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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
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Copyright 2010 (c) The story may be archived as long as
there is no charge for access to it, it remains
unchanged and I am given credit for the work. Comments
are always welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com
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Cassandra
by Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)
***
A troubled woman tries to seduce her psychiatrist only
to be taught a lesson. (MF, FF, mc, bd)
***
Author's Note: I must thank Munk for looking over the
story and pointing out its numerous flaws. Any wrong-
doing is entirely my fault, not hers.
I should also point out that BDSM is not an insane
activity. This story is not meant to convey that at all.
Bondage and such related activities can be very
enjoyable in a safe, sane and consensual atmosphere. It
is when such activities stray to more non-consensual or
abusive situations that it becomes a problem. I suppose
this is common sense, but it seemed worth a mention here
anyway.
***
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked quietly from the
dark leather chair where she was seated. She'd been
sitting silently, relaxed, just watching him for some
time before she finally spoke.
He sat safely behind his oversized desk and looked at
her. Petite. Long blonde hair. Her legs tucked under
herself. She possessed the most kissable lips that he
could ever remember seeing. She was barely out of her
teens. Her dazzling blue eyes were fixed upon his face.
She exuded sexuality. He wasn't surprised by her
question. He was surprised by his immediate response.
Yes. Of course, he wanted her; anyone would.
Instead, he answered her in a quiet and thoughtful
voice, "Sarah. That isn't why you are here. And you know
it."
Joyce Moore had referred this girl to him about a month
ago. She was deeply troubled, had violent behaviour, and
was extremely anti-social. Joyce had cautioned him
before he had seen the girl for the first time. Sarah
had problems in her past that Joyce hadn't been able to
uncover. She no longer felt comfortable treating Sarah;
no further explanation given. She had warned him about
Sarah and her techniques of avoidance.
This was the first time Sarah had been so blatant with
him. She hadn't given any indication at all of her
sexuality up until this point. In fact, she'd seemed
almost shy of discussing anything to do with sex. He
wondered if it was a good sign or a bad one.
The girl leaned forward with her steady gaze still fixed
on his face. Her lovely lips moved forming the
dangerous words, "You want to fuck me. I can see it in
your eyes. I see a lot. You can have me, you know."
He swallowed hard. "Sarah. Let's get back on track here.
Okay?"
The lithe girl pursed her lips and leaned back in the
leather chair.
"What if I'm not Sarah?" A mischevious smile played
around her lips.
"You could fuck me if I wasn't Sarah, couldn't you?"
He considered her words. Multiple? This was her tenth
appointment. She'd never displayed any other symptoms
before this. Despite his initial doubts, he had to take
her seriously, even if she was playing with him.
"Who are you then, if not Sarah?"
"What if I told you I was Cassandra?" She leaned forward
in her chair.
"You want me to call you Cassandra?"
"It doesn't really matter what you call me. As long as
you do what I want. You can use your wife's name, if it
makes it any easier." Cassandra was his wife's name. The
coincidence disturbed him. Perhaps it wasn't a
coincidence; though, how this girl would be able to find
out his wife's name was beyond him. He suddenly felt off
balance.
He knew about these. It happened to every doctor. A
lovely patient doing exactly this. His mind was
spinning. Her perfume washed over him. Her sexuality
captivated him. His concentration was becoming fuzzy.
This was first year stuff. How to deal with a patient
like this. Every student was warned.
Stop? Try to guide her back to the session? Get someone
else into the room? Bury his emotions and reactions and
explore this avenue? Allow her to continue her advances?
Would it lead to her problem? He was almost sure that he
shouldn't encourage her. He just couldn't remember. He
felt like pounding his fist into the desk. How should he
handle this?
He'd already failed with her so often. Previous sessions
ended with her lashing out at him; hurting herself,
breaking things. Violent. Unfortunately the human mind
wasn't an exact science.
His finger traced the call button on the intercom. He
wanted to push it and get Sheila, his receptionist, in
here. He withdrew his hand. He should be able to handle
this. He was a professional. Dammit. This was just a
girl. A lovely girl, a disturbed girl, but above all a
patient. There were responsibilities here. She had come
to him for help, not to his receptionist. He had to
provide that help to the best of his abilities.
He took a breath and continued. "Sarah. Do you want to
talk about your sexuality today?"
"I'm not Sarah. I'm Cassandra. And no. I don't want to
talk. Mrs. Moore asked me the same thing."
