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Doctor Pretty

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Jane Pretty looked at the watch on her wrist. Girard Perregaux : a Swiss watch, tasteful and elegant. Like her suit: Chanel ready to wear; prêt à porter, chic and professional. Single, thirty-seven, a high-priced therapist, she spent her money on fine things. It gave her satisfaction to surround herself with them. She crossed her legs, the friction of her pantyhose like a faint shimmer of sound, her black suede pumps stretching her ankle attractively, but not erotically, the toes not too pointed. She leaned over and sipped from her bottle of water.

Joyce, her assistant, had filled the cancellation with a man named Alex Kennedy. Originally, when he had called he was told she had no openings for at least two weeks. Then Mrs. White had cancelled. Joyce had said Mr. Kennedy was thrilled to be squeezed in. Now Doctor Pretty wished Joyce hadn’t booked it. She didn’t need the three hundred dollars, and she would have loved to go to the gym early. She felt the need to sweat hard today – a steeper angle on the treadmill, a different pattern on the stationary bike. Oh well.

“Have a wonderful night, Joyce. Happy Birthday!”

Joyce looked up and smiled, excited about her “date” with her husband. Doctor Pretty hadn’t minded letting her go early; god, he only took Joyce out about once every two months.

Dr. Pretty checked her wrist again. She adjusted the chairs in her office, angling them to face a large painting of a cottage on a windswept Irish coast. Patients liked to look up at it in many of their moods – grey-purple clouds, an isolated cottage, a chaotic sea, images that soothed the savage breast. The door of the outer office opened and closed, and she went out.

Alex Kennedy was what she called a “glossy” man: it turned out he was a successful stock broker, just over thirty. He had a squash bag under his arm, his tie undone and trailing down both sides of his open collar.

He looked at her, his gaze almost frozen. “Ah, Doctor Pretty. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” She looked back at him, wondering what that meant. “Please come into my office. Should we have met before?”

“Oh no. No. It doesn’t matter. Thanks.” He came in and sat down. “Thanks for squeezing me in, Doctor Pretty. I’m a little warm from my game.”

She took a bottle of water and placed it on the table beside his chair. “You look like you could use this.” She sat down, self-possessed, a notebook on her lap, her legs crossed.

He looked over at her as he took a long drink from the bottle of water. “The name fits, Doctor Pretty. Thanks for the water.”

She looked at him, completely unmoved. He was one of those men: handsome, active, successful, expensive clothes he didn’t bother to look after. “So, Alex, what brings you here? So urgently.”

He looked over at her, not speaking yet. She wondered how much she would have to draw him out. One of those men: uncommunicative. He had wavy blond hair, one strong hand on the arm of the chair, one rubbing his chin.

“Well,” he began. Then he stopped. “Do you get many male patients, Doctor Pretty? I love that name. Doctor Pretty.”

She uncrossed and crossed her legs, as if restating it was time to get down to business. She smiled disarmingly. “More women than men. Does it matter? Does it make you uncomfortable?”

He looked over at her, leaning his chin against the fingers of his left hand. His eyes went from her face, down her body, down her legs, to her feet. “No, not really, I guess. But it is a little embarrassing. Like – if the guys knew what I was here about.” He stopped and looked away. She simply looked up, lifting her eyes expectantly, knowing people had an automatic need to fill silences. It was the therapist’s best friend, silence. He smiled like a boasting boy. “Doctor Pretty, you know, me and the guys have coffee downstairs at Starbucks. We sit at the window and rate the girls. You’re one of the ones that walks by. And you’re right up there near the top of the list.”

Visibly, she didn’t react, but inside she was rolling her eyes. God; she waited till the end of the day for this?

“Did one of them recommend me, perhaps, Alex?” She could be arch, if she wanted, though it likely went right over his head.

“Sort of.” he said quickly. “I was in the building once with a friend. One of them pointed out your name. He said you were one of the most expensive analysts in the city. It just made sense. Your office is close and convenient. I can afford the best. And then I sort of felt I knew you. I mean since you’re one of the ones who walks by Starbucks. That’s what I meant when I came in.”

“Oh I see.” She could feel a slight flush. Why? She had the habit of analyzing herself, almost as a professional habit. Men sitting at a table, watching her, assessing. Wondering what she looked like without clothes on. “I think we should get to your concerns, Alex. It can’t have been easy for you to come in here, to talk about something personal. Something the guys would feel funny about, for instance. Why not just spit it out? Take a chance. You’re a confident, successful man. No need to feel intimidated by the situation.”

She thought he would feel challenged by that. Challenged into honesty. He leaned back.

He rested his chin on the fingers of his hand again. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He stared at her legs again. She had sort of got to him, under his skin a bit. He bent forward, his elbows on his knees. “It’s like this, Doctor Pretty. I have these thoughts. Intense thoughts. About girls. I have this theory, you see, but I’m afraid that it will get me into trouble.”

She looked up, stopped making notes. “A theory? Trouble? What sort of thoughts, Alex, what sort of theory? Go on. I’ve heard quite a few unusual stories in here.”

He looked at her again, and wiped his brow. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and laid it on top of his squash bag. “All right, Doctor. These thoughts, this theory about girls.” He paused.

She was really getting impatient. She started to kick her foot involuntarily for a few seconds, then stopped herself. “And the theory is?…”

He looked at her, his eyes focused and intense. “Yes. It’s more than a theory, actually. It seems to be the truth. The truth about the way girls are.”

“Go on.”

“You see, Doctor Pretty, you know how girls like to pretend, like to play hard to get? What I think is that inside every female there is a girl who just wants to be taken, you know? Forced. So that she is helpless to prevent it. So that if she is helpless to prevent it, and if you just force it a bit, it gives her an excuse, you know? An excuse to give in, and to let herself be taken. Fucked I mean. So that she can’t help it. And then it turns out, she wants it so bad she can’t get enough.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh, or roll her eyes again. “So this is your theory. Or do you find it works out in practice as well? I suppose it depends on the girl.”

His cool blue eyes fell on her hands then up her torso. “Don’t you think girls are like this, Doctor Pretty?”

“It’s not an unusual fantasy for women, or men, for that matter, to have those thoughts of helplessness.”

“Not unusual, Doctor? It’s like every girl I meet is like that. Like just the other night. I was out at Shaker’s, the club just down the street. You know the one?”

She didn’t. She rarely went out, except to the symphony, or to dinner with some friends, female friends, with whom she had good, cool relations. “No, but go on.”

He didn’t need much prompting. He looked at her legs, then her eyes. He almost can’t help himself, she thought. The predatory male, she wrote on her pad. “There was a girl there, at the bar. Tight jeans, white blouse, big tits, almost too big for her blouse. Heels. Blond hair. And that careful look in her eyes. That’s the key. I look for the ones with that careful look in their eyes. They have to have that look. Those are the ones that are trying to cover up their true feelings. I hit on her. She warmed up a little, but not too much. We danced a couple of dances. Every once in a while I pressed against her breasts. She didn’t pull away. We kissed a couple of times. She didn’t really let loose. I invited her to my place, which is close by here, just for a nightcap.” He stopped and looked at her, as if it was his turn to be silent.

It is amazing how just one second, one look, can re-align the universe. Suddenly, at first, she was uncomfortable, in that silence. Then she felt frightened. Unaccountably. Her reason told her to be sane, that there was nothing to worry about. She breathed in deeply, and forced herself to listen to her reason. She uncrossed and crossed her legs. She cleared her throat. He was staring at her face, then at her neck. His eyes on the gap at the top of her blouse. Don’t be ridiculous, her mind was saying. He’s just telling you his issues. Then on her knees. Her calves. Then back up to the hem of her skirt, where her thighs met. It took all her willpower not to pull the hem of her skirt down. It was a conservative skirt, but, when she was seated, it came up quite a few inches above her knee. Besides, she must be 6 or 7 years older than him.

