The Satanic Psychiatrist by Blondie

http://disc.yourwebapps.com/discussion.cgi?disc=240472;article=152;title=Blondie%27s%20Humiliation%20Stories

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Chapter 2: Monica's "Therapy" Begins

Under the watchful eye of her psychiatrist, Monica, much like Lana had done over two years before, deliberately began unbuttoning the buttons of her starched white blouse. Her embarrassment was profound, an emotion clearly expressed by her profusely blushing cheeks. She slipped the long-sleeved blouse off and held it over her chest. Dr. Withers took delight in her patient’s bashfulness.

“You can hang your blouse over the back of your chair, Monica.”

She did so, and then turned back, her arms folded over the small protrusions on her chest. She was wearing a black bra with a small amount of lace around the cups. Dr. Withers allowed the moment to play out for a few moments before giving her next directive.

“I’d like you to take off your bra now, Monica.”

Of course Monica was not surprised, but her lack of surprise did nothing to diminish her state of distress. “P-please…” she started to plead. But she stopped herself, recognizing that it would be fruitless. Agonized, she slowly reached behind her back and unclasped her bra.

“Go ahead and drape it over the back of your chair, Monica.”

She carefully slid the bra from her chest and placed it with her discarded blouse. She immediately formed an “X” with her arms, crossing them over her chest with her hands on her shoulders. Dr. Withers smiled at her client, very much enjoying her embarrassment.

“I’d like you to fold your hands behind your chair for me, Monica.”

Monica, now in the throes of wretchedness, complied. In her nakedness she bowed her head and clenched her eyes tightly shut.

“Look at me, Monica,” ordered Dr. Withers. Monica opened her eyes and met those of her psychiatrist. Dr. Withers looked down at Monica’s breasts, smiled, then resumed eye contact with her patient.

“They really are quite small, aren’t they, Monica?”

Monica somehow flushed brighter. Dr. Withers knew exactly which buttons to push to exacerbate her humiliation.

“I asked you a question, Monica.”

“Yes,” the beleaguered young lady answered. She squeezed her hands together behind her chair in anguish.

“Yes, what, Monica?

“Yes, they are quite small.”

“What are small, Monica?”

“M-my breasts.” Dr. Withers looked at her sternly, an indication she was not satisfied with her answer. “My breasts are very small, Dr. Withers. Please…please let me get dressed now, I’m begging you.”

“We’re not quite done with your therapy for today, Monica. You put Lana through much more embarrassment than this, and it was in front of quite a few more people.” Her last statement seemed to give her an idea. She pushed the button of the intercom. “Tina, would you come in here, please?”

Monica’s look of open-mouthed alarm, accompanied by her unclasping her hands and crossing her arms over her chest brought a smile to Carolyn Withers’ face. She pressed the intercom button again.

“Oh, and please bring the digital camera with you. I’d like to get some pictures for Miss Prescott’s file.”

“Right away, Dr. Withers,” came the voice from the speaker.

“Oh God, please, no!” came the voice from the half-naked occupant of the chair facing Dr. Withers.

Within seconds the door to the office opened and the receptionist entered, camera in hand. She grinned when she spotted the barebacked woman leaning over in her chair with her arms tightly clenched across her chest.

“Would you like me to take some pictures of Miss Prescott, Dr. Withers?” asked Tina (much too exuberantly, for Monica’s taste). She stepped next to Dr. Withers and faced the mortified Monica Prescott.

“Yes, Tina, in a moment. As you can see, Miss Prescott is very self-conscious about her body. This is a positive trait, because when she is forced to expose herself it will only enhance her embarrassment, which will be very beneficial towards her recovery. Now Monica, I’d like you to take your heels off, then climb on your chair for me and reach for the sky.”

Monica flinched noticeably at this latest instruction. The image of Lana in this position was etched in her mind, and the image of herself in this same position in front of the leering Dr. Withers and her haughty secretary was nothing less than devastating. But she knew there was no other option. Sobbing quietly, she slipped off her shoes and somehow forced herself to climb onto the chair. Her arms remained across her chest and her gaze was transfixed to the floor.

“Arms up!” bellowed Dr. Withers.

Monica raised her arms above her head.

“Higher! Reach for the ceiling!”

Monica stretched her arms as high as she could. Her upper body was taut, and the white skin of her belly contrasted sharply with her black skirt and stockings.

