Mirror Mirror (Closed for Rick957)

The evening before Donald's next session with Mandy reminded him of everything he loathed most about the woman he'd married. He sat on one end of their long dinner table, listening to her drone on interminably about pap smears and yeast infections, while he played with what passed for their dinner. He could recognize bits of broccoli and -- was that pork? chicken? soy?

Old Battle Axe had been in the kitchen again. Donald seldom bothered to cook, but he often brought take-out for the both of them, which he vastly preferred over the culinary sadism she inflicted on him at least once a week. He had to force some of it down or he was sure to incur her wrath; she expected him to shower her with gratitude after everything she made, no matter how little time she spent on it.

With her 60-plus-hour work weeks as a gynecologist, it was hard to understand why she even tried to cook, but he speculated privately that it made her feel more feminine. Womanly charm was in short supply in the Crutchfield household, where stress and exhaustion reigned, and sex was Emma Crutchfield's annual or semiannual observation of her husband's masturbatory technique. (They might have even missed a year here and there; neither of them cared to recall.) He found nothing about her touch or appearance arousing in the least, so he had to get himself hard in order to enter her. Even then, a climax wasn't a sure thing for him, and there was some doubt in both their minds that she'd ever experienced an unfeigned orgasm.

To make their meals slightly less intolerable, he'd made another one of his counting games out of determining the fewest number of words he had to expend in response to her ceaseless chatter, without giving away the fact that he never listened to a word she said. This particular dinner ended with 17 words, 7 more than his record -- a disappointing showing, but the cheese sauce she had slaved over required its own separate acknowledgement.

Later that night he sat next to her in bed and tried very hard to appear absolutely engrossed in the latest John Grisham novel, in an unsuccessful attempt to spare him an update on current approaches in chlamydia diagnosis and treatment. He did, however, establish a new personal best of speaking only 6 words from the time her fat ass hit the mattress to the time they turned off the bedside lamps.

The most wonderful visions appeared in his dreams, a helpless girl was having the most horrible things done to her ...

Sarah arrived at Mandy’s place at 10h00 on Saturday morning. The change in Mandy was startling. She was confident and happy, bustling around the house like her old self. Sarah was even surprised to see Mandy walk up to the mirror in her hallway and scrutinise her appearance without the haunted look in her eyes.

The weather was beautiful and Sarah was dumbstruck at the work that Mandy had done in the garden, it looked absolutely gorgeous. By that evening, the two of them were sitting on the porch, watching the sunset together. Sarah leaned over and gently placed her hand on Mandy’s, patting it softly.

“It is so good to have you back, honey,” she said, as a content little sigh escaped her lips.


Monday came too quickly. Melissa arrived at Doctor Crutchfield’s office just before 10h00 and sat in his reception area, her legs crossed while she flicked through a magazine. Donald’s receptionist looked pleased to see Melissa.

“Can I offer you anything to drink?” she asked.
“Oh ... no, thank you,” Melissa answered, briefly looking up and giving her a warm apologetic smile.

The door to Donald’s office opened and a man walked past Melissa that Donald’s receptionist greeted as William Beasley. Melissa patiently waited another five minutes. “Doctor Crutchfield is ready to see you now, Mandy,” she said as she smiled at Melissa. She slowly placed the magazine back down on the table next to her before climbing to her feet, slinging her handbag over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Melissa said, as she pushed Donald’s office door open, closing it behind her and walking up to him where he was sitting on his couch.

“It is so good to see you, Donald,” Melissa said as she politely gave her hand to him in a greeting. Melissa frowned for a moment as she noted that her hand was shaking, for some bizarre reason. She shook her head lightly, and focused her violet blue eyes back on Donald. She had blow-waved her hair to loosely curl around her shoulders. Melissa was wearing an olive-green summer’s dress that reached down to just above her knee with comfortable sandals.

She took the seat next to Donald on the couch, crossing her legs as she lavished one of her gorgeous smiles on him, while her hands rested on her knees. “How are you today?” she asked in a soft voice.

Donald took careful note of the slight tremor in Mandy's handshake. "Melissa" otherwise appeared quite comfortable and relaxed around him, however, so he saw no reason for concern. Some behavioral abnormalities were to be expected as the repressed personality struggled against accepting its increased victimization.

The more progress "Melissa" was able to make in her daily lifestyle while the abuse intensified, the more deeply ingrained the psychological split would become. Mandy described her recent leisure and social activities in sufficient detail to satisfy Donald that the primary personality was continuing to flourish.

Before summoning the hidden persona, he made two suggestions to Mandy to advance the course of her treatment. Explaining that her conventional psychotherapy was more or less finished, he suggested that they move the majority of their sessions to an alternative location, such as a hotel, where they would have ample privacy without the oppressiveness of the clinical setting. In keeping with the less formal nature of her remaining treatment, he also indicated that there would no longer be a need to inform anyone else of their meetings, other than her future biweekly office visits.

Once the door was locked and the sublimated "Mandy" psyche called forth, Donald immediately ordered her to get off the couch and down onto her hands and knees. The strange request was naturally met with confusion and hesitation, which gave him the opening he needed for his first slap across her face.

Continuing to use open-handed smacks that would sting without bruising, he talked her through a step-by-step process of getting on the floor, crawling up between his legs, opening the front of his pants, exposing his penis, and then performing fellatio.

Each and every little pause or delay in her movements earned her another hit. A few times, he deliberately mumbled his next order so that she couldn't quite make it out and therefore failed to comply quickly, resulting in further slaps.

The oral sex technique he requested was painstakingly complex and particular: sometimes more, sometimes less powerful sucking; diverse applications of her lips, tongue, and teeth to his cock and balls, with varying amounts of pressure; sometimes watching his eyes carefully, other times looking down submissively.

He forced her to gag herself on his member a total of 14 times, promising to beat her severely if she spit up anything whatsoever; she managed not to.

By the time he came in her mouth, he had struck her 24 times over the course of the hour; both sides of her face were red, her makeup was smeared from crying, and her cheeks were a little swollen. When she let a tiny portion of his seed dribble out onto her chin, she received her 25th, 26th, and 27th smacks.

Once the Melissa personality was restored to control, Donald instructed her to keep her face lowered and avoid making eye contact with anyone until the signs of her rough treatment receded. Then he sent her on her way with a warm, paternalistic hug, securing her promise to meet him Wednesday evening in the lobby of a certain hotel in a neighboring town.

