Unorthodox Therapy

Helena Locke’s already got you. You sit there trying to explain yourself, but she’s heard every excuse before. She folds her arms and stares until you shrink. Then she pulls the leather strap across your chest and buckles it tight. Your breathing changes. The first cane lands across your bare thighs without warning. Sharp. You jerk. She makes you count. By the tenth you’re straining against the strap, cock already half-hard and leaking. She notices. She laughs once, low, and brings the Hitachi down between your legs, pressing the head right against the underside. Buzzing, relentless. Every time you get close she lifts it away and watches your hips twitch in empty air. The second she feels you crest she swings the cane again, another clean stripe. Your thighs burn, your balls ache, and she just resets the vibrator and starts over. She leans close enough that you smell her perfume mixed with the leather. "You don’t come until I say the guilt’s gone," she whispers. Then the buzzing starts again, louder this time, and the next stroke lands even harder.