We’ve all been depressed at one time or another, I wrote this story to offer up a different type of therapy for depression. As the title implies, this erotic story involves bondage… but I don’t want to give too much away! I hope you enjoy my story!
Bound for Therapy
She sat in the chair across from him, the heavy wooden desk between them. He sat quietly, patiently and waited for her to speak. She would eventually.
Her brows scrunched together as she searched for the words. Empty. Alone. Alien. Hopeless. She’d said them so many times, had felt them so many times, they were no longer strong enough to convey her pain. Rather than say those same bland, tepid words again, she took a tissue from the desk to hide her face as she cried.
He watched as she sat across him, silent. That was unlike her, she was usually very involved in her therapy but over the past several weeks, she’d become more and more withdrawn. That little point of hope they’d uncovered had disappeared, he had to help her find it again… and if not that one, another.
She dried her eyes again as she regained her composure, shaking her head. “No, I’ve said it all before.” She sighed heavily before continuing, “I don’t think this is working.”
His face and voice were open and compassionate, “It’s working, you just need more time.”
Snatching another tissue from the desk, she shook her head in denial. “Then why do I feel worse?”
He stood, walking around the desk to sit in the empty chair beside her. She turned to face him as he spoke, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Things often get worse before they get better.”
“How much worse could they…” she broke off, sobbing.
Only once before in his career had he had a patient like this. They’d been working together for over a year, with multiple sessions of intense therapy and she was worse now than her first visit. Delving into her childhood had only made her past haunt her. Medications had intensified her misery, not lessened it. Talking over her problems had made those problems more real for her, not less. Her reaction to therapy was the opposite of everything he’d been taught, everything he’d seen.
He could feel the sobs wracking her body beneath his hand; uncertain, he left it there as he considered the idea that flashed through his head. An idea that had never crossed his mind before… not professionally, at least. “I’d like to see how you react to something.” He waited for her nod before retrieving a weighted blanket from across the room. Gently, he laid the heavy blanket across her, sat down and watched.
Her sobs slowed, lessened; she looked up at him in confusion. She spoke softly, “I’ll be okay,” shaking her head, drawing the blanket closer as she leaned back in her seat, she continued, “I suppose I’m just overly tired.”
The weighed blanket worked. It might work. He wondered how to approach this idea of his with her; not only was he a professional, he was considered one of the best. “I have an idea that I think may help you,” he began. “It’s very…. unorthodox.” She simply nodded for him to continue. “I would like to work with you privately, outside of the office.” He took a business card from the desk and neatly wrote his private number and address on the back. Handing her the card he went on, “Rather than coming back on Friday for your regular appointment, I’ll see you over the weekend. Perhaps…” he paused in thought for a moment, “Saturday at 6pm?”
It saddened him that she just agreed. He wrote the time on the card and handed it to her. There was no curiosity. No wonder. No hope. He was going to change that. “Call if you need to cancel, or if you need directions.” She nodded and began unwrapping herself from the blanket. He stood and took the blanket from her, laying it to the side… another session of backwards progress.
“Thank you, Doctor.” She sighed. She stood, gathering her jacket and purse, “I’ll see you Saturday.”
The remainder of the week had passed quickly but he had found time to review her case and consider how to proceed. At exactly 6pm on Saturday there was a timid knock at his door. He pulled it open and held it for her to enter. She looked tired. “You have a beautiful place, Doctor.” She sounded tired.
“Thank you. Please come in.” Closing the door behind her he gestured to the rest of the house, “Make yourself at home.”
She followed him to the living room where there was a cozy fire burning, a large yoga mat on the wood floor and a large black bag full of who knows what. She sat where he indicated and waited. There was no question in her eyes; they were lifeless. He had to change that. He would change that.
“We never discussed the cost of private therapy sessions,” she began, “I don’t know that my insurance will…”
He interrupted smoothly, “There will be no charge for these sessions. I’ve made so little difference in our sessions together that I owe you.”
