It was the fourteenth day of April, 2004.  For some reason Melissa remembered the date exactly.  She didn’t understand how, or why.  But that day was the pivot point.  That was the day everything changed.
       It had been raining, hard.  Another rainy day in a wet, rainy week. April 14 was a Wednesday.  Rashly, Melissa had gone out for lunch, thinking that her umbrella and mac would be sufficient to protect her from the relentless downpour.  She had been wrong.
       “Is there no end to this infernal rain!” she declared, stepping into the reception area of her office.
       The woman behind the desk jumped.  “How was lunch, Dr. Sungarte?” she asked.  Kim was always deferential.  Besides the reception desk, the homey room housed a pair of plush chairs and some potted plants.  Innocuous art decorated the walls.  A rack of magazines gave clients something to read while they waited for their appointments.
       Kim’s employer shook out her umbrella.  “Lunch was wet,” she replied.  “Literally, not figuratively.  The streets are wet, the cab was wet, and I’m wet.”  She folded her umbrella.  She ran her fingers through short brown hair.  “My hair is a mess,” she supplied.  She started unbuttoning her tan raincoat.  She stopped when she saw her receptionist was about to say something. 
       “Kim, please tell me nothing has come up while I was out.”
       Kim was a good six inches shorter than Melissa.  She was a cute young thing, almost girlish in her powder blue sweater and simple black trousers.  “I’m sorry, Dr. Sungarte,” she said.  “You have a walk-in.  His name is Damien.  He seemed very upset, so I let him wait inside.” 
       “You let him wait inside!  Kim, you know no one is allowed in my office when I’m not there.  There are patient records inside!”
Kim looked confused.  “Oh.  Right.  Sorry.  I don’t know why I . . . .  Damien said it was all right so . . . I let him in.”  She shrugged.
       Melissa groaned.  “I don’t have time for this today.” 
       “Sorry,” Kim said again.
       Melissa regarded her receptionist for a moment.  She looked different.  Kim’s sweater skimmed well above her navel and snugged around her breasts.  It was daring by Kim’s conservative standards.  Was that the same sweater she had been wearing earlier?  The bare midriff was a bit much for the office, especially with those tight, low-riding pants.
       Dr. Sungarte frowned.  That sweater was revealing.  And Kim looked prettier than she remembered.  Sexier.  There was almost a glow about her.  Funny she had never noticed that before.  “Kim, did you get your hair done?” she asked, mostly to relieve the sting of her rebuke.  “It looks good.”
       The receptionist seemed surprised by the question.  “No, I haven’t done anything.”  She fussed with her stylish cap of blonde hair, self-conscious.  “Thanks for saying so, though.”
       Melissa was still puzzled.  Had Kim’s smile always been so bright, her lips so full and red?  The girl could be on television.  Melissa looked at her watch.  “All right.  I have a free hour before Mr. Albright gets here.  I can review those files some other day.  I’ll talk to – what was his name?” 
       “Damien.  He didn’t give a last name.”
       “Fine.  I’ll talk to Damien.”  Why had she never noticed that Kim was gorgeous?
       Melissa stepped into her private office, macintosh over one arm.  She locked the door for privacy.  Like the reception area, the inner office was designed to radiate professionalism and put clients at ease.  Floor-length windows framed by heavy drapes – closed today to block the gloom outside – backed Melissa’s polished cherrywood desk.  A deep couch gave clients a comfortable place to sit and talk.  The walls and carpet were tan, the bookshelves cherry.  Inoffensive art and Melissa’s framed degrees lined the walls.
       “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Melissa said to the man who stood up from the sofa, “I almost drowned waiting for a cab.”  
       “Don’t apologize,” her new client said.  “I should have made an appointment.”
       Melissa hung up the raincoat and umbrella, then smoothed out her modest brown suit.  She kicked off her wet shoes.  She stepped into a different pair, low-heeled black pumps like she always wore. 
       “Well now,” she said, settling into her professional demeanour, “Damien, is it?  I’m Dr. Melissa Sungarte.”  She extended a hand.
       The man shook hands with a firm grip.  “Good morning, Dr. Sungarte.  Afternoon.  Whatever. I’m sorry to barge in like this.  But I need your help.  Desperately.”  His voice held an edge of pleading.
       Melissa studied the distraught young man standing in front of her.  He was under thirty, of no unusual size or character, with a bland, forgettable face.  A rather plain woman herself, Melissa had a lot of sympathy for the ordinary.
       The man hadn’t shaved for a couple of days.  His clothing was clean but rumpled.  His eyes were haunted.  They shifted nervously this way and that.  He avoided looking directly at her. 
       “Let’s see what we can do,” Melissa replied.  She sat down in a big chair beside her desk, across from the couch.  She pulled out her notebook.  Time to get to work.  
       Anyone could see that Damien was in distress; it didn’t take a psychologist to figure that out.  Her first priority was to get him calmed down a little, work through the crisis, then look at the long-term situation.
       “Very well, Damien,” she began, deliberately using his name to establish rapport, “What’s on your mind?  I’m listening.”
       Her new client sat down heavily.  He ran his hand through his hair.  “It’s all so overwhelming,” he cried.  “I can’t control it – can’t control myself.  I don’t know what to do.”
       “All right, all right, try not to be upset.  I’m here to help you.  Nothing is going to hurt you in this office.  Take a moment to calm yourself.  Try taking three deep breaths.” 
       The man did as she instructed.  He breathed in deeply three times, then exhaled slowly.  He seemed a little calmer when he was done.  “Thank you,” he said.  “That helped.”
       Melissa encouraged him gently.  “Good.  Now lean back and relax.  Tell me what is troubling you.  Begin anywhere.  We’ll straighten out the details as we go.” 
       “Doctor,” the man said, “You have got to help me.  I can’t handle this any more.  I read in the paper that you know something about the paranormal.  Maybe you can understand.  I have this – this thing inside me, this power or ability or something – and it’s driving me crazy.” 
