A Different Kind Of Therapy Ch 04

[Once again, my thanks to estragon for finding the bugs in my writing. -Tricia]

Session IV: Out in the World

Over the next three days, the app on my phone chimed four times, directing me to a spanking each time.

Wednesday was the kind of day when I knew I'd be moving computers and finding wires and crawling around under people's desks to get their computers installed or working again. So, I wore jeans and a casual blouse. At the beginning of the day I was wondering when the Therapy App was going to kick in, but by the time the lunch hour had completed, when I hadn't stopped for a minute, I'd forgotten about the whole thing.

I was just about to head out to a late lunch when I heard an unfamiliar chime from my phone. I pulled it out of my purse and saw that the app was running. It wanted me to push a button to acknowledge it. Looking around to make sure no one was looking at me, I pressed the button. "Dr. Helen Brooks," the phone said. (I thought I recognized the name, but I wasn't sure.) It gave the address of an office in one of the buildings on campus -- the Social Science buildings -- and a time: right now. It asked for another push of a button to acknowledge it. Of course I pushed it.

Then the app switched into a GPS mode and started giving me directions to Dr. Brooks. I knew the way, but I followed it anyway. It led me to the PolySci floor, to a closed door at the end of the hall. It had Dr. Brooks' name on the plate next to the door and underneath a sign with her office hours: she didn't have any hours on Wednesdays. The door was kind of familiar. I thought I'd installed a PC or something here last year.

I took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," came a voice from inside.

I opened it up with the phone still in my hand. Inside was a woman I recognized. She was maybe sixty years old, but looking good for her age. Her hair was long and grey and pleated into a ponytail down her back. While she was sitting behind her desk, all I could see she was wearing was a pretty green blouse. Seeing her, I remembered: I had indeed installed something in this office last year.

"I thought I remembered your name," the woman said to me.

"Dr. Brooks?" I asked.

"Yes. And you're Pamela Burgin. You work in the IT department here on campus, right?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Shut the door behind you, Pamela. You did some work for me last year, I think."

"Um..." I was getting uncomfortable. "Yeah, I think it was a new computer installation."

"No, it was just an application they wouldn't let me do by myself. I remember because we talked about our daughters. They went to the same camp last year. My youngest and your oldest, I think."

I looked over to the side, thinking. I was suddenly aware my tongue was out of my mouth a little bit. I got like that sometimes when I was thinking. "Right. I think I remember," I said. I felt myself blush.

"This is your first session outside of the doctor's office, isn't it?"

"Um, yes. How did you know?"

"My iPhone told me. It actually told me a lot about you."

I felt myself growing warmer. "Like what?"

"Oh, that would be giving away a secret, wouldn't it? Pamela, listen to me," she intoned. "Take your shoes off and come stand in front of my desk."

"Why?"

"Because I said so, Pamela. Weren't you told to follow my instructions to the letter?"

"Yeah, I guess so." I was wearing loafers and they were easy to slip out of, so I left them where I was and went to stand in front of Dr. Brooks' desk.

She stood up. She was wearing a straight-cut, knee-length, grey wool skirt. She picked up a ruler from the desk and moved out in front of me with it. She casually laid the ruler on the front of the desk. "How is your daughter? Put your hands on the desk." she asked.

I bent down to put my hands where she indicated. "She's doing well. She's got some good teachers this year. Do we have to talk about her?"

"She's almost eighteen, right? Do you still spank her?"

"I've never spanked my kids."

Dr. Brooks was behind me now. "You should think about. I didn't spank my kids either until a couple of years ago." The professor reached around my waist and opened my belt and the top of my jeans. "Now I spank all three of my girls when they need it. Even the eighteen year old. She tells me she hates it, but I know she secretly loves it." She pushed my jeans down my legs. "Step out of them." I complied. "You really should consider it with your girls."

"I don't think I could do that. Please, I don't want to talk about my family."

"No? Doesn't your husband know about this therapy?"

"What? No of course not. I couldn't ever tell him."

"Oh well. The notes say that you get very wet from your spankings. Are you wet right now?"

"No. No I'm not. Why would the notes say that?"

