The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction and any resemblance between characters in this work and actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. This work contains scenes of explicit sex between adults and is intended for the entertainment of adults only. If you are offended by depictions of adult intercourse or if you are less than the age of majority in your jurisdiction please do not read or download this file. Because this is a fantasy, characters in this work engage in unprotected sex in a universe where AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases do not exist. In reality sex without protection is unwise and nothing in this work should be taken as condoning such activity, or any of the other activities depicted herein.

SHRINK, RAPT

For Cleopatra, whose gentle suggestions finally convinced me to rewrite an earlier version. Comments always welcome:

—Downing Street

Ahem. Is this on? OK, here we go.

Psychiatric assessment notes for Joshua M., age 19, by Dr. April Finebod, Crown Prosecution Office. The subject was remanded to custody by Judge H. on August 15th, 199_. Charges considered are public lewdness, indecent exposure, incest and possibly coercion. No charges have been laid, however, pending further investigation. This will be a standard, five-day evaluation for psychological fitness.

Background: Joshua comes from a complicated blended family. His father, a successful lawyer, now lives in a distant city with his third wife. Joshua was spending the summer with his stepmother, his father’s second wife, and her daughter Tabitha, from a previous relationship. Joshua is a sophomore at _____ University, on a scholarship, majoring in biochemistry. He has no history of mental illness and has never been in contact with the justice system.

Police Report: Police responded to seven complaints from neighbours of the M. residence, which is located in a quiet, affluent suburb, over a period of about three weeks. All of the complaints concerned public exposure, excessive noise, or allegations of sexual misbehaviour. The complaints were resolved satisfactorily by an officer visit or over the telephone.

On August 13th, police received another complaint of (quote) women running about half naked in the middle of the day (end quote) from a neighbour of the M. residence. As this was the eighth such complaint, two uniformed officers were sent to investigate. The officers report being greeted at the door by (quote) a very attractive woman of about 30 years of age, dressed in a black, French Maid’s dress that displayed her breasts down to the nipples and failed to cover her buttocks (end quote). The woman identified herself as Mrs. M., Joshua’s stepmother.

At their request, Mrs. M. led the officers through the house, which they report was neat and orderly, to the back yard, in which there was a large, landscaped pool. There the officers found (I’m quoting again) two women of perhaps twenty years of age engaged in lesbian sex on a padded lounge by the pool. Both women were nude, except for extravagantly high-heeled sandals. These women were later identified as Tabitha, Joshua’s step-sister, and Krystal, her long-time friend.

A young male (later identified as Joshua) sitting in a chair nearby was sipping lemonade and watching the two women, while simultaneously being fellated by a tall, thirtyish woman dressed in a neon pink bodystocking. One of the officers recognized the latter woman as Mrs. Leah J., the neighbour who had registered the original seven complaints about the M. household.

Unexpectedly, none of the female participants in this tableau stopped what they were doing when the police arrived. Mrs. M. offered the officers a glass of lemonade. Only Joshua seemed concerned. The officers report that he became very agitated, pushed Mrs. J. away (with some difficulty, the officers report) and began expostulating to the police, protesting innocence of any wrong-doing.

All those present were arrested and brought before Judge H. on August 15th in a regular session of Family Court. The Crown suspects coercion or intimidation of other participants on the part of Joshua, who was remanded in custody pending further investigation. Mrs. J. was returned to her husband’s protection, after he averred that he had no awareness of her activities.

The remaining members of the family were allowed to return home after agreeing to refrain from any physical contact or public nudity until the case was resolved. This decision was taken against the advice of the social worker called in on the case, who judged it extremely unlikely that the women would abide by the terms of their release. Indeed, Judge H. reprimanded Tabitha and her mother several times for inappropriate touching in the courtroom.

No alcohol or illicit drugs were found on the premises.

My first session with Joshua is scheduled for one o’clock this afternoon. It will last for one hour.

Psychiatric assessment of Joshua M. at conclusion of first session.

Joshua arrived at 1:10 p.m. As is customary for subjects in custody, he arrived in the company of a uniformed officer, Officer Sheila E., who waited outside during the session.

On first appearance, Joshua presents as any 19-year-old college student. He is tall and lanky, with an unruly mop of red hair. I could detect no physical impairment, no evidence of drug use, nor any bruises. He was dressed in jeans and a loose shirt.

Joshua’s initial manner was one of high nervousness. Despite having spent nearly 24 hours in jail, long enough to have composed himself after the arrest and arraignment, he was agitated and jumpy. “I didn’t do anything, really!” were his first words to me.

It took me some time to calm Joshua sufficiently to begin the evaluation. He was naturally concerned about his legal situation. In particular, he asked several times if he would appear before the same judge again, and how many court appearances would be needed if charges were laid.

I re-assured him that any charges were purely hypothetical at this point. I explained that this was a routine procedure to assess his mental state, and that, while my recommendation might bear on the eventual laying of charges, nothing said here could be used against him. Finally, after some deep breathing exercises, I convinced him to lie on my couch and answer a few questions.

Given the family situation, I was alert to signs of psychopathology. Violent and sociopathic teens may sometimes so intimidate their families that they essentially take over the household, especially when there is no other strong male figure to restrain them. Such a scenario would be consistent with the sexual behaviour of Joshua’s stepmother and sister, if they had been repeatedly abused or threatened with violence. It would be unusual if such intimidation extended to the other women present at the time of arrest.

I found no evidence of abnormal family dynamics. Joshua’s mother pays the bills and buys the groceries. She has a successful career as an estate agent, which has continued and indeed prospered despite the peculiar relationship with her stepson. Joshua reported that his sister was looking forward to her freshman year at the University of _____ in a few weeks time.

Sociopathic individuals are adept at constructing false personalities which they use to charm and manipulate other people. These personality “fronts” can normally be pierced by verbal probes that elicit self-defense. I challenged Josh several times in ways designed to test his sincerity and balance.

Again, I found no evidence of psycho-pathology in Joshua. He is intelligent, open, and seemingly well-adjusted. The nervous, friendly, eager-to-please young man that he presents is apparently his true persona.

Nevertheless, there were several elements of the session that bear further investigation. I asked Joshua who had purchased his mother’s French Maid outfit. He replied: “She did.”

“On your instructions?” I asked.

“No, it was her idea. She has a bunch of clothes like that. She says it’s fun to dress up.”

I then asked him how he felt about his half-sister and Krystal (both of whom have steady boyfriends) performing sex acts in front of him. His reply was cryptic: “It kind of bothered me at first, but I guess I got used to it.”

I was also perplexed by Joshua’s several references to “the accident.” He repeatedly protested that nothing was his fault, that he couldn’t control it, that it all started with the accident.

When pressed, he became agitated and distressed. His answers were difficult to follow. I decided to pursue the matter later.

