The Psychologist and the Prisoner

Emily Hulse, a twenty eight year old psychotherapist, had been engaged by the parole board to assess a prisoner in the local jail, who was due for parole.

She was trained to treat mental and emotional problems, with psychological methods, and her recommendation would assist the parole board in coming to a decision on whether to free on license, Blake Anderson, the prisoner who she was to interview.

Blake Anderson had been jailed for ten years, and having served five, was up for parole. His record of rapes, and abuse of Women stretched a long way back.

Emily had spent all night reading his criminal record, and police reports, before their first appointment. She read transcripts of interviews with his victims, especially the most violent ones, and her preconceived perception of him was that he was and extremely violent man. He'd abused, and raped scores of Women, but only a few married ones had reported their ordeals.

He was to be escorted from the jail, in handcuffs, to her office.

When he arrived, she was taken by surprise at his good looks, he was quite a handsome thirty year old Man.

Her smile was warm, but brief, as she turned to him, after saying goodbye to the previous patient.

Bake Anderson came handcuffed to a prison guard, but she asked for the cuffs to be removed, and the guard to wait outside, on call for any emergency.

She held out her hand, and grasping his, said, "Hello, my name's Mrs Hulse, you are Blake Anderson, correct?"

He nodded, feeling her warm palm in his, as he moved closer to her, close enough to feel her heat, to inhale her scent.

"Please sit down, there," she pointed to a chair, "And make yourself comfortable," she said.

He watched her, closely, as Emily related her qualifications to him. "I have a doctorate in psychology, and I am a qualified therapist, whatever you say to me, stays in this room, and is only used to help me make my report back to the parole board, do you understand?" she asked him.

Blake Anderson nodded.

Emily had done interviews with prisoners before, sometimes in jail, and sometimes in her office.

Emily's first session with Blake Anderson started with discussing his childhood. She tried to find out why he'd had the tendency to humiliate Women, abuse and rape them. She watched the way he responded to her questions, the way he breathed.

He sat in front of her, watching her cross and uncross her legs, as she questioned him.

Emily studied him intently, and when he looked up at her, smiled at him, as if she knew what effect she was having on him.

Emily took notes as he answered, but found herself constantly distracted by his demeanour, his piercing eyes. He seemed far more relaxed than she did, his answers were unhesitating, and concise. She felt herself blush, every time, especially when he asked things about her, her life.

The first time he'd interjected her questioning, was when he asked, "Are you married?"

She answered, nervously, "No, I'm a widow, my husband was killed in a car crash." "I'm sorry," he replied, "I didn't mean to pry, to upset you," when he saw her shuffle uncomfortably in her chair.

After asking him more questions about his home life, he interjected again, "Do you live on your own, do you have children?"

"I don't have children, we decided to wait until I got my doctorate, the highest level of university degree, and my husband was killed before we decided to try for one," she explained. She went on, "I live alone, in an big old house at the end of town, it's secluded, and quiet, the way I like it," she informed him, instantly regretting volunteering that kind of information.

Emily and Blake looked at each other, for a few seconds. His gaze was penetrating her, before he spoke, "Err, may I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes, as long as I can answer it, if it's too personal I might refuse," she chided him.

"Is there a man in your life?" he asked.

Emily smiled, and replied, "No."

"Really, I'm surprised, I would have though that a beautiful woman such as yourself would have plenty of guys asking you out?" he said.

"They do, but I don't want anyone yet," she explained. "I've not had a relationship with a man since my husband was killed," she informed him. "To tell you the truth, I don't need a man in my life," she said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

He watched her for a few seconds, studying her before saying, "As a psychologist, have you noticed how liars always start with, "To tell you the truth?"

Emily blushed, as she realised she was lying, blushed, because he had caught her out, she did need a man, inside her, loving her, she had been a long time without one.

Blake Anderson watched her, taking in her beauty, the light from the windows highlighting her blonde hair. She was attractive, in her late twenties, well kept, and smartly dressed. The conservative clothes she wore still allowed her body to be elegantly displayed. Even her questioning had a sexy elegance to it. She was rather patronising at times but to him, still a very sexy woman.

