The Satanic Psychiatrist

[Blondie]

I am excited to post a story to this board for the first time. Some of you may know me from another site (since closed), and some of you may have read this story. My hope is that there will be some readers here who are unfamiliar with my work, and that those that are familiar will be okay that I post here.

I have a few chapters of this (unfinished) story already written. My plan is to revisit each chapter as time permits, then edit as necessary before posting the chapter. Invariably in doing so I will find a typo or two, and occasionally will edit a scene if I think it will enhance the story.

Hope you enjoy.
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The following is applicable to all chapters of “The Satanic Psychiatrist:”

© April 2002 by Blondie.

This is a work of fiction and is fantasy only. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For ages 18 and older only.

Anyone offended by forced nudity or unethical psychiatrists should not read below this line.

Chapter 1: The First Session
Chapter 2: Monica's "Therapy" Begins
Chapter 3: The Devilish Receptionist
Chapter 4: Waiting Room Humiliation
Chapter 5: Girls Forced to Remove Their Tops
Chapter 6: Monica Stripped to Her Underwear
Chapter 7: Slave to a Seductress
Chapter 8: A Very Uncomfortable Session
Chapter 9: Events of Miss Prescott's Boy Victim Recounted



Chapter 1: The First Session

“I don’t know what comes over me when I do this. I guess I just can’t help myself, Dr. Withers. I mean, once I made the poor girl take her blouse off, there was no stopping me, like there was a driving force or something.”

“Go on, Monica. Tell me all about it. And please don’t spare any details,” encouraged Dr. Withers.

Carolyn Withers clicked on her small recording device and laid it on the table next to her. She looked up at her new patient and jotted down some clinical information in her notebook. “Strong propensity toward enforced humiliation,” were the exact words. She smiled slightly to herself, recognizing that she shared this tendency with her patient, a tendency that she fully intended to exploit.

Again she looked up at her unsuspecting subject and smiled wider, prompting a noticeable blush to appear on her patient’s cheeks, much to the psychiatrist’s delight. She continued staring at the twenty-six-year-old high school teacher, seemingly mesmerized by her beauty. Monica was taller than average, slender, with short, stylish blond hair. Her innocent, strikingly beautiful face reminded one of a young Tea Leone. Carolyn marveled at how someone so innocent and naïve looking could be capable of carrying out the dirty deeds she had been convicted of.

Monica flushed and shifted nervously in her seat when she noticed the leering grin on her psychiatrist’s face. There was something about this doctor that just didn’t sit right with Monica, but she had no choice but to spill her guts to her. It was that or most assuredly she would end up behind bars.

* * * * * *

Earlier, Monica’s stomach churned as she turned the doorknob to enter the reception area of Dr. Withers’ office. She took a deep breath and walked in boldly with feigned confidence.

“May I help you?” asked the pretty receptionist.

“Yes, Monica Prescott to see Dr. Withers.”

“Oh yes, I was just putting your file together.” Monica thought she detected a slight smile forming on the receptionist’s face, which added to her discomfort. The receptionist stuck out her right hand. “Hi, my name’s Tina. It looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Monica reluctantly shook her hand. She was speechless and felt quite uncomfortable that this layperson was apparently familiar with her case. Also, Monica found her lack of professionalism a bit troubling.

“Please have a seat. Dr. Withers will be with you shortly.”

While the receptionist brought the file in to Dr. Withers, Monica nervously sat down. She squirmed in her seat when she heard whispering, followed by laughter emanating from the two ladies through the open door. The receptionist returned to her desk, smiling at the increasingly ill at ease Monica. This was not starting out well at all, from Monica’s perspective.

As the two sat in the ever-so-quiet reception area, the receptionist would occasionally look up at Monica, and Monica swore she saw a smirk on her face. After ten excruciating minutes, Dr. Withers’ voice came over the intercom.

“You can send Miss Prescott in now, Tina.”

Monica didn’t wait for instructions, and she bolted from her chair, thankful to be putting the scene in the reception area behind her. She walked briskly past the receptionist without looking at her. She opened the door to the office and was greeted by a woman of medium height, somewhat plump but with pleasant features. She looked to be in her early thirties.

“Hi, Monica, I’m Dr. Withers. Please have a seat.”

She gestured with an open palm to a rather plain chair in the middle of the spacious office. Monica sat down and was disappointed that the chair had no armrests. She folded her hands on her lap, nervously wringing them together.

Conversely, the doctor sat facing her a few feet away in a comfortable, padded easy chair. There was an in-table directly to her right. No furniture separated the doctor from her patient.

Dr. Withers opened a manila folder labeled “Monica Prescott: State Mandated Consultation.” She sat silently for a few minutes poring through several pages of information. She secretly took pleasure in her patient’s obvious uneasiness and allowed the awkward silence to continue. Satisfied, she closed the file, laid it on her table and looked up at her subject.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you, Monica,” stated Dr. Withers.

Monica was relieved that there was finally a break in the silence, even though she dreaded her own inevitable participation. “Yes,” she answered simply, gulping.

“Why don’t you tell me, Monica.”

Monica took a deep breath. Her voice quivered as she spoke. “I, uh…uh…I was a substitute high school teacher, and, uh, I was working at the St. Augustine’s School for Girls. I…um…I…punished one of the girls in a way that was.…well, it was perceived as improper. You see, Doctor, I believe in punishment through humiliation. I find it an effective means of discipline, and I have yet to have a repeat offender after its....application.

"In any case, two years later someone complained, and I guess the authorities disagreed with my methods. So here I am.”

“This was not your only offense, was it, Monica?”

“Um, no. The….um….the state did an....an investigation after the complaint and they....they determined that I had done something….something like this before.”

“I’m guessing, Monica,” answered Dr. Withers, “that you have done this on several other occasions and have gotten away with it. Is that safe to say?”

Monica fidgeted in her chair. No answer was forthcoming, which prompted the psychiatrist to reprimand her patient. “Okay, Monica we’re going to set some ground rules now. As you know, the prosecution wanted to send you to prison. You were fortunate to have a sympathetic administrator from the school, who thought—correctly, in my opinion—that rehabilitation might be better achieved through other means. The administrator expressed her opinion to the judge, who, though somewhat skeptical, turned you over to me. You are scheduled for several sessions here, at which time I am to make the decision on whether or not you are a candidate for rehabilitation through psychotherapy. If I decide that you are not a candidate, they will send you to prison for a period of not less than two years. Now, although I don’t think prison is the proper alternative, I will not hesitate to recommend to the authorities to have you locked up if I decide that you are not being completely open, honest and cooperative with me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Monica subserviently.