"Alright. Cassandra. Who are you?" He thought it might
just be better to go along with her. He decided to let
her lead the discussion though he didn't really believe
that she was a multiple, at least not a classic one.
Classic cases of multiple personalities were
exceptionally rare and this girl was smart enough to
fake it. At least until he caught her. What he couldn't
figure out was why she'd want to fake it. Didn't make
sense.
"I'm Sarah, but I'm not. I help Sarah. Share her. It's
hard to explain."
"Cassandra, you know Sarah?"
"Of course."
"Does she know you?"
"Who do you think called me? She likes you."
This was beginning to get deeper. Perhaps Cassandra did
exist after all. The voice was harsher, less gentle than
Sarah's voice normally was. Huskier. He hated to admit
it; her voice was sexier. It was hard to fake complete
personality shifts for very long. If she was faking it,
she was doing an excellent job.
"She likes me? In what way?" he continued. He wanted to
determine if she was faking this or not. His ultimate
goal here was to find out what was behind her violence
and her other anti-social behaviour. What was behind her
sudden personality shift? Was it all related?
"Likes you, likes you. What do you think?" She'd
uncurled her legs, crossing them demurely and teasingly.
She had to be aware of what she was doing.
"Cassandra. Why are you here?" Changing tacks.
"To fuck you. Why else? Isn't that what everyone wants?
To be fucked? Don't you want me? I'm soft and I don't
bite."
He swallowed. Letting his eyes travel her body. He
struggled to slow his heart. Of course, he wanted to
scream at her. Of course, he wanted her. She must have
seen his appraising look. Soft and she didn't bite.
"Can I speak to Sarah again?"
A mischevious grin. "Not until you do what I want."
He took a deep breath. "Cassandra. Sarah. You know that
we can't do what you want. If you even want it." He
spoke a bit haltingly.
"But you want to. I can see it. And of course I want it.
Don't be silly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't."
In one fluid motion, the girl rose out of the chair. She
kicked off her running shoes. Her shoes landed with a
light thud in front of the desk. She wasn't wearing
socks. She walked over to the desk, her bare feet
whispering across the carpet; she leaned on his desk,
thrust her breasts out against her sweater. He was
almost sure he could make out her nipples beneath the
fabric of her top. He tore his gaze away from her with a
huge effort.
"You want me," she spoke in her husky voice. Her voice
had far more experience than he would have imagined in a
girl this age.
"Sarah. I'm going to have to stop this session if you
can't behave. We can explore this at some other time. Or
with someone else here. I don't want to stop it, we're
making progress, but I will."
"I'm not Sarah." She took a deep breath and returned to
her chair. She purposefully recrossed her legs and
flexed her bare toes.
"What's this all about, Cassandra? You can talk to me."
She sat back, crossing her arms under her breasts. "What
do you want to know?"
"I need to know about you. Your past. What you are
feeling now."
"I'm hot and I'm wet. I'm aching for you. Your touch.
That's what I am feeling." Her hand stole to her right
breast and she gently traced it through her sweater with
her index finger. Her eyes locked onto his. "Care to
help me with that?"
"Cassandra. You must know that we can't do anything.
Even if I was interested."
"I know you are interested."
He felt himself reacting to her again. He reached for
the intercom. "I'm going to have to stop this for
today. You can come back tomorrow, and we'll discuss it
then. Okay?"
"You can't handle me alone? Poor man." Then more softly,
"I'll behave."
He looked at her. She looked so innocent. She was able
to switch back and forth. She could turn her demeanor on
and off, like a light switch.
He withdrew his hand from the button.
"Cassandra? Put your shoes back on if we are going to
continue. Okay?"
"Cassandra? Who is that?" A softer voice, almost
frightened.
"Sarah?"
"What happened? I. I'm confused." She looked down at her
bare feet.
"What happened to my shoes?"
He didn't quite know how to deal with this. "Sarah, you
blacked out for a moment. You kicked your shoes off. Why
don't you put them back on before we continue?"
She looked at him suspiciously. Frightened. She sat
unmoving in her chair. She blinked.
"Because I don't want to put them on. I'm comfortable."
The harsher, deeper voice returned.
"Cassandra?"
"Of course, who'd you think it was?"
"Sarah doesn't know about you, does she?"
"Of course she does. Who do you think calls me?"
"Why are you back? I'd like to talk to Sarah if you'll
let me."
