Like Winning the Lottery

Dr. Sam is so soothing to talk to. He listens so well. He really helps me understand my relationship with Dean. I understand, now, how important it is to do what Dean wants. To please Dean. To try my very best to give him everything he needs. To always be available for him. To always be ready for him. To never question what Dr. Sam advises, or what Dean requests. My life is so much easier now.

Each time I saw Dr. Sam, the office would seem hot. I realized I was taking off most of my clothes, but I couldn't stop myself, and I didn't even think twice about it at the time. I was wearing dresses with no underwear to go to my appointments with Dr. Sam, even when the weather changed; even in December.

That was the first time that I know he hypnotized me; he said it was to make sure I could stay relaxed while I talked about the incident at work. A patient beat me up. She was psychotic; she didn't know what she was doing. She broke my eye socket, and I had to take several weeks off. I wound up in Dean's ER, but they wouldn't let him treat me. He was so angry. He was so scared. He got reprimanded for how he acted.

13 December 2018: Dean keeps asking me if I want to quit working. He's hung up about what that patient did. It was seven months ago. Even though I've been a social worker for years and years, and that's the first time anything serious has happened to me. (really, getting the occasional scratch from a teenager or a demented lady doesn't count) I don't know why he's so worried. He keeps mentioning the money. I keep saying neither one of us does our jobs for the money. I keep saying if he quits, and stays quit a year, then I'll think about it. He says won't I be happier with less stress? But I don't feel any more stressed out than usual, or than he is. Dr. Sam wants to talk to me about the thing tomorrow anyway. Maybe I'll ask his advice about this too.

Dr. Sam hypnotized me, so I could tell all the facts of what happened. I talked for a while, but I think I told him a sexual fantasy. When I was done talking, I was naked. I was just sitting there on this couch he has, my feet propped up on the coffee table, directly across from the chair he sits in. He was smiling, like he was proud of me. I was confused and startled, but I didn't think to say anything. I should have been ashamed or upset, but all I thought was "this is weird". Then he started speaking and I relaxed into the sofa, and I didn't care that I was naked. I didn't care that he could see my pussy, or that I was touching myself while he watched. He kept explaining, and all I wanted was to please him and do a good job for him and Dean. Somehow doing this with Dr. Sam would help Dean. Would make Dean feel better, and that was the only important thing.

The next thing I remember is leaving his office, clothed, with an overwhelming need to have sex with my husband. I got home, and Dean was waiting for me in the bedroom, like he knew what was going to happen. That was the first time I called him Master; the first time I begged him to fuck me.

I walked into the bedroom, and he was sitting in the chair. He'd had the day off, so he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, with a sweatshirt over it. He'd just taken off his shoes, and stood up to pull off the sweatshirt as I walked in. I remember whimpering at the sight of him. His eyes were glittering; he had a big smile on his face. He grabbed himself at the crotch, and grinned.

"You want this, Cassie?"

My name is Cassandra. I hate being called Cassie. He knows this. It's one of the first things he found out about me, even before we'd ever spoken. The nurses told him: 'don't call her Cassie; she won't answer to it.'

"You want my cock, Cassie?"

All I could do was nod. I was practically drooling. I was practically crying. He'd never looked so beautiful. Never looked so strong. I'd never wanted him more. I would have run over shards of glass to get to him. I would have killed to get to him.

He told me to strip and crawl over to him. I tore my dress off and fell to my knees. He told to beg him for it. I pleaded, entreated, beseeched, all the while creeping toward him. I promised my life and my body if he'd just let me kiss him. He told me he going to fuck my mouth, and I said "thank you, Master." That startled me, hearing myself call him Master.

Then he touched me. Oh, God. Just the memory of that. He touched my face, and I turned my head to kiss his palm. I kissed all the way up his arm, and he unzipped his pants. I was breathless. I was speechless. I was shaking and whimpering and moaning. Finally, he took off his pants and underwear, stripped off his shirt and I got to see him in all his glory. I almost had an orgasm, just looking at him.

He was male perfection personified. He was exactly the right height. He had the perfect amount of muscle, perfect amount of chest hair, perfect mouth, his ass was the perfect shape. Perfect for pounding into me. His hair was the perfect length, most beautiful color, best texture. His eyes. His eyes! Two glorious windows on the best soul a man has ever had.