She started to rise… he knew her, she didn’t like getting something for nothing.
“Please,” he continued, “we’ve worked together for so long and I’ve not made any positive impact. We’ve tried all forms of therapy, of medication – everything and nothing has helped. Early in my career, I had a patient like you, who didn’t respond to treatment. I referred him to my mentor, who was also unable to help. It was only after he discontinued therapy that he found his answer.”
“And you think what he did will work for me.” she stated blandly.
“Yes, I do.” He took a breath, “It’s worth a try, but only if you’re willing.”
“I wouldn’t be here, otherwise.” She met his eyes for the first time since arriving. “What is it you suggest?”
He took a deep breath… this was the part that might make her run screaming to file a report and get his license to practice revoked. “The patient stopped going to sessions with my mentor. Shortly after that he attempted suicide. While being treated in the emergency room, he met a dominatrix. She cured him.”
“You’re joking right?” she looked around, “Where’s Mistress Freud?”
“Mistress Freud,” He laughed, “that’s a good one.” Humor was a good sign, “There is no Mistress. If you’re willing, I’d like to try my hand at Master.”
After a few moments of quiet thought, she nodded her assent.
He gave her a robe to change into; thin and silky, it hung just above her knees. Everything else came off, as instructed. This was new, unsettling, a little frightening; but she’d worked with him long enough to trust him. Besides that, what did she have to lose? Coming back into the room from changing, there was now a simple wooden chair next to the bag on the mat. The only sound was the occasional pop of a log in the fireplace.
He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
She sat on the chair, straightening the silken robe over her legs. He stepped behind her, out of view, she could hear him rustling through the bag. The rustling stopped and his breath was on her neck, tickling her ear as he spoke, “This is what you need.”
His arms were around her, one hand trailing across the top of her chest, then again, but under her breasts this time. He was winding her in rope, she tried to adjust in the hard chair but she was already bound to it. Panic surged in her chest but she fought it back down, feeling the rope pulled snugly against her. She wiggled a bit, but not much, as he came to stand in front of her, another coil of rope in his hands. Her heart pounded as she took him in before her. Commanding. Strong. Her eyes drifted down to his crotch against her wishes… hung. She closed her eyes, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks – other places, too.
He knelt in front of her and took her hand. Wrapping her wrist in rope, he then took her other hand and did the same to it. Winding the tail of the rope back around itself, he made a sort of handle between her wrists. “You’re feeling better already, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, she already looked more alive than she had in months.
She wiggled but barely moved, her arms tied down to her sides, she wasn’t going anywhere without that uncomfortable chair. She’d never felt so… helpless. She looked down at herself as she struggled ineffectually; her nipples were ready to tear through the thin robe, the robe itself had slid to the sides, leaving her thighs exposed. She was getting wet, this was so embarrassing. Of all the kinky things in the world, why should this excite her so? She tried to pull the robe back into her lap, to cover her exposed thighs. He quickly grabbed the handle of rope and pulled her hands away, leaving the robe hanging open to either side. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She struggled against her bonds ineffectually.
He gasped softly as she strained against the rope, it made her breasts jiggle in the most amazing way. His other hand stroked her upper leg softly. Slowly he pulled the thin fabric to either side, first one side, then the other. Her skin was so soft, her body nicely rounded. He was already as hard as he’d ever been, his cock wetting his boxers with pre-cum. He’d tried this with his ex and it had been an unenjoyable chore all the way around, he hadn’t expected to have such a strong reaction. He watched as she wiggled in the chair, trying to close the robe and preserve some modesty. If she didn’t stop struggling like that…
She sighed, sagging against her restraints, feeling his strong hand sliding up her leg, caressing her hip and traveling back to her knee. He let go of her bound hands; she held them against her breasts, trying to hide her hardened nipples, trying to deny her arousal. Now both hands caressed her thighs and hips. His touch was perfect, firm but soft… moaning softly, she closed her eyes.