Blake Anderson carried on surreptitiously interrogating her, "How old are you, twenty six, thirty?" he asked.

"You shouldn't ask a woman's age," she admonished, "But I'm twenty eight." She was uncomfortable, being cross examined by him, constantly shifting in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs, repeatedly exposing her fleshy thighs.

When his allotted time was up, she called the guard in, who immediately handcuffed him to his wrist.

Emily thought it was an unnecessary precaution, as to escape, or cause her trouble would jeopardise his chances of freedom. "See you next week," she called as the guard led him out of her office.

Except for the fact that he was a prisoner, a convicted rapist, Blake Anderson, who she had just interviewed, was everything Emily admired in a man. Handsome, well built, articulate, dark cropped hair, and a healthy complexion.

An expert at getting inside a person, Emily found no evidence of violence, or aggression, in him, he'd seemed docile answering politely every question she put to him.

On the day of Anderson's second visit, Emily felt the warmth of the afternoon sunshine seep through the windows. As she conducted her interview, with the client before Blake Anderson, she unfastened the top button of her blouse. As she tried to remain focussed on her present client, her thoughts were far from the task in hand. All she could think of, was the man she would be meeting in a few minutes, the prisoner Blake Anderson. The man whose piecing eyes, and good looks, had her trembling with anticipation. Although he was a prisoner, and she was assessing him for his potential release, it didn't stop her having unethical thoughts about him.

He had invaded her thoughts all week, and she had laid in bed, at night, re reading over and over his case notes.

Although her top button was undone, Emily's attire was still conservative. Prim and proper on the outside, but on the inside she was aflame with desire. Emily knew she was being stupid, getting all worked up over the attractive prisoner who was due in her office soon. What would people think of the prim and proper psychologist, if they could read her mind?

"What would he think?" she asked herself. She quickly went back to the task in hand, trying to put him out of her mind.

On Blake's second visit, which overran by ten minutes, Emily began unconsciously responding to him, when he suggested things to her.

The first time, was when he suggested, "Why don't you make my visit the last one of the day, that way we can overrun sometimes."

The next appointment she had with him, their chairs were closer together, and it was her last of the day, and during it he said, "You know you're very attractive, have nice legs, you should wear a shorter skirt."

After the third appointment, and every following one, Emily went home, and masturbated, usually in bed, to the things he'd said.

The appointment after that one, Blake noticed that her skirt was shorter, and her eyes never left his, as he took in her attire. She didn't start questioning him straight away, she seemed to be waiting for him to comment on her outfit. She was desperate for a man to say that she was pretty, beautiful, it had been a long time since a man had complimented her.

He nodded, "You look beautiful, that skirt really enhances your legs," he commented.

During her questioning, at that appointment, she occasionally gave him a flash of her panties, and as they talked, he leaned forward, and let his fingers gently run up and down her legs. At first she jumped backward in her chair, breaking his caress, but she felt safe, and so she allowed him to run his finger up her legs again. It felt nice to have a man caress her, want her, and because of the circumstances, had no fear of him.

As he ran his palm up the back of her calf, he said "You have lovely legs."

Blake suggested, with politeness, "With legs like yours you should wear stockings, instead of pantyhose." "Pantyhose is so coarse, stockings are more sheer, for the wearer," he added.

Ethically, Emily should have stopped him, stopped him from caressing her, but his touch felt so good.

At his next appointment he glimpsed a flash of her suspender, and stocking top, when she crossed her legs.

Blake Anderson began slowly, unknowingly, to her, seeking out her fantasies. He watched her responses, when he began detailing what he'd done to some of the women he'd raped.

Blake Anderson watched her squirm, when he told her how he'd forced the women to suck his cock, and drink his cum. He watched her swallow hard, when he told her how he'd shackled his victims, and after fucking their cunts, forced his cock into their anus's. Blake heard her heavy breathing, when he described how he'd tied up a husband, and assaulted his Wife in front of him, licking her pussy, and abusing her, until she pleaded to be fucked.

On her way home that night, Emily purchased a pair of handcuffs, and she played with them all night. The only thing she couldn't do was fasten her hands behind her back.

