Psychiatrist's Puppet

“Let me rephrase it in a simpler way. Did they rape you?”

Chelsea turns away, her eyes shimmering in the fading glow of the sun outside of the sitting room. We’ve been at this for hours and nothing. She’s either being stubborn or just doesn’t want to talk about it. In normal practice, I’d have all the time in the world. Most clients pay by the hour or half-hour. So, if they didn’t want to talk to me, I’d just take their money and doodle on my notepad.

Instead of the typical, abstract scribblings, my brain keeps drawing that girl a few rooms over in very provocative ways. I want to tell Grigori that all this is a waste of time. I can’t help Chelsea if she doesn’t talk. Sighing, I set the pad on my knee, giving one last glance at the sketch of Jane Doe dangling from a high beam by her wrists.

“You’re not my submissive. I can’t force you to talk to me or punish you if you don’t.”

A smile eases over my lips as I plan out how I’m going to manipulate her. I’m not the only one fixated on the stranger in the large bed. Even as we sit here talking, her eyes dart to the door, her fingers clenching as if she wants to grab the arms of the chair and stand, but then she settles before starting the whole process over again.

“The longer you stay silent, the more time you’re taking away from me tending to Jane Doe. I knew you were selfish, Chelsea, but I didn’t think you’d want to torture an innocent.” Especially not when that’s my job. “Is there something about Jane Doe that makes you want to punish her this way?”

Face red, she finally stands up, frame vibrating with her anger. Good. This is much better than morose apathy. I can’t work with someone when they’re feeling nothing. I can’t manipulate emotions that aren’t there.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Sliding my reading glasses down just a touch, I spear her with a disappointed glare. I shake my head, tsking softly under my breath before picking up my pad again and scribbling some things down. Her eyes grow wary as she watches me, not knowing I’m making my grocery list for next week. She cranes her neck in an attempt to see what I’m writing, but I pull it away, making a big show of writing even faster.

With a sigh that borders on a huff, she plops back down into the chair, her arms creeping around to clutch her waist. That sad, pitiful look is back. Fuck. That’s not what I wanted. Where is the Chelsea that manipulated Jeremy? Where’s the girl that openly defied Grigori during her punishment, making him rape her ass in front of the whole assembly? I shift about in the chair, crossing my legs to hide my burgeoning erection. I’m not stupid enough to let her know I’m aroused. There’s nothing stopping her from telling Grigori, and that’s not a fight I want to lose.

A soft knock sounds at the door, bringing Chelsea up into a half-crouch from the chair. When neither of us says a word, it opens, revealing a maid. Her curly hair is swept back into a soft bun, just enough to keep it out of her face, but not tight and severe like most I’ve seen. The simple outfit hugs her curves, promising many nights lost between her thighs. She’s not a mystery though.

Just watching how she moves about, how she scuttles in as if not to disturb us, even though she clearly has, tells me more than I need to know. She’s not an enigma - not a puzzle to be solved. She’s not Jane Doe. Sliding my gaze back over at Chelsea, I let her see just a touch of my rising irritation. I can’t physically do anything to her, but if she keeps me away from my puzzle much longer, I’m going to fuck with her mind so hard she won’t even know who to turn to for comfort.

As the maid wheels the cart into the room, I reach out, grabbing her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. Standing, I motion for her to move a bit more to the center before shifting behind. I slide my palms around her waist, watching her pulse quicken in the side of her neck. She doesn’t say a word, but then, why would she? The help is used to people taking advantage of their station. Grigori did say to use whatever methods I deem necessary, as long as I don’t lay a finger on Chelsea. He really should have been more specific.

“Don’t move,” I whisper to the maid, smirking as her breath stills.

For now, I can’t tell if she’s frightened, aroused, or both, but she’s not the object of my attention at the moment. Instead, I’m focused on Chelsea, noting the widening of her eyes, the rapid gasps as she struggles for air. I fist the bun in my hand, pulling the maid’s head back. Her soft squeak of surprise zips down my spine and into my balls. Her hair is even softer than it looks, and I allow myself a moment to luxuriate in it.