Mandy opened her eyes. She looked around her a little confused. As her violet blue depths met the dark brown leather couch, her heart rate accelerated at an alarming pace. “Get off that goddamn couch and onto your hands and knees!” Mandy heard Doctor Crutchfield’s ominous voice snap at her. She was still trying to see where his voice was coming from when his hand landed on her cheek, stinging viciously.

Mandy’s eyes glistened as she scrambled off the couch and onto her knees. He fired a string of orders at her while verbally crushing her into the ground. Mandy gingerly crawled closer to him, her hands resting on his knees as he opened his legs half slouching in the couch lifting his crotch up to Mandy’s face.

He slapped her as she hesitated, with another quick blow that sent her hair flying around her face because she made the mistake of bringing her hand up to her cheek. He licked his lips as he watched Mandy take his engorged member out of his pants before raining a few more slaps down on her cheeks for ‘stalling’.

A cry escaped Mandy’s lips as Donald thrust his cock fully into Mandy’s mouth, his hands pushing hard against the back of her head. Mandy shuddered violently. Tears spilt from her eyes as her mascara ran down her flaming cheeks … gagging on his piece of meat that was blocking her airway, threatening to expel the contents of her stomach. “I will beat the living shit out of you if you spill even one drop, Mandy! Do you hear me?” he threatened in a frightening low tone, as another slap crashed onto Mandy’s cheek.

The rest was a blur. All Mandy could hear was Donald’s serpent-like voice barking commands that intertwined with dizzying slaps, the most revolting verbal assault and intermittent gagging that left Mandy sobbing and gasping for air. Her mind was spinning in an incomprehensible nightmare … that would not end. Donald’s menacing and evil eyes were burning in Mandy’s mind, his voice seeping through her veins like a poison as her treacherous body submitted to every vile and soul shattering whim of this monster.

Donald finally threw his head back as his body shuddered in ecstasy, his orgasm ripping through is body as his cock pulsed sickeningly in Mandy’s mouth. His member was rammed so far down Mandy’s throat she could not breathe at all, while both his hands kept Mandy’s head in place with a vice-like grip. Mandy’s eyes were looking about her wildly. Her nails digging into Donald’s knees as her body shuddered convulsively, desperately trying to clear the milky liquid that was threatening to spill into her lungs.

I tiny drop of his cum spilt from Mandy’s lips, which afforded her three successive and increasingly vicious blows across her cheeks, before Donald finally released her. Mandy collapsed to the floor, sobs shuddering through her chest as she loudly gasped for air. She felt light headed from asphyxiation as the room span around her … sickeningly.

Donald once again walked over to his basin as if there was no other person in the room with him. He casually pulled his clothes right while eyeing himself in the mirror, before walking over to his desk and making notes. Utmost concentration edged on his features.

Mandy’s sobs finally subsided as she sat up and leaned against the couch, her eyes finding the full-length mirror … reflecting the terror etched in her violet-blue eyes, her sheet white complexion … her cheeks flaming hot and tender to the touch. Mandy slowly brought her hands up, her palms feeling ice cold against her cheeks as a renewed batch of silent tears made their way down her cheeks.

Weak Mandy, you cannot even take care of yourself. You deserve this! Her mind kept echoing.

She finally pushed herself off the floor as she made it to the chair across from Donald, staring at his desk … her eyes looking hollow. Mandy’s bruised and battered mind was numb and incapable of processing anything. When Doctor Crutchfield started his countdown, Mandy disappeared into darkness … happy for the reprieve.

A glorious smile spread across Melissa’s face as she bade Donald a fond farewell. She promised to meet him at the hotel as per their discussion and then walked out of his office, feigning a great deal of interest in her handbag as per his instructions. That night Melissa felt a little ill. Her throat was sore and it felt as if she was running a fever … her cheeks were flaming hot. She climbed into bed early swallowing a few headache tablets and keeping an ice-pack on her face to try and break the fever.

Melissa tossed and turned in her dreams … ceaseless nightmares of a man with a shadowy face pulling a cord tightly around her neck so she could not breathe …

Donald was enjoying a cup of tea in the spotless, spacious lobby of the Benton Suites hotel, when Mandy sashayed in wearing one of her characteristic bright dresses. Sunlight from the outdoors streamed down around her as she strode up to him, flashing her white, toothy smile. Radiant with confidence and poise, she took to the arm he offered her like a butterfly alighting on his shoulder.

Riding the elevator to their fifth-floor room, she epitomized the buoyant optimism of youth in a way that even Donald found captivating. Her presence recalled for him those enchanting months in his younger days when he had first courted his wife, before the precipitous decline in both her appearance and demeanor during their first years of marriage.

Inside the hotel room, Donald took a seat at a table across from Mandy and opened this session just as he would have in his office, with a review of her recent social and leisure activities. Then he carefully walked her through the steps of a new therapeutic exercise that she was to begin performing several hours prior to each of their future meetings: following a short period of relaxation and deep breathing to eliminate any distracting thoughts, "Melissa" was to count up from one to ten and then let "Mandy" have temporary control of their physical form. This would allow Mandy to take certain steps to prepare for their subsequent get-togethers.

After the weak personality was summoned forth in this manner, he immediately had her undress completely, while he put on his seldom-used, white physician's lab coat. Visually the pair gave every appearance of a patient with her doctor, and the association became even stronger when they went into the large bathroom to go through her required personal hygeine procedures. In stark contrast to his wild concupiscence at her recent office appointments, he maintained a veneer of cold, dispassionate professionalism throughout the demonstrations that followed.

Paradoxically, their move to the hotel was ostensibly intended to eliminate the very mood of clinical formality that he was now taking pains to recreate. His apparent motive was instructing her in how to properly prepare her body to serve him, but he also siezed the opportunity to further confuse, disorient, and unsettle her. Her constant inability to know what to expect from him reinforced her sense of helplessness in trying to cope with his manipulations.

After laying out the supplies he had brought with him on the long sink counter, Donald commenced with her step-by-step instruction in how to groom herself to his liking. The first invasive undertaking was a warm water enema to cleanse her anal cavity. He had brought the necessary bag and tubing with him, and he talked her through the process while he stood there waiting. After that, he had her sit on the edge of the bathtub while he showed her how to carefully and meticulously shave her entire pubic region.

