Abused Counselors Ch 02

Dr. Ginger Bain sat and watched the snowflakes fly outside her window. Five minutes to five on Christmas Eve, and she faced another holiday alone. Her partner in practice, Phyllis Barbarosa, had already left to see her family in sunny Florida, and Ginger was on call in case any of their patients had the holiday blues.

Ginger looked at the clock and at her diploma on the wall. Sure, they were stretching the truth, calling themselves "Counselors", but they were inside the law and her Doctor of Philosophy in Home Economics from Panhandle State was legitimate. Her thoughts wandered to dinner and where that may be had, and after that what entertainment she could find for herself. She was a plump 55 year old grandmotherly woman with shocking red hair, and red polish on her pudgy nails, a blue blouse and black skirt, her blue eyes sparkled thinking about how she could amuse herself. The bars would be closed, but the shower attachment in her tub would help give her solace for the next few days.

A soft rapping was heard on her door, and her secretary, Martha Cole stuck her head in. "Dr. Bain, an old patient would like to see you. He says it's urgent."

"Who is it?"

"Harold Mims."

She thought for a moment and remembered him. He was a tall, thin man in his mid 60's with dignified bearing which grey hair ennobled and a curled moustache accented. His sister died a year and a half ago, and she'd helped with his grieving process. Like many of her patients, he did not need all the special services she was willing to offer, but through kindness and common sense he had left her care nine months earlier.

"Send him in, and you may go for the day. Merry Christmas, Martha."

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Bain."

A moment later, Harold Mims strode into the room. He looked downcast and shuffled as he approached. She rose to greet him, looking up at his face a foot higher than hers. "Mr. Mims, how's it going? It's been a while."

"It has indeed, Dr. Bain. How are you this evening?"

"Other than being stuck here alone for the holiday, I'm fine. Just reviewing my plans when you came in. I take it you're not doing well."

"That's an understatement, Dr. Bain. The past few days have been extremely difficult, since my relationship with my son and daughter are still estranged, I will be spending the holidays alone."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Tell me more."

"Well, it's at times like these I miss Lucy, my sister, the most. She always made Christmas quite special for me." He took out a handkerchief and began sobbing quietly.

"Yes, it's times like these we miss those we love, especially if we're alone."

"I can hardly bear it," he sobbed, "sometimes I think it would be better if I were with her again."

"Oh, you will be, you will be. Just not yet."

He stopped and put his handkerchief away. "I've been thinking of taking the special cache of pills I've put aside."

"I thought I asked you to throw them away."

"I've restocked it."

"But suicide isn't going to help. You have many good years ahead of you."

He started sobbing again. "Not alone, not alone."

Carefully, she put a comforting hand on his shoulder as his body wracked in grief. If he could make it through the next few days, he would be all right, she knew it. For a few minutes she held the pose, letting him sob as he had for many times before in her presence. When he was ready, she would find something to make him come to his senses.

Finally, he sat up and put his handkerchief away. She looked at him, and said calmly. "Maybe if you remembered and talked through those memories it would help. What did you and Lucy usually do this time of year?"

He sniffed, sat down, put his hands on his lap, and looked up. "We would start Christmas Eve at my house. Decorated beautifully, I would make everything perfect for her: a fresh, well decked tree, green wreaths all over the house, scores of candles, a huge bowl of warm, buttered Rum Cider punch, a huge fire roaring in the fireplace."

"Mistletoe?"

A tear crept down his cheek. "Yes, of course. I loved my sister. We'd have a lovely dinner of our favorite family fare: home made pierogies fried in butter, carp, almond potatoes, lots of wonderful pastries. When we finished, we'd sit by the fire and listen to Handel's Messiah."

"That sounds very nice. Very nice indeed."

"I did all the decorations and had all the food prepared, but I couldn't take it, I just had to get out of there."

"I'm sorry."

"Then, after the last chorus, we'd drink brandy together, and things would get a little silly."

"Silly, Mr. Mims?"

"I'm ashamed to say."

"I'm a professional, Mr. Mims, everything you've told me is in strict confidence. Getting it out will help you."

He sniffed again, and smiled. "We'd play silly games. We'd kick off our shoes and I'd tickle her feet on the bearskin in front of the fire. Oh my God, it was so wonderful to hear her laugh, so bright and cheerful. When we'd laughed ourselves hoarse, we'd go to bed."

