Dr. Phil Agonistes Ch. 01

Yellow post-it notes were affixed at various places around the production offices of the Dr. Phil television show in Los Angeles. These simply said "Get Me More Weirdos."

Doctor Philip McGraw was a man under a lot of pressure. Years ago the psychologist had used some appearances with Oprah Winfrey as leverage to start his own television advice show. Now he had become the fifteenth highest paid celebrity in the world. It all had seemed simple enough; just come up with enough material for five shows per week. That required finding suitable guests (who for a real-world therapist would be "clients") from the horde of applicants who wished to present their woes to Phil in front of an audience.

Phil understood that these people were deranged in that they were more interested in bringing attention to themselves from the widest group of strangers possible as opposed to actually finding solutions to their problems. He also believed that his role as a therapist had vanished with the very first episode and he was now a showman presenting a carnival of emotional freaks.

It was actually quite tiring to attempt to bring variety for his studio and television audiences while keeping up the sham of "helping" this daily influx of troubled but narcissistic guests. At the age of sixty-seven Phil sometimes envied people with an easier if lower-paying gig. Alex Trebec, I like to slide down into his job at some point. He's just a sign reader; he doesn't have to actually do or know jackshit. He's seventy-eight; maybe he'll retire soon.

Dr. Phil was also a man with a lot of temptations. The production of his show brought him into contact with the many unstable people who were his guests and many of them were female. (Of course he had legions of fans too but he did manage to keep them as at a distance.) As the rock star of TV therapists Phil knew he would not be able to tap the amount of pussy that real rock stars did. But if he did give into any temptation he felt he would be swamped and his life would ultimately fall apart. Any hint of indiscretion would probably be the death of his show and his career. One didn't have to be a dark star of sleaze like Harvey Weinstein to get into trouble nowadays; he knew how little it took to destroy someone like Kevin Spacey or Louie CK. He might wind-up working in a Walmart in Wichita Falls.

During one day's taping he had a typical dysfunctional family to shepherd through his "safe place to discuss difficult things." The center of this was a mother and daughter combo named, respectively, Matilda and Annette. As usual one part of Phil's mind tried to reason through this as a clinician while another part of him sank into an ooze of despair.

The main point of contention in this family was that twenty-year old Annette had dropped out of college to work full-time in a strip club - as an "exotic dancer" as put it. She claimed she needed to do this to support her one-year old daughter. "Mister Annette," as Phil thought of the daddy of this child, had disappeared to an unknown location.

Annette had deep-seated grudges with her mother Matilda who had had her own share of misadventures in her youth involving stints in rehab and even jail. "Mister Matilda," the patriarch and Annette's father, had long been divorced and out of the house but had agreed to appear on the show to offer his own ineffective comments to the discussion. I'd take drugs too if I had to live with this loser, was Phil's assessment.

There was one more orbiter on stage, Annette's big brother Tom, who was a born-again Christian and a father of two. Although Phil was a Christian himself he secretly thought that Evangelicals could be rather ostentatious about their religion.

Overall, he had a feeling of déjà vu about this set of distressed guests. Didn't I have exactly this set of circumstances last year? It was possible; there were only seven deadly sins and ten commandments to break. There was a limit to the variety of human failings that could be displayed on his show as the years went by.

Phil was also rather distracted today by the fact that both mother and daughter were blatantly flashing their crotches at him. They both had short skirts and both were working a set of moves crossing and uncrossing their legs that would have impressed Sharon Stone. Phil noted that Matilda had on dark but see-through panties that revealed her impressive pubic bush underneath. Old school, he thought.

Annette had a white thong that camel-toed nicely on her shaved crotch. How wide is that thing, a quarter of an inch? He had women do this on the show before, but rarely two at the same time. The last he could remember were two sisters, not a mother-daughter team.

On one hand he found this to be amusing and yet it was quite a distraction from his attempts to make coherent policy for this chaotic family. I wonder what they're trying to do? Gain an advantage over each other? Or are they simple attention whores?

