A Binding Oral Agreement

“Come and get me ready…”

I walked towards him with a fixed smile and then with all the strength I could muster I kicked him in the balls.

He was still doubled up as I half dragged, half rolled, him into the hall before pushing him through the front door and throwing his clothes out after him. When he had recovered sufficiently he went into a rage and pounded at the door but the threat of a phone call to the police was enough to make him go away. In the resulting silence I sat and wept.

By the following morning the prospect of not having Sebastian in my life no longer seemed quite so bad and I was left to wonder if I had ever really been in love with him. His absence meant that I was thrown back on my own resources but self-reliance had always been one of my great strengths. I sat at the dining table and started to make some notes.

Sebastian was out.

Both my parents were dead and I had no siblings.

I could not make a report to the police; I tried to call them but I always found myself cutting the line before I could say too much.

I looked up other hypnotherapists in the yellow pages but as I cast my eyes down the list of names I started to feel nauseous and I suspected that I had been primed with some form of unconscious aversion.

There was one option left to me but, to start with, it involved throwing myself on Gemma’s mercy.“Gemma, it’s me. Look. I’m not feeling too bright this morning. The truth is, I could do with a break.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you on Friday with Melanie Marchant. We’re talking big bucks on this one so it’s probably no bad thing for you to get your strength back…from what I hear you’re going to need it.”

I heard her laugh as she put down the phone but I was amazed that she had conceded to it. I immediately made two more phone calls and less than half an hour later I was on my way to the airport. I was booked on the Edinburgh flight and could not totally believe it until I took my seat and the plane took off. I felt no guilt and certainly no compunction to return to the office.

Katrina was at the airport to meet me and I picked her out immediately. She got her exotic looks from a Scottish father and a Spanish mother and she seemed to grow more beautiful with each year that went by. She hugged and kissed me in a show of genuinely effusive affection and I felt guilty. We had been best friends through school but saw less of each other when we went to different universities. When I finally started work friendships took a second place and we had pretty much lost touch altogether but that was definitely down to me. Katrina continued to make arrangements to meet up but there always seemed to be something more pressing.

We had lunch and, over a couple of bottles of wine, we brought each other up to date. By the time coffee was served it was though we had never been apart. We took a taxi back to her flat on the University campus and she showed me the spare bedroom before serving up more coffee in the living room.

“You said, on the phone, that you had something important to tell me about. Well I’m all ears.”

Over the course of the next hour I unburdened myself. I told her everything and, at the end of it, she sat in stunned silence before finally speaking.

“If I understand you correctly, you can’t, or won’t, go the the police.”

“Even if I could, what would I say? I can’t substantiate any of it and duress is even harder to prove.”

“So how can I help?”

“You did your masters thesis on subliminal persuasion techniques as I recall.”

“I lecture on psychology, not hypnotism, and my thesis was based on Nazi propaganda techniques.”

“Surely it’s close to being the same thing?”

“Perhaps if I show you.”

She left the room for a moment and returned carrying a folder from which she extracted a single sheet. It was a photocopy of a document written in German and my rusty language skills were not up to translating it.

“It’s a propaganda leaflet extolling the virtues of the Nazi party. Now look what happens if you highlight all of the positive adjectives like “good” and “superior” for example.”

She showed me a second sheet on which she had done just that and the highlighted words formed a swastika design on the paper.

“They used a similar negative reinforcement technique on this anti-Semitic tract. You can see that the negative adjectives form a Star of David. Now, neither of these designs is obvious unless you know what to do but if you use hypnotism to put somebody under they will recall the documents and, in their mind, they will see the design as though it were a watermark on the paper.”

I grew quite excited.

“But that’s exactly what they’ve done to me.”

“No it’s not. These leaflets were produced in the millions and fewer than ten percent of those reading it would absorb the image but, having done so, the conditioning sits deep in the subconscious. If your German were good I’m sure you would be in that ten percent but what you’ve been subjected to is something very specific, something very targeted.”