“Let’s start from the beginning, Chelsea. What did they do to you?”

Her fingers drift over her lips, but nothing slips out.

“My patience grows thin.”

Reaching around, I grab one of the maid’s hands and place it on the cart handle, then the other. In one swift motion, I thrust her head forward, bending her at the waist.

“Lay your head against your hands, my dear. Chelsea,” I intone, hunching down. “Are you familiar with the term ‘whipping boy’?”

The maid flies up, her spine ramrod. In a fluid motion, I stand as well. Without saying a word, I position her hands again, but I reach into my pocket this time. Pulling out a small hank of rope, I slide my thumb into the hole that will end up being my bight and let it unwind in a mesmerizing twisty-turny dance until it’s completely uncoiled. Chelsea stares at it, her eyes following each jerky movement until it hangs flat.

Pulling it between both hands, I make a small loop by pulling the ends through and sliding that over her bun. With one jerk, the loop cinches tight, leaving me with the doubled-over strands. Since I’m not playing with the girl, I don’t take my time to make intricate designs. I simply tie it to the cart handle, preventing her head from coming up.

“I do believe I said not to move. Perhaps this will help constrain you.”

Her pulse kicks up a notch, the artery throbbing in a frantic staccato that matches the blood pumping into my shaft. I ache as I stand there, watching this woman writhe about. I let her until her hands reach up to loosen the knot. Shaking my head, I take what’s left of the rope, wind it about her wrists, and tie it off to the cart. I slide my middle finger into each restraint, satisfied that her circulation will not suffer through this game.

Chelsea stares at me, eyes like saucers. Pulling back, I step to the side and make a great show of rubbing my cock through my pants. Perhaps it will trigger her, force her into action. I expected her to crouch down and cower away. What I didn’t expect was for the hellion to burst forth as she charges at me.

Tears streaming down her face, she lunges for me, fingers outstretched, looking every inch a harpy from the Greek tragedies. Smiling wide, I sidestep her, watching as she spawls about on the floor. The maid is wailing, adding an auditory cacophony to the mix that pounds the inside of my brain. Enough is enough. Gripping Chelsea about the waist, I slide my hand into my other pocket and pull out a syringe. A blood-curdling scream rips from her throat as I press the needle into her arm, feeling that pop as the metal perforates her skin. Depressing the plunger just a touch, I wait until she stops struggling to pull it out.

I don’t want her to claim damage where there is none. Pulling her limp form to my chest, I haul her into my arms and walk her back over to the chair. I don’t place her against the cushions as if she’s a dainty doll that needs to be protected. No. I toss her onto it, only aiding her when her head tilts forward towards the arm.

Just as I get her positioned, the door flings open, revealing Grigori. His black eyes glitter like obsidian and are just as sharp. Though I’ve never really seen him smile, the frown he’s sporting is intense, bordering murderous. He takes one look at Chelsea before storming over to me, a spark flashing in his eyes. I don’t know him very well, and he sure as hell doesn’t know me. Nothing is keeping him from snapping me in two over the woman he thinks he loves. Holding up my hands, I show him the syringe, and with slow, controlled movements, I slide the needle cap back on and drop it into my pocket.

“She was hysterical. I had to give her a moment's reprieve before she hurt herself or me.”

“Has she told you anything?”

Interesting that he hasn’t mentioned the maid, despite her ass being only inches away from his cock. I guess he is smitten with the girl. Why, I cannot fathom, but that’s not my job. I’m not here to be a love counselor.

“Not yet, but I feel I’m making progress. I would say for you to stay and watch, but I fear that would give Chelsea a feeling of safety that’s counterproductive to what I’m trying to get from her.”

A frown creases his forehead, but he nods, only then seeing the maid.

“What the hell are you doing with Rita?”

“All completely necessary. You have tied my hands and will not allow me to touch your girl. A proxy is the next best thing.”

