Birth of an Analyst

Epilogue

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.

Five years later

Madison sighed. She had the beginnings of a headache, making it hard to concentrate. It was always a little hard to concentrate.

She wanted her arse fucked.

That was a given. She was her master’s anal fuckpuppet. So of course she wanted her arse fucked. But she was a slave as well, so she did what she was told, whatever her own needs were. She’d learnt that. She’d been happy to learn that. She’d do whatever it took to keep getting her fix.

Madison looked at the desk she sat behind, let her eyes glance around the room. It was a good room, well-fitted. Anyone looking at it would think it was the room of a successful psychologist. There were her degrees, framed and hanging on the wall. Comfortable chairs. She eschewed the stereotypical couch. A few books, a couple of awards even.

No one would guess it was the room of a slave. The room of someone addicted to having her arse fucked.

Madison picked up the phone “Ava, is my 3pm here yet?” she asked.

“Yes, Dr. Clark,” came the reply, bright and bubbly as Ava always was. “She’s just filling out the last of the forms.” There was a pause before the practice’s receptionist continued, “She’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Madison hadn’t wanted to be a therapist. She’d been aiming for academia.

She didn’t make decisions like that now.

She hadn’t made an important decision for five years. It was Ethan who made those decisions. What to wear, what to do. When she’d get her arse fucked.

Madison didn’t care. She was still an addict. She knew that. Before anything else, that was what she was. I’m an addict. I’m Master’s slave. I’m Master’s anal fuckpuppet. I exist so my arse can get Master off.

Madison would have been happy if she spent her entire life making her arse available to her Master. But she was a slave, so if he told her to do other things, she’d do them. She’d do anything to get what she wanted.

Maybe he’d fuck her arse tonight.

Madison was shaken out of that pleasant thought by her door opening. It was Ava, the cute brunette smiling, her hand gesturing to indicate the way in to someone outside.

Ava’s smile looked so genuine. Warm and sympathetic and just perfect for a receptionist. And if her skirt was just a little on the short side, most people probably wouldn’t notice, Ava chatting away with them, friendly and disarming. And if the neckline of that dress was perhaps a little too low to be strictly professional, well, no-one was going to make a fuss about it with Ava being so helpful and polite.

Of course, they might have had a different attitude if they knew that underneath that tight, skimpy dress Ava had a vibrator buzzing away in her pussy. And a neat, trim, little chastity belt holding it in place. At least, the vibrator was probably in her pussy. Sometimes it was in her arse. Just occasionally there were two, one in each hole. No-one would guess any of that, looking at the girl, with her innocent face, her wide brown eyes and pixie cut hair. And with the way she was so chatty and helpful with the patients no-one would guess that she’d ever suffered from crippling anxiety attacks, barely able to talk to anyone.

Master had fixed that. After a fashion. Now the girl was able to function, as long as she had a vibrator in one or the other of her holes. Or both.

Ava was another of Master’s slaves.

Madison had helped with that. She supposed, sometimes, that she should feel guilty. Ava had been one of their earliest patients. When they’d opened the practice. She’d also been the first really pretty one. So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when Master had decided he wanted her. And then he’d hypnotised her. Working on her. Twisting her. Telling her the vibrator would give her the confidence she needed. Telling her it was the only way she could deal with her problems. Over and over and over. Until she literally begged for the vibrator. Madison remembered the look of her bliss on the girl’s face the first time Ethan had rammed the vibrator home and locked the chastity belt in place.

And then Master had told Ava that he was the one who had given her that. And he was the one who could take it away. That the only way she could function was if she obeyed him,

Became his slave.

Ava had looked so vulnerable, naked except for the chastity belt, eyes wide and mind so defenceless, lying there so deep in trance.

Madison wasn’t stupid. She guessed that she’d been hypnotised as well. She didn’t care. Having Master fuck her arse was just too good. She was an addict. She wouldn’t change a thing.

“Please, come in,” Ava smiled warmly. “Dr. Clark is the best.”

The liveliness in the girl’s expression was so different to her look when she didn’t have a vibrator nestled snuggly in one of her holes. Then, after about thirty seconds, the light would drain from her eyes. Her expression would go slack. Master hadn’t just made it so the vibrator would dispel the girl’s anxiety. He’d made her problem much, much worse without the intruder. If she didn’t have a vibrator, switched on and plugging at least one of her holes, Ava would go almost catatonic, just lying there, like some inflatable sex toy. So Master could use her holes.

Sometimes Master would use one of Ava’s holes with the vibrator still in place in the other. Then the brunette would writhe in ecstasy as she was fucked, moaning and crying out. That, at least, fit with the girl’s ebullient personality.

Madison knew all that. Sometimes Master had her watch. Told her to play with her tits and her clit while he fucked Ava.