He speculated that the mother might think of banging him because he would appear high-value compared to her perennially drunk and unemployed ex-husband. Or compared to the parade of dreadful boyfriends that I suspect have come through her door over the years. He wasn't so sure about the daughter; he imagined she'd demand a cash transaction for anything requiring the removal of her thong.

Eventually the taping came to an end and Phil sent the family on their way to an uncertain future. He didn't have to refer any of them to one of those very nice rehab centers in places like Malibu. Those were usually better than any of the homes he had lived in himself in the years before he became famous.

**********

There was one aspect of Phil's presentation of himself that was absolutely true: he did depend on his wife Robin to get him through his own vicissitudes of life. He had been married to Robin McGraw, née Jameson, his second wife, since 1976.

What wasn't made publicly known was that sixty-four-year old Robin was pretty open-minded about many aspects of sexual kinkiness. Phil's private tastes were not as wild as those of some of the guests he interviewed. In any case, whatever activity he came up with was usually enthusiastically endorsed and enacted by Robin. In turn, Robin was a very imaginative lady and came up with her own suggestions for naughty behavior.

On this particular evening Phil was alone in his private office after the show's debriefing. Robin came in and pretended to be angry at him. Phil knew immediately that she was not serious and indeed was playing a game with him. There was something a bit too theatrical about her demeanor. He quickly guessed the essence of what she was doing, but he remained curious about her execution of the plan. She had the capacity to surprise him at times.

He was sitting at his desk when she came in and closed the door behind her. She folded her arms and said, "I have a bone to pick with you, mister."

He knew from the phrasing alone that she was putting on an act. Going along with the ruse he said, "Come on, Robin, it's been a long day. Can't this wait until we get home?"

"No, were going to resolve this here and now." He was about to protest further when she said, "I saw you looking at the cunts of those two sluts you had on stage."

"Well, good Lord, they were displaying their crotches like two cats in heat."

"Pussies, in other words. Like mom with her see-through panties and baby-girl with her thong."

Phil was genuinely surprised at that, "How did you see it from that angle?"

"At one point I got up and took a little walk to the left side of the stage."

Phil figured this must have happened when he was distracted by the material on his "big board." His production staff had compiled a list of dueling e-mails between Matilda and Annette, and he had been trying to pick through the maze of contradictory statements.

He said, "Okay, you know what kind of underpants they had on. So what?"

"I was looking at you too. You were pretty shameless, you were blatantly ogling their swaths of jiggling vulvas."

He had a hard time keeping a straight face with the silliness of her wording. She, however, seemed to maintain her frame, "As you are always saying Phil, actions have consequences and it's time to feel those consequences."

"Let's be reasonable about this . . ."

"No let's get serious about this. First thing is, take that ruler out of your desk. The wooden one, the full eighteen inches."

Making an elaborate show of submission, Phil removed it from his desk drawer. It was labeled "Fort Worth Board of Education" on the obverse side. He had had it for years but he could no longer remember how he had gotten it.

Robin said, "You know the drill. Take your jacket off and come over here."

One side of the office had a straight-backed, armless chair that mostly served as Phil's "spanking chair." Robin herself had often felt Phil release "a can of whoop-ass" one her while on that chair, as well as on the sofa, the desk, in one of their cars and various other places they picked. As he sometimes said, what's sauce for the goose, etc.

Tonight Phil was the partner in trouble. Robin sat down and continued issuing instructions, "All right give me the ruler. Take your jacket off and leave it on the sofa. Now lower your trousers; I think you already know the rest.

She looked very stern and prim sitting there, which aroused Phil. Her blue jacket and skirt ensemble plus her white blouse made him think of a school teacher or church lady. Before he placed himself across her lap she said, "Give me the ruler, please; that's for the second part of this particular show."

