Having nothing better to do, I went to work the next morning.

Steve had come home late Sunday night, but I was so out of it and miserable that I feigned sleep and ignored him, glad that Sharon had gone to her own apartment for the night. He had left early the next morning, not bothering to wake me or leave a note. He had not even made coffee.

I got up and enjoyed a cold shower. The near freezing water seemed to shake me from my doldrums a bit, and I felt just a little more alive as I went out to greet the world. It was still early, and the Indian deli was not yet open (not that I would go in there again) so I went a block out of my way and got a strong cup of coffee at an all-night Korean deli instead.

It was humid down in the subway tunnels, but I ignored it for the most part, as I tried to ignore the other early morning travelers. I sipped my coffee, staring at the tracks as sweat trickled down my back until I felt the first gust of wind heralding the approach of a train.

I flopped down into a hard plastic seat, enjoying the cool air-conditioning as the doors shut and the rumble of the train drowned out the staticky announcements of the conductor. I glanced at my fellow passengers, feeling the anxiety building within me. Most were oblivious to their surroundings, either dozing or engrossed in a book or the morning paper. There was a steady drone of garbled music blended together from a dozen Walk-Men all blaring at their top volume.

My eyes rested on the one woman on the car. She was seated at the far end, writing something in a spiral notebook. She was wearing a slate-gray business suit, her long legs wrapped in dark stockings and black pumps with long sharp heels. Her legs were crossed and she casually dangled a shoe as she wrote in her book, oblivious of my eyes captivated on the movements of her foot. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she was continually sliding her eyeglasses back up her nose. She had a bad habit of gnawing on her pen.

I looked away, and saw a Latino man staring just as intensely at me as I was at the businesswoman. He smiled viciously, his hand drifting between his legs as he scratched his crotch and I blushed. I closed my eyes, wishing it would all just go away.

I punched in for work, then immediately went to see my boss. An idea had formed in my head, based on something Steve had said once in passing. The company had a staff psychiatrist available for any employee to use, and I figured that I was to the point that I needed some professional help.

I told my boss that I had logged in for work but that I need to see the company 'shrink'. He stared at me blankly, so I explained that I was feeling depressed. I had read the company handbook, and knew that I could get out of work for at least one day using 'Depression' as the excuse. I would need a doctor's note, but I really did want to see the psychiatrist, so I did not see the problem. Grudgingly, he signed my time card and told me to get out, adding that the doctor should send down the proper paperwork if I was really on the level. I assured him that I was and that I would remind the doctor, though I am sure that he knew what he had to do.

The doctor's office was on the seventy-second floor of the building, and when I entered I was almost breathless with awe. The receptionist' office was larger than my whole apartment, and decorated with furniture and art work that I would not be able to afford if I saved every penny of every check until I retired. The view was fantastic, with the World Trade Center towers rising out of the skyline to one side and the Brooklyn Bridge and Pier 51 to the other with New York Harbor in between. I don't know how the receptionist got any work done, but it was no wonder that her desk was situated with her back to the view.

The woman looked up from a memo she was reading and smiled widely. She was cute, though a bit plain, and luckily I could not see her legs and feet as they were hidden beneath the desk. I smiled back, introducing myself and explaining that I wanted to see the doctor. She smiled pleasantly and handed me a few forms to fill out, indicating that I take a seat. She said that I was in luck, as the doctor had had a cancellation that morning and I could probably get into see her at 9:30. I raised my eyebrows upon hearing that the doctor was a she, but dismissed it, hoping that she would be a stodgy old lady with gray hair and two chins.

I was half way through the forms when the office door opened and a gorgeous Asian woman hurried into the office. She had a briefcase under one arm as she juggled a container of coffee and a bagel in one hand with a cell-phone resting in the crook of her neck. She was dressed in a black business suit jacket and skirt with dark hose and deep purple heels and blouse. Her long black hair was loose, feathering down her back and sweeping about her shoulders. She smiled, nodding at me as she passed and approached the desk.

"Hello, Jennifer. Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a bitch-" She turned back and flashed me an embarrassed smile. She put her cell-phone away and adjusted her briefcase before turning back to the desk. "So, what's on for today?"

"Your 9:30 cancelled," Jennifer the receptionist said, then glanced at me, "but Mr. Higgins here would like to see you. He's from the mail room."

"Fine." The doctor, Dr. Tasha Ellington turned back to me. "Just give me a few minutes to get myself situated, Mr. Higgins, and I'll see you straight away. I'm just a bit flustered this morning."

"No problem." I answered, watching as she juggled the things in her hands. Jennifer finally had to open the door to the inner office, and I heard a muffled curse after the door was closed and the receptionist took her seat behind the desk. In about fifteen minutes I was allowed inside.

