SSC: Aversion Therapy

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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SSC: Aversion Therapy

(***, M/F, Intense, Adult, doctor-patient)

A woman visits a therapist with an unusual technique for curing bad habits. (Approximately 489 words. Originally published 1997-07.)

My secretary's muffled voice came through the speaker: "Mrs. Alicia Donner is here."

Ah, the Cigarette Queen. "Send her in," I said, leaning back in my chair in a relaxed pose designed to intimidate.

In stepped a beautiful young woman. She was in her mid-twenties: long dark hair, mild features, sleek elegant body. She wore a tight black mini-skirt and a revealing blouse, and a short leather jacket with a mink collar. Her eyes flickered from me to the floor to the couch to my closet to me.

"Hello, Doc," she said in a low voice.

I frowned sternly. "Your reluctance tells me you have been smoking."

Alicia swallowed and gave the tiniest nod.

"You know what that means."

"Yes, sir."

"Get undressed."

Her face dark with shame, she took off her coat and began to remove her clothes. Her body was lithe and fit, rounded in all the right places. Her breasts were large but not over-large -- they fit her body perfectly.

"Not the shoes. Leave those on."

Alicia obeyed. She stood shyly, naked except for her leather pumps. (I like my patients to leave something on -- it makes the nudity more humiliating.)

"How many cigarettes this week?" I had not moved from behind my desk. "Remember, I know the truth. Each lie will merit a stroke from the cane."

The young woman shuddered. "Four- four-"

"Four!" I cried in outrage, leaping to my feet. "You expect me to believe--"

"Four- four-teen!" Alicia screamed. "It was fourteen! I swear!"

I opened the logbook, checked her records, and frowned. "That's better than last week's 23, but you have not told me the complete truth."

The girl nearly panicked, ready to run. But she was naked. There was nowhere to go. Alicia looked at me, my piercing eyes heartless. She shuddered and shook her head.

"How many?"


"So twenty was your true total. That's more realistic."

Alicia kneeled on the sofa while I fetched the strap and cane. Her hands were on the back of the couch, her back bent slightly, breasts dangling, while her naked bottom and thighs were exposed.

"You will count," I said. "Think about every cigarette."

Twenty times I carefully lashed Alicia's rump with the heavy strap. She squirmed and moaned and cried out, but counted obediently. Then I took up the thin cane and whipped it down a half-dozen times, each searing stroke leaving a pencil-thick weal. Alicia wept.

"Next week, same time."

Alicia wiped away a tear and slowly dressed. I checked my calendar. Miss Margaret Moe was my four o'clock. She had problems resisting her credit cards. Aversion therapy was doing wonders for her. Critics say it doesn't work in the long-term because without the aversion the patient immediately returns to the negative behavior -- thus, once started, the therapy can never stop.

But hey, who wants patients cured overnight? I get paid by the hour.

The End

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