       Melissa groaned inwardly.  Not another one of those, please!  Eight months earlier she had written a paper for a psychology journal about seemingly paranormal experiences such as hauntings and alien abductions.  Even though her paper showed how all these traumas could be treated by conventional therapy, it had led to a parade of oddballs through her office.  Everyone who had seen a ghost came to see Dr. Sungarte.
       Yet she kept her continence even.  “What kind of power, Damien?” she asked. 
       “I have no idea,” he replied.  “I don’t understand it.  It’s just that I think – no, I know that somehow I can change things.  With my mind, I mean.  I can manipulate objects and events around me.  Even people.  It’s frightening.” 
       The slender brunette flicked a speck of dust off her fitted designer suit.  She wrote ‘delusional?’ in her notebook.  “I see,” she said, although she didn’t.  “You have some special mental ability.  Where did this, uhm, ‘power’ come from?” 
       He waved a hand.  “I performed a ritual.  It’s a very old, pre-Druidic rite.  It was part of my research for my degree in anthropology.  I did it during the planetary alignment a few weeks ago, when the ancients believed cosmic forces were strongest.  Did you know an alignment like that only happens every thousand years?  I won’t tell you the details of the ritual, but it involves sacrificing small animals and dancing naked around a stone circle under a full moon.” 
       Actually, that was quite enough detail, Melissa thought, wincing.  “I see,” she said again.  She tried to keep the revulsion out of her voice.  “This ritual conferred some sort of magical ability on you, is that right?  How do you know you have it?”  
       She crossed her knees.  For a moment her patient’s glance fell to her legs, below the hem of her knee-length skirt.  Melissa wasn’t surprised.  She knew her legs were fine.
       Damien ran a hand through uncombed hair again.  “I knew it the instant it happened.  I don’t know how to explain it.  Lying there on that moonlit rock, covered with mud and blood, I felt, sensed, a change in the natural order of things, a shift in the force or cosmic energy, call it what you will.  Something flowed into me, into my mind, into my soul.  Something ancient, nameless, and very powerful.” 
       Melissa could already see the outline of the man’s problem.  Some sort of quasi-religious experience had caused a delusional break, clouding the lines between fantasy and reality.  Could be evidence of a serious psychosis.  Could be just working too hard.  She decided to probe a little deeper. 
       “So you believe you now have an exceptional mental ability.  You can change things around you, I think you said?  So what exactly is the problem?” 
       He drew a breath.  “Doctor, are you familiar with the folk wisdom that a man has a sexual thought about every fifteen minutes?” 
       “Yes, of course.” 
       “Those thoughts are mostly pretty harmless, right?  They’re momentary fantasies.  A man sees a pretty girl on the street and he thinks, ‘Wow, nice ass.  I wonder what she would look like bending over on a diving board.’  A moment later he has forgotten all about it.
       “But what if he could fulfil these fantasies, however fleeting?  What if he could make the girl stop, strip, and bend over so he could admire her behind?  What if he could make a sexy schoolgirl jump into his lap on the bus and make out with him until her stop?  Better yet, what if he could transform any ordinary schoolgirl into a barely legal sexpot and have her fuck him on the bus in front of everybody?  What if he could instantly fulfil all the selfish, base, lustful desires that float around in the bilge water of everybody’s unconscious mind?  What would become of him then?” 
       Melissa was struck by the intensity of his speech.  Whatever was at the root of Damien’s problem, it was torturing him.  She wrote ‘sex obsessed?’ in her notebook.  She brushed back her long hair, noting with approval that it had already dried.  She was lucky that way.  “But in reality such things don’t happen,” she said, “so any question of wish fulfilment is entirely hypothetical.  Damien, why are you bringing this up?” 
       “Because that is my whole problem!  This power of mine, it doesn’t reside just in my conscious mind, it’s in my unconscious mind too.  It’s become an integral part of my being.  Look, how do you raise your arm?  You don’t think about it, you just do it.  You want your arm to be raised, and your unconscious mind takes care of the details.” 
       He was becoming increasingly agitated.  He got up from the couch.  He began to pace back and forth, gesticulating as he spoke.  “This power of mine, this thing in my head, it works just like that.  I don’t have to do anything.  I just have to want something to change, and it changes.  Instantly, before I even realize what I’ve done.”
       “Do you have any idea what a burden that is?  The world as we know it would collapse if we could all indulge our selfish whims.  I have to guard my thoughts every minute, lest one of my subconscious desires suddenly come true.  Every time I see a pretty girl I have to concentrate on not thinking about her.  I can’t go into a bank because I’m afraid I’ll have a stray thought and someone will start giving me money.  It’s the curse of the Midas touch, to the second power.
       “I must not give in to the temptation.  I have to fight it!  Because once I start using the power, I know I won’t be able to stop.  It’s too easy, don’t you see?  The slope is too slippery.  First, I’ll start indulging a few idle whims, no harm in that, right?  But that only leads to more temptation.  Too soon I’ll be satisfying my baser appetites, and finally, acting out my most perverse fantasies.
       “I know this is all true.  Yet the effort of not using the power is getting to be more than I can bear.  I can feel the power inside me:  tempting me, eroding my willpower, wearing away at my moral convictions.”
       He sat down heavily.  “It’s like acid,” he said softly.  “An acid of the mind.  It eats away at my humanity, bit by bit.  Corroding.  Corrupting.  Eventually it will leak out, and my soul will be indelibly stained.” 
       He wound down.  He looked at Melissa forlornly, as if he hoped for understanding but didn’t expect to find it.  She arched a delicate eyebrow.  Damien’s story was a long way from someone seeing the ghost of his dead mother.  Yet the shock of his confession was blunted by a persistent, and astonishingly detailed, mental image of a hot schoolgirl having public sex on a bus.
       She forced her mind away from the boinking schoolgirl and back to the patient.  It was evident that Damien had concocted an elaborate delusion.  It was time to challenge this contorted perception. 
       She said:  “If your new power is too corruptive to use, then how do you know it really exists?” 
       “Because I already have used it,” he said, quietly. 
       “Oh?  How did you use it?” 
       “I’d rather not say,” he countered, looking at the floor again.  “It was with my graduate supervisor.  She was the one who suggested I perform the ritual, for the experience.  We, uh, did a few experiments.  She didn’t believe me either.” 
