Birth of an Analyst

Part 14

Not for those under 18 (or whatever the legal age for this sort of stuff is in your area). If you’re not that old, Boo! Go away now. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of sexual activities, especially non-consensual ones, then don’t read this. All characters and situations are fictional.

Copyright 2023 greyscribbler@yahoo.com

Archived on the Read Only Mind web site by permission of the author. This story may be downloaded for personal archiving as long as this notice is retained.

“Hey, Madison,” Ethan smiled.

Madison couldn’t help smiling back. So many emotions. Happiness. Relief. Ethan had been late that morning. She’d begun to fret. Worse than fret, she admitted. Fret was something people did over little things. Trivial things.

Not the things that mattered.

Anxiety had settled over Madison, like a thick black cloud. Gnawing away at her. By the time Ethan arrived she couldn’t sit still, couldn’t concentrate. She’d been looking up every few minutes, staring at the door that led into the large space they shared with the other PhD students. Hoping Ethan would come in.

Needing him to.

She was an addict, and he had what she needed.

Not that she wanted to escape her addiction. Having Ethan fuck her arse was just too good.

Bliss. Heaven. Ecstasy.

What she needed to make the terrible, aching, need go away.

For the last thirty minutes she hadn’t even been able to think of her work, let alone get anything done.

And Ethan was here now. Right there. In the room. He’d fuck her arse.

At least, Madison hoped he would, a flutter of that anxiety rearing up as Ethan headed to his desk and not hers. Madison quailed as he took his seat. A horrible, lonely, emptiness ate at her. That didn’t mean she could say anything. Ethan had his own work. He couldn’t spend all his time fucking her arse.

God, that would be amazing. Having her arse fucked continuously, for hours, maybe until she passed out.

Madison couldn’t think of anything better.

“Madison?” Ethan called, pulling her out of her daydream. He was waving her over to his desk. That was unusual. When he wanted to fuck her arse he’d saunter over to her desk. But if he wanted her over at his desk, she’d do it.

She’d do anything he wanted.

They’d talked about that. She was an addict. An addict would do anything to get what they needed. She knew that. Accepted it. So if she had to do what Ethan said, then that was just part of what she was.

It was becoming easier and easier. She’d already done so much. It wasn’t just fucking her arse whenever he wanted. She’d changed how she dressed, short skirts and thongs and stockings the only things she now wore below the waist. She’d waxed her pussy. She let him feel her up whenever he wanted. She’d promised she wouldn’t let anyone else fuck her.

She even let him fuck her pussy now and then, however much that made her feel ill.

Madison knew what she was doing to herself. Letting herself be humiliated. Letting herself be abused.

It was what an addict did.

She was an addict.

Madison came to a stop before Ethan. She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do.

She was sure that he’d tell her.

Another wave of his hand indicated his lap. Madison paused, glancing around nervously. Did he want a blow job? Out here? Where anyone who came in would see what she was doing?

She’d do it if she had to. Her sense of shame might not have quite shrivelled up and died, but it had long ago lost any chance of fighting against the need that constantly roiled within her.

“Sit down,” Ethan huffed.

Oh. He wanted her to sit on his lap. That was easy, she could do that. And she could let his hands roam over her body, one of Ethan’s hands grabbing a tit through her top, groping it almost casually, the other reaching under her short skirt to stroke her inner thigh.

And even if someone saw them, what did she care? Nothing was more important than getting what she needed. And anyhow, some witness might just think they were together. Not that they were.

Madison moaned. It wasn’t faked. She was turned on. Maybe not by what Ethan was doing, but by what it promised. That soon he’d fuck her arse. She was losing any sense of the difference, Maybe the way he was treating her was turning her on.

Maybe if she thought about it that way, just accepted how he treated her, it would be better.

Anything to get what she needed.

“Good girl,” he whispered into her ear, a tremor running through Madison, even as something wanted to reject those words. What did it matter, as long as she got her arse fucked?

“You’ll do anything I say,” he whispered, his lips nuzzling her ear playfully. “You’ll obey me.”

Madison swallowed. She didn’t like what he was saying. But it was true. She’d already admitted it.

She’d do anything.

“And what sort of person does that?” Ethan asked. His voice was louder now. She could hear the grin that must be on his features. She wasn’t looking. His hands were still playing at her body, teasing, promising.

She wanted her arse fucked.