Madison always did what she was told.

Ava said she liked it better when Master fucked her without having a vibrator in her. That she loved being used as his sex doll.

Was addicted to it.

Madison could understand that.

“Dr Clark,” Ava smiled brightly. Was that flush in the receptionist’s cheeks because she was constantly turned on? Or just part of her personality? Madison was never sure. “This is Susan Delaney, your 3pm.”

As soon as Susan walked in the door, Madison knew what was going to happen. For most of her patients she was simply a therapist. A very good one. Their clients raved about how good their practice was. They did help so many people. So many patients went away satisfied, their lives improved.

Not all of them.

Not the pretty female ones.

Those ones ended up as slaves to Master.

The girl in front of her was beautiful, a face to take the breath away, long legs and glorious blonde hair.

“Hello, Miss Delaney,” Madison smiled. She wondered what the girl’s problem could be. She looked so professional, in a neatly pressed skirt suit and white blouse and sensible black heels. She didn’t look like had a problem in the world. Madison wasn’t going to judge. For the moment, at least, she’d be a good therapist. “Please, come in and sit down.”

“Oh, uh,” the girl hesitated uncertainly, before accepting Madison’s invitation. “It’s just Susan.”

“You can call me Madison, if you like,” Madison smiled back.

Maybe, she thought, she should feel a twinge of guilt. She knew what she was going to do. Sooner or later, Susan would be with Master, her mind laid bare by his hypnotism. It didn’t matter if a pretty girl saw her first. She’d direct them to him.

And then he’d do whatever he wanted with them. Madison wondered what he’d do to Susan.

Often master would focus a girl’s sexuality on a single act. Like Audrey, another of their early patients, the cute little redhead who was now addicted to giving Master blowjobs. Master had made it so that was the only sexual act the girl actually enjoyed. The only way she could cum.

Just occasionally, he’d let Audrey spend a day under his desk, happily sucking away as he dealt with his patients.

Or there was Aarti, the Indian girl who begged to be gagged and tied down so tight that she couldn’t move an inch. Couldn’t cum until she was trussed up like a turkey. Was so addicted to bondage that she became anxious if her movement wasn’t constantly restricted in some way, even if it as only a skirt so long and tight that it hobbled her steps. Master loved taking her out in public, secretly bound in some way, like her arms under her coat, wrists tied to her waist through slits in the side of her dress, or her ankles locked together when she sat.

Sometimes Master liked it simple. Like Stephanie, another tall, leggy, blonde who Master had addicted to being taken from behind while she grasped her ankles. The girl now hated having sex any other way.

But like them all, she’d do whatever Master told her to do.

To feed her addiction. To get what she needed.

Their joy, their bliss, their meaning, was whatever Master taught them it was.

Madison wondered what Master would do with Susan. And where her conscience had gone.

“So,” she began, a professional smile in place. “How can I help you?”

“Well, um,” the girl began. She really was very pretty. That blonde hair reached well past her shoulders and her clear blue eyes were the colour of a summer sky. She looked almost innocent. She had no idea what lay in store for her. What she’d be doing. Madison could tell her. Tell the girl to get up and run. But she wouldn’t do that. Master wouldn’t want her doing that.

Madison would never do anything that might go against what Master wanted. If she did, he might never fuck her arse again. That thought had her cringing, almost wanting to curl up in a corner and whimper.

She smiled at Susan, waiting.

“I, um,” the girl hesitated, looked away before turning back to Madison. Not quite at me, Madison noted, the girl’s gaze focussed on top of the desk. “Sometimes I just get all tied up. Everything’s too much and I just.” The girl shrugged helplessly. “Nerves, I guess.”

“Anxiety is a common issue,” Madison replied comfortingly. “It can happen to anyone. Is this something recent or has it been something you’ve noticed for while?”

“Recent,” Susan nodded eagerly, looking relieved to be able to talk about it. “Oh God, thank you. I just. I’ve just started a new job and…”

Madison nodded. “I’m sure we’ll be able to help you.” She was telling the truth. Master liked his slaves to be able to function. If they had their own job he didn’t have to support them. And if they kept up the façade of their old lives there were no pesky friends or relatives to come poking around. Partners had to go, of course. Sometimes there’d be little tweaks, like Madison’s own career as a therapist rather than an academic. But that was easy to explain, she earned far more money than she ever would have working at a university. Not that she cared about it. Not that she decided how it was spent.

Susan could look forward to her anxiety no longer being a problem at work. She’d be happy about that. She might not be so happy now if she knew what else was going to happen to her. But Master would make her want it. Beg for it. Need it.

Be addicted to it.

