Chapter 6 : Assessment

When George got home, he found it almost impossible to think about anything else apart from his encounter with Erica and Deanna and the desires it had aroused in him. After years he now realised that he had deeper drives than he had ever suspected, darker needs than he had ever imagined.

Trying to recover his composure, he turned to the file of invoices and receipts that he had copied from those that Erica had provided. But, with his new found knowledge of Erica's business, each document took on a highly charged meaning.

He took out one from Willis Equestrian Supplies. "Three pairs jodhpurs, three pairs riding boots, three pairs short spurs, three riding crops, one driving whip," the invoice read. George needed little imagination to conjure an image of Erica, Deanna, and Darla striding across the yard of Erica's house, wearing the jodhpurs, boots and spurs and brandishing the crops.

Equally arousing but more disturbing was an invoice from a supplier of fetish and bondage equipment. "Oh, please don't Mistress," George heard himself muttering quietly, "no, not the handcuffs. Oh, please, not so tight, no. And not the ball gag, please, please. Guummph!" The grunt of the imagined silencing effect of the gag coincided with a twitching of his cock as he came, unexpectedly. He slumped forward at his desk in embarrassment as he felt the coldness of cum, trickling down his leg and saw the tell-tale, damp, stain spreading across the crotch of his pale trousers. Disgusted with himself he staggered to his feet, heading for the bathroom. He needed to clean up and change. Another client was due at any moment.

The letter he was waiting for turned up three days later. He saw immediately from the post mark where it was from. He tore open the envelope, feeling a confused mixture of eagerness and trepidation. On headed note paper the letter said. "Please report for your initial evaluation and therapy orientation session at 10:00 on Thursday 9^th. Please bring with you this letter and remember your reference number 06/302. Yours sincerely, Erica Wilkie, Principal Counsellor." Clipped to the top of the letter was an EW Therapy Services compliments slip. On it, in Erica's own handwriting, was the message, "I've done the various tax forms you wanted. We can discuss those separately another time."

George approached the house slowly. He felt a strange combination of fear and anticipation as he pressed the door bell. There was a buzz and a clunk as the door unlocked. He pushed it open slowly. There was no one in the hall but he stepped inside anyway. As he did so, Erica emerged from her office. George was instantly struck by her appearance. Immaculately dressed in a neatly tailored dress and a tight, knee length, pencil slim, skirt, she presented an air of cool efficiency. It was exactly as he'd dreamed she would be.

"Ah, good," she said. "I'm glad you are on time. This way please." She gestured to the stairs that George knew led downstairs to the cellar rooms. "We'll start in the White Room." Erica opened to the door to a room fitted out like a doctor's surgery.

Inside stood Deanna, dressed as a nurse, the lower half of her face covered by a surgical mask. She pointed to a screen at the far end of the room. "Behind there, please, and undress."

"Is that absolutely necessary?" said George.

"Of course," said Erica, briskly. "But don't worry. This session is almost entirely about evaluating your responses to possible variations in our therapy programme. We won't start any actual treatment during this session."

Reassured, George did as he was told, stripping off and piling his clothes on the chair he found behind the screen. He shuffled out, clutching his hands over his crotch, only to see that Erica had gone. Deanna was standing beside a chrome and glass trolley. She pointed to the examination couch that stood in the centre of the room. "On there," she said, briskly. George sat on the cold leather covered couch. "Lay back please," Deanna directed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as he did so. "Now, what we will be doing is measuring your response to a number of images so that we can assess the accuracy of your application form. It's standard procedure. We want to measure your blood pressure, heart beat and respiration, so you will be wired up to this pen recorder." She gestured to a small box on the trolley. "You have to relax and lay still, so I'll need to strap you down. Is that all right?"

George blinked at the masked nurse. Being asked was the last thing he had expected. "Err, yes. I suppose so, yes."

"Good, good," said Deanna. Reaching for a broad strap under the couch, she pulled it across George's flabby belly. Without asking him further she took other straps and fastened down his wrists and ankles. She fastened blood pressure and heart beat sensors to his chest. She pulled the trolley closer and pushed a rubber mouth piece between his lips. She put a clip over his nose and, as he breathed through his mouth, a rubber bladder attached to the mouthpiece filled and sank back.

So far, George had been relatively happy with the proceedings. He had even, if he was honest, found time to admire the way in which Deanna's uniform stretched so agreeably across her backside and how the ruler straight seams of her stockings ran up under the skirt in a way that drew an admirer's gaze to her neat, uniform clad, buttocks. She turned around clutching a roll of adhesive strapping and advanced towards him. He grunted into the rubber mouth piece, disturbed by her approach. Her expressionless eyes stared down at him from over her mask. "To make sure the mouth piece isn't dislodged," she said.

George grunted his assent and Deanna applied the strapping around his mouth ensuring that, what ever else happened he could neither expel the mouthpiece nor speak.

It was only now, with George silenced and helpless, that Deanna opened another box on the trolley. From this she took a slim rubber strap with two more electrical contacts. To George's consternation she fastened this strap around the base of his cock. Ignoring George's squeaking protests she fastened two more wires from the strap to the pen recorder.

To George's relief nothing happened. Deanna came and stood beside him, peering down at him, only her eyes visible over her mask. George looked up at her. Her face was so close to his that he could see the flecks of mascara on her eyelashes but he could still sense little of what she was thinking. "Watch the screen," she said pointing to a computer monitor above his head. "You'll see some pictures. The equipment will measure your response."