Twisted Therapy (3 of 3)
Justine's web of lies begins to unravel, revealing a shocking connection to Dr. Ross's past. The finale will leave you questioning who the real puppet master is.
Chapter 7
Rough? I could give her rough. I might even enjoy it this time.
“The role-playing thing? It starts now. First, grab my hair and pull me to your chair.”
“I'm not going to do that.”
“Then your wife will die.”
I gritted my teeth but said nothing.
“Next, you'll fuck me in my throat until I choke.”
"You’re insane.”
"Why do you think I had sought help from a psychiatrist? By the way, are you supposed to tell your patients they're insane?"
“I don't feel obliged to follow any rules with you."
"As if you ever did. One more thing. You aren't allowed to climax. Age isn't on your side, and I expect your erection to last. My disappointment is not an option."
“Jesus…”
“Him? Seriously? Anyway, we’ll see how it goes later. You can grab my boobs or turn me over and fuck me from behind. Use your imagination.”
She was insane. She prepared an entire plan. A complete scenario about how she would want me to have sex with her. Step by step. That was sick.
“That’s it. For now.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Unless, as a bonus, you want anal."
My face grew hot.
"After all, aren't we supposed to do everything your wife and my husband did together?”
“Shut up. And… Let’s get it over with. The sooner I can get rid of you, the better.”
“If you say so…. You may begin now.”
I had doubts. What if she'd use it to get at me later? She could accuse me of rape. Even if I defended myself claiming she blackmailed me, officially—she came to me seeking psychotherapeutic help. I have to keep the photos. I could use them in my defense.
And Maria…. What choice did I have?
Pushing my doubts aside, I seized her hair with my left hand, causing her to let out a scream. Was it just an act, or did I actually inflict pain? Yet, she didn't resist when I pulled her towards my armchair. Sick bitch. Holding her hair with one hand, I unzipped my pants with another and pulled them down. She shrieked and squirmed, but her talent for drama wasn't lost on me.
This time, I welcomed my hard-on. I pried her mouth open, and following her instructions, shoved my dick inside. Then, I gripped her head as she had done to me before and began thrusting in and out.
At one point, she was gasping for air, choking on my erection, but since she wanted it that way, I didn't hold back. After a moment, I let her breathe, surprised I hadn't climaxed. Then I forced her back onto the armchair.
She fought me, the bitch! She even gouged my neck with her bloody talons.
I seized her throat and planted my lips on her ear. "Want me to fuck you or what?"
“Can’t make it too easy. Grab my boobs.”
I reached inside her dress.
“Tear it, you fucking moron!”
“You’re mad.”
“You’re a shrink. You should know how to treat mad people.”
With shaking hands, I tore at her dress, exposing her tits. I grabbed them and squeezed. Hard.
She tried to claw my face, but I yanked her towards me. With her hands pinned behind my back, she struck me, her nails sinking into my skin even through my shirt.
I pressed my lips to her ear. “You love it, you sick bitch. You love the pain.”
"You love inflicting pain. That's who you are."
She couldn’t be right.
Our rapid breaths mingled.
I grabbed her buttocks.
She pushed me away. “Suck my nipples.”
I did.
“Now fuck me.”
She battled me when I forced her legs apart, yet when I pinned her wrists above her head and penetrated her, her struggles… ceased. I channeled my fury into my thrusts, slamming into her with increasing force.
I clutched her neck, my skin tingling with the ecstasy it brought me. Her face flushed, breath growing ragged. If I didn't loosen my grip, I could strangle her.
Perhaps I should have.
But I let her go.
By the time I came, she must have climaxed at least twice.
My anger faded slowly, transforming into pain.
Maria had betrayed me. It was the simple truth.
I felt torn between setting her loose and letting her succumb to the chill of the freezer.
Looking exhausted, Justine sank into the armchair. The torn dress barely covered her body. She pulled her legs to her chest and laid her head on her knees. The mix of sweat and mascara streaked her face, making it look as if she had been crying. A sense of déjà vu reminded me of another girl who once assumed the same posture.
"I did what you wanted." I pulled up my shorts. “Now, tell me where's my wife? Where did you lock her?"
She raised her head, her expression blank, as if she didn't know what I was talking about. “What? Oh, your wife? I… lied.”
Chapter 8
“You lied?”
"I'm not a murderer. I stole her phone and disabled her car."
"She's not in the freezer?"
