Revenge of the Defrocked Psychologist Ch. 01

After years of enjoying mind control stories involving magical or hypnotic amulets, Talk Dirty to Me by JukeboxEMCSA and Spellbound by lovecraft 69 among them, I decided to write my own. While it remains a work in progress, at present I anticipate telling the tale in three chapters.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * * *

I was surprised. Not that the receptionist was pretty, but how she was pretty. I'd expected the professional-woman look: fit and trim, conservative suit, glasses, make-up careful and restrained, hair in a bun, the look her boss Dr. Maria McMichaels exemplified. This woman, five feet two inches tall, somewhere between 105 and 110 pounds, and with "C's" that looked even bigger on her tiny frame, was a kewpie doll.

I cautioned myself: don't underestimate her, this was no accident. Her clothes and jewelry were expensive and tasteful; she looked like a kewpie doll because she wanted to look like a kewpie doll. Her hair, worn down and hanging to her shoulder blades, was highlighted light blonde, her make-up emphasized her large green eyes and the thick succulent lips of her small mouth, her dress and shoes revealed, but did not advertise, an hour-glass figure: slim waist, wide hips, I guessed 34-24-35. And when she flashed her smile - she had perfect teeth - she knew the effect it had on you.

There was one more thing, she worked for Dr. McMichaels. You had to be smart, real smart, to work for Dr. McMichaels.

I said, "I'm Josie Baker, I have the 4:00 o'clock appointment."

"My name is Dawn Cameron, it's good to meet you, you're early."

"Yes, this being my first visit I allowed extra time for unexpected delays. I hope it's not a problem."

Handing me several forms - that was some rock, her fiance emptied the bank - she said, "No, not at all," and it wasn't, it was a plus Dr. McMichaels would soon know about.

I filled out the forms, listed depression due to job loss as the reason for my visit, left the personal information sketchy, and saying, "I lost my insurance so I brought payment in advance," handed Dawn a check and the forms while noting the picture on her desk. He was some gorgeous; they'd have handsome children.

She said, "Thank you," and for the next few minutes engaged me in, on its face, casual conversation. It was quickly clear this was no ordinary receptionist. She was evaluating me, eliciting information, and I saw how her soft voice and non-threatening appearance would cause one to let down their guard. Her look, her sweet manner, were no accident.

That she was doing it also told me Dr. McMichaels wanted her input, which confirmed her intelligence. This very hot body housed a powerful mind.

And while she was good, I was better; I fed her the information I wanted Dr. McMichaels to hear.

Dawn's phone pinged and she said, "Dr. McMichaels has finished with her patient, she'll be ready in a few minutes, please wait here," and, forms in hand, entered the interior office.

No patient came out. A private exit in this hoity-toity building? I imagined what that cost.

While I waited Dr. McMichaels reviewed my forms, checked her clothes, make-up, and hair, discussed me with Dawn. I'd presented myself as a straight-forward case of mild depression, nothing unusual or dangerous. I'd arrived early, dressed appropriately, been polite, paid up front. Dawn, who'd probed and evaluated me, would tell Dr. McMichaels what she thought. I'd soon know if it worked.

The door opened, out she came. Some years ago we'd been introduced at a symposium, but I'd been one of hundreds and even with her fabulous memory there was no way she'd recall me.

She extended her hand - her handshake, like the rest of her, was perfect - and said, "Ms. Baker it's good to meet you, my name is Maria McMichaels. I'm so glad you've come to see me."

"I'm happy you had the time Doctor and please, call me Josie."

My deference would please her.

She motioned me into her office, turned to Dawn and said, "Ms. Cameron, Ms. Baker is my last appointment of the day. Please close everything down and make sure to lock the door when you leave."

* * * * *

The office was feminine, antique wood furniture - French Nineteenth Century Empire Desk, English Revolving Bookshelf, Louis XIV Armchairs - set off by splashes of color and fresh flowers. On her credenza were photographs of her husband Raymond, the Dean of the University's Psychology Department and two children. Neither child would interfere with my plan. Their twenty year old son joined the Marines out of high school and was stationed overseas, location classified; their eighteen year old daughter was attending her final semester of high school in Paris.