In between his verbal directions, long stretches of time passed in which the silence between them became palpable and disconcerting. Tiny sounds seemed to magnify in volume and echo around the spacious washroom: the grainy scrape of the razor across her skin; the splish-splash in the plastic basin as he shook loose bits of hair from the blade.

Next came his demonstration of the painstaking bathing process he expected of her. He filled the tub with hot water for her and sat in the floor next to it, proceeding to apply a soapy washcloth to every inch of her body, including the most inconspicuous and private regions: in between each toe; every reachable surface inside and behind her ears; each part of her pudenda and anus, including the accessible interiors.

The bath might have functioned as an intimate display of affection between lovers, but he showed deliberate disregard for her enjoyment at all times. Quietly going about his business, he handled her body like an impersonal object intended solely for his own gratification, as if he were washing and waxing a prized automobile, or some kind of pet animal.

He shampooed and conditioned her hair with the products he had selected for her, instructing her to wear it down around him at all times, and only have it trimmed or colored according to his whims. She had followed his advance request to bring her typical makeup products with her, to reapply them with some small adjustments to suit him. He towel-dried her and put her clothes back on for her, and dried and brushed out her hair, all with the same mechanical fastidiousness.

Right at the end of their time together, he dispensed with his pent-up horniness by having her jerk him off. She was told to wipe up the voluminous semen he had sprayed all over her face using only her fingers, which she was then to lick clean, ingesting every last driblet.

Then he allowed "Mandy" to repeat the verbal count of ten in a declining sequence, entrusting her body once more to "Melissa's" custodianship. He held her hand familiarly as he walked her to her car, sending the winsome lass on her way with a cheerful kiss to the cheek.

“Good evening, Donald,” Melissa said reverently as she made her way through the lobby. She was dressed in a light blue sundress that draped down to her ankles, her hair loosely clipped in place to leave raven tendrils curling around her face. For the second time Melissa noted the tremor in her hand as she greeted Donald. She tried to conceal her concern by smiling brightly at Donald.

Donald seemed happy to see her. He gallantly offered her his arm. Melissa hooked her hand through it as they made their way to the elevator, stopping on the fifth floor. They made their way to the room at the end of the hallway. Donald opened the door and waited for Melissa to enter before showing her to a chair. They spoke about the past two days and then Donald introduced her to a new technique that he wanted her to try.

Melissa relaxed … closing her eyes. She breathed deeply for a few minutes, bringing her heart rate down as low as she could get it. She then slowly started counting to ten …


Mandy opened her blue eyes and immediately cringed in fear at the sight of Doctor Crutchfield. He ordered her to strip every last piece of clothing from her body while he pulled a white lab coat over his clothes. His entire demeanour was cold and dejected … in stark contrast to his usual outbursts of rage and derogative remarks. He walked Mandy through a very precise and deeply embarrassing personal hygiene routine that he expected from her.

Mandy barely took note of the beautiful fixtures in the bathroom as her mind tried to gauge Doctor Crutchfield’s mood. She was waiting for an outburst … anything. His silence and clinical manner scared her more. He made her stand in front of him while he unpacked a host of supplies that made Mandy’s body tremble in fear.

Every action and order that followed was deeply humiliating and disturbing. He made her give herself an enema while he watched with cold dejection. He showed Mandy how to shave her pubic region to his liking with clinical proficiency before placing her in the bath and bathing her from head to toe in a very invasive manner.

Half of the time, Mandy’s cheeks were flushed bright red as she tried to avoid eye contact with him. He made it crystal clear that her body was his property. The cold and clinical way in which his hands moved across her body gave her gooseflesh. It felt as if she was being probed and inspected. Everything that she had done her entire life was being faulted and corrected … wordlessly … as if she was an insolent little child. Mandy felt like his personal doll. She was something that he could dress up, break down and use whenever he wanted. He even commanded her hairstyle and make-up with an entire new product range that he expected her to use at all times.

The worst was the silence … it was deafening! Everything he did echoed hollowly around the tiled room.

The doll association was further entrenched into Mandy’s psyche as he dressed her again and did her hair. As a final stab at his dominance over her, he commanded her to jerk his engorged member off while he sprayed his ejaculate all over her face as if he was marking his territory. He made her ingest every last drop of it using her fingers.

Mandy felt like retching … she felt like crying … she felt absolutely worthless …

He finally allowed her to retreat into the dark recesses of her mind, handing the reigns of control back to Melissa. Her voice shuddered as she breathed every number that would release her from this nightmare.


Melissa opened her eyes. It felt as if she had spent the entire day at a spa, being pampered and spoilt. Donald escorted her to her car, while lightly holding her hand. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before sending her on her way, waving while he watched her drive off.

At their next meeting, Donald had a cup of tea in the hotel lobby with the Melissa personality before accompanying Mandy up to their room. He was becoming increasingly enamored with the youthful vivacity of this side of her psyche; her self-confidence and sparkling optimism excited him.

He had started to consider the possibility of finding some way to break down the Melissa persona as well. The prospect of crushing her exuberant spirit aroused him immeasurably. Unfortunately, their activities together depended on her ability to maintain an appearance of psychological health apart from him. He also had concerns over the destabilizing consequences of such a change on the girl's battered psyche; she certainly wouldn't be as much fun to play with in a drooling catatonic state. Still, every time "Melissa" bounced up to him with her cheery countenance and her blissful naivete, he longed to beat her senseless and have his way with her. The notion had begun to preoccupy his sexual daydreams outside their sessions.

Back with the subjugated personality up in the hotel room, Donald undressed along with her and joined her in the gigantic, luxurious bed. He decided to confirm her hygenic preparations by inspecting her body with his tongue. First he selected a bottle of wine from the suite's minibar, for the purpose of periodically remoistening his mouth. Then he subjected every inch of her breasts, genitals, and buttocks to his oral attentions.

Once he found that her bathing and shaving efforts met with his approval, he chose to reward her with a forced orgasm. He'd brought a bottle of lube and a pair of vibrators with him to facilitate the process. He spent over an hour applying the latter to her clitoris, anus, and nipples, in between his continued licking and chewing in those same sensitive spots. From variations in her breathing patterns and her involuntary exclamations, he surmised that he had caused her to climax at least twice from his manipulations.

For his part, he managed three orgasms from her manual stimulation during the same period of time. He had brought several condoms with him to collect the output of his ejaculations. He emptied the semen from the condoms into a wineglass and had Mandy drink it before switching back to her empowered persona.

