We all develop habits to cope and suffer through life. In middle school I starved myself to be pretty, like Annabeth, the prettiest and skinniest girl in school. In high school I cut myself. This was a subtle fuck you to my step mother Kristeena. She would see my cuts, but never have the balls to say anything. My upper thigh is still scared today. In college I was lucky enough to develop just a mild binge drinking problem and Adderall addiction. I coasted through class buzzed and sleep deprived. I wouldn’t have made it through med school without the Adderall.
I’m happy to say at 27, Ms. Angeline Harris is a Dr of Medicine. Daddy was so proud of me. The only good thing he did in life before he” suck started a shotgun” last fall was to pay for my tuition. I was his little princess growing up, he would tell everyone how smart, behaved and kind I was. What he wouldn’t say was how he liked to drink nightly, cheat on my mother weekly, and get very very touchy with my sister and I. But that’s a story for another time.
You’re probably wondering how a self starving, self harming drug addict became a Dr. That’s a valid question. The best guess I can come up with is because of Benjamin Stanley. I call him Ben, I’ve been seeing Ben since I was 19 when daddy found about about the drugs, sex and skipping class. Ben was daddies dear friend, and a licensed psychologist.
I was always open with Ben. I never shied away from my own doings and my past. I told him about the self harm, my parents divorce and how I just had a taste for random cock at University. Ben never judged me and always listened. I even told Ben about daddy’s fondness for Abigail, my older and prettier sister. I hate my father, but seeing him incarcerated was not what I wanted to see. Plus, how’s a girl gonna pay for things without Daddy’s money? Ben tried every trick in the book to change me and my behavior. I have my weeks where things go well, I feel better. I also have my bad weeks, where I cut, or try to take a bottle of pills before I come to my senses and throw them up. There really is only one method Ben has developed for me, it works. It keeps me level headed, grounded and most importantly, it leaves an imprint on me. Would you like to know? Would you like to hear a typical appointment with Ben and I?
My last appointment with Ben was three days ago. I remember that because by the third day I can sit without too much discomfort. I arrived at 4:45, early to my appointment. I’ve learned to never be late with Ben. I wait in his waiting area. Ben works from home so his waiting area is a small closed off room with a private entrance off his basement. Not the most professional thing, I know, but it saves him overhead.
At 4:55 Ben appears, and has a man with him. His previous session concluded, Ben bids farewell to the man and tells me to follow him. Ben leads me to his office, the same room we always use. Inside is a leather chair, brown and faded for Ben. For me, a loveseat style leather couch, matching brown and comfortably worn. Worn from years of tears, stress and people. There is an overhead light but it’s off, the only light comes from a desk lamp. In the center of the room on a red rug in a small 18 inch oak stool, no padding on the seat. Ben opens the door like a gentleman and I proceed in, with Ben following. I stand in the room, not sitting on the couch. It’s not time to talk. Ben walks to his desk holding a key, and unlocks the bottom left drawer. He takes out a 8 inch wooden paddle, with leather grip. The paddle has holes drilled a inch apart in perfect sequence. Ben looks at me, in the eyes, no smile or happiness in his soul. He sits on the stool and points at his lap.
Staring at his eyes and without breaking contact I walk to Ben. Standing close to him I use my hands to unbutton my jeans, and lower my zipper. I lower my jeans and underwear to just below my knees. My panties are nothing special, some granny panties if you ask most men. I’ve learned from personal experience it helps with the bleeding. I lower myself onto Ben’s lap, my stomach resting on his knees. My legs and arms Dangle loosely as I balance my core on Ben’s legs. With one hand Ben places his hand on my lower back, just above my butt. The other hand free, holding the paddle. This part of therapy is pretty straight forward, Ben asks me questions. If I lie I get hit, if he doesn’t like the quality of my answer I get hit. If Ben feels the urge to hit me, I get hit. Now before you think this is some sick and twisted sex cult ritual, this was all my idea. Pain and hurt is the only way to get me to open up and face my life obstacles. Ben however has a open mind to anything that helps patients, and this helps.
“Are you ready to begin Angeline?”
“Yes” I whisper under my breath.
It’s a unique feeling being in this position. Normally I have the control, but Ben has all the control and it leaves me uneasy.
“We spoke last session about you cutting back on the Adderall at work, have you?” Ben’s voice cuts through the quiet of the room.
“No, I still use Adderall on my twenty four hour shifts.” I say, bracing for the first hit.
WHACK the paddle comes down swiftly against both of my cheeks. I squeezed my ass together because I knew Ben would not like that answer. I have no choice to answer it honestly, Ben knows when I’m lying and when I lie, I get two hits. I can not see, but my ass cheeks feel very red, the blood flowing to the affected area. The body’s way of mitigating the damage. When this first started, I would lie to Ben a lot and I would have trouble sitting for days at times.
“What about the drinking? How often have you been drinking?”
“I have not had a drink since our last session.”
No hit this time, which is expected. It’s the truth, I have cut out drinking, and increased my Adderall usage. I can function at work on Adderall, alcohol is a big no though. I still do not know how Ben can tell if I lie or tell the truth, but he does.
