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From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimson@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASS/M} Repost: Cassandra (MF FF psych)
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This story was originally posted near the beginning of the year. Since
I don't really have anything new to share just yet (soon ... I
promise), I've decided to repost Cassandra for those of you that
missed it the first time 'round. I've recoded it since the last time.
I'm still not sure the codes are correct. The story was remarkably
hard to fit into the standard ASS/M storycode guidelines. You might
want to take that as a warning.

- Crimson

This is an erotic story. It may contain descriptions of sexual
activity. If this is going to offend you, I'd advise strongly against
reading any further.

I also had a great deal of trouble story coding this story for reasons
that will become obvious if you decide to read further. I'm not quite
sure if I got the codes right, but they are probably close enough.

If you are a minor, cease and desist as well. This story wasn't meant
for you. You probably won't like it anyway.

Characters and places are fictitious. Any resemblence to real people
and places are a strange coincidence.

I must thank Munk for looking over the story and pointing out its
numerous flaws. Any wrong-doing is entirely my fault, not hers.

I should also point out that BDSM is not an insane activity. This
story is not meant to convey that at all. Bondage and such related
activities can be very enjoyable in a safe, sane and consensual
atmosphere. It is when such activities stray to more non-consensual or
abusive siuations that it becomes a problem. I suppose this is common
sense, but it seemed worth a mention here anyway.

The story may be archived as long as there is no charge for access to
it, it remains unchanged and I am given credit for the work.

Comments are always welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com,

- Crimson


Cassandra [ MF FF psych ] 

(c) 1998

By Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)


"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked quietly from the dark leather
chair where she was seated. She'd been sitting silently, relaxed, just
watching him for some time before she finally spoke.

He sat safely behind his oversized desk and looked at her. Petite.
Long blonde hair. Her legs tucked under herself. She possessed the
most kissable lips that he could ever remember seeing. She was barely
out of her teens. Her dazzling blue eyes were fixed upon his face. She
exuded sexuality. He wasn't surprised by her question. He was
surprised by his immediate response. Yes. Of course, he wanted her;
anyone would.

Instead, he answered her in a quiet and thoughtful voice, "Sarah. That
isn't why you are here. And you know it."

Joyce Moore had referred this girl to him about a month ago. She was
deeply troubled, had violent behaviour, and was extremely anti-social.
Joyce had cautioned him before he had seen the girl for the first
time. Sarah had problems in her past that Joyce hadn't been able to
uncover. She no longer felt comfortable treating Sarah; no further
explanation given. She had warned him about Sarah and her techniques
of avoidance. This was the first time Sarah had been so blatant with
him. She hadn't given any indication at all of her sexuality up until
this point. In fact, she'd seemed almost shy of discussing anything to
do with sex. He wondered if it was a good sign or a bad one.

The girl leaned forward with her steady gaze still fixed on his face.
Her lovely lips moved forming the dangerous words, "You want to fuck
me. I can see it in your eyes. I see a lot. You can have me, you know."

He swallowed hard. "Sarah. Let's get back on track here. Okay?"

The lithe girl pursed her lips and leaned back in the leather chair.
"What if I'm not Sarah?" A mischevious smile played around her lips.
"You could fuck me if I wasn't Sarah, couldn't you?"

He considered her words. Multiple? This was her tenth appointment.
She'd never displayed any other symptoms before this. Despite his
initial doubts, he had to take her seriously, even if she was playing
with him.

"Who are you then, if not Sarah?"

"What if I told you I was Cassandra?" She leaned forward in her chair.

"You want me to call you Cassandra?"

"It doesn't really matter what you call me. As long as you do what I
want. You can use your wife's name, if it makes it any easier."
Cassandra was his wife's name. The coincidence disturbed him. Perhaps
it wasn't a coincidence; though, how this girl would be able to find
out his wife's name was beyond him. He suddenly felt off balance.