"Do you have a picture of her?"

He pulled out his wallet, and opened it. Lucy stood next to her brother, a foot shorter, and plump. "Would you like to try a little role play this evening, Mr. Mims?"

His face had a puzzled look as he raised his head. "Role play? We've never done that before."

"I know, I know. Would you like to take something from that a tradition to another setting?"

"I guess. Don't know what else I can do."

"Fine. Did your wife ever let you tickle her?"

"Harriet was a frigid bitch; it's a miracle she conceived, and her children are just like her."

"Okay." Ginger reached down and removed her shoes, revealing thick black socks. "What if I let you tickle my feet?"

A curious look was her response, complete with arched eyebrows and sparkling eyes. "I don't know. I've never tickled someone else's feet." The socks came off, revealing two chubby feet with alternating red and green nail polish. Harold's face lit up with a broad smile. "Oho, Lucy did that too, at Christmas time. And your feet are almost exactly like hers."

She lifted her feet to rest on his knees and wiggled her toes. "Merry Christmas. Call me Lucy. Make me laugh."

It began with a finger trailing across the sole of her right foot. It was clever and found every sensitive spot; Ginger smiled broadly as he stimulated her. The fingertips raked the sole and moved to the other, and she let out a yip. "Oh, you're still the ticklish one, Lucy." He started counting her piggy toes, just like a child, and attacked them after he started counting. She laughed and laughed as he tickled her, her balance wobbling back and forth in her chair.

Up and down he went, one foot then another, grinning manically and laughing at her amusement. "I'm not stopping until you say Uncle," he warned.

"Why should I say Uncle?" she asked between gusts of laughter.

"Cause I'm gonna make you." He attacked her feet again, making her shake and wiggle, gasping for breath.

"Let's go to the floor," she said when he paused, and they lowered themselves to the floor, her skirt rising above her knees. He reached up and tickled the underside of her knee, making her yelp.

"You're as ticklish there as Lucy."

"Stay in character: call me Lucy, ahahahahahaha!"

Going back and forth between her feet and her knees, he kept her laughing and rolling around for several moments until she finally gasped "Uncle." She lay there, breathing heavily for several moments before she could talk. "How do you feel now, Mr. Mims?"

"Better," he said, running his hand through his hair, "Better. You're very ticklish, Dr. Bain."

"Yes. It's been a while. Let me breathe and you can tickle me again."

"I can? Wonderful. Are your ribs ticklish?"

"Yes. I'm pretty much ticklish all over. And before you ask, yes, you can."

He smiled broadly and waited impatiently for her to settle down. "You know, it's been a Christmas tradition for us for the past fifteen years, after Lucy's husband left her."

"All right, Harold, let's go again. Make me say Uncle."

"Harry, call me Harry." He started with the soles of her feet, making her laugh lightly before trailing his fingers up to tease the backs of her kneecaps. Moving between her legs, he tickled her thighs, making her giggle, until he dove into her tummy, running up and down and all around her curves, reaching her ribs and making her shriek time after time. The undersides of her breasts were ticklish as well, even through the heavy fabric of her bra. She kicked her legs and writhed as he knelt over her and made her laugh, bringing tears to her eyes.

"Uncle" she said, and the air whooped in as she tried to breathe normally.

He sat back, grinning broadly, and ran his hand through his hair. "Dr. Bain, I can't thank you enough."

"Wait a minute, Harold. You said you had everything ready at your house?"

"Yes. Have to boil the water for the pierogies, but otherwise, all is in readiness."

She stood up and turned off her computer. "Would you like to continue the roleplay a bit longer?"

He looked at his watch. "How long?"

"Three days?"

He thought for several moments. "But don't you have family commitments yourself?"

She shook her head, her face suddenly sober. "Nope. My children are all off on a cruise, without me. My husband got a trophy wife fifteen years ago. If you don't mind me taking my beeper and running out in case of an emergency, I'd love to play your sister for the next few days."

For the next few minutes, his face went through several transformations. At last, he had an answer for her. "Capital."

"Let me get a few things from my apartment and I'll be right with you."

"I'll be in the lobby downstairs."

