Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
When did this get out of hand?
Personally I haven’t a god damn clue! Though there are plenty of hints and moments in which seemed to speed these ‘event’s’ along. But all said and done there are ‘three’ people to blame. One of them was me, one of them was my therapist, and the last was my attorney. They make a lovely pair but oddly enough they have, NO FUCKING INTEREST in one another… That’d certainly lighten my load a bit.
She’s a lesbian and he’s a fag, and they both love playing with their toy…me. SO this conundrum I imagine is bouncing around in your head, but if you’re clever I think you can figure it out for yourself. She loves to doll me up and encourages me to ’embrace’ my feminine side. He likes knowing how far from feminine I am, and half the reason I’m still of ‘sound’ mind as he put it. Miserable, bitter, and so tightly wound that the slightest breeze makes me moan through clenched teeth. Luckily I’m aloud to speak my mind, ‘he’ enjoys it, ‘she’…not so much, so I cute it up a little…bitch.
My name is Wynne Snoe, and let me tell you a story…its not over yet and doesn’t look like it’ll ever will be but it’s gotta start somewhere, and lemme tell you where.
Psychological trauma, caused by witnessing something even I refuse to talk about. Long story short a kid should never see that much carnage no more than ten feet from his front door and to be ‘absolutely’ sure that his parents were gone and what a three car pile up looked like up close. Suffice it to say there’s reason I moved to the country and that I’m a ‘shut in’ or rather I suffer a form of Agoraphobia. I really do not like going ‘out’ but sometimes I have to and I always found myself running home before I decide to crawl into a small dark space and hide until its dark and no-one’s around. I’m a helluva people person…you’ll see.
As the story goes, I found ways to cope. Working from home was one, take-out was another. Therapy was court-ordered after I freaked out at the bank…there’s no reason for people to stand that close. Then again screaming and raving at room of twenty people with less than polite language and elbowing a security guard or two in the face.
I didn’t like these ‘egg heads’ and they took up my time; I needed to draw and naughty art while paying well isn’t exactly easy with someone breathing down your neck. I went through three of them before I met ‘him’. Ian Elway…thought he was a Nazi at first, tall blonde dark eyes, nice tan, great body. What can I say an artist appreciate art where-ever he finds it, and Ian was a masterpiece of a man. Kinda like a blonde ‘Hugh Jackman’.
Don’t get me wrong I’m not…wait I ‘wasn’t’ gay. I could still appreciate how attractive he was. Worse was that look he gave me when we first met. It was odd feeling, a warm but burrowing gaze like he was measuring me. Demon’s in angels’ skin and all that jazz.
“Wynne right?” That voice much like the rest of him was charming, smooth as a snake’s scales.
“Yeah and you’re the shrink, Hi, come in…close the fucking door.” I was watching TV at the time, so I ‘suggested’ he let himself in. I’d been in the house for around a month at this point, the ‘cleaning’ lady the delivery guy were the only people that saw me on regular basis.
“Wow…” He actually looked surprised from behind those oval wire frames he wore. “You’re a lot cleaner than the last person I treated…”
“Wow, back atya Doc, you’re a lot less of a dork than the last guy.” I smirked proudly with my trained and deadly sharp tongue. Ian stayed his distance, taking a seat in the recliner to my right. He was staring again. “Hope you’re not falling in love with me Doc, might violate your ethics.”
“I might be.” That made me blush for the first time in a long time, then again I didn’t date much… or at all. “You’re just not the typical kind of person that has ‘this’ problem.” Gesturing to my ‘fortress of solitude’ blinds draw warm colors, things in their proper place…my ‘room’ was another matter, bit disorganized.
“How’s that Doc?” I was curious, but kept a cautious Eye on him pretending to stay interested in what I was watching. To this day I forget what the program was.