       Something about the way he said that troubled Melissa.  What had happened to his supervisor? She decided to press on.   
       “I can’t say I blame her,” she said, trying not to sound accusatory.  “Why should she, or I?  You insist you have this supernatural ability, but you refuse to demonstrate it.  Surely you can do something, some small thing to prove you’re not fabricating all this.”  It was necessary to force him to confront his delusion. 
       The man thought about it for a moment.  “Do you have a coin?” he asked. 
       “I think so,” Melissa replied.  She rose on her high heels and opened a desk drawer.  She pulled out a 500 lira coin, a memento from a trip to Milan.  The same trip where she had acquired the designer shoes on her feet.
       “Flip it,” Damien said, “it will come down heads.”   
       She flipped the coin.  She let it land on her desk.  It did come down heads.  “That’s not very impressive,” she said.  “Fifty-fifty chance.” 
       “Do it again.”   
       Melissa shrugged and flipped again.  The coin came up heads. 
       “Again.”  Heads once more. 
       She flipped it five more times.  It landed heads every time.  She tried catching the coin in the air.  Still heads.  She caught it and slapped it on her wrist, reversing the orientation in which she caught it.   
       Heads. 
       Melissa sat back down.  She noticed her client’s eyes on her nylons again.  She smiled inwardly.  Let the man look.  The brief skirt of her snug, red-brown suit was designed to show off her legs, not hide them.  She flexed one ankle.  The light glistened on her patent-black pump.
       She turned her attention back to the patient.  That trick with the coin was impressive.  Did he know in advance the coin was not fair?  Had he switched coins somehow, while he was alone in her office?  There was any number of ways he could be fooling her.  The question was, why?  Some people liked to visit therapists for the attention, toying with them without any interest in treatment.  This man did not seem like that type. 
       She tossed the coin on the desk.  It landed heads up.  The face embossed on the coin was laughing. 
       Dr. Sungarte turned back to her odd patient.  She smiled indulgently.  “Fine, Damien.  Let’s allow that you can influence how this coin comes down.  That’s hardly a demonstration of supernatural power.  Can’t you do a little better?” 
       “Of course I can,” he replied.  “I don’t want to.  That’s my whole point.  It’s too easy to use the power.  It’s seductive.  Sure, just try one little thing.  One small change.  Make your life a little easier.  Let a bit of the acid out.”  He shook his head. 
       This is getting weird, Melissa thought.  He really is troubled.  Out loud she said, “Try to stay calm.  We’ll work this out together.  So far though, your conviction has not matched the evidence.  All I’ve seen you do is a coin trick.  You will have to do better than that to convince me.”
       Damien seemed to shrink, to draw into himself.  “Please, don’t force me,” he said. 
       “I must,” Melissa insisted.  “You have to show me the power, or face the fact that it may not exist.”  This was harsh, but a breakthrough in the first session was a real possibility.  She prepared herself for his collapse when the “power” did not work.  Then they could get at his real problem. 
       “Please,” he said again.  “I don’t want to do this!” 
       “Show me, Damien.”  She spoke commandingly. 
       Something in her tone roused him.  He looked at her, considering.  “The weather, what’s it like?” 
       “Damien you’re trying to avoid the issue.  I don’t want to talk about – ”
       “Tell me about the weather!” he shouted with sudden fury. 
       Melissa watched him, taken aback.  She thought about the button on her desk, the one that summoned security.  You never knew.
       “It’s been raining all day.” 
       “Go to the window.  Look outside.”  He was calm again. 
       Melissa got to her high-heeled feet.  She felt the pleasant swish of her little mini sliding over her knickers, silk against silk, as she made her way over to the windows along one side of the office.  She could hear the rain pelting against the glass.  She pulled back the curtains.  
       It wasn’t raining.  The day was sunny, bright with sunshine.  A few high clouds drifted along on a summer breeze.
       Astonished, she looked down at the city street.  The asphalt was dry.  There were no puddles.  A man was idly watering a potted tree on the pavement.  A horse-like animal – possibly a zebra? – ambled down the far side of the street.  Melissa was too shocked to fully register this additional impossibility.
       Melissa dropped the curtain.  She stepped back so fast she almost fell off her spike heels.  She turned toward the door, where she had hung up her raincoat and umbrella when she came in.  There was no umbrella.  In fact, there was no umbrella stand.  On the coat rack was a little red beret.  It exactly matched the daring red ensemble she was wearing. 
       What was going on?  How could this be?  For a long moment, Melissa just stood there, dumbfounded.  It had been pouring rain.  She remembered distinctly.  There was no umbrella stand.  “What . . .  how . . . ?” she stammered. 
       Damien was leaning over, his hands clasped in his lap.  “I asked you not to make me do that.  Oh god, it’s so damned easy!” 
       Melissa pulled herself together.  Whatever was going on here, she still had a patient who needed help.  She crossed the room to kneel down in front of him.  “Damien, listen to me,” she said gently.  She lifted his head in one hand. 
       Damien looked at her, his expression blank.  Belatedly, it occurred to Melissa that in this position he could effortlessly look up her tiny skirt to the tops of her stockings and even her high-cut, lace panties.  She decided not to do anything about it.  Maybe a little tease would help bring him out of his withdrawal.  She took a deep breath.  She felt the press of her breasts against her sheer, silk blouse.
       She said, “I’m as confused about this as you are.  Nevertheless we are going to work this out together.  Understand?  Whether your power is real is hardly the point.  It’s real to you and that’s what matters.” 
       When he lifted his eyes Melissa realized he had indeed been looking up her skirt.  Now his attention shifted to her cleavage.  She felt a familiar thrill run through her.  “Oh my word, you’re an attractive woman,” he said, irrelevantly, “I should never have come here.” 
       She smiled.  “Well, you’re here now, so let’s see if I can help you.”  She stayed on her knees longer than she needed to.   Maybe she was being a tad unprofessional, but showing off was such fun.
       Eventually she rose to her feet.  She sat down in her big chair beside the desk.  She crossed her knees, letting her foxy skirt slide high on her thighs.  One dainty red sandal dangled off her toes, showing off the long spike heel.  She knew she looked good.  Damien obviously agreed.