“Excellent, Monica. Okay, Tina, let’s get a few pictures for the file. Wait until you see the pictures, Monica. With you all stretched out like that, your little breasts appear even tinier, impossible as that may seem.”

“Oh, please…” It was all the whimpering Monica could muster.

The secretary climbed onto a stepstool to get a better angle. “Smile for the camera, Miss Prescott. Say ‘cheese.’”

Of course, Monica Prescott was in no frame of mind to smile. The flash of the camera went off anyway.

“That was really nice, Miss Prescott,” approved Tina. “But I need you to look in the camera for me this time, dear. Ready? On three. One, two, THREE!” Monica looked up miserably at the camera while the receptionist snapped another photograph. “Excellent, Miss Prescott. Excellent. I have your e-mail address. I’ll download the pictures today and send you a copy.”

“Why don’t you tell Tina what you told me about your breasts, Monica,” suggested Dr. Withers.

The sullen victim was momentarily silent before relenting. “My breasts are very small.” She was nearly inaudible and her voice was quivering.

“Why yes, they are indeed quite tiny,” laughed Tina boisterously while staring directly at Monica’s underdeveloped bosom. Tina pulled slightly at the bottom of her sweater to augment her ample chest, which only added to Monica’s self-consciousness. “And your nipples are so teeny, they remind me of my ten-year-old brother’s. You must be awfully embarrassed, putting those on display like that. I can’t wait to see the pictures.”

“Yes,” countered Dr. Withers. “I’m sure Miss Prescott is quite mortified at the moment. Much like Lana was, right, Monica?” Monica remained silent. “Now, you started to tell me about the game you had Lana play while she was standing on the chair half-naked, much like you are right now. Let’s see, I believe the question was, ‘Which breast would you like to fondle for us?’ Please, show Tina and me what Lana had to do.” Monica closed her eyes, temporarily unable to do her bidding. “We’re waiting, Monica.”

Much to the delight of her small audience, Monica put one hand behind her head, and, using her index finger, alternated touching each of her nipples to the accompaniment of these words (and several flashes of the camera): “Eenie meenie minie mo,” began Monica, her voice shaking. “Catch a tiny tittie by the toe. My mommy told me to choose the very best one.”

Monica’s finger ended up on her right nipple. Dr. Withers and Tina clapped appreciatively. Monica’s humiliation was intense.

“Did you make Lana fondle her breast in front of everybody, Monica?” asked Dr. Withers, who was well aware of the answer. Monica nodded gloomily. “Well then, Monica, I think you should fondle your breast for Tina and me.” Monica proceeded to caress herself. Tina snapped another series of pictures.

“Very good, Monica, you can sit down now,” instructed Dr. Withers. “That will be all, Tina. Thank you very much for helping with Monica’s therapy. Oh, and Tina, could you please take Monica’s blouse and bra with you and hang them up in the closet for her? Thank you.”

Monica watched fretfully as Tina closed the door behind her with Monica’s blouse and bra in hand. Dr. Withers addressed her patient, who again sat with her arms across her chest.

“That was a very productive session, Monica. Do you think you learned anything?”

“I…I don’t know, I, um…I’ll have to think about it. Please, can I have my clothes back?”

Dr. Withers looked at her watch. “Our session is over, so yes, make your appointment with Tina and then she’ll return your clothes. I’ll see you a week from today, same time.”

“But…what if someone is out there?” asked Monica nervously as she slipped on her heels.

Dr. Withers knew she had no more appointments for the day, but she enjoyed making her patient squirm. “That’s the chance you’ll have to take now, isn’t it? All part of your therapy. See you next week. Good day, Miss Prescott.” With that, Dr. Withers rose from her chair and turned her back to the miserable Monica, who poked her head warily through a crack in the door before making her panicky exit.

When the door closed, Carolyn Withers sat in her desk chair and leaned back, enjoying the memories that were still fresh in her mind. Reaching into her bottom drawer, she pulled out a bottle of expensive cognac and poured a small amount into a snifter. She placed the rim of the glass under her nose, breathing in the fine scent. A warm feeling came over her as she contemplated her next session with Monica Prescott. Smiling broadly to herself, she sipped from her glass, celebrating her newfound victim to satisfy her prurient desires. -------------------------------------------

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