. 04

The Case Files of Dr. Randall Herringwick

The Case of the Willing Prey

Chapter 4 - The First Law of Psychoanalysis

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 104 - DAY 15

HERRINGWICK

You are dropping into the deepest possible trance state very quickly now, Mindy. That must be due to your extreme level of submissiveness. You've become an excellent subject.

MINDY

Thank you, doctor.

HERRINGWICK

When last you were here, you explained to me that you had just discovered that Harry Chumbley intended to keep blackmailing you into giving him sex. Did he continue to do that?

MINDY

Oh, yes. He never lied to me, though. He would always get rid of the evidence that he was controlling me with ... just as he had promised to do. Well ... almost always. I'll get to that. But ... there was also always something else ... always something more ... always something further that I would do that would allow him to extend his hold over me. He pointed out once ...while he was holding my sweating, panting body against his, just following an especially intense session where I had bounced atop him like a cowgirl on a bucking bronco, his cock so far up inside me that I thought it was going to go through my stomach and come out my mouth, until we had both screamed in orgasm ... he pointed out that it was always ME that provided the evidence he used. He said that I must be a particularly slutty girl to always, always, always do one more thing that would guarantee I would come back into his arms ... into his bed. As it turned out, he was right.

HERRINGWICK

Why do you say that? Tell me about it. What else did he use in his blackmail attempts? What happened that proved to you that you were ... slutty, as you put it?

MINDY

The next time I went to his house, he tied me to the bed, spread eagle, my arms and legs each roped to the corners of the big, king-sized bed frame; and he crawled atop me and thrust into me for what seemed like hours. I don't know how he kept from cumming inside me for so long. I came twice, one right after the other. I didn't know I could DO that! And finally, finally, he grew and throbbed and jerked inside me; and I wanted so much to hold him while he came; but, of course, I couldn't even move. He stayed on top of me, inside me, while he stroked my hair and talked, until at last he pulled out of me. Then, he took his cell phone and took another picture of me from the foot of the bed.

He joined me again, using my tummy as a pillow, and he talked about the things he wanted to do, the places he wanted to go, about making repairs to his house ... which was more than a hundred fifty years old. Almost as an afterthought, he shifted around so that his head was nestled into one of my arms, his head alongside mine, the sides of our faces touching; and he showed me the picture he'd taken. I looked so helpless and sexy, lying there, looking down past my breasts into the camera. Then, he used his thumb and forefinger to expand the image, to make it bigger ... and bigger still ... until all you could see was one of my nipples straining up toward the ceiling, obviously aroused and engorged. And then ... he used a fingertip to move the image so that the center of the picture was scrolling past my navel, to my crotch, my pussy spread wide and gaping open, almost cavernous and dark, having just had something very large in there, but now it was empty and deserted. And a thick, white glob of cum was oozing out, spilling out of that grotto, flowing down toward the pastel bed sheet.

And he said idly, "This should bring you back, don't you think, Mindy? To prevent this from being posted online, I believe you will agree to meet me here again tomorrow, won't you?"

And I said: "Yes, sir. I'd do anything. Please don't let anybody see me that way."

And he rose enough to let me see his contented smile, and then he put his head against my breast and he snuggled into me like I was a teddy bear. After a long while, he fell asleep. I must have fallen asleep sometime, too, because he woke me up while he was untying me, and he sat next to me on the edge of the bed and let me watch while he deleted the "evidence" that had brought me back to him for sex that day ... I can't even remember what it was now. But then, once again, he showed me the photo of the cum dripping out of my "cave of a cunt" ... that's what he called it ... and he told me that he'd see me the next day. So, I got up and made my way back to the foyer where my clothes were, naked ... just as naked as I'd been when I'd walked the length of the house to join him in the bedroom. And I was ashamed ... because my greatest regret was that I had to leave him.