He knew about these. It happened to every doctor. A lovely patient
doing exactly this. His mind was spinning. Her purfume washed over
him. Her sexuality captivated him. His concentration was becoming
fuzzy. This was first year stuff. How to deal with a patient like
this. Every student was warned. Stop? Try to guide her back to the
session? Get someone else into the room? Bury his emotions and
reactions and explore this avenue? Allow her to continue her advances?
Would it lead to her problem? He was almost sure that he shouldn't
encourage her. He just couldn't remember. He felt like pounding his
fist into the desk. How should he handle this?

He'd already failed with her so often. Previous sessions ended with
her lashing out at him; hurting herself, breaking things. Violent.
Unfortunately the human mind wasn't an exact science.

His finger traced the call button on the intercom. He wanted to push
it and get Sheila, his receptionist, in here. He withdrew his hand. He
should be able to handle this. He was a professional. Dammit. This was
just a girl. A lovely girl, a disturbed girl, but above all a patient.
There were responsibilities here. She had come to him for help, not to
his receptionist. He had to provide that help to the best of his
abilities.

He took a breath and continued. "Sarah. Do you want to talk about your
sexuality today?"

"I'm not Sarah. I'm Cassandra. And no. I don't want to talk. Mrs.
Moore asked me the same thing."

"Alright. Cassandra. Who are you?" He thought it might just be better
to go along with her. He decided to let her lead the discussion though
he didn't really believe that she was a multiple, at least not a
classic one. Classic cases of multiple personalities were
exceptionally rare and this girl was smart enough to fake it. At least
until he caught her. What he couldn't figure out was why she'd want to
fake it. Didn't make sense.

"I'm Sarah, but I'm not. I help Sarah. Share her. It's hard to explain."

"Cassandra, you know Sarah?"

"Of course."

"Does she know you?"

"Who do you think called me? She likes you."

This was beginning to get deeper. Perhaps Cassandra did exist after
all. The voice was harsher, less gentle than Sarah's voice normally
was. Huskier. He hated to admit it; her voice was sexier. It was hard
to fake complete personality shifts for very long. If she was faking
it, she was doing an excellent job.

"She likes me? In what way?" he continued. He wanted to determine if
she was faking this or not. His ultimate goal here was to find out
what was behind her violence and her other anti-social behaviour. What
was behind her sudden personality shift? Was it all related?

"Likes you, likes you. What do you think?" She'd uncurled her legs,
crossing them demurely and teasingly. She had to be aware of what she
was doing.

"Cassandra. Why are you here?" Changing tacks.

"To fuck you. Why else? Isn't that what everyone wants? To be fucked?
Don't you want me? I'm soft and I don't bite."

He swallowed. Letting his eyes travel her body. He struggled to slow
his heart. Of course, he wanted to scream at her. Of course, he wanted
her. She must have seen his appraising look. Soft and she didn't bite.

"Can I speak to Sarah again?"

A mischevious grin. "Not until you do what I want."

He took a deep breath. "Cassandra. Sarah. You know that we can't do
what you want. If you even want it." He spoke a bit haltingly.

"But you want to. I can see it. And of course I want it. Don't be
silly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't."

In one fluid motion, the girl rose out of the chair. She kicked off
her running shoes. Her shoes landed with a light thud in front of the
desk. She wasn't wearing socks. She walked over to the desk, her bare
feet whispering across the carpet; she leaned on his desk, thrust her
breasts out against her sweater. He was almost sure he could make out
her nipples beneath the fabric of her top. He tore his gaze away from
her with a huge effort.

"You want me," she spoke in her husky voice. Her voice had far more
experience than he would have imagined in a girl this age.

"Sarah. I'm going to have to stop this session if you can't behave. We
can explore this at some other time. Or with someone else here. I
don't want to stop it, we're making progress, but I will."

"I'm not Sarah." She took a deep breath and returned to her chair. She
purposefully recrossed her legs and flexed her bare toes.