“A-a s-slave,” Madison stammered as Ethan flicked at her clit through the thin material of her thong. She couldn’t believe what she’d just said. But it felt familiar. Like she’d said it before. The voice in her head was saying it. Saying it was right. “What?” she managed, turning her head to face his.

“Sounds right to me.” As Madison had expected, that lop-sided grin was plastered on Ethan’s features. “You do what I say. When I say. You let me fuck you when I want. How I want. You’re not allowed to fuck anyone else. Sounds like a slave to me.”

“No. Just.” Madison couldn’t find the words. Something about this wasn’t right. No matter how easy it had been to say the words. No matter how it felt like she’d said them so many times before. No matter how much the voice in her head said it was right. She couldn’t want that.

Despite the evidence of his hands roaming her body. Like he owned it.

I’m addict. An addict will do anything.

“What are you?”

“I’m an addict.” That was her answer, the words simply tumbling out her, easily, automatically. It was what she thought. What she knew. Before the fact that she was a woman, a human being, a PhD student, anything else, she was an addict. Madison could feel it, burnt into the core of her being. She was an addict. Maybe it was the core of her being. And an addict was a slave to their addiction. But that didn’t mean she was Ethan’s slave. Did it?

Madison didn’t have time to think any further, Ethan’s command to drop blotting out her thoughts.

Ethan considered the girl sitting on his lap. She was so deeply under, no reaction evident as he mauled her tits, even a finger pushing the fabric of her thong between her sopping pussy lips left her simply sitting there, no sign of the shudder of revulsion that he’d expect in reaction to something penetrating her there if she was awake.

“What are you, Madison?” he asked.

“I’m an addict,” the girl replied, her voice so beautifully empty. “I’m addicted to you fucking my arse.”

“What else are you?” he grinned.

“A slave,” the girl replied, just as emptily as before. “Your slave. Your fuckpuppet. Your anal fuckpuppet.”

His grinned widened. Who wouldn’t like having a beautiful girl sit on their lap and say that? Well, anyone into beautiful girls and who likes a bit of anal, anyway. The ideas were obviously in her mind. And well-embedded, judging by the complete absence of any hesitation. Ethan guessed that her conscious mind hadn’t quite accepted the new truths he’d given her. He could just steamroll any remaining resistance. That would be easy. A few more hypnotic sessions and any reluctance on Madison’s part would be a distant memory. He knew how to do that. But that wasn’t why he’d started this little experiment with her. He wanted her almost-willing acquiescence. “Tell me what you are and then tell my why you exist. Just once.”

“I’m an addict,” the girl replied. “I’m a slave. I’m your slave. I’m your fuckpuppet. I’m your anal fuckpuppet. I exist to sheathe your cock. I exist so my arse can get you off.”

“Good!”

He could have her repeat those ideas, over and over. Maybe not sitting on his lap, tempting as that was. Sinking his hands into her perky tits while she told him over and over again that she was his slave was definitely tempting. Not something he wanted any of their fellow PhD students to see though. There was always the meeting room. But even then, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to make her own way to where he wanted her. Not just yank her there. It was a fine distinction, as the end result would probably be the same. But he’d started this to make Madison want to obey him. So he needed to engage her conscious mind, not just ride over it.

“Wake up,” he ordered.

Madison blinked. They’d been…? He’d told her that she was a slave. His slave. That wasn’t right.

“Tell me what you are.” Ethan’s voice was whispering in her ear again.

“An addict,” she replied. It was easy to say that, with his arms about her waist, pulling her body against his. He had to want to fuck her arse. Madison wriggled her hips, luxuriating in the feel of his erection pressing against her rear. “Please, take me. Fuck my arse. I need you inside me. Please.”

She didn’t care if she was begging.

“No.”

Madison froze, her world collapsing. Too lost, fear and the aching need swamping her thoughts, she couldn’t say anything as Ethan continued. “Maybe tonight. I’ll come to your place. If you’re ready to accept what I said, then I’ll give you what you need. If you can convince me. Now get off, I have places to be.”

Madison found herself roughly pushed off Ethan’s lap. She didn’t know what to do, she was in a state of disbelief. He had to fuck her arse. He had to. Didn’t he realise how much she needed it?

Even him slapping her arse after she stood up didn’t help.