“I didn’t tell you to abuse my staff.”

“But you didn’t say I couldn’t. I do believe any means necessary was said. In my professional opinion, this is necessary.”

My words are punctuated by a sob from Rita, and my irritation starts climbing again. The woman is in no danger. She’d been quiet through the whole ordeal with Chelsea, with some whines here and some sobs there, but now, as an emotional plea to her boss, she lets out this pained wail? As if she’s in agony?

I reach back over to check the rope, satisfied that her pitiful display is just for show. If the rope is causing her that much discomfort on her scalp, she can just lower her body. That might not make her low back feel good, but then, it isn’t my job to coddle her or see to some imagined needs.

My palm itches as I stare at her plump backside, and I can’t wait to give her something to whimper about. But first, I need Grigori to leave. I work much better alone, and by the sounds coming from the chair, Chelsea will be awake soon. I only gave her a small amount of sedative, nothing too strong that would keep her out for hours. With a nod, he gives a glance over at Chelsea, a smile softening his stern face.

“Do I have your permission to restrain her? Just so she doesn’t try attacking me again.”

That soft smile disappears in an instant. Note to self, never threaten Chelsea in any way around Grigori. The lummox can’t seem to control himself where that brat is concerned. Shaking my head, I cross my arms and stare him down. Mad or not, he can’t really intimidate me. That would mean I care. And out of all the things that enter my purview, some puffed-up Russian is last on the list.

He can beat his chest and brandish the gun he thinks is hidden oh so well in his pants, but we both know he won’t touch me. Not while Chelsea is still technically a member of our enclave. We will destroy him if he thinks to make a move on another member. A soft smile crosses my lips as we look at each other. I wonder how much I can push him before he cracks.

I would love another go at Chelsea. Not for sex, mind you - not pleasurable sex anyway. I still want to break her more than any creature I’ve ever known. Her smart mouth and haughty attitude need to be snapped in two, and it’s obvious that Grigori isn’t doing his job.

“You know, I can prescribe you something for that anger. Mellow you right out.”

The frown turns into a scowl as he looks back over at Chelsea and shakes his head.

“Do what you have to, but don’t lay a finger on her. If she needs discipline, I’ll be the one to do it.”

“Oh? Truly? Does that mean you’ll punish her for attacking me?

“You brought that on yourself.”

“That’s what I thought. You’ll never bring her to heel.”

“Why do I get the feeling you have a plan to do it yourself?” Grigori narrows his eyes, his fingers inching towards his belt.

“Not that I’d do it while she’s yours. But know this, you weren’t the first choice. I don’t know why Jeremy went to you. There was a line a mile long, ready to take her and break her spirit.”

“And yet, when you had her, none of you did. Now it’s up to me to mold her how I want her. And trust me, I will not break her spirit. You may want a woman to crawl to you on her hands and knees, but my Chelsea will submit to me with her head held high. Now then, if you’re done criticizing my dominance style, I believe I’m paying you by the hour?”

With a turn of his heel, he strides out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He’s missing a golden opportunity with Chelsea. When he first got her, she was so vulnerable, so fragile. He could have crushed her without any effort.

A soft moan draws my gaze over to Chelsea, a sneer lifting the edge of my lips. If only. Striding over, I ignore Rita’s struggles, only glancing down to ensure she doesn’t tip the cart over. Since all my rope is occupied, I let my gaze drift around the room to see how I can make do. If only I had a straitjacket. Grigori couldn’t complain since it’s a medical device. Knowing him, he’d find something else to bitch about.

Curtain ties it is. Grabbing the decorative ropes, I tie one wrist down to the arm of the chair and then the other. The deep maroon offsets the creamy white of her skin, sending visions of red stripes in other areas. Her lashes flutter as she comes back into consciousness. Showtime. I want so badly to wake her up with a slap to her face, but that would break the rules. Instead, I clap my hands together, the loud crack startling her awake.

“Now that you’re with us again, we can continue.”