Two hours before the designated visit to Donald, Melissa sat down in front of her mirror and did as he had instructed. An hour later Melissa blinked a little dazed. Her eyes focussed as her reflection came into view in the mirror. Her hair had been blow-waved loosely around her face and her make-up was applied differently too.

She absently looked down at her outfit and then her eyes riveted on a list that lay on the dressing table. She picked it up as a frown furrowed across her brow. It was Mandy’s handwriting, but it was barely legible … it was almost as if she was scared out of her mind. The items listed on the paper were worrying to say the least. An enema? She frowned as she tentatively inspected her body. Every item listed had been performed by Mandy … to perfection. Melissa placed the piece of paper back on the dressing table as she lifted her eyes, staring at her own reflection. Why did Donald want Mandy to do all these things?

Something was wrong.

Melissa climbed in her car and drove to the hotel. She found Donald waiting for her in the lobby. She once again noted the slight tremor in her hand as she greeted him. It was almost as if her body was subconsciously recoiling from Donald. She was genuinely getting worried now. Donald invited her for a cup of tea though, which immediately quelled any questions she may have had.

They made their way up to the hotel room and Melissa willingly handed the reigns back to Mandy.


Mandy’s fear was a tangible thing that enveloped her being. Donald immediately ordered her to remove all her clothing, which she did without hesitation … remembering the rain of slaps that he bestowed on her the last time, fearing a repeat. He then ordered her to lay herself down on the bed and to spread her arms and legs to give him free access to her body. The colour drained from Mandy’s features as he started the session by slobbering his tongue all over every intimate part of her body, his mouth drenched in wine … leaving a sickly alcohol smell clinging to her skin.

Mandy watched as he wrapped a condom around his member. She was mentally steeling herself for another brutal coupling, but was instead subjected to a complete sensory overload. He used two vibrators along with his mouth and tongue to prod and poke both her nether cavities in addition to over-stimulating her clit and nipples. Mandy’s entire body was transformed into a writhing and heaving mass of flesh beneath his incessant ministrations. Every orgasm that he managed to wrench from her body, made the next one so much harder to attain.

Mandy was physically and mentally drained … a sheen of perspiration shimmering on her skin as her body quivered uncontrollably, sending painful spasms through her as her muscles were forced to constrict repeatedly. He finally let up, leaving her gasping in short breaths … staring at the ceiling blindly as tears once again trailed down her cheeks.

The worst was not over yet, as she watched him empty his milky cum into a wineglass … handing it to her to drink, while he watched … with a sadistic gleam glinting in his dark eyes. Soft whimpers escaped Mandy’s lips as she closed her eyes and forced the sickening substance down her throat in big gulps.

She felt completely and utterly sick.

By the time that Doctor Crutchfield allowed Mandy to hand the reigns back to Melissa, she was looking slightly green as she vehemently tried to keep the goblet of cum down.


Melissa opened her eyes and smiled at Donald brightly, before her features contorted in an apprehensive look. She stormed to the bathroom a second later … apologising profusely as she stepped back out a few minutes later. “I don’t know what came over me,” she said with a sheepish little grin.

That night Melissa lay tossing and turning atop her bed, waking a few times in a cold sweat. The same shadowed features haunting her dreams.

Donald was growing increasingly concerned over the continued physiological disturbances in his patient: the way her hand trembled when he shook it; how she reflexively regurgitated his come. She seemed to fuss with her new hairstyle absentmindedly in his presence, as if it irked her somehow.

He actually found it quite intellectually stimulating to study such mysterious phenomena in his female victims. This was truly an uncharted territory of the mind, the kind of professional quandary that got him interested in psychiatry in the first place. It reminded him how ridiculously limited the research of his colleagues was due to their nitpicky ethical qualms. He sometimes pictured future generations unearthing his private research notes and posthumously recognizing him as a pioneer in his field. How tragic, he mused, to have been born with his scientific gifts in such a shortsighted, oppressive age.

As to Mandy's present dilemma, he dreamt up the following scheme while relaxing on the toilet in the private bathroom of his office a few hours before their next meeting. The problem, as he saw it, was an instinctive effort by the repressed personality to reclaim some of its ruined self-esteem; hence, the solution was simply to grind her even further into the dirt.

That evening, after the weak persona was brought forth once more, he instructed Mandy to inscribe the following on a sheet of hotel stationary:


Donald waited while she rewrote these phrases in neat cursive all the way down the front of the page. He then instructed her to memorize the words and repeat the exercise as part of her personal hygiene routine, which she was to start doing even on nights they weren't scheduled to meet. He figured the steady negative reinforcement ought to put an end to any attempts by the lesser personality to reassert itself.

He intended to use the remainder of their session to introduce Mandy to anal rape, but upon close inspection, her rigid sphincter proved too tightly constricted to make the act possible without incurring excessive tissue damage. Instead, he settled for a good missionary pounding while his lubed index finger probed her rectum, stretching the muscles there and readying the area for future invasions.

Before letting "Melissa" return, he punished Mandy for her body's involuntary recalcitrance by having her bend over and grab her ankles, so he could deliver a generous round of open-handed spanking. By the time he was finished, the sight of her quivering knees and beet-red buttocks made him crave another attempt at her ass ...

But, the National Psychiatric Association was springing for a buffet in half an hour at the new Chinese restaurant across town, so he set aside his carnal appetite for the more ordinary kind. He had to struggle to swallow back a chuckle as poor, mystified Mandy lurched back to her parked car, wincing at the horrible chafing sensation produced by each step she took.

Melissa sat in front of the mirror staring at her own reflection. Something was resonating deep within her. Her brow furrowed as she reached out and touched the mirror … almost lovingly tracing the outline of her face in it. She stopped … letting her hand fall to her side. “Mandy?” She asked softly. For some inexplicable reason, Melissa felt like bursting into tears.