Finally, I was puzzled by Joshua’s reaction to me personally. I have mentioned that he presented with nervousness and agitation. Nevertheless when he first entered my office he looked me up and down with a directness I found frankly unsettling.

I have grown accustomed, given my sex and age, to being regarded with sexual interest by criminous subjects. Joshua’s look was neither the sniggering leer of a street punk, nor the cold appraisal of a gangster. Rather, it was simply—well, appreciative might be the best word. He admired me as you might expect a young man to admire a fine automobile or a custom sound system. In a different circumstance I might have found it flattering. Still, I was glad I had chosen to wear a pantsuit today.

Today’s session was successful in establishing background and personality. I believe Joshua will soon trust me enough to divulge the nature of his relationship with the women in his home. Unfortunately, we ran out of time today to explore “the accident” to which he obliquely refers.

Officer E. returned for Joshua at 2 p.m. As he was leaving, he gave me another long look, similar to that which began our session. I felt like I was being inspected, and that I passed. It was a peculiar way to end the session. I confess I have been pondering that look ever since; I am still uncertain of its significance.

Psychiatric evaluation of Joshua M., day two. Today’s session began at 10:05 a.m. Joshua arrived in the company of officer Sheila E., who waited in the outer office as before.

Joshua was wearing clean clothes. Officer E. reported privately that his stepmother had been granted access to his holding cell to deliver toiletries and a change of clothing. She was dressed conservatively in her business clothes. Nevertheless she was forcibly removed from the building when she was discovered giving her step-son manual stimulation through the bars of the cell. I am astonished and appalled at the persistence of this perverse behaviour.

Today’s session was hampered by the subject’s mental state. Joshua was desperately worried about the prospect of criminal charges. He was morose and despondent and could not concentrate on my questions. It was clear we would make no progress unless I could calm him down.

I led Joshua through more deep-breathing exercises. We did the exercises together, so that Joshua would not feel self-conscious. I was grateful for the opportunity to relax myself. When he entered the room Joshua gave me another of those penetrating looks that quite upset my equilibrium.

As yesterday, his look was neither leering nor overtly sexual, although I am sure at that moment he was seeing me as an attractive young woman and not as a psychologist. Rather, his regard was one of open and unreserved approval, whether of me, of my appearance, or of something else I am not sure. It was the look one would give a lush desert, perfectly prepared, as it was set on the table before you, or a bottle of fine wine after the first sip.

Joshua’s sweet regard threw me off balance more than I expected. It took me some while to recover. Although I am wearing a skirt-suit today (my navy blue one with a knee-length skirt and heels) there is still nothing in my appearance that I would have expected to elicit such a moving expression of appreciation. I used the relaxation techniques as a cover to regain my own composure.

The exercises helped, but our session did not proceed well. Josh was deeply worried. I could hardly blame him: he had spent the last two days in a jail cell, with minimal family contact and no idea what his fate would be. I reassured him repeatedly that my ambition was only to help him, not to further any criminal proceedings.

I am intrigued by the outre elements of this case. One does not expect to find ingrained incest, not to mention casual sexual relations between both sexes, in a well-to-do city suburb. There seems to be no source for this dysfunctional behaviour. Moreover, the apparently contented way that the women involved have come to accept the situation, to the point where they hardly seem to think it abnormal, I find baffling.

Perhaps the most fascinating aspect is the position of Josh at the centre of this wanton web. I am reminded of the scene presented to the policemen who made the initial arrest. All the women around the pool were evidently behaving for Josh’s enjoyment. Yet they seem happily unconcerned about rejecting social norms—or perhaps even liberated from them.

I looked Josh over, carefully and repeatedly, while we talked. I can still find nothing in his appearance or manner that would render him so compelling, or that would bring out such lewd behaviour in those around him. The only unusual feature of his comportment is the way he looked at me from time to time. I would catch his appreciative gaze every time I crossed my knees, or brushed back my hair, or even smiled. I found these looks highly distracting—so much so that the quality of my note-taking suffered in the latter part of our session.

I do remember that we talked about Josh and his family for quite a while. I do not recall particulars, but he does seem to be loving and supportive of his stepmother and half-sister. They lived together for some years with his father before the second divorce, long enough for him to think of them as family.

We also talked about the “accident” to which Josh referred the day before. It had something to do with an experiment in biochemistry, using a harmless virus as a carrier for some genetic material. I think it was supposed to infect his skin cells or some such. Darn, I wish I had taken better notes.

Anyway, the virus turned out to be not so harmless after all. Josh is convinced that it did something to him, changing his body chemistry in some way. This altered chemistry supposedly changes the way other people react to him. It is a far-fetched theory, but he presents it with conviction. I will have to read up on the biochemistry.

At 11:06 a.m. Officer E. knocked on the door to remind us the session was over. I was a little surprised at how swiftly our time had passed. I promised Josh we would talk again tomorrow. He seemed eager to continue. I am pleased with the rapport we have established in such a short time. I left Josh in the hands of Sheila, who escorted him back to his cell. As Josh is clearly low risk, she did not bother with handcuffs.

I have seen no evidence in Josh of mental imbalance. I am having difficulty reconciling his otherwise exemplary behaviour with those peculiar looks he keeps giving me. He did it again just as he was leaving. I can only describe it as a combination of satisfaction and admiration—and it is very gratifying. In fact, it has rather occupied my thoughts since our session ended.

I plan to do some background research on the biochemical matters Josh raised. Right now my thoughts keep coming back to . . . oh my, I’m a tad flushed. This is most disconcerting. The way he looks at me, it’s . . . it’s . . . Uhm, maybe this biochem stuff can wait till later; I’m feeling rather . . . whoo, maybe I’ll just, uh, nip into the powder room for a moment.

Psychiatric evaluation of Joshua M., day three. This case continues to perplex me. I am beginning to question my own objectivity.

Sheila escorted Josh to my office at about 10 a.m., as usual. She seemed in unusually good spirits. To my amazement, she gave Josh a kiss before he left, when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I was shocked. While he may seem harmless, Josh is a prisoner of the Crown. I expect the constabulary to treat him with due regard for his status. That sort of behaviour is enough to have her suspended. I made a mental note to lodge a protest. For the present, however, I asked Sheila to wait outside while Josh and I had our session.

Despite the close rapport we developed yesterday, Josh was surprised when he saw me. Until that moment, I had almost forgotten I was wearing a miniskirt. It was in the back of my closet from my clubbing days. Pale pink, rather stretchy. I wore it with a white silk blouse and my best heels.

I’m not at all sure the mini was a good idea. I initially conceived it as an experiment. I was wondering if those odd, penetrating looks Josh was giving me were in any way related to my appearance. If that were so, then a more pleasing appearance should elicit a more approving look. On the other hand, maybe I was imagining it—like Officer Sheila, getting a little soft from too much time in the company of a cute young man. The atmosphere of sexuality imbuing this case may be affecting us emotionally.

