Story by All These Roadworks (2023).

 

 

 

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“How are you feeling, Lucy?” asked her psychologist.

 

“I’m feeling good, Dr Lieben,” said Lucy chirpily.  “My book just got published, and I’ve got a speaking tour.”

 

“Ah, your book,” said the psychologist.  “We’ll talk about that in a minute.  And are you aware you’re under a trance?”

 

“Yes, Dr Lieben,” said Lucy, because it was true.  Her eyes were open but they stared fixedly into the distance as her consciousness floated somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.

 

“And why are you under a trance, Lucy?” asked the psychologist.

 

“Because I have trouble trusting men,” Lucy replied.  “But I demand the best healthcare, and everyone said you were the best psychologist in town.  But I found it hard to open up to you, because you’re a man, so you suggested you put me under hypnosis, to make it easier for me to talk.”

 

“Very good, Lucy,” said the psychologist.

 

“Thank you, Dr Lieben,” she said happily.

 

“But I think it’s time we moved past these names now,” said the psychologist.  “I think instead of ‘Dr Lieben’, you should call me sir.  And instead of ‘Lucy’, I’d like to call you ‘cunt’ now, or sometimes ‘rape-pig’.  When I call you ‘cunt’ or ‘rape-pig’, you will think I have called you ‘Lucy’, but your cunt will get a little bit wet, and you will feel a little surge of shame for what a slut you are.  Will you do that, cunt?”

 

He saw her bite her lip as her pussy suddenly wettened, and her cheeks flushed with shame, but she said, “Yes, sir.”

 

“Good rape-pig,” he said.  “Now, why don’t you tell me about your book?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she said.  “It’s called ‘Standing Tall’, and it’s got my face on the cover, and it’s a collection of my feminist essays and thoughts.”

 

“That’s right,” said the psychologist.  “And did you think I would read it, cunt?”

 

“No, sir,” she said.  “I didn’t think you’d be interested in feminist essays.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” he said.  “Which is presumably why you felt free to write about me.  Here, on page 7, ‘Men are all pigs.  Even my perverted old psychologist stares at my tits when I visit him, dreaming futilely of a day when any woman will ever be attracted to him.’  And here on page 35, ‘I deliberately wear no panties to my psychologist’s office.  Men need regular reminders of what they’re not allowed to touch.’  Did you write that, cunt?”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Lucy.

 

“Are you wearing any panties now, Lucy?” he asked.

 

“No, sir,” said Lucy.

 

“Good rape-pig.  Pull up your dress and spread your legs for me.”

 

Lucy did.  Her shaved, naked pussy was exquisite.

 

“Good cunt.  From now on, when men stare directly at your cunt, you’ll feel intensely ashamed of the fact that all you’re good for is raping, and you’ll feel a steadily growing sense that you need to be punished by having your tits, pussy or ass hurt.  While aware of men staring at your cunt, you’ll be completely unable to cover your pussy or take any action that would take your cunt out of their view.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she said, and then moaned as Dr Lieben stared pointedly at her.  She bit her lip and her face flushed.  Dr Lieben could see wet, sticky arousal glistening between her pussy lips.

 

“You’re not very nice to men in this book, Lucy.  Page 50: ‘A woman’s breasts give her power over men, reducing them to drooling animals.  I sometimes think of getting a boob-job just to make men even stupider.’  And here: ‘Men would crawl on all fours just to get a glimpse of a mammary, while women will forever stand tall.  Women have nothing to be ashamed of.’  Did you mean that, Lucy?”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Lucy, quietly.

 

“I think I’d like a glimpse of your breasts now, Lucy.  Why don’t you undress completely - but leave your high heels on?”

 

Lucy blushed, stood, and removed her dress and bra, revealing her fuckmelons to his gaze.  She resumed her seat, her face a mask of shame.

 

“I think you want men to look at your tits, Lucy,” her psychologist said.  “In fact, when men are looking at your face, you will feel unhappy, and do whatever you can to encourage them to look at your tits instead.  When they *are* looking at your tits, you will be unable to disobey any command they give you, unless it contradicts the suggestions I give you today.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Lucy. 

 

Dr Lieben looked at her face. 

 

Lucy whimpered.  She looked downward, at the floor.  When he kept looking, she moved her hands to rest on the upper slopes of her tits.  Then she moved them beneath her breasts, cupping them.  She jiggled them a little.  Finally, she started painfully pinching her own nipples, stopping only when the psychologist finally lowered his gaze, and giving an audible sigh of relief that he was now staring at her tits instead of her face.  

 

“Get down on all fours, Lucy,” he told her.  “Crawl.”

 

She did, getting down on the ground like a dog, and looking up at him for further instructions.  Her tits hung down beneath her attractively.

 

“I’m going to give you five more instructions, Lucy, and then you’re going to leave here.  And by the way, you’re going to have the impression that every session from this one onwards, inclusive, you get quality psychotherapy from me, but instead you’re just going to spend your time sucking my cock.”

 

“Your first instruction is that you will dress and stand up before walking out of here, but half an hour after you’ve left you will immediately undress, get down on all fours, and be unable to rise to a standing position or wear clothes.”

 

“Your second instruction is that every day you will go to the supermarket - naked and crawling - and buy a bottle of baby oil, two cans of dog food, and a pornographic magazine.  You will use the baby oil to lubricate your anus every two hours, just in case you get anally raped; you will eat the dog food for breakfast and dinner from a bowl; and you will study every woman in the magazine and think of a reason that she is a better person than you are.  If anyone asks you what any of these items are for, you will tell them.”

 

“Your third instruction is that every day you will spend an hour exercising at a local dog park during daylight - nude and crawling - and every night you will spend at least half an hour in a nightclub - nude and crawling.”

 

“Your fourth instruction is that when anyone says anything about you or does anything to you that hurts or insults or degrades you, but which you know you deserve, your pussy will get sopping wet.   You will never take any retribution or offer any complaint for any such action, including sexual harassment and rape.”

 

“And your fifth instruction is that if you can go 72 hours in good health without your pussy getting wet, you will be free of my instructions, and able to stand.  Do you understand, you stupid cockteasing rape-pig?”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Lucy.

 

“Now, crawl over here and suck my cock,” said the psychologist. 

 

And a year later, Lucy was still sucking his cock, and had still not managed to stop crawling.  The press had gotten wind of her condition very quickly and, given the title of her book, she was a national joke.  He had told her that if she was very lucky - and if she went on national TV and publicly begged him to do it - he *might* give her a set of suggestions that would make her feel happy and joyful whenever she was raped - which, these days, was very often indeed...

 

(END)