The Psychosis of Submission

I was scared already. And the further I walked, the more terrified I became. What if someone saw me? And though my breasts were small, my nipples stood out like erasers from my sweater. I tried to turn my body so it couldntcouldn't' be seen. I made it into the store, and everywhere I looked, I could feel hungry eyes upon me. Sizing me up. Judging me. I knew I had to hurry. The longer I waited, the more my fear grew.

I quickly scanned the produce department. A banana? They were in bunches. I'd have to pull one off. A carrot? They were all wrapped tightly in plastic. A cucumber? God, they seemed huge. But the condom Susan had held seemed huge too.

It was big. Too big to hide it if I walked out the store with it.

But I knew where it would go. I think I knew all along. I picked up an apple too, just in case someone was curious. I made my way to the back of the store. I looked between the gap of the two metal doors. No one. I looked behind me. The coast was clear.

I darted in and looked around. No one was there. But I didn't know for how long.

I propped my foot on a box, raised the hem of my skirt, and proceeded to push it home.

It was large. Oh God, it was much larger than I had imagined. God, I was never going to manage this....a sharp pain...then it was in...filling me...stretching me....yet I wasn't even half way there. Then through the gap in the door, I saw him coming...in his white hat and apron. I pushed harder. Painfully harder. Forcing it home. Pulling my skirt down just in time....

"What are you doing back here young lady?" he asked brusquely.

"My...my stomach wasn't feeling well..." I stammered. "I thought..."

"It's for employees only," he said. "Try the McDonald's on the corner."

"Thank you..." I held my hand to my stomach. Not just for show. I had a monster inside of me. I doubted I could walk. I took an experimental step. And then another. Oh God. It was trying to come free.

"If you really need it," he said. "It's on the other side of the store. I can show you."

"No..No...I'll be okay. I can make it." I walked quickly. I pointed my knees together to help hold it in. In the end I ended up pressing it in with my fingers. God, what humiliation. I practically ran back to the car.

And then I was over Susan's lap and the cucumber was in her hand. She noticed the blood right off.

"You were a virgin?" she asked as she put the condom on the green phallus.

"Yes..." I breathed, my cheeks burning with my confession.

"They say you always remember your first," she said as she fucked me with it. Giving it to me. Fucking me rotten. "When you get married, your hubby will probably asked you how you lost your virginity. I bet you don't tell him you lost it to me. To a big green cucumber. To a stolen vegetable. But you are aren't you? We can still stop you know. It isn't too late. Then you could say it was an accident. Is that what you want? Do you want me to stop?"

"No...please..." I begged. God I was so close. And instead of shaming me. Instead of making me want to stop. her words were having the opposite effect. I wanted it. I wanted it. I wanted to cum. So uncontrolled. So perverse. So much fucking pleasure.

"Fuck me..." I grunted. "Please fuck me. I need it. Oh God. Fuck me. Oh oh...fuck...coming...."

I use language like that. But I was saying those things anyway. And my body. My body erupted with white fire. I was consumed.

The next I remember, her hands running through my dark brown hair. "I want to see pretty red hair. And wear the makeup I bought you. And use that bikini kit. I want you nice and smooth."

It wasn't till I got home that it hit me. My hair. So far I had been able to keep all that I had done secret as far as my parents were concerned. But after tonight, some things would no longer be a secret anymore. I went upstairs to the bathroom after supper, then I put on the latex gloves and the harsh smelling chemicals in my hair I doubted once, but the aching satisfaction in my sex erased all such doubts. Once I was done, I put other harsh chemicals on my pubes. Fifteen minutes later, I rinsed off in the shower. Afterwards, I looked at the results in the mirror. God, I looked like girl...no longer a young adult. At least the hair wasn't bad. You could hardly tell it was red.

But it became redder and redder as it dried. My God, so red. So noticeable. The next day I put a towel around my head so my mom wouldn't see. I snuck out the door and went to school. I felt like sneaking in the back door of school and missing everyone, but I knew Susan wouldn't approve.

I met her and her friends at the front door.

"She did it! My God, look at her! She dyed her hair! Pathetic! Look it's carrot top!"

"It looks pretty," Susan said. "But tell me...does the carpet match the drapes?"

"I .. didn't know if I could dye it..." I stammered, lost in her hungry gaze. I was so wet. I could feel myself dripping down my thighs. "So...I ...took .... it ...off..."