"What's this all about, Cassandra? You can talk to me."

She sat back, crossing her arms under her breasts. "What do you want
to know?"

"I need to know about you. Your past. What you are feeling now."

"I'm hot and I'm wet. I'm aching for you. Your touch. That's what I am
feeling." Her hand stole to her right breast and she gently traced it
through her sweater with her index finger. Her eyes locked onto his.
"Care to help me with that?"

"Cassandra. You must know that we can't do anything. Even if I was
interested."

"I know you are interested."

He felt himself reacting to her again. He reached for the intercom.
"I'm going to have to stop this for today. You can come back tomorrow,
and we'll discuss it then. Okay?"

"You can't handle me alone? Poor man." Then more softly, "I'll behave."

He looked at her. She looked so innocent. She was able to switch back
and forth. She could turn her demeanor on and off, like a light switch.

He withdrew his hand from the button.

"Cassandra? Put your shoes back on if we are going to continue. Okay?"

"Cassandra? Who is that?" A softer voice, almost frightened.

"Sarah?"

"What happened? I. I'm confused." She looked down at her bare feet.
"What happened to my shoes?"

He didn't quite know how to deal with this. "Sarah, you blacked out
for a moment. You kicked your shoes off. Why don't you put them back
on before we continue?"

She looked at him suspiciously. Frightened. She sat unmoving in her
chair. She blinked.

"Because I don't want to put them on. I'm comfortable." The harsher,
deeper voice returned.

"Cassandra?"

"Of course, who'd you think it was?"

"Sarah doesn't know about you, does she?"

"Of course she does. Who do you think calls me?"

"Why are you back? I'd like to talk to Sarah if you'll let me."

"She'll be back after we fuck."

"You know we can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Cassandra, you know why not."

"Don't you find me attractive? Who's going to find out? I won't tell
if you don't."

"I'd like to talk to Sarah."

"I'm not wearing any underwear. You want to see?"

"No. Cassandra. Keep your clothes on. Okay? I'll have to stop this if
you take anything else off. Understand?"

"I understand. I'll be good." She grinned mischeviously. She knew that
he wasn't going to force her to replace her shoes. She flexed her bare
toes, almost casually, except he knew that nothing she did was casual.
At least in this persona. His eyes were glued to her small bare feet.
And she knew it.

He took a deep breath, wondering how to proceed.

"If I've been bad, you can spank me," she spoke softly before he had a
chance to gather his thoughts.

Now this was interesting. He idly wondered if physical abuse had
contributed to this. In cases of multiple personalities, often some of
it could be traced back to sexual or physical abuse in the past. The
alternate personality was created to absorb the pain that the original
personality couldn't. Perhaps, she was trying to tell him something
unconsciously. He remained silent letting her continue. This was
almost certainly a genuine case of multiple personalities. He could
tell the difference. There was simply no way that she could fake it
this long without slipping somewhere.

"You want to spank me, don't you?" she spoke again, softly.

"Not really." Though he did. He couldn't get the image of himself
spanking her writhing body out of his mind. "Have you been spanked
before?"

"You can you know. I'll let you." Her hands stole to the base of her
sweater, fingering the material. Her fingernails almost sparkled in
contrast with the pale skin of her hands. His thoughts roamed to what
else she might be able to do with those soft hands. Red nails
stroking. Her body slowly slipping to her knees on the carpet. He
forced his mind back to the job at hand.

"Have you been spanked before?" he asked again patiently, trying to
control his breathing.

"Lots of times. I like it. It turns me on."

"Cassandra? Does Sarah like to be spanked too?"

"I don't know. Does it matter? She likes you. If she likes you, she
will do anything for you. Right?" Her fingers still played casually
with the fabric of her sweater. "Let me take off my clothes for you?
You want me to, don't you?"

"Cassandra. I'd prefer if you didn't do that." He hated lying to
patients.