At their next appointment, Emily sat, in an even shorter skirt, legs crossed, showing plenty of leg, with her notebook on her knee, and Blake decided to take it further.

As she began questioning him further, Blake interrupted her, "Mrs. Hulse, Emily, why do I have to come here each week?"

She looked at him, before settling back into her chair, patronisingly, "My name is Mrs. Hulse, not Emily," she chided him.

"You call me by my first name, I think I should be able to call you by yours,' he said, sternly.

"Now Emily, why am I here?" he asked again.

"The parole board want a report, before they consider your release," she explained. "Why?" he questioned, knowing that her report could eventually free him.

"To ensure that you are a fully balanced person, and won't carry on abusing Women like you did," she said.

"Yes, but you know enough about me, to recommend I can be paroled," he said.

Emily Hulse did know a lot about him, enough to make a report, enough to have his parole granted, or denied.

"Are you going to recommend I be paroled?' he asked.

"I haven't made that decision yet," Emily replied honestly, adding we have two more sessions left yet."

"Do you get turned on, listening to me talking about it, learning what I did to them?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," she stammered.

"I think you do, I think you have even bought a pair of handcuffs, I bet they're in your desk drawer, and you want to know how it feels when you are shackled," he smirked. "Trouble is," he continued, "You can't fasten your arms around your back, you'd need help to get them off."

Emily choked, unnerved, she couldn't understand how he seemed to read her mind, know what she was thinking, know what she wanted.

Blake got up, walked over to her desk, and before she could get up, to stop him, he opened a drawer. They were on top, a shiny pair of handcuffs, and he took them out, holding them up, saying, "Well, what have we here?" waving them in the air.

She blushed, and stammered, "They, they," trying to find a valid reason for having them, "They're for research."

He gave her a demeaning glance, and said, "Yeah, right, whatever."

Blake looked into the drawer, and saw a couple of bondage books. He picked them up, waving them in the air, and said, "We have been researching, haven't we?"

Emily remained silent, she had no answer, she'd been caught out.

As he thumbed through them, he tut tutted. Blake dropped the books back into the drawer, but kept hold of the cuffs.

"I know you, I know what you want," he said, confidently.

"You don't know anything about me," Emily chided.

"I know everything about you, your wants, your needs." he informed her.

As she stood by his side, Emily felt his hand clasp firmly on her shoulder, before he slid it down her arm, gripping her, just above the wrist, and pulling it behind her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, as he attached the cuff to her wrist. She could have screamed, but didn't, but one sound from her, would bring the guard rushing in. Her senses reeled, as he fastened the other cuff to her wrist.

Emily felt his mouth on her neck, his warm breath on her ear, as he kissed both places. "How does that feel?" he asked, as he pulled her back into him.

A slight gasp came from Emily's throat, as she felt him press into her. Her white lace panties dampened, as she stood bound helpless.

"I want you Emily, just like you want me," he whispered in her ear.

"No," she rasped, breathlessly, shaking her head at the same time.

"I think you do?" he challenged, "I've met women like you before, all high and mighty when you're in charge, but you change your tune when the cuffs go on, and you find out whose really in charge," he growled. "Admit it, you're turned on, you want to know how it feels to be dominated, helpless?" he whispered. Scream if you want, but you'll never get to know how the others felt when I had them cuffed," he warned.

"Don't hurt me," she whispered, ready to scream, ready to alert the guard. "I won't hurt you, I'm just showing you what the others felt, I want you to feel what they felt," he said.

Blake pulled her backwards into him, pulled her arms down, until her hands were level with his cock. Forcing one hand onto his bulge, he clamped her hand around it with his. "Can you feel how much I want you," he quizzed.

Emily whispered, "Yes," as he pressed her hand onto his cock.

"Do you like how it feels, does it feel good?"

"Yes," she panted, then realising her predicament, "Let me go, it's over."

"Its not over till its over," he cursed, firmly.

"Let me go, I won't be seeing you after next week," Emily told him.

"This isn't a game, lady, you wanted this, you wanted to know what it was like to be out of control," he challenged. "I want to kiss you goodbye today, and kiss you hello next week," he said.