       “Let’s consider, for the sake of argument, that you really have some sort of extraordinary power.  What makes you so certain that it will harm you?  Can’t you learn to use it, test it out a little at a time, tame the beast before it devours you?” 
       “What do you mean?”  He sounded interested. 
       “Suppose you set rules for yourself.  Decide beforehand that you will never use the power unless it does demonstrable good.  Lay out a few ground rules.  Then try some test runs.  Something really small.  Go to a hospital and improve somebody’s diagnosis.  Help a little old lady across the street.” 
       “Yes, but the temptation, the temptation will always be there.” 
       “As it is for all of us.  Remember Damien, you had your moral values established before you received this gift, or whatever it is.  You still have that beacon to guide you.  The very fact that you are so distraught about what you have not even done yet proves that you are a man of strong moral character.  Use that strength to steer your use of the power.” 
       For the first time his face looked hopeful.  “You – you think that could work?” 
       “Frankly, I have no idea.  I don’t really know what I’m dealing with here.  But I am certain that nothing is to be gained, in your life in general or your therapy with me, from you blaming yourself for all humanity’s frailties.” 
       He sat up a little straighter.  “Say, you know what, Doctor, I never thought of it that way.  I mean, we’re all just ordinary people doing the best that we can, right? 
       “Right.” 
       “So, as long as I’m trying to make the correct decisions, as long as I’m doing my best, I shouldn’t feel bad if temptation gets to me or I make a mistake now and again.” 
       “That’s the spirit,” Melissa encouraged him.  “You see, you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, regardless of how strange your situation may be.” 
       She worked her full, red lips into a smile to match his.  She was relieved that she had at last been able to do something for him.  There was still a great mystery here, this so-called power, and what it was really doing (hypnotism? complex self-deception?).  That could wait until another session.  Damien had made great progress.
       Melissa felt one of those rare moments of satisfaction that came from knowing she had used her skills to genuinely help somebody.  It was a good feeling, like the contented buzz she got from sucking cock. 
       She noticed his gaze lingering on her titanic titties again.  She loved the way men were always staring at her chest.  That was why she wore – 
       Wait a minute.  
       Something was wrong.  Damien was still smiling at her.  There was something different in his gaze.  Something she didn’t like.  
       Wordlessly, she got to her feet.  She minced over to the full-length mirror along one wall.  She used it sometimes, to get patients to ‘look at themselves.’  Melissa was looking at herself now.  What she saw amazed her. 
       The image in the mirror was her; yet it was not her.  It was like an erotic caricature of herself, a cartoon drawn by a horny teenager with a vivid imagination.  Her hair was long, thick and wavy, her lips pouty and red.  Big hazel eyes smouldered back at her from underneath long lashes. 
       What had been a drab brown suit was now a shamelessly brief, tight skirt, a see-through, white pullover and an unbuttoned bolero jacket, all in the finest silk.  The scarlet jacket had gold buttons and gold trim.  The outfit clung deliciously to a figure that clearly wasn’t hers: not with those spectacular legs, that narrow waist and dandy bottom, or those over-generous breasts that would have looked ridiculous had they not been so high and jutting. 
       Melissa whirled to face Damien.  Her breasts and heels almost made her lose her balance.  “What – what have you done!” she almost shouted. 
       “I want to thank you, Doctor,” her patient replied.  “You have done so much for me, in just one visit!  You are one hell of a good counsellor.  I feel completely liberated from all that guilt I was feeling!” 
       Melissa fought down a wave of hysteria.  “Stop this!  Change me back!” she demanded.  Her voice was deep and soft as velvet.
       He looked offended.  “But Doc, come on, you were so bland.  Now you’re a total dish.  I’m getting a woody just looking at you.”
       Unexpectedly, the image of Damien’s hard-on sent a thrill of excitement through her.  She set her jaw.  She marched over to the desk, four-inch heels sinking into plush carpet, and jabbed the emergency button on the intercom.  Her fingernail was flawlessly polished. 
       After a long pause a breathless voice responded:  “S-Security.” 
       “This is Dr. Sucksgood, I mean Sungarte, in room 319.  I need a security detail, on the double!”  Damn, her voice sounded so sexy. 
       Another long pause.  “Uh, (huff), yeah, right, uhm, oh god baby, just like that, yeah, sure uh, doc, but uh, me and Aprile and uhm, what’s your name sweetie? uh, Margaret, we’re kinda busy right now, oh shit that’s so good.  Can we (huff, huff), make it in, about (gasp), twenty minutes.  No, don’t stop, please, keep it up, make that uh, half an hour, watch it girls I’m gonna blow again!” 
       The line went dead. 
       Melissa straightened slowly.  Diamond bracelets sparkled on her wrists.  She turned to face Damien.  He was still smiling.  It had an edge of pure evil now.  “What have you done to them?” she whispered. 
       “Nothing harmful,” he said easily.  “The security staff are just getting to know one another.  I think they’ll be busy for quite a while.” 
       Melissa felt her stability slipping.  The whole situation was too unreal, too impossible to grasp.  She couldn’t stop thinking about sex. 
       “Look, Damien,” she said, “you can fight this.  You don’t have to give in to the temptation.  What you’ve done to me is just childishness.  It’s a selfish indulgence, like masturbation.  It’s like when I slip two fingers into my cunny on the train and try to get myself off without anybody noticing.”  
       Dammit! 
       She tried again.  “The point is, just because you have slipped once, given into temptation, doesn’t mean your cause is lost.  You can admit a mistake, fix it and carry on.  That’s what we all do.  Remember a few minutes ago we talked about ordinary people doing the best that we can?  That’s what you need to remember.” 
       He was still grinning.  “Ah, but Doc, I’m not ordinary people any more, am I?  I’m something more.  Besides, it’s too late for me.   
       “You see, I told you the temptation would be too much.  My graduate supervisor was curious.  She wanted to see how the power worked.  She let the acid out.  Once I started using the power, once I realized just how much fucking fun it is, I simply couldn’t stop.” 
