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The Doctor Appointment

February 19th, 2010

Dr. Mary Abbrielle stretched. Her hand went to the small of her back
as she rubbed at the ache. “I have got to get back to the gym” she
muttered to herself. She glanced at the clock on her desk. It was
hidden from the comfortable furniture her patients could choose to sit
in. She sighed with relief as she still had six minutes before her
last appointment of the day. Maybe she’d go swimming tonight. Yes,
she’d definitely get some swimming in, she could use the exercise. Dr.
Abbrielle tried to reduce the ache in her back by touching her toes a
bit. She tried leaning sideways and it did ease the pain up a bit. She
walked over to her desk. 3:57, time to review her notes for her four
o’clock. It was a talker.

Dr. Abbrielle divided her patients between doers and talkers. Doers
actually worked on their problems. The work might not often benefit
the patient, they might not progress every week, but at least they
made a good faith effort at resolving their problems. Talkers, on the
other hand, were stuck. For whatever reason, usually fear of pain,
they refused to budge off the spot. That was why she always scheduled
a talker for her final appointment of the day. There was less chance
of an epiphany, and less stress on her when it came time to go home.

Mr. Dale was a talker. He had been referred as pro bono. Mr. Dale was
49, overweight (not that the good Doctor couldn’t stand to lose a few
pounds, she chided herself), and a diabetic. A good work history up to
eight months ago, but now he was out of work, and for some reason he
couldn’t get motivated to look for work beyond a token weekly search
on the internet. Dr. Abrielle studied her notes. Then the discrete
warning light glowed. The light was also hidden from her patients. It
let her know when her office door opened. Her four o’clock had showed
up. She let him wait the minute and at four opened her door and
invited Mr. Dale into her inner office.

Mr. Dale slid into the large chair. His red jacket sleeve showed
evidence of its dual use as handkerchief and napkin while the tomato
stain on his yellow pocket t-shirt gave Dr. Abbrielle a hint of his
luncheon menu. Dr. Abbrielle greeted him, then sat and waited.
Uncomfortable silence was a very useful prod with talkers. But today
it wasn’t working all that well.

Mr. Dale fidgeted and rubbed his nose. He looked back at the Doctor,
then reported as he always did the number of resumes he had e-mailed
and faxed that week, then that he had an interview. “And have you been
watching your blood sugars?”, she asked.

Mr. Dale nodded, “I have them down to 176!” her said with pride.

“That’s not good enough.” Dale deflated, then muttered, “I know…”

Dr. Abbrielle hesitated. “In fact, I have another issue we need to
discuss. How long have we been meeting?”

“I don’t know…maybe, what, five months?”

The Doctor nodded. “The thing is, you’ve defined your problem very
clearly in those months, but you don’t seem to have made significant
progress. There may be reasons for that …”

“I AM really comfortable with you Dr. Abbrielle. Honest!”

“I know you think that, Mr. Dale. But whereas classic analysis CAN
take a long time for the patient to come to grips with their
situation, the methodology I use can sometimes identify when a patient
cannot or will not take the further steps needed to resolve their
issues. And I think that describes your situation.”

“No Doctor. Please, I’ll … I’ll try.”

Dr. Abbrielle smiled. “Mr. Dale., its not a matter of trying, or
failing. Rather there is just that my methods are not productive with
you and I suggest that another doctor might provide you with a more
successful attack to your problem.”

Mr. Dale was quiet. He sat there. Slits of light from the closed
Venetian blinds stretched across the wall. Mr. Dale started, “It’s
just that…it’s just”. His fist raised and hit the arm of the chair.

There was a pause.

“It’s just that…” Dr. Abrielle prompted.

There was another pause.

Dale shook his head. “You wouldn’t like it…”

“Please,” she smiled, “I’m not here to judge your life, only to help
you deal with your issues.”

“There are issues, and then there are ISSUES, Dr. Abbrielle.”

She raised her hand palm up. “If you don’t share the information,
there is nothing I can do to – ”

Dale cut in “I control people.”

Dr. Abbrielle tilted her head. “We all influence an try to control
people. Being persuasive, trying to meet our needs and goals is part
of being human. If you feel you are being manipulative…”

“No. I control them. I make people do whatever I want them to.”

Dr. Abbrielle sighed to herself. She had missed something. Her
diagnosis didn’t include these delusions.

“I am not having delusions Doctor. I can make you do whatever I want.
I always have been able to do that.”

“And I suppose this is where I demand that you prove it.”

“I suppose it is.”

There was a pause. Something tickled her back brain. Too many episodes
of the Twilight Zone, she supposed. She dismissed it. She smiled.
“Prove it Mr. Dale.”

“Are you sure, Doctor?”

“Quite sure”

Mr. Dale gave a semi-smile. “I DID ask…”

Dr. Abbrielle unbuttoned her jacket. “I’m waiting…”

“It’s not like a comic book. It’s not ‘Simon Says’ Doctor..”

“Call me Mary, sir.” She dropped her jacket on the floor.

