Psychiatrist's Puppet (Loftry University Playthings 3)

Andrew

Fuck. I’m never giving her up. I knew that from the moment I saw her lying in that massive bed, her slight frame nearly swallowed up by pillows and blankets. But now, seeing her bound in my ropes, the trust in her eyes as I fucked her mouth, that’s an aphrodisiac I’ll never find anywhere else. Yes, I’ve had other submissives suck me off, but none have ever consumed me with such fervor. None had never wanted to let me go.

I should have never called her my good girl like that. The craving that came off of her in waves nearly knocked me over. It made me crave calling her that just as much as she wants to hear it. And truthfully, cussing and flight risk aside, she is a good girl. So innocent, despite the horrors she had to live through. The fact that she could retain that, the fact that it wasn’t fucked out of her, is astounding. But that’s not what makes her good. All the innocence in the world couldn’t give me what she does.

It’s that eagerness to please, that deep-seated desire to do what I ask without hesitation. True, there’s a lot of traumas to unload with her - I’d turn myself into the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology if I didn’t realize that - but underneath it all, there’s that yearning to be loved, to be accepted. She’s frightened by her darker desires, but if my thinking is correct, it’s more that she’s frightened by the idea of a lack of acceptance. Once she realizes that I accept her, hidden parts and all, she should be like putty in my hands.

Already she’s showing a trust I didn’t think she was capable of. She walked into my room full of fear and yet begged me to soar. My breath catches in my lungs as I think of what she’s given me. There’s no guarantee it will continue - she might freak out after subspace drops - but right now, I’m taking everything she gives me.

Resting my chin on top of her head, I look over at the case Sergei gave me. Fear like I’ve never known fills my being as I think of her at their mercy again. If they somehow take her, she’ll never be able to recover. I stake my degrees on it. The scar she touched tingles as I hold her close. I can’t love her. To love her would be to lose her. I can’t do that. I can’t go through that again. My heart thumps in a painful staccato as I picture a world without her in it.

True, it’s only been a few days, but losing her would kill me. I don’t lay a claim on much. I’ve learned early on how dangerous that was, but minute by minute, she’s winding her way inside me in a fashion that scares the shit out of me. She shifts, snuggling deeper in the shell of my arms, as if even a hint of space is unacceptable. A smile, not as rare since she’s come into my life, crosses my lips.

“It was from the neighbor’s dog.”

Her body jolts from my words, as if I’d startled her with the very sound. “I’m sorry?”

“The scar you touched earlier. When I was a kid, my neighbors had a dog. It was the sweetest animal you’d ever see. Just one harsh word from anyone, and it would hang its head. I played with him often. He was my friend. My buddy.” The words choke in my throat as memories I’d long repressed fly to the surface of my consciousness. Why am I telling her this? Why am I reliving moments that should be buried?

She turns in my arms, hand lying over my heart. Just that touch is enough to almost undo me. Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. To cry is to lose control. I don’t lose control. Ever. I can’t.

“It’s okay,” she whispers in the dark, her lips skimming my chest in a comforting kiss. My insides melt just a touch at her gesture.

“He followed me everywhere.” I continue, ignoring her words. Some sick part of me needs to relive this. Why I have no idea. Absently, I slide my hands up and down Chastity’s back as I continue to remember, forcing myself to revisit the pain that gutted me all those years ago. “The running joke was that he was my weekend kid. The neighbors didn’t care. They just loved that he was getting attention. Radcliffe. That was his name. He was an English bulldog.”

Her fingers stroke my skin. The contact is the only thing keeping me from losing it completely. “I didn’t know how old he was. He always acted like a young dog. But he wasn’t. He was older, getting sicker with age. One day, I went to pat his hip like I usually do, but that day it hurt him. I didn’t know. Had I known, I would have never touched him. He bit me. Hard. Drew enough blood that my mom freaked out.”

Chastity stiffens in my arms. Can she sense what’s coming next? Can she even fathom where this story is going? “My mom never liked that dog. I think she resented the fact that I showed more affection for that pup than I ever did for her. She screamed at the neighbors, going on and on about her baby. As if she actually cared as much for me as she did about being right about Radcliffe being a menace.

“Men came for him. Threw him in a van. He never came back. The neighbors moved shortly after, and I never found out what happened to him. As I got older, I realized what happened. I never forgave my mom for what she did. It wasn’t his fault, and yet he was the one that was punished.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir. I didn’t realize.”

Hugging her close, I grip the back of her head, keeping her pinned close to my chest. “You can call me Andrew in moments like this. Sir and Doctor sound odd, don’t you think?”

Her lips curve up into a smile against my chest. “Yes, Andrew. It does.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. This isn’t an everyday occurrence. Tomorrow, it will be business as usual.”

“I understand.”

I hold her tight in my arms, refusing the emotions that swirl down inside of me. I had cut them off as soon as I learned they didn’t serve me well. I did it once, and I can do it again. The lie bounces around in my head as Chastity’s breathing evens out. She found the crack in me. That one crack that’s slowly becoming a fissure. Heaven help if anyone tries to hurt her or take her from me. They will pray for death from every deity they know than to harm her in any way.

Her breathing changes to snores, and I know I should put her back into her cage. She’ll feel much safer that way - I’ll feel much safer that way. Rolling her onto her back, I slide out from her embrace and head over to the case. I open it and take out the vial containing the trackers. Though I’m not a possessive man in the typical caveman sense, I still feel the intense need to know where she is at all times. It would give me a peace of mind that I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. Cameras can only do so much. Trackers will let me know where she is at any given moment.

