Abused Counselors Ch 03

Three days after Christmas, Dr. Ginger Bain was back in her office talking with her partner, Dr. Phyllis Barbarosa. Ginger wore a plain blue dress with a low cut neckline; Phyllis wore a white sweatshirt and jeans, and both wore a minimum of makeup and jewelry. Ginger was a plump, grandmotherly type of 55 with shocking red hair; Phyllis was a statuesque beauty of 45 with dark hair. "So, how was Christmas?" Phyllis asked.

"Not bad. Had to make a house call."

"How long was it?"

"Oh, he had about six inches, but it was enough for this girl."

"Ginger, you're incorrigible. Who among our patients needed an emergency fucking over Christmas?"

"Harold Mims."

"Don't remember him. One of yours?"

"Yes, one of mine. Grief case, suicidal."

"So you fucked somebody to save their life?"

She gave her partner a deadpan look of disbelief. "You make it sound so ignoble."

Phyllis laughed and patted her hand. "I hope you didn't take any unnecessary risks."

"Only dietary. The food was wonderful."

"Christmas time isn't for diets."

"How was your holiday?"

"All right, but my love affair with Brian is over. Bastard stood me up without an excuse."

"Sorry to hear that. Your mother all right?"

"Yes. My daughter and granddaughter, too. I love the little imp, but I'm glad to be living by myself these days."

"At least your daughter knows better than dump her on you."

"Amen. So, you got any appointments tomorrow?"

"The usual lot. Nothing exciting. You?" "I see Mr. Shealy later today. He's put in a lot of overtime over the holidays."

"Good for you. He's really giving you a workout."

Phyllis smiled broadly. "Sweet Jesus, yes. It's been a while, and I'm so ready for a hot time. It's good I keep a change of clothes in my closet; his boss always dresses immaculately and I need to keep up appearances."

"Well, I gotta work on these damn numbers. See you later."

"Right. Be careful."

"Always. I should be saying that to you."

Phyllis left, her jeans twitching in anticipation. Ginger focused on her bookkeeping program: she handled the money for them, and needed to check over the entries before the end of the month during a lull. A knock on the door and Harold Mims entered, wearing a dapper dark suit and holding a single red rose. "Good morning, Dr. Bain."

"Good morning, Mr. Mims. Is there anything I can do for you today?" Inwardly, she groaned that he found her dressed down.

"Undoubtedly, but I am not making any demands on you. Just making an offer." He laid the rose on her desk.

She kept her focus on the screen. "Are you feeling better after the holidays?"

"Oh yes, the dark clouds are all gone. No need to work out my grief; once again, I remember my sister fondly and without much pain, grateful for what she gave me. Thank you."

"You're welcome; just doing my job." She took a quick glance at the flower and returned her attention to the numbers before. After a long silence, she said with her eyes fixed on the computer screen: "Does that rose mean what I think it does?"

"I don't know. There is a conventional meaning to this gift. In this case, it's a sign of my gratitude to you, personally, Dr. Bain."

She sighed and looked at him. "You know those three days were therapy, an act. I was trying to keep you from taking your stash of drugs. Trying to keep you alive."

"Of course. If you say so." His eyebrow lifted and a smirk came across his face.

She put her hands on her hips and tried to bore holes through his head with her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

The smile was unflappable, and the eyes were relentlessly warm. "What you did was more than Lucy would do. You took her spirit and pushed it farther. This is not what therapy of any kind requires; you were looking for enjoyment and solace as much as I was."

She sat quietly, dumbfounded. He took the rose and stroked her chubby cheek with it. "You didn't want to be lonely at Christmastime, either, in fact, you don't want to be lonely now. You try to drown yourself in work and it doesn't work. Not that you're not good at what you do, helping people. I just want to help you."

She closed her eyes and felt the gentle petal across her cheek. "What do you want?" she said huskily.

"What do you want, Dr. Bain? I want to help you. I want to make you feel like a woman, feel loved. Will you let me do that?"

"I'm not the person you think I am. I'm not an innocent, I'm not perfect."

"No, of course not. None of us are. And we'll probably have to start over from scratch, person to person rather than Doctor to patient. Would you like to give that a try?"

Harold traced her skin from her cheek down to her cleavage. The rose teased the tops of her breasts, back and forth, and she took a deep breath. "What do you ask me?"

"Dinner tonight."