"Did you say that don't have any hair down there?" A girl asked. It was Lisa.

I shook my head. "Is that okay?" I asked.

"Show us," Susan said.

My cheeks were afire. "Please...someone will see," I begged.

"Just us..." Susan said. Then to the other girls: "Gather round so no one can see her."

The girls made a tight circle around me. I lowered my panties to my knees. With trembling fingers, I took hold of my hem. I closed my eyes to block out their laughing eyes. Then I raised my skirt. God, it was worse than being naked. I was bare. My lips. My mons ....everything was visible. On display.

"God," a girl said. "She looks like...some sort of hairless dog. A chiauah or something. Pathetic. Make her do something else Susan. Make her roll over and play dead. Oh I know...make her bark like a dog."

The girls laughed and I tried to hold my tears back.

"And what kind of dog are you?" Susan asked the girl. "Let's see yours. Is it a husky or a sheep dog?"

The girl's cheeks turned red. She stayed silent.

"I think her hair is pretty," Susan said. "And I like how she does what I tell her. Watch."

And then she ordered me to take off my panties. And then to put them in my purse. She said that from now on, as a memorial to my shit brown hair, that Wednesdays were 'No Panties' day. She said that she would check. Worse that her girlfriends might check as well. Were permitted to check. But if I obeyed, she would let me hang out with her and maybe take me shopping for some new clothes this very afternoon.

"Susan," Lisa said. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean.. you know...she's - look at her...she's ... pathetic."

"Exactly," Susan said. "She needs help. It's like charity work. Only more fun."

True to her word, Susan checked several times that day. She even sat next to me in chemistry, slid her hand up my thigh, and then fingered my pussy for 50 minutes straight. She even kept it up when Mrs. Jones asked me a question about the periodic table. God, so embarrassing.

The worst was when Tracy and a couple of her friends checked me in the restroom before lunch. It was right after chemistry class. You can imagine...standing there with my skirt raised in the restroom, lips engorged, clit distended, not even my pubic hair to hide behind, and so very very wet from Susan's earlier attentions. My cheeks so red. I knew I looked like a slut. A pathetic slut.

"I think the little slut likes not wearing panties..." Tracy laughed.

That afternoon, I followed Susan to K-Mart. She started browsing in the clothing section. Try this on. And this. And this."

We went to the dressing room together. I didn't tell her that I dressed in conservative clothes and that these clothes weren't me. Weren't me by a longshotlong shot. I just took mine off and put hers on.

At the time, I was so humiliated I didn't know what to do. First off, no one, I mean no one shopped at K-Mart for clothes. Second, these clothes were bright. They were tight. And short.

Even the panties. I usually wore nice normal cotton ones. The ones she picked out barely covered my front and did nothing at all for the back. And the bras. The bras were all see through. No padding at all. The jewelry and earrings were all gauche.

I summoned up all my courage. Steeled my will. I told her I couldn't ...wouldn't do it. That everything was all wrong. That the skirt was far too short. Besides, Jenny wasn't talking to me anymore.

Susan ignored my protests. Her hand reached beneath my short skirt. Found my wet sex. Began to stroke and rub.

"You must admit that this skirt has some advantages," Susan said. "Don't you think?"

My will began to crumble with every gentle stroke of her finger. I shook my head, but I could see by the look in her eye that she knew she had me.

Then she turned me around. Came up behind me. We were facing the mirror.

"And these sexy panties." Susan raised my skirt. Touched my folds and valleys through the thin thong. "Are very functional." She reached behind me. A finger probed at my rear opening until I moaned. My hips humping.

"Tell me you will wear them."

"My - mom...she wouldn't allow...she hasn't even seen my hair..."

"Tell her you wanted red hair....as for the rest...what momma doesn't know...momma can't stop...."

"I can't...." I begged. "...please.."

"But you can," Susan said. "All you have to do is say yes...and you want to say yes to me, don't you. I can tell."

"Oh...God..yes...yes....I want to..." I moaned. And I didn't even have to be told. I quickly went down to my knees. I pulled down Susan's panties. Raised her short skirt. She propped a leg up on the seat. I growled and began to lick her sweet pussy. Oh how I wanted her.

"What did you just say?" Dr. Livingston asked. "What did you say about this girl? The girl that blackmailed you. Embarrassed you. Took sexual advantage of you?"