She stretched out like a cat in the chair. She extended her long legs
towards him.

"You can tie me up if you want. Spank me. Right there. On your desk.
Tie my hands. My feet. Tight. I'll be helpless. Then you can spank me.
My breasts. My legs. My feet. My face. Even between my legs. You'd
like that wouldn't you? I don't mind." She held her wrists out towards
him, close together, offering herself.

He could feel his heart racing in his chest. It felt like it was
hammering into his ribs. He closed his eyes seeing pictures of this
lovely creature exactly as she'd discribed. Naked. Helpless. Spanked.
He fought it, trying to think of his wife. His daughter. His car.
Anything but her. He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes.

She had taken advantage of his inattentiveness, removing her sweater
while images of her flitted beneath his closed lids. Her sweater lay
crumpled on the ground by her bare feet in front of her chair, a flash
of blue against the mottled carpet. She was smiling at him, proud of
herself. His eyes had been drawn to the flash of colour on the ground.
He slowly raised his eyes. She had been telling the truth earlier
about the underwear, at least up top. Her breasts were even more
perfect than he'd imagined. Upthrust. Firm. Her breasts heaved as she
gazed at him with her regged breathing, her nipples noticeably erect.

"You want me. I know you do."

And she was so right. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Cassandra. You have got to put your shirt back on. Please."

"You don't like my breasts?" She gently squeezed them, playing with
her nipples. They hardened further under her touch.

"Cassandra, please. I will stop this."

She settled back into her chair, a mischevious smile gracing her full
lips again.

"Don't you want to know if I've done this before?"

Christ. If he stopped this now, then what? Would he ever get another
chance to probe this deeply into her psyche? His rational mind
screamed that he was a professional and that he would be able to break
through her defenses without resorting to this. It would just take
some time. This wasn't right.

"Have you?" his irrational mind had to know.

"Do you want to fuck me?" she whispered again. "Answer me and I'll
answer you."

"Cassandra. This isn't how it works."

"Why? Because you are the big doctor? I get to bare my soul? And what
do I get in return? I don't even get to bare this body for you? Why do
you get to ask all the questions? Make all the rules? Hmmmm?"

"Cassandra, put your top back on. Now. Please."

"No. Do you want to fuck me?"

He took a deep breath. "You know we can't. When have you done this
before?"

"Joyce wasn't as hard to break as you are. But then, she quit the
first session when I kicked off my shoes for her."

He swallowed. Joyce? His head felt fuzzy. His rational mind kicked in.
She was lying. Trying to trap him. Trying to shock him.

She took advantage of the pause. "Do you want me to take off my
shorts? I will you know." Her fingers were playing with the button.
"I'm not wearing panties."

"No Cassandra. I want you to put back on your shirt and your shoes."

"I made love to Joyce. She's your friend, isn't she?"

Perhaps her delusions would provide an answer.

"She's my friend. And she isn't homosexual. When did you make love to
her?"

"Have you ever made love to her? How could you possibly know she isn't
a closet lesbian?"

"How I know isn't relevant here." He and Joyce were good friends.
Collegues. There had been some attraction, but it hadn't developed
into anything. He was married. She was married. They respected that.
They'd attended some functions together, even danced. But they hadn't
proceeded beyond harmless flirtations. Overall, he supposed, he didn't
really know if she was bisexual, or homosexual for that matter. But
Joyce's sexual preferences weren't the issue here.

"You haven't had her. I can see it in your eyes. That's too bad. She
was quite an attentive lover. You would have liked her almost as much
as you are going to like me."

"Cassandra, you know we can't do this. We can talk all you like. And
you don't need to be naked. Put back on your sweater." The words were
becoming an effort to say. The sight of her breasts was rattling him.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from her half naked body, her long bare
legs, her small toes. He couldn't help wondering just what was beneath
those shorts.