Unfortunately, my original theory proved correct. This time when Josh looked at me, I felt it right down to my bones. I think I actually shivered. I got Josh settled on the couch as quickly as I could, avoiding eye contact, then sat down myself and tried to get my breathing under control. I proceeded with the evaluation only after my pulse had stopped racing.

I was still very unsettled, however. I have been dwelling on Josh’s situation excessively, to the detriment of my other cases. I spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening wondering how he was getting on.

True, it must be uncomfortable for him, stuck in that horrible jail cell, out of touch with his family, not knowing what is going to happen to him. But his situation is no different than that of dozens of other detainees that I have assessed without obsessing. I need to keep my eye on the ball.

Earlier, I got so worried about Josh that I made a discreet call down to the lock-up when I knew Officer Sheila would be on duty. What I heard was even more disturbing.

She told me that the guards were upset about Josh being locked up like that, and were trying to make his stay a little easier. They brought him hot meals so he wouldn’t have to eat the prison food, and fetched him coffee and the paper every morning. He is given exclusive use of the communal prison shower. The jail-cell mattress is old and lumpy so somebody brought in a futon that Josh can fold down at night for a comfortable sleep. One of the guards moved the little television from the watch desk into Josh’s cell so he could watch the box to pass the time.

What is going on here? Has the entire jail staff gone peculiar? There are regulations about handling prisoners, they know them as well as I do. No prisoner is to be given special treatment. When I protested these facts to Sheila she was surprisingly defensive. She pointed out, correctly I concede, that Josh has not been charged with anything and therefore does not deserve to be treated as a criminal. That hardly justifies a good-bye kiss outside my office!

If these transgressions against regulations weren’t enough, Sheila admitted that the jail staff allowed Josh to spend unsupervised time with his stepmother. She dropped by again with some more clean clothes and some cookies. The guards had been warned that Mrs. M. wasn’t stable, yet they casually left the two of them to “talk undisturbed” for more than an hour! Didn’t they suspect there would be lascivious behaviour?

“Well, uhm, yes, I’m pretty certain Josh fucked his step-mother on the futon,” Sheila said, when I pressed her about it. She sounded guilty, like a child admitting to stealing cookies. I didn’t know whether to be more offended by her dereliction of duty or her vulgar choice of words.

“How do you know that, if you weren’t in the room?” I asked.

“Well, for one thing, we could hear her screaming,” Sheila replied. “And for another, when she left the building her brassiere was hanging out of her purse.”

I rang off, more bewildered than before. Josh and his stepmother committed incest, in the legal sense at least, right there in his jail cell. Not to mention flatly violating the terms of Mrs. M.’s release. This went on under the noses of the guard staff who, instead of upholding decorum, actually assisted with the tryst.

Yet Sheila defended it. She said it would be stressful for Josh to be abruptly deprived of a source of affection to which he had become accustomed. Especially when he is all by himself in a lonely jail cell. The weird thing is, for a moment she almost convinced me. I really need to step back a bit on this case.

The assessment did not go well either. I had forgotten, when I made my foolish decision about clothing this morning, that Josh is just a teenager. My legs drew his attention like a magnet. I made a special effort to sit primly, which is difficult enough in this skirt, but every time I looked up from my notes I found Josh’s eyes all over my Hanes.

It was utterly disconcerting. His looks are so melting, I think, precisely because they are the antithesis of the cool, undressing stares that confront women every day. There is something in the innocent directness of Josh’s looks that I find profoundly pleasurable. The sensation is attractive, and difficult to ignore. To do so required so much mental effort that my notes were becoming increasingly incoherent.

Eventually I gave up trying to take notes and turned on the tape recorder instead. At least that gave me both hands free to tug down my mini. Not that it did any good. I’ll comment on the taped conversation at the end:

“Josh, come on, my eyes are up here.”

“Oh, uh, sorry. Again.”

“That, that’s OK. Let’s move on. Tell me about the accident.”

“Mmmmmmm? Oh, that. Didn’t I tell you yesterday?”

“Yes, but I forgot to . . . Well, tell me how you knew something was different. What happened after the accident?”

“It was Professor Supple, my biochemistry prof. She was the one doing the experiments when . . . the accident happened. She started acting funny.”

“Funny? Funny how?”

“Well, she became really, uhm, friendly towards me. She started fussing over me in the lab. Flirting, like. Took me out for pizza. Bought me a new jacket. I started to think she was, you know, interested in me personally.”

“How did you respond?”

“I, I didn’t know what to do. She’s cute, and it’s really a turn-on to have a woman come after you like that, but shit, she was twice my age, and my professor! I didn’t want to get in trouble. Eventually I went to see her in her office. I told her I was, like, uncomfortable working for her.”

“What did she do?”

“She, uhm, asked me to check if her seams were straight.”

“Come again?”

“She was wearing this foxy white dress, all slinky and tight, and she had on old-fashioned stockings with seams up the back. Dead sexy. She turned her back toward me, then raised the hem of her dress so I could see more and more of her legs. She kept asking me to check that her stockings were straight.”

“And were they?”

“Shucks, doc, I don’t know. I’d never seen a woman dressed like that before. By the time she got to the garters I was barely breathing.

Then she turns around, slow and sultry, and kisses me right on the lips.”

“Oh, my. That must have surprised you. What did you do?”

“Well, I . . . I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I should have probably pushed her away, but, well, she is sexy, and she’s a hell of a kisser, and . . .”

“And?”

“She had her hands in my pants.”

(Gasp!) “Oh, I, I see. Well. So, you had an affair with your professor?”

“An affair? It was more like a barn fire. We fucked at least twice a day, more sometimes. Mostly we did it in her office, between classes. She’d spread her legs on top of the desk, or over a chair. Sometimes we went to her apartment, or this little room at the back of her lab. A couple of times we used a washroom in the library. She even stroked me off during a seminar once. She was insatiable.”

“How did you feel about all this?”

“I was dazed. Confused. I didn’t know what to think. But doc, the thing is, the sex was out of this world. What could I do? Hey, I’ve got her picture here somewhere. Wanna see it?”

“Well, I don’t know if that—oh all right, sure.”

“Here, I think I have one in my pocket. The police took my wallet. Where is it, ah, there you go.”

“My word! Th-this is your professor? How could she—I mean, uhm, well, she is, uh, quite a looker, isn’t she? Even with hardly any clothes on. She, uhm, let you take this picture? With her posed—like that?”

“It was her idea. You can keep that if you want. I have dozens more.”

“Uhm, thanks.”

“This is turning you on.”

“What? Whatever makes you say that?”

“I can see your nipples through your blouse.”

“What! Oh, oh my god. This is mortifying. I’m s-so sorry Josh, this is completely unprofess—here let me put my jacket back on. I, I dressed in a hurry this morning and I guess, I, uhm, forgot my bra.”