As he placed himself in position Robin slid the ruler under his shirt where she could easily retrieve it. Then she began lecturing him. Phil often wondered how much of these speeches had been memorized before hand and how much she just made up on the fly.

"Now, Mister Phil, I don't care how high and mighty you've become on your own show, it's completely unacceptable for you to be gazing at the pudenda of these female guests of yours."

He almost chuckled at the word "pudenda" which seemed a rather pretentious way of describing that part of the anatomy. He began his faux denials, "Please Robin, I already said there is nothing I could do . . ."

"Quiet please, you already gave your lame excuses, which I simply don't accept. I know you have to have a parade of whores, sluts, nymphos and drug-addled coeds on in order to make a living. Thus it is all-the-more important that you exercise self-restraint."

"Yes, dear, I know . . ."

"Don't interrupt me. Now as you know, in our family we practice a tough but loving Christian domestic discipline."

Phil knew from his own experiences and from the testimony of innumerable guests how much weird behavior got covered up under the rubric of religious duty.

Robin continued, "Therefore, since you have been a naughty husband it's my duty as a loyal wife to take down your drawers and punish you on your bare backside." Phil was impressed how she could mix ridiculousness and solemnity so well in a single sentence.

"Sweet-pie, is this really necessary?"

"Don't 'sweetie-pie' me, you horny old rogue." As she talked she yanked Phil's underpants to his knees. He enjoyed the feel of the cooled air on his body and the knowledge that Robin's appraising gaze was on him.

She said, "I'm going to hand spank you to start with. Don't get complacent; I've brought badder boys than you to the brink of tears and beyond using only my hand as an implement." Yeah, some of my male guests could use a dose of that. No wait, most of those sick sons-of-bitches would surely like it way too much.

Before starting Robin squeezed both of his butt cheeks, an action he found delightful. She held him around his waist in a firm but pleasant grasp. Then she raised her hand and seemed to be lining in up for proper aim. "On target; fire torpedo tube one." What the hell is that, some line from a submarine movie like that one with Burt Lancaster?

Robin was definitely an enthusiastic spanker, as Phil had long known. He didn't have to rely on his psychological training to know that pain and pleasure, like love and hate, were more closely related than was commonly supposed. She said to him, "Stop moving around so much; get that ass up and out. Take it like a man."

"I'm trying, darling, but you have a harder hand than a West Texas schoolmarm." Phil hadn't actually experienced such a person, but he remembered a couple from his youth that he wished had done this. Well, better late than never.

"Trying to flatter me, Phil? I'll show how well the fairer sex can dish it out. Your ass is going to be redder than a baboon's rump in heat. Get that rear up, Philip, up, up, not down."

When she was satisfied that she had inflicted enough, she stopped and began rubbing his backside. "There, momma had to spank, I can feel how hot it is, I know it hurts." Momma spanks? I hope we don't reach a point in old age of calling each other mommy and daddy. But the way she's rubbing me, that definitely takes the sting out.

"Now Phil, we have to finish this off." She pulled the ruler out from under his shirt and looked at it as if she had never seen it before. "A good old-fashioned school ruler I see. Perfect for the kind of licks I'm going to give you now."

"Please, I think I've learned my lesson."

"Oh no, big fella, I get to decide when you've learned enough, learned it but good." She gave him a few exploratory taps with her wooden instrument; Phil clenched in anticipation. Robin said in a high, teasing voice, "There's nowhere to run, you can't hide from my paddle of motivation." Where does she come up with this stuff?

"As you already know, I expect you to count off each one and then thank me for it."

"How many am I going to get?"

"I think six of the best will be sufficient."

Phil thought, where did all these rituals and phrases come from? Probably England; they're all spank-crazy over there, although maybe they just talk about it more than other people.

Robin knew to be careful during this ruler phase; she didn't want him so sore that he'd be squirming in his seat during tomorrow's show. Yet her first blow made him gasp.

"You were supposed to say. . .?"

"Yes, one, thank you ma'am."