Ginger saw him out the door of her office and locked it behind him. As she collected her cell phone and other things, she could imagine the voice of her partner Phyllis in her ears: "Ginger, you're taking an unnecessary chance. Remember that little old lady you were sure couldn't hurt you? Who turned out to be a former East German prison guard? And almost maimed you for life once you let her put you in handcuffs? Have you studied this patient's file enough? For all you know, he could have murdered his sister."

Stopping, Ginger got out Harold Mims' file and looked through it. He was a retired businessman, living in an exclusive neighborhood, no police record, no indication of psychosis, married, divorced with two children who ignored him, sister died of a heart attack 18 months previously. Therapy progressed well, and he was discharged with no reservations or annotations.

Ginger lived in an apartment on the upper floors of her office building, so it was the work of ten minutes to prepare a bag to last her three days. Being a woman of simple needs and no pretensions allowed her to pack efficiently.

When she returned to the lobby, she found him waiting for her. "Well, shall we call a cab?"

"No need. My driver awaits us outside. By the time we get home, everything will be in readiness."

A chill went down her spine, but she smiled and allowed him to escort her to the back of a stretch limo that waited on the curb. They made chit chat during the drive, leaving the core of the city behind and entering the affluent part of town. Snow was starting to fall, and the traffic light as most citizens had found their holiday landing. An automatic gate admitted them to a large mansion, and the driver held the door for her to exit.

As they entered, a maid met them at the door and took her bag to the guest room. There were candles lit everywhere, creating a soft glow, and in the dining room a small feast awaited them. "Please, make yourself at home, Dr. Bain."

"Lucy. Call me Lucy."

"All right, Lucy. This is a special night." He escorted her to the table, holding a chair for her to sit down, and getting her settled at the table. Then he lit the candles on the dining table himself, and fetched two crystal cups full of warm brown punch for them to sip. Everything was delicious and the punch magical. The food was simple, homemade, and delicious, severed on fine china.

They sat on the couch afterward, listening to Handel, reveling in the warmth of the fire. It was good and comfortable, but she couldn't shake a sense of concern at the situation. It didn't feel like a brother and sister evening, especially the way he put his arm around her.

Finishing the punch as the Oratorio ended, he threw another log on the fire, and sat next to her. "The servants have all left," he whispered in her ear.

"Oh," she whispered back. "That means I'm not safe."

"No, you aren't, Lucy," he murmured, before his tickling fingers dug into her ribs.

They writhed on the couch several minutes, wrestling as well as tickling, and she shrieked at the top of her lungs as he made her laugh. Falling off the couch onto a bearskin rug, she was trapped on her back, he astride her, his eyes glowing in the firelight. She writhed and rolled, kicking her legs, trying to escape but he held her firmly, not letting up until she cried "Uncle". After a pause, he attacked again, and she was lost in laughter, tears rolling from her eyes.

He stopped again, smiling broadly, and said: "Dr. Bain, I have a confession."

"Yes." She looked up at him, still full of mirth. "This is a bit of a strange place for one, but go ahead."

"You know from my file I lived with my sister for many years when our spouses so unceremoniously dumped us."

"Yes, I do. You lived here, didn't you?" "Of course. I was one of the best commodity traders the Exchange ever knew, and I quit the game far, far ahead. I gave my ex-wife and my children sufficient for them to leave me alone and wrote them out of my will knowing they would have enough money for a lifetime."

"Interesting. But you were closest to your sister."

"Lucy was such a grand woman. She was everything to me. Everything."

"I know. We talked a lot about that."

"I didn't tell you how much."

"Oh. Does this have to do with the erection in your pants?"

"Yes. I used to tickle my Lucy on Christmas Eve right here at this fireplace until she screamed."

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean now. Then what?"

"I would strip her clothes off and we'd fuck in front of the fireplace like maniacs"

"Oh."

A stately grandfather clock ticked away on the other side of the room. "Do you still want to play Lucy the next three days?"

She thought for a moment, then asked: "Where are the servants?"

"Gone home. I always sent them off for the three days around Christmas."

She thought for another moment, then dug her fingers into his ribs, making him scream, but his legs were strong enough to maintain his grip, and he retaliated until they both were shrieking like children. Then their clothes came off, and they fucked like maniacs until the fire burned out. She was worried about the color of his face as he approached his orgasm, but she reveled in the touch of flesh on flesh, and surprised herself with the intensity of her own climax.