"And after?" The rose traveled up her neck to work just under her ear, making giggle and pull away, but he kept the blossom there. They contested: her reluctance against his persistence. He switched sides and she tried unsuccessfully to evade him. The hilarity built and built until he finally let up and moved the rose back to her chest. She looked up at him, questioning with her eyes.

"We'll see" he said at last. "Brandy in front of the fire, perhaps? A night under the starts in a warm frothy pool? Games from our childhood, conversation with a contemporary? Candlelight. Roses. Warmth and fuzziness."

She thought for a long moment, savoring the soft flower on her skin. "Done." Closing the program, she turned to him. "You need to pick me up around 5:00. My partner has a session later I have to monitor."

"Fine. I'll be back."

She licked her lips. "I know you will."

Later that afternoon, Phyllis was sitting at her desk looking like a corporate princess. Her hands trembled as she tried to play a computer game, killing time. After a couple weeks off, she was looking forward to what he was about to do for her, and she was hoping to try a new thing or two. The office was warm, but she shivered in anticipation.

Mike Shealy came through the door, wearing a snazzy new suit, cufflinks, and a broad smile. His whole bearing was different: confident, assured, optimistic. Phyllis looked him over and nodded in affirmation. "Well, this is a definite upgrade. You must have had an excellent holiday season. What's going on, Mr. Shealy? Today seems very different, you seem very different."

It looked like Mike's smile couldn't be pried from his face without radical surgery. "Betty Boobs got fired for mismanagement. Left yesterday; pitched a fit and bitched between the notification and the departure. It was so sweet seeing the look on her face as she stumbled out the door with her box of personal items. A wonderful, late Christmas present."

"Excellent. That must be a load off your mind. Who got her job?"

"I did. They gave it to me, and I feel ready, ready to run. Things are going to be good. It will be a Happy New Year, a happy new life."

She sat down behind her desk. "That must be great, Mr. Shealy. This may be our last session."

"Oh, really?" he said with some disappointment.

"Probably," she hedged. "You're feeling good right now, but we probably need to let some of that last resentment out, wring every drop of anger from you. Once that's gone, you're free."

Mike rocked back and forth rubbing his hands, anxious. "Okay. Sounds good to me. Bend over."

Standing quickly, she waved her finger in front of his face. "Now, now, now, not so fast; I'm in charge here. Who's the counselor? Today we do things differently. You'll get to do what you've always dreamed of doing, don't worry about that. But things will be different. Have to be this last time."

She unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a bright red bra. "I'm going to make you wait today, Mr. Shealy. Betty Boobs won't be around to tease you everyday from now on, so we'll have to make this longer, more intense, bring about some closure."

"I don't understand."

"You will, Mr. Shealy, you will. Trust me." She got a couple of things out of her desk, then came around to sit on the desk in front of him. "For now you sit still and watch."

Her blouse dropped to the floor, and her bra joined it shortly. Her breasts hung free, swaying slightly, nipples perking, and he licked his lips. "I want you, Betty Boobs," he growled.

"I know you do. Down boy, keep it under control. Patience. Revenge is a dish best served cold."

He almost salivated in expectation as he looked at her tits, the orbs that represented his chief tormentor for months. "I want to make you pay, Betty Boobs. I want to make you really pay."

"You will. Don't worry." She cupped her breasts, mashing them close together, and held them in front of him, not six inches away. "Stare her down. Look at her. Keep your hands on the arms of your chair until I tell you." Her nipples were starting hard and erect. "Tell her what you want to say. Tell her what you want to do to her."

He spat on her, his saliva running down her lustrous, white skin. "You made me suffer just to get your kicks. You enjoyed giving me pain." He spat again, and the creamy liquid trailed down like semen toward her huge brown nipple. "You're worthless, cruel child. You deserve getting your ass fired, Betty Boobs."

"Your stupidity got me fired," she said with a harsh voice, rubbing her breasts together slightly as she spoke. "You can't do anything right, and I got the blame. Now I'm out of a job and it's your fault."

He spat on her lustrous, rounded flesh again."You toyed with me. You frustrated me."

"You deserved it." He spat on her breasts again and again, making them wet and slimy.

"I want to make you pay this one last time; I want to make you suffer like never before."

Her voice shifted: "What you like to do to Betty Boobs? Slap her, choke her?" A loud slap rang out and a handprint appeared on her left breast.