Then he was gone, Madison left standing there, trembling in need. She didn’t know what to do. The world was cold and dark and everything was wrong and ... Head spinning, she stumbled back to her desk, her whole body shaking. She was going to have to wait until tonight. She didn’t know if she could last that long. She could barely think. And even then… Ethan had made it clear. He wanted her to admit to being his slave. That was too much. Wasn’t it?

An addict will do anything.

She was an addict. She didn’t want to change that. But a slave…

An addict will do anything. Let themselves be humiliated. Let themselves be abused.

Madison knew that. Better than most people, she knew. She’d studied addiction for years. She knew what addicts would do.

An addict will do anything.

And would it be so bad? A little voice in her mind asked her that. She wasn’t sure what voice it was. But it was hard to argue with that voice. She’d already given Ethan so much. How much more was there left? Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe nothing mattered, as long as she got what she needed.

She needed it so bad. The need was tearing at her. Prickling her skin, pulling at her thoughts. Her arse empty, so empty. She needed it filled. Needed it more than anything.

Needed it more than being free? Needed it more than her own liberty? Needed it more than being able to make her own decisions?

She didn’t know.

The need was crying out in her. It felt so good when she got her arse fucked, when she was impaled on Ethan’s cock. Nothing mattered beside the bliss that flooded her mind, that glorious feeling of fulfilment as his cock plunged into her arse, the rest of the world melting away, leaving her basking in the sensations.

Wasn’t that worth anything?

I can’t. She didn’t want to be a slave. Did she? But maybe, if that’s what it took to get what she needed, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe I can just pretend to be his slave. It’s just words. Madison realised the hollowness of that thought even before she finished it. She was already doing whatever he told her.

Maybe I’m already a slave, she thought, surprised at the lack of bitterness. She stared at her hands, her fingers shaking over her keyboard. Was it fear or need causing her convulsions? She didn’t know. She didn’t know how long she’d sat there, her thoughts in a whirl. Minutes? Hours? Maybe it was better if it was hours. Then she’d be so much closer to the evening. When Ethan would come to her apartment. When he’d ask her again.

It would be easy to say yes. She’d get what she wanted. What did anything matter, as long as she got her arse fucked? Everything paled before that. And if she agreed to what he asked, then he’d know just how much she wanted him to take her. Maybe if she agreed to what he wanted, Madison not quite willing to use the word again, then maybe Ethan would be more willing to fuck her arse. It would be his arse. Everything about her would be his.

Madison stared at her hands. Down at her body. She didn’t know if she could do this. Didn’t know if she wanted to. But that meant she didn’t know that she didn’t want it. Maybe it was just one more step down the slippery slope. The slide to where nothing mattered but her addiction.

She didn’t want to stop being an addict. She knew that. So maybe nothing else mattered. I could…

She didn’t know. It was too hard. The need too much.

The rest of the day was a jagged, painful mess, Madison’s internal debate unresolved.

All she knew was how much she needed her arse fucked. Nothing else mattered.

Madison was home before she knew it. Waiting. Desperately staring at her door. Willing Ethan to open it. To come in.

To take her arse.

She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. She just wanted her fix. She’d do anything for that.

Madison turned away from the door. Maybe she should do some work. She’d hardly done any after Ethan left. Maybe if she did some work it would prove she didn’t need to give him what he’d asked for. Or maybe she could make herself some food. She hadn’t eaten all day. Maybe that would help. Something normal.

She didn’t do any of those things.

And what was the point? Her hands were shaking so badly she’d probably end up spilling something on herself if she tried cooking.

She turned back to the door. Waiting. Hoping.

Maybe I should strip. If she was naked when Ethan arrived, maybe he’d just fuck her arse. He wouldn’t ask her for an answer. He’d just impale her. Give her what she wanted.

What she needed.

But if she did that, she may as well just kneel by the door. Like a good little slave.

Madison just stood there. She didn’t know what else to do. What to think. There was just the aching, horrible, need.

She was pacing back and forth, hands shaking, muttering to herself. She could hardly understand her own words. There was ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ and ‘arse’ but she wasn’t sure that she using whole sentences.

She could run.

But what was the point of that? She didn’t want to escape her addiction. So she wasn’t going to run. She was going to stay here.

And wait for Ethan.

There was a noise, Madison spinning to face the door. Which was opening, Ethan stepping inside, that grin on his face. Madison ran over to him. She wanted to throw herself at him. Wrap her arms around him.