“You don’t want to go to prison, do you, Monica?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you have any idea what would happen to a pretty girl like yourself in the state prison system? Do you understand that the prison dykes will be falling over each other to have their way with your nubile, slender physique?”

Monica shuddered, not only at the image of being molested in prison, but also at her psychiatrist’s unprofessional reference to her body and the usage of the work “dyke.” She was quite uncomfortable with the psychiatrist’s approach.

“Yes…please…" said Monica while wringing her hands intensely. "Please don’t make me go to prison. I promise.....to cooperate with you.”

“Very well, then.”

Carolyn Withers was pleased that her pre-planned lecture had the desired effect. There was no doubt in her mind that Monica Prescott would do whatever she had to do to avoid the prospect of a prison sentence.

A warm feeling of delicious anticipation came over her. It was much like the feeling she had when the case was fortuitously dropped in her lap. At the time she felt it was a gift from the heavens, and now her delicious anticipation was coming to fruition.

“Now, answer my question. You have done this sort of thing on several previous occasions, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” confessed Monica.

“That explains why you’re a substitute teacher, and why you’ve moved around quite a bit.”

“Yes,” Monica said while staring down at her shoes.

“We’ll get into all your transgressions in future sessions. Let’s focus today on the one that put you in your present predicament. Tell me about the incident at St. Augustine's.”

“I don’t know what comes over me when I do this. I guess I just couldn’t help myself, Dr. Withers. I mean, once I made the poor girl take her blouse off, there was no stopping me, like there was a driving force or something.”

“Go on, Monica. Tell me all about it. And please don’t spare any details. Start from the beginning. What was the girl’s name?” Dr. Withers leaned back in her chair, eagerly awaiting Monica’s account. Her interest was anything but professional; in fact, it was quite prurient.

“Her name was Lana. I was teaching the sophomore class. One day she forgot to bring in her homework. Truth be told, I was just waiting for a good reason to punish her.”

“What did Lana look like?” Dr. Withers interrupted.

Monica shot her a curious glance, wondering why this detail was meaningful. “She was tall for her age and on the skinny side. She looked younger than her actual age of fifteen. Anyway, I asked her to stand up, and told her that she must be punished. I explained to her that I have a somewhat unusual punishment practice, in that I utilize punishment through humiliation.

"Now I must tell you, Doctor, that I took great pleasure in the anxious look on her face. ‘You will kindly remove your blouse, Lana,’ I told her. The alarmed look on her face was delightful. She just stood there dumbfounded. I think she initially thought I was kidding. I can be very forceful when I want to be, and I let her know forthwith just how serious I was. I walked toward her and slammed a yardstick on her desk. She jumped at the sound. ‘Now!’ I screamed at her. She started fumbling with her buttons. I knew I had her.”

Monica paused to catch her breath. Dr. Withers listened intently, gradually becoming stimulated as Monica detailed the enforced stripping. Monica was becoming flush in the face, and it was obvious to her psychiatrist that she was enjoying the recollection. Little did the patient know that her doctor was, also.

“Please, go on,” prodded Dr. Withers.

“I stood over her as she deliberately undid the buttons. Gosh, the look on her face when she peeled off her blouse and I grabbed it from her.…just priceless. She was blushing beautifully and had her arms crossed over her chest, covering her bra.”

“What color was her bra?” asked the devious doctor.

Monica was now too caught up in the story to wonder what clinical relevance this question could possibly have. As for Dr. Withers, the intimate details served to enhance her pleasure.

“It was white," Monica answered without hesitation. "All the girls were required to wear white bras. Their uniform was a white blouse and bra with the pleated, blue skirt. Then I laid the zinger on her. ‘I’ll take your bra now, Lana,’ I told her. She was stunned, and stood frozen on the spot, the poor dear. I slammed the yardstick on her desk again and she jumped and began undoing the bra behind her back. I must admit, Dr. Withers, that I was quite stimulated over this wonderful scene. I looked around the room and the other girls had these incredulous looks on their faces. I think most of them were enjoying it, too. Lana was kind of the snobby sort and I’m sure the girls were delighting in her shame. Anyway, when her bra was undone I snatched it away before she knew what hit her. What a sight, her standing there with her arms clinched tightly across her bare chest….and she was red as a beet from her forehead down to her breasts.”

“Tell me about her breasts, Monica.”

“They were tiny!” answered Monica without hesitation. “That, I’m sure, added considerably to her humiliation.”

The psychiatrist nodded to herself. It was becoming clear to her why the teacher chose this student as her unfortunate victim. The doctor smiled slightly, realizing that she would use this knowledge while carrying out her devious plan. “But you didn’t stop there, did you Monica?”

“Well, no, like I say, there was no stopping me. It’s hard to describe the feeling, but I was deriving considerable gratification from putting this poor girl through her paces.”

Dr. Withers knew exactly what she meant. “So, what happened next?”

“Then I went back to my desk, took my chair and placed it in front of the classroom. I ordered Lana to come to the front of the room. She obeyed, her arms still clinging to her chest. I ordered her to stand on the chair. She looked like she was about to cry. I slapped the back of her legs with the yardstick to move her along. She climbed onto the chair, and I made her face her classmates. ‘Now I want you to reach for the sky, Lana,’ I told her. ‘With both hands. Reach your hands as high as you can and hold them there.’ She was reluctant, so I threatened her. ‘I’ll be forced to remove your skirt if you remain obstinate with me, Lana,’ I told her.

"As I anticipated, that was all the nudging that was necessary. She raised her arms. ‘Higher!’ I commanded. She reached as high as she could, and I must say that this posture not only exposed her tiny breasts, but it caused them to contract. It looked like she was as flat as a boy! Some of the girls were giggling, which was wonderful because it undoubtedly added to Lana's torment. Oh, it was really something! After a few minutes of this treatment, I decided to escalate her humiliation. I guess this is when I took things a little too far.”

Dr. Withers smiled to herself, finding humor in the fact that Miss Prescott was of the belief that she hadn't gone too far already. “I read the report. You must be referring to the fondling.”

“Yes, I don’t know where I came up with the idea, but I was on a roll and wanted to take it to another level. ‘Which one of your breasts would you like to fondle for us, Lana?’ I asked her. I remember the delectable, horrified look on her face, and there were some audible gasps from the girls. ‘Let’s play a game,’ I said…”

Dr. Withers cut her short. “Yes, I read the transcripts about the game. We’ll come back to that, Monica, but we only have a few minutes left and I would like to begin your treatment before you leave here today. First, though, tell me….earlier you said that you were hoping to find a reason to punish Lana. Why did you choose Lana as your victim?” Monica hesitated, seemingly averse to answering. “I know why you chose her, Monica. I just want you to vocalize it for me.”