"She'll be back after we fuck."
"You know we can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Cassandra, you know why not."
"Don't you find me attractive? Who's going to find out?
I won't tell if you don't."
"I'd like to talk to Sarah."
"I'm not wearing any underwear. You want to see?"
"No. Cassandra. Keep your clothes on. Okay? I'll have to
stop this if you take anything else off. Understand?"
"I understand. I'll be good." She grinned mischeviously.
She knew that he wasn't going to force her to replace
her shoes. She flexed her bare toes, almost casually,
except he knew that nothing she did was casual. At
least in this persona. His eyes were glued to her small
bare feet.
And she knew it.
He took a deep breath, wondering how to proceed.
"If I've been bad, you can spank me," she spoke softly
before he had a chance to gather his thoughts.
Now this was interesting. He idly wondered if physical
abuse had contributed to this. In cases of multiple
personalities, often some of it could be traced back to
sexual or physical abuse in the past. The alternate
personality was created to absorb the pain that the
original personality couldn't. Perhaps, she was trying
to tell him something unconsciously. He remained silent
letting her continue. This was almost certainly a
genuine case of multiple personalities. He could tell
the difference. There was simply no way that she could
fake it this long without slipping somewhere.
"You want to spank me, don't you?" she spoke again,
softly.
"Not really." Though he did. He couldn't get the image
of himself spanking her writhing body out of his mind.
"Have you been spanked before?"
"You can you know. I'll let you." Her hands stole to the
base of her sweater, fingering the material. Her
fingernails almost sparkled in contrast with the pale
skin of her hands. His thoughts roamed to what else she
might be able to do with those soft hands. Red nails
stroking. Her body slowly slipping to her knees on the
carpet. He forced his mind back to the job at hand.
"Have you been spanked before?" he asked again
patiently, trying to control his breathing.
"Lots of times. I like it. It turns me on."
"Cassandra? Does Sarah like to be spanked too?"
"I don't know. Does it matter? She likes you. If she
likes you, she will do anything for you. Right?" Her
fingers still played casually with the fabric of her
sweater. "Let me take off my clothes for you? You want
me to, don't you?"
"Cassandra. I'd prefer if you didn't do that." He hated
lying to patients.
She stretched out like a cat in the chair. She extended
her long legs towards him.
"You can tie me up if you want. Spank me. Right there.
On your desk.
Tie my hands. My feet. Tight. I'll be helpless. Then you
can spank me. My breasts. My legs. My feet. My face.
Even between my legs. You'd like that wouldn't you? I
don't mind." She held her wrists out towards him, close
together, offering herself.
He could feel his heart racing in his chest. It felt
like it was hammering into his ribs. He closed his eyes
seeing pictures of this lovely creature exactly as she'd
described. Naked. Helpless. Spanked. He fought it,
trying to think of his wife. His daughter. His car.
Anything but her. He drew in a deep breath and opened
his eyes.
She had taken advantage of his inattentiveness, removing
her sweater while images of her flitted beneath his
closed lids. Her sweater lay crumpled on the ground by
her bare feet in front of her chair, a flash of blue
against the mottled carpet. She was smiling at him,
proud of herself. His eyes had been drawn to the flash
of colour on the ground. He slowly raised his eyes. She
had been telling the truth earlier about the underwear,
at least up top. Her breasts were even more perfect than
he'd imagined. Upthrust. Firm. Her breasts heaved as she
gazed at him with her ragged breathing, her nipples
noticeably erect.
"You want me. I know you do."
And she was so right. He shook his head, trying to clear
it.
"Cassandra. You have got to put your shirt back on.
Please."
"You don't like my breasts?" She gently squeezed them,
playing with her nipples. They hardened further under
her touch.
"Cassandra, please. I will stop this."
She settled back into her chair, a mischevious smile
gracing her full lips again.
"Don't you want to know if I've done this before?"
Christ. If he stopped this now, then what? Would he ever
get another chance to probe this deeply into her psyche?
His rational mind screamed that he was a professional
and that he would be able to break through her defenses
without resorting to this. It would just take some time.
This wasn't right.
"Have you?" his irrational mind had to know.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she whispered again. "Answer
me and I'll answer you."
"Cassandra. This isn't how it works."
"Why? Because you are the big doctor? I get to bare my
soul? And what do I get in return? I don't even get to
bare this body for you? Why do you get to ask all the
questions? Make all the rules? Hmmmm?"
