The Psychosis of Submission

After a few moments, she moved off of me. I thought it was over. That she had finished. But then she settled back again.

She was only getting comfortable. I learned what she wanted that way through trial and error. Light flicks of my tongue on her clit. And then slowly...making slow circles around her nubbin.

"Oh Davie..." she would moan, whenever I did something especially nice.

And each time she said those words, I burned in shame.

"Your wrists," Dr. Livingston said. "Are you still trying to move them? Struggling to get up?"

And I felt the same weight on my wrists. I almost lied. God, how I wanted to. I opened my eyes and saw Dr. Livingston above me watching. Smiling slyly. There was nothing on my wrists except for my discarded blouse.

"No..." I admitted. I had never even admitted this to myself. "I guess I could have gotten up at some point. I wasn't as trapped as I had imagined.

"Keep going," she urged. "Don't try to analyze yet. Just let the feelings wash over you and keep going."

I wasn't trying to get up. Yet I was still underneath her. Licking her. Pleasing her with my mouth. It felt like hours, but it must have only been minutes before her body stiffened. She gasped. Again and again. Her hips rocked. She grew even wetter than before. Her juices coating my face and running down my neck. I knew instinctively that she climaxed. And then... and then she must have passed out...still naked...still pressed against my face.

I could hear her heavy breathing. So warm ...uncomfortably so. I inhaled her sweet musky scent. I wanted to ...

"Oh doctor, I laid there for I don't know how long...with her wet sex pressed so tightly against my face. I wanted to move, but I was trapped. Hopelessly trapped."

"But not as hopeless as you imagined. However, you did get up eventually?" Dr. Livingston said.

"Yes...but not like you think. It was horrible doctor. The worst thing that ever happened in my life happened then. Because at that moment, even as I'd made my mind up to extricate myself somehow, the lock turned and Susan opened the door to the closet.

She saw me...

...She saw us.

"Oh my God," Susan exclaimed. "You dirty little queers. Get up. Get out of my closet."

And she pulled Jenny to her feet.

"Davie...Davie..." Jenny slurred.

"Davie, huh?" Susan said, turning to me and looking at me slyly. "Is that who you were in the closet with."

God how I burned in shame. My humiliation was complete. My betrayal of Jenny had been discovered. By my worst enemy.

"And just what did Davie do?" Susan continued her questioning of my best friend.

I couldn't stop Jenny from answering. Of telling how good it had been . How it had been Jenny's first time. How she had seen fireworks. How she had come. How she gushed. How skilled Davie had been. How she wanted to do it again and again.

Oh how Susan gloated. Then I prepared for the worse. I prepared for her to tell Jenny the truth. To complete my degradation. My betrayal of my best friend. The worst night of my life.

"I know Davie must like you an awful lot," Susan said. "But you need to promise me something Jenny. You can't tell anyone. No one. You see Davie has a girlfriend and he would get in a lot of trouble. Besides, you would get a bad reputation. What sort of girl does something like this without even going on a single date? You don't want that to happen now do you?"

"No...I guess not," Jenny said. Her eyes half lidded. Her body weaving as she struggled to keep her balance. She was naked and oblivious to it. "Karen...wha-what are you doing here?"

"She was in the other closet," Jenny lied.

"Oh..." Jenny didn't even bother to look to see that there was only one closet in the room.

That appeared to be a good enough explanation for Jenny in the state she was in. I was relieved. It seemed at the time that Susan had saved me. She gave Jenny all her clothes...but me? Susan took great pleasure in handing me mine, one by one. Making a show of giving it to me, then snatching it back at the last minute.

I tried not to let her get to me. Tried to be mature. But she had me. Covered in goosebumps, nipples hard as tiny nubbins, face soiled...and

....I was aroused too. Being made to hop and dance in order to snatch my clothes back from her was making more even more aroused.

And I let her have her way too. I had to keep her happy, lest she tell Jenny that it was I in the closet and not David. And she didn't. But I was soon to find out that her silence and help came with a very steep price.

"That's enough for today. We went slightly over your time," Dr. Livingston said, as she got up and smoothed down her skirt. "But it was worth it. I think we've made progress. Real progress."

I felt my cheeks grow hot as I realized I was naked. Not just naked. My legs were spread at right angles. And I was very very aroused. Even my lips were visible and wet.