“There’s no need to turn so red. You have lovely breasts, doctor.”

“Oh, you, you think so? Well, uh, thank you, I—No! Wait, this is entirely off the subject. Please, stop looking at my—at me. Let’s get back to business.”

The session went downhill from there. Not only had I compromised my professional standing by becoming blatantly aroused by Josh’s story, I had given him a sassy little tittie-tease to go with the leg show. Worse, the pink jacket I used to cover myself (which I should never have removed in the first place) pressed my blouse against my nipples. Every little movement gave me a delicious reminder of how turned on I was.

I tried to get the session back on track, by concentrating on Josh’s obviously fabricated story about his professor. It sounded like a classic wish-fulfilment fantasy. I intended to use that analysis to regain my clinical detachment I might have succeeded too, but for one thing.

Josh had an erection.

I know this was so because I could see it tenting his jeans. Damn, I had forgotten again that Josh is just a teenager. At his age, the barest hint of sexual context is enough to produce tumescence. And I had bared more than a hint.

That did it. I couldn’t even begin to focus. It was impossible to continue the conversation without being distracted every moment by Josh’s boner. It charged the whole office with sexual electricity. He was lying on my couch, right in front of me. I could have reached out and touched . . . Dammit, I’ve got to get a grip on myself!

I don’t remember much about the rest of our conversation. My notes are a jumble. Fortunately, before I could make a bigger mess, there was a knock on the door from Sheila, reminding us that it was time to go. Looking at my watch I was surprised to find that our session was well over its hour.

I led Josh to the door and handed him back to Sheila. She was getting a little agitated by this time. She gave me a quizzical look, which I thought was because of my little mini. Then I realized that my face must have been flushed and my eyes glazed. Some of my hair had fallen out of its bun. I must have looked a sight.

Sheila didn’t kiss Josh again, at least while I was looking. She did put her arm around him protectively to lead him back to his cell. She was wearing impractical high-heeled boots beneath her uniform. Had I not been so disquieted by my own loss of objectivity, I would have registered a complaint about her behaviour immediately.

As it is, I am in no position to complain about anyone. I have clearly sacrificed my moral authority in Josh’s eyes. I am uncertain that I can get it back. I am late composing these notes because . . . good lord, after Josh left I was so stimulated I had to duck into the washroom and . . . relieve the tension. Twice. I confess it was an intensely satisfying session. Mmmmmmm, yes.

In spite of that interlude, I am still not composed. Dammit, what is it about that boy that is so . . . stimulating. I can’t stop thinking about how he looked at me: the admiration in his eyes, that charming smile on his lips, and that big, hard cock in his—what am I saying!

Oh my god I am losing it. I, I need a drink, or something. Wait, where is that bottle of Christmas cheer, it used to be in the bottom drawer. OK, this will help. Jeez, my hand is shaking.

Oh god (Gulp!) Whoa, that is strong!

Just one more. (gulp, gulp) There. Whew!

OK, that’s a little better. I need to get a grip. Shit, I am so turned on. Mmmmmm, maybe, maybe I’ll use the washroom again. It felt soooo good last time.

No! I am not going to do that. I will not go jilling off again like a horny high-school hussy with a crush on the quarterback. I am going to behave like a professional. I am going to go over to the Crown Prosecutor’s office—right now—and withdraw from the case. I will simply admit that my objectivity has been compromised.

When I get back I will edit these tapes to remove the irrelevant parts. No need for anyone else to know about this.

Psychiatric evaluation of Joshua M., day three. Supplementary notes.

Dammit, I am still assigned to the case. I was unable to convince the Crown Prosecutor to relieve me. In fact, the meeting did not go at all as I anticipated. I had great difficulty explaining my situation. I was giddy and confused. Two shots of whiskey before the meeting was clearly a mistake.

So too, apparently, was wearing a tight miniskirt and high heels. The Crown couldn’t keep his eyes off my legs any more than Josh could. Or my boobs, once I unbuttoned my jacket.

The awful thing is, I did nothing to discourage him. For crying out loud, I was teasing him. I got carried away. Maybe that was the whiskey? After a while, I became more concerned with exactly how my legs were crossed than with the matter at hand. No wonder I couldn’t convince him to relieve me.

The man is married, for heaven’s sake.

Shit, I am a mess. I must get a grip on myself! Where’s that bottle—maybe one more?

I’ll try to drink this one a little slower.

I had better not wear this outfit to the office again. It was fun though, I have to admit. Talking with the Crown, watching his eyes sneak down to my thighs, I felt so feminine. His eyes don’t have the same impact that Josh’s do though.

Josh says I have nice legs. I wonder if I should try stockings, like Professor Supple? These nylons look good, but . . . hmmmm, I’m getting all tingly again. Thinkin’ about Josh looking at my legs. And my titties . . . oh, my, this little skirt is so . . . convenient. Oh yes, yes. I, I’ll get back to this—Mmmmmmmm! I’ll get back to this later.”

-got to turn the machine on! Oh land, I am so confused. OK, OK, I’ll try again. Come on April, pull yourself together. I have to finish this damn assessment. Then I’m going to ask for a few days off. Maybe even a week. I can’t handle this any more.

This is what, day four of my assessment of Josh. While it now appears that the man is not criminally culpable, I still have not fathomed the events leading to his arrest. Moreover, I am increasingly concerned about the unprofessional and inappropriate behaviour that this boy is provoking in departmental staff.

I am even more alarmed at my own comportment. Look at the way I’m dressed! (giggle) I’ve been drinking during the day again too. If I don’t pull myself together I’m going to be looking for a new job.

I’m so horny I can hardly stand it.

OK, OK girl, get serious here. Concentrate. (giggle) Let’s get some notes. That will help me focus.

What’s to report? Today’s session was a shambles from the outset. Sheila delivered Josh to my office at least 15 minutes late for his one o’clock appointment. Despite my best efforts to remain detached, and a couple of drinks to steady my nerves, I was climbing the walls—I was ready to call down to the lock-up to check on Josh when the knock came on my door.

Sheila’s personal involvement with Josh was even more flagrant than yesterday. She gave Josh a deliberate, passionate kiss before she left him. This one lasted for at least 30 seconds! She didn’t even care that I was watching. She was wearing her parade uniform today, with the narrow skirt. Those outlandish boots sure aren’t regulation though. Had she raised her hemline? I should have reported her on the spot.

Instead, I found myself noticing how sharp Sheila looks when she puts on a little make-up.

For a moment I thought Sheila wasn’t going to let Josh go at all. I tried to politely intervene, but neither of them were listening. Eventually I had to give Sheila a smack on the backside to get her attention. That made her jump.

Sheila called me a selfish bitch, but she was laughing. At least she handed over Josh so we could start our session. She waited outside as the regulations require. I don’t think she was wearing anything under that skirt.

