Chapter 7: The Seventh Session: A Public Lesson
The myrrh scent clung to her clothes. Elise discovered it Sunday evening, catching a dark, resinous whisper from the sweater she’d worn to the last session. She buried her face in the wool, breathing it in, and a bolt of pure, mindless hunger seized her. She came in her underwear, rubbing herself against the bed with a frantic, sobbing intensity she didn’t understand.
Now, walking into the office on Thursday, the scent was everywhere. It wasn’t in the air; it was the air. It felt thick enough to swim in.
Julian wasn’t at his desk. He stood before his chair, his back to her, looking out the window. He didn’t turn. “Close the door, Elise. Lock it.”
The soft click of the deadbolt sounded final.
“Come stand beside me.”
She did, her heart a trapped bird. He finally turned to look at her, and his eyes were like chips of glacial ice. Without a word, his hands went to his belt, the button of his trousers, the zipper. He freed his cock. It was already hard, a thick, veined testament to his absolute control. He simply held it, allowing her to look.
Her mouth went dry. Her mind didn’t just go blank; it shattered. A warm gush soaked through her cotton panties, and a low moan escaped her. She stared, hypnotized by the sheer, arrogant reality of it.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “The hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. You see it, and you become nothing but a wet, begging hole. Your brain switches off. Your cunt switches on. It’s so beautiful it almost hurts.”
He took a step closer. The head of his cock brushed against the wool of her skirt. She jerked, a full-body spasm.
“We’re going deeper today, my sweet girl. We’re planting seeds. When I say certain words, your body will obey before your mind can even form a protest. Do you understand?”
She managed a nod, her eyes still glued to his flesh.
“Good. Now, watch.” He began to stroke himself, a slow, luxurious motion. “The first phrase is ‘perfectly still.’ When you hear it, you will become perfectly still. Whatever you are doing, you will stop. Your muscles will lock. You will wait, perfectly still, for what comes next. ‘Perfectly still.’ Say it.”
“Perfectly still,” she echoed, her voice husky.
“The next is ‘show me.’ When you hear ‘show me,’ you will immediately need to have something in your sweet, empty little pussy. Your cunt will clench around nothing, a desperate, aching fist. It will be a physical pain, a need so sharp you’ll do anything to fill it. And you will need to orgasm. The need to come will be like the need to breathe. ‘Show me.’ Say it.”
“Show me,” she whispered, and as she said the words, a phantom emptiness yawned inside her. She whimpered.
“Perfectly still,” he said.
The command hit her nervous system like a bolt of electricity. Every muscle froze. She was a statue, only her eyes alive, wide with panic and arousal.
He closed the small distance between them. His free hand pushed her skirt up, hooked into the waistband of her sodden panties, and ripped them down her thighs. The fabric tore with a sound that echoed in the silent room.
“Show me,” he said.
The reaction was instantaneous, violent. A cry tore from her throat as her hips bucked against the nothingness, her cunt pulsing with a vicious, unmet need. “Please, I need… I need to come, I need something in me, please!”
“You will. On this.” He guided the head of his cock to her entrance, using her own slickness to paint her lips with him. He did not enter. He just held it there, a taunt. “Your therapy requires reinforcement. The trigger must be tied to satisfaction. When I fuck you, and you come, the connection will be sealed. Pleasure will be the lock on your cage.”
He pushed in, an inch, then withdrew. “Beg for it.”
“Fuck me, please, I need your cock in my pussy, I need to come on it, please, Dr. Blackwood, please!”
He drove into her, one brutal, complete stroke that slammed her back against the bookshelf. A framed etching rattled. He held her there, impaled, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
“You take it so well. My perfect, dumb little toy. Your only thought is this cock. Your only purpose is to get fucked until you scream.”
He began to move, short, punishing thrusts that stole her breath. Each one hammered the word ‘show me’ deeper into her synapses. The pleasure was a cresting wave, terrifying in its intensity. She clawed at his shoulders, her cries becoming sharp, animalistic barks.
“Come for me,” he growled into her ear. “Now. Come all over your doctor’s cock.”
The orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a detonation. Her vision whited out. Her cunt clenched around him in a series of raw, milking spasms that dragged a guttural shout from his throat. He followed her over, his own release jetting hot inside her, his thrusts turning ragged before he stilled, buried to the hilt.
He stayed there for a long moment, both of them panting. Then he pulled out, a slow, wet withdrawal that made her knees buckle. He caught her, his grip impersonal as he lowered her onto the leather couch. It was still warm.
He cleaned her with the same clinical efficiency, dressed her. He knelt before her, tying her shoe as if she were a child. Then he took her face in his hands. His gaze was infinite, absorbing.
“Listen. The session is ending. You struggled today with articulating somatic responses. You became slightly overwhelmed and needed to lie down. You feel deeply relaxed. The phrases ‘perfectly still’ and ‘show me’ are buried. You do not hear them until I speak them again. They are silent. They are asleep.”
He snapped his fingers.
Elise blinked. She was lying on the couch. Dr. Blackwood was placing a glass of water on the side table.
“You had a minor somatic episode,” he said calmly. “A flood of physical memory. It’s a sign of progress, but it can be draining. How do you feel?”
She sat up slowly. Her body felt supremely, languidly used. There was a pleasant soreness between her legs. “Tired. But… good. Clearer, I think.”
“Excellent.” He smiled, a doctor’s smile. “The architecture is holding. More than holding. It’s becoming a home. Until next time.”
She walked out, the ghost of the words ‘show me’ a faint, formless itch in the very core of her. She didn’t recognize it. She simply touched her tongue to her lips, tasting salt and myrrh, and wondered, vaguely, why the word ‘please’ suddenly felt like the most important word in the world.