And his wonderful, glorious, flawless, immaculate cock. Oh. To behold it was to love it and the man attached to it. I remember he sat back down in the chair and spread his legs. I inched closer and closer to him, so afraid he'd decide I wasn't worthy. I was salivating and licking my lips like a starving woman at a buffet. I wanted to spend hours, days, the entirety of my life, with his cock in my mouth. I wanted to survive on his cum alone. I knew that's all I needed.

I remember this. But I've also seen the video. It's the first one he made. He recorded us, and told me he played it for Dr. Sam. He just said it was to show Dr. Sam how my treatment was progressing.

The video starts as I'm walking in the room. The camera had been on the table, pointed at the door. You hear him asking me if I want him. It shows me stripping and crawling to him. It shows me kneeling in the middle of the floor, sweating and shaking, while he's undressing. I'm rubbing my pussy, and I'm moaning, and I'm licking my juice off my fingers. I'm rolling my hips and grinding into my heels, and there is actually drool slipping down my chin. My eyes are wide and glassy and my mouth is open. Then I start inching toward him. Creeping toward the camera, still on my knees. The angle moves, as he'd turned the camera as I got closer to him. I had no idea. I was so focused on his penis. So focused on the seemingly unquenchable desire to put his prick in my mouth and have it live there.

As I get to him, he picks the camera up, and holds it to his chest, so it's angled down, almost the same as his own point of view. I'm looking at him, my eyes wide and pleading, silently begging permission to touch him. I lean down and kiss his cockhead, still looking at his eyes. I lick the very tip of his glans; he's already completely erect, and the first drop of precum has appeared. I taste him and my eyes roll back in my head; I shudder. It's the sweetest, saltiest, best snack in the world. It's what I imagine ambrosia should taste like.

Somehow, I knew I needed to wait until he gave me permission. I knew that it was vitally important. I was shaking with need, tears were welling up in my eyes. My hands were clasped together, prayerfully, over my heart. I left my lips barely in contact with his glans. It was so tempting to swallow him whole. I wanted to suck his entire cock down my throat until I choked on his pubic hair. I wanted to wrap my arms around his hips and hold him to me until I passed out. I was afraid that I would not, physically, be able to get enough of him; that I would die before my desire was satisfied. Trembling, I held myself back, waiting for some signal.

In the video I look so pathetic, so much like a junky; it actually turned my stomach for a second. But his voice started up on the video and brought the memory of the feelings back so strongly. In Dr. Sam's office today, watching, I felt the same insatiable need.

I'm remembering now, and somehow that's a little better. My lips are on the tip of his cock, and he starts talking, and all I can do is listen to him. It's an echo of something I'd already heard, but so much more powerful coming in my beloved's own voice. Each word is a honeyed drop of poison and a bitter sting of salvation.

He's saying, "Cassie, my darling. You know what you need to do. You need to please me. You need to pleasure me. You live to use your body in service to mine. You live to use your mind in service to my body and my desires. You need this. You won the lottery. You won the prize of absolute purpose."

I remember nodding along. I remember knowing the truth of what he was saying in the marrow of my bones. I remember believing, in that moment, that the only thing that could hurt me was if he decided I wasn't worthy anymore.

He continued, "Cassie, my love, you will know your worth as my servant. When I name you 'Cassie', your body will respond with a physical sensation of need and lust. You will hear the name 'Cassie' as a signal that you will do anything sexually that I want, and that you will not be sexually satisfied until I say so."

I'd opened my mouth by this point. The repetition of that name I hated had made the need for him to be inside me almost unbearable. I was still holding his gaze, oblivious to anything but his eyes, the sound of his voice, the smell of his glans, and the drop of his cum that I'd licked earlier. Then, like some indulgent god, he reached down and stroked my cheek. He wound his hand in my hair.

And he continued, "You will have other names, too, Cassie. Other names to evoke other responses, to complement other needs that I have. But this is your most important job, Cassie. Your life's work is to keep me satisfied. Keep me satisfied, and you'll have the best orgasms of your life. As many as you want. But none of them will fulfill you until I am satisfied. Until I am done. Do you understand?"

Suddenly I found I could talk and knew that acknowledging what he said was of paramount importance. If he knew that I understood, I might finally be able to put his cock in my mouth. I might be blessed with his cum.