"Oh, I'm sure it's true. You don't have to be embarrassed." Her hands grabbed the sides of my white cotton panties and pulled them down. "My eighteen year old starts creaming herself as soon as I tell her she's going to be spanked. At least that's what I figure from how wet her panties get. Just like your panties are wet right now."

Oh God. I thought I was going to die from humiliation. She pushed the tails of my blouse up my back. "Hmm. Nice shape of your ass back here, Pamela. But you need to spend more time in the gym. Or more time skipping the elevators and using the stairs. Move your legs apart about a foot, there's a girl. Tell me, after your Doctor spanks you, do you go home and play with yourself?"

"What?" I was shaking now. "No, I don't do that."

"Go ahead, you can tell me." She picked up the ruler and started to slide it around my bottom. "My girls do. I make them watch each other's spankings and afterwards I can hear them in their rooms. They try to stay quiet, but they're not very good at it. Are you good at staying quiet, Pamela?"

"I try."

"Listen to me, Pamela, the proper answer at this point is, 'Yes, ma'am, I'll be quiet.'"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be quiet."

"Good." She suddenly pulled the ruler back and whacked my ass five or six times, quickly alternating butt cheeks. The first couple I managed to keep quiet for, but the last one was too much, I let out a yelp.

"I said to be quiet, Pamela." She came around in front of the desk, holding something -- my panties -- in her hand. "Open your mouth." I complied meekly. She pushed my panties into my mouth. "This'll help keep you quiet. But since I'm on this side of the desk..." she opened another drawer and pulled out a bigger paddle. "...I'll use the real wood on you."

She didn't say anything else, she just went back around to my backside and started spanking me quickly and repeatedly. The pain went from bearable to horrendous to transformative. I quickly lost track of where I was or what I was doing or who was doing it to me. Until suddenly she stopped.

Then I realized I wasn't standing up any more. I'd managed to lie down completely on top of her desk. My feet no longer touched the floor. Instead, with my hips resting on the edge of Dr. Brooks' desk, I'd been holding my feet up and wide apart.

"Wonderful," Dr. Brooks said behind me. "The notes said you did this, but I wasn't sure I believed it. I haven't seen anyone like you before. Why are you showing me your cunt, Pamela? Oh wait, you can't talk. Don't try. It seems to be a nice cunt, mind you. Not my thing, but I imagine the right sort of person would appreciate it. But no matter, there's a prescribed response."

Suddenly I felt the ruler whacking my pussy directly, just like Dr. Gupta had done. But while Dr. Gupta had usually only given me one or two whacks on my pussy, this woman was hitting me repeatedly, mostly with the ruler, I think, though once or twice she hit me with her bare hand. Twenty five times she hit my sex.

When she finally stopped, she said, "Now close your legs, Pamela, and get your feet back on the floor. We're not done yet."

As soon as my feet touched the floor again, she was whacking on my ass again. This time I didn't disappear in my mind though. This time I found myself grinding the front of my sex against the desk. This time I found myself exploding in pleasure as the combination of that and the spankings caused me to come shuddering on the doctor's desk once, twice, three times.

And when that happened, she stopped. "Oh very good, Pamela. Very impressive. Only a few women manage that. I'm impressed. We're done. You can stand up again. Take those out of your mouth."

I stood up gingerly, removing my panties from where they muffled me. I didn't quite know what to do with them, so I held the damp cloth in my left hand and reached back with my right to my no-doubt red bottom, rubbing it gently. I wanted to do the same to my sex, but I was all too aware of Dr. Brooks in the room with me. I looked over at her, sitting at the side of her desk in a guest chair, clicking on her iPhone. I stood there meekly waiting for instructions while she was finished. It took about a minute, I guess.

She looked up at me and said, "In a second....." Just then my phone rang with the distinctive ring of the Therapy App. "Answer that, please, Pamela. There's a quick survey."

Feeling strange to still be exposed from the waist down, I went to my purse and dug out my phone. The Therapy App was up and asking for my passcode. Still holding my panties in my hand, I entered the code. It then walked me through a series of questions about the session and my reactions. The last question asked me to rate my orgasm on a scale from 1 to 10. I gave it a six, then looked at Dr. Brooks.

"It was pretty sure I orgasmed?" I made it a question.

"I entered that, of course." I blushed in response. There was going to be very little privacy in this therapy, apparently. "There'll be another check-in with questions in an hour or two. They like to gauge your reactions immediately afterwards and when you've had some time to think. Why don't you get dressed now?"