“Sooo… you know how it is, Doctor. A drink in my apartment. She is on my turf then, it’s like an unspoken rule, you know? I can’t get into trouble for telling you this, can I?”

She shook her head. “No, this is entirely confidential, Alex. So?” She felt the flush on her skin, moving up her chest. She used to get blotchy when she was younger, and easily embarrassed. Now it never happened. She had learned so much about herself, how to deal with her reactions, how not to be shocked. You got that way, in her profession. It was one of her strengths. Her ability to be dispassionate, to listen carefully, to ask astute questions, to give advice.

“So.” He moved himself an inch or two closer on his chair, bending toward her. “So we are in my kitchen. I kiss her. She gives a little whimper when I kiss her. She puts her hand on my chest, just pushing me away gently. Like, yeah, right, she is going to be able to push me away like that? I’m pretty strong, you know, and about six inches taller than her. I kiss her again, pressing against her, harder. By now, my cock is hard, and I press it against her crotch. She pushes back, you know, and her arms are around my neck. Then after a while, I mean we’re kissing really hot and heavy, and I squeeze her tit, and she doesn’t stop me, then she does it again. With her hand. She tries to push me away, not too hard. Like she sort of has to, just to prove she is good girl, you know? But underneath I know she’s a bad girl. A bad girl like all girls are bad girls inside, you know Doctor?”

Doctor Pretty made a pretence of jotting down notes, just to escape his gaze.

“So I do it over again. The whole routine. We do this about three times, and finally I grab her hair, and bend her head back, and she gets that look in her eyes, the one I know tells me what she is really like. She’s scared but also she knows she can’t really resist if she wants to, and she knows she wants it, and I can see it in her eyes and she knows I can see it in her eyes. I start to guide her back through the door, and then into my bedroom, and she is taking these little steps, saying nothing, just looking around like a scared rabbit, eyes darting everywhere. I start undoing her buttons on her blouse. Her fingers come up to stop me, sort of, but it’s such a weak effort. Then her jeans. Then – and this works every time, Doctor – I slide my hand really fast down inside her pants and my fingers start to squeeze and mash her pussy. And she is like so wet. So wet. And she knows the game is up. And she closes her eyes. She sighs. She melts. She knows this is what she really wanted. What she really wants inside. What every girl seems to want, Doctor.”

He didn’t give her time to answer but just carried on. “So the next thing I’m hearing is her moaning. And she’s saying ‘yes, jesus, fuck me, please fuck me I am so hot.’ And so I do. I can hardly get her clothes off fast enough for her. And she cums about four times. Scratches my back to hell. So that’s what it’s like.” He leaned back, almost like a boy expecting to be given a reward.

Doctor Pretty took a sip of her own water, and wiped her throat with the ends of her fingers. She could feel how flushed her skin was. “And is it always like this, Alex? Do you think all girls are like this? Is this why you came to see me?”

He sat silent for a few seconds. “Oh no, I don’t think all girls are like this, Doctor. They are like this. But that’s not why I came to see you. It’s the thoughts I have. They are a little more extreme.

“More extreme… All right, tell me.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this, Doctor? You seem a little bothered by this.”

She forced a smile and shook her head. “Oh no, Alex, don’t worry. Believe me. I’ve heard just about everything.” For some reason she felt the need to show she wasn’t put off, wasn’t afraid. Yes, afraid. That’s what she was. And she didn’t want to show it.

He leaned forward again. She looked at her watch. Fifteen more minutes. The building was silent. “My thoughts are more… ummmm… violent ones, Doctor. This is the problem. In my fantasies, I don’t want the girls to give in so easily. I don’t want them to give in at all. I want to have to cover their mouths with my hand before they scream. Gag them with my tie, or a scarf. I want to have to tie them up, tie them to a post or a bed or a chair. Rip their clothes off, cut them off with a knife. Force them. Really force them. Then I want to watch their eyes when I touch their cunts. Slide my fingers down their crotches, and watch their eyes when my fingers dip into their pussies and they are soaking wet. That is the moment of truth. I want to see it in their eyes. When they know I know what they are really like. All bad girls underneath it all. Even the nicest girls. Even the really good ones.”

She maintained her balance. She gulped discreetly, and then picked up her water bottle and sipped from it. Ladylike. He did the same, only he gulped it. And wiped his brow. He pulled on the tie that hung down both side of his shirt. He was done. He sighed deeply and sat back.

“So you feel better now, Alex, talking about it?”

“Yes I do. But you see why I am worried. You see I think about this often. I look at a girl, in the street, you know, the ones we check out at Starbucks, or at a bar.”

She recrossed her legs and pulled the hem of her skirt down . “So you have your own rape fantasy. Usually, of course, it’s the other way around, but it’s still a fantasy, Alex, and that’s what we have to remember. Many people have all kinds of fantasies. Flying. Swimming under the ocean. Rescuing fair maidens from dragons. Killing aliens. You just have to remember they are fantasies.”

He looked at her, rubbing his lips with his forefinger thoughtfully. He said nothing.

She looked her watch. She closed her notebook. “But you’re afraid of these fantasies, is that it, Alex. Maybe even once you came close to living them out, is that it? We should talk about that, I think. Next time. But you feel better, at least, for now?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I do. So I guess time’s up. That’s how it works, I know.” He reached down for his jacket, then his squash bag. She stood. He stood. She stepped aside for him to walk out. In the doorway to the office he stopped and turned. “Doctor, I have to ask you something. When I was talking, you were blushing, your skin got all coloured up your neck. It made you nervous, didn’t it?” He looked at her. At her neck, which was colouring again.

“Alex, we don’t need to talk about my reactions. They’re -”

He stepped forward, closer to her. She stepped back. “You were afraid, Doctor. Because of the way you reacted?”

She was in fact very afraid, now. She summoned all her control. “Alex we can talk about it next time. For now, we are done, okay? That’s why appointments are an hour. It avoids the patient getting carried away.”

He was taller than her by about five inches. His eyes, she realized, were quite a steely blue. A few curls of fair hair crept out from the top of his shirt. Sweat was coming out on her forehead.

“You’re flushing now, Doctor. All the way up your neck.” He slowly pulled his tie from where it hung around his neck. She quickly put her hand up, her palm open, fingers splayed. She shook her head. Her mouth opened, but she was too slow. Everything, it seemed, was too slow, as if she were suddenly moving in a drugged universe.

The taste of the tie was not what she expected. It tasted like paper. Her eyes were wide with fright. She grunted, but he pulled the tie back in her mouth. He looked intense, possessed by that kind of demented sanity that knows exactly what it is doing. She could feel his breath on her face, but all she could smell was the smell of her own body, her own sweat, which was now beading on her forehead. He was pushing her back against her chair. His hands grabbed at the top button of her suit jacket. He ripped it apart and yanked it down over her shoulders. It immobilized her arms. Her vision was starting to get blurry, through her tears. He pushed her down onto her armchair. She kept her legs closed tight together. She grunted every few seconds, unable to make any other sound. Hoping he was just acting something out. Hoping he would wake up and realize what he was doing. He placed his hand on her chest, forcing to stay in place.

It dawned on her that she was very exposed, in just her bra, and her skirt. Her expensive La Perla bra, with the beautiful lace work, that fitted her 34C breasts perfectly. Her unmarked, 34C breasts.

“Very pretty, Doctor Pretty.” He ran his fingers over her bra. She cried harder then. Tears streaming down. “Don’t move.” His hand moved up to her throat, and her eyes went suddenly wider, feeling his fingers around her neck muscles. He reached down into his squash bag, pulling up some straps. He held them up in front of her. “Boat straps,” he said. “I had to pick them up from a friend who borrowed them. On the way here.” He quickly disappeared behind her. Incredibly quickly she felt the strap coiling around her chest, over the top of her breasts, then down underneath, then pulled tight. So tight she felt the air expelled from her lungs. He moved in front of her. Took off her shoes. She then started to struggle in earnest, twisting, kicking. The next thing she felt was her head suddenly flying, like it had been torn from her neck. Then her cheek burned. She was dazed. For a second she even wondered where she was. He had hit her. Smacked her across the cheek. She went still. Still in a daze. When she felt his hands doing something with her feet. Tying her ankles. Then pulling them back. Her skirt riding up as her legs spread. God. She tried to close her legs but it was impossible.