She didn’t, something stopping her. “Oh God, fuck, Ethan. Please. Please. Fuck my arse. I need it. I need it so bad. Please, just do it. Do me.” She was babbling, words flowing out of her mouth.

Ethan stilled her words with a finger to her lips. “Tell me what you want,” he ordered.

Finger removed, she could speak again. “Fuck my arse. Please. I want your cock in my arse. I want you deep in me. Impaling me. Filling me.”

She stopped, cut off, Ethan’s finger on her lips.

“And what will you do?”

“Anything,” Madison cried. “You want a blow job? I can do that. God, you can even fuck my p-pussy.” Madison swallowed, suppressing a wave of revulsion. But she’d do it, if that’s what he wanted. “Do you want that? Do you want to fuck my pussy? It’s nice and smooth. Just how you said you wanted it.”

“God, you sound like such a slut,” Ethan laughed.

“I can be your slut,” Madison promised eagerly. “Your anal slut. You’re the only one I want fucking me. No-one else. Just you.” It was true. Or close enough to true. She needed his cock in her arse, and she’d anything, do anything, to get that. “You want my tits?” she asked, grabbing her own breasts through her top and offering them up. “They’re yours. Just yours.”

“Sure,” Ethan shrugged. “If they’re my tits, why don’t you show them to me.”

Hurriedly, Madison shucked off her top, threw away her bra. Why would she hesitate? He’d seen her tits, felt them up, so many times. Would did one more time matter?

“Do you like them?” she asked hopefully, twisting her chest from side to side while holding her tits up again. “Do you like my tits?”

“Yeah,” Ethan nodded. “Nice tits. But they’re my tits, right? Like your pussy’s mine, your arse is mine.”

“Sure,” Madison replied, pulling at her erect nipples. He seemed to like what he was seeing, he had to want to fuck her arse soon. “It’s all yours. Whatever you want. Whenever you want.”

“So,” Ethan grinned, something lurking behind that grin. “So your body is mine, right?”

“Yeah,” Madison nodded eagerly, her hands still pawing her own tits.

“And you’ll do what I say?”

“Yeah,” Madison nodded again. “Please, just fuck my arse. I’ll do anything.”

“Right.” Ethan’s grin had turned to a thin smile. “So I own your body and you’ll do anything I say. Sounds like a slave to me.”

“I.” Madison couldn’t say anymore, her eyes going wide. It couldn’t be right. But she was standing in front of Ethan, half-naked, pawing at her tits, begging him to fuck her arse. She’d said her body was his, that she’d do whatever he wanted. What did it matter? What did anything matter? She didn’t care, couldn’t care. Nothing mattered, except her need, the pressing, ever-present emptiness. Crushing everything else.

Nothing else mattered.

It wouldn’t be so bad, Madison told herself, trying to believe it. She could just give in. It would be easier that way, leaving everything to him. Maybe it was the best thing to do. If she his slave he’d use her, use her arse.

Maybe it was what she wanted.

“Slave.” Ethan said again, his voice reverberating in her mind. “Say it. Tell me that you’re my slave.”

She could. And then they’d be through this and he’d be fucking her arse.

That was worth anything. Even her soul.

She could say it.

“I’m your slave.” She’d said. Maybe she’d even meant it. Maybe she’d even wanted it. It had been her decision. Maybe it was the last real decision she’d ever make.

“Oh, God.” It felt like a damn had burst. Everything seemed easier now. “I’m your slave. You own me.” Madison was sinking to her knees. “I’m your slave.”

It was what she was.

“I’m your master.” The certainty in Ethan’s voice was like iron bars falling across Madison’s mind, locking the idea in place.

“You’re my master. I’m your fuckpuppet. Your anal fuckpuppet.” She didn’t know where the words were coming from They felt so familiar, rolling off her tongue so easily. Like it was meant to be. And even if that was a lie, it didn’t matter. “I exist so my arse can sheathe my master’s cock. I exist so my arse can get my master off.”

Madison didn’t care. Couldn’t allow herself to care. It didn’t matter now.

She was an addict.

She’d do anything to get what she needed.

“Well, come on slave,” Ethan grinned, yanking her off the floor and pulling her towards her bed. “I want to fuck my slave’s arse.”

Madison let herself be pulled along, grinning as much as her master was.

(To be concluded)