A Different Ind of Therapy

Session 1. Not Your Normal Therapy Session

It was a cold, miserable, rainy, Tuesday in March, in the late afternoon, and I was sitting on the couch in my therapist's office for my bi-weekly session. Dr. Gupta was treating me for depression and sleep disorder which I've struggled with for in the last ten years. I admit it took me a while to admit that I needed to get help. I'd always thought I was supposed to handle it all: the marriage, the kids (ages 13, 14, and 17), and the job.

Admitting to myself that I wasn't able had been a big step. Arranging my schedule, both work and home, so I could make the appointments had taken me a while longer. The therapy had helped for a while, but I seemed to have hit some kind of wall. The depression was drifting back and I was having trouble sleeping again.

Last week, Dr. Gupta had tried to talk me into medications for about the hundredth time. She wasn't trying that today.

We were about half-way through our fifty-minute session when she sighed deeply. "Pam, you've been coming to see me for how long? Three years now?" Dr. Gupta had grown up in India and come to the States after college. She still had that vaguely English, lilting accent from her native country; it was very soothing to listen to.

"Yes, I think so," I said. "About three years."

"And you trust me, you're comfortable with me, right?" I tilted my head and looked at her. I had no idea where she was going with this. It was true that I hadn't been comfortable when we'd first me: she was so different from me that I wasn't sure we could relate. She was about ten years younger than me with dark hair and a coffee-colored complexion. The red dot in the middle of her forehead proclaimed her foreign upbringing. I didn't know if she was married or had children and I thought I needed someone who knew those things from the inside.

But after we'd talked for about fifteen minutes that first meeting, I knew she was the person to help me. And she had been, until I'd hit this wall.

"Yes. Of course, Dr. Gupta. I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you."

"I'm worried about you. You've been backsliding lately and I don't feel like I've been helping you. Are you being totally open with me? You're not holding things back, are you?"

"No. Why would I waste my time if I wasn't going to tell you everything?"

"Exactly. Neither one of us wants to waste our time. But you haven't let go of your guilt and you have started to backslide. You lack discipline. I'm very disappointed in you lately."

I looked at her and felt my eyes fill with tears. She had never talked so sternly to me before. It was like she was angry. But I knew she was right. I sniffed to try and hold back my tears.

"Can you tell me why I shouldn't be disappointed in you, Pam?"

The tears began to drip down my face then. "No, Dr. Gupta. You're right. I'm disappointed in myself too."

"So, we're agreed that this therapy is not helping your right now. And you will not accept drugs."

"Maybe, I..."

"Enough, I don't want to go through those arguments again. I want to try a different kind of therapy. Something radical. But I think it will be helpful to you. I've been using it more and more with my patients lately and I've been happy with the results."

"Okay. I'll try anything right now," I sniffled.

"You must put yourself completely into my hands. This is not a therapy that is licensed or approved by the psychology boards. But it was developed locally; right at your University in the last two years. It's quite unconventional and as I said, radical. So I need to ask you one more time: Do you trust me, completely?"

I looked at her through my tears filled eyes. She just looked back at me, completely serene, completely confidant. I wished I could have that feeling. "Um, okay." I took a deep breath. "I trust you. What do we do?"

"This is a physically based therapy. It was developed for people who were stuck in place and needed to find discipline and release. It is based on corporal punishment techniques as well as trust and interpersonal relationships. New relationships. Random relationships."

I was stuck on the first part, "Uh. Corporal punishment, Dr. Gupta?"

"Yes, Pam. It is a spanking therapy."

"Spanking? I'm not sure I..."

"Hush, Pamela. You said you trusted me, remember?"

"Yes, but..."

"No more speaking. Stand up. Come over and stand by me." She indicated a spot to the side of her chair. Mechanically, I got up and moved next to her. "Now, get over my lap." I looked at her blankly. She reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Over my lap," she said again and pulled.

We were both wearing dress slacks. She had on a silk blouse and jacket, I had a knit top on. I hadn't really thought about what either of us was wearing until our clothes came in contact as I fell across her lap. She bent my arm behind my back to hold me in place and quickly her hand started raining slaps on my behind.