He stood in front of her. “Very pretty, Doctor Pretty. You liked my stories, didn’t you? I mean deep inside. You don’t want to admit it. But we’ll do a test, shall we?” He leaned over and pushed her skirt up. She cried. Tears streaming down her face. He leaned over, inches from her face.

“Listen.” She could feel his breath on her face again. But still, all she could smell was her own body. Perspiring. Cold sweat. “Listen. We’ll do a test. If your cunt is not wet, then I’ll free you. But if it is wet… well then, Doctor Pretty… ” He stopped and looked menacingly at her face, a cruel smile on his face. His hands slid slowly up her thighs, along her smooth sleek pantyhose. Only now, only at this point, with his hands sliding up her hips to grab the top of her pantyhose, did she begin to think about her vagina. Oh God. God. She prayed.

“Do you have matching panties, Doctor Pretty? Who are you trying to look so pretty for underneath this suit of yours? Do you think about us watching you walk by on the sidewalk, imagining what you might look like?” His fingers found the elastic on her pantyhose and started yanking it down. He forced it down, awkwardly, painfully. Once it was halfway down her thighs it wouldn’t stretch further. He stopped, wiped his brow. Then looked at her panties. “you do have matching panties, Doctor Pretty. So pretty. Now then, Doctor Pretty, let’s see if you’re a bad girl. Shall we? Are you a bad girl? Are you going to tell me, or am I going to find out for myself.”

She grunted madly into her gag, trying to force her legs together, but it was hopeless. Then she felt it, his fingers at the elastic of her panties. Her stomach jumped. Then down further, over her soft nest of blonde hair. Then there. There. They slid so easily down her labia. A finger, no two fingers sliding up and down her labia. Then two of them inside her. Her body jerked, trying to get away, trying to escape the violation. She writhed, twisted, and writhed and twisted some more. It was quite some time – seconds? minutes? – before she realized he had stopped moving his fingers. They were just held there, against her labia, two fingers up inside her. She stopped moving, looking up at him then. He was staring at her. Eyes burning, forcing, like the rest of him. “The moment of truth, Doctor Pretty. In your eyes. You can’t hide it.” She looked at him, helpless, then her head went limp, and she started crying again, weeping, harder. Her body gave up. She felt his fingers wiggle inside her. She jerked involuntarily. She could smell herself. He was slowly, slowly moving his fingers now in her vagina. Inside her, then out, along her labia, up over her clit, then back down and inside her. Repeating the motion. Each time his fingers moved over her clit her body jerked, writhed. Trying to get away from it, she told herself. Embarrassed, shocked at her body’s response. She couldn’t help her reaction. He was tormenting her. Humiliating her. Then he took his fingers out.

She looked down, wondering what he was doing. His hands were grabbing her pantyhose. They were strong hands, she realized. Muscular, athletic, working hands. They ripped her pantyhose apart. completely, so she now had two separate legs. Then his hands went up to the elastic of her panties. Her resistance now was half-hearted. Token. He grabbed one side of her panty elastic, and with one strong pull ripped it apart. Then he did the same on the other side. Now, with both hips ripped apart, he tugged her panties off her completely.

“I want you to keep your eyes open now, Doctor Pretty. Watch.” He lifted her panties up to his nose, inhaling her scent. “Your fuckjuices, Doctor Pretty. Your cuntjuices. Here. Smell.” He held them under her nose. She smelled her smell. A smell she smelled about once a month, when she masturbated under the beautiful pastel sheets of her bed. Then she couldn’t believe it. He tugged the gag away from her mouth and started to stuff her panties in under the gag. In her mouth. Her wet panties. Her soaking panties. He got them about half in, leaving them dangling, all damp and scented, over her lips, under her nose. Then he replaced the gag. Her eyes were smarting, smarting with tears.

She shuddered and jerked suddenly. His fingers were back on her labia. “Your pussy is still soaking, Doctor Pretty. Fresh cuntjuices.” His fingers circled and circled her clitoris, then dipped inside her, flicking inside her, pressing and massaging. Once when he pressed she jerked strongly and involuntarily. She looked up at him, scared, and he just smiled back. His fingers found the same spot again. She felt like she had to urinate. He kept pressing. Then the need to urinate passed, replaced by an incredible warmth, a buzzing throughout her abdomen. Then he took his fingers out. Circled her clit. Silent. Watching her body, looking down at her vagina, then up at her face. He pulled her bra down, exposing her nipples. He pinched them, twisted them. She was groaning and grunting. She was so humiliated. She couldn’t stop her hips from moving. Jerking and shuddering as he tormented her, teased her. Fingers over her clit, then deep inside her. She closed her eyes. It was several seconds before she realized she had closed her eyes, unable to avoid giving herself up to the sensations of arousal, the approaching need to cum. She realized she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself.

All she could hear, occasionally, was his silent breathing. And her hoarse breathing in reply. Her grunts. And in the occasional silences between her grunts, the slick sounds of her own wetness. She closed her eyes again. He stopped. He reached into his squash bag, pulling out a mini-recorder. “It’s okay, Doctor Pretty. I’ll make sure my secretary doesn’t get the wrong tape.” She couldn’t believe what was happening. He turned on the recorder, placing it on the table beside her chair. Then his fingers reached inside her again and her body heaved, another jolt of arousal shooting through her. She closed her eyes. He stopped. She whimpered. Then it started up again. After a few seconds she realized it felt different. She looked. She groaned. He was licking her. His tongue moving slowly up and down her pussy, then pressing on her clit, lifting it, sucking it. She was wracked with dozens of shocks shooting through her, as his tongue drove her wild. His fingers moved inside her.

He stopped. She looked down, then closed her eyes, catching her breath. She could taste herself on her panties still. She was not crying any more. She had entered a new space, a plane of existence. She was watching her body, observing its responses. It wasn’t hers any more; it was this chaotic swirl of fiery meteors, something that was merely wrapped around the core of her. Except it was the core of her. There was nothing else. She didn’t know how long this went on. Alternately fingering her. Licking her. Tormenting her. Stopping. Pinching and twisting her nipples. Her body was not her own now. Her hips moving, starting to fuck his fingers, fuck his mouth. Groaning when he moved away. Whimpering. How did he know? How did he do this? She wanted to explode, she wanted to jump off this ledge and feel that freefall, the weightless exploding universe of her own release.

He stood up, leaning over her, his finger slowly slowly moving around and around her clit. Very slowly. Very lightly. With each circle she was whimpering, shifting, thrusting forward. “Your eyes are begging me, Doctor Pretty.” He stared into her eyes again, yanking her head back by grabbing her hair. “Your eyes don’t lie, Doctor Pretty. Such a bad girl.” He pressed on her clit and she jerked. Yes, she said to herself, this is it! I am going to cum! But always he pulled back just before. She started to cry, she was so desperate. “Such a bad girl, Doctor Pretty. Such a bad girl. Are you a bad girl? A bad girl who wants to cum?” She was about to shake her head, but he was looking into her eyes. His eyes held hers. Slowly, she nodded.

She nodded again. She sucked in air again. He touched her clit harder and she jerked, trying to fuck his fingers, shameless. Then he took his fingers away. Through the gag, she whined, screwing up her eyes, small tears forming at their corners. He touched her clit again, slowly circling it, not quite touching the most sensitive flesh. She squirmed more, and more. She whimpered, she bucked her hips. Then she felt her head yanked back. His hand was in her hair, and his eyes were once again boring into her.