"Yes, Dean. Master. I understand. I will do everything to please you."

"Show me, with your mouth, Cassie. Show me now."

I groaned. I moaned with relief. I'm no prude, I'd given him head before. I hadn't particularly enjoyed it before, but I knew he did. But that day, in that moment, every kiss and lick sent a thrill through me. I was desperate to get it right, and this had to the very best blow job he'd ever gotten. I managed not to plunge down on him like a five dollar whore.

I swirled my tongue around his glans. I sucked his head into my mouth and held it with my lips while I slathered him with my saliva. I pulled back and kissed his helmet, kissed all the way down his shaft to his glorious balls, and started licking them. I covered his balls and his whole prick with my drool, kissed his inner thighs down to his knees and back up. I reached up and stroked his stomach and found his nipples. I pushed his legs further apart so I could dive in and lick and suck the very base of his shaft.

Only then, did I finally relieve the desire to pull him into my mouth.

I kept licking, bobbing up and down, gradually adding more and more of his length into my mouth, until he bumped my throat. I held him there, and used my tongue on his underside, reaching as far down his shaft as I could. I leaned up and tried to find a better angle to take more of him in. I coated him in my saliva and deep throated him as best I could. He moaned and I smiled, and I fucked him with my face.

I was desperate. I was enthusiastic. I used every trick I'd ever tried, seen or heard about. I used my hands for the parts I couldn't get into my mouth. I choked myself trying to take more. I caressed his balls and stroked behind them. I listened to his breathing, and prolonged his pleasure as much as I could. I opened my mouth wider when he grabbed my head and thrust himself into me. Every one of his moans or grunts sent a thrill through me, a jolt of pleasure, and made me want to hear more of them. More moans, more sighs, more slow exhalations, more little jerks and jumps. I never wanted this fellatio to end, but I craved the taste of his cum like I'd never craved anything in my life.

Too soon, far too soon, he reached the point of no return. I'd been thrusting on him, sucking and pulling him into me. I realized he was holding his breath, and his balls twitched in my hand. He exploded into my mouth, spurting and gushing more of that ambrosia. I swallowed and swallowed, determined to get every drop in me. Determined not to waste this precious gift. After his last spasm, he deigned to stay in my mouth as his erection faded and he allowed me to clean him off with my tongue.

I was so happy I was crying.

He stroked my hair, cupped his hand to my cheek. He stood and drew me up with him. He pulled me close and I wrapped my arms around him, laying my head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. He turned so my back was to the bed and walked us over to it. I tilted up my head to stare at him. He was quiet, and I realized that I was still really horny. I sensed that I hadn't completed my mission, that there was something else I needed to do.

Then I remembered. I wouldn't be satisfied until he was.

We reached the bed and fell onto it laying side by side. He gestured for me to roll onto my back, and he started stroking my stomach and playing with my hair. My pussy was throbbing, aching for its own orgasm. I felt hollow and I knew the only thing that could fill me was him. I reached a hand down to touch his penis, and he moved away.

"No that, Cassie," he whispered. "Not right now."

I whimpered again, and he chuckled. For a second I was sure I'd displeased him. I felt tears welling.

Then he caressed my cheek and said, "You're already doing so well. I think he'll be happy."

I had no idea at the time who he meant. All I knew was that my pussy was ravenous and I thought I'd die if Dean didn't fuck me. He reached down and slipped two fingers into me and gave a few lazy thrusts. I felt myself clench around his fingers, and I moaned. I cried out and begged him for more.

He was drawing circles and stars on my breasts and stomach with his hand, driving me wild. I would have rolled him over and climbed on top of him, but I was paralyzed by fear of displeasing him. I knew the only thing that mattered in my life was what he wanted. He held one of my thighs, and pulled my legs apart, then bent the leg that he was holding. I did the same with my other leg, so that my lips were wide open. The raw animal scent of need filled my nostrils.

"Please, Dean." I whimpered, plaintive, "How can I satisfy you?"

He murmured, "Cassie, dear, you've done so well. I'll be satisfied when you make yourself cum. Let me see."