Madison wondered just what it would be. Perhaps it would be shoes. Master had talked about having a girl who was addicted to wearing high heels. Who would wear them all the time, even alone, at home. Who couldn’t even get to sleep if she wasn’t wearing them. Susan certainly had the legs for something like that to appeal to Master. Another idea he’d talked about had been finding two girls. Maybe they’d be together already. Maybe they weren’t into women but he’d set them up as a couple. And then make it so they could only cum while they watched their girlfriend being fucked by Master. Couldn’t get enough of Master fucking her girlfriend. Master always liked bouncing his ideas off Madison. It was just a continuation of the talks they’d had while they were PhD students together.

Maybe Susan had a friend as beautiful as her.

Master would think of something.

Madison knew how it would go. She’d talk to Susan. Do everything a therapist would do. And then, maybe not in this session, maybe in the next or the one after that, she’d suggest hypnotherapy. She’d be very persuasive. And the girl would trust her. They always did. And soon, so very soon, Susan would be sitting in the chair she was sitting in now. But that shy smile would be gone. The awareness in her eyes would be gone. She’d just be sitting there. Empty. Open.

Master had taught Madison about hypnosis. She’d hypnotised so many girls for Master, the ones that came to her first. Preparing them for him. Stripping away their defences.

She almost looked forward to it now. The way they looked. Sitting there. Eyes vacant and chest rising and falling so slowly. If she was honest, it turned her on.

Madison wondered if that was just her, or if it was something else Master had done to her.

It didn’t matter, not really. She’d do whatever Master wanted.

She’d hypnotise Susan, tell her to accept the idea of making an appointment with Master. Not that Madison would call him that in front of Susan, not yet. She’d simply convince the girl to consult her colleague. And then she’d watch, as Master made Susan into whatever he wanted the girl to be. Foot fetishist, exhibitionist, eager slut. He had a whole set of women who were addicted to wearing a single costume for him, maid, nurse, school teacher, secretary, police officer, schoolgirl. Each of one of them hated the idea of sex unless they were in their costume. But when they were in their outfit they were Master’s eager little sluts, desperate to please him. Maybe Susan would become another of those.

Whatever it was, Madison would know. She’d find out, playing with herself as she watched Master twist the girl.

Getting off.

Madison couldn’t remember when that had started. She didn’t care. Maybe she should. Maybe Master had hypnotised her into not caring. It didn’t matter. Madison would cum, playing with herself, watching Master hypnotise the girls.

“Does it happen anywhere else?” she asked gently. She needed to play the concerned and professional therapist for now.

Susan shook her head, her hair spilling around her shoulders. It was very nice hair. “No,” she said. “Just work. I like my job. I really do. But…”

Maybe Master would let Susan keep her job, whatever it was, maybe he’d have her work somewhere else. That wasn’t for Madison to worry about. She did wonder what he’d do to the girl. Under her professional office outfit, the girl did look to have a nice pair of breasts. Not overly large. Maybe a size more than Madison’s own B-Cups. Madison wondered what they’d look like, pressed together and offered up, in some sort of shelf bra. Or maybe a tight corset, the girl’s breasts cresting over the top of the restrictive garment as it pulled in her waist. Maybe she could suggest that to Master, when they talked about Susan’s ‘therapy’. That’s what Master called it, jokingly, with that lop-sided grin of his. They’d talk about the slave-to-be’s therapy. Like two professionals discussing a patient. It was what Master wanted. So of course Madison would do it.

Madison found herself glancing at Susan’s chest again. Maybe she would suggest the corset idea. Maybe Master would link that to her problem. Make the girl only feel safe if she was wearing something that tight. That took inches off her waist. That forced her breasts together and up. Give her a fetish about it.

Madison’s pussy clenched.

So did her arse.

Madison’s arousal climbed as she thought of other ideas for the girl. She was careful not to let it show. She had so much practice in that. Keeping it hidden as talked to the girl. As other ideas flashed through her mind, stoked the heat she was feeling. Perhaps Master could make the girl addicted to having sex blindfolded and with her ears blocked, the feel of Master taking her Susan’s only connection to the world. Maybe something simpler, like a titty fuck being her one true joy.

Hmm I do keep coming back to her tits. Maybe the corset fetish is a good idea.

Madison wasn’t sure. And Master didn’t have to listen to her ideas anyway. She was just a slave. Some part of her knew that she shouldn’t make any suggestions. Shouldn’t want to make them. But she did, her arousal, her need, ratcheting higher as she thought of all things she could suggest to Master.

All the things she could watch him do.

She had no hesitation.

She had no conscience. No shame. They’d vanished long ago.

She was an addict and a slave. She lived for her Master to fuck her arse. She lived to obey and please her Master.

It was all she wanted.

All she’d ever want.

All she needed.

(The end)