Monica remembered Dr. Withers’ admonition about being open, honest and cooperative. With the threat of prison on the table, she knew it was in her best interests to be truthful. “Well, um, I….Lana had very small breasts, and I.…her, um, body type was very similar to mine. I must admit that the idea of exposing myself like that is incomprehensible, and.…well, as you know I have this weakness.…this strong desire to see someone humiliated, and I figured that if Lana was like me she would be extremely self-conscious about her body. And I must say that I was right, judging from how red the poor girl…”

“Okay, Monica,” interrupted Dr. Withers. “We need to begin your therapy—or your treatment, if you will. I think it would be most therapeutic for you to experience the same feeling of humiliation that Lana felt that day.” She paused, pleased with the wide-eyed look on her comprehending patient’s face. “Maybe in the future, if you have these strong inclinations, you’ll remember what it feels like to be a victim of your own humiliation methods. Hopefully this knowledge will act as a deterrent, and you would resist the urge to satisfy your deep desires.”

Monica was already shaking her head from side to side in protest. Dr. Withers was not to be denied. “Please remove your blouse for me, Monica.”

Monica bolted upright in her chair. Her session had taken a sudden, drastic turn for the worse, and for her it was a living nightmare. “No! Please, Dr. Withers. I promise…”

Dr. Withers pressed on her intercom button and spoke into the speaker. “Tina, would you please get Miss Prescott’s parole officer on the phone for me?”

“No! Okay, I’ll do it! Please!” cried Monica.

“Cancel, that, Tina.”

Dr. Withers leaned back in her easy chair, smiling smugly.

[jimmythehand]

One of my all time favourites of yours. Glad to see it reposted here for a new audience.

[Frank89]

I remember this story. Hope we will also get to see some new chapters of it.

[Hooked6]

This is one of my favorite stories! The premise is most intriguing and the story is so well-written. I am thrilled to hear that there are more unpublished chapters to come!!

Hooked6

[imanewb]

New to me, can't wait

[Blondie]

Chapter 2: Monica's "Therapy" Begins

Under the watchful eye of her psychiatrist, Monica—much like Lana had done over two years before—deliberately began unbuttoning the buttons of her starched white blouse. Her embarrassment was profound, an emotion clearly expressed by her profusely blushing cheeks. She slipped the long-sleeved blouse off and held it over her chest. Dr. Withers took delight in her patient's bashfulness.

“You can hang your blouse over the back of your chair, Monica.” She did so, and then turned back while holding are arms steadfastly over the small protrusions on her chest. She was wearing a black bra with a small amount of lace around the cups. Dr. Withers allowed the moment to play out for a few moments before giving her next directive. “I’d like you to take off your bra now, Monica.”

Of course, Monica was not surprised, but her lack of surprise did nothing to assuage her state of distress. “P-please…” she started to plead. But she stopped herself, recognizing that it would be fruitless to request any leniency. Agonized, she slowly reached behind her back and unclasped her bra.

“Go ahead and drape it over the back of your chair, Monica.”

She carefully slid the bra from her chest and placed it with her discarded blouse. She immediately formed an “X” with her arms, crossing them over her chest with her hands on her shoulders. Dr. Withers smiled at her client, very much enjoying her body language and obvious embarrassment.

“I’d like you to fold your hands behind your chair for me, Monica.” Monica, now in the throes of wretchedness, complied. In her nakedness she bowed her head and clenched her eyes tightly shut. “Look at me, Monica,” ordered Dr. Withers. Monica opened her eyes and met those of her psychiatrist. Dr. Withers looked down at Monica’s breasts, smiled, then resumed eye contact with her patient. “They really are quite small, aren’t they, Monica?” Monica somehow flushed brighter. Dr. Withers knew exactly which buttons to push to exacerbate her humiliation. “I asked you a question, Monica.”

“Yes,” the beleaguered young lady answered. She squeezed her hands together behind her chair in anguish.

“Yes, what, Monica?

“Yes, they are quite small.”

“What are small, Monica?”

“M-my breasts.” Dr. Withers looked at her sternly, an indication she was not satisfied with her answer. “My breasts are very small, Dr. Withers. Please….please let me get dressed now, I’m begging you.”

“We’re not quite done with your therapy for today, Monica. You put Lana through much more embarrassment than this, and it was in front of quite a few more people.”

Her last statement seemed to give her an idea. She pushed the button of the intercom. “Tina, would you come in here, please?”

Monica’s look of open-mouthed alarm, accompanied by her unclasping her hands and crossing her arms over her chest brought a smile to Carolyn Withers’ face. She pressed the intercom button again.

“Oh, and please bring the digital camera with you. I’d like to get some pictures for Miss Prescott’s file.”

“Right away, Dr. Withers,” came the voice from the speaker.

“Oh God, please, no!” came the voice from the half-naked occupant of the chair facing Dr. Withers.

Within seconds the door to the office opened and the receptionist entered, camera in hand. She grinned when she spotted the barebacked woman leaning over in her chair with her arms tightly clenched across her chest.

“Would you like me to take some pictures of Miss Prescott, Dr. Withers?” asked Tina (much too exuberantly, for Monica’s tastes). She stepped next to Dr. Withers and faced the mortified Monica Prescott.

“Yes, Tina, in a moment. As you can see, Miss Prescott is very self-conscious about her body. This is a positive trait, because when she is forced to expose herself it will only enhance her embarrassment, which will be very beneficial towards her recovery. Now Monica, I’d like you to take your heels off, then climb on your chair for me and reach for the sky.”

Monica flinched noticeably at the instruction. The image of Lana in this position was etched in her mind, and the prospect of subjecting herself to the same treatment in front of the leering Dr. Withers and her eager secretary was almost unbearable.

But she knew what she had to do. Sniveling quietly, she slipped off her shoes and somehow forced herself to climb onto the chair. Her arms remained across her chest and her gaze was transfixed to the floor.

“Arms up!” bellowed Dr. Withers. Monica raised her arms above her head. “Higher! Reach for the ceiling!”

Monica stretched her arms as high as she could. The white skin of her belly contrasted sharply with her black skirt and stockings. Her upper body was taut, which seemed to diminish the size of her small breasts even further.

“Excellent, Monica. Okay, Tina, let’s get a few pictures for the file. Wait until you see the pictures, Monica. With you all stretched out like that, your little breasts appear even tinier, impossible as that may seem.”