She took a few long breaths, trying to get her emotions under control. Melissa looked down at the piece of paper in front of her and slowly wrote the question: ‘Mandy, what is wrong?’ She then closed her eyes, focussing on getting her breathing and heart rate levelled out before she slowly started counting to ten …

An hour later Melissa opened her eyes - staring around the room a little dazed. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and cringed at the hairstyle. She hated it. She hated the make-up … she hated the dress. Melissa grimaced as her eyes slowly made their way down to the dressing table … four words:

‘I am being raped’

She stared down at the words with an incredulous look on her face. She shook her head in disbelief … who would do that? Melissa sat staring down at the scrawled handwriting for an eternity …

She plastered on a smile as her mind still tried to comprehend the single sentence from Mandy. She greeted Donald in the lobby and once again noted her hands trembling whenever she was near him … was that fear? Melissa stood for a moment staring at Donald with a hesitant expression before she clasped her hands together and inspected them. She finally lifted her head and walked with Donald to the room …


Mandy blinked, her entire body dissolving into a heap of shivering terror at the sight of Doctor Crutchfield. He ordered her to dispose of her clothes, which she did immediately. She was led to a table where he made her write three phrases … over … and over again, as if she was doing repentance for terrible sins she had committed. He commanded her to memorise and repeat them back, which she did in a stammering and tear riddled voice.

Doctor Crutchfield yanked her out of the chair and hauled her to the bed where he unceremoniously bent her over and let his hands inspect her derriere. Mandy gasped at the intrusion, before he threw her down on the bed and splayed her legs apart before slamming the full length of his cock into her … Mandy’s hands were pinned above her head with one hand while the other probed and stretched her tight sphincter.

She screamed and whimpered, furious at her body for reacting to him while she kept her head turned to the side, tears staining across her cheeks. She could not even look at him. His groans of pleasure and his mucky hot breath that clung to her skin, made her shudder. She felt dirty … used.

Once he was done and had his fill, he pulled her off the bed and made her bend over, slightly spread her legs and grab her ankles. Mandy whimpered as his hand rained slaps down on her ass until it felt as if her flesh was on fire. He finally stopped and allowed her to get dressed while he dejectedly dressed himself and continued with his own personal grooming routine as if Mandy was not even there.

Mandy sat expressionless on the bed … her eyes looked dead. When he gave the order, she started counting backwards … finding comfort in the darkness that enveloped her.


Melissa climbed in the car and nearly jumped through the roof. It felt as if someone had burnt her with a hot iron on her ass. She drove the short distance home and immediately went to the bathroom where she tore the dress from her body and stood in front of the full-length mirror looking back at her derriere that was glowing bright red.

She meticulously inspected the rest of her body …

“No …” the single word fell from her lips.

Once the humiliating handwriting routine was in place, Donald felt more confident than ever that his ingenious innovations had secured his control over his patient. He called Mandy at home the night before their next meeting to reschedule it, forcing her to cancel whatever other plans she had made for the entire afternoon of the following Sunday. He offered a token apology in order to stay in "Melissa's" good graces but stopped short of providing an explanation, to keep the element of surprise intact.

Up in their usual hotel room, Mandy switched to her weaker self and stood in front of the bathroom door, mutely observing herself in the full-length mirror while Donald carefully removed her clothes. He took his time and fondled her some in the process, manipulating her limbs as if she were nothing more than a plastic doll. When he got down to her underwear, he lingered over her bra and panties, fingering the texture of their fabric and holding them to his face for a deep inhale.

Then he laid out the apparel he had purchased for her on the bed and proceeded to dress her. Everything he had chosen was black. First came a bustier with all sorts of little dangling hooks, laces, and straps. It was designed to boost her breasts up high from underneath, but the cups ended just short of her nipples, so that most of her bosom remained exposed. He ordered her to suck in her stomach and push out her chest as far as possible while he repeatedly tightened the fit, by pulling on this and buckling that. When he had finished making adjustments, her midsection was so snugly encased in leather that she could no longer fully expand her lungs, and had to make do with shorter breaths. Six slender suspenders hung from the bottom of the garment and clipped onto the tops of her dark thigh-high hose. There were no panties or bra.

Over these items was draped a small, somewhat loose-fitting dress, held up by very thin shoulder straps and extending to just above the knee. The silky fabric was sheer enough to make her body completely visible underneath, except from a long distance. He added a nice leather jacket but made it clear that she was forbidden to close it or conceal her breasts in any way. He finished by buckling onto her feet a pair of sky-high stilettos, tall enough to reduce her walking speed to a clumsy, halting gait.

By the time Mandy made it down to the parking lot and landed heavily in the passenger seat of Donald's car, her lower back, ribcage, knees, toes, and calves were all competing with each other in discomfort. She found, however, that all of those paled in comparison to the aching sensation produced by the lubricated glass plug he had left in her ass, requiring her to sit sideways with all her weight on one thigh.

Donald's purpose in rescheduling their session became horribly apparent at the end of their wordless half-hour drive into the downtown area. His silver Lexus pulled into the multi-level parking garage right next to the Lattimer Institute Museum of Modern Art and Culture, which would have its normal, moderate-size crowd of weekend visitors. The patrons at that particular hour were about to view a rare and unexpected exhibit.

Melissa was alarmed when the self-hypnosis sessions were pushed up to every night. She counted to ten only to awake half an hour later with a page written in her own handwriting containing three very disturbing sentences:

I am a terrible, worthless slut who got my own sister killed.
I don't deserve to be in this body except when Dr. Crutchfield says it's okay.
Dr. Crutchfield gives me exactly the treatment I deserve.

She was even more surprised when Donald called to move their Monday appointment to Sunday. Melissa had to call her mother to cancel Sunday lunch with the family in order to fit Donald into her schedule. Sunday morning Melissa awoke and completed her normal personal hygiene routine before making her way to the hotel. By the time she walked from the parking lot to meet Donald in the foyer, she was feeling a little unsettled. They made their way to the room …


Mandy opened her eyes to find herself staring at a full-length mirror. She watched with abject fear as Doctor Crutchfield proceeded to undress her, his hands wandering freely across her flesh to tempt and tease. Mandy let him do whatever he pleased, petrified of his retribution.

Half an hour later, Mandy looked in horror at the picture of a complete Harleton staring back at her. Doctor Crutchfield had dressed her in a black leather corset, which had been reigned in tightly around her waist and ribcage. Thigh-high sheer stockings were connected to the corset with suspenders and finished off with impossibly high stilettos. Her breasts and nether regions were still completely exposed, making for quite a delectable erotic picture.

He added a dress that dropped down to just above her knee. It would have added a shred of decency to the outfit, if it was not dripping from her skin in an almost sheer material … leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. To finish the picture, a black leather jacket was slipped over her shoulders with strict instructions to leave her breasts exposed.