The inner office was just as opulent as the outer one, if not more so. A huge rosewood desk that was littered with papers and files and books dominated the room. There was a coffee cup steaming on one corner of the desk next to a huge phone with about a hundred buttons and a computer monitor behind that. I could see fresh water marks on the polished wood and blotter, as though the doctor had moved the cup several times already that morning. The walls were paneled in the same rich rosewood and lined with several paintings in soft, relaxing colors. There was a huge potted palm in one corner and two other doors, which I assumed went to a bathroom and a closet. The view in here was breathtaking as well.

Dr. Ellington rose, extending her hand as the receptionist closed the door behind me. I assumed that she was married, with a name like Ellington, but I did not see any ring on her finger. She smiled warmly, putting me at ease though I found it hard to hold her gaze. She introduced herself, instructing me to sit even as she did and quickly asked me what was wrong.

I stuttered for a bit, feeling somewhat embarrassed as I tried to explain the last few days to yet another beautiful woman. I wondered how I kept getting in this situation. Slowly, I told her about that first encounter with Steve and Sharon, and our respective reactions. I went on to tell her about waking up bound and gagged in the basement, which led to my experiences with the lady and her dogs. That led into the rape at the deli, and then seeing the web site that the Dog Lady was blackmailing me with. I told her how I felt through it all; how it both embarrassed and excited me, and how at times I seemed to crave the debasement more and more. I told her of Sharon and our prior, brief relationship, and of Steve and how they were now an item. I told her everything, eventually. I held nothing back.

Through it all, the doctor seemed to listen intently, occasionally taking down notes even though she was recording the session on a tape recorder with my permission. I figured I had nothing to hide or lose at that point. I was already being blackmailed, after all. I really found it hard to look at her face throughout my confessions. The more I told, the meeker and more submissive I seemed to become. I watched her hands instead as she scribbled in her notebook or tapped her pen on the desk. I shifted uncomfortably in the plush black leather chair the entire time, and was a little embarrassed as I was sweating, the back of my shirt soaked and staining the soft leather.

At the end of my tale, the doctor sat back in her own chair (which was bigger and higher than my own, I should add). I caught a brief flash of knee as she crossed her legs and drew a cigarette to her violet painted lips. Where she got it from, I don't know, but she smiled, offering me one in afterthought. I accepted and we both lit up.

"I'm sorry," she said, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke at the ceiling. "We should not be smoking in here, but I just can't seem to quit. Not a very reassuring thing for a psychiatrist to say, I imagine." I chuckled.

"Don't worry about it. I won't tell if you won't."

"Deal." She smiled, then glanced at her intercom box. I watched as her slender hand snaked across the desk, a slim finger uncoiling as a dark violet nail brushed a button. There was a harsh buzzing sound, and we soon heard the muffled, tinny voice of Jennifer respond from the box on her own desk.

"Jennifer, cancel all of my appointments until lunch. I'm going to be with Mr. Higgins for some time."

"Yes, doctor."

Doctor Ellington stared at me for some time, enjoying her cigarette. She was thinking, I could tell, as her eyes occasionally narrowed and looked far away those few times that I could force my sight to meet hers. I also noticed that she was bobbing her leg under the desk; I could hear a slight squeak in her chair and could see the shadow under her desk. I felt my cock swelling just thinking about it and placed my hands in my lap.

"You say this all started just a few days ago?" she asked as she leaned forward to crush out her cigarette. She placed her elbows on the desk, resting her chin on her thumbs as she steepled her fingers before her pouting lips. I could feel her eyes raking me up and down.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"You don't need to call me Ma'am, Mr. Higgins. You can call me doctor, or even Tasha if it will make you more comfortable." I nodded. "Why did you call me Ma'am?"

I thought for a moment. "Out of respect, I suppose. You're a doctor, and a woman-"

"And you were brought up to respect women, and people of alleged authority, like doctors, the police, teachers." I nodded again.

"That's common enough, Mr. Higgins. I find it a lot in men and women your age. I was brought up that way myself. Still, it is theorized that it leads some people to be a bit submissive, being raised to respect authority. The things you described lead me to believe that that might be the case with you. Just at a first assumption, I think that might be the basis to at least some of what's happening to you.

"You've stated that you've assumed the almost 'housewife' role in your relationship with your roommate; doing the housework, taking the lesser bed and deferring to his 'wisdom'. You sounded somewhat angry that he had taken Sharon from you, but in the end you let him without a struggle at all. You describe Sharon as talking down to you, and calling you 'Billy', which you hate, but allow to go on. I think there is more to it, but I believe the root of your problem is that you are submissive, or at least not strong-willed, and some one has taken advantage of that."