"Cassandra, put your top back on. Now. Please."
"No. Do you want to fuck me?"
He took a deep breath. "You know we can't. When have you
done this before?"
"Joyce wasn't as hard to break as you are. But then, she
quit the first session when I kicked off my shoes for
her."
He swallowed. Joyce? His head felt fuzzy. His rational
mind kicked in.
She was lying. Trying to trap him. Trying to shock him.
She took advantage of the pause. "Do you want me to take
off my shorts? I will you know." Her fingers were
playing with the button. "I'm not wearing panties."
"No Cassandra. I want you to put back on your shirt and
your shoes."
"I made love to Joyce. She's your friend, isn't she?"
Perhaps her delusions would provide an answer.
"She's my friend. And she isn't homosexual. When did you
make love to her?"
"Have you ever made love to her? How could you possibly
know she isn't a closet lesbian?"
"How I know isn't relevant here." He and Joyce were good
friends. Collegues. There had been some attraction, but
it hadn't developed into anything. He was married. She
was married. They respected that. They'd attended some
functions together, even danced. But they hadn't
proceeded beyond harmless flirtations. Overall, he
supposed, he didn't really know if she was bisexual, or
homosexual for that matter. But Joyce's sexual
preferences weren't the issue here.
"You haven't had her. I can see it in your eyes. That's
too bad. She was quite an attentive lover. You would
have liked her almost as much as you are going to like
me."
"Cassandra, you know we can't do this. We can talk all
you like. And you don't need to be naked. Put back on
your sweater." The words were becoming an effort to say.
The sight of her breasts was rattling him. He couldn't
tear his eyes away from her half naked body, her long
bare legs, her small toes. He couldn't help wondering
just what was beneath those shorts.
"I like being naked. She resisted, too, you know. Longer
than you will. I had to work on her for three full
sessions before she let me do what I wanted. She stopped
the sessions twice. But she was easier than you."
"Who? Mrs. Moore?"
"Joyce. Yes."
"So you are bisexual then?"
"Isn't everyone? Isn't that what they teach you in your
precious psychology courses?"
"Let's get back to how you like being spanked."
"You liked hearing about that? You want to spank me? You
can. As much and as hard as you like. Where ever you
like. I'll let you. Have you ever spanked a woman during
sex? I have. It's quite a rush hearing her scream. I can
scream for you. Or I can keep quiet. You can even gag me
if you like. I'd even let you gag me with my own panties
if I was wearing any. I'll do whatever you want."
"Cassandra, I don't want to spank you." He tried to lie
convincingly to this vixen. His arousal was mounting by
huge increments as he listened to her.
"You want to tie me up, then? Fuck me while I'm
helpless? Spank me when I'm helpless? That's what
finally got Joyce."
"When was the first time you realized that you liked
these types of things?"
"A long, long time ago. It doesn't matter. Joyce liked
tying me up."
He swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to will the
images away. Images flashed though his mind of this
girl, squirming, tied down on Joyce's desk. Crying out
as Joyce hit her. The two of them making love tenderly.
"You're picturing it, aren't you?" she asked. "Me. And
Joyce."
"Sarah. We are going to have to stop for today."
"She finally let me strip. And then we moved all her
pads and pencils and things off her desk together. She
used her scarves. Tied my wrists. And my ankles. My legs
apart. We kissed. Right there in her office. Like that.
Me helpless. Vulnerable. Joyce loved it."
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore her voice. He
couldn't stop her. He couldn't will the mental images
out of his mind. He was so bloody aroused. He tried to
will his hand forward to touch the intercom. Stop this.
Get Sheila in here. His hand wasn't listening to his
brain any longer. He was captivated by Cassandra's husky
voice.
"Do you want to know more? Or should we stop this?" she
asked innocently.
He opened his eyes. She'd shifted again. She was
standing closer in front of his desk, her breasts
inviting him, drawing his full attention. She smiled at
him and slowly, deliberately unbuttoned her shorts. She
hooked her fingers into the waistband and slowly pushed
them over her hips and down her long legs. Her deep blue
hypnotizing eyes still locked on his. She stepped out of
the shorts towards the desk, placed her hands on the
edge, and leaned towards him. Completely nude. The only
coherent thought running through his head was that she
was a real blonde. This couldn't possibly be happening.
