The Analyst's Couch

Chapter Two-1

Chapter TwoMy research had prepared me for the future, but not for the emotional anticipation I was experiencing now. I had studied the benefits of a higher state of well-being, including enhanced brain activity. Much of the research I had done was the use of this anticipation. I was right about doing what I was doing.

I heard the door to the office open, saw the hallway light come on, and Peter turned the knob to his office door. The light came on, and I saw Peter’s eyes take in the entire situation.

“Master, may I speak?” I whispered.

After the most prolonged thoughtful pause on record, Peter uttered one word, “Speak.”

I began the speech I had rehearsed last night. “Master,” I stammered, “I apologize sincerely for initially rejecting your incredibly generous and loving offer. I am not worthy of your kindness and willingness to teach me the proper behavior of a submissive under your direction. I present my naked body to you to do with as you please and under your orders. Anything you desire is readily available to you with a request and desire for the instruction a novice like me will require. I ask your patience as I learn what pleases you, Master. Please show me how we begin.”

He casually walked toward me while taking off his coat. He carelessly tossed the jacket on his office chair and stood above me while his eyes moved over every inch of my naked body.

“Do not move while I touch you or speak to you,” he said. “If you do, I will punish you.”

He pulled his sports shirt over his head and carefully folded it over the chair where he had thrown his coat. His well-muscled chest, shoulders and arms fit my fantasy vision of how he looked. He sat down between my spread legs and placed his hands on my thighs. Softly, his fingertips caressed my inner thighs. He began quietly, in measured tones; to give me instructions, he told me he took great care with the fragility created between a new submissive and the Dominant. He said he could expose unknown vulnerabilities. The heat of my passion moved through my body. I wanted him to f**k me, but his torture was not even touching my pubic area. His fingers drifted over my opening, and my juices coated my vaginal lips, running down my slit into my butt hole. It was all I could do to remain still.

Suddenly, his finger slid into my opening, finding my c******s and my back arched, involuntarily pushing my p***y into his hand. “SMACK” was the sound made as he swatted my butt cheek so hard it brought tears to my eyes.

“You were told not to move,” Peter reminded me. “That was a small sample of what I expect regarding your behavior. You will always follow my instructions to the letter.” He released me from the no-move restriction and informed me he would eat my cunt until I had c*m and then f**k me until I fainted.

His mouth covered my entire p***y and his tongue snaked into my inner secret place, searching for the button to undo my wantonness. He found it and my body reacted like someone had shocked me with an electric cord. My entire body moved in tandem to the flicking of his tongue across my c******s. Right-left, left-right, up-down, down-up; with each flick, my whole being jerked. He then sucked my c**t and took little nibbles with his teeth, and I became lost in the phenomenal emotion of falling off a cliff. As he continued, my reaction grew in intensity. I could not stop, as I lost myself at the moment’s rapture. Then the pressure became so unbelievably intense; I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I screamed as I released the momentous flood of my juices into his mouth, from his fantastic manipulation of my body;

He lifted his head from my crotch and place his hands underneath my restrained raised arms. Suddenly, the pressure of his p***s pressed against the outer lips of my p***y, separating them and entering me with a gentleness I hadn’t expected. He thrusted with an in and out motion; massaging my inner p***y, causing more juices to flow. I involuntarily moved in opposite tandem with him. I would meet him as he thrust into me and pushed my hips down as he pulled out of me. I matched his rhythm and tempo because my body wanted to. We began moving faster together, pounding into each other, and we both sought the release we expected was coming. His intensity drove me back onto the couch. I pushed back, but I lacked his strength. I responded with a surge of juices as my orgasm answered with a power I wasn’t aware was inside of me. Then I he stiffened as his hot sperm came inside of me, mixing with my juices and causing me to wrap my legs around his waist to keep the fluids inside of me.

He disengaged from my wrapped legs and stood up next to me, his p***s hanging in my face. “Open your mouth.” He growled. I did. His p***s began moving in and out of my mouth. I tasted his juices, my juices and my saliva. Turning me on once again, I didn’t realize I could be so physically excited. I wanted him to c*m in my mouth. I wanted to taste him. I was moving my head up and down as his p***s grew bigger. I almost choked as he moved deeper into my mouth and down my throat. He moved faster as I tried to keep up with his pace, but finally, I just sucked as hard as I could while he moved faster. He bucked his hips, and the first droplets arrived in my mouth, and then the streams shot into my mouth and down my throat as I swallowed as fast as I could to keep up.

He rose, and his p***s wilted as he came out of my mouth. I sucked, gently swallowing the last of his semen. I realized our combined juices were leaking out of my swollen p***y and whispered, “Master, I need to get up and wipe the couch.”

He stood up, kicked off his loafers, and removed the rest of his clothes. He walked into his private bathroom and returned with some paper towels. He reached down and took each of my ankles in one hand and lifted them above my hips. He wiped the combined juices from the couch. Then he released my hands from my belt, turned me on my stomach, and rubbed a cream where he smacked me. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me into a kneeling position. He continued to apply the cream and then massaged my butt hole. I assumed he was using a cooling cream and thought; it healed my butt; what a nice thing to do.