“Young, male, clean, and that ‘attitude’.” He seemed to smile a little too much as he emphasized attitude. Should’ve been my first sign to say ‘fuck-off’ but because he was so…pretty. Little did I know he was thinking the same thing, more or less. A few things you may need to know about Agoraphobia…fun facts;
The symptoms are ladylike…in a social science kinda way. I read the long version bursa escort once so I could throw some big words at my last therapist, it was amusing. But it’s a combination of- helplessness, dependence, unassertiveness, and accommodation and paralyzing fear and panic. So long story short if I go outside and I cry like a girl. Then again I’m no expert this is just what I understood from wikipedia and personal experience…and what Weiss would use against me as time went on.
The next week went the same way every other session had, ending in a failed attempt to step more than ten feet from my door for longer than three minutes without a REALLY good reason to go any further like paying my bills. Everything tried with the others didn’t work but Dr. Elway was being thorough…as he put it. Saying that not all therapists were ‘him’. Ian had a HUGE ego…I’d find out how big much later.
The next week was where things got…weird. I was a little less of a ‘dick’ since the good doctor was playing nice too. What was weird was his new idea for, exposure treatment. Rather than just taking me outside and pushing me till I started running back for the door and black panic devoured my soul, for a colourful turn of phrase. Ian decided to ‘distract’ me from all those things out there, focus my mind on something other than the ‘world’ around me and all those pointy objects out there.
It started with a hat…beat my record…things were looking up, but it was a band aid. Temporary I’d forget about it and then all that fear came flooding back as I saw, people and planes and cars…god I hate cars! I was pissed at him threw the hat and told him to leave and not come back.
That was first time I saw him ‘take charge’. I felt small and helpless pinned to a wall…but in fact he was smiling and had one hand lightly on my shoulder, while his eyes and the tone of his voice nearly crushed me. “I AM not giving up on helping you Wynne, and you aren’t going to get rid of me that easily.”
That was the another step down the slope. We tried things…ridiculous things wigs, stupid shirts, funny shoes, itchy underwear… He was just running me through a few hoops first to get me used to the idea of doing ‘outrageous’ things. My definition of outrageous has grown considerably since.
It was a Tuesday when he broke the question to me. “How do you feel about panties?”
“Look great on the right ass.” I quipped and he laughed like I’d never heard before, but I thought I was utterly hilarious at the time. How was I to know that he had a thing for a short, skinny, caramel coloured, 22 old with long-ish black hair, and a slew of mental health issues. And that and my ass looked amazing in white lace. Complete mystery I tell you!!
“Well, how wearing them.” He asked more seriously, I lost my sense of humour immediately and waited for him to say it was a joke. That look in his eyes weighed on me again…he wasn’t joking. “Now I know it’ll work.” He smirked, and he was right but I didn’t know it at the time. Think about it…when you wear panties ‘you KNOW’ you’re wearing panties…kinda the concept.
“Why cause I’ll hate every second of it?!”
“Or love it, but either way its perfect, and ‘no-one’s’ going to notice what you wear ‘under’ your clothes.” He went through all his reasoning…was convincing too, and I cursed out a few times and eventually agreed. A day later he returned with a shopping bag and big stupid grin.
I punched him in the chest and took the bag to my room “NOT-A-WORD.” He didn’t say a thing.
I went upstairs peeled off my jeans just ‘grabbed’ one pair and slid them on. GOD they were smooth soft…and a little confining. It’s a very weird feeling trying them on for the first time, you want to hate them but it’s not made easy, though its torture on a tender hard-on. I still smirk thinking about that thought.
All I could think about on the way downstairs was how they felt; I was walking a little funny too. The look on my face had my therapist grinning. “Fuck you..!” I had to say that before he opened his yap and said something smart…that’s my job.
“Oh c’mon! No show?” I grumbled at him knowing that day was going to be a very long one.
His idea worked…it worked well. I could leave my house…with Ian; I was a long way from going anywhere on my own. He kept teasing me the whole time, reminding me of that silk friction between my thighs. He had to buy embarrassingly indecent ones too…saying that ‘they were more effective’. I was sinking into his trap and I didn’t know it yet.