I was still crying; it got worse. "Ow. Ouch. Stop, please stop. Dr. Gupta, please stop." I squirmed on her lap. She didn't stop; she just kept on spanking me.

My ass started feeling hot. The warmth spread all over my body. I hadn't been spanked since I was a child and the feeling took me back somehow. But it was more than that. I wasn't sure what, but there was something. I stopped squirming so much, the tears almost stopped.

Dr. Gupta did stop. "Stand up again," she commanded, manipulating my arm so I had to. I struggled and stumbled so I was standing next to her again. "That was a beginning. I want you to think about this spanking and the feelings it gives you whenever you start to feel depressed."

"Yes, Doctor. I will."

"But it's not enough. Undo your pants. Drop them to the floor."

"What?"

"I said, drop your pants."

"I don't understand." I was in a daze, this was so bizarre.

"Pamela," Dr. Gupta said harshly. "No, never mind. Just stand there." She reached up and unbuckled my skinny belt, leaving the ends hanging. Then she unzipped my slacks and opened them at the waist. She pushed them down over my hips and down around my ankles. My blouse hung only to my waist, so my green-striped cotton panties were all that stood between me and being naked. I suddenly realized hot wet I was.

"Oh my god," I thought. "Don't let her notice please." She didn't give me any time to think about it though. She grabbed my wrist again and pulled me back down over her lap. Her hand lay heavily on my bottom, not moving. I was glad I'd worn full coverage panties. I blushed imagining having her hand there if I'd worn a thong.

"Pamela, listen to me. You've been slacking off and letting yourself go. You need to get control of yourself. And this is a method of helping you do that. The spankings will give you a focus. And if you let the pain wash over you, they will give you a manner of relief."

Her hand moved. She spanked me hard on each cheek five times. It hurt so much more without my pants in the way. "Ouch, ow. Stop. No." I whined. She didn't stop until she'd counted the five on each side. I felt her reach over to her desk, which was just at the edge of her range. She held a 1-foot wooden ruler down in front of my face so I could see it.

"No, please no." I said and squirmed on her lap. It was then I noticed that she wasn't holding me anymore. I could have gotten up. I tried to make myself get up, but I couldn't.

She smacked me once on each buttock with the ruler. "Pamela, listen to me." It was like a signal. "Each time you feel yourself slipping, each time you feel yourself feeling bad about yourself, I want you to think of being over my lap, I want you to think about this."

She hit me more, 3 or four times on the cheeks, a couple of time on my thighs, which she hadn't hit before. I could feel the crotch of my panties getting more and more wet with my juices. Damn it hurt, so why was I so wet. Did I like this?

"Pamela, listen to me. I want you to think about this spanking and let it serve as absolution for all you think you've done wrong."

Then she started hitting me again, hard, harder than before. I started crying hard and saying, "Stop. Please. Don't. Stop. Ow. That hurts. You're hurting me." But I made no move to get up. My tears were just flowing like a river -- and so was my sex. But after some number of smacks, I shut up and just took it. I felt a wave of bliss wash over me like nothing I'd ever felt before. It wasn't an orgasm. It was like punching through a barrier and being free on the other side. Later I realized it was endorphins, but at the moment, I felt it as release. I found myself holding onto Dr. Gupta's leg, balling my eyes out, shuddering as she beat me.

I didn't notice when she stopped. At some point I realized that I was still crying and she wasn't hitting me anymore. I slowly got control of myself. The tears slowly dried up. Dr. Gupta's left hand was resting on my bottom once again and just holding me steady. Her right hand produced a kleenex from some where and held it out for me once I was no longer oblivious. I had no idea what had happened to the ruler.

I lay over Dr. Gupta's lap for a few minutes, catching my breath and blowing my nose. Trying to gain some semblance of my dignity again -- though dignity is pretty hard to find when you're in that position and your pants are around your ankles.

