## Counseling Session

Post by Mr Underheel » Fri Dec 25, 2015 9:46 am

It was nearly six months ago that he last saw her, even though for the previous six months he had seen her every other week in his office, ostensibly as a client of his professional counseling practice. Suddenly, after their twelfth session together she had disappeared. It was as though she had dropped off the face of the earth, vanishing as quickly as she had appeared that day at the art exhibit where they first met.
_____
The annual outdoor art exhibit featured local artists of many styles and media, most of which Jon appreciated very much. He had gone alone, leaving his friends behind, so that he could spend as much time as he liked at each work. The last thing that he wanted was to be hurried along, pressured by another person to do anything that day, desiring to choose his own pace and his own path. He was enjoying his solitude and was deeply contemplating a landscape portrait, oil on canvas, a work that had been created by one of his favorite local genius when she walked up.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t it?” a woman asked quietly. He glanced to his left when she spoke. What he saw there left him breathless, almost unable to respond. The long blonde wave of her hair, the gleam in her blue eyes, the smile on her full shapely lips immediately captivated him. His mouth went dry, something that he had never experienced before in such a situation. Normally, he was in great control of himself, confident and self-assured. Those attributes seemed to have been drained from him with nothing more than the sound of her voice and a sideways glance at her profile.
The woman knew her art, too. They talked for many minutes about the portrait in front of them and then other works by that same artist. Though he rarely clicked with anyone this quickly, he found himself drawn to her intellectually, at the very least. So great was that intellectual connection that it was some time before he noticed how stylishly she was dressed and that she—unwittingly, he thought—was indulging his secret fetish: a love of beautiful platform heels. She was adorned in a lovely black pair but, had he not been paying attention, he might not have noticed the unusual and very alluring zipper that ran up the backs of the stilettos themselves.
It was not his goal that day to meet someone and yet he had. No doubt that the girl he was dating would not approve. Their relationship was not serious yet, but they had only met a month or so before. She was very nice but he wasn’t sure if she was “The One” quiet yet. Because of that, he did his best to remain professionally detached from this charming art aficionado.
Taking a break from their viewing, they chatted personally for a while. “My name is Jon”, he said. “I’m a professional counselor. I’ve been practicing here in town for several years. Here’s my card if you’re ever in the market. You said your name is ‘Missy’?”
She laughed. “Something like that. Actually, I might be able to use you. I’ve been hoping to connect with someone like you for some time. Thanks for the card.” And with that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Only a week later he received a message from her for an appointment at his office the next day. Fortunately, he had an available time slot. She showed up exactly on time. As she walked into his office she shook his hand and quickly scanned him from bottom-to-top scan with her penetrating eyes. A nearly imperceptible smile crossed her lips as she made herself comfortable, reclining on his black leather couch.
“Missy” had done it again: these blue and black strappy shoes went straight to his groin. He did his best to keep a straight face but his cheeks became slightly flush and there was a noticeable reaction in his pants. As a professional counselor, he knew that he needed to remain aloof and unaffected, something that he had always been able to achieve. Not this day, however. Oh, yes. She noticed, too.
“Counselor, I had the same dream twice this week. There was a boy—about 27 years old—who, by the end of the dream was perfectly naked and tied up so prettily on my floor. His ankles were lashed to his thighs and his legs were splayed open. His muscular arms were pulled behind his back and then were tied to his waist. There was a red ball gag in his mouth and a wide black blindfold around his eyes. I was wearing knee high black boots with a very high, very thin heel. My foot was placed directly on his sternum.”
She went on for almost a half hour, describing in detail every aspect of the dream. Then, without warning, she suddenly rose and said, “I’m leaving. Put me in your book for two weeks from now. Same day. Same time. I’ll see you then.” And with that, she dropped a $100 bill on his desk and turned quickly, slamming the door behind her.
He was dumbfounded and could scarcely react. No client had ever done anything remotely that bizarre. At the next session, he told himself, he will tell her that he can’t see her.
On the appointed day and at the appointed time, she walked into his office. He started to tell her his concerns about their meeting but she simply held up her finger to silence him and directed him to take his seat. She then lay on the couch again, candy apple red stilettos flashing, and began to relate another dream. This time, he learned that she had dreamed of a bevy of submissives who all found themselves bound by her at some sort of tea party. Whenever Jon tried to ask a question or make an observation about what she was saying “Missy” would simply hold up that finger and he stopped talking. Without a doubt, she was in control in that room.
After she left that time he decided that he would let her come back whenever she liked. He just might learn something from this intriguing person, this unique specimen. And he loved hearing about her dreams. And so they met like clockwork every two weeks, same day, same time for 10 more sessions.
Each session was nearly the same as the last, with the exception of the content of the dreams. She would walk in his office, look him over from bottom to top and then take her place on his couch. She then began to describe one dream after another. One week, she told him of an amazing sailing trip that she took with the same young man and a girl. Her two companions seemed to finding themselves constantly in one bind or another.
There were dreams of the same young man submitting himself to her every whim, allowing her to indulge her every fantasy. Ropes, leather, chains. Blindfolds and gags. Toys of every description. This type of “play” was not something that he had considered in the past but “Missy’s “ dream scenes were drawing him in. He began to research the topic. BDSM Studies became a hobby of his.