“Are you saying you can’t help?”

“No, not necessarily. I probably know enough to put you under but I wouldn’t want to. It might be that, in ridding you of one form of suggestive behaviour, I might trigger another. From what you’ve told me your conditioning is very elaborate and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been under more often than you can recall.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“You might not like the answer.”

“Please, I’m desperate.”

“Do you remember those newsreels of the Korean war? Those American pow’s put in front of a TV camera and seen to denounce their country, their president even the flag? That was very difficult to pull off. Flag, country, president those are patriotic themes that Americans have inculcated from birth. The Koreans used aversion therapy. Those prisoners were not just threatened with pain they were subjected to it and they were made to associate that pain with those particular images and ideas.”

“You think that something like that would work for me?”

“There are no guarantees, but if it did work it should do so without triggering an alternative pattern of behaviour.”

“So how do we begin?”

“Not so hasty. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? You would have to find someone prepared to let you perform cunnilingus on them and you would have to associate that experience with a degree of pain.”

The next few seconds of silence seemed to stretch on forever and my mind was a whirl of conflicting possibilities and emotions. I tried to speak but my voice quavered and I had to swallow hard.

“You’re the only person I can trust. Will you help me?”

She looked at me with an oddly neutral expression and there was a further lengthy pause before she replied.

“If I agree to help it will be subject to certain conditions…”

“Yes?”

“Once you start you have to see it through. I will want to make notes and possibly make some recordings but I’ll guarantee your anonymity. You must understand that, for the next couple of days, our friendship will, in effect, be set aside.”

Katrina normally spoke with a soft, almost seductive, Scottish accent but her clipped, professional, tone had a hard edge that, for reasons I could not explain, made me feel slightly uneasy. I told myself not to be silly and then bit the bullet.

“Okay, I agree, when do we begin?”

“There’s no time like the present. I’ll go into the bedroom. Give me ten minutes and then come in.

Make sure you are undressed.”

“Undressed?”

“Are you questioning me already?”

“No…no of course not.”

Katrina left the room and I stood there, alone, wondering just what the hell I had agreed to. In the next few minutes I had serious doubts. Katrina had been my best friend and I was readying myself to enter her bedroom and go down on her. This time there was to be no compunction I was going to do it of my own accord albeit with the greatest reluctance.

I undressed myself and then knocked on the door tentatively before entering. I guess I knew what to expect but the shock of seeing Katrina naked was still great. She was sitting propped up on a pile of pillows with her legs stretched before her. I had seen her naked in the past when we were both schoolgirls but she was now a grown woman with a body to be envious of and the confidence to show it off. Having guiltily surveyed her I raised my eyes to hers. I suppose I hoped to find her as apprehensive as I was but she looked calmly aloof.

“How do we go about this?”

Her reply was sterile.

“Essentially we are talking about a denial of need. You have to ask for what you want but in the knowledge that it comes at a price.”

As she spoke she opened her legs and raised her knee. Her sex was shaved except for a neatly trimmed tuft of red black hair at the apex which contrasted with her semi Mediterranean complexion.

“So, tell me, what do you want?”

“I want…I want to go down on you.”

“Be more specific.”

I was embarrassed beyond measure.

“I want to lick you.”

“Where?”

I gave her a look that asked if this was absolutely necessary but I was met by the same cold expression.

“I want to lick..your sex.”

“A little Victorian don’t you think? Try again.”

I felt like a schoolgirl and the more so as I struggled for another word. Vagina seemed too clinical but the obvious alternative was not an expression that I had ever been comfortable with. I blushed as I formed the words.

“I want to lick your cunt.”

“That’s better. Now ask nicely.”

Another meeting of the eyes and another neutral response. I wanted to speak her name, to feel less dehumanized, but she was fully into her role and now it was up to me to play my part.

“Please…may I lick your cunt?”

“You may.”