       A new chill went down Melissa’s spine.  “What did you do to your supervisor?” she asked, her voice trembling. 
       “Ah, don’t worry Doc, she’s right here.  I brought her with me.”  He flipped a hand.  The locked door to Melissa’s office swung open.  “Hey, sweetmeat, wiggle your tail in here,” he said. 
       Melissa looked out to her outer office.  Kim would be at her desk.  She could get help!  “Kim!” she shouted, as loud as she could. 
       “She’s busy, Doc,” Damien said. 
       Melissa looked toward the outer office.  Everything was different.  The art on the walls was arrestingly erotic.  Stacks of adult magazines burdened the side table, beside a glass-fronted liquor cabinet.  Instead of chairs, a large, plush sofa occupied the far wall.
       Melissa had never seen that sofa before.  Yet she knew it had always been there.  Kim had arranged the low couch to be right in front of the glass-topped table that served as her desk, so that male patients could see up her dress while they waited with their drinks.  That explained why so many patients walked in with a hard-on.  Melissa shook her head.  How did she know this? 
       At the moment, the sofa was occupied.  On the bottom lay Kim – or rather a busty centrefold model who looked like Kim – wearing nothing but fishnet stockings and her trademark black patent sandals with six-inch, platform heels.  She had her legs in the air.  She was panting and squirming as she was vigorously fucked by a musclebound man whom Melissa vaguely recognized.  “More!” she blurted, oblivious to her audience.  “Give me more!  Give me all of it!  Fuck me deeper and don’t ever ever stop!”
       “That’s Mr. Albright, your two-o’clock,” Damien supplied.  “I helped him a little with his shyness and agoraphobia.  Of course, a nine-inch cock and sheer animal magnetism that few women can resist will help a lot too.” 
       Melissa felt her underwear moisten.  The sight of the two lovers bucking and pumping in her office instantly turned on her juices.  Virtually anything sexual always did that to her.  No, wait, he had changed that too.  She grimaced, struggling to remember what was real and what was Damien’s artifice. 
       “I’m sorry, Dr. Sungarte,” said a soft voice.  Melissa looked up to see another fantasy standing in the doorway.  Blonde hair tumbled to her waist.  Her figure was stunning.  She was dressed in a semi-transparent body stocking of purple lace that stretched faithfully over every mouth-watering curve.  The material grew marginally thicker around the crotch, providing more the allure of the unseen than true privacy. 
       “I’m Professor Alicia Cummins.  Damien’s graduate supervisor.”  Melissa stared at her in shock.  Yummy tits, but not as big as mine, she thought smugly. 
       “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” the professor said.  “I thought you might be able to help him, I really did.  He was struggling so with his conscience, I thought there might be some hope of redemption.  But it was already too late.  I’m sorry Doctor.  There was nothing you could do.” 
       “Au contraire, my little sextoy,” said Damien.  “The good doctor has done so much for me.  She found the key to free me from my guilt.  It’s like being let out of prison.  For the first time in my life I’m truly free.” 
       Holding on to her sanity by a slender thread, Melissa considered her options.  Damien was clearly insane.  The conflict between his conscience and his ability had driven him mad.  The acid had indeed stained his soul.
       She considered jumping him, maybe catching him by surprise.  She was certain she could not do that.  She didn’t know why.  All she knew for certain was that Damien’s power, whatever it was, was immense and real, and that she dearly loved to fuck.   
       “Dr. Cummins, please,” Melissa said, a catch in her velvety voice, “You’ve got to help me.  Maybe together we can do something.  Run, get help!”  She stamped one spike-heeled foot in feminine frustration. 
       The blonde was shaking her head.  “I’m sorry Dr. Sungarte, I can’t do that,” she explained.  She was wearing black, thigh-high boots, the tightest Melissa had ever seen.  The sleek leather glistened as she sidled up to where Damien was sitting.  She managed her high-high heels with an ease that could only come from long practice.  Just watching her made Melissa tingle. 
       “You see, he can change anything he wants.  This power of his – it’s irresistible!  Eventually he even changed me.  I adore him, Dr. Sungarte.  I’m utterly devoted now.”  The lace-and-leather- clad professor looked down on her student with a worshipful gaze.  She tussled his hair.  Damien made a little clucking sound and patted his knee.  Melissa expected Alicia to sit in his lap, but instead she sank to her booted knees beside him.  She laid her head in his lap like a dog. 
       Out in the outer office, Kim began to scream in ecstasy as Mr. Albright brought her to yet another orgasm.  “Oh god yes!  Yes, YES, AGAIN!” she shouted.  The man caught Melissa’s eye.  He winked at her.  The door began to swing closed on its own.
       “You should not feel like you have failed, Doctor,” Damien said.  He stroked Alicia’s long hair.  The look on her face was pure bliss.  “You have shown me the way to free myself from my conscience, even if I have rather succumbed to temptation.  I’m trying to do good things.  Alicia has never been so happy.  Neither has your secretary.”   
       Even in her nearly hysterical state, Melissa recognized rationalization.  “No, Damien, no,” she pleaded.  “That’s the oldest trick in the book.  To convince yourself that whatever you want to do just happens to be the best choice.  You’re only deceiving yourself.”  She spoke in a lilting sing-song she couldn’t seem to do anything about.  She brushed long hair back from one perfect ear. 
       For a moment he seemed to consider it.  “Well, perhaps so,” he said, “but if I bring a little more beauty and happiness into the world that can’t be all bad.  Besides, you are hardly one to complain about bending the rules, the way you have been manipulating men all your life.” 

                 * * * * *

 

       The office smelled faintly of varnish and leather-bound books.  The desk was old and wooden, but as clean and polished as the hardwood floor beneath her feet.  A half-finished letter curled through the typewriter.  She could see chrysanthemums blooming in the garden outside the window. 
       “Young lady pay attention when I speak to you!” 
       Melissa jumped.  She turned back to what the headmaster was saying.  “S-sorry sir,” she said. 
       “These accusations are very serious.  Very serious indeed.  I will not tolerate such indecent behaviour in this school.  Do you understand?” 