“Oh, please," was all the whimpering Monica could muster.

The secretary climbed onto a stepstool to attain a better angle. “Smile for the camera, Miss Prescott. Say ‘cheese.’ ” Of course, Monica Prescott was in no frame of mind to smile. The flash of the camera went off anyway. “That was really nice, Miss Prescott,” approved Tina. “But I need you to look at the camera for me this time, dear. I want to get your pretty eyes along with your little breasts. Ready? On three. One, two, THREE!”

Monica looked up miserably at the camera while the receptionist snapped another photograph. “Excellent, Miss Prescott! The pictures will be exquisite! I have your e-mail address. I’ll download the pictures today and send you a copy for your own enjoyment.”

“Why don’t you tell Tina what you told me about your breasts, Monica,” suggested Dr. Withers.

The cheerless victim was momentarily silent before relenting. “My breasts are very small.” Monica was nearly inaudible, and her voice was quivering.

“Why yes, they are indeed quite tiny,” laughed Tina boisterously while staring directly at Monica’s underdeveloped bosom. Tina pulled slightly at the bottom of her sweater to augment her own ample chest, which only added to Monica’s self-consciousness. “And your nipples are so teeny, they remind me of my ten-year-old brother’s. You must be awfully embarrassed, putting those on display like that. I can’t wait to see the pictures.”

“Yes,” countered Dr. Withers. “I’m sure Miss Prescott is quite mortified now. Much like Lana was, right, Monica?” Monica remained silent. “Now, you started to tell me about the game you had Lana play while she was standing on the chair half-naked, much like you are right now. Let’s see, I believe the question was, ‘Which breast would you like to fondle for us'? Please, show Tina and me what you made Lana do.” Monica clenched her eyes shut, temporarily unable to do her bidding. “We’re waiting, Monica.”

Much to the delight of her small audience, Monica put one hand behind her head, and, using her index finger, alternated touching each of her nipples to the accompaniment of her words (and several flashes of the camera). “Eenie meenie miney mo,” began Monica, her voice shaking. “Catch a tiny titty by the toe. My mommy told me to choose the very best one.” Monica’s finger ended up on her right nipple. Dr. Withers and Tina clapped appreciatively. Monica’s humiliation was intense.

“Did you make Lana fondle her breast in front of everybody, Monica?” asked Dr. Withers, who was well aware of the answer. Monica nodded gloomily. “Well then, Monica, I think you should fondle your breast for Tina and me.”

The wretched Monica proceeded to caress herself. The wicked doctor allowed the scene to play out for a full minute or so while her receptionist captured the bizarre scene with video.

“Very good, Monica. You can sit down now,” instructed Dr. Withers.

“That will be all, Tina. Thank you very much for helping with Monica’s therapy. Oh, and Tina, could you please take Monica’s blouse and bra with you and hang them up in the closet for her? Thank you.”

Monica watched fretfully as Tina closed the door behind her with Monica’s blouse and bra in hand. Dr. Withers addressed her patient, who again sat with her arms across her chest.

“That was a very productive session, Monica," said the smiling Dr. Withers. "Do you think it was beneficial for you?"

“I…I don’t know, I, um…I’ll have to think about it. Please, can I have my clothes back?”

Dr. Withers looked at her watch. “Our session is over, so yes, make your next appointment with Tina and she’ll return your clothes. I’ll see you again a week from today.”

“But…what if someone is out there?” asked Monica nervously as she slipped on her heels.

Dr. Withers knew she had no more appointments for the day, but she enjoyed making her patient squirm.

“That’s the chance you’ll have to take now, isn’t it? All part of your therapy. See you next week. Good day, Miss Prescott.”

With that, Dr. Withers rose from her chair and turned her back to the anguished Monica, who poked her head warily through a crack in the door before making her panicky exit.

When the door closed, Carolyn Withers sat at her desk chair and leaned back, enjoying the memories that were still fresh in her mind. Reaching into her bottom drawer, she pulled out a bottle of high-priced cognac and poured a small amount into a snifter. She placed the rim of the glass under her nose, breathing in the fine scent. A warm feeling came over her as she contemplated her next session with her ill-fated new patient. Smiling broadly to herself, she sipped from her glass, celebrating Monica Prescott, who for the foreseeable future would be the pawn she would use to satisfy her most prurient desires.

[Blondie]

Chapter 3: The Devilish Receptionist

Monica Prescott shivered noticeably as she exited the subway station into the chilly air of the Chicago suburb. It should be noted that her elevated state of anxiety was as much a factor in the cause of her tremors as was the wintry air. Her dreaded second session with the intimidating Dr. Withers had come due, and only two blocks separated her from the office, where undoubtedly another very unpleasant experience awaited her.

In no small way, a contributory factor to her dread was her impending, unavoidable confrontation with Dr. Withers' receptionist, the catty Tina Minsky. As Monica entered the building and approached the elevator, she reluctantly recalled the god-awful scene in the reception area following her agonizing initial session with Dr. Withers.

As the reader may recall, the slender young patient was stripped bare to the waist when her session ended. Following the instructions of Dr. Withers, Tina Minsky had (much to the chagrin of Monica) taken Monica's blouse and bra into the reception room. Upon her dismissal, the overwrought Monica opened the door to the reception area, took a deep breath and, after scanning the room to verify that there was no one out there other than the receptionist, she closed the door and hastily scurried to the reception desk. Tina Minsky was engrossed in a telephone call, and did not look up at the anxious, half-naked young lady standing before her—though, with her peripheral vision she noted with amusement that her self-consciousness was quite evident in the way she clenched her arms tightly over her chest.

"Could I have my clothes, please?" asked Monica in desperation.

Tina looked up ever so briefly before continuing with her call. "Sure, I'd love to meet you for cocktails and dinner sometime. Tell me, how are you and Brian getting along these days?"

Monica's exasperation increased. "Please, can you just give me my clothes?!" demanded Monica in a loud, high-pitched voice.

"Hold on one second," Tina said to the other voice on the line. She laid the cradle on her lap and addressed the frazzled patient. "As you can see, Miss Prescott, I am in the middle of an important phone call. Please have a seat and I will try to address your needs when I'm finished here."

She put the phone back to her ear. "Sorry, about that, Sonia. There is a lady here that keeps interrupting me because she's half naked and all embarrassed and she wants me to retrieve her blouse and bra. Can you believe the nerve of some people?" With that, Tina looked up at Monica and grinned derisively. Monica, now under the realization that she was completely at the mercy of the fiendish receptionist, retreated subserviently to a chair in the waiting area. Tina took the opportunity to add salt to the wound.

