-02: Dr. Johnson-

After a week of daily meetings with him, I started to think that the initial meeting was just to catch me off guard.  Dr. Johnson was professional, warm, and insightful about my stresses and tension.  When I arrived after my evening class on the following Thursday, however, something seemed different.  Maybe it was that we had never met so late in the evening, the hallways completely empty.

But I think what really struck me was the chair I usually sat in had been changed out.  The one I now sat in was still rigid, but now had armrests on either side, the back of the chair slatted wood instead of fabric cushions.  “What happened to the other chair?” I asked nonchalantly as I settled in place.  The wooden seat was also rather uncomfortable and rigid.

“I thought we would try the next step,” Dr. Johnson offered in just as nonchalant a tone.  “For the last week, we have been working on building a trusted relationship between each other, but that isn’t exactly going to solve your issue of not being able to let go of control.”

“Oh?”

As he stood from his desk, I shifted, my eyes widening and my stomach doing a nervous flip when I looked down at what he held in his hands.  “What… What are we going to work on tonight, exactly?”

Instead of leaning back against his desk as he normally did, Dr. Johnson stood only inches away from my knees, various lengths of what looked like black leather belts in his left hand.  “We’re going to play a trust exercise, Penny.  Do you trust me?”

“Um…”

I was sitting straighter in the chair, my stomach twisting nervously.

“Place your arms on the armrests.”

Hesitantly, my arms moved from my sides and rested rigidly on the armrests.  “I am going to constrict you to the chair, and you are going to trust that I will untie you.”

“But what if--”

I couldn’t argue, struck silent when in a swift movement, he had taken one strap and looped it around my wrist with the armrest, pulling it tight and locking it in place like a belt.  The sudden binding paralyzed me, my eyes staring down at my right wrist.  Before I could retaliate, a second strap was secured around my left wrist, rendering me trapped to the chair.

My chest heaved as I took a sharp breath, my flight instinct kicking in with a frantic force.  I squirmed, fighting against the straps, but I couldn’t even move my arms back and forth, my elbows already in close contact with the back of the chair and the harsh wood holding my arm in place instead of letting me slide.

“No… N-No untie me--”

“This is good, Penny, you’re doing great.  Slow your breathing.  Deep breath slowly in,” he slowly walked behind me as I took a shaky breath in, my shoulders and chest both tense, “and slowly out again.”

As I exhaled slowly, he secured a strap just under my breasts, belting me tight against the chair.  I squirmed some more in a whirl of panic. 

“Keep breathing,” he instructed calmly.  “In, and out.”

I followed his instruction.  He waited patiently as I took control over my breathing; I had control, even though my body movements were stolen from me, I could still breathe.

“How do you feel?”

“Scared.”

“Scared?  Or excited?”

When I looked up at him, I saw a rare smirk on his face; one that seemed of satisfaction in his own deduction.  I didn’t know how to respond.  My limited movements began again once I had enough control over my breathing, avoiding a panic attack.  The belt around my ribcage was tight and restrictive, the straps on my wrists becoming permanent fixtures to the chair.

“Listen to your body, Penny,” Dr. Johnson continued as he leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms.  He still had a few straps in his hand, but he was content in observing for the moment.

“I just took away some of your control.  You can no longer move your arms, and you cannot get out of the chair.  The panic is settling because you trust me, but feel the other parts of yourself.”

I could feel the sense of exposure wash over me once more as I listened to him, closing my eyes to try and focus.  My bra felt tight and uncomfortable once more.  I squirmed in the seat of the chair and I could feel a faint wetness between my legs, which made me gasp a breath, opening my eyes once more.

His smirk turned into a smile and he stepped forward, moving to the next step and belting my ankle to each front chair leg, first right, then left.  My legs only spread slightly, my knees pressed tightly together in my own attempt of control.

“You need to let go and trust me, Penny,” he exhaled to me as he stood up a bit, his hand on my left knee.  “I will untie you, but you need to tell me how you feel.”

“I… I said…  Scared,” I replied again, my voice shaking faintly as I squirm against the bindings once more.

“You’re not scared,” he replied gently, slipping one of the last two straps around my right knee and tugging it to the chair leg.  “You’re scared of what you’re feeling, but you’re not actually feeling fear.”

A shaky noise escaped me as I took a sharp breath; not quite a gasp, but not a groan.  He locked the belt in place around my knee and followed suit with the left which spread my thighs only slightly on the chair.  I was gasping for breath; the belt around my ribcage constricted against my heaving breaths, my body only able to move from my shoulders and up as he secured my left knee.

“You’re wet, Penny,” Dr. Johnson confirmed, his voice still calm and assuring.  “Your breasts have swollen in your bra, your heaving breaths are calm but excited…  You have dampened your jeans.  You are aroused, Penny.  Not scared, not stressed.  Take a moment and feel it.  Really feel it.”

I take my breaths, my eyes fluttering closed again.  I could feel it; the tingling throughout my body once more.  The exposure, the vulnerability.  The arousal.  My body shuddered in reaction to the bondage, as if asking for more.  More release.  I had more control to be taken away, and I wanted it to be taken.

I wanted to be tied up more.