I started to shake out my panties in preparation to put them on. "You might want to leave them off for a bit, until they dry out a little," she said. I looked at her, then back at my panties, and shrugged. She was right. I put them into my purse then picked up my jeans and slipped them on, wincing a bit as they pulled tight across my ass and rubbed naked against my pubic mound. Then I balanced and put on my shoes while she watched.

"May I go now?" I asked.

"Yes. I enjoyed this. I hope to see you again sometime for another session. And perhaps if you move on to also providing the service, I'll be assigned to you sometime." That last sentence didn't register for a long time. I just wanted to get out of there and back to work.

"Yes, well, thank you. You did a good job," I said, not at all if that was something I should say.

"Take care, Pamela."

"Thank you, Dr. Brooks. Have a good day."

I left and went back to work.

------

I was happy that I was running around for the rest of the day. I didn't really want to spend a lot of time sitting down. My rear-end was pretty sore and moving turned out to be easier. I never did get my panties back on. I was a little startled to see them inside my purse when I went to grab my wallet at the grocery store later that day, and wound up looking furtively around to make sure no one else saw. It never seemed like the right time to put them on, at least until I got home where I felt like I had to get them on. Somehow, I couldn't go pantiless when my kids were around.

The next day, though, I was scheduled for a lot of desk work. As per my boss's instructions, on days when we're going to be in the office all day (or rather when we're supposed to be) we're supposed to be more dressed up. So I wore a blue shirtdress and heels and nylons. In a way it was a much better plan to wear the dress anyway, since there wasn't so much tightness on my still tender backside.

I was at my desk a little before 10 that morning, working on some server configuration when the App chimed again. I gulped and pulled out the phone. The name was Odessa Adamms and the address was the janitorial office in the campus library. I made my excuses and headed to where I was instructed. I was fairly unfamiliar with the library and needed the App's directions to find the right room.

When I knocked the door was open by an African-American woman of about 35, dressed in jeans and a not-entirely clean uniform-like blouse, sneakers on her feet. The blouse had a name tag with "Adamms" stitched over her left breast. She was obviously on the janitorial staff, with muscular arms and a wide pair of hips. Her hair was dark and tightly braided with beads.

"Pamela Burgin, right?" she asked staring at me, an iPhone in one hand.

"Yes. You're Odessa Adamms, right?"

"No, I just stole her shirt. Of course I'm Odessa. Get your ass in here."

I entered the room and she closed the door behind me. At the side of the room, she had a rather large and ornate, old wooden chair with a red velvet cushion that had seen better days. It looked like it had been rescued it from a conference room during a renovation. She sat down in that chair and looked haughtily at me.

"What are you waiting for? Shoes off. Nylons off. I assume you're wearing panties?"

"Um, yes."

"Not so sure, huh?"

"No, I'm just still not used to all this."

"What difference does it make to me if you're used to all this or not? Get those panties off too and get over here. I don't have all day."

I frowned when I looked at the dirty cement floor. But I put my purse down and I put a hand to the wall to steady myself as I bent one leg so I could reach behind for one shoe, and then the other. Then I started to squirm my hose down my legs without reaching under. It wasn't very successful.

Odessa commented gruffly, "ain't no lady-like way of doing that. Just reach up and get 'em off." She caught my eyes with hers and held my gaze as I lifted the hem of my dress and pushed down my stockings and panties. I only broke eye contact when I had to bend to get them off one foot, then the other.

"Pamela, listen to me," Odessa said at that point. My attention snapped back to her. "Drop those down on the table there and get your ass over my lap."

There was a small table covered with cleaning supplies. I thought about folding my underwear neatly, but she'd said "drop", so I dropped the pile there. The floor was cold as I walked the few steps to where Odessa sat. It was almost a relief to get my feet off the floor as I folded across her. But then I realized I'd be supporting myself with my hands on the cold, dirty floor.

Odessa flipped my dress off my bottom as soon as I was in position. "Ooooh, girl, very pretty red ass you've got here. When was your last spanking?"

"Yesterday afternoon, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am. Call me Momma Dess."

"Yes, Momma Dess."