"You might want to check out the Talbots catalog, Miss Prescott," she called out. "They have some beautiful blouses that might interest you." Giggling to herself, she returned to her phone call.

Meanwhile, within a few moments Monica recoiled in her seat when she heard someone enter the outside door to the reception area. Frenetically, she snatched the Talbots catalog, opened it up and held it in front of her in such a way that she hoped her state of undress would not be discovered.
Much to her consternation, the housekeeping man appeared in her view. He was there to empty the garbage! Monica sat nervously, alternating her gaze from the catalog to the housekeeping gentleman, who was in the process of emptying Tina's garbage bin.

Coincidentally, the catalog was indeed opened to the blouse section that Tina had referred to. It occurred to Monica that she would be willing to spend at least ten times the price listed for any one of the expensive blouses, if she could only be wearing it at that moment.

Then, to her horror, she noticed the trash can next to her. It would only be a matter of moments before the man would inevitably enter her space. She had to do something! The man's back was to her, so Monica quickly picked up the trash can and placed it on the other side of a curve in the wall behind her. She glanced at Tina, who was still on the phone and grinning freely at Monica's predicament. It was all Monica could do to restrain herself from running up there and wrapping the phone cord around her neck.

Eventually the housekeeper finished his business and left the room. Monica, whose heart had been racing a mile a minute, exhaled a big sigh of relief.

Tina finally hung up the phone, and Monica bounded from her chair and approached the desk. "I'm begging you, could you please give me my clothes now?" Tina, without a word, nonchalantly pointed at a closet to her left. Monica darted for the closet door, but the knob would not turn. "It's locked!" she screamed back at Tina.

Tina smiled at her coyly while holding up a small key. "I'll be happy to open that for you, Miss Prescott. But first let's set you up for next week's appointment."

It was plain to Monica that her tormentor was going to drag out Monica's ordeal as long as she could. Monica flinched when she heard voices in the outside hallway. The voices gradually subsided, and Monica turned her attention back to the receptionist. "Please, can we just make this quick?" pleaded Monica.

"Absolutely, Miss Prescott," responded Tina. She clicked her computer mouse a few times without looking up. Monica looked anxiously at the door when more voices emanated from the hallway. "Still checking," said Tina calmly while Monica shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot. Tina looked up and said, "I don't know why you bother covering your chest, Miss Prescott. From what I've already seen, you really don't have much to hide." She giggled to herself as she stared at her monitor while scrolling with her mouse. "Okay, here we go," she said finally. "I'll put you down for one week from today, same time, same place." Tina diligently wrote the information down on an appointment card, but realistically there was no way Monica would be able to forget, much as she would love to.

Monica took the card and looked toward the closet in expectation. But the devilish receptionist had other ideas. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me with something," she said.

Monica looked at her wide-eyed, wondering when the hell she was going to regain her blouse. Tina was pointing to a light fixture on the ceiling. It had a chrome brace and a glass bowl-shaped fixture covering two light bulbs. One of the bulbs was apparently burned out. "That bulb needs to be changed, and unfortunately the maintenance department for this building is on a one-day strike. I really hate to bother Dr. Withers. You're so nice and tall, and you have long arms. It's really a two-person job. I would need you to hold up the glass cover while I unscrew the brace." Tina took note of the distressed look on Monica's face and smiled. "Please, it will only take a few moments, then you are free to go home."

"P-please, I can help, but...just...just let me get dressed first."

"Ah, but Miss Prescott, don't you see? Your blouse and bra are my bargaining chips. If I give them back I'm not sure I can trust you to stay and help me." She paused and smiled at the miserable Monica. "Besides, it's so much more fun this way!"

With that she turned and placed a straight-backed chair under the light fixture, then another chair right next to it. Light bulb in hand, she climbed on one of the chairs and motioned Monica to step on the other. Wretchedly, she complied. "Great, now hold onto the bowl while I unscrew it." Monica reached with her left hand. "Two hands, silly girl. We can't have it fall to the floor and break now, can we?"

Monica felt like she had to extricate her right arm from her chest. She slowly reached up until she was holding the fixture with both hands. For the first time since leaving Dr. Withers' office, Monica's breasts were out in the open. And, incredibly, for the second time that day she was standing topless on a chair with her arms outstretched toward the ceiling. Her face flushed brightly as Tina, who was only about a foot away, grinned unreservedly as she unabashedly stared at Monica's undersized chest.

"You must be incredibly embarrassed, Miss Prescott," said Tina while looking her straight in the eyes with a mischievous smile. Monica blushed yet brighter, much to Tina's delight.

* * * * * *

Monica Prescott eventually recovered her bra and blouse on that ill-fated day a week before. As the elevator door opened, she tentatively stepped into the hallway and eyed the door with the nameplate "Dr. Caroline Withers: Clinical Psychiatry." As she turned the knob, she was unable to fend off an involuntary shudder.

[ValerianXIII]

This is one my favorite stories I hope you continue it!!

[Blondie]

Chapter 4: Waiting Room Humiliation

As Monica walked into the reception room, she made her best effort to maintain her poise. With perfect posture she sauntered up to the desk where a smiling Tina Minsky awaited her. Monica ignored her smile and very business-like announced, "Monica Prescott to see Dr. Withers, please."

The receptionist played along, at least momentarily.

"Yes, welcome, Miss Prescott. May I take your coat?"

Monica winced ever so slightly.

"No, that won't be necessary. The coat goes with the rest of my outfit, thanks."

Indeed, Monica, who habitually dressed nattily, wore a charcoal-grey coat with matching pants, her favorite white blouse and 2 1/2-inch black heels.

Tina Minsky was undeterred. She walked over to the closet and removed a wooden hanger from the rod. She held it out for Monica.

"And a beautiful outfit it is, Miss Prescott. You do look quite handsome today. But Dr. Withers has given me specific instructions as to what your state of attire should be when it is time to see her."

Monica's spirits drooped significantly, recognizing that her "state of attire" (or lack of it!) would once again be a point of interest during today's session. She succumbed to the request and removed her impeccably pressed coat, hanging it carefully on the hanger and placing it in the closet. Her plan to exude poise and confidence was falling by the wayside.

"You can put your purse on the shelf." It was more a demand than a request, and Monica reluctantly followed her instructions.

Two occurrences instantly followed that intensified Monica's state of apprehension. First, Tina had followed her to the closet and immediately inserted a key, locking the door. Once again Monica would be at Tina's mercy when it would be time to retrieve her belongings.