The next day, he made me give him a blow job, which wasn't too hard with my hands tied in front of me. The last time, I had had my hands cuffed behind me. It's hard to swallow thick stuff ... or at least it is for me, but he helped me dutifully ingest it all. But then ... it was odd ... he seemed sort of apologetic about it. He made me lie on my back, and he used his lips and tongue on me until I came so hard I passed out. And when I next became cognizant of my surroundings, he was cuddling with me on the bed. He stroked my hair and back, and he asked me if I hated the taste of him ... of his goo. I thought that was sort of cute. He seemed really concerned about it. I told him that I not only didn't mind his flavor, but that I rather liked giving him pleasure that way. And ... I demonstrated by doing it again. He took a picture of it and used it to bring me back to him the next day.

There was another time that he became very rough with me. It was on Monday. He did it from behind ... "doggie style," he called it. He can get really deep inside me like that, and he pounded me so hard that it hurt. He was pressing way, way up inside me ... and just as I started crying from the pain, he reached around me and began rubbing my clit with almost savage strength. I've never felt anything like it. The orgasm seemed to explode from within me, and I screamed with genuine pain as I felt him push once again too far up inside. There was so much pleasure and pain going on simultaneously! I came so hard that I even had a cramp in one of my big toes! But ... once again, he seemed genuinely contrite about it, and he gathered me into his arms, against his nakedness, and rocked me comfortingly while I sobbed. I asked him if I'd done something wrong ... something to displease him ... but he shushed me and told me that everything was going to be okay. It took a long time for me to figure it out. The next day was Tuesday. It was the day Donny and I made love. The truth struck me with a lot of force. Harry was jealous! Finally, he told me that he didn't want to see me the next day ... I didn't ask him why because I'd just figured it out ... and for the first time, he sent me away without remembering to destroy that day's blackmail evidence. I didn't have the heart to remind him. I felt terrible.

But on Tuesday afternoon, I did something that was ... well ... strong and full of initiative! Can you believe it? I called him! I had his number from when he had texted me that first picture, and I called him! He realized that was something I would normally NEVER do on my own, and he was suddenly full of concern and worry. He ordered me to tell him what was wrong.

"Donny's not coming home tonight!" I told him excitedly. "He did that one night last week. He's spending more and more time at the office, because he has to do all the administrative stuff ... and he never has enough time to spend in the lab, working on his inventions. So, he sleeps there, and he doesn't even bother coming home. And he forgot that it's Tuesday, I guess. And ... and, sir ... you forgot to delete that thing you're using to blackmail me with yesterday. And ... I'd just die if that was ever made public! And so ... I was sort of wondering if maybe ... I mean, if you're not busy ... I mean, if you're not seeing anybody else, then maybe ... um ... tonight, we could ... um ..."

"What are you wearing right now?" he interrupted.

"Now? An old sweat suit. It's pink, and there's a hole under one arm, but it's comfortable, and I wear it around the house. And ... um ... cotton panties, and an old bra that fits me well. And tennis shoes with no socks. That's all, sir."

"Take off the panties and bra," he ordered. "Just wear the sweats and shoes. Bring your apartment key ... and your cell phone, in case he calls you. Leave right now. Strip in the foyer, like you always do, then come into the kitchen. Now." And he hung up.

I almost ran to his house, but my breasts bounced obscenely, so I slowed to a walk. Even then, people stared at me when I passed ... especially the men. I was used to entering his house without knocking, but I was unsure what he wanted me to do with the keys and phone. Finally, I left the keys with my clothes, but I brought the phone with me into the kitchen. He was sitting on a bar stool, drinking what appeared to be a martini. He took the phone when I handed it to him.

"My breasts bounced and jiggled the whole way," I informed him. "I wanted to cross my arms under them, but I knew you didn't like that, so I just pretended that nobody would notice ... but of course, everybody did." For the first time, I saw that the whole back of the kitchen was windowed, and I could easily see the backs of other houses beyond the privacy fence separating the back yards. The kitchen was fully lighted, and I was standing in the middle of it stark naked!

He stood. "You did very well, my pet." He stepped into me, took me in his arms and kissed me. It went on for a long, long time. He likes it when I put my arms around his neck when he kisses me, and I did it without conscious thought. My knees lost strength after awhile, but he supported me. He broke the kiss and stepped back from me, then handed me a piece of cloth. It turned out to be an apron. I felt flushed, and I couldn't seem to catch my breath from the kiss, but I nodded and put the apron on, automatically tying it in a bow behind my back.

