It was, to any eye, an odd threesome; the two patients and their therapist.  Bill Susman sat and glowered at his pathetic luck in life.  He realized that he was a touch too slick and not quite handsome enough.  He was just a middle-aged insurance salesman in the waning days of his ability to stand people well enough to suck-up and get them to sign on the dotted line. Next to Bill, seated in a dejected slump, was his wife Abby.  She was cursed with being frumpy and doubly cursed in that she realized with the right stylist and personal shopper she could be a much more attractive woman.  She felt triple cursed that her husband would never let her potential show through.  
 

Abby was slightly younger than Bill and so meek and mild as to go un-noticed even by the homeless who populated the streets of downtown Seattle.  Abby managed to somehow be ignored while trying to hand out the extra McDonalds’ lunch bags she bought just so she could help one of those hapless men or women.  When she tried, it was like the homeless felt so bad for her that they couldn’t, in good faith accept a gift from one in her diminished state.   Instead she simply moved down the line of the disenfranchised until one was hungry enough to notice her gift.  She would smile and say, “I hope this helps.”  On good days someone even said thanks and she would go back to invisible.
 

The dysfunctional and depressed couple was entirely overshadowed by the therapist behind the desk who was even now glancing back and forth between the marital combatants.  Dr. Catherine Anne DeLenquant appeared to see everything — and know twice as much — as she watched Bill steal lingering glances at her hemline.  His over sexed and under exercised mind obviously snapped mental snap shots of every inch of her.  Catherine Anne was certain that Bill Susman hated her, but the fact that she turned him on so much it made him hate and want her even more.
 

No one in the room had any illusions that Doctor Catherine Anne was your normal therapist.  No therapist who practiced in the area of consensual power exchange and BDSM could pretend to not have a few kinks of her own.  Right now, bored with this pair, Catherine Anne wondered, if her patients knew the full scope of her interests would they run screaming away or run screaming to her.  Either was frankly dangerous for the patient and a huge thrill for her.  
 

Visually, Catherine Anne eschewed the normal bland and non-threatening dress of traditional therapeutic approaches.  It was a matter of business acumen and personal preference that she put forth a far more assertive visage.  Using the term in all of its forms, she was striking.  Her hair was raven black, devastatingly short and nearly painfully coifed. Her lips were painted red to offset her deep green eyes; even the tiny cups of her ears were perfect.  More to the point, she loved the leather, lace skirts and five-inch fuck-me pumps she wore to work most days.  Being a fetish therapist could do that for a girl.  It gave her a powerful charge.
 

Click, click, click, she watched the SLR camera of Bill’s mind catalog her breasts.  She pressed them out almost imperceptibly.  Bill perceived.  She understood that he just wasn’t complex enough to have anything more than flesh and blood resonate with him.  She saw Bill move his eyes lower, ingraining snap shot after snap shot into his brain.  His eyes slathered down the contour of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, the perfect swell of her breasts, the narrowing of her toned stomach, down to the medium length pitch black of her chic thin skirt.  His gaze moved to her thighs and found them muscled flawlessly and hidden only slightly from his wanting by her stockings.  She could almost hear his mental prayer, “God, I so hope those are held up with a garter belt.”  
 

Catherine Anne had indeed selected a garter-belt, made of silk and she knew it was devastating to the will of men.  She could feel his wanting travel down her thigh, over her knee, past her calf, to her shoes where his eyes froze on her spike black pumps.  His view stopped at the heel, long, curved and reflecting briefly up her calf.  It amazed her that just her heels promised so much more than Bill could ever get at home.  Click, click, click.   Were they four or five inch heels?  She studied his response patterns as he eyes calculated.  Catherine Anne gleefully watched Bill’s member rise in his loose pants.  That happened in concert with Abby’s rising jealousy.  That was the response Catherine Anne wanted.
 

Catherine Anne sat impassively, continued to tease Bill and watched Abby grow increasingly angry.  The little image of a therapist she kept inside her head, suspected that anger was what Abby needed to overcome the imbalance in the marriage.  Even at her most heinous moments, Catherine Anne felt like she should do at least something to help this woman get empowered.  Abby was just too big a mess to leave to her husband over the long term.  Before the two women were done with Bill, Catherine Anne was certain Bill would be Abby’s underling or he would be living alone.  Either outcome suited her, as long as she got what she wanted.
 

