babe" night after night...his penis flaccid.
And Moira was a beautiful girl! She'd finally discovered the semen stained Kleenexes around when they'd begun living together.
What kind of a guy would rather jerk off than make love? Was he deranged? A pervert?
Stuart had tried Twelve Step Sexaholics Anonymous meetings, and they'd gone to some touchy-feely therapists, who had encouraged him to love himself in a different way...after all, there are always childhood issues!
"What you must realize, Stuart, is that self-abuse is a filthy, self-indulgent habit, and if you cannot stop childish behavior, you must be treated like a child." WHACK!
Moira watched numbly as Dr. Townsend's leather belt slashed across Stuart's alabaster cheeks.
Stuart's hands were clutching the edge of the desk, and his teeth were gritted as he bent, almost as if he was used to this sort of thing happening to him from time to time.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Moira understood that Stuart had been raised rather strictly, and perhaps discipline was the only thing he could understand, but what a strange form of psychotherapy. WHACK!
Dr. Townsend's arm was quite energetic, as the strap continued to rain across Stuart's now reddening buttocks.
"Stuart, you'll remember this throughout the week until our next appointment, and hopefully, not touch yourself again."
Dr. Townsend's right arm came down rather savagely on the tender spot just under Stuart's buttocks, and the young man began weeping silently.
Moira was somewhat nauseated as he drooled snot all over the doctor's handsome marble paperweight.
Whack! Suddenly Stuart began blubbering.
"P-please no-no more, Dr. Tuh-townsend. P-please." Stuart's buttocks were now a revolting mass of welts, slashes and red blotches, and the poor man was weeping profusely.
Dr. Townsend seemingly ignored Stuart and continued the flogging.
"N-no more, please, oh please!"
Stuart let go of the desk he was bending over and began pounding it with his fists. Moira's stomach was turning.
What the hell was wrong with him? Stuart was an athletic young man, and could have easily broken away from the doctor, shit, they could be filing charges against Townsend at a lawyer's office in this same building, but instead Stu was behaving like a five year old with no options.
Look at him, biting his lip and oh, the boogers hanging out of his nose as if he were a three year old. Was this what she would marry?
Finally, Dr. Townsend threw the belt down and grabbed Stuart by the hair, dragging him off the table roughly and turning his tear stained face to Moira.
"Are you not ashamed, young man?
This honest girl is to bequeath her life to a weak-willed, onanistic paraphile, too selfish with his own desires! You should be humiliated!"
As Stuart's body came up from the desk, he stumbled over his ankle clogged pants, and might have fallen had Dr. Townsend's grip on his scalp not been so muscular. Moira numbly recalled seeing the U.S. Marines on Townsend's CV.
Now Stuart was standing up in the grasp of Dr. Townsend, shuffling about in his pants, and his penis distressingly rigid. Moira gasped, wondering if her handsome fiancée was some sort of a faggot.
Suddenly, Dr. Townsend let go of Stuart's hair and Stuart fell down on the carpet, weeping.
"Get dressed, you make me ill. I'll see you here next week, and you'd better not have touched yourself improperly. As a matter of fact, I don't want you having relations with Miss Poynings either--just give your genitals a break, understand?"
Townsend gave Moira a quick smile. "I'm sorry, Moira, but it's for Stuart's own good. I hope you don't object."
Moira actually had never felt less attracted to Stuart in her life, so she was somewhat relieved at Townsend's order. But would Stuart tell him to go to hell?
"Yes sir, I understand" said Stuart, his voice trembling, as his pants were pulled up. He blew his nose. "Thank you and I'll see you next week, sir. Come, Moira."
The girl's stomach curdled as she and her now shamed fella left the psychologist's office. therapist, we're in serious trouble, aren't we?"
Stuart's eyes began to bug out as he clutched Moira's arm.
"It-it was only the one time...really." Moira smiled, and tried to be sympathetic.
"Stuart, it was the one time that I CAUGHT you."
She reached the therapist's door, and opened it up. "I find your fucking--excuse my French--stained porn books everywhere, and some of them have just guys in them. Stuart, is there something you want me to know?"
"Those are just-motorcycle magazines...I look at them for um, fun."
Stuart and Moira sat down, and he picked up a "New Yorker" magazine off the waiting room coffee table nervously.
What had been so upsetting to Stuart--was that he had actually MASTURBATED while thinking of Dr. Townsend's firm, muscled arm swinging the belt down on Stuart's bare buttocks, and the shame of seeing his erection in front of Moira.
But Stu wasn't a fag-- no no!
But Dr. Townsend certainly was a big strong guy with intense blue eyes...it kinda took your breath away.
From the inner door to Dr. Townsend's office came a sound of a scream, and some thumping.
Stuart and Moira exchanged a glance. The door opened, and a rather obese woman came out, tears pouring down her chubby cheeks.
"And remember, Davina, you'll be weighed again next week, and I expect you to have lost FIVE pounds" came Dr. Townsend's firm voice.
"Two this week, and the three you were supposed to lose last week...think about not disappointing me when you want to gorge yourself on Oreos."
Davina's lower lip trembled, and she rubbed her ample buttocks as she called back "Th-thank you Doctor Townsend...I'll remember."
"You see, Moira?" Stuart asked frantically. "The man's a lunatic! Please don't tell him I masturbated...please." He scrunched the New Yorker magazine in his hands.
Moira tried to smile.
"I'll-I'll try not to tell him, but it's hard to keep things from Dr. Townsend, you know, Stuart." Dr. Townsend's jovial face poked out from the office door, and smiled.
"Hello, Ms. Poynings, hello Stuart. Why don't you both come in?"
Stuart's shoulders slumped.
He was no longer called "Mr. Ambrosio"--and why should he be?
After a man's taken your pants down and whipped your bare ass in front of your fiancé, the respect is gone, right?
They came into the office and sat down. Dr. Townsend grinned widely.
Stuart noted with discomfort that Dr. Townsend's belt was still on the table, perhaps having just been used on Davina.
"So how did this week go? Did we cooperate?" Dr. Townsend gave Stuart a look, and then looked at Moira, who looked away .
"What happened? Did our Stuart behave himself?"