“So Doctor Pretty. I hear what your body is saying. Do you want to cum?” She nodded her head up and down slowly, breathing hard through her gag. He didn’t move, but pressed her clit again with his finger. “I want to hear you tell me you want to cum, Doctor Pretty.”

Her eyes widened in horror. Then she forgot her horror as he slid his fingers up and down her dripping slit, and her pussy came closer to orgasm. She bucked and whined louder. Her eyes pleaded, tearing.

“So Doctor Pretty, you are going to have to ask. I have all night, of course. And you just have your television to go home to. And your cat? I bet you have a cat.” he pinched her nipples, then tugged on them, and she felt the fire right under her clit. “I am going to take the gag off for a second, and you are going to tell me what you want. If you scream, I will put the gag back on, and we’ll do all this again. Understand?”

She nodded vigorously, fearfully. For a fleeting second the thought of screaming crossed her mind. But she was intelligent. A part of her was still cool, carefully assessing her situation. And then there was another part of her. A deeper, primal part. It frightened her, like the monster under the bed when she was a little child. Irrational and powerful. It crept out from under the rock inside her, and slowly took her hands, tied them as securely as Alex had tied her hands in this room. She hated it. She watched it take her over, this monster.

He pulled the panties from her mouth. Then he lifted the gag from her mouth, watching her carefully, ready to clamp it back down. His fingers were working up and down her slit mercilessly.

“Yes?” he said. “Tell me, Doctor Pretty.”

Her hips bucked and she moaned. She moaned again. “God!” she shouted. “Please! Please! Please! Please let me!”

“Let you what, Doctor Pretty?”

“Let me cum,” she whimpered hoarsely, almost under her breath. “I want to cum. I need to cum.”

“What was that, Doctor Pretty? I can’t quite hear you? What do you want me to do?” His fingers were driving her wild.

“I want to cum!” she said more loudly, a hoarse shout. “Please I want to cum!”

“You want to cum, Dr. Pretty. You want me to fuck you? Fuck you with my fingers?” He lowered himself to his knees, and slowly licked up her slit, lifting her clit, sending her again into whimpering, moaning spasms of aching, so close to orgasm. He looked up, his lips wet. “Fuck you with my mouth? I want to hear you ask, Dr. Pretty. Beg.”

Tears were falling from her eyes, but not copiously. They were now as much tears of frustration as tears of humiliation. “Yessssssss,” she hissed. “Fuck me. Fuck me with your fingers. Fuck me with your mouth. Fuck me however you want!”

He stopped licking her. “You have to ask, Dr. Pretty. Not tell me. Ask. Ask nicely.” She was teetering on the edge. He had driven her crazy.

“Please! Pleeeeeeeease! Please fuck me. Please fuck me with your fingers. Fuck me with your mouth. Please I need to cum!”

“That’s a good start, Dr. Pretty. Now you’ll tell me you are a bad girl. A bad girl with a wet pussy. It aches to be fucked. You’re a bad girl whose pussy is soaking wet, so aroused, and you think of fucking and you are aching to be fucked so will I please fuck you.”

She didn’t care now. She did it. Said all the words he wanted to hear, a constant stream of wanting to be fucked, of being a bad girl. And as she spoke, and begged, and said what a bad girl she was, he continued to touch her, to drive her closer and closer. “Yes, a bad girl who wants to cum, a bad girl with a wet pussy who wants you to fuck her. Fuck me fuck me fuck me. Pleeeeeease!!!!!”

Then she came. Right in mid sentence. She came and came and came. Her body convulsed, and just when she thought her orgasm would be over it kept going, another spasm and then another spasm. Finally it subsided, and he stood up. He took out his hard cock. Her eyes drank it in, in a daze. It was long, and thick, and ridged, the head shining. He started stroking it. Then he stopped. He moved closer to her. She thought she knew what he was going to do, and her mouth had opened slightly, almost involuntarily. Instead he reached down and started fingering her tender slit again. She moaned. He knew exactly what to do. God. She was becoming aroused again. She snorted. She was an animal. She knew she was an animal. She wasn’t Dr. Pretty any more.

He didn’t need to ask this time. His cock was inches from her face. She could smell it, the warm, musky, sweaty man smell. The head was shiny and pink and purple. God she remembering the last time she had had sex. It was four years ago. The last time she had had a man’s cock that close. “Please,” she said. “I want to cum. I want you to fuck me with your fingers, your cock, your tongue.”

He kept up the manipulation of her sex. “You want to suck my cock, Dr. Pretty, don’t you? Tell me this bad girl wants to suck my cock.”

“This bad girl wants to suck your cock. Please let me cum. Please let me suck your cock.” His one hand stayed on her pussy, expertly arousing her, bringing her closer. She whimpered and moaned. She opened her mouth and he slowly moved his cock to her mouth, his hand around the hard shaft, guiding it. It was large. She had to open wide. She cautiously licked it inside her mouth, sucking it. He started moving it back and forth, every once in a while going deeper, making her gag.

“Suck, bad girl. And keep sucking. Suck every drop of cum from my cock. Swallow it all. I don’t want to see a drop escape.” He was demanding. As if she couldn’t possibly question him. She just kept sucking. Soon she was so close herself. He was breathing harder. She could feel some moisture in her mouth, additional moisture. But he wasn’t cumming. This was precum; she knew it, only slightly from experience, and more from reading. Her reading. God. Those books. Her body started to buck. He backed off. Her eyes widened, pleading. She sucked harder, more vigorously. She need to cum. Then it happened. He erupted in her mouth. Pumping hard, grabbing her head. She sucked hard. She sucked like her life depended on it. She swallowed. She didn’t care what it tasted like, what it felt like. She didn’t stop till he did. Then her own orgasm ripped through her. She screamed, she bucked, her body spasmed. Finally she sat limp. Sweating. Crying.

He put his cock away. He undid her wrists, then her feet, but she didn’t move. He put his stuff away, then stood looking down at her. She had tried to pull her skirt down, but she hardly covered herself. Her pantyhose was half way down her calves. One shoe was off. Her eyes were red.

“Thank you, Doctor Pretty. You see I’m not so wrong about girls, am I? Underneath every lady, there is a bad girl. Isn’t there, Doctor Pretty?”

She said nothing, just brought her fingers to her eyes to hide them. He held up the cassette tape. “And this is the proof, of course. I told my buddies what you would be like, and this is the proof.” He looked at her proudly, cruelly. “But then again, maybe I won’t let them listen. Maybe I will have other plans for you.”

He left.


“How was your date last night?”

Joyce would not know anything had happened, on the surface. “Oh it was great. Dinner was fabulous. It is so nice to do that once in a while. So romantic.” She smiled at her boss, and let images of her evening float up again in the pool of her memory. She didn’t say too much more; she always thought it was such a pity that Doctor Pretty led such a quiet life. All those plays, and symphony concerts. All that work, all those conferences. So she didn’t bother going into detail about her date. Besides, Doctor Pretty was wearing the maroon suit today. Joyce had noticed that she tended to be distracted on such days.

Once in her office, Jane Pretty closed the door and leaned back against it, inhaling deeply. She stared up at the ceiling, then over at the chairs, still angled toward the painting of the Irish coast.

She hadn’t cried once after Alex had left. Still seated, she lifted her breasts back into the cups of her bra. She took off her ripped pantyhose, and threw them on the floor beside her torn panties. Later, she dropped them in a garbage bin outside the building. She did up her suit jacket, flattened out the wrinkles as well as she could, then put on her shoes. Finally she stood. She managed that pretty well. Her only shaking was in her fingers. Her mouth tasted of… of… what? Impossible to identify. She imagined a very very watery flour paste. That was what it felt like, too. At home in her condo that looked out over Lake Ontario, she picked at a pre-made salad. The early rounds of the US Open were on. Capriati defeated someone from eastern Europe. Pete Sampras struggled past a young Frenchman. She finally fell asleep at about one a.m.

