Author's Note: This is essentially a variation of another story I wrote, just a slightly different spin. It's short and pretty soft - it was laying around and I don't intend to flesh it out, so here it is, as is. I have a TON of fresh stuff I'm working on (and much harder, too, if you're in to that), as well as sequels to other stories from the recent past. Be patient, folks, it's coming. I offer a personal thank you to those who have offered their constructive criticism, cheers and input.
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Missy Thompson's panic attacks were getting debilitating. As many as three or four times a week, she would find herself in a manic state, pacing the floor, nauseous, feeling the room spin under her feet. Two times now she had actually passed out.
Missy was now into her sixth session with Doctor Patrick Vogel, a renown psychiatrist working in the city. He specifically helped people with severe anxiety issues. However, Missy was beginning to contemplate if this therapy was working at all, as all they ever did was talk. He tended to focus on her conservative upbringing and prudish temperament, and had yet to offer any advice, or medicine, to ease her anxiety attacks.
"And when was the last time you were with a partner?" asked Dr. Vogel.
Missy sat up in her chair across from him, her breasts jutting forward. She didn't intentionally show off her firm C-cups, but her thin frame made it easy for them to be prominent, regardless of her dress.
"Dr. Vogel, I think we've been over this several times. I would like to address my anxiety and we keep talking about things that I don't find relevant to the problem, like passing out uncontrollably for no reason."
"Madam, it is for a reason. You are having psychosomatic responses to a mental problem."
"Excuse me," said Missy, sitting up. "What do you mean?"
"It is time I get blunt with you, Miss Thompson. You are afraid of sex. You are actively, mentally contradicting your body's natural, physical needs. You refuse to date, you don't masturbate, you think little - if anything - of the value of a healthy sex life. And you aren't being completely honest with me with your answers. You may not even be honest with yourself. The reasons you deny yourself any sexual outlets refuse to come up in your conversations. You avoid the subject at all costs."
"Excuse me?" Missy knew she had a low libido, and frankly, whenever a sexual thought did cross her mind, she had a gift for mentally squashing the thought immediately. It was second nature to her from her upbringing. Missy's mother was an ardent advocator of purity, modesty and chastity. That, coupled with a deeply religious church upbringing that shunned sex as a whole, had gifted Missy with the skills to avoid all thoughts of sex. Missy had long left the church, but its influence resounded in her every being.
"I would like to move forward with therapy," said the doctor.
"Yeah? No kidding? It is what I am paying for," said Missy, flatly, her thinning patience showing.
The psychiatrist reached over in his chair next to him and pulled a long, oblong object out of a bag. Missy hadn't even noticed it until that moment. She almost screamed when he showed it to her. Perhaps ten or twelve inches in length and thick enough to spell serious trouble, it was a flesh-colored vibrator. It was one of the more powerful ones, holding four D batteries, though Missy didn't know that. The doctor tossed it at her, and she instinctively caught it.
"What the shit!?" she yelled.
"Listen to me carefully," barked Dr. Vogel. "When you find yourself having a panic attack, you are to IMMEDIATELY pleasure yourself with that!"
Missy never masturbated. Ever. She barely touched herself while bathing. How gross, she always thought. To put such a thing inside her? Never! Never! The doctor picked up on her strong objection.
"You don't seem to understand. This will help you," he insisted.
Missy stood up, staying silent, staring at him, yet she still held the dildo. She contemplated throwing it at him.
"And you don't have a choice," he continued.
"What?" Missy laughed. "You can't make me do anything! Just who do you think you are?"
The very thought of doing anything with what she held in her hands sent Missy reeling, and not in a good way. She felt her breathing getting faster and shorter, and her face feeling flushed. It was another of her attacks coming on. 'How dare this man offend her in such a way?' she thought. It made her very upset.
"I mean it, you don't have a choice," said the doctor, softly. "I've hypnotized you. Programmed you, one might say. I knew immediately following your first visit the very nature of your problem. You're simply sexually repressed. I spent the next two sessions confirming that theory, and then these last three I've been subtly programming you. You'll have to trust me, I'm afraid. I knew this would be the only way to get you to follow through on this treatment. You would never have agreed to masturbate otherwise."
"I haven't agreed now! And what do you mean by 'treatment?' What treatment? This is no therapy!" Missy was screaming her objections, but so many thoughts were wildly swimming in her head. It was hard to concentrate and it only made her more anxious. She finally sat back down in the seat, taking in a deep breath, trying to shake it off. "I can feel one of my attacks coming on now and I'm pretty sure it's caused by your aggravating behavior and suggestions. This isn't right at all. It's unethical and I intend to report you to the board."
Missy leaned forward to catch some deeper breaths, but it wasn't helping. She was mortified that she might end up having a full-blown attack in front of the very man that suggested she should be masturbating. He must have picked up on it.
"Miss Thompson, I will make it easy on you and will go get a coffee. I'll bring one back for you, too. It usually takes me about ten minutes to get there and back. The doctor made a clicking sound with his tongue as Missy watched him get up, grab his coat and exit out the door, locking it behind him.
With no thought to it, Missy ripped off her skirt. She hoped she hadn't torn the zipper on it when she did, but she definitely ruined her panties as she ripped them off and leaned back against the chair, spreading her legs, looking at her exposed pussy. She'd managed to hold onto the dildo while undressing this whole time. She now paused and stared at it, now in her right hand.
'Why would he suggest such a thing? I could never do this! It doesn't even make sense. It's foolish!' Yet as Missy wrangled in her mind, she went ahead and turned on the vibrator to the highest number. It's rumbling almost shook it out of her hands.