His breathing had become ragged, he was nearly overcome by the need to bury his aching cock inside her. “Stop trying to hide from me.” He pulled her hands down and tugged at her robe, pulled it further apart. The inner slopes of her breasts were bared, her nipples only just covered by the silk, the lines of rope defining her firm breasts, holding the silk in place. He could smell her skin, he could smell the rope, he could smell her wetness. His hands curled around her hips, her buttocks as he lowered his face towards that intoxicating scent. He felt her stiffen, clamping her knees together.
She was motionless as she watched him slowly rise and walk behind her. She heard him rustling in his bag and shivered as she wondered what he was getting. She felt him grab her ankle and then the scratchy feel of rope being pulled across her skin as he wound another restraint. Her foot was lifted and set, angled onto the bottom bracer bar of the chair and then secured to it. Her right foot got the same treatment. She pushed her hands into her lap, however she moved, she couldn’t close her legs.
His voice was rough when he spoke in her ear, “Stop trying to cover yourself.” Her hands fluttered before her but kept floating downward to hide her exposed wetness. He shook his head and took her bound hands, unraveling the wrapped tail. It danced between her damp thighs, scratching and tickling as he unwrapped it. He pulled the rope handle over her head, pausing for a moment to kiss her fingertips, then pulled down so her hands rested on her shoulders, using the tail to secure her to her chest bonds. He watched her struggling begin anew, a slow smile spreading across his lips.
She was so exposed. So helpless. So wet. Her thighs were slick as she struggled in the hard chair, arms spread, legs spread… panic threatened to overtake her, she was panting wildly, straining against the ropes to close her legs, to cover herself. She felt his hands on her arms, sliding down her sides. He grabbed the robe and pulled it so it was no longer between her and the hard seat. His hands traveled back up, caressing her, teasing her, covering her breasts, slowly stroking them, lightly pinching her nipples. She tried to push her chest against him, to focus on that, but all she could accomplish was wiggling slightly in the chair.
Her full breasts swayed beneath his hands as she strained. This was incredible. He stepped closer to the back of the chair, pressing his hard cock against her restrained hand and felt her flinch as she realized it. He slowly pulled the robe the rest of the way open in the front, first one side, then the other. He rubbed his shaft against her bound hand as he spoke, “I’m going to make you cum,” he moved his hips slowly from side to side so she could feel his length, “you know that, don’t you?”
She shook her head in denial… she didn’t even want to think about it, it was too depressing. It just wasn’t going to happen. But she’d enjoy this for what it was, “If you say so, Doctor.” she sighed. She couldn’t meet his eyes as he stepped around to stand in front of her. Shock jolted her as the crack of his slap on her breast sounded, the sting coming a split second after. He pinched her other nipple harder then before.
“I said,” his voice was commanding as he emphasised, “you know that, don’t you?” He punctuated his question with another slap that sent her firm breast jiggling. He pulled her by her hair, forcing her head back, forcing her to look up at him. His free hand gave over tweaking her nipple and slid down into her lap, gently stroking the small patch of soft hair. “Don’t you?” He asked again, softer this time, bringing his mouth down near hers. He could feel her breath on his lips as she answered.
“Yes Doctor,” her voice was unsteady, breathy, “of course I do.” She could feel her wetness growing as he gently stroked her pussy. He teased her with his fingers as he smiled down at her. Her eyes closed as he continued, her breath catching as he slid his finger a hairsbreadth between her lips.
Her pussy was so wet, so hot, so soft; he wanted to drive into her so badly, he could hardly think straight. He pressed his lips against hers, softly at first. She held her lips against his and he slid his finger inside her. Her mouth opened against his as she gasped, he moaned against her soft lips as their tongues met.
His fingers stroked her, sliding inside, slippery with her wetness. She tried to push against his fingers, against his mouth, but the ropes held her. She moaned against his lips. She wanted release so badly, she needed it so badly. Why was she thinking about that? It wouldn’t happen, of course, and then she’d be filled with self-loathing. He broke the kiss and pulled away from her. She watched with growing unease as he lowered his face to go down on her. She shook her head no, unable to speak. She hated this… he knew she hated this; they’d spent hours discussing all aspects of sex early on in her treatment.