But even more unnerving for Monica was that when she turned around she spotted two people sitting in the waiting room. She did not see them when she came in, but they most certainly had witnessed all the proceedings. Monica's discomfiture was not lost on Tina.

"It's okay, they're friendly, and they are looking forward to meeting you. Please, come have a seat," said Tina as she took Monica's elbow and guided her to the waiting room. "I'd like you to meet my sister Paula, and this is my cousin Ricky."

Both lifted from their seats and extended a hand. Monica, somewhat taken aback by the bizarre circumstances, warily stuck out her hand. She observed that the girl was sixteen or seventeen years old, and the boy was probably not a day over fourteen. As she collected herself, she considered that they were high school students, the same age as the students she had been teaching over the last several years, the same age as the students she had regrettably abused through humiliation, thus leaving her in the dire situation she presently found herself in. Were they a plant, all part of Dr. Withers' diabolical plan? Time would only tell. Suffice it to say, Monica was feeling more than a little uneasy with the presence of the young twosome.

Tina interrupted her thoughts.

"Please, sit down, Miss Prescott. Dr. Withers will be with you shortly."

Monica sat, as did the two teenagers. They sat directly across the troubled Monica, staring at her in silence. Monica thought she detected a smirk on the girl's lips. Had Tina shared her history with her? Monica wouldn't put it past her.

Aware that the two had observed the scene where she was coerced into removing her coat, Monica actually felt a bit exposed and couldn't keep from crossing her arms over her chest, enticing a giggle from Paula. Monica, now quite ill at ease, reached for a magazine. To her consternation though, all the magazines had been cleared out. The three sat in silence, and the tension (almost exclusively for Monica) was mounting.

What the hell were they doing here?

For Monica, her fate was about to take a drastic turn for the worse. The phone rang, causing her to almost leap out of her chair in alarm.

"Yes, Dr. Withers?" answered Tina. "Will do, Dr. Withers." Monica looked expectantly at Tina. "Yes, we certainly have that option. Hopefully there won't be any fuss. I'll let Miss Prescott know right away."

Monica, who had hoped she was about to be called in to the office, was in for a very rude surprise. Tina Minsky rose and unlocked the closet, then walked over and stood above Monica, holding a wire hanger. "Dr. Withers asked me to hang your blouse up in the closet," came the stunning directive.

Horrified, Monica instinctively looked at the two newcomers. Paula was grinning freely—Monica noted that she didn't seem a bit surprised by the demand—and Ricky was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, obviously surprised, and clearly quite delighted by the turn of events.

"P-please, may I...may I take care of this in Dr. Withers' office?" Monica did not even consider the absurdity of the fact that she was requesting to strip against her will for Dr. Withers.

"No, Dr. Withers is not quite ready for you yet, but she would like you to take your blouse off straight away. Come on, Miss Prescott, off with it." Monica, seemingly unsure of what to do, sat frozen, in a semi state of panic. "She told me that if it was necessary, I'm to remind you that we have the phone number of your parole officer, and she will not hesitate to have me call her if the need arises."

Monica needed no further prodding. With the real threat of going to prison on the table, even this most unpleasant alternative would be the lesser of the two evils. Under the watchful eyes of the three bystanders, Monica, while fighting back tears, reached for her top button and deliberately began unfastening her blouse. While Tina and Paula looked on in amusement, Ricky stared in fascination as her lacy black bra became exposed. Monica couldn't help but wonder if the innocent-looking boy had ever seen a woman stripped to her bra before. She thought not, a perception that in some way intensified her embarrassment.

As she peeled the garment from her slender figure, Tina unhesitatingly pulled it from her grasp and draped it over the hanger as she strode purposefully to the closet. The sound of the closet door closing echoed throughout the room. Monica cringed as she heard the key turning in the lock.

She shivered uncontrollably as she clasped her arms around her chest, a position that was to be short-lived. Tina, who had resumed her place at the reception desk, had other ideas. "Dr. Withers requests that you rest both arms on the armrests of your chair, Miss Prescott," said Tina.

Monica, while strongly suspecting that the psychiatrist gave no such order, was in no position to argue. She slowly lowered her arms, exposing her partially-clad chest to the captivated couple across from her. She knew she was blushing crimson; indeed, she looked down and noticed that even her upper chest was flushing pink.

The girl across from her broke the silence. "What is your cup size?" asked Paula, while staring unabashedly at Monica's chest.

Monica was in no mood to engage the impish teen. And it occurred to her that if only she were larger than a triple A cup that this dreadful situation would somehow be just a wee bit less humiliating. Her lack of endowment had been a psychological burden for her since she was a young teen. In any case, she was about to tell her that it was none of her fucking business but caught herself and decided to ignore the question.

"Paula asked you a question," came the voice from the reception desk.

"It's a...34.......a 34.....trip....triple A," said the shamed Monica softly, her gaze downcast to her knees.

"She's a 34 triple A!" exclaimed Paula. "Wow, I didn't even know they made bras that small!" She continued to stare at Monica's chest. "If I was that flat I wouldn't even bother covering the little nubs up! I mean, who's going to notice?"

Monica flushed brighter as she looked up without responding. She did notice that the young girl's breasts were more than twice the size of her own.

She glanced at the lad to Paula's right. He didn't seem the least bit put off by her lack of size. In truth, the sight of a pretty, twenty-something young lady sitting across from him stripped to her bra was more than enough to hold his fascination.

Paula wasn't finished teasing poor Monica. "Do you get a discount on your bras since there is so little material?" she asked with a smirk on her face, eliciting a giggle from the reception area. Monica fidgeted in her seat without answering.

"Miss Prescott?" reprimanded Tina.

"No," replied Monica reluctantly.

"Well, you should look into that," replied Paula. "It's not fair that you should pay the same price the rest of us do when you're getting far less."

"Please, just leave me alone," pleaded Monica.

"Have you considered shopping at the little girls' department for a training bra?" persisted Paula. "You could save some money that way." Monica sat in silence, blushing profusely. "Do you have to have your bras specially made? I don't think I've seen that size in the stores," she said. "Do you go to a specialty store that caters to women with tiny breasts?"

Tina could no longer control herself, and outright laughter emanated from the reception desk.

Just then the ring of the phone reverberated throughout the reception room.

"Yes, Dr. Withers? Okay, will do."

Monica closed her eyes tightly, deathly afraid that she would be asked to remove her bra. She conjured up the terrifying image of her sitting there topless and knew it would be all but unbearable. But, to her relief, it was a summons from the office.

"Dr. Withers will see you now, Miss Prescott," announced the receptionist.