       “Yes, sir,” Melissa said.  Her voice was contrite.  She was standing in front of his desk in her school uniform, a starched white blouse and plaid kilt, white knee-socks and patent black mary-janes.  At just eighteen she was tall for her age and exceptionally well developed.  Her thin blouse strained over bursting breasts that were the envy of every girl in the school. 
       The headmaster leaned forward urgently.  “Tell me the truth now, girl.  Is it true that you have been giving – no, selling! – selling your . . . undergarments to the boys in your class?” 
       Melissa looked down at her shoes.  The polish was so keen she could see her reflection.  She gave him her best apologetic look, the one that worked so well on all her teachers.  “Wellll, not all of them, sir.  Only . . . my knickers.” 
       “Oh dear Lord,” the headmaster said.  He was a strong-looking man with brown hair greying at the temples.  “You have actually been selling your knickers.  Here in the school!  Why, what kind of . . .  Where do you change your . . . your knickers so you can give the old ones away?” 
       Melissa shuffled one dainty foot back and forth.  “Uhm, well, sir I don’t actually change them.  I just uh, give them to the boy who wants them so bad.”  She tossed him little flicks of her big hazel eyes while toying with the hem of her kilt. 
       It took a moment for this information to sink in.  “You mean you . . . take them off . . . and walk around the rest of the day without any . . . Good Lord.  In my school.  And you always wearing your uniform . . . like that . . . .”  He swallowed. 
       Melissa noticed the headmaster’s eyes following her hands as she toyed with her hem.  Her uniform skirt was less than fourteen inches long.  It barely covered the curve of her asscheeks at the best of times.  It produced gratifying effects whenever she bent over to pull up her knee socks.  
       The headmaster took a deep breath.  “All right,” he said at last.  “Ordinarily, this would be grounds for expulsion.”  Melissa gave him her best puppy-dog look.  “But,” he amended quickly, “I don’t want to be harsh; especially to a senior who seems otherwise so . . . promising.”  His gaze lingered on her overfilled blouse.  The top two buttons had come undone.
       “Thank you, sir,” Melissa said. 
       “But this . . . this outrageous behaviour has got to stop.  At once.  Do you understand me, girl?”  
       “Yes, sir,” Melissa said.  She shifted position a little.  The headmaster’s attention returned to her flaring thighs. 
       “Tell me, so I can understand the extent of this indecency, how many boys were . . . buying your knickers?” 
       “Uhm, three or four,” Melissa said.  The real number was more like twice that, not even counting the teachers. 
       “Good lord,” he said again.  “And, how much did you usually get?” 
       Melissa twirled a strand of lustrous brown hair around one finger.  “Uhm, usually five pounds or so, but ten pounds if I’d just come back from gym class.” 
       The headmaster groaned.  He shifted position in his seat, looking uncomfortable.  “All right,” he said at last.  “I see what we will have to do.  You are not to remove your undergarments for anyone while you are on the school grounds.  Is that understood?” 
       “Yes, sir.” 
       “And to ensure your compliance, you will report to my office once each day for inspection.” 
       “Inspection?  Sir?” 
       “Precisely.  It is the only way to ensure that you do not continue with this preposterous lewdness.  We will begin today.  Bend over and grab your ankles.” 
       Melissa’s uniform skirt was so short that bending even slightly was sufficient to reveal whether she wore underwear.  Still, she complied with the headmaster’s command.  He got to his feet and stepped around behind her.  Looking up at him from between her legs, she could see the insistent bulge tenting the front of his dress slacks.  She smiled.  She wondered briefly if he was as big as Mr. Hill, the geography teacher. 
       The headmaster studied his precocious student’s behind for a long time.  Melissa’s skimpy blue knickers were much smaller than the regulation white ones she was supposed to wear.  She had given those all away.  She liked the way the new ones slipped up into her crack and tickled her while she walked. 
       The headmaster let out his breath.  “Very well, Melissa,” he said officiously.  “That is all for today.  I expect to see you tomorrow at the same time.”  He turned away from her and looked out the window.  Melissa could tell he was trying to hide his erection.   
       Melissa slipped out into the empty hallway.  Her boyfriend Damien was there, her real boyfriend, the only one who really knew how to satisfy her.  She slipped into his arms.  “How did it go, baby?” he asked. 
       Melissa giggled.  “I own him,” she whispered, nibbling on his ear.  “He’s probably in there stroking himself right now.”  She kissed him deeply.  “I’m so turned on,” she whispered, many seconds later.  “Let’s go to the storeroom.” 
       “You might lose your knickers,” Damien sniggered.  He already had both hands under her tiny skirt. 
       “That’s no problem,” she replied, “I’ve had my inspection.” 

                * * * * *

       “You see?” Damien said, still at ease in his chair with Alicia’s head in his lap.  She began sniffing her way toward his zipper.  “You aren’t the paragon of moral rectitude you pretend to be.” 
       “That, that never happened,” Melissa stammered.  “You made that all up.”  It was impossible that her senior year could have been like that, or that Damien could have been her boyfriend.  The memory was like a scene from a dirty movie, not real life.
       Yet at the same time she remembered every detail as well as anything that ever happened to her.  Within a week the headmaster had been openly masturbating while he ‘inspected’ her knickers, and by the end of term he had been wearing them.  It was all there, as clear as a bell.  But . . . .   
       A chilling thought passed through her.  Damien likened his power to an unstoppable acid, eating away at his mind.  Leaking out.  Corroding everything and everyone it encountered.  Even her. She gripped the back of her chair for support. 
       Damien said:  “Don’t your see, Doctor?  We are all fundamentally selfish, always taking advantage of others for our own benefit.  Even you.  I’m a little better at beating the system, that’s all.”  
       “Bullshit!” exclaimed Melissa, all pretence of calmness abandoned.  She resisted the urge to scream.  “Don’t try to pretend that I’m like you, you monster.  I do have moral values and I live by them.  I can’t sweet-talk my way through life and I wouldn’t if I could.”  She could almost feel the acid assaulting her, dribbling into her brain.