Doctor Crutchfield once again ordered Mandy to bend over and grab her ankles, which she did with great difficulty. A scream erupted from her lips as he pushed a lubricated glass plug into her sphincter before unceremoniously parading her through the foyer to his car. Besides the fact that Mandy’s walk was reduced to a very stiff shuffle, her cheeks were flaming bright red at the curious and shocked eyes that followed her.

Mandy kept absolutely still in the car … mounting dread choking up her throat, leaving it dry and incapable of allowing any words to surface, even if she wanted to. By the time they stopped in front of the quaint art gallery, Mandy’s eyes were burning with tears.

“Doctor Crutchfield, I will do anything you ask … p-please can we go back,” she begged in a small voice. Just the thought of what he might have planned for her, scared her to death.

Mandy's single, desperate plea was ignored completely until the Lexus pulled into a parking spot in the multilevel garage. Donald squinted to read the message painted on the concrete slab several yards away: "Remember your level: 3." Locating a pad and pen in the glovebox, he copied down the number in neat script, folded the note, and slipped it into his breast pocket. Then he turned to his whimpering passenger as if he had just remembered she was there.

"Oh, no no no! Mandy, my dear, this will never do!" Alternately clucking his tongue and huffing loudly through his nose, he went back to rooting around in the glovebox, until he remembered the Kleenex were in the pocket behind the passenger seat. He began delicately dabbing the tears from Mandy's face with a tissue, while imploring her to locate her compact in her purse, which he had made her bring along for just such a purpose. As he urged her to touch up her slightly smeared makeup, his manner and tone of voice were polite, amiable, even solicitous. After all, this was their first time out and about together.

While she scrutinized herself in the mirror and worked with her mascara brush, he lay an encouraging hand on her knee, in a ridiculous attempt to calm her. Her mood would not have mattered to him except that all that weeping would spoil her pretty face. It was as if he had some personal stake in making sure his subject made a good impression on the occasion of her first public showing.

"Now, my dear, this is our first time together in public, so we must first lay down some ground rules. We'll be surrounded by all sorts of people, including security guards and perhaps even constabulary. You might be taken with some rash impulse to tell someone about our relationship, or perhaps simply flee.

"Let me assure you that such an effort would prove both futile and ultimately self-defeating. You see, you are obviously attired in a rather perverse fashion that identifies you at best as a prostitute, and at worst as mentally unsound. Here I am in a full suit with a pricey overcoat, and you looking like some street trash -- who do you suppose looks more rational and worthy of trust?

"Even if you somehow manage to run off, I'll have no problem tracking you down and catching up to you. You'll find that anyone you turn to for help will be less inclined to believe your version of the facts than mine: I will explain to them that you're a deeply disturbed individual under my professional care, and you manipulated me into meeting you here during one of your psychotic episodes, in this instance expressed by a grotesque display of exhibitionism. My wallet contains sufficient proof of my credentials to sway them, and I can completely dispel all doubt by producing any of the bottles of medication in my pocket, each filled with prescription psychopharmaceuticals and bearing printed labels made out in your name. I'm also carrying a single syringe dose of a potent, quick-working sedative that I can administer in a worst-case scenario ..."

The threatening edge had crept back into his voice as he discouraged her escape, but he quickly resumed his attempt at cordiality, as if he'd only lost track of himself for a moment. "... But why think of such an unfortunate circumstance? Why, we're here to have a little fun, don't you see, Mandy? You and I are a quaint little couple today -- it's like we're out on a date together. What could be nicer?" He was back to the knee squeezing and wearing a broad, manufactured grin.

"And if I decide to show off my pretty little date while we're walking around, well, there's surely no harm in that, is there? In fact, my dear, you're looking so exceptionally fetching today, I may want to do more than just show you off. Why, I'll bet there will be a boy or two in there who wants an even closer look at you ... and who am I to be jealous or selfish with your attentions? No, far from it!

"You just relax and keep back that awful crying, my dear, we can't have you making that sort of a scene. If you show the first little sign of protest, resistance, or hyped-up emotions, you'll be whisked back to the hotel for the worst beating of your pathetic life, and you know I'm not exaggerating ... But let's not even think of it! No, we're here to have fun, my sweet, and I for one can't wait!"

Donald sprung out of the car jauntily, circled it and held the door open for her, and then offered his arm to his "date" in proper gentlemanly fashion. Moving at a snail's pace to accomodate Mandy's awkward gait, the couple headed for the museum entrance.

Mandy stepped through the massive double doors of the museum, draped on Doctor Crutchfield’s arm as if this was an everyday occurrence. Inside … her mind was screaming and reeling at the realisation that she was out in public and dressed like a common prostitute. Every single heartless threat that Donald levelled at her was very real. She had no doubt that he could and would carry them out with clinical precision if she as much as thought of thwarting him.

Mandy plastered a bored expression on her face, carefully concealing the fear and humiliation that was eating at the remaining scraps of self worth that she desperately tried to cling to. People were staring at her with mixed expressions. Some were absolutely shocked, others were peculiarly interested. In the back of her mind, she tried to quell the mounting dread by telling herself that this was an art museum and that eccentricity was most probably welcomed within these four walls.

She somehow managed to carry herself with poise and grace, adding an air of class to her countenance despite the horrific outfit. Mandy inspected the pieces of artwork with interest and smiled at Doctor Crutchfield like a blushing teenager who was hanging on every word that fell from his lips. He of course relished the complete mockery of polite decorum and proceeded to prance Mandy around like a show horse on display to her utmost mortification.

One particular art piece was displayed on a raised dais in the centre of the museum and was aptly titled ‘Innocence Stripped Away’. It was an abstract piece of art that incorporated the use of a kneeling bench that comprised elaborate and exaggerated restraints worked into the display to emphasise the cliché of the title.

Doctor Crutchfield halted in front of it staring at the perverse display with a heightened sense of interest. Mandy could see the wheels turning in his head as an amused smile tugged at his lips, his eyebrow arching as he slowly levelled a predatory gaze on Mandy. She could feel the blood in her veins run cold …

Without saying a word, he gave her a silent command to ‘complete’ the display by adding herself to it. For the first time, her carefully controlled expression faltered. Donald viciously jabbed a thumb into her ribcage sending a stab of pain jolting through her body. Mandy had to bite down on her lip to stop a scream from gurgling from her throat.