My body was shaking as I knelt up onto the bed and then lowered my face between her legs. For a second or two I hesitated, reluctant to go through with it, but I reasoned with myself that this was now something I was more than familiar with and this time I was doing it for my own benefit. I closed my eyes and gave a single broad lick up along the length of her sex and was immediately greeted by a flood of moisture. I was so surprised I stopped and looked up at her but she simply raised an eyebrow as if to say “What did you expect?”

The truth was I did not expect her to be aroused and certainly not to that degree. I reapplied my tongue and wondered just how far I was supposed to take it, surely she did not expect an orgasm?, but, then again, was it fair of me to stop short? She remained almost perfectly still offering no clues. I licked gently for a couple of minutes and at some point she picked up a notepad from the bedside table and scribbled something before relaxing once more.

Her continued silence served only to increase my sense of awkwardness and the one clue that I had was the slowly increasing heat and wetness of her sex. I knew that I was licking more mechanically than I would have dared with Gemma and I was studiously avoiding her clitoris but, a few minutes later, she gave a barely perceptible sigh and her body shivered gently. Almost immediately she unwound herself from beneath me and stood up.

“Lie across the bed. Face down.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just do as I ask.”

I took up my position, with my head on one side, and watched as she reached across to where her clothes were neatly folded onto the back of a chair. She picked up her skirt and unthreaded the thin leather belt.

“You’re not serious?”

“I’ve told you once. I’ll give you one final chance. We can stop this right now, and you can seek someone else’s help, or you do what I say without question.”

I had already come too far. If I saw it through to the end, and achieved a successful outcome, I could rationalize the whole experience as a psychiatric procedure but if I fell at the first hurdle not only would I still have a problem I would have changed the nature of my friendship with Katrina beyond retrieval.

So, I relaxed my body as best I could. I remained still and watched as Katrina wrapped the buckle end of the belt around her hand leaving twelve inches of it hanging free. She moved around out of my sight and I held my breath. The first strike came with a sharp snap and I yelped more in surprise than pain. She had not struck me very hard but it was hard enough. The second strike came quickly, a little lower on my buttocks, and no less painful than the first.

“This is the price you pay. If I allow you go down on me you must accept the consequences.”

Her delivery was flat, almost toneless, and it reminded me of something. Only later did I make the connection with Helen Heller who issued instructions a similar neutral manner.

In all she struck me six times and, as far as I could judge, none of the strokes had overlapped. Once she stopped the burning pain grew and I could distinguish each distinct welt.

“I need to make some notes. Go into the other room and come back in one hour’s time.

As soon as I was alone again I checked in the mirror. The welts stood out vividly red against my pale flesh but it was hard to believe that those six simple lines could cause so much anguish. I went into the bathroom and found some after sun cream which brought some relief but as I caught my reflection I could not help but despair at my insane predicament. Exactly an hour later I went back into the bedroom.

“Just one moment.”

I stood whilst she finished writing and then she settled back into the pillows. This time she opened her legs with her knees raised putting her sex blatantly on display. For a second or two I was at a loss but then remembered what was required.

“Please may I lick your cunt?”

The words tasted bitter in my mouth. I did not want to do it and I certainly did not want to pay the price but I somehow knew that the “therapy” had not yet worked. The one positive thing was the sense of other-worldliness that I felt at that moment. It was just like the state that I arrived at when commanded by Gemma and I could only conclude that Katrina’s treatment was acting on the appropriate area of my subconscious.

“Are you prepared to take the consequences?”

“…I think so.”

“Then you may begin.”

Once again I went down on my belly to my best friend. I hooked my arms under her legs and applied my mouth. This time there was no doubt. She was aroused and, judging by the heavy scent, she had been for some time. I felt aggrieved by this but had to remind myself that I had asked for her help. Only then did it occur to me that perhaps I should have asked her if she had had any previous experience with women. I had always assumed she was hetro but, on reflection, whilst she had many male friends there were none that I had ever been introduced to as a partner. These thoughts were still going through my mind as she seemed to reach another passive orgasm.

“Lie on the bed as before.”