"I said...." And then I realized where I was. Slumped in the chair. Somehow I had taken my panties off. My finger...my finger was strumming my hard clit. My other hand tweaked my aching nipples. And for the first time ever, I had admitted that I had licked Susan's pussy. Had done it willingly. Had wanted it. Despite the fact that she had blackmailed me. Had humiliated me. I had still wanted her.

"I wanted her. I wanted to lick her. I wanted to please her." Faster I stroked my clit while my psychologist looked at me with disdain. Round and round I worked it. "I know it was wrong. I was supposed to hate it. Hate her. But I didn't. Mmmm...ahhh.....god..." My body quivered. Warm heat flowed to my loins.

"Not yet," Dr. Livingston warned.

But I didn't obey. It was too late and I was too far gone.

"I said stop you little slut," Dr. Livingston came out of her chair. Towering over me. Her booming voice required instant obedience.

She called me a slut. A disobedient slut. My own psychologist. I should have know then that things were getting out of hand. Should have listened to the voice inside my head. But my body - my body wanted to continue. I reluctantly stopped rubbing myself. Felt the impending climax begin to ebb.

"Play with those cute little titties until you cool off," Dr. Livingston said.

I felt like a petulant child. And I knew this wasn't part of my therapy. It couldn't be. And yet, I wanted to obey her. I needed to. Her disinterested eyes and stern voice turned me on. God, how I wanted her. My fingers crept up and tweaked my nipples. It made my loins melt like butter, but they were beginning to ache from stimulation.

"You mentioned your mother. What did she think of all this?" Dr. Livingston said.

"She- she didn't like it. My hair that is...she wanted me to dye it back the way it was. But I refused. I said that I liked it. That it was the style. She even had my dad have a talk with me. But they didn't know the half of it. I hid the rest. The slutty clothes...the racy underwear...I kept them out of the hamper....washing them in the sink....changing into them on the way to school."

"So you hid it from them..." Dr. Livingston said.

"Yes..."

"Get yourself together Karen," Dr. Livingston said as she stood. "We are going to take a little field trip. You are my last patient today, so we have plenty of time."

I followed her to the mall, then strolled obediently behind her to the department store, passing my usual department, and went straight to the juniors.

Dr. Livingston quickly sorted through the racks, smiling each time she found a suitable outfit, then holding it up to me as if she were my mom. Muttering: "Too big for you up top. Too wide for your hips. Or ahhh...this is perfect."

Then it was to the dressing rooms to try them on. Only I wasn't allowed to just try them on. No, that would have been too easy.

"Strut." Dr. Livingston said.

"What?" I asked, not sure if I heard correctly.

"Surely you remember Karen," Dr. Livingston said. "Strut. Like you did for Susan."

And I did. I did everything Susan made me do so many years before. I shifted my hips sexily. I swished. I sashayed. I raised my short skirt to show off my tiny pink thong. God, I even pulled it in tight, until it disappeared into my sex. I toyed with my nipples. I pinched and pulled them until I moaned and my legs grew so shaky that it was almost impossible to stand. I changed clothes. I became a little stripper for her. A little pop tart. I was so wet. So hot. I was dripping down my thighs. I batted my eyes. I bit my lower lip. I used all of my seductive wiles.

God, it was so humiliating. I let the feeling wash over me, but I became more and more self conscious with every passing moment. Because the doctor...the doctor wasn't Susan. Susan had looked at me with such intense hunger. She told me I made her hot. Me - a gangly awkward little geek.

But Dr. Livingston looked at me with a look the bordered between mild amusement and scientific interest. I knew what I needed to do. I felt so scared, my fingers trembled. I knelt down. I moved in close. I inhaled the scent of her perfume.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were finished," Dr. Livingston said. "Why don't you pay for these things. Then we can get you some suitable makeup."

I gave lilting moan, so great was my need of her. I was tempted to clutch her shapely calf and attempt to rub myself on it. Instead, I dressed quickly, gathered up the clothes and checked out. Eight hundred dollars. So expensive. Then we went right back to the dressing room, where I changed into a few of my new purchases.

Our next stop was the makeup counter. There was a girl, Jenelle at the counter. She must have been nineteen or twenty. Her makeup was flawless and elegant. As was Dr. Livingston's. But there I was, on the stool, at the front of the store, with a constant stream of people walking by. And the girl, Janelle - she was really trying. Yet, Dr. Livingston had other ideas.