Pulling out the serum I got from James from the side pocket, I drop a tracker into the syringe before drawing up the thick liquid. Glancing over, I hear her snores and convince myself that this is the best course of action for both of us. I should add lying to myself as a list of skills on my next resume. I turn on the side lamp, grateful that she doesn’t move or flinch. She’s well and truly out.

I’d planned on giving her the first tracker tomorrow morning during her daily medication, but I need one in her now. I won’t rest until I know she has some sense of protection. I swab the area with an alcohol pad and press the needle into the skin. She doesn’t move. Easing my way forward, I push the needle deeper, making sure I keep it in the dermal layers.

She moans but doesn’t do much more than that. Pressing down, I force the tracker into the front of her thigh, keeping Sergei’s advice in mind. I don’t typically like punishing this area, and so it should be safe. I pull the needle out and hold some gauze to the area until the bleeding stops. I don’t want to bandage the area because then she’d know something happened.

Scooping her into my arms, I take her off the bed and bring her to the front of the cage. I lay her down and unlock it before easing her inside. I plump up the pillows around her, surrounding her with comfort and warmth. Putting her in there instead of keeping her in bed with me is agonizing, but we both need this. She needs to know where she stands with me, and I need to keep enough space between us so that I won’t lose myself in her.

Locking the cage back up, I watch the rise and fall of her chest for a few moments. My heart aches in a way that it hasn’t in years, and I know she’ll be the death of me. I don’t know how, but something this precious will certainly find a way to destroy me. I pad away from the cage and outside the room, not giving one fuck that I’m still naked.

The members of my household have seen me far worse. A pair of balls and a dick can’t shock them any worse than some play I’ve engaged in. The music still pulses through the room, and I fish the remote out of the pile of clothes to turn it off. In the silence, I stand there, staring at the rope on the ground. This really is dangerous territory. The ache that started behind my sternum when I started telling Chastity the story of Radcliffe grows as I contemplate this turn in our relationship.

I’ve never told anyone else that story. Not even my own therapist knows. Then again, I only see him in order to do the minimum to function as a proper therapist in my own right - perfunctory. If he knew how truly depraved the depths of my mind really were, I’m sure he’d call the board on me in a second. I pick up the rope and start my cleaning ritual, my mind not at all invested in the task as it should be. The rope skims through my fingers as I check for any issues such as fraying. None of these touched her intimately, so they won’t have to be fluid bonded.

However, the thought of wrapping them around anyone else stirs up further emotions before I can tamp them back down. I wind the rope around my arm before finishing it up with a coil in the middle. Perfect. I do the same with the remaining two, inching some of the strands over until they’re just so. As I bring them back to the trunk, I pause. Everything in here is for communal use with others I play with. Do I really want to put them back into rotation?

Like an idiot, I stand there just staring at the other ropes as they taunt me. If I don’t hang these hanks with the other, it’s the same as saying they’re off the market. I’m off the market. Am I really ready to do that? Shaking my head, I close the trunk and tuck them under my arm to bring them to my room, adding three more to the ever-growing collection of things that are bonded to Chastity. Bending over, I grab my clothes from off the floor, still shocked that I let them lie in a heap like that.

Chastity’s mouth was worth it, though. She worked my cock over like a pro. My balls tingle as I let my brain drift back to the sounds of her gagging around my girth. Soon, she’ll be able to take me without as much difficulty. She’s allowed me the use of her mouth, and I’ll be sure to take full advantage whenever I can.

I check on her once more, not leaving until I hear her even breathing. A pair of sweats and a T-shirt are all I need as I wander the house. Normally I don’t like to leave my room until I’m the picture of perfection, but there’s no one to impress right now. A full suit and bow tie would be overkill for security and my chef, that is, if Jerry is even here this week.

Could be his husband is back home, and he’s joined him. A good employer would know more about his workers, but I never had a reason to care. Angela is long gone and won’t be back until early morning. I set the rope in its proper drawer, drop the clothes in their receptacle, and grab the case, taking it to my office. Once there, I turn on the baby monitor I keep in here and stare at Chastity, noting the slight smile on her lips as she sleeps.

Is she thinking about me? Shaking my head, I shove that thought to the side. I don’t need to act like a schoolboy with his first crush. I am beyond such things. That doesn’t stop me from running a finger over the screen where it shows the curve of her cheek. Dragging my gaze away, I open the case and pull out the instructions on setting up the app, a niggle of tension coming into my neck.

I’m not one to believe in gut feelings, but the more I plan to put the trackers in her, the more I feel like I’m doing the right thing. I hope to never need them, but I firmly believe in the idea of better to have them and not need them than to need them and not have them. The instructions are fairly simple, and it takes no time to program all the information in. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding as I watch the dot blinking in the room it’s supposed to be in.

Closing my phone, I walk back over to the sitting room, eying the chessboard as I grab her collar. Though she looked lovely in it, I’d rather her get used to wearing the new tracking collar. The rigid metal would be very uncomfortable under the unforgiving leather, so I opt to leave it out of her daily dressing. I bring it back to my study and pull out the safe books. It feels weird putting it up knowing it may never come back out - at least not with her. Perhaps once we’ve combusted and turned into a wreckage of past love, I can put it on the next submissive.

Even as I put everything else away, my mind and heart battle it out. My brain, the organ that controls my every damn move, refuses to acknowledge her as mine, not for the long haul at least. It’s perfectly content with keeping everything at arm’s length and tending to her until she’s as healed as possible without a complete memory wipe. My heart, on the other hand, that damned organ that threatens to kill me with every breath I take that has her scent in it, demands I claim her as my own - everything else be damned.