“Is the belt strictly necessary?”

“I could spank you but that’s a little too intimate don’t you think? We need to keep this as impersonal as possible.”

I wanted to scream at her. How much more intimate could it get? I had just brought her to an orgasm using my mouth! I tried to reassure myself that she knew best and lay down on the counterpane.

I felt an odd shiver of revulsion as her fingers lightly traced out the tracks of pain that she had already laid down.

“Have you used a balm?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t. You need to experience the pain otherwise it’s counterproductive.”

With that she took up the belt again and I tensed myself in anticipation. The first stroke was a long time in coming, and I almost told her to get on with it, but when it fell I wished that I had not been so impatient. It might have been that it fell across an already tortured area of flesh but in my bones I knew that she had hit me a whole lot harder and the pain was both instant and dreadful.

“Take your hands away.”

“Not so hard!”

“Do you want my help or not?”

It took a supreme effort of will to put my hands back down by my sides leaving my buttocks feeling horribly vulnerable. When the second strike came it was worse still and I could not help crying out.

“Scream all you like. The walls are made of granite, you could set off an explosion in here and no one would know.”

I do not know how she intended it but it sounded almost like a taunt and the stubborn streak in my nature took over. She laid on four more strokes, each no less painful than the first two, but I bit my lip and took them with barely a whimper.

“I need a rest. Let me get a couple of hours sleep and then come in and wake me.”

I got up from the bed and the pain immediately doubled as blood rushed back to my buttocks. I could feel a tear pricking my eye but I held it back until I was out of the room but then the floodgates opened. I cried for the next half hour both because of the pain but more so because of my predicament. However I looked at it my life seemed to be coming off the rails.

I tried to pull myself together and felt a little better after a long shower but two hours passed quickly and it was time to present myself again. As I entered the bedroom I was surprised to find that Katrina was dressed. She was sitting at the mirror putting the final touches to her mascara.

“Are we going out?”

“I am. It would probably be better for you to stay in and take an early night. Now, is there something you wanted to ask me?”

I was completely thrown. First by the news that she was going out without me and then by the fact of her second question. Did she really expect me to ask again? Her face offered no clues and I began to wonder if it was some form of test. If I asked, would she undress again and stay? There was only one way to find out.

“Please…may I lick you?”

I could not bring myself to say the hated word again but she ignored my lapse.

“Kneel down.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Kneel down. We’ve got to make this more realistic. I want you to do for me what you do for her.”

I reluctantly did as she asked. Somehow, with us both on the bed, I could pretend that there was some degree of parity but now there was to be no pretence about the relative nature of our roles. As I knelt she opened her legs. Within the confines of her short skirt she was wearing open crotch tights without panties and the stretched nylon framed her sex in an almost obscene manner.

As I drew nearer I could see that her labia were already wet and, as I applied my tongue, her taste was strong. In deference to her request I did all the things that Gemma liked me to do and she grew more animated than she had been up to then. As I worked towards her G spot she even began to issue instructions.

“Yes…there…just there…oh that’s good!”

I strongly suspected that she came at that point but she gave no indication that I was to stop. As I sucked on her clitoris she put both hands to the back of my head and held me in place and then her thighs closed about my head. Her second orgasm arrived and she literally wrung it out. She crossed her ankles and squeezed her thighs so that her scream of ecstasy was lost to me as a muffled cry. I thought that it would never end, and feared that my eyes would be squeezed from my head, but she finally relented and allowed herself to relax.

She stood up and straightened her skirt and, apart from a high colour in her cheeks, she looked immaculate. For my part I felt bedraggled. My face was red and clammy and my hair was an unruly mess.

“Bend over the stool. I’ll attend to you before I leave.”

I found her tone, indeed her whole attitude, hurtful but this was what I had asked for. By remaining aloof she was playing a role and it would make it easier to draw a distinction between this persona and the real Katrina when it was all over.

I bent myself over the stool and found that it was more comforting than the bed. I hugged myself to it and awaited my fate.