Her first patient was due in ten minutes. And so on. Patient after patient. She didn’t go out of the building at all. Certainly not out on the sidewalk past Starbucks. She made it through her day.

“Good-bye, Jane.”

“Good-bye Joyce. No date tonight, huh?” Joyce rolled her eyes and smiled.

Jane Pretty closed her door. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing all day. Maybe that was the end of it.

Next day, same thing. Her usual patients, a routine day. And nothing by the end of the day. At home, at that night, more tennis.

Next day, by noon, still nothing. It was nagging at her. The things we imagine, she thought. Always worse than the reality. But the past two days of brooding were now moving to the forefront of her mind. This morning she had allowed herself to replay the events, for the first time. Certainly, she hadn’t been able to prevent certain images, images that made her try to shudder away the sensations. But this morning she had played back the events in their entirety.

Then it arrived. A couriered envelope; a mini-cassette inside. Her entire body flushed. After Joyce left, she put it in her own machine. She listened to it stonily. Her body flushed deeper. He had done a very good job. Cutting and pasting her words and his, and the sound of whimpers and grunts and moans, till it sounded like an elegant erotic movie. “I want you to fuck me. Fuck me with your mouth, with your fingers, with your cock. Please I want to cum. I am a bad girl who wants to cum.” She played it over. She searched inside the box for a note. An explanation or a threat. But there was nothing.

She bent her head and rested her forehead on her fingers. She rubbed her brow. She put the tape in her purse, and went home. She made herself stay away from her purse as long as she could. A test of her will, her ability to keep it in perspective, not to be overwhelmed.

The next day, nothing again. She played the tape once more, while Joyce was out for lunch. And again that night. She finished watching the tennis, and went to bed. She didn’t need to play it back any more. She knew every word. Every word of the tape, and every word of the real scene. It took her about 30 seconds to cum; the ache was overwhelming.

Nothing the next day. It was now Friday. She went home. Lots of tennis on, a few more seeds going down to defeat. Monday was a new day.

“You okay?” Joyce asked half way through Monday morning. “Something bothering you these days?” Joyce rarely asked; she was not the doctor. She did have her theories about human beings, gleaned mainly from her mother, her grandmother, and her girlfriends.

Jane looked up sharply, and smiled, saying nothing. “Oh yeah. Just staying up too late to watch the tennis, most likely.”

Joyce smiled weakly, warmly. “Oh I forgot you were such a keen tennis fan.” She was about to leave but stopped at the door. “Oh I forgot. A call from that man you saw last week. Alex Kennedy. He said you would see him at the end of the day today, after your last patient. I said I would have to ask you. That you normally didn’t do that.”

Jane was looking down at her desk. “Oh him. Yes, that’s all right.”

Joyce looked at her boss, suddenly nervous, a little apprehensive. “Ummmm… I won’t be able to stay tonight. I know you like… I mean when a patient is here… someone else around.”

Jane cut her off. “Oh it’s okay. This is no problem.”

“Oh. Okay.” Joyce breathed a sigh of relief.


Joyce just peeked her head in before she left. “Mr. Kennedy is here, Jane. Quite the hunk.”

Jane was obliged to laugh at her assistant’s comment. “Yes. That’s part of his problem. Send him in.”

She stood beside her chair, placed in exactly the same position as last time. “Good evening, Alex.”

“Good evening, Doctor Pretty.” He had his squash bag with him again. She bit her lip very slightly.

“Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks, Doctor.” He put his squash bag down, and lifted his hand to undo his tie. “You don’t mind if I undo my tie?”

“No, make yourself comfortable.”

He undid it, leaving it hanging down either side of his collar. He looked at her for a few seconds as she sat there, her pad of paper on her knee. Similar costume, different colour: soft blue suit, buttoned at her chest. A short string of pearls around her neck. Legs crossed, her skirt rising half way along her thighs. Dark blue pumps with enough of a heel to bend her ankle, round out her calves. Pale pink nail polish, and matching pink lipstick. Plucked eyebrows, not quite as dark as her hair.

“So I’ve been thinking about my theory, Doctor Pretty.” He paused, and looked up.

She lifted her chin and looked up at him. Her mouth was dry, her cheeks flushed. “Your theory. Go on.”

He ran his hand down both ends of his tie that hung down from his collar. “Yes, Doctor, my theory.” He leaned forward. “I went out with a girl this weekend. She was a quiet girl, very attractive. She wore black, a tight black top, with a scoop neck, and a tight skirt below her knee, and had a small jewel in the side of her nose. Her nails were painted very dark red. We went to a concert. Dave Matthews. Then we went for a drink afterward, to a wine bar. It seemed like her kind of place. She didn’t say much, but made a lot of effort to be cool. That was my sign, you see.”

Doctor Pretty bit her lip. “I see. Your sign. You talked about that last time. Go on.”

Alex leaned back and lifted his ankle and rested it on his other knee, his hand grasping the ankle. It was a strong hand. “Yes, the sign, you know. If a girl is trying to show how cool she is – how cold, I mean – it’s because she has this thing inside, this heat that is so hard to control she needs to wrap it up like that. She has to control her bad girl.”

Jane Pretty scribbled on her pad. That’s all it was, scribble. She looked up.

“Are you recording this?”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t need to.” He put his foot down and wiped his brow, then lifted his jacket off and laid it over the back of his chair. “How did you like the tape? I haven’t actually let my buddies hear it yet.”

“Go on, about the girl.” said Doctor Pretty.

“So I told her I wanted to show her something. I took her to my apartment. She said nothing. Nothing, the whole time. Except when we got to my apartment and I asked her if she wanted a glass of wine and she said, ‘yes.’ So I told her again I wanted to show her something. I brought out a silk rope. A beautiful rope. I told her to hold her hands out. She smiled kind of stupid like, sort of coy-like. ‘you’ve got to be kidding,’ she said. So I said nothing, just took the wine glass from her hand, put it down, then wrapped the cord around one wrist, then the other. She still said nothing. I tied her wrists up to the curtain rod. She looked scared, then. Finally, a reaction.” He paused and looked up at Doctor Pretty. She was pursing her lips. She uncrossed and crossed her legs.

“A reaction. Go on.”

“I looked into her eyes. That long look, Doctor. You know. When she shows the truth and she can’t hide it. I placed my hands on her hips, then on her stomach. I kissed her neck. Then bit it. Then I said, ‘what do you want?’ She said nothing. ‘you want me to fuck you,’ I said. She just whimpered a bit. I pinched her nipple through her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I like it when a girl doesn’t wear a bra. I love it. She twisted and squirmed, but didn’t say anything. I said it again. you want me to fuck you.’ And she just nodded, slowly. kept nodding. then started whispering. yes, fuck me. Whispering slowly. Her hands tied up. I lifted her skirt up. I reached under and pulled her panties down. I could feel they were wet. I slid my fingers along her slit. She was completely shaved. Silky, baby smooth. Her lips were soaking, all over her mound, over the inside of her thighs. It was so fucking sexy. She came in about two minutes. She came about ten times that night. She was a very bad girl.”

“I see.” Doctor Pretty scribbled some more, her cheeks flushed, her whole neck flushed, she knew. She looked at her watch. “Alex I think you need to go now.”

He said nothing, but got up. He took his tie from around his neck, slowly, elegantly, and leaned over Doctor Pretty. She made one quick movement to lift her hand in her defence, but he swatted it away. She whimpered, and tears sprang to her face. “No,” she said, in a low voice, almost a whisper. Then his tie was in her mouth, gagging her. She closed her eyes. She felt his hand on her cheek, patting it, not slapping it, but patting it harder than necessary. Tears were falling down her cheeks, onto the skin of her chest. Over her pearls. Her perfect pearls.