"I like being naked. She resisted, too, you know. Longer than you
will. I had to work on her for three full sessions before she let me
do what I wanted. She stopped the sessions twice. But she was easier
than you."

"Who? Mrs. Moore?"

"Joyce. Yes."

"So you are bisexual then?"

"Isn't everyone? Isn't that what they teach you in your precious
psychology courses?"

"Let's get back to how you like being spanked."

"You liked hearing about that? You want to spank me? You can. As much
and as hard as you like. Where ever you like. I'll let you. Have you
ever spanked a woman during sex? I have. It's quite a rush hearing her
scream. I can scream for you. Or I can keep quiet. You can even gag me
if you like. I'd even let you gag me with my own panties if I was
wearing any. I'll do whatever you want."

"Cassandra, I don't want to spank you." He tried to lie convincingly
to this vixen. His arousal was mounting by huge increments as he
listened to her.

"You want to tie me up, then? Fuck me while I'm helpless? Spank me
when I'm helpless? That's what finally got Joyce."

"When was the first time you realized that you liked these types of
things?"

"A long, long time ago. It doesn't matter. Joyce liked tying me up."

He swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to will the images away.
Images flashed though his mind of this girl, squirming, tied down on
Joyce's desk. Crying out as Joyce hit her. The two of them making love
tenderly.

"You're picturing it, aren't you?" she asked. "Me. And Joyce."

"Sarah. We are going to have to stop for today."

"She finally let me strip. And then we moved all her pads and pencils
and things off her desk together. She used her scarves. Tied my
wrists. And my ankles. My legs apart. We kissed. Right there in her
office. Like that. Me helpless. Vulnerable. Joyce loved it."

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore her voice. He couldn't stop her.
He couldn't will the mental images out of his mind. He was so bloody
aroused. He tried to will his hand forward to touch the intercom. Stop
this. Get Sheila in here. His hand wasn't listening to his brain any
longer. He was captivated by Cassandra's husky voice.

"Do you want to know more? Or should we stop this?" she asked
innocently.

He opened his eyes. She'd shifted again. She was standing closer in
front of his desk, her breasts inviting him, drawing his full
attention. She smiled at him and slowly, deliberately unbuttoned her
shorts. She hooked her fingers into the waistband and slowly pushed
them over her hips and down her long legs. Her deep blue hynotizing
eyes still locked on his. She stepped out of the shorts towards the
desk, placed her hands on the edge, and leaned towards him. Completely
nude. The only coherent thought running through his head was that she
was a real blonde. This couldn't possibly be happening.

"C-Cassandra. You have to stop this. You can't do this. Not in here.
You have to get dressed."

"You don't like my body? Why should we be ashamed of our bodies? I'm
not."

He could see that. She didn't have a trace of self-consciousness. She
seemed almost happy to be romping around nude in front of him.

"I swear. Cassandra. If you don't stop this, I will get someone else
in here to stop this. Please. Get dressed, go sit down, and we'll
continue."

She pouted for a moment, her full lower lip quivering, her eyes
silently pleading. She eventually turned, presenting a beautiful
backside, and strutted back to her chair. She settled into it, making
no move to gather her discarded clothing. No move to cover herself at
all. Her face had lost the pout and she stared at him almost defiantly.

"Clothes," he motioned at her garments on the floor.

"I prefer not wearing them. I'll tell you what you want to know if you
just let me stay here like this. Nobody has to know. I won't come on
to you if you don't want me. All you have to do is tell me that you
don't want me. Please let me keep them off? I'm just more comfortable
this way. Okay?"

He would lose his license. He just knew it. May as well just take the
useless diploma off his wall and light a match under it now.

"Tell me about Joyce."

"You don't believe me. You don't believe that we had sex. Do you?"

"I think that it will help me understand you if you tell me what you
think happened between you."

"You just want to hear me tell you what we did. Even if it's a twisted
fantasy of mine. You think it will help you understand me?" She paused
for a second, thinking. "You think it will turn you on."