"I didn’t put her in one."
My mind raced, demanding answers. "So… all this… was just an act?"
"Fucking awesome act."
I raised my fist.
“Go on, hit me. I know you’ll enjoy it.”
Would I?
I dropped my hand and searched for my pants. The bitch made me furious. "So, Maria's safe?"
"How should I know? She's your wife, not mine."
I located my pants and slipped them on. I checked my pockets—my phone was missing.
Justine rose to her feet, securing the remnants of her torn dress. The ripped sections hung loosely, exposing her breasts.
“You’re not going outside like this.”
“You care?”
“I don’t want anyone to see you coming out of my office in this state.”
"Worried what people might say? Relax, I have a coat." She moved towards my desk and grabbed her purse. "Did you get a kick out of it? Silly question. You're a control freak—you keep your emotions in check. Never let them out, not even during sex."
“Shut up.”
“But this time was different, wasn't it? You felt something. And you loved it.”
"I said shut up." I slammed my fist into the armchair, knocking it over. My phone was under it—must have slipped out when I took off my pants. I grabbed it and called home.
Justine was kneeling on the floor, collecting the discarded photos, and stuffing them into her bag.
I walked closer. “Just what do you think you're doing?”
“Taking what's mine.”
“Not anymore.”
She looked up. "Still want them examined?"
"That's none of your fucking business."
“Does it matter if she betrayed you? It’s not like you’ll change anything in your life.”
I ignored her. I was more worried about Maria, who wasn't picking up. If Justine disabled her car, she could still…
“Yes?”
I almost dropped the phone when I heard Maria's hurried voice. She was safe!
“David? Is that you?”
"Yes, honey, it's me. Hold on." I looked up.
With her hand gripping the doorknob, Justine was at the door, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across her face. “How much do I owe you, Doctor Ross?”
I mouthed a silent 'fuck off', then said into the handset, “Maria? I tried your cell, but you didn’t answer. What happened?”
Before she closed the door, Justine held a hand to her ear, a mocking imitation of a phone call. Damn her.
"I’m sorry. Just got in. I had a huge fuck-up today. First, a client stood me up, and I couldn’t find my phone. I must have left it at… never mind."
I caught sight of Maria's phone resting on my desk. I'd have to devise a clever plan to give it back to her.
"Then my car broke down, leaving me stranded in an isolated area. Are you heading home soon? I'm in dire need of a reassuring embrace. Do tell me if you've wrapped up for today. "
“I'll transfer my session notes to my laptop and leave.”
“Good. I love you. See you soon.”
“Love you, too,” I answered automatically and hang up.
Was she lying when she said she loved me?
Was I?
But then, she didn’t betray me, right? Justine lied, must have. Bitch. Not only did she manipulate me into sex, but she also stirred doubts in my relationship.
I slid my phone into my pocket and lifted the armchair from the ground, placing it back where it belonged. Talking to Maria felt reassuring, but it didn't change my mind about having the photos analyzed. 'Trust but verify' was my mantra for the night.
But when I scanned the floor for the photos, they vanished. That damned woman took advantage of my conversation with Maria and stole the pictures. Now I couldn't verify their authenticity. That was Justine's ultimate goal: to instill doubt about my wife.
Fuck it. Even if Maria had an affair, would I really want to know? I'd never confront her, anyway.
I headed to the bathroom to wash off Justine's scent under a hot shower. When I came back, I brewed myself a cup of coffee and settled into my armchair. I needed space to digest everything. Time to gather my thoughts and analyze the day's events.
I could pretend nothing had happened, but I couldn't deny one thing: sex with Justine was… different. That "call me" gesture as she left… Did it mean anything, or was she just messing with me?
My cell buzzed. Maria? No, private number. I pressed the phone to my ear. "Yes?"
"Missed me?"
Chapter 9
“I said I’d call you. I’m home, in case you’re worried. How do you feel?”
“I told you to fuck off.” My pulse quickened. It was rage, of course. What else?
“I forgot to tell you something.”
“You stole the photos.”
“They were mine.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Then listen.”
A frustrated growl rumbled in my throat. I gripped the phone tighter, resigned to listen to her twisted words.
“I was curious. Heard a lot about you. From my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“She was in love with you. Completely mad about you. When you dumped her, she tried to kill herself.”
“I don’t know your sister.”
