Well, fuck. I pushed her and she called my fucking bluff. If I haven’t left a wet spot on her couch, it’ll be a small miracle.
“Thoughts, Demetria. Let’s hear them,” she orders with a slight nod in my direction. “Does this answer your question?”
I can’t form words right now, let alone thoughts. In fact, I’m pretty sure every drop of blood I have in my body, is now in my fucking vagina.
“I, uh–” I stammer, trying and failing to find the right words.
“Words, Darling Girl.”
“I… y–yes…” Jesus, I’m so fucking lame. I have to get out of here before I say or do something I can’t take back.
Her only response is a soft chuckle. “Well, our time is up for the day, but for homework, I want you to think about what we’ve discussed today. Pick one thing you’d like to try as a way to find the emotional release you so desperately need. You don’t have to succeed, you just have to try.”
I stareblankly back at her, no hint of movement.
“Do you understand, Demetria?” she asks, with a slight hint of sternness to her voice that I don’t hate.
“Yes, Ma’am… I mean, Dr. Adler. I understand.”
I spent the better half of the next three days researching all things BDS and M. There was even a quiz online that’s supposedly pretty accurate. Based on my reaction to Dr Adler’s scenario, where the girl was at her Dominant’s feet, I’d say the results are merely confirmation that I’m submissive. I’ve imagined myself at her feet every night since.
That was a fun little revelation. I mean, lusting after your therapist is one thing. Wanting her to be your Dominant and to do unspeakable things to you is another level of insanity I’m not sure I’m quite prepared for.
That didn’t stop me from showing up at the local bar she frequents, so I can propose she do just that. Purely for therapeutic purposes… of course.
It was wrong of me to stalk her online, but–filthy thoughts aside–the thought of anyone else helping me with this, is just… wrong.
Tilting my head toward the starry, night sky and pray to whatever Gods may be watching that this works and she doesn’t nix me as a patient. Even if she says no, I don’t want it to change anything. She’s helped me so much already and I can’t–no, I won’t–lose her.
Once I’min the door, my eyes find her instantly. Holy shit. Her hair is loose, resting easily over her shoulder as she laughs with another woman, also a redhead, but her hair is darker and considerably shorter.
“You can fucking do this, Demi,” I mutter under my breath, just before I suck in a deep gulp of air and hold it as I strut right up to her.
When I reach her, I suddenly can’t find the words I practiced so hard in front of my bedroom mirror.
“Raegan, there’s a mousy little brunette having a stroke behind you,” the other woman says as she points my way with her beer bottle.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Sutton?” Her barstool turns to see what her friend is staring at–me–and she’s on her feet instantly. “Demetria? What are you doing here?”
Now’s your chance, Demi. Ask her. Just fucking spit it out.
Once again this woman, who smells like the heavenliest lavender and honey, has me tongue-tied and the words don’t come and my vision begins to blur.
She places her hand gently on my shoulder and leans down until her gaze is level with mine and asks, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Dr. Adler… I… I, uhhh.”Fuck my life, I’m an idiot.This would be so much easier if my tongue wasn’t numb.
“Demetria, we’re not in the office. You can call me Raegan.”
She’s really not helping. “Can I speak to you in private, for a moment, please?”
She nods and stands from her barstool, then proceeds to guide me to the other side of the bar. “What is it?” Her voice is softer than I’m used to. It speaks to the part of my brain that’s in desperate need of comfort and reassurance.
I can do this.
Inhaling the deepest of breaths, I tell her exactly why I’m here. “I’ve spent the last few days researching what you asked me to and I know what I want to try. I want to try the BDSM option and I’d really like for you to be the one to help me with it.”
Her eyes widen and she stands a little straighter, but she doesn’t respond. I can’t stop myself from wringing my hands together. The anticipation is killing me. If she rejects me, I’m going to have no choice but to find a new therapist.