Ginger awakened Christmas morning in a strange bedroom. It wasn't the first time she ever did that, but the first time in a decade or so. Harold slept soundly beside her; she stroked his grey head and smiled. Thank God he hadn't turned out to be a monster after all. Somehow she'd put on her pink nightie with fur trim, a Rubensian goddess updated for the 21st century. Her shocking red hair was disheveled, and she wore no makeup. Harold looked rather cute as he slept, and looking at the digital clock told her it was 9:30AM. Her stomach rumbled, and she wondered what she could rustle in the kitchen. He was sound asleep, so she thought she'd fix him breakfast.

It was a little difficult at first, working in a strange kitchen, but soon she had made biscuits, fixed sausages with gravy, scrambled eggs, coffee, orange juice, and fetched the morning paper from the driveway, shivering in the cold in her transparent wrap. Her doctorate in Home Economics came in useful from time to time. Fortunately, the estate was big enough the neighbors hadn't seen her and his servants were on Christmas leave.

Leaving everything to keep warm, she returned to find him still asleep in the bed. Smiling, she thought of how to wake him. Slipping under the covers, she moved down to his midsection, taking his limp worm from his pajamas. A few licks on his testicles and hot air made the worm stir from its lair, and she began licking the head slowly, teasing the end. He laid back and caressed her head through the blankets, purring as she aroused him. Soon he was fully erect, and she took his corona in her mouth, swirling and sucking. Pausing, she dropped to the soft skin beneath, and licked his balls again while stroking his shaft, producing wetness. He started quivering, and she went back up to suck him in, receiving her morning appetizer in fifteen seconds.

"Good morning, Lucy. Merry Christmas," he purred.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

"You look lovely today."

"Thanks. You ready for breakfast?" He nodded, and started to crawl forward. "I've got food ready downstairs."

"It can wait," he murmured, and pushed her to her back, parting her legs. His tongue began flicking, and his hands reached up to stroke her breasts. His technique was unimaginative, but effective. His tongue found all the right places in her crotch, his fingers found her delicate nipples and played them like a virtuoso, and before long she screamed in joy as she climaxed.

"Now what did you say about breakfast?" he inquired.

"What breakfast?"

Harold enjoyed the food immensely, and said it was the best Christmas breakfast he ever had. Ginger cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwater. "Now, dear brother, what shall we do to celebrate this glorious day?"

"Well, we usually spend part of the morning in the hot tub on the deck."

"Do we?"

"Oh, yes. I usually make a pitcher of Mimosas, and we sit in the hot water naked."

"Sounds good to me."

He prepared the pitcher, she started the hot tub on the deck and they went to out to bathe when it was ready. Snow was starting to fall and catch on the bare limbs on the trees in the back yard. The sky was grey and fluffy, and they could see the huge Christmas tree lit through the deck window. It was an eight foot tree, festooned with a galaxy of multicolored lights and decked with multiple ornaments. Ginger sipped her drink, reveled in the water, and gazed at her partner. His body was worn but still strong, the grey hair of his chest enhancing the power remaining in his upper arms and chest. She was painfully aware of her sagging breasts, her pert nipples barely above the waterline, her fat stomach, the grey hair invading her pubic region. If she'd known this was going to happen, she would have gotten a waxing, or at least dyed it to match her head.

The water was warm, and she didn't feel the chill of the north wind as it blew across her. He kept staring at her, smiling broadly, his eyes unsated by the sight of her. "You know, you look very much like Lucy."

"Oh? In what way?"

"She was always a bit plump. My wife was a fence rail, and I've always been found of ample women more appealing. Earthy. Sexy."

"Why did you marry your wife?"

"I was crazy, I was stupid. Going through a period of self delusion, didn't realize she just wanted to use me to give her the lifestyle she wanted. I settled for the only woman who seemed to like me, hoping for a dynasty. I was wrong."

"And Lucy was. . ."

"Lucy was my ideal. She was funny and smart, lumpy and luscious, huge knockers like yours, thick nipples, magic blue eyes. We fooled around when we were kids; my folks never found out, thank God, that we took each other's virginity. We knew it couldn't last, and we went our separate ways to marry and live our lives apart."

"And you ended up back with each other?"

"Yes. It was magic. Until she was gone."