I sat in the comfortable seat set aside for patients, Dr. McMichaels settling in her high-backed authoritative leather chair. Although one would need wings to see through the windows of this high rise the heavy curtains and blinds, designed to provide patients a sense of privacy, left the room dark. I needed more light. Dr. McMichaels wouldn't like it, she insisted on controlling her environment, but she'd let me and after that what she liked would matter very little.

Taking off my glasses I said, "Dr. McMichaels, would you mind if I crack open the blinds, I'm having trouble seeing."

After a slight hesitation she said, "Let me," went to the window, worked the blinds, said, "How's that?"

"A little more, if you don't mind ma'am, yes, thank you, that's perfect."

The sun now seeping in she returned to her desk, moving with a sophisticated athletic grace. Slim, 120 pounds spread across a five feet eight inch frame, taller now with heels, small hips and butt, at best "B" breasts, she wore her brown hair up and hid her blue eyes behind glasses. Beautiful, embodying professionalism, intelligent eyes riveted on me, she said, "How can I help?"

Moving the necklace tucked inside my sweater into the light, the gem stone glittering, I said, "I'd like to discuss the loss of my job."

Refracted light danced across her face and her concentration broken Dr. McMichaels winced and said, "What's that?"

"What's what ma'am?"

Squinting she said, "That thing you're holding, what is it?"

"It's a necklace ma'am. Would you like to see it?"

I twisted it, the gem spun.

"No. Please put it away, the reflection bothers me."

Swinging it in the light I said, "Really? Most people think it's lovely. The problem is you're fighting the image, don't, accept it, welcome it, let it flow through you."

Saying, "No, please, put it away," she moved her head back and to the right, trying to look away, but found she couldn't take her rapidly blinking eyes off it.

Her voice losing its commanding tone, "Please."

I moved the gem to the left; her eyes followed it.

"That's not what you want Maria, you want to look at it, admire it, let it stream through you, overwhelm you."

A whine to her voice, "I don't know what you're talking about, it's, it's ..."

"It's beautiful, so beautiful you can't process it, but can't look away, so your mind is shutting down. You can feel it, that amazing mind shutting down, shutting down, shutting down..."

She tried looking to the side, but her dilated eyes remained fixed on the gem. Feeling consciousness drift away, her pitch desperate, she started to say, "No, it's just that..." but I interrupted. "Maria I'm in control, don't fight it, surrender, it feels good to surrender. Say it, say, 'I trust Josie Baker, Dr. Josephine Baker will take care of me.'"

Her voice dropping to a whisper, "Please, please put it away Dr. Baker, please."

"Maria it's hard to fight, it's easy to obey, it feels good to obey, it's fun to obey. Say it, say, 'Dr. Josephine Baker will look out after me, take care of me, I will obey her.'"

Her shoulders sagged, her mouth hung open.

"Your conscious mind is peeling back, opening your subconscious to me, ceding me control. Say it."

Nothing.

Approaching her, rotating the gemstone in the light, I said, "Say it."

In a low voice: "I trust Dr. Josephine Baker, she will take care of me, I shall obey her."

"Your conscious mind is shutting down, tendering me your subconscious. Say it Maria."

She rolled her shoulders, searching for a way to resist.

I twisted the necklace, the stone waltzed in front of her face, and said, "I'll build a safe place for you Maria, a place where you'll lay down all responsibility, you won't have to make decisions, where all you need do is obey and serve. A place to celebrate your body, use it to serve others as you now serve them with your mind, a place to discover parts of yourself you've never imagined. I can do this because you trust me, because you know I'll take care of you. Say it Maria."

Voice barely a whisper: "Dr. Baker will create a safe place for me, a place where I'll lay down the burdens of life, to celebrate my body, use it to serve others. I trust her, she'll take care of me, I shall obey her."

"That pleases me Maria and you feel good when you please me, when you obey, that's one of the reasons you love doing it. Say it."

Voice stronger: "I love pleasing Dr. Baker, obeying her."

"And what will Dr. Baker do for you?"

"Create a safe place where I'll lay down the burdens of my life, celebrate my body, come to know, find my true self."

I touched her forehead. She slumped back into her chair, blank expression on her face.

"Say it."

Tone assertive: "Dr. Baker shall take care of me, I trust her, obey her."

"Again."

Absolute certainty: "Dr. Baker will take care of me, I trust her, obey her."