With a soft little whimper she complied, precariously taking the two steps up onto the platform. Immediately the crowd looked up at her with interest, eye brows raising with humour at the preposterous ambiguity of the scene as they stepped closer to inspect the artwork.

The self-indulgent smirk of satisfaction on Donald’s face was almost more than Mandy could bear. He imperceptibly inclined his head and Mandy’s eyes widened at his command. She shuffled uncomfortably and then slowly lowered herself down into a kneeling position atop the bench folding her hands in front of her as if she was praying … the only difference was, that Mandy was actually praying … for this nightmare to end.

Despite Donald’s threats, a single tear made its way down her cheek, which instantaneously drew a round of applause from the crowd that had doubled in size. From where Mandy was kneeling, a sea of faces looked up at her with a mixture of expressions. The most disturbing were that of some of the patrons who were visibly disrobing her with lascivious gazes.

OOC This just happened on a whim; I hope you can forgive a momentary, play-ful departure.


Scene: A central gathering space in a modern art museum. Four large arches across the rear of the stage open onto hallways containing various exhibits; abstract paintings and photographs adorn the walls. Beams from the late afternoon sun stream down starkly from several glass skylights in the lofty ceiling.

DR. CRUTCHFIELD and roughly twenty other patrons mill about the stage in pairs and small groups. Ages of the spectators range approximately from early twenties to late fifties, with a few exceptions. Most are muttering to each other softly and gawking at the raised platform at center stage. One or two onlookers exit through the rear arches from time to time, but for each that departs, two more enter and remain, fascinated with the sight; the size of the crowd increases slowly throughout the scene.

In the middle of the central platform sits MANDY, in an upright position and facing stage right, astride an antique wooden prayer bench. Her knees sit on the cushioned lower board; her folded hands rest on the upper board. Blatantly suggestive devices of restraint -- leather and metal cuffs, chains, and straps -- dangle conspicuously from various parts of the bench.

MANDY's head is lowered, but from time to time, she casts furtive glances at all the people staring at her. A few stray tears have run down her cheeks and left behind glistening trails of smeared mascara. She is dressed in a preposterously revealing outfit consisting of a gauzy, see-through dress, topless corset, elaborate stockings, high heels, and no underwear. A short leather jacket covers her arms but hangs down only to her waist and remains wide open to expose her chest.

Enter at stage right three young people, NATE, BECKY, and RACHEL, all about college age, who come casually wandering in through one of the rear arches. DR. CRUTCHFIELD loiters near them and listens in while continuing to watch MANDY closely.

Dialog is held at a loud whisper in keeping with the staid atmosphere of the museum.



NATE: [smiling and raising a hand to point] Oh my god, look at -- you can totally see her --

BECKY: [embarrassed, pushing NATE's hand back down] SSSSHHHhhh, you don't need to announce it to everybody! God!

RACHEL: Oh my god, Becky, he's right, you can see right through that --

BECKY: [still embarrassed] Okay, I know, everybody can see it, Rach. Obviously it's part of the piece. Look, it's called "Innocence Stripped Away" by Daniel Wal --

NATE: [stifling a guffaw] I'll say it is, I can feel my innocence getting stripped away just looking at her! [presses fist playfully against RACHEL's arm]

BECKY: God, I can't go anywhere with either one of you, it's like being with my little sister and her friends.

RACHEL: Oh, lighten up, Becky, everybody else is staring, too. I mean, it's the first performance piece we've come across, and obviously they put it here in the middle to shock people.


[The trio wanders across to stage left, still looking at MANDY.]


NATE: Oh my God, Rach, I think I'm in love. Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?

RACHEL: [mouth falling open; she raises a hand to cover it] Oh my -- Becky? Becky, that girl isn't wearing any ... [trails off]


[BECKY stops dead in her tracks, having just taken in a rear view of MANDY. She exchanges wide-eyed looks with RACHEL and NATE, then closes her eyes and presses her forehead to RACHEL's shoulder in a gesture of resignation and disgust.]


RACHEL: [big smile spreading across her face] Okay, I'm starting to think Dr. Brathwaite didn't know this exhibit was going to be here today.

NATE: [highly amused] Oh, can you imagine what he said when he saw this? There is no way he knew about this when he made the assignment. You watch, we'll get a big apology on Tuesday ... I can just see him walking up to her and whipping out one of those handkerchiefs of his, and trying to cover her up?


[All three crack up as quietly as possible over the in-jokes, even BECKY, who is starting to relax.]


NATE: [parroting professor's voice]"Miss, this is highly earrr-regular ... Don't you think it would be-hooove us to at least consider this approach instead?" ... [more giggling]


[Upon hearing their laughter, a few other patrons smile as well, while several just shake their heads. RACHEL and BECKY move back to stage right for a closer look, continuing to whisper to each other. NATE moves about stage left, peeking discreetly over and around the other patrons to get the best possible view of MANDY from behind. DR. CRUTCHFIELD nonchalantly sidles up next to NATE, glances at him, and then returns to watching MANDY.]


DR. CRUTCHFIELD: That's what I call a work of art, eh?


[Making like just another of the boys, DR. CRUTCHFIELD shares a low, manly chuckle with NATE.]


NATE: Yeah, exactly ...

DR. CRUTCHFIELD: [after chuckling has died off] She lets you touch her, too, you know.

NATE: [looking at him] Get out!

DR. CRUTCHFIELD: No no, it's true. The artist was just here a minute ago -- Daniel Wallington? Walbrook? -- anyway, I don't know where he wandered off to, but I'm sure he'll be back soon. Really, he was explaining the piece just a minute ago and encouraging anyone who wanted to, to just go right in. [He pauses, nodding slowly; NATE is incredulous.] Seriously, watch. Come on.

[DR. CRUTCHFIELD approaches MANDY with NATE just behind him; other onlookers slowly move aside to let them through. She looks up at CRUTCHFIELD pleadingly for a brief second, and he flashes a stern look at her while NATE is still behind him and can't see his face. CRUTCHFIELD nods quickly to indicate that she should keep her gaze down and ignore him and the other observers.]

DR. CRUTCHFIELD: Watch. The artist was just here; she's just his model, I believe. She's not supposed to talk, of course. [He puts a hand on her shoulder and drags it across to the other shoulder, and then down her back, while looking up at NATE to encourage him to join in.] See? It's part of the piece, I think, is what he said; letting the audience participate, you see ... Adds to the effect, I suppose.


