Who’s a Naughty Girl Then?

Today, a visit to Dr Butler’s.

She is sitting there, her skirt ruched a little higher than usual. Can I see, stocking tops? Or has my erotic imagination simply gone out of control?

It was be so tempting to just go up to her, to kneel before her, push up her skirt and put my head between her legs. Easy, apart from the fact that she would probably press some rape alarm she has hidden beneath the soft pale cream pillows of her armchair.

So naturally, I sit tight and pretend to be carefully thinking over her question rather than what her cunt would feel like under my tongue.

“Any stealing over the past week?” she says, tapping her pen against her teeth. A flicker of red tongue. What is it about her? Girls don’t usually affect me like this. She’s just so emotionless, and yet, who is that cold? Beneath the façade, the way she keeps herself so well in check, there is bound to be a hot, wet centre, bleeding to be loved.

I consider the question. Should I lie? No, I think, Dr Butler will see right through me.

“There was an occasion,” I say, looking down at my hands, pretending to be contrite. I think this is what she expects. “It was in a small boutique. I hardly noticed I was doing it. A pair of gloves. And when I noticed they were in my bag I wanted to put them back on the shelf, but didn’t dare, because that would have drawn more attention to my crime.

She questions me about my motivations. Why do I do it? Who knows. I know I need to be punished. But Boris has disappeared and I don’t know if he'll ever return. If only, if only, Dr Butler could just put me over her lap and smack me. Although I don’t think that would actually stop me stealing, although I think it would get me off. In fact I know it would.

“I’ve been having sexual fantasies about you,” I blurt.

Is that, a flush on her neck? I told you, inside she’s a seething mass of sexual energy.

She quickly regains her composure, pulls the skirt down over her knees.

“What kind of sexual fantasies?”

“Oh, mostly me spanking you and you spanking me.”

Does she realize she’s got the pen in her mouth and is sucking on it? I stare at the pen and she quickly removes it, blushes again.

“Do you want me to tell you about it?”

She shifts uncomfortably, picks up a notebook from the table beside her.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, for example, just now, I was thinking how nice it would be if you pulled down my panties and gave me a good spanking.”

“I see. And as a child, were you often spanked?”

“This has nothing to do with my childhood.”

“I’ll draw my own conclusions, thank you,” she snaps. “You’re missing Boris, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. But I know he might never come back. Whereas you, I know you’ll always be here, or at least until you’ve cured me.”

“Nobody can cure you. It was to come from you. Now, let’s talk about these fantasies.”

“Well, often I’ll daydream of spanking you and punishing you, and then of Boris and me using you as a sex toy.” I tell her all about it, going into graphic detail. She scribbles something on her pad.

“Maybe it would help,” I say, “if you really did spank me.”

She laughs. “Don’t you think that’s just a little bit unconventional?”

“I don’t know. You could pull down my panties and finger me a bit until I started to come, and then spank me real hard. Then the association between punishment and pleasure would be hotwired into my brain. Maybe it would even make me stop stealing.”

She stares at me, doesn’t say a thing.

“Do you know what I think?” she says eventually.

“No, what?”

“That you’re even more damaged than I originally thought." She looks at her watch, relieved. "And it looks as though our time today has run out.”

Oh well, it was worth a try.