It was then that I realized that my panties had been placed over my face. God, I had inhaled my own scent as I fantasize of Jenny. Had Dr. Livingston noticed? I prayed not. I could still feel a ghost of the sensation. I wanted Dr. Livingston I desperately wanted her. But she was a Doctor...she surely didn't feel the same about me. She couldn't. She seemed so cold. So detached. I quickly dressed and Dr. Livingston ignored my state.

"Be sure to keep up with your mood journal," she said. "I want to see if your progress carries over into your day to day life."

And it did. I wasn't as depressed. I felt closer to my fiancee than I had in months. In the mornings, I usually felt like I had to climb out of a pit to get out of bed. This week, I got out of bed before my alarm went off. Yes it was progress. I didn't know how. But it was. And it felt good. There was only one small problem. Susan. I didn't think of her. But somehow I could sense her presence. There just out of reach.

The only thing that didn't feel good was the sense of foreboding I had about my next therapist appointment. I had told her things I never meant to tell anyone. I had told her things I hadn't even admitted to myself. And she had me do things...things that terrified me, yet at the same time made me feel alive. Unburdened. I thought about not going. But then the day of my appointment, I found myself getting ready. Dr. Livingston was so very sexy. I knew I was getting a crush on her, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it. I trimmed my bikini. Picked out nice clothes. Almost as if I were going on a date. I thought about changing back, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I showed up for my appointment 15 minutes early.

"How was your week?" Dr. Livingston said.

I told her it was much better. My depression had eased. Even the sex was better.

"Really?" Dr. Livingston asked. "Was it your usual? Or was something different?"

"It...it...was..." I could feel myself blushing. How did she always seem to know what I was most ashamed of. "...different."

"Tell me about it?" Dr. Livingston said.

I'd already told her so much, what did it matter. I steeled myself and began. "Well... Mitch was watching some sports channel, and for some reason I felt randy. Instead of asking him to come to bed as usual, I put on some sexy clothes. I sat next to him. I rubbed him until he grew hard. He kept watching the TV. I guess something good was on.

So I...I took his...you know...I took it out...and then I went down on him." Saying it. It felt so innocent at the time, but now it felt dirty. I could imagine Susan there next to him, looking on, a crocodile grin on her pretty face.

"Did he go down on you?" Dr. Livingston asked.

"...no...."

"Did you reach climax?"

"....yes...." The words were hard coming. I felt even dirtier. Like some sort of pervert. "I rubbed myself while I was ... pleasuring him. With my mouth..."

"Just relax. You are so tense Karen. Give yourself permission," Dr. Livingston said. "Let it wash over you. How did you feel after?"

I let the feeling wash over me. Such intense humiliation, but I fought through it. "Good. I felt that I had pleased him. That he was happy. And I was happy."

"And that's what matters," Dr. Livingston said. "Now tell me about this Susan. You said last time that her silence came with a price. What price?"

"Susan's price....you see....I became....sort of ....um...an um...toy..." Susan. I hadn't thought of her all week. And yet, she was there with me always. Like some sort of ghost. Now I felt her return. Grow more solid. Strong. While I grew weak.

"You are stammering Karen. A sure sign of repression. Are having a hard time remembering again? It is caused by you trying to battle your subconscious. Stop fighting it. Picture yourself there with her. Look around. The lights. The people. Where are you?"

"I'm at the mall. It's bright there in the food court. I'm ordering a Diet Coke. Jenny is waiting there next to me. Then there is a tap on my shoulder. Oh God! It's Susan."

"Hi Karen," she said. "I heard they had a sale going at Belk's. 75% off. You should buy something. You totally need too...your clothes are like so 1984." And then she pressed a note into my hand, turned and left.

"What a bitch." Jenny said, taking a sip of her Coke. "To think I thought she was pretty nice at the party. Well, we can sure see the real Susan now, can't we?"

"Yes...we can...." I said, the hidden note burning a hole in my hand. "I think I need to go to the little girl's room. I'll be back in a minute."

Once there I locked myself in a stall and read the note.

Meet me in thirty minutes in the Belk's Misses dressing room. Stop by the makeup counter first and let them do your makeup. Ask for Terri. Don't be late. Unless you want me to tell your secret. Otherwise I'll tell your friend all about Davie."