       “But you have, Doctor,” Damien insisted.  Abruptly he grabbed Alicia by the shoulders and pushed her onto the carpet, the way a man would toss a cat off his lap.  Immediately she crawled back and wrapped herself serenely around one leg.  “You have been using your feminine charms to satisfy your own desires your whole life.  Don’t you remember?” 

               * * * * *

 

       The room was semi-dark and smelled of antiseptic.  “Please, please Melissa, my darling, I can’t wait any longer.”  She was in the arms of a much older man.  He was eagerly planting kisses all over her lips, her face, her hair.  “You make me so hot.  I want you now.” 
       “Ooooh, George, you randy man,” Melissa chided.  She let him press her body against his.  “Are you walking around with a big hard for me again?”  She was in her red and white candy-striper’s uniform.  Her enormous breasts spilled over the top.  The skirt was shorter than anyone could possibly get away with, yet somehow she did.  “What about your wife?”
       The man was still kissing her wildly.  “She’s . . . not here,” he replied.  Desperation coloured his voice.  “It’s just you and me.  Please, Melissa, darling, let me love you.  I’m going insane!”  His groping hands found their way under her racy uniform. 
       “Why, George, I’m surprised at you.  Just because I accepted your gifts and sucked you off a couple of times doesn’t mean I’ll hop into bed with you.”  She nibbled on his ear.  “Even though I find you very handsome, and I’m sure your big cock would feel sooo good deep inside me.”  In her platform sandals she was as tall as him. 
       George groaned in helpless lust.  He began to paw and grope, over and under her uniform. Melissa encouraged him with more kisses.  There was a patient on the other side of the curtain but he was heavily sedated and Melissa didn’t care.   
       “Georgy,” Melissa whispered, a few minutes later, “remember what we talked about the other day?” 
       “What?  Please, honey, I told you there’s nothing I can do.  It’s the best psychology school in the country.  We get hundreds of applicants.  There’s a waiting list.” 
       A delicate hand slipped down into his scrubs.  “But you’re the head of the whole school, Georgy,”  Melissa purred.  “You can let in whoever you want, can’t you?  Couldn’t you make one little exception, just for me?” 
       The older man was gasping for breath.  “Melissa, darling, please.  It, it’s not that uh! oh god, not that easy.  You need uhn! transcripts and, and r-references.”
       Melissa flipped open a couple of buttons.  “I’ve got a couple of great references,” she husked, still stroking expertly. “Maybe you should look them over.”  She used her free hand to guide his head to her chest. 
       “There, you see,” Melissa said, as George began to lap and suck hungrily, “it’s really simple.  I want in.  And I know you want in, don’t you honey.  So why can’t we both get what we want?” 
       George made an incoherent sound from between Melissa’s melons.  His scrubs slipped down around his ankles. 

       
               * * * * *

       “Oh sweet heaven how could I have forgotten that,” Melissa gasped.  Her face was flushed with heat.  She collapsed into her chair, breathing hard.  She ran one hand over her stupendous chest, feeling the hard, sensitive nipples.  Acid.  There was acid everywhere now, flooding her mind, eating away at her resolve, dissolving her conscience into smoke. 
       “I admit some of my behaviour might be construed as immoral,” Damien observed, “but your life-long manipulations of others in pursuit of wealth and pleasure are immoral to a similar degree.  By comparison, my faults are minor.  You see that now, don’t you Doctor?” 
       Through the flood of wicked memories coming back to her, Melissa tried to fathom what Damien was saying.  It sort of made sense, she conceded.  She had been screwing and seducing her way to the top since the day she sucked off the pizza guy for his delivery money.  She had gone into psychology for the money and the chance to fuck with her patients’ heads.  Oh god, the acid! 
       “Damien, I, uh, yes, I believe you may be right, after all.  You have as much right to use your ability to find happiness as anyone else and . . . and . . . oh screw it I’m so fucking horny!”  
       Throwing decorum to the wind, the eye-popping psychologist through one knee over the arm of her chair, spreading her legs wide.  She jammed one hand under her knickers to find her needful pussy.  The other explored the immense, warm spheres of her tits.  “Damien, you superhuman monster, please, let’s fuck.  God I need your cock so bad.” 
       Her patient got to his feet, idly kicking Alicia aside.  She giggled like a foolish girl.  Damien said:  “Sorry Doctor, I think it’s time for me to go.  You have a lot of reminiscing to do.” 
       Melissa groaned.  Her fingers stroked inside her pussy.  Every memory of sex, seduction and selfishness that came back to her turned her on even more.  Damien paused at the door while his graduate supervisor struggled to her booted feet and joined him.  “Bye Dr. Sungarte!” she sang.  “Thanks for everything.  I’m so glad you could help him!” 
       They opened the door to the outer office.  Kim was now being happily ploughed face-down on her desk by the indefatigable Mr. Albright.  She was wearing nothing but her platform sandals. Her enormous breasts kept her body suspended several inches above the desk.  She made little “Uhn!” sounds with every in-stroke of her lover’s cock.  She was drooling.  Files and papers littered the floor. 
       “Oh, one more thing,” Damien said, turning.  “I don’t know what you normally charge, but you have done me a great service, Doctor.  So I’ve left you a gift.  Two gifts, really.  You’ll find one in the bottom drawer of your desk.  The other is right outside.”  He gestured toward the racy receptionist being screwed into a coma on her own desk.
       Damien turned and walked away.  Kim screamed in delight as she was swept into her umpteenth orgasm.  Melissa groaned in unison as her own peak consumed her.  She felt the acid filter down into the bottom of her soul. 

               * * * * *

    It was Thursday, April 15, 2004.  Melissa was taking a break between clients.  She leaned back in her plush leather chair and plopped her four and a half inch heels up on the desk.  She was wearing her favourite hip-boots, soft as butter and tight as a coat of paint.  She pulled up her brief skirt and ran her hand lovingly up and down one black-encased leg.  
       She picked up the trade magazine that was lying on her desk.  It carried a centre-spread article entitled, “Dr. Melissa Sucksgood:  Therapist to the Rich and Famous.”  Melissa’s movie-star face gazed back from the page with a look hot enough to set the paper on fire.   