"Call me miss; ma'am makes me feel matronly." They had gone through this ma'am/miss routine before. I'd say she is a matron, but hey, if it makes her happy. . .

Robin quickly, efficiently whacked him five more times. After he said, "Six, thank you miss" she got a bit giggly. "My, my, you have the cutest little purple circles on your bottom." He remembered taking more than six at times, times when he was purple from one side to the other. She jabbed a finger at a certain spot, "Does that hurt?"

"Ah, yeah, that smarts a bit."

Robin said, "Now, you've not going to be looking up the skirts of those skanky guests any more, is that true?"

"No I won't, Robin, I'm going to behave myself from now on."

"I think I believe you, but there's more where that came from if necessary." She titled her head and frowned. "Do me a favor, raise yourself up a bit. Oh, yes, I see someone has a nice big erection. How long has that been going on?"

"To tell you the truth, it started the first time you squeezed me."

"Well, you've been very bad, but I can't blame you for nature taking its course." She gently touched his hips and thighs, avoiding the worst places. "Obviously the buttocks are an erogenous zone, there is a neural pathway from there to the genitals." Hey baby, don't get so clinical with a clinician. Besides, it works for ladies too. I've seen it with you in fact.

She continued, "Now as part of loving family discipline, it's important that I relieve you of your tensions. Better that than you going around all - well, horny and such and getting into more trouble." That doesn't quite make sense, but if she gets me off, then hey . . .

"Raise yourself a bit more honey, I need some room to work." As he held himself up over the chair, she got her right hand in to hold his cock by the root while the other stroked it from end to end. Phil noted that her stroking hand felt warm and moist.

She seemed a little coy now, "Do you think this is going to work?"

"Oh my God yes, I have no doubts at all."

"Tell Mrs. McGraw all about it."

"Your hand just feels so - buttery." He dared to turn his head to look up with her. Her expression was mild and slightly distracted; she seemed to be looking at some spot on the other side of the room.

It a short time he was trusting his hips to meet her hand. She said, "There, that's fine, don't hold anything back; I can feel you on the edge. Give me one of those Rebel yells when it comes."

As any good old boy from Texas could, at the moment of climax Phil let forth a yell that would have given General Grant and his blue-coated armies pause to reflect. Robin received a considerable amount of spurting cum on the lap of her skirt; she sometimes referred to this type of action as getting a "Lewinsky." Phil had always been a good husband so she didn't object to getting splooged now and again. Nevertheless she pretended to be mildly annoyed.

"My goodness, I know you had a lot of tension to release, but that was an amazing amount of man-juice to drop into my lap."

So why didn't she place a towel there first? Phil was trying to catch his breath, "I'm sorry, dear. . . " He couldn't help but smile at her wording, and he thought of an absurd phrase, Man-Juice in the Promised Land.

"Never mind, it's nothing the dry cleaners can't deal with. Meanwhile, when you're calmed down, you know it's corner time."

"No problem, I can do it now."

"All right, you know the procedure: stand over there by the bookcase; put your hands on your head." She retrieved her ruler and pointed with it to the correct spot next to his desk.

After he went there, Robin crossed her legs and idly tapped the ruler against the palm of her hand. She was feeling quite jazzed herself. There is hardly anything more exciting than disciplining a man good and hard. Robin remembered several guests who had worked as dominatrices. Later, in private, Phil had admitted that he had been intrigued by what these women had told him.

Anyway, it had been a long day and she knew any further fun should be postponed until later at home. At that moment she did have a further inspiration.

"Philip?"

"Yes Robin?"

He was still facing away from her, his thrashed rear end uncovered for her to examine. Let him stay there for a bit more.

"I was thinking," she said, "We should take an excursion this weekend. We haven't done the 'Truck Stop Cutie' role play in quite a while. I have some ideas for that one."

He turned his head and grinned at her, "It's a date; I have some ideas of my own."

******

[Chapter 2 will be posted in a couple of days.]