“Its not ‘Simon Says’ Mary. Me ordering you about. It’s inside.”

“Inside?” she undid her tie and taking an end in each hand rubbed it
back and forth across her ass.

He nodded. “Inside. I send my subject a command. My subject’s mind
just processes the command perfectly normal thought and acts on it. I
never have to say it out loud”

She slung the tie across the room, then bent over facing him. She
slowly unbuttoned her blouse, letting her breast lay low. She purred
like a kitten, then said “So I could be doing something I would never
normally do, but I would be thinking it perfectly normal?”

“That’s right”

She shrugged her blouse off and then unsnapped her bra and dropped it.
Then she stood up. “That’s a very good story, Mr. Dale. But there is
an obvious hole in it”, she pinched her nipples which started to
harden into tight erasers, “if it seems perfectly normal to me, here
would be no – mmmm – no – ahhh – way you could prove to me tha tha
that oh goddd that it was you controlling me.”

“True, unless someone else came in and pointed out that you were

“But I am always topless for you. I enjoy showing my large creamy
breasts, err titties to you. I want you to suck my titties.”

“Isn’t having sex with a patient inappropriate?”


“Almost as inappropriate as calling your bosom ‘titties’?”

“To a patient, yes. Don’t you want to suck my titties?”

“Maybe later.”

Dr. Abbrielle took some notes. It was a persistent illusion. She
stopped writing long enough to pinch her nipples back into hardness.
“So does your power have limits?”

“Well yes. I can’t make the whole world do as I wish. And I have to be
in contact with the person…in the same room, or on the phone.
Although with a lot of positive reinforcement and repeated contact I
can control a person even if I am not there n person.”

Dale paused. “And I suppose there is my upbringing.”

Dr. Abbrielle rubbed her great breasts, proud Mr. Dale liked watching
her. “Your upbringing?”

“I only had this power since 186- err since I was a teen-ager. I
couldn’t bring myself to use it on my parents. I can’t seem to bring
myself to force a person to do something wrong or hurt themselves….
It just doesn’t seem right. On the other hand, to make a person do
something pleasing to themselves…”

Dr. Abbrielle nodded as she stepped out of her skirt. This WAS a well
defined psychosis. “And can you ‘control’ more than one person at a
time?” She took off her shoes and then slid her pantyhose off, glad to
be out of them.

“Well Mary, I can’t control Yankee stadium, but a handful of people…

Dr. Abbrielle giggled and wiggled out of her panties and handed them
to Mr. Dale to hold and smell. As he took a couple minutes to enjoy
them, she worked on how to approach his delusion. Perhaps if she (she
stopped to roll the pantyhose into a tight small ball and slide it
into her ass, wincing as her buttocks stretched bit more than usual,
then sighed as pain turned to pleasure..) confronted him with the
realit – she moaned – realities of it… “Mr. Dale, if you mmmm you
could do this, why don’t you? Why not march into a bank and tell them
to give you cash?”

Dale nodded, “Good point mary. You tell me.”

Dr. Abbrielle giggled and then started fingering her clit. “I I guess
because of computers?” She giggled more, then really started rubbing
her clit harder.

Dale nodded. “Exactly. The transaction could be traced to a clerk who
would have to explain why she (or he) gave me more money than was in
my account. I can control people, but not numbers. And I can only
control them in person.”

Dr. Abbrielle opened her purse and took out all her money and handed
it to Mr. Dale. She wrinkled her forehead and looked at her purse. She
studied it and muttered “So you couldn’t get someone to hand over a
check or a credit card because it could be traced…” she tried to
think why she had her purse out. She looked up at Mr. Dale to see him
sliding $300 dollars into his wallet. That was funny, she had $300 in
her purse – well, she did before she spent it on lunch. Oh well. She
put her purse down and focused on stroking her clit harder.

Dale continued as she slid her left nipple into her mouth and tamped
the pantyhose more tightly into her ass. “Same with other things. I
can’t make you make love to me, for instance. Much too risky. The
objective evidence couldn’t be easily explained. I can’t make someone
hire me for a job – these days you have to justify hiring and
performance appraisals – I suppose it was a lot easier a couple of
centuries ago when you could stake out a little land and make everyone
serve you.” Dr. Abbrielle came, then slid the ball from her ass then
kissed Mr. Dale. “Maybe it was even easier last century, when you
could use your abilities to become a robber baron and there wasn’t
enough scrutiny to stop you. But these days…”

He stopped to give Dr. Abbrielle the chance to rub his cock between
her large aching breasts.. He might not risk fucking her, but there
WERE other pleasures.

“I can see where it would be hard, sir.”

Dale nodded. “Of course, there are ways. Find a professional…someone
who might not be rich or famous, but well off…”

“I would LOVE it if you would move in with me. ”

“I never thought you’d ask, mary”

“Call me your slut sir. And may I call up Tami Netherton. I am sure
you would enjoy her butt and titties. I know I would love to suck her
off for you.”

“If you insist.”

Dr. Abbrielle nodded eagerly and reached for the telephone…

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