Monica bolted from her chair, ever so eager to leave the humiliating scene in the reception room behind. Never did she dream that she would feel a sense of relief upon being summoned to Dr. Withers' office.

Monica's sense of relief would, of course, prove to be fleeting. The satanic psychiatrist had some delicious plans for the beleaguered Miss Prescott.

[Blondie]

Chapter 5: Girls Forced to Remove Their Tops

Dr. Caroline Withers stared at her computer monitor, smiling, as a wave of satisfaction swept through her being. She watched and listened as her star patient ever so reluctantly began unbuttoning her blouse, under the watchful eye of her trustworthy receptionist and two youngsters who were recruited for the occasion. She pushed a button near her keyboard and nodded approvingly as the camera zoomed in on the object of everyone's attention. She pushed another button that captured a picture of her profusely blushing victim. Satisfied, she zoomed back out, with the knowledge that she could—and most certainly would—revisit the recording later for further enjoyment.

When the Monica Prescott case fell into her lap a few weeks prior—a gift from the heavens, in Caroline's estimation—one of her first priorities was to improve on her surveillance system. As the loyal reader has probably ascertained, the depraved psychiatrist's motive for this maneuver had very little to do with surveillance and everything to do her with prurient interests. She cut no corners (and no cost, for that matter) in procuring a state-of-the-art system, with several 4K cameras hidden and strategically placed in both the reception room and the office she presently sat in.

In her estimation she had already gained a tidy return on her investment, that return being the pleasure (both physical and psychophysical, if one must know) she had already experienced while watching the footage from Miss Prescott's previous visit.

She owed a debt of gratitude, she thought, to Tina Minsky, as her favorite scene took place in the reception room after the appointment, when the receptionist veered from the planned script and persuaded the half-naked patient to stand on a chair and assist in changing a light bulb. A display of brilliance! Or so thought Dr. Withers. Tina was doing her proud, and Caroline was pleased to observe that Ms. Minsky wasn't going about her new duties regarding the new patient with any reservations—indeed, she seemed to be thriving on the experience.

Caroline watched the young lady squirm in her chair for a few more minutes before turning off her computer and picking up the intercom line.
"Tina, could you please send Miss Prescott in now?" she asked.

"Okay, will do," came the reply.

The doctor wasn't a bit surprised to see her door open almost instantly. She chuckled to herself, knowing that her patient was quite eager to escape her previous situation.

"Good afternoon, Monica," greeted Dr. Withers pleasantly. She held out her palm, motioning for Monica to be seated. Monica sat in the same chair as in her first session. The chair had no armrests. Dr. Withers sat in her easy chair directly across from her. Again, no furniture separated doctor and patient. It was not a comfortable setup for her patient, but of course that is exactly what Dr. Withers had in mind. She wasted no time in exacerbating Monica's state of discomfiture.

"Do you know why I had you strip down to your bra?"

Monica impulsively crossed her arms over her chest. "I...I don't know, Dr. Withers." Dr. Withers looked at her sternly without responding. Monica felt obliged to try a different tact. "All part of the therapy?" she tried, using a phrase Dr. Withers had used in the previous session.

Dr. Withers smiled. "That's true, Monica, it most certainly is. But more specifically—and please correct me if I'm mistaken—wasn't it one of your favorite punishments to have your female victims remove their top?" She had intentionally used the word "victim," knowing that was exactly how Monica perceived them. It was her way of getting her warmed up, hopefully to get her in character as the perverted teacher.

"Yes, I thought this was a very effective form of discipline," said Monica, somewhat enthusiastically. "I've never had a second offender."

"You utilized this form of discipline on several occasions, didn't you, Monica."

"Yes, I did," replied Monica while nodding her head.

"Tell me about it, Monica," said Dr. Withers.

She purposely was being vague, wondering where Monica would go with it.

"Well, the student would misbehave, and..."

"How would the student misbehave?" interrupted Dr. Withers.

"Oh, she would either talk in class, or she would not do her homework. Usually something like that, nothing serious."

"So a minor offense warranted taking action with your 'punishment through humiliation' practice."

"Well, it depends on what you consider a minor offense. Again, I thought it was very effec..."

"You have used the word 'she' when describing the students you punished. Did you ever have the occasion to punish the boys?"

"Oh, yes, I absolutely did." Monica chuckled slightly. "I once made a boy take his clothes off and I put a dress on him." Monica grinned at the recollection. "I don't think I've ever seen a boy turn redder than he did. It was really something."

"You say you made him take his clothes off to put the dress on. Did you make him strip naked before putting on the dress?" Dr. Withers' interest was growing by the minute.

"Not this particular one, though on other occasions I did just that. To tell you the truth, I didn't have any interest in seeing this one naked. He had too much hair on his body. I just wanted to embarrass him. Guess I succeeded in that!" Monica was grinning widely now. "Anyway, I preferred the boys that hadn't started developing yet. They were much more self-conscious, so the humiliation was more intense."

Indeed," responded Dr. Withers.

"I have to say, I really did enjoy disciplining the boys," added Monica without prompting.

Dr. Withers wanted to hear more details but chose to stay on the current topic. "We'll get back to the boys some other time. Tell me about making the girls strip their tops off. Did you enjoy doing that?"

"Oh yes, Dr. Withers," replied Monica excitedly. Dr. Withers smiled to herself. Her patient was beginning to let go and was getting caught up in her humiliation escapades. "The look on the girls' faces when they come to the realization that they are going to have to strip...oh, it is just so precious!" Dr. Withers noted that Monica was talking in the present tense, as if she was reliving the events. "And then, when they understand how serious I am...and when they reach for that top button, I know I have them. And this warm feeling comes over me." Even Dr. Withers was astonished by the woman's passion. She let her continue unprompted.

"And I watch them slowly, methodically get toward the bottom of their blouses. Sometimes they're fighting off tears. Once a girl was bawling out of control, and I really didn't care for that. It really killed the moment for me.

"Anyway, their faces get redder and redder as they feel their humiliation grow. Then when I take the blouse from their hands....sometimes they'll hold on to it as I'm pulling on it. I kind of enjoy that. What, do they think I'm going to change my mind? I don't think so! Then, when they finally relinquish the blouse, and their bra is exposed, and they wrap their arms across their chest in absolute mortification.....what a delicious sight!"

Monica was so engrossed in her reminiscences that it never crossed her mind that just a few minutes before she was doing exactly that in the waiting area. Dr. Withers smiled at the irony. "Tell me about the girls that you punished, Monica. Did they have anything in common?"