“You said last time you were wanting to cut back on your random hookups, how has that been going Angeline?”
“I’ve seen three men since our last session.” I tell him.
WHACK, WHACK! Two swift and forceful blows from the paddle, square onto my ass.The pain radiates up my back to the base of my neck. I let out a loud yell, almost a whimper. Ben hit’s hard when I lie.
“FIVE” I bellow out, a tear streaming down my cheek onto the floor. “Three were in one day. I met them all off Bumble!”
The three hits to my ass hurt, but after the third my ass usually goes somewhat numb. The body learns to expect it and will do what it can to spread out the damage. The first time I suggested this type of therapy Ben was reluctant, even when he agreed to do it he would not hit hard. However, after a few sessions of paddling with some feedback, he could tell he was making progress. My drinking has almost diminished, my Adderall addiction is my toughest barrier to break, and my random fucks have gone from the mid teen’s a week to single digit hookups with random men offline.
“Why do you feel the need to continue to find random men for sex?” he says sternly.
“I don’t know.” I reply with an attitude.
WHACK, WHACK, WHACK.
“Think Angeline!” Ben’s voice is stern, loud and carries respect with it.
While slightly numb, three hard and direct blows to my ass leave me squirming.Ben keeps his non paddle hand firmly on my lower back. I am going to bruise badly tomorrow. Lying across his lap I pause, and think.
“I seek these men out because I know Daddy wouldn’t approve!” I say crying.
Tears are streaming down my face, the pain is building. My ass cheeks hurt, are red, and probably starting to bruise. I clench my eye’s in anticipation of another paddle. Ben does not hit me. He does not speak. A minute passes, then two, then three. Ben does this from time to time, he is thinking, wondering If our regular session can start.
WHACK WHACK! Two direct hits to my ass, I was relaxed when the first hit, unexpected.
“I want you to cut your adderall dose in half, It’s time you don’t rely on that so much. I also want you to go two weeks with no sex, from anyone.”
“Yes Ben.”
I hear the paddle fall to the floor. I can feel Ben’s eyes examining my ass. Looking at the red, and blue’s and welts. I’m a petite woman, I’m sure Ben can see how wet I’ve gotten. While very painful, the paddling arouses me. It always has, nothing I can do about that. Ben is a true professional though, never once touched me inappropriately.
“Alright Angeline, stand up, compose yourself and sit on the couch.”
I wiggle off his legs onto the floor on my hands and knees. I take my time standing up, it hurts to move. Reaching down I pull my pants and underwear up. Once I’m to the base of my ass the pain starts, the jeans take effort to get them over my sore ass. They are tight fitting and not the best choice for this sort of thing. Once I’m sitting on the couch, Ben moves to the chair. For the remaining thirty minutes of our appointment, it is the traditional type of counseling appointment you’re thinking of. Ben and I talk of the stress at work I feel, the pain and lovelessness I feel. Ben give’s me articles to read about people overcoming drug abuse and how they changed their lives.
The session comes to an end. My ass was numb sitting on the couch but once I stood, the pain came back. Ben leads me out the office and to the exit.
“Thanks Ben, I feel much better after that session” I say as I hug him.
Ben embraces me back and with a smile says
“You’re welcome, you’re doing well and improving. Just work on what we discussed and keep making progress.”
I walk to my car and cautiously sit in the seat. I turn the car on and unbutton my pants. Wiggling the pants to the floor I sit in my panties on my seat. I reach down to my crotch and feel the dampness, I’m still very wet from earlier. I put the car in reverse and head down the driveway, turning left onto the main road I push my panties to the side. While driving I reach a finger inside me, and slide in easily. “Might as well masturbate” I say aloud. Ben said no sex. Who am I kidding though, I most likely won’t listen to that anyway. My drive home is a moderate twenty minutes with traffic. I pleasure myself the entire way, orgasming twice. My car smells of me, but I don’t mind. I just hope I’m making good progress.
With the session complete Benjamin Stanley walks to his office. Walking inside he shuts the door. He moves the stool back to its proper location near the desk, and walks to his desktop computer. Typing in a special pass code, the screen turns on showing his office and him. The webcam running, recording the previous session with Angeline. Ben verifies the session was recorded and burns the recording to a disk, deleting the original recording. The same thing he did last October, right before he sent the tape and a message to Angeline’s father. That session was particularly brutal, Ben had paddled Angeline over fifteen times as she lay almost nude over his lap. Crying, and tears streaming down her face as she described her childhood trauma. Described in vivid detail the sexual abuse that Angeline’s father had done to both her, and her sister. The detail, so vivid, so real, so haunting. Ben wanted Mr. Harris to know the pain he had caused his daughters, the guilt he should feel. Ben’s message to Mr. Harris was clear.
“Mr. Harris. You have two weeks to get your affairs in order. By the end of the two weeks, you will either be in police custody, or dead. The choice is entirely yours, unlike the choice you gave your daughters. Kill yourself and bring peace to your family. Or watch as the world you’ve built will crumble as the media and law enforcement tear you apart
Your Friend
B
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/gwho2o/unconventional_therapy_mf
We need the sequel!