"Good girl Maria; you're in my chair."

"You're right, I apologize Dr. Baker."

She moved to the patient's chair, I took hers and said, "Maria, for the next hour instead of you trying to help me, I'll help you. I'll make the decisions, be in charge. All you need do is obey. That will please me and you love to please me, so relax, take it easy, experience the joy of powerlessness, having no responsibility, simply obeying."

Smiling, she said, "It does feel nice."

"During our conversation, during all our conversations, you'll feel wonderful. Your mind free, body relaxed, sweet burn in your sex."

"Yes, I feel it Dr. Baker."

"Good Maria, you must be wondering what just happened."

"I am."

"I'll tell you, but your conscious mind won't have access to the memory. Instead the experience will embed itself in your subconscious, which will long to return to the sweet serenity of subservience and submission.

"The crystal on my necklace reflects light in ways the brain deems impossible. That's why you felt uncomfortable looking at it, we're uncomfortable with things we can't process, it's the principal underlying cognitive dissonance. Your brain did what brains do in such circumstances, unable to comprehend the visual signals coming, the parts of your conscious mind related to vision started shutting down and so exposed the corresponding parts of your subconscious, allowing me direct access.

"The key is that visual processing constitutes most conscious brain function."

"That's correct, 80 to 85% of information is obtained visually."

"Very good Maria. With so much of your conscious mind shut down I was able to order your subconscious to shut down the rest and open your entire subconscious to me, which is where we are now.

"Maria, tap into the memories available to your conscious mind and tell me, does my name Josie Baker mean anything to you?'

"No."

"How about my legal name Josephine Baker?"

"Other than the Jazz era dancer, no."

"You're well educated Maria. How about the Family Therapy Clinic?"

It rang a bell, and she tried to dig out the memory before saying, "It sounds familiar."

"I understand, it's a generic name, hard to remember. Four months ago you were part of a panel reviewing disciplinary actions recommended by the Psychological Licensing Board. One was a month long suspension for a psychologist and clinic that advocated for basic social units, families or any group of people who decide to live together, to have a dominant or dominants to whom the others are subservient, sexually and otherwise. Do you recall it?"

"Yes Dr. Baker, I remember it now."

"That was the Family Therapy Clinic, that was me. Tell me what happened."

"The other members of the panel were satisfied with the month, but I pushed for a year, got them to go along."

"Why a year?"

"The clinic might survive being closed a month, but a year meant its principals would need to find alternative work and, I hoped, ensure the place never reopened."

"Did you review the research and patient testimonials I submitted to the Board?"

"I scanned them. The whole idea's insane."

I'd confirmed her culpability, now it was time to explore her life and career. I learned she'd always been driven, excelling in high school academically and athletically. In college she'd put aside organized sports, although remaining a fanatic about fitness, and been top of her class, the rising star of the Psychology Department.

At the beginning of her senior year Raymond Bier was hired to head the Department. He'd caught her eye; he caught every women's eye. A decade older, insanely good-looking, brilliant, funny, wealthy, spectacular dresser, he also had a reputation for a fat penis with which he played the ever available undergraduate and graduate students like a Stradivarius.

She'd been among the few who hadn't thrown herself at him - he was a professor, it was inappropriate - but intrigued by her indifference he'd turned on the charm and by the end of her senior year she succumbed. She'd never known a lover so skilled and imaginative, sex so wonderful. She surrendered control, let him dictate events, followed his lead. Then she got pregnant. He admitted responsibility - he'd felt the condom tear but kept going - and married her.

But that didn't stop his philandering - there were other women - but instead of a divorce she committed to changing him. She'd kept at it; it took years of employing the tricks of her trade, guilt and shame, and the ultimate weapon, for Raymond adored their children and the thought of seeing Charles and Madison every other weekend was the ax hanging over his head. And while he hadn't cheated in years, in bed she never again completely let go. While she missed the crazy sex of old, she'd never give up control again.

I checked the clock, we'd talked for an hour, but I needed to know something about Dawn. Maria said it was Raymond who'd noticed her, a beautiful graduate student with a keen intellect who knew how to make use of both. He'd referred her to his wife, where she was learning the practical aspects of her craft and the reality of private practice. Impressed, Maria intended to bring her into the practice after graduation.

"And who is that young man's picture on her desk?"