Well of course we couldn’t do anything until I had calmed down a little. I hadn’t seen Josh in more than 24 hours. All that time I had been worrying about him down in that cell all alone. Then he shows up fifteen minutes late! I was a bundle of nerves. We worked through some deep breathing exercises so I could relax.

It turns out that Josh is not the one I should be concerned about. The discipline situation down in the lock-up continues to deteriorate. Sheila told me, quite calmly, they don’t even bother locking Josh’s cell any more, so he pretty much has the run of the whole facility. He’s supposed to be in detention!

“Well, this way he can get some exercise,” was Sheila’s lame excuse.

Other security violations abound. One of the guards brings in movies for Josh to watch and there’s always a supply of cookies and treats and things. Seems like anything he wants, he gets. Even more shocking, Sheila says the female officers have started taking turns “keeping him company” during their off-duty hours. I have a good idea what she meant by that. Most of those women are married!

Not only that, but Josh is now getting regular visits from his family, despite the court’s firm order that there be no contact. His sister Tabitha and her friend Krystal dropped in before lunch and his stepmother came by in the afternoon. The guards did nothing to prevent them from meeting. Instead, they thoughtfully cleared out to, in Sheila’s words, “give them a bit of privacy.” This is insane! The girls all left with big smiles on their faces, and, in Krystal’s case, her sweater on backwards.

What is going on here? How can Josh convince trained, sensible adults to behave like this? It can’t be bribery; these officers are well paid and Josh doesn’t have the resources. Is he a more skilled manipulator than I gave him credit for? Perhaps some sort of hypnotism? No, forget that, that’s too outlandish. There must be a simpler explanation. I can’t believe that Josh would stoop to such subterfuge. He’s much too—sweet.

Besides, how can I account for my own reaction to this case? Josh certainly hasn’t tried to influence me, yet I’m steadily losing all my objectivity. The boy is so . . . so, likeable.

He attracts me physically too, I admit that. Every time I try to get some serious work done on this case, I find myself daydreaming about Josh. I get so worked up I always end up masturbating. I have climaxed more, and better, in the past two days than in the previous two months.

So I was already in a fragile and poorly composed state of mind when our session began. And that Look Josh gave me as I was dragging him away from Sheila was enough to set my pussy on fire. Of course, I should have anticipated that reaction to my new outfit.

Hot pants. Leather. Black, with gold filigree around the pockets. So snugly tight I can feel the material rubbing against my cunt. Fuck, it’s like wearing a sex toy to the office. I picked these up after work yesterday. I love them! They practically scream sex.

Wait, wait; hold it; what am I doing parading about in these shorts? This is liable to get me fired! OK, I was sort of drunk when I bought them. I was stone sober this morning when I got dressed for work though. My god, what am I doing?

I couldn’t stop thinking about how Josh said I had nice legs. I figured, if he liked my legs so much, why not show him a little more of them? They look hot in my high leather boots.

What? No no, that’s not the point! There was a serious reason for this. Really. I, I’m trying to discover the source of Josh’s strange magnetism. This is all part of my assessment. It’s a continuation of my experiment from yesterday: to see if the Look is congruent with the stimulus.

Judged by the Look he gave me this afternoon, Josh must think my legs are one hell of a stimulus. For a moment I was almost dizzy. I could feel my nipples stiffening against my new lace top. Despite my embarrassment yesterday, I secretly hoped Josh could see them too.

I was like a bitch in heat by the time we got the door closed. I clenched my fists to avoid touching him. “Please, have a seat there, honey—I mean, Josh”, I said, urging him toward the couch, “I think we had better start with some relaxation exercises.” It was an effort to keep the quiver out of my voice.

Josh protested that he was already relaxed, but he agreed to indulge me. The exercises didn’t help very much. Josh couldn’t stop staring at my legs.

I should have scolded him. I should have told him to pay attention to my questions. I turned in my chair so he could see the gold cords cris-crossing up the sides of my short-shorts. I let him wonder what would happen if he tugged on the bow knots at the top.

This wasn’t helping. I was getting more turned on by the moment. Alarmed, I made a determined effort to compose myself. I am a professional, I told myself, I am supposed to be helping Josh, not fantasizing about him! I closed my eyes and repeated a zen mantra to clear my mind. I breathed in and out, slowly, deeply, thinking about snow falling on a distant mountain.

My pulse slowed. I felt myself relax. For a moment I thought I might actually make it through the session. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Josh’s erection straining his jeans.

The snow on the distant mountain collapsed into an avalanche of sexual need. White foaming desire descended on me, sweeping everything before it. I think I actually whimpered when I saw the outline of that big, lovely cock.

“Oh, Josh!” I blurted, staring.

“Yes Doctor?” Josh replied patiently, lying on the couch. His gaze swept admiringly up and down my figure.

I teetered on the brink of losing control. It was only through a wild impulse that I was able to save the situation. If I was going to help Josh at all, I had to do something about my condition.

“Uh, J-Josh,” I said, rising, “I’m sorry about this, but uh, my bladder is acting up. Too much boff me, er, coffee, this morning. So uh, do you mind if I step out for a moment?”

“Sure doc, take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” He was staring at my legs again!

“Th-thank you darling, I’ll be right back,” I said quickly. Walking as fast as I could manage in these boots, I darted into my en-suite water closet. I had my shorts down in a second. Who would have thought anything so tight could come off so fast? Josh would have been impressed with my new pantyhose, with the sexy cut-outs where you need them.

I certainly needed something. My pussy was wet, demanding, and my nipples were proudly at attention. I leaned against the wall and let my fingers dance. While my gorgeous teenage client waited in the next room, I masturbated wantonly, completely without shame. I couldn’t help myself. In moments I had one hand flying in my sopping pussy while the other one adored my braless tits. When the orgasm came it practically bowled me over. I stuffed the edge of my lace pullover into my mouth to muffle my cries.

I was thinking about Josh the entire time. God what a cum that was. Damn, I’m getting wet just thinking about it. I, I need another drink. (clink, gulp!)

With the sexual tension momentarily sated I could calm down enough to try to finish the session. I licked the love-juice off my fingers, combed out my hair and towelled the perspiration off my face. I touched up my make-up and rejoined Josh in my office. I tried to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I almost forgot to put my shorts back on.

Now that I was relaxed enough to get down to work, we talked some more about Josh’s accident. There’s no way I could take notes after the interlude in the washroom, so I’ll have to rely on the tapes again:

“Josh, honey?”

“Mmmmmmm?”

“We only have half an hour left; we should talk.”

“Whatever you want, Doctor. What should I talk about?”

“Tell me about your family. You d-don’t mind if I have a small drink while we chat, do you? What happened after you left school for the summer?”

“Oh, well, it was strange. I was getting worried about Barbie—Professor Supple—getting in trouble over me, so I decided to spend summer with my stepmom. She’s pretty cool. Professor Supple didn’t want me to leave, but she was cool about it. She called me a lot at first, but she seems to have got over it. Now she only calls once or twice a day.”