When she decided that I'd recovered enough, Dr. Gupta said gently, "There now, Pam. You did very, very well. I'm proud of you. I want you to stand up now and pull your pants back up. Be careful, you might be a little unsteady."

I gathered what dignity I'd found and stood up as smoothly as I could, then bent down and pulled my slacks up and started doing them. "You're going to feel very cold in a minute, Pam. And probably very shaky. I want you to go back to the couch and wrap yourself up in the blanket there."

I simply nodded and did as I was told. And she was right, as soon as I was sitting with the blanket around me I started feeling the shakes and the chills. I shivered and pulled the blanket more closely around myself. Dr. Gupta poured something hot from a thermos on her desk into a styrofoam cup and then spooned a heavy dose of sugar into the cup. She stirred it as she walked over to me. "Here, drink this, it'll help."

I needed two hands to take the cup from her, but the tea was very welcome, even if it had a taste much different from anything I was used to. Dr. Gupta sat back in her chair and looked at me carefully. She seemed happy with what she saw.

"This was a big first step, Pam. I am very proud of you. And I want you to be proud of yourself too. When you think back on this the next few days it will give you strength and make you feel better about yourself. Now, tell me, do you have a smart cell phone?"

"Yea, yes, Dr. Gupta. A..a..an iPhone." I was still a little shaky and chilled.

"Ah, very good. The best. Now, tell me your email address." I gave it to her. "Listen to me, Pamela," she intoned, "I will send you a link to an application for your iPhone. It is not a standard app and the installation is different from others. But you are technical you should be able to follow the instructions. I want you to have the app installed on your iPhone on your next visit. Bring it along. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Okay, I will, Dr. Gupta."

"Good. Are you feeling more steady?" I'd just shifted the blanket off my shoulders. I was warming up.

"Yes, I think so."

"I thought so. There's a mirror over there, and some tissues. I think you'll want to fix your makeup." I stood and looked at myself. My face was a mess. Crying will totally screw up your face. I wiped off most of what was left and then bent into my purse to get my makeup kit. I started to put my face back together.

Dr. Gupta was writing at her desk. "I want to see you again on Friday, Pamela."

"I'm not sure, I can..."

"Your university schedule should be flexible enough. Will four o'clock work?"

"I, um," I stood looking at her through the mirror, my mascara pen in my hand, feeling dumbfounded.

"I will put you down for four o'clock. Tomorrow you will go in and rearrange your schedule if you need to. I can move the time somewhat on Friday if you can not do four. But I want you to come in that day. Do you understand?"

For some reason the ache on my ass reasserted itself for a moment. "Yes, Dr. Gupta. I understand." I mumbled.

"Good. Go back to your makeup."

When I finished I turned back to her. She made me wait for a moment, then turned and gave my face a once over, squinting a little. "That is acceptable. No one will realize unless they took a picture this morning. Here, drink this." She handed me another, bigger styrofoam cup. This tea was just barely cold, but equally as sweet as the previous cup. "Drink it down."

I tipped it back and drank it as quickly as I could, barely stopping for air. "Just put it in the trash, dear." Dr. Gupta told me when I'd finished. "You did well today, Pam. I will see you on Friday. Now, I have another session in a few minutes."

I felt dismissed. More so than I usually had after my sessions.

Drinking all that tea so quickly made me need to pee. I slipped into one of the practice's bathrooms off the waiting area, opened my pants and gingerly sat on the toilet seat. It hurt a lot to sit down on anything that wasn't padded as much as that couch.

As I peed, I looked down at my panties, stretched between my knees, it was pretty clear that they were wet and not from tears or sweat. As I noticed that, I couldn't help but notice how wet my pussy still was and then realize that my nipples were hard underneath my bra. I stopped peeing for a minute and touched myself. Oh god! My clit was aroused, my vaginal lips full. I almost, almost, started rubbing myself then and there. Then I thought better of it. With an effort of will I put my hand back on my thigh and looked off to the distance, defocusing my eyes and letting my bladder fully empty.

I had to get home and cook dinner. And I couldn't let anyone there know that my ass was as tender as it was. That would be interesting.