“Open your eyes, Doctor Pretty.” She opened them slowly, the blur of her tears slowly disappearing. He reached his fingers down and slowly undid the buttons on her blue suit jacket. He jerked it back, over her shoulders, pinning her arms back. Her pen slid down the chair and her notepad fell on the floor. He patted the inside of her thigh. Her leg jerked just slightly wider. He patted it again, harder this time. She spread her thighs. He reached under her skirt, fingers in the elastic of her pantyhose, and pulled them down. Right down, taking off her shoes. He put her shoes back on. He ripped her pantyhose apart. Quickly, very quickly, he tied one half around one leg, just below her knee, and one half around the other leg, fastening both legs to the legs of the chair. Her skirt was up, right up now. He stopped and ran his fingers over her bra, a beautiful pale blue lace bra. La Perla again. “So pretty, Doctor Pretty. such a pretty bra. Too bad I don’t really like bras. Do your panties match?” She had stopped crying now. She nodded. He reached down under her skirt and pulled her panties down her thighs as far as he could. Then he ripped them apart. He held them up in front of her face, fingers rubbing the cotton gusset. “Wet, Doctor, very wet. You are such a bad girl. Such a bad girl. You can’t help it, can you?” A tear formed in her eye, blurring her vision momentarily. He roughly pulled back her gag and stuffed as much of her panty into her mouth as he could. She could taste herself, breathe in her own scent through her mouth and nose.

“You can smell yourself, can’t you, Doctor Pretty?” He leaned down, his hand sliding between her legs, finding her pussy lips so easily, so quickly. He slid them up and down, over her clit. She bucked and groaned. He played with her pussy for a minute or so while she writhed and twisted, moaning and whimpering through her gag. Then she went rigid. Suddenly. He circled and pressed her clit over and over, and she spasmed over and over. Her orgasm exploded, her head thrashing back and forth. He shook his head as his fingers kept touching her gently, firmly, all around her sensitive clit, up and down her slit. Soon, he could tell she was ready to cum again. But this time he slowed it. He took out his hard cock. Thick, ridged, pink with a shining purple head. “you want to cum again, don’t you, Doctor Pretty? you bad girl.” His fingers were arousing her more and more, her hips shifting and pushing, trying to fuck him now. “But you want to suck my cock first, don’t you? You are a bad girl who wants to cum, who wants me to please fuck her. I can take your gag off now can’t I?”

She nodded vigorously. He took it off. She let her panties fall out of her mouth. She inhaled deeply, moaning and whimpering as he fingered her pussy, sliding his fingers up inside her, massaging her inside, touching her sensitive core. Then up over her clit, around and around. “yes yes yesss please please I want to cum. I want to suck your cock, I need to you to fuck me. Please fuck me with your mouth, your fingers, anything.” Then he grabbed her hair, moved his cock to her lips and she sucked hard, licking his shaft, sucking the head, licking around and around it. Pumping her mouth over it as he slowly sunk it deeper into her mouth. She sensed it better this time, timing it when it hit the back of her mouth. Soon he was trembling, she got ready to suck it down. But he stopped. He stopped with his cock in her mouth. Leaving it there, he lifted her suit jacket back up to her shoulders, then took her hand and placed it between her legs. “Make yourself cum, while you suck my cock, Doctor Pretty.” Her pussy was soaking wet. Her fingers found the familiar folds, started sliding up and down her slit and around and around and over her clit. He started pumping back into her mouth. He started to shudder. His muscles went taut and he started jerking. “Suck it all down, Doctor Pretty, drink it down, don’t miss a drop.” She sucked for all she was worth, her fingers moving madly over her own pussy. Her other hand, unconsciously, had gone to her breast and was kneading it, pulling on her nipple through her bra. Then he exploded. Spurt after spurt of hot white liquid into her mouth as she gulped, gagged a little but sucked hard. Then it happened for her. She came. She screamed onto his cock, and yanked her head back, his cock then falling out, her mouth wide open, a screaming orgasm as she kept fingering herself hard through her waves of orgasm. When she finally stopped she looked up, to see him looking down at her, smiling very slightly. Her fingers were slick with her juices, her cheeks flushed with heat. She looked up at him, almost apologetically. Apologizing for being such a bad girl.

“You are such a bad girl, Doctor Pretty, aren’t you? You like being a bad girl. Is this something you’ve wanted for a long time, Doctor, to be a bad girl? How much older than me are you? 5 years? 6 years?”

“Six years,” she breathed out hoarsely. “I checked your file.”

His cock was still throbbing, but slowly subsiding, softening, the ridges disappearing. He leaned forward and picked up his tie, looping it around his neck, and tying it. He put his cock away. Her suit jacket was still open, her hands still between her legs, the hem of her skirt not quite hiding her nest of dark hair.

“Time for me to go, isn’t it, Doctor?” He picked up his squash bag and heaved it over his shoulder. He stopped and patted her cheek. “You’re such a bad girl.”


Three days passed. Sampras was in the semi-finals of the Open, which was almost unbelievable.

But not a word.

She picked up his file at the end of the day, and wrote down his phone number. Next morning, still nothing. She called. All she got was his voicemail. She didn’t know what to say. She hung up before the beep. She called back. This time, she waited for the beep. “Hello, Mr, Kennedy. This is the doctor’s office. Just wondering if you were planning on booking another appointment.”

No reply. All day. She had taken to walking by the coffee shop several times a day, casting quick glances through the window, ineffective glances, to see if he was there. Knowing he was watching.

God what was she doing?

Nothing the next day. She was masturbating every night now. Sometimes several times a night. Standing in her kitchen, she picked up a long wooden spoon and smacked it against her palm. “Bad girl,” she whispered under her breath. She went to her bed, took off her bathrobe and lifted her legs up, smacking her buttocks as hard as she could with the wooden spoon. “Bad girl! Bad girl!” she said while she masturbated, cumming through the pain and her tears, so wrenchingly satisfying. And reading those books she had. Erotic literature she had collected over the years. But more than anything, she just lay back, and fantasized.

By the end of Friday, still nothing. Then the agony of the weekend. Saturday. Sunday. Sampras won the open, an amazing victory over Agassi.

Monday morning arrived. It had been a week. Mid-morning, Joyce came in, her pad in her hand. “That Mr. Kennedy called. The hunky one. Is it all right – well actually he didn’t ask if it was all right; he just said he was coming in for his appointment. Is it really okay if I don’t stay?”

“Oh yes, Joyce, honestly. He isn’t the man he seems to be.”

Joyce left. He came in. His squash bag again. She stood by her chair. He walked over and dropped his squash bag on the floor beside her. Without waiting, he undid her suit jacket, pulled her jacket open, and smiled. She had no bra on underneath, her lovely plump breasts hanging free. “Good,” he said. “you are a good listener, Doctor Pretty. I thought you would be.” He pushed her suit jacket back over her shoulders, and squeezed her bare breasts. He sunk his fingers into them, dragged his digging fingers along and tugged on her nipples. She moaned and craned her neck. “You have sexy girl breasts, Doctor Pretty. No bra, bad girl?”

She was blushing profusely. “I took it off.” She almost looked proud of herself, but insecure, looking for approval.

“You’re a bad girl, Doctor Pretty, such a bad girl, aren’t you?”

She looked up, her face flushing more. “I can’t help it. I can’t help it.” Her eyes teared. Then she caught her breath, looking down at him still playing with her nipples. “But that’s not all. There’s more.” She uncrossed her ankles and placed her feet about six inches apart, looked down briefly. Down between her legs.

He was quick to understand. He slid his fingers between her legs. Felt the top of stay-up stockings, then her pussy lips. Bare. No panties. Smooth, silky smooth, baby skin smooth.

“I’m a bad girl,” she said. She blushed even deeper.

“Fuck,” he said. “you are such a bad girl.” He slid his fingers along her wet, swollen labia, over her clit, then curling two of them up inside her. She moaned, and spread her legs wider.