Monica replied without hesitation. "The best girls to punish this way are the flat-chested ones. They're so embarrassed to expose their double A's, or even their triple A's, if I'm fortunate enough to get one of those." Monica, who was already a little flush in the face from excitement, blushed deeper as she momentarily contemplated her own 34AAA cup bra that was on display. Dr. Withers got her back on track.

"How long do you wait before giving them their blouses back?"

"Oh, it varies. Depends on how much fun I'm having with them, I guess," Monica said, followed by a giggle. "I usually have them sit in their chairs like that until the end of the lesson. If I'm so inclined—especially if they're extraordinarily embarrassed about their exposure—I might have them come up to the front of the class. The first couple of times I did this I had them read from a textbook. That was okay, but they tended to cover their little chests with the book. So I had to try something different. I might have them come up and recite their favorite poem. Or I would quiz them on the latest chapter from whatever we were studying at the time. They would be required to fold their hands behind their backs all the while. They just hated that.

"One of them tried to puff out her chest to make it look bigger, but come on, she was probably a double A, who was she kidding? I'm sure she got teased by the other kids for the rest of the year." Monica paused to catch her breath.

"One of my favorites was when I made one absolutely pancake-flat girl—I mean, if I didn't know better, she could have been a boy—come up and sing for us. She kept on trying to cover her bra with her arms. It was more like a training bra, and she was sixteen years old! She was so humiliated....it was a wonderful experience." Monica paused and smiled, seemingly picturing the ill-fated girl in her mind. "Anyway, it was during the Christmas season, and I had her sing 'The Twelve Days of Christmas.' So she was up there for a long time. Oh, and every time she got to the part where you have to draw out 'five golden rings' I had her hold her arms out like this."

Despite herself, Monica stood up and demonstrated by stretching her arms out and partway up, with her palms facing the entertained doctor. Monica caught herself, blushed brightly and quickly sat back in her chair, arms folded.

"Tell me about the girl at Crestview High."

Dr. Withers had done her homework, having thoroughly pored through all the documents pertaining to the Prescott case. "It looks like you only substituted there one time."

Monica had pulled back into the reality of being Dr. Withers' subservient patient. "I....that was a while ago..."

"I believe her name was Ginger," prodded Dr. Withers.

"Yes, that is correct," answered Monica while focusing on a carpet fiber in front of her.

"What did Ginger look like?

"Um....she was tall, very pretty. Very nice body type. Had beautiful red hair. I guess that's where she got the name Ginger."

"How big were her breasts, Monica?"

"They, um....they were quite small."

"Were they as small as yours, Monica?" She stared at her patient's chest while asking this, and took pleasure when Monica again covered her bra by crossing her arms over her chest, while blushing yet again.

"I guess....I mean maybe. They were very small."

"Like yours."

Monica squirmed in her chair. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, her breasts....her breasts were very small, just like mine."

"Very good, Monica, you are cooperating very admirably. Now tell me how you disciplined Ginger. First of all, what was her offense?"

"She wasn't listening to my lecture. She was staring out the window. She obviously had other things on her mind."

"And I guess you managed to get her attention."

Monica smiled. "Yes, I most certainly did."

"Did you make her take her top off?"

"Oh, yes. And I must say I really enjoyed this one."

"Was there something special about Ginger?" Monica was stepping back into her element, to Dr. Withers' delight.

"There was. I can't put my finger on it....I mean, she was extremely flat-chested and undoubtedly quite self-conscious about that, which always makes it pleasurable for me. But there was more to it than that. Just the incredulous look she had when I suggested that she might be a little more focused if I took possession of her sweater. And the terrified look in her eyes when she realized that I was dead serious.

"When she hesitated, I told her she could take it off herself, or I would do it for her, but either way her sweater was mine for the rest of the period. She was sniveling a little bit when she reached for the sweater. She was wearing a black turtleneck—just tight enough to see the outline of her wee little breasts—and a pair of tight jeans. She looked marvelous, especially when she was blushing crimson when I pulled her sweater from her grasp, and she was standing there in her little black bra.

"At that moment I decided I was going to make her parade around in her underwear. I knew it would be such a delectable sight. And I was a just a little curious to see if she was wearing matching black panties—she was by the way—and flat chest or not, she looked quite sexy, I must say.

"But then the bell rang. Well, I was having way too much fun to let that get in my way. Fortunately, it was the last period of the day. Ginger looked at me ever so hopefully, but I informed her that she was to stay after school because I wasn't quite done with her yet. That elicited another delectable expression on her face. She had to be wondering what else I could possibly have in store for her, the poor dear. Anyway, I decided we needed some spectators—mainly for Ginger's benefit, of course."

She paused and looked to Dr. Withers for approval.

"Of course," she responded. "Much more humiliating that way."

"Exactly!" said the now animated Monica. "So I asked for three volunteers to stick around and assist with Ginger's punishment. I'd say more than half of the class raised their hands. I guess I wasn't the only one who was enjoying Ginger's humiliation." Monica giggled.

"I read the transcript. You chose two girls and one boy. What reasoning did you use to pick the three you did?

"Well, the two girls seemed to be enjoying the spectacle just a little more than the others. I thought it would add to the disciplinary session if we had fellow students who were smiling, or even laughing at Ginger's plight. And as far as the boy goes, well, I can guarantee that she abhorred having a boy watch her strutting around in her underwear like that. And I noticed this boy was wide-eyed in amazement when Ginger pulled off her sweater, like he'd never seen a girl in a bra before. And he had this innocent, boyish face....I don't know, I just thought he would be perfect."

Dr. Withers decided that this would be a good time to cut her off, convinced that she had chosen the perfect course of action. "Thank you, Monica, you can stop now." Dr. Withers stood up and walked toward her desk. "Do me a favor, please, and set your chair right next to mine, if you would."

Monica, a bit confused, carried out the doctor's request by setting her chair to the right of Dr. Withers' easy chair. Meanwhile, Dr. Withers had wheeled her desk chair over and set it to the left of the easy chair. The psychiatrist then grabbed yet another chair and set it next to her patient's chair. She arranged the chairs into a semi-circle, facing the vacated area where Monica had been sitting. Monica's perplexed expression gradually changed to one of fretfulness as the apparent intentions of the evil doctor started to register.

"Is this pretty much how the chairs were arranged that day, Monica?" asked Dr. Withers.

Monica was now open-mouthed in horror. "Oh God, please no, Dr. Withers," begged Monica. "Please, I'll..."

Dr. Withers had already pressed the intercom button. "Tina, could the three of you come in here, please?"

"No!" screamed the anguished Monica.

But within seconds she heard the turning of the doorknob.