[Other patrons look at each other in surprise and begin to edge in closer to see what DR. CRUTCHFIELD is doing. NATE runs a hand tentatively over MANDY's hair and neck; she shivers slightly at first but does not protest or raise her eyes. A tiny moan or groan escapes her motionless lips, almost too faintly to be heard.]


DR. CRUTCHFIELD: [to NATE] You see? A while ago he even had her angled a little bit -- let me see if she'll do it again -- [He grips MANDY at the thigh and shoulder and forces her to bend forward as far as possible onto the upper board of the bench, while sticking her rear way out. Then he grabs hold of one knee and jerks it away from the other so that her legs come partly open. Her ass and vulva are now plainly viewable from behind through the sheer fabric of her dress. A few gasps and increased muttering is heard among the spectators.]

DR. CRUTCHFIELD: Obviously, it's all part of the piece, of course. I mean, she wouldn't let it happen otherwise, obviously.


[His hand moves to one of her ass cheeks. Next he reaches under the flimsy dress and presses a single finger over the exterior surface of her labia. Another miniscule moan is heard, but still no attempt is made to stop him. RACHEL and BECKY approach, and RACHEL touches MANDY's back and ass in a timid caress.]


RACHEL: Right, I mean, it makes sense, you know -- "Innocence Stripped Away." [running her hand over Mandy's body while addressing CRUTCHFIELD] It's just his model, obviously; I wonder where the artist went, you said he was talking to everyone earlier? Sure, it's obviously okay. Some of these performance artists are really dedicated; I've read about stuff like this before -- but, you know, I hadn't seen it before, really.

MALE ONLOOKER: [comes up and starts feeling MANDY's arm] Sure, I've seen this kind of thing. Once I was at the MoMA, they had a woman there who would eat anything the audience was carrying in their pockets. You know, it was about consumption, eating people's spare change and -- shopping lists, receipts from places [now fondling MANDY's breasts openly, but still addressing RACHEL and BECKY] -- you know, it was about capitalism. Yeah, pretty intense ... but you know, it's really admirable too, what they'll do as artists and performers; I mean, it's such a ... visceral ... experience ...


[NATE has taken CRUTCHFIELD's place under the dress, and before long, his fingers are running over her labia. Other onlookers move closer -- mostly men, but a woman or two as well -- while DR. CRUTCHFIELD backs away slowly and silently. His eyes remain fixed on MANDY's downcast face, and he begins to smile. Conversation picks up among all the spectators, many nodding and voicing approval. A small swarm of people closes in around MANDY, and more and more of them reach in. Someone's fingers enter her vagina; someone else starts to feel inside her mouth. Before long, her dress is slid up to her waist, and eventually to her armpits. After both her friends have been groping MANDY for some time, BECKY moves in as well and inserts her finger into Mandy's anus. The curtain closes on a shifting mass of people, whispering excitedly and crowding in around MANDY. Countless hands reach over and around each other to probe and explore every surface, inside and out.]


RACHEL: [as curtain falls] Look, there's more crying -- they were saying that was part of it earlier, too.

BECKY: Oh yeah, wow ...

The muttering and milling crowd slowly grow in numbers and huddle around the platform like predators circling around a prey. Their voices are muffled as sporadic bursts of laughter echo through the double volume building. Absolutely mortified, Mandy watches them pointing and discussing her appearance. It felt as if she was trapped in a whirlwind with random faces appearing from the haze … dropping words into her conscious mind.

Naked … shocking … breasts … art … innocence … ass … gossamer … tears … slut … girl … sexy … fuck … ashamed … modern … prayer … hopeless … stripped … embarrassed …

Each word shattered into her soul as she blinked her eyes bewilderedly. Self-pity and fear clutched at her heart as Mandy kept her eyes glued to the wooden prayer bench in front of her. It felt as if all the oxygen had been stolen from the room as she battled to breathe, her body demanding more air to sustain the gasps that were racing past her lips … the tightly strung corset denying it.

Mandy is poignantly aware of Dr Crutchfield’s position at all times. His voice reverberated through her mind … crystal clear … as if he was the only man speaking. “She lets you touch her, too, you know,” his words clanged in her mind, wrenching a strained gasp from Mandy as she shuddered. She listened in horror as he explained to the crowd around him about a very fictitious artist that had given an introduction that never occurred.

Mandy stiffened as she directed a pleading glance at Dr Crutchfield from under her lashes only to have him level a silent command at her with stern eyes and a quick nod of his head to keep absolutely still. Mandy’s shoulders sagged as she leant in and rested her head against her folded hands, closing her eyes tightly … another tear making its slow and laborious route down her cheek.

She felt his hand touch her shoulder … sending a bolt of electricity to jar through her system. He dragged his hand across her shoulders before letting it trail down her back. Mandy kept absolutely still … but her mind was screaming … her soul weeping. She felt like a patient who was anesthetised but still fully lucid as the procedure commenced, trapped in her body … to endure … the torture. “See? It's part of the piece, I think, is what he said; letting the audience participate, you see ... Adds to the effect, I suppose,” his words delivered her to the crowd, offering her on a silver platter to the masses.

Mandy died inside ...

The first hand smoothes across her hair and touches her neck … the touch gentle and furtive. A shiver runs down her spine as a soft whimper escapes her lips … she does not move an inch. Feeling the familiar touch of Dr Crutchfield’s cold and calculating hands push her forward, he spread her legs for the world to gawk at her most intimate of sanctums. Mandy dropped her head down to her chest and lifted her hands above her head. She leant against her forearms, her hair cascading around her, obscuring her face from view. Tears dripped from her eyes onto the prayer bench as she listened to the crowd’s response.

She feels his finger touch her, wrenching another whimper from her lips before the crowd descended on her. Hands exploring and touching every part of Mandy, every orifice, every limb, her hair, her mouth … every plain of her body. The noise from the crowd rises into a frenzy as her sobs are drowned out … her silent plea for help falling on deaf ears. Her breathing is erratic, her pupils dilated as her body numbs itself against the sensory overload. Mandy’s mind slowly grinds to a halt as the world takes a dizzying swirl around her … the restricted airflow proving inadequate to sustain the shock her body was entering.

Mandy’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as her entire form went limp against the prayer bench … her body starved of life giving oxygen … her mind surrendering to the blissful arms of darkness.