"Does it matter?"

"To you it does. Will it turn you on to hear about two women having
sex? Two women tying each other up? Spanking each other? I'll tell you
gladly if it will turn you on. I want you turned on. Are you jealous
of Joyce? She's had me and you haven't. Yet."

"Cassandra, will you please dress yourself?"

"Not yet. After we fuck. I'll get dressed after you screw me. You want
to hear about Joyce? It isn't a fantasy," she was barely whispering
but he could make out her words just fine.

"Tell me about Joyce." He had resigned himself to her game. It
couldn't hurt to continue; she was already nude and unlikely to get
dressed without outside intervention. Not like he'd ever be speaking
to any other patients again. Maybe this would tell him something about
this naked enigma in front of him. Perhaps he could still help her.

"I was stretched out on her desk. Bound with her scarves. Just as you
are imagining me stretched out on your desk. Only you want me in
chains, something harsher. I like harsher, by the way. And I was so
turned on. And so was she. She locked her door, drew the drapes. She
stripped, too. Except she left her shoes on. God, she was beautiful.
She hit me with her hand. It felt so good. Almost like the warmth you
get from hot chocolate after skating all day. And she liked it. I
could tell. It was in her eyes. She spanked me. My breasts. They hurt
for a while, but nothing major. I've been hurt worse. I didn't even
cry. She couldn't hit me as hard as you could."

She paused, watching him. His eyes closed, seeing the images.

"Then she let me go. Untied me. We used our tongues on each other.
Sixty-nined in front of her desk. Her on top. God. It felt so good.
She climaxed twice. Quite a woman. You'd have liked her. You should
really try to get in her pants. She'd let you. Might take a while and
a bit of effort on your part, but you could have her. The hardest part
will be getting past the respect she has for you. She might even let
you tie her up as well."

He opened his eyes. Her right hand was slowly stroking her left
nipple. Her face was flushed, her left hand played with her blonde
curls between her legs, her legs slightly parted. She presented a
tantalizing view and she was fully aware of it.

"Cassandra. You have to stop this."

"I thought you wanted to hear about me and Joyce. I'm just doing what
you wanted."

"I want to know why you came up with that fantasy."

"And why I'm coming on to you?"

"Yes."

"I'm doing it because Sarah likes you. Simple. And I know you want me.
No reason you can't have me."

"Can I talk to Sarah, please?" His breathing was ragged. He was having
trouble concentrating. He had to clear his head. Talk to Sarah. Or had
to get away from the sight of her. He was going to do something he'd
regret. Like not forcing her to get dressed. Like not stopping this
crazy session. Like not calling Sheila well before this got out of
hand. Like still not calling Sheila, even though it had gotten way out
of hand.

"If you fuck me, she'll come back."

"I have to get a drink of water, Cassandra. Do you want anything?" He
had to get out of this room. Away from her. Just for a moment.

"I just want you," she purred.

He gathered his strength. He tried to tear his eyes away from her as
he rose to his feet.

"I'll be back in a second. Alright? You stay there. And get dressed."

"Yes, sir."

He strode purposefully to the door and slipped through. Sheila looked
up at him quizzically. She was a psych major at the local university.
She knew that there was no way he should have left that room, leaving
a patient alone. Not during a session. She watched him as he poured a
glass of water from the cooler.

"Are you alright? You looked flushed," Sheila asked quietly. Concerned.

"I'm fine. Just a little thristy."

Sheila shook her head and bent back to her computer filing, not
willing to question her employer further. Patient confidentiality, and
all. She thought it was a bit odd that he hadn't just buzzed her and
gotten her to bring in refreshments like normal. After all, that's
what she was paid to do.

He slipped back into the room leaving Sheila to wonder to herself. Any
explanations that Sheila concocted would be so far from the truth that
it was almost comical. Sarah was still nude, idly playing with her
bare breasts. An excited flush had spread across her cheeks.