Oh, gosh, I can't even describe how happy I felt that night. It was magical! He pointed to a cookbook and told me to look up a recipe for veal scaloppini, then responded to each of my questions: where's this and where's that? He explained the stove and oven; and once, we even got into a little argument about what spice to substitute when we discovered a missing ingredient. He poured me a glass of Chardonnay, chilled and delicious. My right breast kept falling out from behind the bib of the apron and I kept having to stuff it back into place. He poured gin and carefully measured two drops of Vermouth into a cocktail shaker, then had me shake it violently until both of my breasts popped out of my garment, sending us both into fits of giggles. He helped me clean the mixing bowls and utensils at the sink while the meat was in the oven and the pasta was boiling.

Finally, he made me take off the apron and go into the bedroom to fetch the handcuffs, though he said he couldn't remember exactly where he had put them. And so ... for the first time ... I felt free to search in drawers and on shelves in his closet ... things I'd never dreamed I would be doing ... until I found them and brought them back to him. He snapped my hands together behind my back, then helped me sit down in a straight-backed chair at the kitchen table, maneuvering me so that my arms and wrists were outside the chair's back. I was facing the back windows. He dimmed the lights, lit a few candles and put on some music ... the famous Kershel 331, Mozart's piano sonata number eleven, only it was being played by a string quartet. He sat to my right, close to me, separated by a corner of the table, and he refilled my wine glass and fed me a sip. Then, he asked me about my childhood, my parents, my earliest friends. When the timer went off, he finished preparing the pasta, took the veal out of the oven and brought the meal to the table, but he kept the conversation going, shifting to his own memories as a child. Every so often, he would stroke me with his fingers. It was odd that a gentle caress of my arm would seem just as erotic as when he touched my breasts or thighs.

He would feed me a bite between each of his, but after awhile I suggested that he pace it differently; maybe one for me and two for him. He poured some more wine, though I complained that my head was spinning already. His questions became sexual ... but he was disappointed. I had had almost no experience with sex to tell him about ... and even now, most of my knowledge regarding sexual pleasure had been learned with him during these past two weeks. I had the distinct suspicion that he didn't want to hear about sex with Donny, and so I didn't even try to explain that nothing I had ever done with my husband had brought me any pleasure at all, aside from the satisfaction I felt from allowing my body to be a receptacle for his sexual fluids.

As he sipped more and more of his drink, he began to stroke and pet me with greater frequency ... my tits, between my legs. Our conversation became monotonous but achingly interesting, and he asked questions like: "Have you ever done it facing a man? Him sitting in a chair and you straddling him?" And I'd say: "No, sir." And he'd comment a little further: "He can push really far up into you that way." And I'd shiver while he stroked and lightly pinched my nipple before asking about the next position I'd never tried ... or even imagined existed. Until finally, unable to suppress the thought further, I said: "Sir, I'm very shy. Do you think anyone can see me through these windows? Do you think they can see what you're doing to me?" And he gave a little shrug and said: "I don't know. Maybe. Does the thought turn you on?" And I couldn't even voice a full answer. "I ... I ... don't know, sir. I guess ... um ... I don't know." And he said: "Spread your legs for me. Wider." And he stuck his finger into my vagina ... way, way up into it ... and he began pulling it out and pushing it back in again. And I shivered violently and leaned my head against his shoulder and moaned loudly. And he said: "Yes, it does turn you on, Mindy. In point of fact, you are sopping, dripping wet. You're actually a real slut, aren't you?"

He stood while I was still trying to catch my breath; and before I knew what was happening, he had taken the handcuffs off of my wrists. He took one hand, and he led me back to the bedroom, and I trailed along behind him like a little lamb. He ordered me to undress him, one item of clothing at a time, telling me what to do with things, ordering me to touch him somewhere ... or kiss him somewhere. He made me pull the blankets down and lie on my back. And then ... he did something I wasn't prepared for. I knew it was coming ... sometime. I knew he would make me do this eventually. He didn't tie me up; he didn't restrain me; he didn't force me; he didn't demand that I do something; he didn't order me, or regulate me. He didn't control me. He just made love to me. And oh, there was no way on earth I could ever say that THIS was just sex!