“Two years ago. She used to be your patient. You fucked her—quite regularly, from what I heard. Then you abandoned her.”
Faith… She meant Faith. My gaze settled on the armchair she used to occupy after our lovemaking sessions, her head resting on her knees, her wide eyes fixated on me. Just like Justine today. That's why she looked so familiar.
“Faith is your sister?”
“You remember.”
“But… Did you say she wanted to kill herself? Is she all right?”
“I saved her.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I… didn’t know.”
"Didn't care, most likely."
"That's not true. If only I knew—"
"You should've thought of it before you ended the relationship."
"I'm sorry."
"You will be. Do you remember that Scandinavian movie—I forgot the title—when a woman filmed a guy raping her? She hid a camera inside her bag. You should reconsider your profession. You could do well as a porn star."
Fuck! I knew it.
“Remember how you snatched my hair, hauling me toward your armchair? The way you ripped my dress and raped me?”
“You forced me to do it!”
“It looks different in the video. I was trying to defend myself. Fighting you. Crying. And don’t forget that I was your patient.”
Cold…. Why was it so cold in here? Almost freezing.
"Hey, doc. Still there? You’re not having another panic attack, are you?"
“What do you want?”
“One million dollars. Half for me and half for Faith."
“I don’t have that much money,” I lied.
“A doctor? A psychiatrist? With a private practice and working in a hospital? For… how many years? I did my research. Faith helped. You shouldn’t have boasted about it.”
“They’ll know it’s a setup the moment they hear your voice. Blackmailing me. Telling me about that role-playing bullshit.”
“Oh, that? There was a problem with the sound. It didn’t register. At all.”
“Bitch. I don’t believe you. You’re bluffing again. Besides, who brings a camera to a psychotherapy session? It's obvious you wanted to blackmail me.”
"Feel free to talk to your lawyer about it. But don't forget about the torn dress. And how much of your DNA I have inside me. Under my fingernails, too. Remember when I scratched your neck? I’ve heard cops have these rape kits."
Damn it. She really meant it.
"I’ll give you some time to consider. Until tomorrow. It's recommended to collect DNA evidence using a rape kit within seventy-two hours after a sexual assault to ensure the highest chance of obtaining accurate results."
"Are you reading a rape kit manual to me?"
"I knew you could be funny when you choose."
"Does Faith know about it?"
There was a pause. “You abandoned me, David. I thought I couldn’t live without you. Justine helped me understand it was a lie. You have to pay.”
“Faith? I…. Why do you—”
“She’s gone,” Justine’s voice was back. “Check your email. There’s a link to the video there—to convince you, I'm not bluffing. I'll delete the source in ten minutes.”
“Ask Faith to talk to me, or I won’t pay anything.”
“She doesn’t want to have anything to do with you.”
“I’m surprised you’d fuck me just to help your sister.”
“I would do anything for my sister. The money helped, of course. Besides, it was nothing special, nothing I don’t do regularly. Better check if you didn’t catch something. I cannot guarantee my clients are always safe.”
“Your clients? Oh, fuck me. You’re a whore? That's just hilarious. Wait a minute, if you're a whore, your accusation won’t stand in court. I have nothing to worry about anything.”
"You're so funny. You fell for my trick again. I was curious to see if you'd assume a sex worker can't defend herself in court. Shame on you, Dr. Ross. You should rethink your career path. You're not fit to be a psychotherapist. But I’m not here to judge you. Once you settle the payment, I'll let it go. And no, I'm not a prostitute. I'm an actress. And I don't do porn, either. Never have. Though, playing with you was… entertaining? And if you still insist on labeling me a whore, at least I'm a high-priced one. One million dollars. Wow."
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t report me anyway?”
“None. But think of my sister’s name: Faith. She had faith in you, and you failed her. Now it’s your turn to have faith.”
“Brilliant. Ingenious plan. Congratulations.”
“Oh, it wasn’t mine. Faith came up with it.”
“I don’t believe you. She'd never ask you to have sex with me."
“You're right. She didn't. She said we should hire someone. But I thought it would be fun to do it personally. It was.”
“Let me talk to her. Please.”
“You had your chance. It's too late. Now grab a pen to write down the account number. If I don't see the money in the morning, I will go to the cops. And your career as a psychotherapist will be over. Unless you want to continue your practice in jail.”
THE END
Please note, there's an additional act—an epilogue—in the audio version. A surprise for you.
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 (current)
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