She was blackmailing me. I felt a stab of fear in my gut. With my knees so weak, it was hard to stand, I went back and made some excuse to Jenny. Then I hurried to the makeup counter. Asked for Terri. I sat there while she did my face. My hands on my knees to keep them from trembling. So conscious of the time. Of the nervous sweat running from my armpits and down my sides. What did Susan want?

"What do you think?" Terri asked, turning me to face the mirror. "You are very pretty."

Pink lip gloss. Green eyeshadoweye shadow. Blush covered cheeks. I may have been pretty, but after she was done, I looked like a tart. A mall slut.

"It's great. Thanks." I looked down at my watch and quickly made an excuse to leave while she was still trying to sell me $10 lip gloss.

I entered the Misses dressing room with only seconds to spare. Perhaps she wasn't here.

"Susan?" I called quietly.

"In here."

She opened the door and I quickly entered. She closed it behind me. Made sure it was locked.

"I like your makeup," she said. "I have something for you on the seat. Put it on. All of it."

This was back in 1986. Madonna was hot. And the clothes she picked out were the sort of clothes that Madonna might have worn. Only, I wasn't the sort of girl to wear clothes like that. White fishnet stockings. High heels. A trashy mini skirt with tears along the thigh giving a brief glimpse of flesh..and in my case, pale flesh. A lace bra. It wasn't padded. It made me feel small. Tiny. Even more so due to Susan's stare. She looked at me like no one had ever looked at me before.

"Let me get a good look at you," Susan said.

I turned around for her. A human doll. She made me show myself off. Raise my skirt. Stick out my chest. Show off my ass in the tawdry thong she had found.

"You've got me hot from looking at you showing yourself off," Susan said. And when she said it, I felt a new kind of fear. One I had never imagined before.

"How did that feel?" Dr. Livingston asked. "A girl had you display yourself. And then she told you she was hot from looking at you. What emotions are you feeling?"

"I couldn't believe my ears. Hot? From looking at me? I felt- I felt...."

"You are hesitating again," Dr. Livingston said. "Don't fight it. I see you dressed up for your session tonight. I think you are sufficiently tarted up. Don't blush. Just let the feeling wash over you. Now get up. You are in the dressing room. Don't just remember. You are there. Show me. Show me and tell me what you did."

Oh God...Dr. Livingston noticed. I didn't know what possessed me before I left for my appointment, but I dressed up...as if it were for a date. I got up from my seat, a wave of shyness washed over me. I turned around....switched my weight from one foot to the other. Then blushing furiously, I turned around and stuck out my chest....much like I had done that night so very long ago....

"You've got me hot from looking at you," Susan said.

No one got hot looking at me. And I felt strangely pleased, but then the implications hit home. A girl. She was hot from me. A girl who had power over me. I should have been horrified. And while I was scared - I was also ...tingly.

"Take off your panties," Susan ordered.

But it wasn't like before. Not like when I took off my cotton panties in the closet or there in the dressing room just minutes before. She wanted me to strip them off like a stripper or something. I didn't know how at first, but she told me what she wanted.

Hoping to please her, I obeyed her humiliating instructions. Shaking my hips from side to side. Raising my short skirt. Turning in circles. Lowering the thin strips of fabric over my slim hips. Giving a glimpse of my curly dark hair. Pulling my thong back up but tight. So tight against me. Pushing the fabric into my folds. Working the cloth back and forth...sending shocks through my loins. I felt the fabric grow more and more wet...God...what would I do..the panties didn't belong to me and I was ruining them. Dear God, and I was growing more and more turned on, despite the awfulness of my situation.

A bad girl. I wasn't a bad girl, but this was what bad girls did.

Oh God Dr Livingston, I can see myself in the mirror as if it were only yesterday. Panties at my feet in a small puddle. Precariously balanced in high heels I had only worn for the first time. My bra undone. Nipples swollen - hard. Cheeks so red. Biting my lower lip. My dimples visible. There's a look in my eyes. They-they want to please her. I wish they were the disinterested eyes of someone doing something distasteful...like homework. But they don't. They dart. They flash. They look imploringly. They want.

I noticed Susan taking her panties off too. Leaning against the wall.

"Do you remember what you did for your drunk little slut friend?" Susan asked. "Have you ever done that to anyone before? A girl I mean?"

"I didn't Susan....I mean...it was an accident...I....I.....never have..."

"Too bad. I guess I'll have to teach you." Susan said. "Come here and lick me. Lick me like you licked that little bitch."