He kissed her neck again, as he reached around her front and pulled her blouse from out of her skirt. He ran his hand up her body, inside her blouse, grasped the bottom of her bra, and pulled it up, over her breast.

"I came here to see you," he growled, "To feel you," as he cupped her breast, before squeezing her nipple.

Emily moaned, and once her nipple was hard, he pulled the other cup over her breast, and fingered her other nipple, which had already peaked.

"I want to make love to you, and you want me to," he whispered.

"No, no," she wailed, as she tried to pull away from him.

"Yes, yes," he replied, "There's no way I'm going to walk out of this room until I do." "Make a move to stop me, and I'll move faster, and take you," he warned.

"I'll scream," Emily threatened.

"Go on then, scream, and I'll rip you clothes off, and be inside you, before he can break the door down," meaning the guard. "I'll be so deep inside you, I'll be like a dog when it fucks a bitch, he'll have to use a fire hose on me, to get me off you," he threatened her.

"Please don't talk to me like that," she moaned.

"Why, does it excite you?" he asked.

"No, I want you to let me go," she cried.

"Do you think I can just walk out of that door, and not know you, I'm going to pleasure you, and you me, you're mine, till I leave," he whispered.

Blake turned her head round, with his free hand, and kissed her, forcefully. He turned her round, to face him, and placed both hands on her breasts, before ordering her to, "Kiss me."

Panting heavily, Emily offered her mouth to his, and he used her breasts to pull her to him, as he kissed her again.

Blake then grabbed her around the back of her head, and pulled her to his face. As he kissed her again, he forced his tongue between her lips.

She kept her teeth clenched together, until he squeezed her nipple hard, causing her to open her mouth, in a moan of both pain, and pleasure. Blake's tongue slipped into her mouth, and began swirling it, around hers.

He broke the kiss, and looked into her eyes, as he unbuttoned her blouse, and reached around her back, to unclip her bra. "You should wear front fasteners, from now on," he ordered, as he bent to suckle on a nipple.

Blake transferred his mouth to her other breast, and nipple, and spent the same time on that one, as she softly moaned.

She realized she wanted him to do the things he had done to the other women, but without the violence, or pain.

He then lifted her up by the waist, and sat her on her desk. Blake pushed her back, until she was laid flat, opened her legs, as far as the skirt would allow, and stood between them, before running his hands up and down her legs.

"Please," she whimpered, as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties. "Please what?" he smirked, as he pulled her panties down. He slipped them off her legs, and holding them up, for her to see, said, "Wear thongs in future."

Emily moaned, the instant he began fingering her pussy, and her moans got louder, as he strummed her clit.

Not wanting to alert the guard, he took her panties, and pushed them into her mouth, as his fingers drove into her. "I'll be in trouble, if he hears," he said, nodding towards the door.

With his fingers still inside her, finger fucking her, he bent his face to her sex. Blake licked the fleshy lips of her cunt, before taking her clit into his mouth.

Emily squirmed, not in resistance, but to place his mouth more firmly on her cunt. He licked and sucked, as she writhed on the desk, and she moaned in ecstasy, into her panties, when he withdrew his fingers, and inserted his tongue.

Blake soon brought her to her first male induced orgasm since her husband died. He reinserted two fingers, as he continued to pleasure her.

Emily screamed into her gag, as another orgasm exploded.

Blake lifted up, unfastened his fly, and took out his cock. He wiped it up and down her slit, coating it with her own juices.

"When you cum, you'll want me to make you cum again, I can give you orgasms that will blow your mind," he challenged.

Emily gasped, when he said, "When I cum, you'll want me to cum again and again," as he drove into her, to the hilt.

He thrust three or four times, letting her savour his length, and was just about to begin fucking her, in earnest, when there was a gentle knock on the door, it was the guard.

Blake pulled out, put his wet cock away, and hurriedly fastened his trousers.

Emily jumped up, and Blake turned her round, and unlocked the cuffs, and whispered, "Get dressed, make yourself presentable." as he pulled her panties out of her mouth.

Emily hastily fastened her bra, and blouse.

"Look at the time?" he smirked, my sessions over for today. He watched her as she stepped back into her panties, hitched them up, and then lowered her skirt.