Therapy: story

I promised this story to someone in the SIN chatroom, it took me a while because I recently moved and it took me a while to get all the paperork sorted before I could get an internet-connection. But now that that’s sorted out I hope to share more stories with you.

This fantasy came to me during a hot day shopping shoes at an expensive store in Amsterdam…

Emma was not sure what to expect, she was not sure she was in the right place. But her friend had told her she had been helped here. Visiting a psychiatrist for something as silly as buying expensive shoes. Well more than once, she guessed it could be called an addiction. But there were no rehab centre’s for shoe shopping addicts, but then again, she wasn’t mentally ill either, she didn’t have some deeper emotional problem that led her to buying those shoes. She just liked buying shoes…

She had just decided she would be wasting this psychiatrists valuable time that she would leave, when his secretary told her she could see him now. Well she guessed it couldn’t do any harm to talk about it once, so in she went.
It was an older man, sitting behind a sturdy wooden desk, attractive and with a smile that said he cared, the face of someone you could trust with all your problems. Her friend had told her to bring the receipt of her last purchase, so she handed that to him and told her why she was there. He stood up from his desk and walked with her to his big psychiatrist couch, almost like one in the movies. She expected him to ask her to lay down and talk to him, instead he seated himself and motioned her to come closer. Not sure what to expect she turned to sit next to him, but suddenly his arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her across his lap over the couch. In one motion he pulled her short skirt up and over her back and she tried to pull free.
“Stop struggling.” He said in a commanding voice.
But she struggled harder for it, what was going on? “What are you doing?” she demanded.
She felt his hand laying still on her bottom, his other holding her tightly as she tried to pull free, but there was surprise in his voice. “You don’t know?” The hand on her bottom smacked her. “Stop fidgeting and I’ll explain.” The smack surprised her so that she did stop struggling, but she blushed deeply. She was not fidgeting! “I thought you knew.” He said. “You said your friend told you and you did bring the receipt.” His hand had started stroking her bottom, softly and sometimes squeezing. He had no right to touch her like that, but his voice distracted her. He told her how her friend had visited him with the same problem. His voice was calming, soothing and so was his hand. She realized she was quite comfortable across his lap as he told her how he and her friend had come to an arrangement to help her with her addiction. She was getting warm and his hand, now more squeezing than stroking was making her warmer, her panties sticking to her bottom from the sweat. He told her how he had spanked her friend every time she had come to him after buying shoes. Not something he would normally do to patients, but the addiction they shared was not something normal visits to his office would settle, so they needed something less orthodox.
Emma was just imagining her friend, visiting this man, going across his lap willingly, to be spanked. She could never imagine doing that herself. But when he asked her: “Do you want the same arrangement or do you want to get up and try something else?” She hesitated. It wasn’t that she wanted to be spanked, not at all. But she didn’t want to get up. She blushed as she realized she enjoyed his hand, massaging his bottom, his voice calm and soothing, his comfortable lap, no she didn’t want to get up at all. Would a little spanking be so bad if she could just stay here a little longer? She told him she didn’t want to get up.

His hand slid up over her panties and grabbed hold of them, he pulled them down. She blushed, but didn’t struggle when he told her in that gentle voice that all spankings should be given on a bare bottom. She knew her bottom would be glistening in sweat, but she pushed it up for him anyway, inviting him to continue touching it. But when he did touch it again it was no longer gentle. His hand smacked her hard and she yelped in surprise. He didn’t pause however and smacked her again and again. His one hand still held her firmly, but his voice was no longer gentle, but strict. It was as if she awoke from a trance as he spanked her bottom harder and faster. His lap was no longer comfortable, but a trap she couldn’t escape from, his hand and voice no longer soothing, but hard and hurtful. Why had she agreed to this? Why hadn’t she gotten up? This wasn’t worth… She didn’t know what it should’ve been worth, she felt like he had somehow tricked her, but there was no escaping now. She yelped and moaned as his hand turned her bottom red. She kicked her feet, but it didn’t slow him down. She heard him counting under his breath and remembered he had told her, her friend had gotten as many smacks as her shoes had cost. In horror she remembered the number at the bottom of the receipt, one hundred ninety nine dollars, he was only at fifty now.
She kicked harder as she realized he wasn’t even halfway yet, her bottom was burning, she couldn’t take anymore and begged him to stop, told him she had changed her mind that she didn’t want his help anymore. But he proved to her that she could take it, he didn’t relent and told her it was her own fault for buying those shoes. When he passed a hundred she felt tears in the corners of her eyes, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. A resolution that lasted for about twenty smacks on her burning red bottom. Tears poured from the corners of her eyes, ruining her make-up and drawing lines across cheeks almost as red as her bottom. When he finally reached one hundred ninety nine, she was no longer struggling, but laying across his lap, sobbing and promising to never do it again, whatever ‘it’ was.