"Martin Hendricks, a medical student. Robert Hendricks' son."

Robert Hendricks was the most successful orthopedist in town. Her fiancé hadn't emptied a bank account to buy that ring, it'd come from pocket change.

"Maria, I admire you. I understand how difficult it is, how much work it takes to be you. Fit, clothes and appearance always perfect, successful private practice, you research and publish, mentor younger woman like Dawn, are active in the community, and as the wife of a department head have an entire other life as a hostess. You make it look easy. I could never do it."

"Thank you Dr. Baker, most people don't understand."

"I do, and I'm going to help. I'll create a safe place inhabited by people you trust where you'll lay down all responsibility, drop the veneers of respectability and professionalism, obey. You'll continue to serve others, but that service will be carnal, physical. It will be the place you'll rejuvenate yourself, get ready to project your persona of casual perfection to the world."

"It sounds wonderful Dr. Baker, but what about my family?"

"Just like I do they love and care about you Maria. They'll understand, be happy for the change. Now I'm going to give you some instructions. Your conscious mind won't recall me doing so, as it will not recall our conversation. These instructions are reserved for your subconscious, which will understand them as its own ideas, thoughts, desires.

"You found our session very productive, let it run over. I'm suffering from mild transitory depression due to job loss. You've treated people like me - your DSM-5 entry on the topic is excellent - so I need not recount any details. Make notes of our session as if it was a typical one."

"Yes, Dr. Baker."

"You liked me as a person. You'll tell your husband about me, praise me to him, finally suggest he meet with me to discuss gig work."

"Yes, Dr. Baker."

"Third, you'll recall how much you used to enjoy sex with your husband. With Charles overseas, Madison in Europe, with Raymond having been good for so long, you'll cut loose, and when you do you'll dig the sex, go a little further each day."

"I understand Dr. Baker."

"Finally, tell Dawn to schedule me for a return visit. If someone cancels to give me their spot, then juggle the other appointments to fit me in at the end of the day."

"Of course Dr. Baker."

"Now we'll switch chairs and I'll count from ten to one. At one you'll be released from your trance, decide we're at a breaking point, check the clock, see we ran over, apologize."

* * * * *

The following morning, reviewing the boss' meticulous notes, looking for the rare grammatical, formatting, or spelling error, jotting down her own observations, Dawn stopped at the notes for my session. They contained no personal information and the session had run long - that had never happened before - although it might explain the cursory notes. Dr. McMichaels must have been pressed for time.

Then she was surprised again. I'd responded well to treatment, but it was mild depression, far from an emergency. Why had Dr. McMichaels indicated I be given preferential scheduling in case of a cancellation? Odder, she'd asked Dawn to juggle the other appointments so I could be seen at the end of the day.

Thinking the boss knew what she was doing, she always did, when an opening turned up for the following Tuesday, Dawn made the changes.

* * * * *

At our next session Maria, after sending the breathtaking Dawn home, opened the blinds, sat, and staring into the gem said, "Dr. Baker will create a safe place for me, a place where I'll lay down the burdens of life and my respectable self, where I'll serve her, others, my own physical needs. I trust her, obey her, she will take care of me. It pleases Dr. Baker when I obey, I love to please her. "

"How do you feel Maria."

"My body feels good, my mind is relaxed, I'm even," and here she smiled, "turned on."

"You're attracted to me sexually, aren't you Maria?"

"Yes Dr. Baker, you're a beautiful woman."

"Tell me about your sex life these last few days."

She did, in lascivious detail. The first night, one regularly scheduled for sex, she'd asked her husband to get on top - for years she'd insisted on that position — and when they made love she'd urged him on, let him dictate the pace, ridden the feeling. Her orgasm had been sweet and powerful and afterwards she did not shower, as was her practice, but cum leaking from her sex cuddled in her husband's arms and told him how she'd loved it.

On Friday they'd been at a party but it was the same old thing and with their daughter in Europe and last night fresh in her memory she suggested they leave early with a look in her eyes he hadn't seen in years and later, when he entered her, it'd been wonderful and when she came she dug her nails into his back and moaned his name.

The following morning she put on one of his white shirts, he wore a robe, and they'd cooked breakfast - her husband made wonderful omelettes - and returned to bed where she'd wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him into her and he fucked her hard.