Beyond that, “Missy” showed up to every single session in different footwear, each of which was incredible, each of which he could scarcely take his eyes off while she lay there. And she always made sure that they were easily within his view. He looked forward to their meetings with eager anticipation, even though she always left the office before he could comment on the dream. She never failed to leave another $100 bill on the desk.
He thought back to their final session before her disappearance. What might have triggered her to stop coming, he wondered. It struck him at that point that in her “survey” of him at the beginning of the session that he was already rock-hard. His anticipation of her visits had begun to cause a Pavlovian response in him. Just as Pavlov’s dog would salivate at the sound of a bell in anticipation of food, Jon would get an erection 15 minutes before “Missy” arrived, a condition that did not subside until long after she had left. She must have noticed! That’s why she no longer visited, he was sure.
Six months of sessions. Six months of silence. A year had passed since he first met her. The art show was just around the corner again. He would attend again, just as he had the previous year. One never knew what might happen…
There he stood at the same artist’s display as the previous year, viewing a similar landscape work to the one that he was considering when he met her. He felt a tug at his sleeve.
“Mister, a lady wanted me to give you this.” The little boy handed him a plain white envelope with his name handwritten on it. “Thank you very much!” The boy trotted off.
With shaking hands he ripped it open. Inside was a simple three-by-five card which said, “If you like, meet me at 117 Main Street, Unit 413. 10:00 PM tonight. MzsC”
He almost choked. “She said her name was ‘Something Like’ ‘Missy’. Now I get it—I think…”
The location was right downtown, a condominium three stories above a storefront. There was an inconspicuous white door in an alcove next to the restaurant that occupied that storefront. At the precise time he pushed the buzzer for Unit 413. He was buzzed into the building.
Plushly carpeted stairs stood before him that lead up a long wide corridor. The building itself was probably 75 years old but it had been refurbished in recent years. He had heard that the décor was very contemporary though he had not seen the apartments himself as yet. That thought flashed through his mind but he returned very quickly to what “Mz. C” might have in mind. He reached the top of the stairs.
“413” was to the right and down a hallway from the top of the landing. He walked gingerly and nervously toward the door and gently tapped on it. He waited anxiously, his palms sweating, not knowing at all what to expect.
After several interminable moments he heard the lock click open and then the door swung slowly open, creaking quietly as it went. Mz. C’s head peeked around the door. “Come in, Jon. I’ve been waiting for you. Stand over there.” She gestured at a single recessed light that glowed in the ceiling and lit a small circle on the hardwood floor. There was a cushion just at the edge of the illuminated area. He took up a position there.
He could not see more than a hint of her in the darkness but he could hear her heels clicking slowly on the wood as she closed the door and then moved away from it. She stopped and paused for a few moments and then, in a quiet, deep voice she said, “If you want to stay, if you want to see me, kneel where you are.”
Of course he complied without hesitation.
Then another light flashed on and he saw her in her full grandeur: She stood with her hands at her sides and feet apart; Her hair was as it ever was, blonde and curly; she wore a black silk long-sleeved blouse that was perfectly tailored to her curvaceous body; below it was a black leather skirt that reached to her knees, although there was a slit up the right side that exposed her thigh; and—how did he not see this first—she wore the most delicious black platform boots with sky-high heels and platforms. His heart was about to beat its way out of his chest.
More lights came up so that the entire room was now dimly lit. She paced back and forth in front of him as she spoke. In her left hand was a riding crop. In her right was a long coil of thick white rope. He noticed immediately that the boots were detailed with red leather laces all the way up the back. He loved the look and could scarcely contain his excitement at this unexpected situation.
“So. Jon. Professional Counselor. You came. I know you might think that you have an ethical dilemma here because you think that I was your client. I was not. Think again. Did you ever actually counsel me? Did you dispense even a single word of advice? No. Actually, YOU were MY subject. Do you realize that? I saw you. I wanted you. I had great fun with you. And you responded perfectly. Didn’t you? Think about it.”
He knew she was right. All these years he had considered himself to have had a strong will, to have known what he wanted, to be in control of himself. And yet she had bored her way so deeply into his mind that he was almost obsessed with not only her, but with the content of her “dreams”.
“Those were not dreams that I told you about, boy. They were my reality. There was something about you that day at the exhibit that intrigued me…the way you spoke of the artist’s work, your insight into it. It made me see you as a medium for my own little hobby, an object that I wanted to be able to ‘paint’, so to speak. And so I needed to see how you would react to all of this.”
Taking the riding crop, she patted his throbbing rod through his pants. “You responded exactly like this prior to our last session together, which is exactly what I was looking for from you. Good boy! I trust that the last six months played with your mind and that you’ve been thinking of me often. Don’t say a word! If you want to stay and learn more about me and my little hobby here, all you have to do is to cross your wrists behind your back.” She dangled the rope in front of his face.
He tried to control his reaction but his arms immediately sprung into the required position.
“Good boy”, she whispered. And she went diligently about the business of making him her helpless, willing, ensnared work of bondage art.
“And my name isn’t ‘Missy’. It’s ‘Ms. C’, as it said in my note today. The ‘C’ stands for ‘Compliance’, which is what I demand of you. Are you willing to comply, boy?”

### Re: Counseling Session

Post by Londit » Sat Dec 26, 2015 1:10 pm

Nice start ! Can't wait to read next parts !

### Re: Counseling Session

Post by Lake Lover » Wed Dec 30, 2015 6:28 pm

Captivating. You've got me.