“Oh yesss… yesssss.. please… ” she said, “I want you. But not your fingers this time, or your tongue. Fuck me with your cock. Don’t you want to fuck me with your cock?”

He grabbed her by the shoulders firmly and turned her around, her tummy against the chair back. He kicked her legs apart, pushing them with his feet. He pushed her down over the back of the chair, her upper body bending over it. She had to grab the arms of the chair. She spread her legs eagerly. He slid his fingers along her slit, two of them up inside her, then out. He pulled down her stay-up stockings. She didn’t want him to wreck them, but she said nothing. He took off her shoes, then tied her ankles to the legs of the chair. He lifted her skirt and ran his hand over her buttocks. “You work out, don’t you, Doctor Pretty. You have a great ass. Great legs. All the guys in Starbucks think so.” She whimpered and wiggled her ass, pushing back against his fingers as he slipped them into her. She had read about it so often in her books, and now she was doing it, it felt so natural. He kept on hand on her back, so that she wouldn’t get up. He slipped his fingers up and down her pussy, over and over her clit. Soon she was so close. So fast. She had been wet since he had called with his appointment. Then she could feel it. His cock. hard against her cuntlips. “What do you want me to do, you bad girl?”

She needed no prompting. “Please. Please fuck me. Fuck me hard with your cock. Deep and hard. Make me cum. Make this bad girl cum.”

Slowly, slowly, he pushed it against her labia, then inside her. She was so tight. His cock went deeper and deeper. She groaned. She moaned, she whimpered, she tried to fuck him back He reached around and grabbed her tits, squeezed them hard as he sunk his cock into her. One of her hands moved from the arm of the chair and went to her pussy, fingering her clit as he fucked her.

“Yes,” she said, “yes oh god yes yes fuck me fuck me fuck me!!!!!”

He squeezed her hips hard in his frenzy, lifting the back legs of the chair, lifting her right up onto her toes as he plunged into her, faster and faster. He groaned, he froze, he shuddered. Then he came. Thrusting deep into her, pushing the breath from her, driving her over the edge with his orgasm.

She remained heaving, breathing hard. Hoarse.

He pulled out of her, and slid his fingers along her wet, cum-coated slit. Slowly, his cum was leaking out, down her spread, tied legs, and he ran his fingers over her swollen labia. Then his fingers went to her clit. She jerked. He rubbed carefully, applying steady pressure.

“Oh god,” she said. “Oh god I’m going to cum again. Yes.”

But he took his fingers away from direct contact on her clit. He slid them up her labia, then up the crack of her ass, spreading the wetness around her anus. “Oh, you’ll cum again, you bad girl. But first I want to see how much of a bad girl you really are.” His fingers were moving around and around her anus, then down to her slit, over her clit, then back up to her ass. Pressing against her anus. “Bad girls wonder what it would be like to be fucked in the ass. Some of them love it.” Doctor Pretty whimpered and shifted her hips, circling them in response to Alex’s fingers. His fingers, soaking wet, were playing with her anus, pressing, then moving away, down to her clit, making her moan. “Yes,” he said, “imagine what it would be like… a hard cock splitting you apart… where you’ve never been fucked… just like this… ” And he took the finger he had been using, and just pushed it inside her ass, quickly, and briefly, about an inch deep. She gasped. Then he played with her some more. He did it again. She gasped, and moaned. When he did it again she uttered a short cry.

His cock was hard again. He started sliding it up and down her slit, then over her clit, and then up the crack of her ass. He let it rest against her anus. Her ass was wet, as was the head of his cock. He put the head of his cock against her ass. She said nothing. He pushed. Not too hard, but so she could feel the pressure. “Just like that,” he said. “Imagine, Doctor Pretty. Do you think you could take my thick, hard cock?” He pushed it a little harder and she gasped again. Her face was screwed up, her hands gripping the chair arms tightly. He pushed just a little harder, his shiny wet cockhead against her wet ass. Then he pulled away. rammed his cock into her pussy. She screamed. Then he took it out, played with her ass again, then rammed it into her pussy again. He smacked her ass. Then he took his cock out and held it in his hand and circled and circled her clit with it. Not stopping. He stroked it at the same time.

“Yes, Doctor Pretty you’re going to cum again. And I’m going to cum again. All over your soaking wet cunt. Your soft sleek naked cunt. I want you to call it your cunt now. How does your cunt feel, bad girl? Tell me how the bad girl’s cunt feels.”

She moaned. “It… It… feels… sooo… ready… ”

He lifted his hand and smacked her ass hard. “How does your cunt feel, bad girl?”

“Ouch!!” She gasped. “My cunt… cunt… feels so ready. My cunt needs to cum!!!!!”

“Good, Doctor Pretty. Then your cunt is going to cum.” He circled her clit harder, wiping his cum all over her pussy lips.

Soon she was groaning and whimpering. “Yes, please fuck me. Fuck me with your fingers. Fuck my bad girl’s cunt. AAAAAarrrrrgh!!!!!” She came. She bucked and bucked on the back of the chair.

She stopped, spent. Panting. Her shoulder length dark red hair hanging down beside her face.

“You should see yourself, Doctor Pretty. You love to fuck, don’t you? Love being fucked.”

She stood up, her legs still tied, her skirt around her waist. Her face was flushed, her breasts poking out in the gap of her jacket, her nipples hard. She was biting her lip.

“What’s become of me?” she said. “What’s happening to me? What are you going to do to me?”

Alex smiled. “You’ve only just started, Doctor Pretty.”

He picked up his jacket and his squash bag, and left.


Next day, she phoned him, and again got his voicemail. “Alex, when will I see you again? I need something to go on. Here is my private line number.” She repeated her private line number into the voice machine.

She put the phone down. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.


After her 11 o’clock appointment there was a message. “Hello. This message is for the bad girl. Meet me at Vines, the wine bar, at 5:15. Dressed like a bad girl. Make no mistake.”

Her mouth went dry.

She arrived at exactly 5:15. Inside she let her eyes adjust to the relative dark. Her light grey flannel suit looked even lighter in the relative dark. Her cheeks coloured, but it was almost unnoticeable. She walked awkwardly toward the bar, amazed at the array of wines, and the long lists handwritten on chalkboards. She looked around, then blushed at the man behind the bar.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh. No. I’m meeting someone.”

“A glass of wine while you’re waiting?”

“Oh no, thanks.” She held her purse in front her lap as she looked into the other part of the bar. Professional people, suits and skirts, everywhere.

“It’s about time.”

She turned quickly and saw him sitting there, nursing a glass of red wine. There was another glass of wine, white, also on the table. He was sitting back, and looked at her slowly, up and down, his eyes pausing at her breasts, her thighs, her crotch. He patted the bench beside him. She sat. As she began to cross her legs, he stopped her. “No need for that. Keep your legs apart.”

She wondered if the people at the next table could her low grunt. Quickly and roughly he pushed his hand up between her thighs. She leaned forward and looked around skittishly, placing her hand on his wrist, which was useless against her strength.

“Why are you doing that, Doctor Pretty? Don’t you want me to touch your pussy?”

Her face was rosy red. “Yes, but not here.” She looked at him, pleading.

“Move your hands away.” The way his eyes bore into hers was almost a physical threat. She moved her hands, felt his fingers sliding up her thighs, then touching her pussy, her wet, uncovered pussy. She whimpered. He pushed. Touched her clit. Her face turned redder and redder. She sipped her wine and tried to keep still.

“I’m going to cum. Please. Not here. oh. Please.” She sipped her wine again. “I can’t believe it. oh god.” And she shuddered, spasms coursing through her as she tried to keep as still as she could. He let up, and smiled, taking his fingers out and holding them to her mouth.

“There. Taste yourself. You passed the test. Now we will order something to eat. But you are not to cross your legs. Understand?”