"Well, I like to see these nice red honky asses come in here. I bet who ever did this used a paddle?"

"Yes, Momma Dess. And a ruler."

"Well, Momma Dess don't use nothing but her bare hand. And you can tell me when it's all over whether your ass hurts as much as from the paddle." With that, she began beating me. At first it was just a constant slapping, alternating between one cheek and the other. Her hand landed in different places up and down each side, ranging from the top all the way down to the back of my thighs. She was right, her slaps were as hard as the paddle.

Suddenly she stopped. "Get your legs back together, slut. Ain't no one behind you to see your cunt. And Momma Dess sure isn't interested in it." I squeezed my legs back together. Was I disappointed or happy that no blows would land on my pussy today? I wasn't sure.

Her spanking became more creative after that. She would slap three times quickly on one cheek then once hard. Or three times on one cheek and once hard on the other. I never knew what would follow.

Somewhere along the lines the tears started. God this hurt. And there was no let-up either. I wasn't sure I could take any more and I started to say so. "Please. Stop. That's enough. Please."

Odessa just ignored my pleas and kept on spanking. She stopped when she was ready. I held my breath for a minute, waiting for another blow. It didn't come. We didn't move, her hand was on my back, my hands on the floor, my legs dangling in the air. "I think that's good," Odessa said finally.

And immediately I began to shiver and shake. A surge of pleasure washed over me and the shakes continued for a minute. It wasn't an orgasm. It wasn't something I'd never felt before. She let me alone until it was done then she said, "That's it. I've got work to do. Get up."

Shakily, I got up off Odessa's lap and stood up, my arms hugging myself tightly.

"I've got to get back to my job. You can get dressed whenever you want, but you'd better not be here when I get back in a half hour." Without another word, she grabbed a broom and went out the door, closing it behind her.

I managed to get my underwear back on and made my way, absent-mindedly back to my desk. My whole attention had telescoped down to my rear end and my pussy. The first hurt something awful and the second desperately wanted me to escape somewhere to pleasure myself. I tried to ignore it all by burying myself back in my work as soon as completed the survey. The questions were different this time; it must have something to do with the data Odessa had entered.

--------

I managed to mostly ignore the burn on my bottom for most of the day. But it was strange whenever someone came by to talk to me. I kept thinking that they must know what I'd done or rather what had been done to me. That always made me blush. Sometimes I imagined others where I'd been that morning. What would it look like if, say, Teresa, who had a desk not far from me, had gone down to Odessa's room this morning instead of me? I found myself enjoying the image of her naked ass on Odessa's lap. Which was certainly weird, because I never thought about women's naked asses.

Anyway, I was doing okay, until about four, when the phone chimed again. "Oh God!" I thought, "please make it another survey. I can't take another spanking." But it was indeed a therapy session.

"Libby Nitsugawa" was the name and the address was on Maple St. I made some excuse for leaving early that day and got in my car, driving by following the Therapy App's directions. It led me to a strip mall that had business offices upstairs. One of the offices on the directory was "L. Nitsugawa, Real Estate Attorney ". I gulped, climbed the stairs and found the office. There was an "Open" sign on the door, so I let myself into a small waiting area. A chime rang somewhere in the office.

I didn't have long to wait before a petite Asian woman opened the other door in the waiting room. She had black hair pinned up in a bun and wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a red silk blouse and a grey pencil skirt to her knees, with what must have been four-inch heels. There was a pencil stuck absently into the side of her hair bun.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Ms. Nitsugawa, please?"

"That's me."

I held up the iPhone and showed her the Therapy App. "I was sent here for a Therapy Session."

She smiled. "Ah, good. Pamela Burgin, right?"

"Yes."

"Cool. It's been a while since I've done one of these. Come back to my conference room, please. I've got about thirty closings this week, so you'll have to excuse the mess."

"Of course."

She held the door open for me and I walked past her, then across a short hall into a conference room that had no outside windows, just a window into the hall. "I prefer to do this with you naked. You'll find a hanger behind the door. I need to go lock up and get something."

It was all so "matter of fact". I started to unbutton my dress as she closed the door to the conference room behind her and headed back to the reception area. I slipped off the dress and hung it on the hanger, then reached behind me for my bra. I marveled at how nonchalant I had become about taking off my clothes in some stranger's office.