"I can't. It's not right." I couldn't believe what she was suggesting.

She looked so confident. Her stare so penetrating. I couldn't. Not like this. There it had been dark. There I was trapped. I don't even know what possessed me the night of the party. I had just wanted Jenny to be quiet, but then once started, I couldn't stop.

But now? In the cold rational world of the mall. I couldn't.

"I'll tell...." Susan teased, her hand gently stroking through the curly down of her sex.

Was she teasing? Or was it a warning. I couldn't take the chance. My knees shook so hard. It was a struggle to kneel down. I was so scared. Not just of Susan, but you see...the door didn't go all the way down. Could I be seen? God, I hoped not. I moved in close. She was damp. Musky.

Hot.

For me.

"Oh Karen..." she purred as I licked her wet slit. And I showed her everything I had learned from Jenny. And she taught me a new trick or two. And this wasn't like that night. Her hands roamed through my hair. She purred my name. Not Davie's. There were mirrors all around. I could see her standing so tall above me. Me, so small kneeling down between her muscular thighs. I wasn't being held down...but still I was still being made to do this thing.

again..."

"How does that make you feel?" Dr. Livingston asked.

"I feel ....small...doctor...weak.... tingly... wet...."

"And how do you feel about those feelings?"

"I - I don't want them...I want them to go away..."

"Not this time," Dr. Livingston said. "Let them wash over you. Feel the smallness. Let the weakness wash over you. The wetness."

At her words, my fantasy took a life of it's own. I licked her. I sucked her. I let myself be used by her. And it was okay. I reached between my legs. So wet. Tingly. That day in the dressing room, I never touched myself. This time, there in the office, with my therapist looking on, as I re-lived those events, I rubbed myself. I came. Oh how I came. I came again and again. I wasn't with Dr. Livingston, I was with Susan. Coming. And I knew that Susan knew that I had come.

"You are coming aren't you...you little queer. I dolled you all up. Turned you into my little mall slut," my fantasy Susan said. "I made you strip for me. Like a little queer hussy. And I made you lick me too. And look at you....you like it. You do. I can tell."

Susan in real life never said that, just moaned "God you are good. Oh you sweet little bitch, what a fucking tongue you have."

But in my fanstasies she said horrible things. "Oh if only your parents could see you now. What would you say with your makeup and your high heels, kneeling on the floor, with your face buried in my puss? What would you tell them?"

...and every horrible thing turned me on all the more.

My cheeks burned with shame. I let the feeling wash over me. The wave of humiliation. But it didn't drown me. My body rose on the waves...climaxing again and again.

Afterwards...I opened my eyes. Dr. Livingston sat writing in her notebook. Her nose slightly crinkled. I was kneeling. Naked. I hadn't just come in my fantasy, but I had come in real life as well. Dear God, I had come there on the floor in my therapist's office. God, how shameful it made me feel. To escape, I closed my eyes once again. Found Susan.

After I pleasured her, she pulled up her panties and smoothed down her skirt. "I want you to wear those clothes tomorrow. To school. Otherwise, I'll tell Jenny everything. Don't try to talk to me either. When I want you, I'll tell you. And don't try to hide either. I want you to go about things just like you always do."

"How did that make you feel?" Dr. Livingston asked.

"Helpless. She could tell me to do practically anything and I would have to do it. Perverse, because I shouldn't ....be doing the things I was doing. Having sex in the women's dressing room. With a girl. Dirty, I felt dirty and shameful."

There in my little skirt and high heels - my face all made up - lipstick smeared. I looked like a tart. A tramp. And I was going to have to go to school like this the next day. There were other girls that dressed like that all the time. But not me. Never me. What was I going to do?

"And the next day," Dr. Livingston said. "What did you do? Did you tell her you wouldn't take part in her deviant games? After all, you could expose her own secrets now."

My shame made me tremble. "No," I admitted with burning cheeks. The thought never entered my mind. "The next day, I put the clothes she bought in my car. I pulled over and hid the car behind a church. I changed into the clothes she bought. I made my face up. So gaudy. I wore a chain with a large crucifix. Hoop earrings. My glasses were the only item that still connected me to my former conservative attire.

It was awful. My teacher called me after class. She told me that if I wore the see-through shirt again, I would have to go home. I told her it was the style. That the corset covered everything important but she didn't buy it.