The end came as surprisingly as the beginning had. One moment his hand had been smacking her burning red bottom, and the next it stopped. Neither said anything for a moment, until his hand softly stroked her bottom again. He used the gentle voice again, trying to comfort her. Some part of her told her not to let him hypnotize her again, but a bigger part wanted to be soothed, wanted to be calmed. He told her she had two options. She could blame this spanking on him, on him and her friend for sending her here. Or she could blame it on herself, on the shoes, on buying the shoes. If she could blame it on the shoes, his ‘therapy’ would work, otherwise it wouldn’t.
It wasn’t fair of him asking such questions. She couldn’t think straight with her bottom on fire and her face wet with tears. But he gave her time to think. His hand stroked her bottom, easing away some of the pain and he handed her a box of tissues to clean her face. She felt some of that comfortable feeling again and tried to think. Was this his fault, or her own. If she hadn’t had come to him he wouldn’t have spanked her, so it was more her own fault than his. But if she hadn’t bought those shoes she wouldn’t have to come to him, so the fault lay at buying those shoes. She smiled softly when she realized he would be right, she could lay blame at the shoes for this. But she didn’t tell him, not yet, she didn’t want it to end yet, wanted his hand rubbing away the pain, wanted to stay comfortable across his lap. But before long he asked her again. “I think you have decided.” He said. “I felt the tension leave your body when you did, so tell me what did you decide?” She had no choice but to tell him. But he didn’t tell her to get up either. “You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to get up.” He said and she blushed. “Your friend was the same, don’t worry, you can stay here until you’ve completely calmed down.” His hand rubbed her bottom as he said it and she moaned softly as she let his calming massage continue. His voice lulled her as well as he told her more about his sessions with her friend. “Next time you should bring the shoes you bought.” He told her with that calming voice. “When I spanked your friend she wasn’t allowed to wear anything but those shoes.”
She realized she had been falling asleep across his lap, but this new thought woke her. She imagined her friend, all but naked across his lap and to her surprise the warmth in her bottom spread between her legs. “It helped her remember why she was being spanked.” He told her, “and at the same time it was extra embarrassing, spanking isn’t only about the pain.”
She knew that, she had felt that embarrassment across his knee well enough, being spanked as a child. But now she felt a different kind of embarrassment, imagining being naked across his knee, remembering that her bottom was bare and – she realized – her pussy wet. He was already touching her bare bottom and the rest of her was within his reach easily. But what embarrassed her most was that she knew she wouldn’t stop him if he would take advantage of that.

He didn’t touch her however, but let her get up. He didn’t look away when she pulled up her panties either, so she wondered, did he want to do more than spank her, or not? It was frustrating not to know, and embarrassing admitting to herself knowing what she wanted, knowing she’d go straight to her bedroom when she got home. But all he told her was to come back when she bought another pair of shoes. Not ‘come back next Friday’, no ‘weekly appointment’. But come back when she bought another pair of expensive shoes. He must’ve known that meant more than one visit a week at the rate she bought shoes. Then she remembered the hard seats in the bus she had taken here and decided to walk home…

About emma

I'm not a bad girl that needs to be punished, I'm a good girl that wants to be punished. --- emma1001f --- twitter: emma1001sf --- facebook: / Emma Timor View all posts by emma

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