Even that time when I was on top of him, I had had my hands tied in front of me. But now ... well, now I had to do SOMETHING with my hands. He touched me for the longest time as I held him and clutched him and grasped him and hugged him; and when I was just beginning to build to a peak, he stopped and mounted me, missionary position, like Donny always does with me, and he did it for so long ... so very, very long ... until he finally stiffened and throbbed inside of me while one of my hands was on his butt, urging him further into me, while the fingers of my other hand were in his hair. Then, knowing that I hadn't reached my orgasm, he rolled off of me, and snuggled into my left side, attacking my breast and nipple with his mouth while rubbing me in just the right spot ... as if he knew every intimate detail about my body; and I was like a pump that had been primed into readiness; so that I immediately spiraled into straining, clutching, screaming bliss.

He rolled away again, then gathered me into his arms; knowing, I guess, how this was going to affect me; and I burst into sobbing, almost hysterical tears. Oh, what was I going to do NOW!? There was absolutely no way in the world that I was ever going to justify this! This wasn't blackmail! This wasn't force or control! This was something I'd never experienced before ... never known before ... never even imagined I was capable of before! I can't begin to tell you how confused I was. Now that I had experienced this, I couldn't let it end! What he was doing to me ... it had to go on! What if he ran out of things to blackmail me with? What if he lost interest in me an found some other girl to blackmail? What if ...? Oh, God, what was I going to do?

He didn't speak ... didn't try to shush me or placate me. He just held me in his strong arms. I was aware, after awhile and despite my frantic thoughts, of the passage of time without knowledge ... like there had been a gap in my consciousness ... a change in environment. The room was darker and I was gradually aware that I was spooning him, my breasts and thighs wriggling into him from behind, seemingly of their own volition, trying to get ever closer to him. And, for the first time, one of my arms was free to hold him, and I used it to hug his hairy chest and press more tightly into his back and ass with my body. This made me infinitely happy for some reason, and I smiled as I drifted back into sleep. And then, I was curled on my other side, and his arm was heavy against my left side and across my body, his left hand filled with my right breast. I felt his steady breath on the back of my head, his thick, hot cock along the crack of my bottom. His fingers flexed as some electrical synapse fired in his dreaming brain, and they squeezed spasmodically around my tit. And I thought: I am safe in his arms.

And a shivering sunbeam was playing tag with my eyes. I rolled onto my back, my legs tangling in the sheet and pulling it down below my waist, and I yawned enormously, my arms stretching out to my sides, then up above my head. Through sleepy eyes, I saw him standing at the foot of the bed, watching me; so, I let the yawn morph into a smile, and I said: "Please. Please come back to bed. Please make love to me again."

His hands lowered together to his waist, and I blinked in the dancing sunlight, trying to figure out what he was doing. He was naked and he was hard, and his cock swayed obscenely as he walked around the bed to me. Ah ... he had been holding his cell phone. He'd been taking my picture. But no ... he sat down on the side of the bed, and I sat up and moved to his side ... nude and together in the morning ... and I watched as he tapped the screen and the video began replaying. And there I was ... naked in the tangled covers as the sun filled a room that was clearly not in my home, waking up in a bed that was clearly not my own, stretching languorously ... comfortably, smiling to a man who was clearly not my husband, begging him to make love to me ... again.

"This is my greatest masterpiece to date," he told me quietly. "This will bring you back to me for the rest of the week, won't it?"

"Yes, sir," I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder and leaning against him, my hands finding his muscled arm and holding it possessively.

"But this time, I am going to demand more," he said.

That surprised me. "What ... what are you going to make me do?"

He put the phone on the bedside stand, then pulled me back into the center of the bed on my back, and he put one arm under my head and leaned into me, so that his face was just inches from mine. His left hand was on my right breast. "I am going to demand you exclusively," he stated flatly.