"I missed you," she whispered.

He returned to behind his desk. "I thought I asked you to get dressed."

"What are you, my father?" she started to get flustered. She visibly
fought her emotions under control and rose again to her feet.

"I'm not your father," he responded automatically. A faint look of
confusion crossed her features and then vanished. "I just want you to
get dressed. For both our sakes."

"And I just want to fuck you. For both our sakes. I'll get dressed
afterwards. I want you. Don't you want me?" She threw her bare breasts
out towards him again. He tried to avert his eyes, but failed. "You
can have me any way you want me. Doggie style? Straight? Tied up? My
ass? I can give you a blowjob you'd never forget. Better than your
wife. I swallow. Your wife ever let you tie her up?"

"Cassandra. Why are you doing this?"

"Joyce has a tattoo, you know," she remarked quietly. She stepped
around the corner of the desk, her bare feet light and silent on the
carpet.

"She does?" He knew Joyce had a tattoo. At some function, he'd
remarked on it. She'd been wearing a rather low cut evening gown and
the tip of the tattoo had just cleared her neck line. It was a small
panther, low on her right breast, though he'd only seen the nose of
it. It had been barely visible and only because of the daring dress
she'd worn. He'd been surprised that she had a tattoo at all. She
didn't seem the type. She had seemed very embarrassed about it,
especially considering its location and that he'd noticed it. She'd
gotten it one night as an undergraduate, after a party, she'd explained.

"A small black panther. I think you know where."

He swallowed. How the hell could she know that? Unless ...

"Oh my God," he whispered, suddenly frightened, realizing the
implications.

She was right beside him. Her female scent and arousal washed over him
in waves. He closed his eyes again, breathing her. His arousal
mirrored her arousal, whether he wanted it to or not. His fright at
her revelations simply melted into his deep arousal.

She sat up on his desk and he pushed himself back. Hard. His chair
ended up against the window. He tried to clear his spinning mind. He
had to get as much distance between them as he could.

"Joyce was fun, but you'll be better. I think," she whispered
seductively. "You and I both know that this is going to happen sooner
or later. Why are you fighting me? You gay? I doubt it. I can usually
see those things. Don't you like me?"

"Cassandra. You have to stop this. Get dressed. We'll finish this
tomorrow. Please?"

"Begging me? I thought I was begging you. Master?" Her eyes shone
playfully. "I can be your slave, if you want."

She inched her legs up onto the desk. Carefully, she watched his eyes,
ensuring that he was entranced by her. Like he could tear his eyes away.

She curled herself up on his blotter, watching him like a lioness.

"Come here," she spoke softly but commandingly.

Despite himself, he found himself moving forward towards her. He
struggled with his own impulses. He was married, for chrissakes. He
couldn't do this. Wrong. Even if he couldn't remember the way to
handle it, he did remember the instructor's warnings. Wrong. Wrong.
Wrong. No can do. License revoked. And he was obviously handling this
wrong. Completely out of control. There was the beautiful naked Siren
perched on his desk to prove his incredible incompetence.

"Cassandra. We are going to stop this. Now. Get off my desk. Get
dressed."

"You sound like my father. I just want to make you feel good. You can
make me feel good. What's wrong with that? Just pretend I'm a younger
version of your wife. She doesn't have to know. Nobody has to know.
Just you and I. Our little secret," she was whispering again. She bent
to kiss him as he neared her.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slapped her. Her face
rocked back onto her shoulder. She cried out in pain. Her hands flew
to her face, rubbing at her stung cheek. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He was
almost sure that his instructors had never mentioned slapping a
patient as an option for therapy. Not even in the advanced classes.

A small, higher voice emerged from her throat. "Daddy?"