       The article was shameless boosterism about Melissa and her lavish success.  It didn’t spend a lot of time on technical matters like psychological techniques or success rates.  It did not mention that Melissa’s satisfied, madly devoted patients left her services more screwed up than when they arrived.
       There was no mention at all of the two calls before the discipline committee for allegedly fucking with her clients’ minds and bodies.  Both hearings had found in her favour.  Her colleagues had been very understanding.  Especially the married ones. 
       Melissa knew what the article said because she had pretty much written it herself.  The young journalist that came to interview her had been unprepared either for Melissa’s steaming sexuality or her manipulations.  With a little help from some pills she slipped into her drink, Melissa soon had the girl so dazed and entranced she hardly knew her own name.  Lolling like an idiot, she opened her laptop and typed up the article right there, as Melissa whispered the sentences into her ear.  Melissa let her fix all the typos later.
       At times, Melissa’s whole life seemed slightly unreal.  Her success, her beauty, her uncanny ability to seduce and enamour men and women with ease, all seemed to defy the laws of nature.  Even the little things, like these custom-made boots that fit so well, or the fact that her breasts never sagged in spite of their size, had a kind of impossible air to them.  She sometimes felt like she was living inside somebody else’s erotic daydream.
       This idea was absurd, of course.  She had just been very lucky.  Reality wasn’t something that could be arbitrarily modified.  Could it?  
       She couldn’t shake the feeling – no, the nagging, deep-seated conviction – that yesterday, April 14, her life had been . . . different.  And that everything before yesterday, all her memories of growing up, going to college, building her practice, had been different too.  That made even less sense.  How could reality be modified retroactively?
       The intercom buzzed.  Melissa was glad of the distraction.  She flicked the talk button with the heel of one boot.  “Doctor,” came the voice of Kim, her foxy little receptionist,  “Your one o’clock just cancelled.” 
       “Thanks, Kim,” Melissa replied.  Her appointment at one was a man named Damien.  He hadn’t said much when he booked the appointment, except that his problem was unusual.  Something about zebras. 
       Melissa was glad he had backed out.  It gave her a few moments to relax.  She remembered a boyfriend in high school named Damien.  Best damned lover she’d ever had.  She wondered what ever happened to him. 
       Something about Damien got her thinking about a gift.  Not quite knowing why, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk.  She took out a gleaming rosewood box.  How long had that been there?  She flipped open the lid. 
       The vibrator inside was exquisitely beautiful.  It was slender and elaborately sculpted with bulbs and ridges that promised all manner of delightful sensations.  The finish was pure gold.  Melissa gently lifted it out of the padded box.  It came alive at her touch.  It’s soft hum sounded eager. 
       “Oh my,” she breathed.  She turned the gleaming device over in her hands.  “This is special.”  There was an inscription along one side.  It read, “To Dr. M.S., one cool counsellor” 
       This was the perfect time to take this baby out for a test drive, Melissa decided.  She unzipped her white sweater, which sprang apart.  Her man-melting mammaries exuberantly overflowed the webbing of her bra.  Melissa ran the tip of the vibrator across her nipples.  “Mmmmmm yes, very nice,” she whispered, eyes closed. 
       She massaged her melons for a few minutes, then decided to move on to the main event.  She still had her feet on the desk.  Melissa’s miniskirt was also tight, but a quick flick of another zipper revealed the pink jewel that some women covered with knickers.  Her crotch-high boots negated the need to wear stockings.  Melissa turned the gold vibrator up a notch and slowly slipped it in. 
       Rapture!  The vibrator quivered and danced inside her like a living thing.  She lay her head back, groaning, and played the dildo in and out, as slowly as she could bear.  It fit perfectly, almost as if it had been custom-designed to fit her pussy.  Could such a thing be done?  As her breathing became laboured and her arm motions more rapid, further thought on the question became impossible. 
       There was another gift.  How did she know that?  Feeling orgasm approaching like a runaway freight-train she grappled groggily with a half-memory.  Another gift.  It was . . . where?  Just outside the door.  Melissa screamed outright and bucked in her chair as her gilded companion brought her to a splendid peak. 
       The door flew open as Kim burst into the room.  “Dr. Sucksgood!  Are you all right?” she exclaimed.  “I heard you – oh my god.”  The naive receptionist had not expected to see her employer, boot-wrapped legs spread wide on her desk, shamelessly pleasuring herself with a buzzing gold dildo.  Her eyes locked on Melissa’s pussy.  The oversexed psychologist was still easing the vibrator in and out, enjoying the warm afterglow of her adventure. 
       “Don’t leave, Kim,” she said.  Kim gulped but did not move.  She was still staring at the junction of Melissa’s thighs. 
       “Doctor,” Kim said in a small, respectful voice, “would you like me to . . . to . . . clean you up?”  Her eyes were bright with yearning.  The second gift!
       Melissa waggled a finger at her.  “Come here,” she said.  The younger woman fairly trotted around to kneel between Melissa’s skin-smooth black boots.  She leaned forward, tongue extended.  She made a little mewling sound deep in her throat.  
       “Oh, very good, my dear,”  Melissa sighed.  “You are a natural.  Yes, use your tongue like that.”  She leaned back in the chair again and wallowed in Kim’s artful ministrations.  What a wonderful gift. 
       She started planning some changes for her eager receptionist.  She was gorgeous, in an innocent sort of way.  Why not turn that to Melissa’s advantage?  Let Kim distract the patients in the waiting room, to make Melissa’s job of separating them from their money a little easier.  
       First thing was to get her into some properly revealing clothes.  The pullover and miniskirt outfit she was sporting today was cute, but Melissa was imagining something much skimpier.  Stay-up stockings and spike-heeled, platform sandals would be Kim’s trademark.  No underwear, of course.  Kim was living with her boyfriend, but Melissa would tell her to dump him.  She wasn’t about to share that tongue with anybody. 
       Melissa felt a twinge of guilt about what she had planned for poor Kim.  It passed quickly.  After all, everybody was basically selfish, trying to get ahead of the system a little, gain some personal advantage.  She was just a little better at beating the system than most people. 
       She spread her legs a little wider.  The acid seeped deeper into her soul.