Things would’ve kept görükle escort at their slow pace if not for an accident of fate. I was walking side by side with Ian, going out for coffee, building a ‘safe’ routine for me that took me passed all the places I needed to go, bank, grocery store, my attorney. Ms. Serena Vight, she managed my trust fund, I was ‘well’ off but not rich so I still worked my art. Ian and Serena were as thick as thieves from the get-go…shoulda been a sign…what can I say panties cut off blood to the brain, or that’s the theory I’ve come up with.
ALRIGHT the accident.
Nothing big really, I saw a car rear end another. You have no idea how hard and fast panic hit me. I tried to bolt like I had so many times before. Ian, my therapist, my friend was on me the second I turned the corner into the alley. Forcefully gripping my shoulders pinning me to the wall as I hyperventilated and struggled. He slapped me to get my attention, it didn’t quite work well. He could’ve done anything and all I wanted was to curl up and close my eyes, turtle up and shut everything out.
Ian was having none of that.
As if it were the last resort he moved us just on the other side of the dumpster. Flipped me to face the wall the brick biting into my cheek Ian’s weight on my back. Felt cool air on my ass and then *SLAP* I whimper and cried out as the hot flash of pain finally caught my attention. His lips at my ear, warm breath at my neck “You hear me now?!” His palm flat and groping circles, tugging at those silken under things as he did. I nodded tearing up feeling that helplessness and biting my lower lip, yet his touch grounding my fear…guiding it from that unknown terror to the fact that my therapist had pansted me slapped my ass and was now actively groping my.
“Wh-what fuck ar-are you doing?!” My voice a bit higher than usual.
“Getting your attention, or do I have to fuck you here in the alley before you calm down.” He didn’t really need to explain himself. It sorta made sense, but my brain was on overload at the time, right wrong…it was all bullshit.
“J-just get off me and l-let me go home.” He turned gentle again, turning me over to settle on my back against the wall, letting me pull my pants up, but there was something in his eyes. He so wanted more, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it at the time.
“You’re ass looks amazing in that pink number.” He quipped, I figured he was teasing me like usual just to keep my mind occupied and on him rather than my panic.
“You’re an asshole…” I don’t know why, but I held his hand on the way home. My ‘therapy’ was about to speed up in the coming days. I didn’t recall how I got home after that. I just remember focussing on the hot feeling warming my ass cheek…god he hit hard. The tightness of my under things and the warm hand in mind. I didn’t give a shit I was still in shock for fuck sake.
I’d passed out as soon as I hit my bed. My dreams were less than pleasant, like a car crash reel. I couldn’t even watch them on the news without getting flash backs. Seeing that ‘little’ incident sent me reeling and I was like the chick at a horror movie. I too stupid to know how close Ian was to joining me in bed. He stayed at my house that night. Worried about me… I’ve always been conflicted now and then, concerning how much he ‘really’ cared. He was still sadistically creative when he wanted to be, and I never saw any of his moves coming.
Speaking of which when I opened my eyes and looked around. I screamed “WHERE THE FUCK!” I wasn’t home and I was…not…happy. Nor was I at my most intimidating. I was shrill whiny and on the verge of tears, as horror of being in a strange place over took me. Worse I was still in those pink panties and I never sleep in my clothes. So let me ask you; what do you think Ian found when he came running.
A little thing in panties hiding behind the bed. “WYNNE!” His voice fell hard this time “THAT’s ENOUGH!” I winced under that heavy stare “YOU’RE safe this is ‘my’ home, you’ll follow my rules, and we’re going to stay here for a little while.” he went on to explain that it was better for me to get out of my comfort zone for a little while and going home was the worst thing for me right now. Ian didn’t want me crawling back into my ‘shell’ and risking our progress with familiar surroundings.
Truth of it was…I was on his turf, and outside ‘my comfort zone’ I’m bit of a scared whiny bitch that he could manipulate. Fear overrides common sense in any and all situations and I was going to be ‘afraid’ in this new strange bursa escort bayan apartment…
Ian lived in ten story walk-up…I was trapped. I couldn’t walk through all that, he knew it. Too many people, too much distance, and there was so many new things to freak me out. He could’ve left the door wide open and called me a cab and I’d run to the door and lock it shut. I think I actually ‘did’ once, a cruel little ‘test’ after I had a ‘fit’ about being cooped up here.
