[Thanks to estragon for the proofreading on my story once again. --tricia]
Session VII: Missing the Feeling
As the day passed on Thursday, the redness passed from my skin and the low-grade pain that reminded me of my beatings slowly faded. By the end of the day, I was missing it. No one had spanked me on Wednesday. Dominated me, fingered me, made me eat pussy, all that yes. But I hadn't felt the sweet pain of my ass being beaten in two days.
The App buzzed me twice during the day and once at 7:30. Each time, it asked me a series of questions and asked me to relate my mood. I found myself disappointed when it buzzed and I wasn't ordered to report for a therapy session.
I went to bed on Thursday night missing it.
I woke up in the middle of the night with my cunt on fire, dripping wet and a vivid dream filling my head. I had been in Odessa's closet, kneeling between her naked thighs, hungrily licking her cunt while she called me dirty names. It was so lifelike. I had to get up and go downstairs to the family room and frig myself off. I was afraid that one of the kids would discover me there, but I couldn't stop myself. I had to get off.
No one discovered me, thank god. My little self-session wasn't what I needed, but it let me get back to sleep.
I woke up on Friday feeling naughty and still horny. I found myself needing a spanking and wondering when I would get it. I was scheduled for an out-of-the-office day, so I pulled on jeans. But I "forgot" to put on panties. I felt a twinge of guilt and a flood of naughtiness when I talked to my children. If one of the girls left the house without panties, I would have been furious. But then again, I blushed as I thought, maybe they had been doing just that and I had no idea. They were growing up.
As soon as I got into the office to pick up my schedule, the App buzzed. I answered it excitedly, hoping for a therapy session. But it was only another check on my mood. I answered "8" out of possible ten when it asked me how bad a girl I was.
I went about my job completely distracted. I began to crave the session, to look forward to being bent over a knee or a table and having my bottom spanked red. I took out my iPhone more than once and looked at it, willing it to ring. It disobeyed my wishes until 1:30.
When it finally chimed for a session, I felt a surge of excitement rush through me and a throb of heat between my thighs. Until I saw the address; then my stomach seemed to fall down a deep hole. "The Reverend Cheryl Rusk," the App told me, "St. Lucille's Rectory." St. Lucille's was the Episcopal Church in town and nominally it was my church. I got there maybe once a month, if I was lucky. I wasn't sure I was a believer at all, but I felt guilty if I didn't go. And now I was being sent to the Rectory to see the priest. For a therapy session.
As I started my car, I thought about refusing. But I remembered that I'd tried to refuse the appointment with Jennifer Edelman too and had wound up going. I tried to get myself to drive elsewhere, but in a few minutes I found myself pulling up to the Rectory.
Getting out of the car and heading toward the front door, I thought about Cheryl Rusk and what I would say to her. She'd been at the parish for about a year and a half, she and her husband who worked at the University. She is a little older than I am; I think she has a couple of children who are in college. She's always been very friendly to me, but I've always been unsure how to respond.
She answered the door moments after my knock. A slight woman, maybe 5'2" without her heels, she had straight blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She wore a tweed skirt and a black shirt with the priest's collar. She smiled at me and said, "Pamela, good. I've been expecting you. Please come in."
She led me to an office in a wood-paneled room that was built to be masculine but had been somewhat transformed by a woman's touch. Pictures of her children were everywhere and on one wall were framed diplomas from some religious school. Cheryl sat in a chair in front of her desk, but left me standing.
"I understand that you've been a bad girl?" she asked. I should have known better than to put that into the Therapy App.
I hesitated for a moment. But this was what I wanted, so I answered truthfully. "Yes, Reverend Rusk. I have."
"Would you like to tell me about it, Pamela?"
"No, not really, Reverend."
"Call me Cheryl, Pamela."
"Okay."
"How have you been a bad girl?"
"I'm not wearing any panties."
"Show me."
"I'm sorry?"
"Show me that you're not wearing panties. Open your pants. Push them down."
"Please, no."