To both do her job as a couple’s therapist, and to fill her personal needs and wants; Catherine Anne intentionally fueled both Bill’s erection and Abby’s anger.  In her role as a user of damaged people, she found that fueling Bill’s rage had real benefits she shouldn’t be thinking about at this moment; that was for later.  But for now, focused minimally on her job, she took notes on her pad.  She didn’t need them.  She had a photographic memory, but clients expected her to be taking notes, so she did.
 

Catherine Anne dropped her crossed leg to the floor and Bill couldn’t stop his eyes from sneaking a peek at her underwear.  He would have been so very excited to learn that she wore a thong.  Her thoughts drifted for only a moment, to her own needs, as she swiveled the chair.  She could almost feel the heat of desire from Bill.  Abby was coming to a boil and wasn’t focusing like she should.  It was time to get to work.
 

Catherine Anne allowed her trained eyes to trace a path around the room and over her Ivy League credentials, across the ceiling, to the black and chrome sign on the wall that read, PROBLEM CLIENTS WILL BE SPANKED AT NO EXTRA CHARGE.  That sign always made her laugh in her head, but instead she focused her gaze on Bill, who looked like he knew he had been caught.
Catherine Anne spoke more to Bill than to Abby, “We haven’t made much progress in your couple’s therapy.  I know you both understand that living in a dominant and submissive relationship has its own challenges.  But, I don’t know if you two can trust each other enough to remain safely in the lifestyle without substantial counseling.”
 

She noted the flash of fear in the faces of both of the patients.  Bill instantly stopped taking mental pictures and launched into his argument.  Abby jolted forward in her seat.
As usual, Bill got the first word in, “I don’t think that’s fair.”
 

Abby rushed after him, “We need something; we have something, between us. Something important to our marriage,” her voice trailed off, “I don’t know, but I need it.” Abby’s eyes implored both Bill and her therapist.
 

Catherine Anne, doodled for a moment, then said, “Did you both hear that?  Bill spoke of “I” and Abby said “We”, don’t you see the problem?  You have to be on the same page.”
 

Abby smoldered at Bill and said, “That’s just a thing, a therapist trick to see if we are willing to fight for this lifestyle.  We can’t be on exactly the same page.  Bill is the dominant; he is supposed to be that way.  If I am actually submissive, aren’t I supposed to want to do what he says?”  Abby peered at Catherine Anne for confirmation, and not seeing it, rushed on, “Submissives only have one right, the right to do the safe word thing, otherwise they submit.”
 

Bill nodded angrily, taking support where he could get it, “I think we, but you don’t hear me when I talk.  You take Abby’s side on everything just because she is a submissive.  Everybody thinks that dominants have the easy job; they get what they want.  That isn’t right and you know it.”  
 

The last part was aimed directly at Catherine Anne and she caught the multiple meaning.  She knew it was true.  It was amazingly hard to keep a submissive happy, they were such needy creatures.  She had more than her share of headaches with the multiplicity of submissives she had used up in her time.  As she let those men and women run through her mind for a pleasant moment, Catherine Anne decided that she wanted to poke the badger that was Bill, but needed to support Abby, so while in part Bill was right, but she couldn’t tell him that.
 

She lowered her tone to one of fairness and lied through her teeth, “I don’t choose sides.  I help to make sure that this lifestyle is positive for both of you; if not, I’ll help you transition from a dominant – submissive relationship, back to a traditional relationship.  Just one of the problems I see is that both of you have forgotten the need for limits.  Yes, a submissive by nature, submits, but the dominant is supposed to have helped set up limits, agreed upon behaviors that should not be done in the heat of the moment.  You both are skipping over very important safety aspects of power play, and that is dangerous to each of you and to your marriage.”  It was amazing how easy it was to deceive once a person learned to compartmentalize her life.  Therapeutically, Catherine Anne desperately hoped Abby would take the bait, but Bill snapped it up first.
 

Bill clearly wasn’t up to following Catherine Anne’s lead, by going fully defensive, “She instigated,” he whined.
 

Catherine Anne glanced almost beseechingly at Abby, who finally got up the slightest bit of nerve.  Abby’s voice wasn’t its usual whimper when she said, “He opened the door this time; he wanted to come back to therapy.  That means he knew he wasn’t playing by the rules.”
 