Confusion lines her features as she ponders my words. She’s awake, but her mind is moving very slowly. Though her body explodes into a flurry of movement as she remembers what transpired between us. Having her hands bound doesn’t do a thing to stop her from trying to escape. She kicks out with her feet, struggling in her chair. I watch as she expends herself, knowing she’ll wear out eventually. How long it will take, that's another matter entirely. Her face is flushed with exertion, her wrists rimmed in red. If she doesn't cut it out, I'll probably be blamed for her injuries. 

Walking back over to the cart, I slam my palm against the metal, startling a shriek out of both Rita and Chelsea. Ahh. Such a delicious sound. I make a great show of turning around and palming my erection, not caring one bit as her eyes eat into her face. Such large, voluminous eyes with just a hint of tears - just how I want her. 

"If you're absolutely done with this display, I suggest we continue. What happened in Florida?"

"Was I ever in Florida?" She retorts, tossing her head back like a wild mare. 

If only Grigori had broken her when he first had her. None of this would be so difficult. Smirking, I stand behind Rita, letting my palm glide against the swell of her ass. Chelsea stills, her eyes glued to my hand.

"Florida, Chelsea. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"N-nothing happened in Florida," she whispers, voice soft and hoarse. 

If I wasn't paying close attention to her, I might have missed it - I don't even know if I actually heard her. It was her moving lips that confirmed it. Seems like the fight is starting to die out, but it's still there, simmering below the surface. Bending low, I grab the hem of Rita's uniform, sliding it up her calves in infinitesimal increments. Chelsea's throat works as she swallows hard, eyes following my every movement. Once I flip the drab material over, Rita flies into a rage, tossing about, nearly upending the cart. I grip the back of her neck, stilling her for a moment, before bringing my head low, watching Chelsea as I whisper in Rita's ear. 

"Master Grigori will not save you. He left you in this room with me. Be grateful I'm a calm man, not given to fits of rage. You will settle and take what I give you, or so help me, you'll see a side of me you don't want to see." 

Closing my eyes, I slide my lips across her ear, breathing in her scent. I wonder what Jane Doe would smell like. Certainly not like cleaning products and sweat. But underneath it, just below the surface, there's that scent of fear, an acrid undertone that burns the nostrils and stirs the soul. She can try to hide it, but I know. I'll always know. It's the tension in the voice, the tightening of the body, the pounding of the heart - so many signs that are sheer impulse. So many signs that will trigger the fight or flight response if it goes just one more step. 

I stare down at Rita's sensible, white, cotton underwear, vowing to never let a submissive of mine wear something so ugly and covering - practical. I want to rip it from her body and tear it to pieces. Not to expose her to my gaze - I don't care enough about her to want to see her naked - I just want to shred the offensive scrap of clothing until it drifts to the ground like bland snow. 

If they were a submissive of mine, there would be nothing practical about their clothing. There would be no job that would inspire them to wear such drab attire. No. Everything they wear, from their main outfit down to any hair accessories - if allowed - would be to maximize their allure or keep them in a mind frame fitting my submissive.

A smile teases the edges of my lips as I think about the strange girl in the other room. What would I dress her in? I haven't seen her body yet, so there's not much to go on. Judging by the swell of the fabric laying on top of her, she has an impressive chest, one that would spill out from my hands. A body harness would showcase her curves and leave her breasts at attention, just waiting for my touch. She'd look divine in my ropes. The dark red ones would set off her creamy skin to perfection, as would cane stripes upon her ass, but that's for later. 

My cock throbs as I grip the fabric, pulling it up in between Rita's cheeks to expose the globes of her ass. And there it is, that fine line between calm and terror. Her body, though still, quivers under my touch, the fine tremors shaking the cart, making everything clink about, sounding like cannons in the silent room. 

Chelsea draws into herself as her eyes dart about from Rita, to me, and then the door. No doubt she wishes Grigori would come in and save her - again. Hopefully, he does the right thing and stays out of the room. His presence would only hinder things, and I have a strange woman to attend to.