As he lowered his face to her soft nest of hair he felt her stiffen. He knew she didn’t like receiving oral, but he had to try. The poor dear was hypersensitive, even her clitorus. He kissed her soft, puffy lips gently; they were moist, the scent was heavenly. His cock strained against his pants as he softly kissed. She was rigid, her hands fumbling at the ropes, seeking the knots… she wouldn’t find them. Face buried in her wetness, he smirked.
Where was that knot?! Any minute now, the second she got even remotely close, he’d go straight for her clit; certain that he knew what she needed. Then she’d be even further from release, and in pain to boot. She made sounds of protest. She struggled in her bonds and considered using her safe word to make him stop. Why wouldn’t he just stop?
He wasn’t sure how to feel about this… she struggled above him, clearly distressed. It pained him to cause her such distress, he hoped it was for the best. Taking a long slow lick from bottom to top, she flinched sharply as his nose lightly brushed against her tenderness… so she hadn’t exaggerated. He was surprised at how much of a turn-on her struggles were. If he could only make her cum, he wouldn’t feel bad at all. He redoubled his efforts, kissing, licking and nuzzling, avoiding hurting her. Her body was rigid… when would she trust his touch?
She wondered when he would give up, it already felt as though an eternity had passed. “Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?” she asked softly. His face was buried but she felt him shake no, felt the vibrations of his voice against her as she heard a muffled “Unh-uh.” She tried to relax, he’d only hurt her a little that once and it hadn’t seemed intentional. Slowly, bit by bit, she began to relax. Slumped in the chair, she was held up by the ropes.
She was so wet, he loved the way she tasted, his cock was throbbing with need. Lifting his wetted face, he told her about it as he slid two fingers inside. He stroked her, angling until he felt her pushing against him. He put his mouth on her again, just the barest touch of his lips against her. Her clitorus was rigid, he wanted so badly to lick it, to make her cum on his tongue, but that wasn’t the way. He raised his lips above that concentrated point and kissed. He laid his tongue alongside, above, under… like a hungry pack of wolves, his tongue circled her clit. He heard a soft moan… he was on to something.
She was so close, his fingers slid in and out, making wet noises. She was drenched, right on the edge, unable to stop her hips from pushing against him. His fingers stroked, his tongue and lips teased. The pressure built as his strokes angled deliciously. His movements matched hers, his tongue teasing in time to his fingers’ thrusts. She wanted her hands free to grab his head, to trap him there forever. Instead she grabbed the rope that bound her hands, held it tightly as she trembled on the edge.
He could tell she was close. She hovered at the brink, her soft moans driving him wild. Even with his swollen cock trapped in his pants, still untouched, he was about to cum. He wished it were so easy for her. Perhaps if he were to… “Mmmm,” he moaned, gently pushing his mouth against her. He slid his fingers in time to her moans and groaned against her again, the subtle vibrations from his voice against her soft mound.
She cried out a split second before he felt her tighten on his fingers; her wetness running down his hand, his wrist, in a flood. He stroked her slowly, feeling the contractions of her orgasm, the heavenly scent even stronger, his mouth watering to taste her again. He traded his fingers for his tongue, lapping at her juices, her sweet taste flooding his mouth, her soft moans sounding loud in the quiet.
He’d done it. Looking up, he saw the first genuine smile in over six months. Reaching up with his hands, he caressed her firm breasts. The feel of her large breasts, the sound of her moans mixing with the creaking of the rope, her scent, the delicious flavor on his lips. He needed to taste her again. He buried his face, she tasted so good. He froze, squeezing her breasts, groaning against her wetness as his cock emptied itself. Panting, he laid his head in her lap wondering what he should do first. Should he clean himself up, or untie her, or…?
As he considered his options, a devious smile formed on his lips…