Catherine Anne wondered what Abby would think if she knew how far outside the rules Bill had been going.  She suppressed the thought and went back to being a good faith therapist who needed them to fight this out.  She gave both a dissatisfied glance and said, “Blame never enhances communication.  Communication is key, especially in the dominant and submissive life.  You have to be honest with each other.”  Catherine Anne mentally smirked at the irony.
 

Bill peered at Abby, “If she started us down this road, how can she complain?”
 

Abby started to get her emotional feet under her. “I got this idea from you, Bill.  You had dominance stuff all over your computer, pictures, stories, little videos of women being trained, used, and wanted.  You can see it on their faces.  The submissives are wanted, loved, needed and appreciated.  I was willing to try that for you, for us.  Then I learned to like it myself, for you.”
 

A silence claimed the space so Catherine Anne filled it, “You both have a right to want in or out of this.  Both the dominant and the submissive have to agree.  Do you remember when we tried to do the limits contract and you couldn’t agree?”
 

For the first time in a therapeutic situation, Abby spoke twice, without giving Bill a chance to talk, “That’s the point.  It’s a lifestyle, a way of thinking, trusting and being as a couple.  For him, I think it is just a way to get laid and tell me what to do in bed.  He wants me to be his slut but he won’t give back what he is supposed to.  He won’t love me.”
 

Bill scowled and pouted back, "It’s a guy thing.”
 

Abby kept verbally swinging, her voice finally rising, like she was finally taking some pride in her submission, owning both rights and responsibilities, “He can’t manipulate me into a life changing experience, use that experience to get more sex and then disobey the rules of the lifestyle when they don’t fit him.”
 

Damn it, thought Catherine Anne, don’t say it to me; say it to him.  Get a spine woman. Instead she spoke in a centered voice, “What is the real issue here?  Sex or power?”
 

This time Abby responded first, “This is about trust, not sex.  It’s about giving and taking with someone who loves you.  He just wants to screw other women.”
 

Bill pivoted on his wife, “Oh, so that’s why you "serviced" those other men at the party?  You loved all that attention.  All those younger men wanting to fuck you.  You weren’t a slut when I met you, but now you can lay there and just let them mount you like you are some public service whore.  That isn’t submission, that’s just being a needy bitch.”
 

Finally, Catherine Anne’s therapeutic side thought, some progress.
 

Abby shot back, “I did what you ordered.  You said you wanted to see if I loved you enough, was submissive enough, to do a gang bang for you.  Every time some horny fuck stepped up, I looked to you.  You were supposed to protect me, to make sure I was ok.  With every man who stepped between my legs, I hoped you would find one that wasn’t good enough, but, you didn’t care, you just nodded and fondled that other woman and let her jerk you off for an hour.  You never even touched me, you saved all your attention for that fat fucking redhead.”
 

Bill recalculated the effectiveness of his pitch, “It’s what you wanted.  How many times did you cum?”
 

“I didn’t count, you didn’t order me to count.  Do you know why I kept cumming?
 

Bill glared at Catherine Anne, she looked directly into his eyes and she knew that Bill wanted to say it was because Abby was a slut.  Catherine Anne knew Bill wanted to be with a slut, because sluts wouldn’t say no, even to a man like Bill.
 

When Bill didn’t respond, Abby forged ahead, “You ordered me.  You remember don’t you?  You said, Abs show me you are dedicated, do what is hardest for you, let them fuck you while everyone watches you, knowing you will do it for me, do it for your master.  Don’t say you don’t remember telling your wife to fuck every man at the party.  You know I am a complete submissive, and a true submissive does what she is told.  The reason I kept cumming was because I was being given an order that most any woman would find impossible and I did it.  I submitted and every time someone new fucked me, I thought I was pleasing my master.  I was an idiot to do that for you!”
 

Catherine Anne decided to test Bill, “Did you order your wife to offer herself to all the men at the party?”
 

He spoke to his shoes, “She wanted it.”
 

Abby looked like she was finally up to speed and ready to fight, “I would have done anything for him that night, just to get him to love me.  I fucked so many men I don’t remember, I was a whore, a slut, a complete submissive and then when I looked over before I closed my eyes and just let anyone have me, there he was fucking and kissing some woman who was even uglier than me.  He didn’t even look at me.  He just wanted to stick his dick in someone else.  He used my submission to get to fuck any woman he could get.”
 

Bill’s shoulders sagged while his eye retained some defiance, “What, she gets to have sex with others and I only get to watch?  I only did what she requested.  Abby suggested we go to the sex club.”
 