"C-Cassandra. You have to stop this. You can't do this.
Not in here. You have to get dressed."
"You don't like my body? Why should we be ashamed of our
bodies? I'm not."
He could see that. She didn't have a trace of self-
consciousness. She seemed almost happy to be romping
around nude in front of him.
"I swear. Cassandra. If you don't stop this, I will get
someone else in here to stop this. Please. Get dressed,
go sit down, and we'll continue."
She pouted for a moment, her full lower lip quivering,
her eyes silently pleading. She eventually turned,
presenting a beautiful backside, and strutted back to
her chair. She settled into it, making no move to gather
her discarded clothing. No move to cover herself at all.
Her face had lost the pout and she stared at him almost
defiantly.
"Clothes," he motioned at her garments on the floor.
"I prefer not wearing them. I'll tell you what you want
to know if you just let me stay here like this. Nobody
has to know. I won't come on to you if you don't want
me. All you have to do is tell me that you don't want
me. Please let me keep them off? I'm just more
comfortable this way. Okay?"
He would lose his license. He just knew it. May as well
just take the useless diploma off his wall and light a
match under it now.
"Tell me about Joyce."
"You don't believe me. You don't believe that we had
sex. Do you?"
"I think that it will help me understand you if you tell
me what you think happened between you."
"You just want to hear me tell you what we did. Even if
it's a twisted fantasy of mine. You think it will help
you understand me?" She paused for a second, thinking.
"You think it will turn you on."
"Does it matter?"
"To you it does. Will it turn you on to hear about two
women having sex? Two women tying each other up?
Spanking each other? I'll tell you gladly if it will
turn you on. I want you turned on. Are you jealous of
Joyce? She's had me and you haven't. Yet."
"Cassandra, will you please dress yourself?"
"Not yet. After we fuck. I'll get dressed after you
screw me. You want to hear about Joyce? It isn't a
fantasy," she was barely whispering but he could make
out her words just fine.
"Tell me about Joyce." He had resigned himself to her
game. It couldn't hurt to continue; she was already nude
and unlikely to get dressed without outside
intervention. Not like he'd ever be speaking to any
other patients again. Maybe this would tell him
something about this naked enigma in front of him.
Perhaps he could still help her.
"I was stretched out on her desk. Bound with her
scarves. Just as you are imagining me stretched out on
your desk. Only you want me in chains, something
harsher. I like harsher, by the way. And I was so turned
on. And so was she. She locked her door, drew the
drapes. She stripped, too. Except she left her shoes on.
God, she was beautiful. She hit me with her hand. It
felt so good. Almost like the warmth you get from hot
chocolate after skating all day. And she liked it. I
could tell. It was in her eyes. She spanked me. My
breasts. They hurt for a while, but nothing major. I've
been hurt worse. I didn't even cry. She couldn't hit me
as hard as you could."
She paused, watching him. His eyes closed, seeing the
images.
"Then she let me go. Untied me. We used our tongues on
each other.
Sixty-nined in front of her desk. Her on top. God. It
felt so good. She climaxed twice. Quite a woman. You'd
have liked her. You should really try to get in her
pants. She'd let you. Might take a while and a bit of
effort on your part, but you could have her. The hardest
part will be getting past the respect she has for you.
She might even let you tie her up as well."
He opened his eyes. Her right hand was slowly stroking
her left nipple. Her face was flushed, her left hand
played with her blonde curls between her legs, her legs
slightly parted. She presented a tantalizing view and
she was fully aware of it.
"Cassandra. You have to stop this."
"I thought you wanted to hear about me and Joyce. I'm
just doing what you wanted."
"I want to know why you came up with that fantasy."
"And why I'm coming on to you?"
"Yes."
"I'm doing it because Sarah likes you. Simple. And I
know you want me.
No reason you can't have me."
"Can I talk to Sarah, please?" His breathing was ragged.
He was having trouble concentrating. He had to clear his
head. Talk to Sarah. Or had to get away from the sight
of her. He was going to do something he'd regret. Like
not forcing her to get dressed. Like not stopping this
crazy session. Like not calling Sheila well before this
got out of hand. Like still not calling Sheila, even
though it had gotten way out of hand.
"If you fuck me, she'll come back."
"I have to get a drink of water, Cassandra. Do you want
anything?" He had to get out of this room. Away from
her. Just for a moment.
"I just want you," she purred.
