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The Mistress & The Therapist

I approach him in a generally more affable manor then I’m accustomed to; his unease palpable. This isn’t the usual submissive nervousness that I’m familiar with, but rather a genuine fear. The confidence he exhibited on the phone somehow shatters in my presence. He trembles as I remove his clothes, slowly fastening a collar around his neck.

When we spoke prior to the session he informed me that he had seen a professional dominatrix in the past, but now I’m not so sure. He watches me intently as I walk to the corner of the room and remove a pair of fishnet stockings and pink frilly panties from the dresser, I hold them out in the air. He stares at the items anxiously as I motion him toward me with a deliberate movement of my hand. He slowly crawls over, shaking more ferociously then before. When he reaches my feet he kneels before me, terrified.

I reach down and slip my finger through the ring on his collar, pulling him towards me. “Put these on” I whisper in his ear. Without another word he removes the items from my hand. He studies the garments for a few moments, trying to comprehend the correct way of fashioning them. He takes a deep breath before slipping them on. Once he’s satisfied with his efforts he stands motionless, hanging his head in shame.

I softly run my hands over his shoulders, before hugging him tightly, “you look so pretty,” I say as I tense my grip. I can’t see his expression but I can feel him ease in my arms. After a moment I pull away so I can get a good look at him, tears are streaming down his face. He smiles at me and says, “you think I’m pretty?”…. “I do.” I reply, and I mean it.

To him, booking an hour with me wasn’t about simply indulging in some satisfying sissy play, it was about finding a place that he could just be himself, and doing so in front of someone that wouldn’t judge him. I was so honored to be his safe place. It reminded me why I’m so adamant to defend what I do to people that don’t understand, why I’m constantly defending the psychosis behind it, and so tirelessly endorse the psychological benefits.

The truth is, that being a submissive, a fetishist, a expeditionist, or a voyager doesn’t mean that you need a therapist, but administering it is often a form of therapy. Very seldom do our desires stem from a traumatic event as a child, though it can usually be traced to an event from our childhood. The age of the root cause is often irrelevant, but the point is that what we do in playtime is sometimes a form of reenactment or acting out, or acting through something we innately need. As long as the results are positive, then how can what we do be wrong? It’s not.

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