He put cream on himself. Then, suddenly, his p***s entered my butt hole. Holy s**t, was this normal? It hurts a lot with him in there. He stopped moving and waited on something. Then I realized he was allowing me to get used to him inside me there. I exhaled to relax, which helped, and then he moved again, and I responded with reactions I didn’t realize I could have. I began moving in return. He put his arms around my stomach and pulled me closer to him. He then entered deeper into me, and I realized something much like an orgasm as he came in me. I loved it when he almost pulled out. I guess I am very sensitive right there. We lay there, both spent, and he instructed me to lay still, not to move, and he would be right back

He came back with a warm washcloth and washed my butt hole, then turned me over and, using a clean washrag, washed my p***y. As he finished, I moved into his hands, but he ordered me to get dressed and ready for work. He told me we would go to my apartment and pick up my things tonight.

I smiled to myself as my new life had begun. I didn’t understand how it was going to work, but I’d soon find out.

We picked up my four packed suitcases, and I was a little out of sorts during the entire process. I couldn’t forget the incident at the Open House or the look Mahoney had given me. When Peter asked what was going on inside my head, I told him that Jerome Mahoney scared me. Peter shook his head to confirm he understood.

“You have good instincts,” Peter said. “Mahoney was a referral from the court, he’s out on bail, and his defense is planning to say the drugs he took made him do what he did to that woman. His progress will determine whether he goes to prison or stays in a rehab facility. He knows he dug himself a hole; I doubt you will have any further problems with him.”

“But why take him as a patient, then?” “I asked.”

“Vanessa, this is what I do.” He explained. “Everyone I treat needs help. My address at the convention is on just that subject. Too many Doctors and therapists discriminate because the disorder makes them uncomfortable. Don’t worry; you’ll get used to him and others like him.”

I said nothing, but my antennae were on high alert. I doubted I would ever get used to Jerome Mahoney.

After loading the car, we zipped through a drive-through, grabbed some burgers, and headed for his house. Peter lives in Muirfield Village, one of the wealthiest communities in Ohio. As we entered through the gates, it astounded me by the size of the homes. “Is your home this big?” I asked Peter. “There’s no home in here, less than four thousand square feet.” He replied casually. I couldn’t get my head around that. My apartment was a one-bedroom five hundred and fifty square foot middle of the building unit. I think I may have bitten off more than I could chew.

Peter pulled into a cul-de-sac and parked. “Before we get there, we have a few things to discuss.” He told me. “First, I have a lady that comes in twice a week to clean, do my laundry, just to make sure the house is acceptable. You met Janine; she is very nice. She’s here now. You will have your room at the opposite end of the house from me. I doubt you’ll use it much, but my lifestyle is private, and I don’t need gossip.”

He continued, “Our plane leaves tomorrow morning at four-thirty AM. I suggest you pack tonight and get some sleep. It’s an eight-hour flight to Maui. We will fly out of Ohio State University Airport, about five miles from here. So, we’ll leave the house, about four o’clock.”

If it was an eight-hour flight, I wanted to be comfortable and wear my warm-up suit and Converse Shoes. I packed a sundress and sandals in my carry-on, including makeup and other girls’ necessary supplies. I carefully packed everything else he had bought me in my two-suiter. I curled up on the bed for a quick decompression, and then, Peter shaking me and saying, “Get up! It’s three o’clock, and we leave here in an hour.” OK, how long did he think it would take me? I rolled over and headed for a bathroom when I realized I didn’t know where it was. Peter said as he left my room, “Your bathroom is the door next to your closet.” “Thanks, Master,” I muttered. “I’m up.”

I stumbled into the bathroom, in the dark, with my eyes half open, and hit the light switch. I almost fell. This bathroom was a spa! Two sinks, with a floor-to-ceiling cabinet between them, holding probably twenty towels. Oils and soaps of all kinds and more drawers than I had time to explore now. I stumbled into the water closet. I peed my brains out, stripped off my clothes and tossed them in what I presumed was the hamper, and headed for the shower. When I opened the shower door, I understood I was in trouble. Naked as a jailbird, I stood out in the hall and yelled in my loudest voice, “Master! How do you work this thing?” I heard a chuckle from downstairs and saw him take the stair steps two at a time. He walked past me into the bathroom and stood by the shower door. “Pull on the knob marked Main to take a normal shower; we’ll explore the other options together when we have more time.” He explained with a hint of exasperation. “You have 20 minutes if you want breakfast.”

I pulled the knob, adjusted for heat, then quickly washed my body. I shaved my pubic area and underarms, washed and conditioned my hair, and grabbed a towel. It took me 5 minutes to dry my body and my hair. I pulled on my warm-up clothes, socks and shoes, took 5 minutes for the bare makeup essentials, grabbed my luggage, my purse, and headed downstairs. It was three-fifty-five AM. “Where’s Breakfast?” I asked.