"I'd like to tie her up and fuck her," he said, his eyes intense and his hands wringing in his lap once again.

Phyllis looked at the fire in his eyes and smiled. For a moment, she was afraid he expected to try to handcuff her or bind her, leave her helpless. But her preparation and expectation gave her an option. This would be special, and if it was farewell, would be a fit finale. "All right. You can do that. I have a way." She reached back and brought out a long, red silken rope. "We'll tie her up with this rope. All you need do is hold this when I ask you." She looped the rope underneath her breasts and wound a couple more strands. "Here, hold this here in the middle."

He did, holding the triple loop as she wrapped the cord around base of each breast a couple times, then a couple of times around both to pull them together. Finally, the end went over her shoulder and around her neck, creating a halter effect. She had him tie it off by her right arm, then pushed him back in his chair. "Well, Betty Boobs is tied up. Like what you see?"

"I've never seen anything like that before. That's. . .that's. . .that's amazing. Is it comfortable?"

"Of course not, Mike. Betty Boobs doesn't like it at all. She's helpless before you. You can do anything you like and she can't help it."

"How am I supposed to fuck her?" he wondered.

"Just a moment." Phyllis turned around and took a pair of sharp scissors and a roll of surgical tape. She cut a piece almost long enough to run from one armpit to another, and put on end on the side of her right breast. Then she started applying it, pushing her breast inward to its maximum until she got to the end, her nipple half covered. The other breast was pushed in, and the tape brought the two nipples together, going on to the ending toward her left armpit, holding her breasts tight against each other.

"Now I have to position things carefully, and you may need to put your hands on my desk to balance yourself." She knelt before him, leaning back, her newly created cleavage vagina slightly under belt high. "You were very good at reviling her a moment ago. If you do the same thing, spit on her and aiming for the underside, she'll be slick enough you'll get to fuck her really hard."

"Sweet." He spat on the underside of her breasts. "You slut. You deserve this. You deserve all the shit the world can throw at you. Dimwit. Idiot. Bitch. Whore. I'm going to fuck you and there's nothing you can do about it, nothing at all. I'm going to fill you up."

"You don't dare. I hate you, I hate your little cock, I hate your stupid face. You can't do it, limpdick. You couldn't possibly fuck me. You'd die trying and I'd die laughing."

Again, he spat at her, thrusting his hand between her breasts to lubricate them. "You're ready enough. I'm going to fuck you Betty Boobs, I'm going to fuck you hard. I'm going to make you like it and miss me when you're gone." He pulled his rigid pole from his pants, and thrust it between her tits, making her moan. Starting slowly, he worked up speed, watching the end of his thick rod piston up and down the other side of the titcunt. She leaned back on her knees, holding herself by her hands flat on the floor, athletic enough to use the awkward position to please him. His cockhead came close enough to her lips for her tongue to slip out and lick it, which she did with every thrust.

"C'mon, tell her what you think. Give it to her."

"I'm fucking you, Betty Boobs, I'm fucking you with my big cock. You're going to miss me, now you know I've got a pole in my pants. Harlot, asswipe, brown noser. I'm getting you back for all the blue balls you gave me the past year. I'm gonna spray my load down your tight little cunt. I'm gonna sperm you, I'm gonna, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, NOW!" His cherry red member shot several pulses of creamy whiteness over Phyllis' chest and face; she licked and sucked all the fluid in reach, capturing the cockhead and sucking him dry.

He sat back, his pants open, and she stood to sit on her desk again, her shoulders and face glistening and her breasts turning red in their confinement. "Is it good, Mike?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes." As he looked up at her, a realization crossed his mind. There wasn't much time for a plan, but he had to take a chance. Time to make a play for his real desire. "One more thing."

"Yes?" she asked.

"I'd like to choke Betty a little."

"Oh. All right. How fitting. Yes, that makes sense, I can see that." She was a little puzzled, nervous before remembering Ginger was observing, protecting her from real mayhem.

She relaxed and started to open her mouth when he cut her off. "I know how to do it," he said.

"Really? How?"

"Really. Take the ropes off." He grabbed one end of the surgical tape by her armpit and ripped it off with one quick jerk, making her scream and bend over in surprise and pain.

"Yes," she whispered, taking the shears from her desk and cutting her breasts out of their ropy confinement in seconds. They hung free, swaying slightly, returning to their healthy color. Eagerly, she waited for his idea.