He gathered his strength. He tried to tear his eyes away
from her as he rose to his feet.
"I'll be back in a second. Alright? You stay there. And
get dressed."
"Yes, sir."
He strode purposefully to the door and slipped through.
Sheila looked up at him quizzically. She was a psych
major at the local university. She knew that there was
no way he should have left that room, leaving a patient
alone. Not during a session. She watched him as he
poured a glass of water from the cooler.
"Are you alright? You looked flushed," Sheila asked
quietly. Concerned.
"I'm fine. Just a little thirsty."
Sheila shook her head and bent back to her computer
filing, not willing to question her employer further.
Patient confidentiality, and all. She thought it was a
bit odd that he hadn't just buzzed her and gotten her to
bring in refreshments like normal. After all, that's
what she was paid to do.
He slipped back into the room leaving Sheila to wonder
to herself. Any explanations that Sheila concocted would
be so far from the truth that it was almost comical.
Sarah was still nude, idly playing with her bare
breasts. An excited flush had spread across her cheeks.
"I missed you," she whispered.
He returned to behind his desk. "I thought I asked you
to get dressed."
"What are you, my father?" she started to get flustered.
She visibly fought her emotions under control and rose
again to her feet.
"I'm not your father," he responded automatically. A
faint look of confusion crossed her features and then
vanished. "I just want you to get dressed. For both our
sakes."
"And I just want to fuck you. For both our sakes. I'll
get dressed afterwards. I want you. Don't you want me?"
She threw her bare breasts out towards him again. He
tried to avert his eyes, but failed. "You can have me
any way you want me. Doggie style? Straight? Tied up? My
ass? I can give you a blowjob you'd never forget. Better
than your wife. I swallow. Your wife ever let you tie
her up?"
"Cassandra. Why are you doing this?"
"Joyce has a tattoo, you know," she remarked quietly.
She stepped around the corner of the desk, her bare feet
light and silent on the carpet.
"She does?" He knew Joyce had a tattoo. At some
function, he'd remarked on it. She'd been wearing a
rather low cut evening gown and the tip of the tattoo
had just cleared her neck line. It was a small panther,
low on her right breast, though he'd only seen the nose
of it. It had been barely visible and only because of
the daring dress she'd worn. He'd been surprised that
she had a tattoo at all. She didn't seem the type. She
had seemed very embarrassed about it, especially
considering its location and that he'd noticed it. She'd
gotten it one night as an undergraduate, after a party,
she'd explained.
"A small black panther. I think you know where."
He swallowed. How the hell could she know that? Unless
...
"Oh my od," he whispered, suddenly frightened, realizing
the implications.
She was right beside him. Her female scent and arousal
washed over him in waves. He closed his eyes again,
breathing her. His arousal mirrored her arousal, whether
he wanted it to or not. His fright at her revelations
simply melted into his deep arousal.
She sat up on his desk and he pushed himself back. Hard.
His chair ended up against the window. He tried to clear
his spinning mind. He had to get as much distance
between them as he could.
"Joyce was fun, but you'll be better. I think," she
whispered seductively. "You and I both know that this is
going to happen sooner or later. Why are you fighting
me? You gay? I doubt it. I can usually see those things.
Don't you like me?"
"Cassandra. You have to stop this. Get dressed. We'll
finish this tomorrow. Please?"
"Begging me? I thought I was begging you. Master?" Her
eyes shone playfully. "I can be your slave, if you
want."
She inched her legs up onto the desk. Carefully, she
watched his eyes, ensuring that he was entranced by her.
Like he could tear his eyes away.
She curled herself up on his blotter, watching him like
a lioness.
"Come here," she spoke softly but commandingly.
Despite himself, he found himself moving forward towards
her. He struggled with his own impulses. He was married,
for chrissakes. He couldn't do this. Wrong. Even if he
couldn't remember the way to handle it, he did remember
the instructor's warnings. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. No can
do. License revoked. And he was obviously handling this
wrong. Completely out of control. There was the
beautiful naked Siren perched on his desk to prove his
incredible incompetence.
"Cassandra. We are going to stop this. Now. Get off my
desk. Get dressed."
"You sound like my father. I just want to make you feel
good. You can make me feel good. What's wrong with that?
Just pretend I'm a younger version of your wife. She
doesn't have to know. Nobody has to know. Just you and
I. Our little secret," she was whispering again. She
bent to kiss him as he neared her.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slapped her.