He was dumbstruck that he'd slapped her. Knowing his license was long
gone, he moved back again, rolling the chair frantically back towards
the window, watching her. He couldn't quite believe what was
happening. She had her eyes closed. A frightened look on her face
replaced the wanton lust from seconds before.

"Daddy? Please? I don't want to tonight. Please?" Her breathing was
becoming laboured. "I. I don't like him. Please? Not the ropes. Oh
God. Please? I. I'll do it. You don't need to tie me up. Nooooo!" She
screamed. "Oh God. No more. It hurts. I'll do him. I'll suck him. I'll
behave. I'll obey. I'll be good. Please. Not the belt. Not there. Oh
God. No. Please. Daddy? Please no. It hurts."

He was in shock. Psychology courses can't prepare you for this. No
way. Not ever. Nothing can ever prepare you for this.

"Sarah?" he spoke gently to the naked girl sitting on his desk.

The girl finally opened her eyes, but she still wasn't seeing.
"Please?" she begged, still in the higher, younger voice. He had no
idea what daemons she was fighting. What she was seeing. What she was
even begging for. She looked down at herself. "Oh God. Not again." The
voice older. Softer. Sarah. "What have I done?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all."

"I. Where are my clothes? I've done it again. Haven't I?" Her hands
reached to cover herself, across her bare breasts. She pressed her
thighs together tightly.

"Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet. And you aren't going to either. You're
safe here." After some of the images that he knew were still in his
head, he doubted the truthfulness of that reassurance.

Her free hand traced up to her face, rubbing at the hand print across
her left cheek. Tears coursed down her face. Her mouth formed the word
soundlessly, as though calling an invisible person, "Cassandra".

The girl stretched out again. She was back in control. The
transformation stunned him. Her long bare legs tantalized him as she
stretched herself back out on his desk, pulling her hands away from
her breasts, displaying herself again for him. She knocked his pens
down to the floor with her outstretched legs. He remained safely
pushed back from her near the window.

Her fingers still traced down her reddened cheek. She looked at him.

"See? I told you that you could hit me. That you wanted to." Her hand
dropped back between her legs. She moaned slightly as her fingers
found her lower lips, lightly stroking herself. "You liked it, didn't
you? I did." She offered her other cheek. "You can hit me again if you
like. Harder if you want. I don't mind."

"Cassandra?"

"Who else?"

"Let me talk to Sarah."

"I don't think so. I may have been out of it for a second there, but I
know we haven't done the wild thing. You're still dressed. I want to
see you naked. I want to fuck you. I'm naked. You should be too.
Please? For me?"

"I need to talk to Sarah." Cassandra was getting in the way here.

"No. I want you first."

"I thought Sarah wanted me."

"She does. She just doesn't want to admit it."

"Sarah needs me. To talk with. To help her. Not anything else." It was
getting easier to resist this gorgeous creature. He'd seen her soul.
However briefly, he'd seen the hurt, scared, little girl buried within
her. He consciously tried to ignore her scent, her lithe, adult body,
her irresistable sexuality. There was a little girl in there, somewhere.

"Says you. I didn't ask for your help." Her face became a bit more
distant. An inner struggle was in progress just below the surface.

"What did your father do to you, Cassandra?"

"My father?" she paled a bit. "Don't you want me? Please? I don't want
to talk about him. I just want you."

He struggled with himself, knowing that he had to stop this. He'd
already slapped her, stepped way too far over the line. But he was so
close, yet so damn far.

"Your father."

"I loved my father."

"Did you?"

Her face began to collapse again. A single tear coursed down her
cheek. He couldn't tell who was going to surface. Still wasn't sure
even as she spoke again in a quiet whisper.

"It would have been so much easier to fuck you."

She closed her eyes, tears falling helplessly down her pale cheeks.
She hung her head almost looking like a defenseless, helpless, little
girl sitting up on his desk. Defeated. She took a deep breath, looked
at him with her pleading eyes, and then gently touched the intercom
button with her bare toes.








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