“But what about—at home?”

“That’s the weird thing. After I had been home for a few days my stepmom started acting funny too. At first I noticed she was always looking at me, like she was daydreaming. Then she started giving me big hugs for no reason. She made suggestive comments about how good it was to have ‘a man around the house.’”

“Then she started dressing skimpy: first it was little sun dresses and tight shorts (like the cool outfit you’re wearing, doc), but eventually she spent days in nothing more than bikinis and heels. She told me it was hot and she might want to jump in the pool at any moment. Pretty soon she was letting me “accidentally” see her changing; she’d leave the door open when she was getting undressed, or taking a shower.”

“I didn’t know what was going on. I tried to resist her, but shit, she’s, well, you know—”

“It’s OK darling. I’ve seen her. Mrs. M. is a real dish. It’s only natural for you to be turned on.”

“Yes, but, but, I had always thought of her as, like a parent, and now she was waltzing around the house in lingerie and platform sandals, blowing me kisses and flashing her tits every time she bent over. She was driving me crazy. I started uhm, you know, masturbating—a lot—just to keep my cool.”

“Oh, well, uh, that happens—sometimes. Even to the best of us. Poor darling, you must have been very stressed.”

“You can say that again. Then, uh, finally, one day I’m in the washroom jerking off again because my mom is like, a total hottie in this red bra-top and white tights with nothing but a little red thong around her waist, and she just walks in and demands to know what’s going on. I’m standing there with my pants around my ankles and my hands around my hard prick, already wet from my pre-cum. I just froze, dumbstruck. Instead of getting mad my stepmom says its a shame for me to have to do that myself.”

“Then she just sank to her knees and started sucking me.”

“Wow. That’s uhm, very strange, isn’t it. Yes. Quite distracting. Ohmigod. (clink, gulp, gulp) What, what about your sister?”

“Oh yeah, Tabitha. Same thing. I don’t even know how it happened. One day she’s just my regular sister. A week later we’re having wild sex in the hot tub.”

“What could I do? Mom and Sis wouldn’t leave me alone. I boinked them both all over the house. I tried to at least keep them from discovering each other. Then one day my step-mom came home early to find me and Tabitha doing it doggie style on the living room carpet. I was terrified. Mom gaped at us for a long time, speechless. Then she suddenly dropped her briefcase, kicked off her shoes, and joined in.”

“OK, that’s enough. Please stop. I, I may have to step out again. I need to—wait a moment!

“What?”

“Well, that’s it, isn’t it! This whole business isn’t your fault. The women seduced you. It appears to be some kind of, I don’t know, spontaneous sexual hysteria or something.”

“You mean, I won’t be charged?”

“Well, I don’t think so. If you can swear an affidavit about these events and your mother and sister corroborate, the Crown will have to release you. Oh, baby, I’m so relieved.”

“Wow! That makes two of us, doc. I’ve been scared stiff about this ever since I was arrested.”

I wish he hadn’t said stiff. It made me glance downward. I had to have another drink. My hand was trembling. I ended the session abruptly then because I was simply too fired up to carry on.

Sheila was pacing about in the outer lounge like an energetic puppy that hadn’t had its daily walk. Her face lit up the moment Josh appeared. I watched them walk away, arm in arm, hers around his waist, his on her dandy little ass—I mean, making inappropriate contact with her clothing. I really should report her. Or maybe ask her where she got those awesome boots. At the time, however, I had more urgent matters on my mind.

I was too horny to see straight. I locked my office door. I disabled the telephone and turned off the computer. Wiggling out of my leather hot pants, I flopped down in my chair and again let my hands and memories of Josh take me to heaven—or at least to a couple of marvellous orgasms.

I’ve been sitting here at my desk ever since, boots up on the blotter, thinking about Joshua. The story he related about his stepmother and sister falling for him is captivating. Twice now I’ve had to use my fingers to calm myself down.

I guess I should really put my shorts back on.

I am almost satisfied—I mean I’m almost satisfied that Josh isn’t responsible for the circumstances at his home. The promiscuous behaviour seems to have first taken root in the women. It’s not Josh’s fault that his sister and stepmother and friend and neighbour all turned into horny sexpots. He can hardly be blamed for taking advantage of the situation either. Providing sexual satisfaction to a bevy of love-starved babes is hardly a crime.

Is that right? I’m not certain I am in the best condition to make that determination at the moment. I should at least have my hands out of my crotch. We have one more session, tomorrow. I will confirm my conclusions then.

I am determined to complete this assessment without losing my composure. Or what’s left of it. If Josh’s story is supported by testimony from his mother and sister, I can forward a report recommending against criminal charges. What ground would we have to keep him? I’m still unclear, however, on how this accident he keeps referring to is related to the sexual awakening of his family. Maybe we can settle that tomorrow.

Before that I have to pull myself together. Come on, April, what are you doing? Sit up. Put that bottle away. Did I drink all that? No wonder I’m feeling so woozy.

I’m going to leave the office early. I don’t want the Crown Prosecutor to see me drunk. If he catches me in this outfit he’ll flip. Dammit, even that is making me hot.

I, I have to get out of here. I’ll go do some shopping. No! If I do I might buy something tarty. Like a hot pink miniskirt and fishnet stockings, maybe with pink high—No! What am I talking about! I, I’ll take a walk. Maybe that will clear my head. I have to be prepared for tomorrow.

Psychiatric assessment notes for Joshua M., by Dr. April Finebod, Crown Prosecution Office. Day five. This is the completion of my standard psychological evaluation. My subject, Josh M., claims that he is not responsible for the sexual misdeeds of his family and neighbours. These suppositions remain unconfirmed. I will complete my evaluation before drawing conclusions.

The women involved in this case are evidently in the grip of a highly transferable sexual mania, resembling hysteria but less disabling. The focus of the perversion is Josh M. Remarkably, this mania appears to have compromised the security personnel at the lock-up where Josh is being held. I will recommend that he be moved to a better facility if charges are laid.

Disturbingly, I myself have almost fallen victim to the affliction as well, notwithstanding my education in psychology. I had begun to behave erratically, and was using alcohol to cover my anxiety. I have taken steps to correct my behaviour. I believe that I have stepped back from the brink.

Whatever is driving these women to lionize Josh is very powerful. I was barely able to elude its grip. Armed now, and on guard, I am confident that I am immune to further attacks. I am back into my proper clothing this morning (a black pantsuit), and I poured the rest of the whiskey down the sink to remove temptation. I will concentrate on finishing the evaluation, then take a week off to regain my equilibrium.

These personal notes are not part of the assessment. I am stating these things out loud to reinforce my own determination. I expect there may be a resurgence of sexual excitement as Josh’s ten a.m. interview approaches. I am prepared.