She licked his fingers, tasting her salty sweetness. Wafting up from under the table she could smell the scent of her own sex. She felt so naughty, so bad. It only made her wetter, only made her want more.

They ate.

“Now I am going to take you back to my place. It is set up for bad girls like you. you want to be a bad girl, don’t you? you like being a bad girl, don’t you?”

They arrived at his place. Not an apartment so much as the back of an office building. An alley out the back. High ceilings. Steel struts for ceiling joists.

“Stand there,” he said, pointing to a small rug in the middle of the space. When she stepped on it, she realized it was a polar bear rug. God, she thought. The space was huge, easily 40 feet by 40 feet, and that was just this large living area. In one corner was a kitchen. A couple of doors that led, presumably, to bedrooms, or a den, god knows what. Her stomach was tightly knotted.

He said nothing. From the side wall he unhooked a rope, a rope that looked like it should have been holding up a sail on a boat. As he loosened it, she saw the other end descending from the ceiling, until it was shoulder height. She did what she was told. Stood in the middle. He picked up a tie from the back of a leather couch, knotted it, and approached her. Without hesitation he placed the knot between her lips, and tightened it around her head.

“Take off your jacket.”

She did. She was wearing nothing underneath. Her nipples were hard little buds.

“Your wrists,” he said.

She held them out. Her heart beat hard. It pounded. She thought people in the street outside must be able to hear it. She felt the rope to the ceiling going around her wrists, then he walked back to the wall and tugged the rope up, her wrists rising, her breasts lifting. Her nipples aching now. He moved behind her, and unzipped her skirt, then slid it off easily. She stepped out of it without being asked. He threw it onto a chair.

She saw herself in the mirror above the fireplace. She looked so wonderful. She felt wonderful. She was glad she spent so much time keeping herself fit and trim, glad she had never had a baby so that her stomach was very flat for a woman of 37. She hoped he liked her. She hoped he couldn’t get enough of her.

“I’m a bad girl,” she said aloud, with a slight shy smile on her face, her eyes looking down then flitting up to see his reaction. “I’m a bad girl and I need to be spanked. Please.”

He walked around her, touching her nipples, touching her pussy. She opened her legs for him. He lifted his hand and smacked her buttock. She grunted. He hit her buttock again. First one, then the other. “You are a bad girl. A naughty, wanton bad girl.” Smack! Smack! He kept up this chatter, smacking her in between his words.

“Doctor Pretty, you have exceeded my wildest expectations. At first I thought it would be a simple conquest. A one-night stand. A laugh for me and my buddies.” She burned with shame at the thought. He sunk his fingers into her pussy and she heard the wet sound. He circled her clit, pressing hard. She came in about one minute.

“You are such a bad girl, much badder than I imagined, Doctor Pretty.” He wiped his fingers on her stomach, a glistening line of cuntjuice. “And you like being a bad girl, don’t you?”

She nodded. He unzipped his pants, and took out his cock, stroking it to full hardness. He grasped her hips and pulled her toward his cock and let it slide along her pussy lips, over her clit. The upturned end of it found the channel of her pussy. He slowly pushed it in. She groaned.

“I would like you to be my special bad girl, Doctor Pretty. Would you like to be my special bad girl?” She nodded frantically, making grunting sounds through the gag. He started to pump his cock into her. His eyes burned into hers. Then he came. Thrusting harder, shooting his hot white cum deep into her cunt. She whined with need herself, muffled sounds of need coming through the gag. He took his cock out and she could feel the warm liquid cooling as it trickled down the inside of her thighs. His fingers went to her pussy again, circling her clit. She shuddered, groaned, moaned as she came again.

“Such a bad girl. Did you ever imagine you were such a slut?” His fingers continued to work her pussy, her body jerking as he touched the very sensitive skin of her clit. He knew what he was doing. Eventually the sensitivity was replaced by the return of the ache. Just when she was about to cum again, he took his fingers away, and left the room. He returned with a glass of wine and a magazine, sitting down in an armchair right beside her. Every few seconds he would lift his hand to stroke her pussy, play with her clit. Eventually, she came again.

He sipped his wine. Her skin was glistening with sweat.

After about ten minutes, he slid his fingers again along her pussy. It was soaking wet. Then he slid them up the crack of her ass. She whimpered as she tried to spread her legs further. He teased her anus for several minutes, touching, teasing, pressing. Inserting his fingertip just an inch or so, then taking it out. In his lap, his cock was hard again. Repeatedly he spread the wetness from her pussy up to her asshole, making it very wet. He stood up finally, putting the magazine down. His cock was fully erect again, the slight upturn bouncing. He stood behind her.

“You want me to fuck you in the ass, don’t you? You want to know I have cum in every hole of yours, don’t you, Doctor Pretty?”

She said nothing, her eyes wide, thinking fast, breathing hard. Then after a few seconds she grunted, and nodded her head. She closed her eyes and pressed her ass back. He smiled. He pushed his cock against her wet ass. Found her tight hole. Then pushed harder. And harder. Then he grabbed her hips tightly. She could feel his fingers digging in. Then he rammed his cock hard into her. She screamed through the gag. Gradually she relaxed. He pushed harder. Sliding it in. Then out slightly. Then faster, and faster. He grunted. She felt like a ragdoll, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her body relaxed totally as he fucked her harder and harder. Then he came, shooting his cum into her bowels. He pulled out, and wiped himself off, then put his cock away. He moved in front of her. She could feel his warm cum pulsing out of her ass, and slowly down her thighs. It felt cool on her buttocks, on the warm skin of her inner thighs. Her wrists were painful, her ass was painful, she could barely stand.

He undid her, and sat her down in the chair he had been sitting in. He put a blanket over her. They said nothing. He brought her a glass of water. He sat and read his magazine, looking up occasionally over at her as she sat there, her eyes closed. When they were open and she found him looking at her, she smiled weakly and blushed. After an while, he got up and took the blanket off her. She just lay there, letting him look at her naked body.

“You are going to be my special bad girl now, you understand? There are other girls, bad girls, but they don’t have your quality. So you will be my bad girl. I will call you and let you know when I want you. I will give you my private line at work, and my number here. You are never to intrude or make things difficult. But you won’t want to, will you, Doctor Pretty?”

She smiled and quickly shook her head. “No. I won’t be difficult. I will be your special bad girl.” She squirmed, feeling the discomfort in her ass. “But…” She stopped, biting her lip, fighting back tears. “But… what does that mean? What will you do with me? I need to know.”

He walked over and cupped her cheek. “I will see you every day. You will tell me what you want to do, how you want to cum, what you have been thinking about. I will give you a key to my apartment, and you will do the same. If I am entertaining, you will be welcome to stay, but you won’t interfere, or get jealous. If I interrupt you, I will be very discreet. In 3 months’ time you will choose whether to stay, or go. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and sighed. A warmth spread over her. She smiled. She looked up. “Are you allowed to kiss me?”

He bent over and placed a kiss on her lips, a soft kiss that gradually became stronger, alive and bruising. She whimpered, and tears started in her eyes again. The kiss over, she wiped her eyes.

It was only eleven o’clock – it seemed like a week had passed. “May I get dressed?”

“Yes, you may. I will call a cab.”

She dressed and went home, grateful for her own shower, her own sheets, her own bed. Her fine things.


She stood by her filing cabinet looking out over the city. Her wrists were sore, and she rubbed them Her ass was sore, but she shifted her feet to relieve the discomfort. More than anything else, she was letting herself feel all the sensations, trying to remember what it was like.

“You seem in a good mood,” Joyce said, bringing in a file.

Jane Pretty smiled back and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am. Nothing special. Just overdoing it a little. I’ve been a bad girl.”

Joyce nodded back, wondering what it was she had been doing. It was like the Doctor was on drugs, but with no side-effects. Whatever it was, she sure could use some herself, thought Joyce.

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