Abby refuted, “I wanted to go to a D/S club; you picked a sex club!  No one there was interested in submission; they all just wanted to fuck.  I didn’t want to be fucked; I wanted domination.  I wanted to feel special to you.   You turned an opportunity for shared power into a thing where I was just a cum dump for horny, ugly men.  When I said our safe word to you, you just kept humping that tramp.  You didn’t save me; you left me there to be raped.”  Tears followed the words and Abby’s frame was wracked with convulsions of shame and degradation.
 

Bill spread his hands in supplication, his eyes begged Ann Elizabeth, “How am I supposed to know when begging means stop or go?”
 

Catherine Anne knew it was time to stop the momentum.  She set her pad down, slapped the desk and said, “Bill, what’s supposed to happen when she says the safe word?”
 

Now Abby was ready to assert herself, “Everything stops, and he comes and protects me.”    
 

Bill almost jumped out of his chair, “Oh, don’t kid yourself, the submissive is always in control.  She decides everything.  Just like always with women and sex.  She decides go, stop, when, how and how much.  I just have to follow her rules or I’m the sexist bastard.”
 

“So, finally we are down to it, it’s about power”, said Catherine Anne.
 

Bill found a new place of anger to spill out, “Sex is power and women always have that power.”  He glared at Catherine Anne with an intensity that belied more meaning that Bill wanted to share and for the slightest minute Abby seemed to catch it.  A moment of wonder crossed Abby’s brow but Bill’s intense anger banished the moment.  Abby looked frightened on a more visceral level.
 

Catherine Anne understood Bill’s problem on that but couldn’t fix a societal issue, “Sexuality is usually driven by the female of nearly any species.  One of the biggest potential benefits of our lifestyle in domination and submission is that you have to talk out power issues.  Now Bill, what’s the purpose of a safe word?”
 

Bill’s voice submitted and he said, “To protect the submissive, to protect…her.”  He seemed to realize he had given an inch and was afraid the women would take a mile, “When do I get my rights or wants protected?  It’s like that Bitch Gloria Allrad or what the hell her name is, says, every man is a rapist in waiting.  Well, if that’s the case, every woman is a power mongering bitch tease.”
 

Once again Dr. Catherine Anne snapped her note book closed, “We’ve done enough for today.  I am pleased that we have finally made real progress about the power issues.  I am, however, not sure I can recommend you stay in the lifestyle.”
 

In reality Catherine Anne thought she could help them and they would become a much better couple, but one had to make people really want what they needed.  Besides, she hadn’t finished with Bill yet.  She had a significant amount of use to make of Bill and it was more fun to use him while he was her client.  Somehow, the thrill went away when the ones she used were just people.  Catherine Anne had long ago given into her fetish for fucking and fucking over clients.  That need owned her like poppy plants own heroin addicts.
 

Abby, stood and whined, “That isn’t fair, I need it now.”
 

Bill jumped on Abby’s wagon, “She only likes it when I control her.”
 

Catherine Anne was thrilled with today, both from a fetish and treatment perspective, but wanted to make her point, “You two aren’t communicating.  It’s too dangerous to play power and bondage games when the couple isn’t on the same page.  If we don’t see serious improvement in the next few weeks I can’t say I would recommend you stay in the lifestyle.  We will try again next week.  I don’t want you two to play any power or bondage games until next week.  You both need a safe break from each other.”  Her ulterior motive was, if Bill didn’t get any at home, it would make him all that more compliant in the individual session Catherine Anne had planned.  Just the thought caused her thong to become damp.  She was sure Bill was praying to see, touch, smell and taste her thong, even as he bitched about women.
 

As the couple left the room, Catherine Anne unlocked her bottom drawer.  She stood and closed and locked the office door behind them.  Then she went to her desk and took out a small purple egg headed vibrator.  She hiked her short skirt up over her hips, reclined on her chair, pulled her thong aside and said, “Make me cum Mr. Eggy.”
 

Just outside the door, Bill and Abby were sullen.  Bill turned to Abby and said, “Do you want to quit BDSM?”
 

Abby melted into her husband, “No.  Do you love me or do you love me just for dominance and submission?
 

For the first time in weeks, Bill Susman smiled with love at his wife, “I love you no matter what, Honey.”  They both thought they heard an annoying buzz coming from somewhere.