Supplementary personal notes, evaluation of Joshua M. The session begins in 37 minutes. I am still calm, if a little nervous. I have been concentrating on work. There is much to catch up on. After yesterday’s meeting with the Crown I am determined to improve my performance.

He caught me just as I was leaving for the day. I must have looked a sight in my tiny shorts and stretch-fit top, with my hair dishevelled from—well, from playing with myself all afternoon. The Crown hauled me into his office. He gave me a stern lecture about coming to work “dressed like a tart”.

It was very strange. The Crown’s eyes kept dropping down to my legs, my tits—breasts, I mean. I could read excitement in his eyes. It was like he couldn’t decide whether to fire me or jump me. Maybe he wanted to do both. I just stood there, swaying drunkenly in my high-heeled boots, thinking how cool it was to be called a tart.

I didn’t try to explain that the outfit was a valid psychological experiment. I didn’t want my slurred speech to reveal how sloshed I was. The experiment sounded almost logical when I was getting dressed yesterday morning. To be honest, I did have one finger in my cunny the entire time I was planning it.

Whoa. That’s enough for now. This is, uhm, starting to get me worked up again. I am still very fragile. I need to concentrate on work and stop thinking about being screwed by my boss like an oversexed nympho, sprawled across his desk with my boots in the air while he—Stop it! Stop that.

I am returning to work now. I will finish the assessment notes after today’s session.

Joshua is late for his appointment. I expected this, given the increasingly bizarre behaviour of the jail staff. I, I’m calm. Still calm. Taking deep breaths. No problem. This is just an ordinary session with an attractive young man. An extremely attractive young man. A gorgeous, wonderful young man. I hope he is all right. Maybe something has happened? I’ll call down to the lock-up and check. No! I won’t do that. I’ll wait patiently.

I’ll take that box off my desk. I have been trying to ignore it.

The box is pale blue. It bears the logo of a specialty clothing shop called Passion Fashions. It’s tied up with a big pink ribbon, but I know what is inside. I bought it last night when I went for my . . . walk.

I brought the box in this morning with the intention of taking the contents back to the store. Really. There is nothing inside that I would wear. I would never have even considered such an outfit if I hadn’t been under the influence—and in the thrall of this sexual obsession with young Josh. Fortunately, I am free of both conditions now.

Still, bringing the box into the office may not have been wise. It is too much of a reminder. I find myself wanting to take a look inside. Maybe even try something on for a moment or two. I did go overboard with this dreary pantsuit. It is terribly unflattering. What will Josh think of me?

No, wait, cut that, that doesn’t matter. Come on, April, concentrate. Stop pacing. I’ll put the box in the closet, out of sight. That way it won’t tempt me. Why couldn’t I have at least worn a decent skirt? I look like a eunuch. Dammit, when is Josh going to get here?

Josh still hasn’t arrived. I am not holding up well. I’m too nervous to work. This is ridiculous. It’s just a counselling session, forgodsake, something I’ve been doing for years. Where the hell is Josh? I wish I had something to drink.

OK, April, stay calm, stay calm. I am going to get through this session and get that man out of my life. I am not going to succumb to some weird sexual aura around a nineteen-year-old! Even if he is totally adorable. I will not. Dammit, where is he!

I wish I hadn’t worn these pants. I hate them. Besides, I really need to. . . damn, my panties are all wet. Maybe something has happened to Josh? Maybe he forgot about the appointment. Or even left the detention centre! I’m so horny. I’d better call down to the lock-up and see what’s going on. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

That was a mistake. Fuck, what is going on down there? The phone rang seven times before anybody picked up. The woman who answered, a guard I expect, was giggling and groaning so much she could hardly talk. She kept shushing someone, telling them “stop it baby, I’m on the telephone!” It sounded like a party was going on behind her. There was dance music playing, the sounds of voices, and glasses clinking.

It took a long time for Sheila to make it to the telephone. She sounded breathless. She admitted she had forgotten about the appointment. She didn’t sound apologetic. She was panting and talking in short gasps. She blurted something about coming up “as soon as he finishes” then rang off abruptly.

I am quite certain someone was fucking her while she talked.

This is intolerable. The lock-up has turned into a fornicatorium! I shouldn’t have called. It reminded me too much of sex. It got me thinking about Josh. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

I have to stay composed. I have to keep my thoughts dispassionate. I will not let the scandalous behaviour of the guard staff influence me. I will get to the bottom of this affair and submit my report. That’s all I have to do. God I’m hot. If Josh doesn’t get here soon I don’t know what—wait, there someone outside. Finally! I’ll finish these notes after the session.

(sigh) Psychiatric assessment of Joshua M., teenage dream-doll and like, total hunk. Supplementary notes. I guess that’s about it then (sigh). I can’t justify any more sessions with my darling, darling Josh. Fuck, I am going to miss him. Josh sure knows how to take care of a girl with the hornies.

I guess I finally lost my objectivity about this case. (giggle)

I opened the door to my office to find Josh in the arms of that pretty little police peach, Sheila. She was clearly getting far too involved in a simple good-bye kiss. She was practically screwing the poor boy standing up. She was still wearing her dress uniform, sort of, and those sexy boots. Her unbuttoned shirt was tied in a knot beneath her breasts. Her skirt was about a foot shorter than yesterday. She wore black stockings with a floral pattern.

I was dumbfounded. I stood there in the doorway, staring, while the guard made out with her prisoner. He had one hand on her bum. She was kissing him hungrily. It was utterly shocking. Yet I couldn’t help noticing what great legs she has.

Finally I came to myself. I decided I had to put a stop to this. I put my hand on Sheila’s shoulder and peeled her away from Josh. I told her in no uncertain terms that her behaviour was beyond the pale and that I was going to report her immediately. At least, I tried to (giggle). I didn’t get the chance.

Sheila was looking at me, drunk with lust. “You want some of this, you little tramp?” she teased. Before I could react she grabbed me by both arms and kissed me, hard, right on the lips.

The action caught me completely by surprise. I had never kissed a woman before, never wanted to, but. . . shit, she used her tongue. I could feel her soft lips against mine, the press of her boobs, the tickle of her hair. She tasted fresh and minty. I think she knew Josh was enjoying the show so she kept it up until I was squirming helplessly.

I gathered my strength and managed to push her away. I tried to act offended and appalled. My pussy was creaming. I knew I had to be strong at that moment. “Stop, please”, I cried, gasping for breath. “No. No. We mustn’t. I, I will not condone such behaviour. I am a police psychologist! I will not let—” That was as far as I got.

At that moment, Josh Looked at me.

He Looked at me in my severe, sexless black pantsuit with my hair up in a bun and my face red and glassy-eyed from Sheila’s kiss. It was heartbreaking. His look was innocent and open and utterly accepting, without the slightest hint of reprobation or disapproval. Yet somehow it held a glimmer of profound sadness, like a child awakening Christmas morning to find his new puppy is dead. I felt like he was looking directly into my soul.