I never took my eyes off his eyes the whole time. I spread my lips and freed my clit from under its hood. I dipped my fingers into my vagina and coated them with my juice. Then I fucked myself with my fingers until I was close. One, two, three fingers pumping in me, my body starting to tremble. He was staring at me, one hand playing with my hair, the other gripping my thigh. He was lying so close, his breath warm on my face.

He whispered to slow down, so I forced myself to stop and regain my composure. I started rubbing my clit. Rubbing and flicking and pressing it down hard against my pubic bone. I was determined to satisfy him, and didn't question why he wanted what he wanted. I flicked and circled my clit, using the side of my finger, and sliding a finger from my other hand inside. His eyes bored into me, and though he didn't say a word, I was sure there was some kind of test. I was desperate to pass. I kept slowing and speeding up, trying to prolong the show, trying to gauge his interest; his desire, rather than my own. But, oh, my God, just him watching me enhanced up all of the sensations.

I kept working myself, my pussy twitching and gushing, and the smell thick in my nose. Dean smiled and that did it. The orgasm roared through me, shaking every muscle, my cunt clenching around my fingers and throbbing. I lost all my senses, and collapsed against Dean with my hands still in my crotch.

He gathered me in his arms. The need and the fog lifted; drifted away completely, leaving just the normal haze after a good orgasm. I knew I had acted strangely. I knew I'd been hornier than ever before. I knew I'd begged him to fuck me, and called him 'Master'. And I couldn't figure out why I'd have done any of that. But I felt better than I had in months.

We curled up together and took a nap. When I woke up, the whole thing seemed like a dream.

We were getting dressed, ready to order some delivery. He said, "Hey, Cassie, what kind of food do you want?"

I remember, like it's a story I heard about someone else. I just glared at him and didn't answer. A reaction that's completely alien to me now; I can't understand it. He nodded slightly, and asked again. "Hey, Cassandra, what kind of food do you want?"

"I'm thinking Indian, or Mexican. Either one, Dean, is fine with me." I remember smiling, and kissing his cheek.

That was a year ago, roughly. Now, when I hear 'Cassie', I salivate worse than one of Pavlov's dogs. Dean says, "Cassie, come here," and I'm wet and ready and, more often than not, naked before he's finished the last syllable. He has other names for me, too. But I can't talk about those. If I talk about those names, I'll be lost in the fog forever, maybe.

And maybe that's ok. That fog is life. That fog is the best sensation in the world. I don't have to think about anything. I don't have to care about anything except keeping Dean happy. And I know how to do that. In that fog, I know exactly what he wants, and how to act, and nothing else matters. In that fog nothing hurts, and even the things that should cause pain don't. Even the things that should bother me only give me pleasure. My pleasure comes entirely from pleasing and pleasuring my beloved husband Master.

Shit. There I went again.

I went back and reread all my diary entries from December of last year. There's nothing in any of them about Dr. Sam hypnotizing me. There's nothing about that session, or how I acted afterwards. But that's exactly the kind of thing that I usually wrote about. Why didn't I write about that? I remember it so clearly right now.

1 January 2019: I've been seeing Dr. Sam on my own for a few months now. He's really working wonders. I'm sleeping better than I ever did. I'm more relaxed, and somehow I have more energy. Things are great at work. I really can't explain this, but it's even easier to keep up with all the paperwork and I'm hardly ever annoyed by anything. Breanne said she thinks it's amazing. I mean, I've always been a fairly optimistic person. Pragmatic, sure, but generally "glass half full" kind of person. But now, I'm practically Polly Anna, but not nearly so annoying (I think). Breanne and I had dinner just before Christmas, and she said I look different too. Like I'd lost weight, or done my hair differently. I haven't changed anything that I remember. Though, Dean and I both said we would try to eat better as a New Year's Resolution. Oh, and I did go to a different hair salon. But the thing they did different isn't anything you can see when I have clothes on. Wink, wink. I think I'm just happier. Breanne's been pretty miserable, in the middle of a divorce. I feel so bad for her. I try not to rub my happiness in her face. I haven't told her about all of the *new stuff* Dean and I have been trying. More on that later... Dean's working today, I've got the house to myself... Ok. Dr. Sam just called and said he had a cancellation, and suggested I come in today. That way Dean and I can have tomorrow together. I think it's kind of weird that a private psychiatrist is even working on New Year's, but whatever, it's his life.