Getting up, he looked around her. "There's a pair of ice tongs on the desk."

"Yes?" she said with lust in her voice.

He spotted them and picked them up, inspecting them closely. "Know what should I do with these? I think I know what you're going to say."

She smiled: "Take one of the nubs with the tongs and squeeze it. Dig the little teeth in if possible. Squeeze it like you'd like to squeeze her throat." Coldly, he took the jaws and snapped them menacingly. Taking his time, he approached her delicate curve and rubbery brown bud, smiling broadly Letting her feel the cold metal for a few moments, he clamped the tongs down on her right nipple, getting a generous portion of brown flesh in its grip. "Hold on tight, yes, and watch," she said, breathily. "Watch it. Watch it suffer and turn color like she would."

He sat down, breathed heavily and held fast, making her wince. Her breathing became deep and shuddering, then she got control again. They sat in that tableau, punctuated by a passing rainshower, his eyes fixed on the captive flesh, her eyes fixed on his. Her mind traveled a marathon: was he what he seemed to be? Could she trust him? Could he see her as she was and feel the same as he did now? The nipple turned red, then deepened and went to light purple. Her head went back and forth, her mouth opened, her hands quivering, but her body stayed still. When it reached deep purple, she pushed his hand and whispered: "Go to the other one. That's all that one can take." He obeyed and she almost convulsed as the blood rushed back to her strangled flesh. He held fast to his meditation as he watched the left nipple progress from brown to red to purple; she tried to look through his forehead and see the workings of his mind beneath the surface, the thoughts she could not deduce. "Let go, she's gone. She's gone," she said when the limit was reached, and bent over backward in agony when he released her.

Reaching up, he took her breasts into his hands and started milking them, making her gasp and shudder. "I've realized something," he asked.

"Oh. What did you realize just now?"

He reached under her skirt and ripped a red thong from his body, throwing it over his shoulder casually. "I'm haven't fucking Betty Boobs, not at all. I'm was fucking you, Phyllis, always, and you wanted it." She started to speak, but he silenced twisting her tits. "This isn't all about my therapy, I was doing your will, following your orders. You build up this fantasy to get me to torture you. I was turning YOUR skin red and raw, I was punishing YOUR ass and tits, I was fucking YOUR face and YOU were swallowing my dick juice. And most importantly, YOU were enjoying every moment; YOU were expecting me every week to give YOU what YOU wanted. You've been using me."

Phyllis looked at him coldly, and he reached down with his right hand, playing with her clitoris, while still milking her right nipple. "All right, Mike. I've been using you. I admit it. Ahhh, Ahhh! And you've enjoyed it, too. You've benefitted from this as well. O my God, what are you doing to me?"

"Yes, I have, and I'm trying to get to the next level." A hard slap on her tender globe rang out and a groan replied. "You've been doing all this, you've been setting all these sessions up to turn you on, because you're a slut." Another slap.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm a slut, I've always been a slut. Hit me again." Another slap, and she gasped for several long moments. After she recovered she said placidly: "Now what?"

He lifted her to sit on the edge of the desk and positioned his mouth even with her crotch. "I'm going to eat your cunt, and I hope you have a screaming orgasm."

"Already did, twice today," she said, smiling.

"Here's number three." Then he buried his face between her legs. His right hand came back up again and he kneaded her boobs roughly, while using his tongue, lips and teeth in her dripping valley. She gibbered and wailed, her sore boobs flopping wildly. Thrashing back and forth, she cradled his head until she orgasmed with a long, low wail that threatened to crack the windows. After he finished, he licked her clean, spitting hair from his mouth as he fell back into his chair.

Putting his cock back and zipping up, she sat down on the floor before her desk and looked up at him, her makeup askew. They looked at each other, daring, questioning, wondering.

"You like being spanked," he began.

"I love being spanked," she replied.

"You like being abused."

"I love being abused."

"You like big dicks."

"I love big dicks. I worship big dicks. I'd suck your big dick eight days a week."

"You know, I looked forward to these sessions so much, I can hardly walk over here, my dick's so hard."

"Good. I'm glad. You're nice guy, Mike. I'm on your side. I want you to feel good. Didn't our sessions help you at work?"

"Yes. I couldn't take Betty seriously after I finished with you every week. I relaxed, and she didn't know what to do with me. She'd yell at me, I'd take notes, and give her a damn big stupid smile which unhinged her completely."