Her face rocked back onto her shoulder. She cried out in
pain. Her hands flew to her face, rubbing at her stung
cheek. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He was almost sure that his
instructors had never mentioned slapping a patient as an
option for therapy. Not even in the advanced classes.
A small, higher voice emerged from her throat. "Daddy?"
He was dumbstruck that he'd slapped her. Knowing his
license was long gone, he moved back again, rolling the
chair frantically back towards the window, watching her.
He couldn't quite believe what was happening. She had
her eyes closed. A frightened look on her face replaced
the wanton lust from seconds before.
"Daddy? Please? I don't want to tonight. Please?" Her
breathing was becoming laboured. "I. I don't like him.
Please? Not the ropes. Oh god. Please? I. I'll do it.
You don't need to tie me up. Nooooo!" She screamed. "Oh
god. No more. It hurts. I'll do him. I'll suck him. I'll
behave. I'll obey. I'll be good. Please. Not the belt.
Not there. Oh god. No. Please. Daddy? Please no. It
hurts."
He was in shock. Psychology courses can't prepare you
for this. No way. Not ever. Nothing can ever prepare you
for this.
"Sarah?" he spoke gently to the naked girl sitting on
his desk.
The girl finally opened her eyes, but she still wasn't
seeing. "Please?" she begged, still in the higher,
younger voice. He had no idea what daemons she was
fighting. What she was seeing. What she was even begging
for. She looked down at herself. "Oh god. Not again."
The voice older. Softer. Sarah. "What have I done?"
"Nothing, sweetheart... Nothing at all."
"I. Where are my clothes? I've done it again. Haven't
I?" Her hands reached to cover herself, across her bare
breasts. She pressed her thighs together tightly.
"Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet. And you aren't going to
either. You're safe here." After some of the images that
he knew were still in his head, he doubted the
truthfulness of that reassurance.
Her free hand traced up to her face, rubbing at the hand
print across her left cheek. Tears coursed down her
face. Her mouth formed the word soundlessly, as though
calling an invisible person, "Cassandra".
The girl stretched out again. She was back in control.
The transformation stunned him. Her long bare legs
tantalized him as she stretched herself back out on his
desk, pulling her hands away from her breasts,
displaying herself again for him. She knocked his pens
down to the floor with her outstretched legs. He
remained safely pushed back from her near the window.
Her fingers still traced down her reddened cheek. She
looked at him.
"See? I told you that you could hit me. That you wanted
to." Her hand dropped back between her legs. She moaned
slightly as her fingers found her lower lips, lightly
stroking herself. "You liked it, didn't you? I did." She
offered her other cheek. "You can hit me again if you
like. Harder if you want. I don't mind."
"Cassandra?"
"Who else?"
"Let me talk to Sarah."
"I don't think so. I may have been out of it for a
second there, but I know we haven't done the wild thing.
You're still dressed. I want to see you naked. I want to
fuck you. I'm naked. You should be too. Please? For
me?"
"I need to talk to Sarah." Cassandra was getting in the
way here.
"No. I want you first."
"I thought Sarah wanted me."
"She does. She just doesn't want to admit it."
"Sarah needs me. To talk with. To help her. Not anything
else." It was getting easier to resist this gorgeous
creature. He'd seen her soul. However briefly, he'd
seen the hurt, scared, little girl buried within her. He
consciously tried to ignore her scent, her lithe, adult
body, her irresistible sexuality. There was a little
girl in there, somewhere.
"Says you. I didn't ask for your help." Her face became
a bit more distant. An inner struggle was in progress
just below the surface.
"What did your father do to you, Cassandra?"
"My father?" she paled a bit. "Don't you want me?
Please? I don't want to talk about him. I just want
you."
He struggled with himself, knowing that he had to stop
this. He'd already slapped her, stepped way too far over
the line. But he was so close, yet so damn far.
"Your father."
"I loved my father."
"Did you?"
Her face began to collapse again. A single tear coursed
down her cheek. He couldn't tell who was going to
surface. Still wasn't sure even as she spoke again in a
quiet whisper.
"It would have been so much easier to fuck you."
She closed her eyes, tears falling helplessly down her
pale cheeks. She hung her head almost looking like a
defenseless, helpless, little girl sitting up on his
desk. Defeated. She took a deep breath, looked at him
with her pleading eyes, and then gently touched the
intercom button with her bare toes.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 68