“I’m sorry we’re a little late, Doctor,” he said.

I couldn’t speak. He was still Looking at me. It seared through my facade of self-control with a blast of carnal heat. I felt all my professional detachment, all my reservations, all my resistance melt away like sugar in the rain. Suddenly my previous reluctance seemed foolish. In that moment I realized I would do anything—absolutely anything—for my Josh.

“That’s OK, darling” I croaked. “Come, come in. Sit down. I, I have to get changed!” I took Joshua by the hand and led him into my office.

I guided him to the couch and sat him down. “Please, wait here,” I cried. “I won’t be long!” I hurried to the closet, shrugging off my suit jacket as I went. I opened the closet door and pulled out the pale blue box. I felt a triumphant satisfaction; I was correcting a terrible mistake. I dashed into my en-suite washroom to get changed.

I took my time. I wanted it to be exactly right. I let down my hair and fussed with my make-up. When I felt I looked more presentable, I walked back into the office.

Yesterday the Crown Prosecutor had called me a tart for wearing short-shorts and boots to the office. Imagine if he saw me in my fetish nurse uniform.

I picked it up at a Passion Fashions yesterday. I was pretty sure Josh would like it. Since I am a doctor, I figured the nurse theme was appropriate. The uniform is made of white vinyl, sleeveless, slinky-tight and really, really short. There’s a big zipper down the front that I left mostly undone so Josh could get a good look at my boobies. I have white, fishnet nylons on my legs, and white platform sandals with extra-high heels. There’s even a little plastic nurse’s cap on my head. Accessories make the outfit, you know!

I posed in the doorway, hands on the frame. “Is this a little better, sweetheart?” I whispered.

Josh was lying on my couch with his hands behind his head. I watched my little uniform worked its magic; the poor boy was bug-eyed in an instant. “D-Doctor,” he stammered, “you look—that dress; you’re—holy shit!”

His reaction warmed me like a naked kiss. This is what I call a view—’n’—screw dress: one good look and your man is ready to shag you where you stand. Well, the good Look I got from Josh made me forget everything except getting that hot teenage shaft of his deep inside me.

I hadn’t had a chance to practice walking in my new heels, but it hardly mattered. I wiggled and wobbled my way over to the couch. Then I helped him get his pants down. I was trembling, hot, wet. What with Sheila and then me, Josh was up and ready. I pulled him down on top of me and guided his missile home.

Oh glory-be what a feeling! He fucked me beautifully while I wrapped my mesh-stockinged legs around his back to pull him in deeper. We humped and thrusted urgently, so vigorous the couch almost fell over. I felt an orgasm sweeping toward me like the floodwater from a breached dam. My world exploded. I shouted Josh’s name just as I felt him ejaculating inside me. I’m sure Sheila heard me that time (giggle).

Then we flipped over and did it again.

I know we were supposed to be using this time to discuss Josh’s mental health, but I was in no condition to discuss anything until I had recovered from the way Josh Looked at me. I didn’t even bother turning on the tape recorder. What would be the point of recording me screaming? I don’t think I said anything coherent until after my second cum.

We did chat for a while though, when we were calm enough to take it slower. Josh lay on his back, resting, and I rode him while we talked. I have no notes, but the conversation went something like this:

“Darling, may I, huh, ask you, huh, something?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“What, what did the ah! oh yes yes, the accident, the one in the huh! biochemistry lab have to do with, with, you know, fucking your stepmom? And everybody.”

“I’m not sure. I think it did something to my eyes.”

“Your eyes?” I thought about his Looks. My pussy clenched around his cock.

“Oh! Well, maybe not just my eyes. I think a lot of my chemistry is different. The scent of my body, for instance. I think it may be arousing. But it’s mostly my eyes.”

“What about them?”

“People seem to react differently to my eyes. When I look at women, that’s when they start to act funny. Like, they get all sexy and eager to please.”

“What—oh baby, fuck me—what about men?”

“Well, they become friendly and co-operative, just the same. It doesn’t seem to affect them sexually though. I think that’s because I’m not interested in them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I took a psych course and, and—man, you feel nice doc. Anyway, I remember the prof said that our pupils dilate when we see something we like. People tend to respond warmly to big eyes because they suggest interest and approval. I think my eyes, like, take that response to an extreme. People always feel good around me and want to please me more.”

I leaned forward without losing his shaft from my wet pussy and looked at him closely. “You have lovely eyes, Josh,” I said, before giving him another wet kiss. My hair fell over my face, damp and wild.

He grinned, picking up the pace again. “And you, Doctor, have beautiful hooters.”

“Touch them! Squeeze them! Honk my hooters!”

I leaned back and grabbed my ankles, just above the straps on my platform sandals. By this time my uniform was completely unzipped. Josh reached up and began to fondle my titties where they bounced on my chest, begging for attention.

“Faster, baby,” I remember crying, “I’m going to cum again!”

Mmmmmm, yeah, did I ever.

Eventually, I had to let Joshua go. He gave me a sweet kiss and groped my ass as he left my office. Sheila was pretending to sit docilely in the waiting room, but from the way her chest was heaving I could tell she had been peeping at the door. Little sexpot probably came as often as I did. She sprang to her feet in an instant when Josh appeared. I told her to take good care of him, then gave her ass a hard swat to drive my point home. Definitely nude under the skirt.

Well, now I guess I have work to do. The first step is to get all these bothersome charges dropped and get Joshua home where he belongs. I’ll write a report that shows Joshua is healthy and normal, and recommend that the whole affair be forgotten.

That should be easier than it sounds. Joshua says if we can stretch the case out long enough, by the time he gets to his third or fourth appearance before Judge H. she’ll be playing with herself beneath her robes. Hmmm, I think I’ll recommend that she meet him in chambers a couple of times.

That should take care of that. To be on the safe side, Josh should have a lawyer on call who can take care of any pesky complaints in future. Oh, I have a friend at Burnham and Leads who will be dandy: tits out to here, great ass, and lips made for kissing. Fine lawyer too.

I just had another idea! Family Services is hardly going to walk away from this without follow-up. I’ve seen the social worker for the case; she’s a pain in the neck, but darn cute. Yes, I’ll put in a strong recommendation that she make regular visits to the M. household, to be sure there are no relapses. At least twice a week. Can’t take any chances now, can we? (giggle).

There, that takes care of that. But what about me? How am I supposed to get by without my Josh? He says I can drop by the house any time. You can bet I’ll be taking him up on that. In between times, I think kitty-cop Sheila may have to help me out.

I suppose I should get out of my naughty nurse outfit and back into my regular clothes. Hmmmm, I’m still kinda wet down there (giggle). Maybe I have time for . . . uh, just one . . . mmmmmm, maybe one more . . . oh yesssssssss . . . OOOOOOOH!

Oh, Joshua!