His words were “You’re the only thing keeping you here.” Fucking tricky bastard using my own cripple psyche against me.
Did I mention the thing about my ‘clothes’…no I didn’t did I. To further my ‘distraction’ therapy in this foreign place. He wouldn’t let me have them… I spent half a week prancing around his place in the panties he bought me. I cheated with blankets for a while then towels when he started locking up the blankets. All the while he insisted I start investing in my health.
Ian was a work-out guy. He had a huge apartment…a condo…pardon me. So the treadmill yoga mats and the diet came into play. A clever move on his part was offering me some his ‘girlfriend’s’ clothes. Yoga pants and skimpy work out T’s, he said it was a bit unreasonable to work out in silk and lace. I WAS skinny…anorexic almost. Ian was changing that, and my love of pizza had become a long lost love. I really hate salad, let’s just get that out in the open, there’s nothing like a good fatty steak. Even when Ian cooked it; and god he was an amazing cook. He’d have his portion and mine would be a miniscule fraction of his…fucking meat tease!
With all this I just went along with it, I was trapped in here with him. Luckily I got my laptop and some of my personal things, so I could work, and my attorney Ms. Vight saw Ian properly paid for all this ‘in-home’ care. He saw her on every pay day, and came back with an oddly pleased air about him. I’d be wreck again because he left me…I was probably feeling a little Stockholm syndrome at that point.
A month of living with him had me filling out his imaginary ‘girlfriend’s’ clothes quite well. Think I looked amazing in panties before, yeah right…Baby’s got back!…fuck I didn’t just say that out loud did I. At some point in jogging on the treadmill and looking into a full length mirror something clicked. My hair tied back into a pony tail my ass waggling as I ran. I WAS Ian’s fucking girlfriend.
Livid would be an understatement as this thought hit me, a burst of confidence, I felt I could walk out then and there but I wanted a piece of Ian first. “What fuck are you doing to me?!” I found him in the kitchen if that matters.
He looked at me like I was some kid with a tantrum “Helping you…in more ways than you think.” A tired but all knowing tone, looking at me so casually and calmly as I fumed.
“You’ve got parading around like a chick!” He smirked and raised an eyebrow.
“No…you’re parading around like a chick of your own free will.” He pointed out, the fact that he’s tried to help me get down those stairs but I kept running back or flat refused to leave the apartment “I’ve been cooking for you, getting you to work out, trying to help you overcome your fears, just look at yourself, you run ten kilometre’s a day now, you couldn’t do one when we started.” Such an ass, hiding behind ‘helping’ me like usual.
“You expect me to go home dressed like this?! Are you nuts?!” I was reaching; there was nothing that bad about black yoga pants blue sneakers and pink shirt.
Ian went to the coat closet and pulled a trench coat and hung it on the front door’s coat hook “There door’s unlocked, put on the coat and go I’ll call the cab again for you to.” He had me dead to rights right then and there, but I went through the motions of putting on the coat and my hand on the door knob. He was watching me so intently almost hoping I’d go through with it. I turned the knob and my heart started pounding harder and harder. It creaked open…to me it sounded like nails on a chalk board.
The door pulled loose of the wall and swung toward me. I was starting a cold sweat, breathing fast the condo spinning. I leaned forward and shut the door hard. My eyes tearing up as I slammed my head against it with frustration. “J-just take me home.” I whimpered.
Ian helped me out of the coat and supportively put his hands upon my shoulders. “I can’t do that ‘for’ you…but just know I’m going to keep pushing you, there are going to be some new rules around here.” Ian told me that my time as a ‘guest’ was about up and I had to start contributing despite paying him for therapy I couldn’t just lay about the condo, watching TV and drawing.
“Is up to you how far this goes, Wynne.”
Remember when I said I was one of the three to blame.
I wasn’t lying.
To be Continued!!
Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32