"Not that one," Dr. Livingston said. "How about that color? The one over there."

"Cotton candy?" Janelle asked, her tone gently trying to steer us toward the more neutral shades.

"The very one," Dr. Livingston said. "And do you have flavored lip gloss?"

"No." Janelle said curtly.

"A pity." Dr. Livingston said. "Come Kari, let's go. I think we will have better luck someplace else. It's like trying to get service at a self-serve station."

The next stop was a discount store. They had the makeup Dr. Livingston had in mind. With pinks and greens. With sparkles and flavors. Not the sort for a woman like me.

There was one last item. A pink dog collar. That was different.

This time there were new instructions. This time I was only allowed to wear the clothes she had picked out. Even the little pink collar. I couldn't hide them. None of them. From my fiancee. From work. No one.

===========================

"You look pretty," Dr. Livingston said at my next session.

"Thank you." My cheeks would have blushed, but pink was now becoming their natural state, and it was made all the more prominent by my new makeup.

I was tingly. My knees shook like a school girlschoolgirl whenever I looked at her.

"How was your progress this week?"

"No so good..." It was hard to say it. Especially in such a vulnerable state, spread wide in the seat. I didn't even need to be told. I just eased into and hooked my legs over the arms. My sex wet with desire for my psychologist and my perversion.

"My fiancee looked up from his game when I got home last week.....

"Wow..." Mitch said. "You look...hot."

"You like?" I asked. I shifted my weight from hip to hip. I ran my hands down my slim body. Making sure he saw my hard nipples. Toying with the hem of my short skirt. I felt guilty. Guilty for being so worked up...not for my fiancee, but for my therapist. My lust was strong...so strong after stewing in my juices all day at work, during my therapy appointment, and then from my experiences after shopping with Dr. Livingston.

"Come to the bedroom," I said, and began to strip as I walked.

However, Mitch quickly caught up to me and held my wrist. "No, leave it on."

He turned me around. He unzipped his pants. His hardness pressed against me. His strong hands felt my body.

"The bedroom..." I said breathlessly.

He ignored me. Bent me over. Pushing into me with one deep thrust.

"Mitch..." I gasped. Already pushing back. Meeting his thrusts. I wanted him. Wanted him like this. Not in the bedroom. His body working between my spread thighs. But like this. Like two animals. Grunting. Rutting. With his hand grabbing my pink collar and using it to pull me back on his hard cock. Even though it dug into my neck and made the blood pound in my ears.

As he spurted into me again and again. I almost. I almost came. And that night I felt closer to him than I had in a long time. I thought that my therapy was working.

But then the next day. As I put on the clothes I was supposed to wear. The pink collar that went around my slim neck...

"What the hell are you doing?" Mitch asked.

"Getting ready for work." I said.

"Not like that you aren't."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't."

"Obviously I can."

"Not funny," Mitch said. "Get that stuff off. You can wear it for me tonight if you like."

"I'm wearing it to work," I said. "It's...it's...the new style."

"I would know," Mitch said. "I work too. And no one. No one I know would wear something like that...not your age."

"Now I'm old," I feigned anger. "Are you calling me old?"

"Are you fucking around on me?" Mitch asked. "Is that what this is about? Is it someone at work?"

"No...of course not."

"So it's not someone at work."

"No Mitch."

"Are you in love with someone else."

"No."

I said it. But there was something in the way I said it. I could tell the difference and so could Mitch."

"Good bye." And with that Mitch was out of my life. His stuff was gone when I came home from work.

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

"Sad..." I stroked my clit faster. My legs danced in response.

"Really?" Dr. Livingston jotted down a note. "

"Yes... we were together a long time. It wasn't his fault. But he was right. I was in love with someone else." I had as much admitted my feelings. Surely Dr. Livingston would ask. Would discover my innermost fear and hope.

"And how was work?" she asked.

"Work wasn't much better. Actually, it was worse. I mean people looked, but no one said anything about my clothes or ....even about the collar. Nothing was unusual, but then at a meeting the department head Lynn slid her empty mug in my direction.

"Karen, could you get me a cup of coffee please?"

I should have told her no...what am I a secretary? Those were the thoughts running through my head. But this time...wearing those skimpy clothes...my every shame on display to them....and even wearing a dog collar. I mean...what could I do?"

"What did you do?" Dr. Livingston asked.