I blinked, trying to absorb what the doctor had said, and it all seemed reasonable in someone else. I did not in the least think that I was so weak willed.But I was doing the chores. I was working at a menial job, trying harder to keep Steve happy than I was trying to better myself. I sat around counting all the things that needed done at the apartment every day; Steve's laundry, the dishes, the vacuuming, the dusting, the toilets.The list went on and on. I seemed to be living for Steve's approval, hoping he would let me stay with him one more month, indefinitely.

And I did let Sharon talk down to me. I let her call me 'Billy', like I was her kid brother and not an old boy friend. Was it out of some twisted form of respect? Was it some submissive streak drilled into my subconscious by my parents? Or was I maybe still in love, or lust with her and I hoped to make her happy enough that she might see me in a more favorable light?

"Fine, doctor." I tried to keep the anger out of my voice. "Let's assume that you're right, and I am some closet submissive. How does that get me tied up and drinking out of the toilet, or bound and gagged in the basement? Why can't I remember what happened? And how do I suddenly drop to my knees and want to kiss a woman's feet just because she smiles and says hello?"

The doctor leaned forward and picked up her pen to jot something down in her book. She then swept her hair back over her shoulder and settled back again, twirling the pen in her fingers. I watched in some amazement at her speed and dexterity at so seemingly simple an act. The pen spun in a blur, the deep purple of her fingernails sparkling as they caught the light. I could hear the low hum of the tape recorder as we both sat silently, droning on and on.I still could not meet her eyes. Finally she spoke again, her voice softer than before-

"You're quite right, Mr. Higgins. A normal man would not bow down and kiss a woman's feet because she flashed him a smile. Neither would a submissive, I imagine, unless it was under controlled conditions. Whether you care to believe it or not, I believe that is what has happened. I think you missed the last part of my previous statement, or perhaps did not understand. I believe that someone is playing on the respect you naturally give them, exploiting it even. Using it and you for their own benefit. Some of the acts you told me of are just too bizarre, Mr. Higgins, and I find you too.well-balanced at this point to believe that you did any of it of your own free will. To suddenly snap and drop to your knees in the deli as you explained you did." she shook her head I saw from the corner of my eye, though I still watched her hands. "To submit to some of the degradations you described.You would be displaying abnormal tendencies before me by now if you were truly not well."

"You believe me then?" I finally got the nerve to look into her soft, smiling face, her dark eyes. She was watching me intently, but I felt relaxed somewhat under her strong scrutiny. She nodded-

"Yes Mr. Higgins. No one has apparently come forward to report a maniac that kisses women's feet or hops around in apartment buildings, naked, bound and gagged. I believe you."

"Then what's wrong with me?" I almost cried. "Why am I doing these things? Why can't I remember-"

"That's what I hope we can find out." She got up and came around to the front of the desk. She seemed to tower over me as she leaned back, almost sitting up on the edge, folding her arms under her breasts. I dropped my gaze to the floor, embarrassed, just in time to see her cross her ankles. I felt the bulge in my pants throb again as it strained to rise.

"Tell me Mr. Higgins." she began, lighting another cigarette with her silver Zippo. She did not offer me one this time, and seemed ignorant of the fact that she was blowing smoke almost directly into my face. "Have you ever been hypnotized?"

"No." I answered matter-of-factly, breathing in the cloud of blue smoke that swirled about my head. I started to reach for a butt from my own pack, but felt her soft hand on my arm and hesitated. I glanced up into her stern face and lowered my hand back to my lap as she shook her head.

"Are you sure?" she went on. "Never at a party, or back in high school or college as a prank?"

"No." I answered again.

"Not by a doctor to lose weight, or quit smoking?" I shook my head. "I have." she chuckled, "though obviously it did not take. Some people just can't be hypnotized. Me for instance, I'm much too hyper. I took up smoking in the first place to try to calm down, and because it just looked so cool." She giggled. "Oh, I know it's killing me, but I'm not ready to stop. Anyway, I tried hypnosis to stop once, and my doctor said I was just too hyperactive to relax. One needs to be relaxed to be hypnotized, did you know that Mr. Higgins?"

I tried to respond, but nodded instead. She was hyper all right, and could not keep her hands still as she spoke. She was almost tracing pictures in the air between us as I watched the glowing tip of her cigarette and the trailing wisps of smoke left from her movements. It was relaxing, watching her, listening to her soft voice.

"Are you trying to hypnotize me, doctor?" I looked up at her and saw her smile.

"Well." She half-turned and crushed the cigarette out in a glass ashtray on her desk. She then turned back and hoisted herself fully onto the desk so she was sitting directly before me. Her ankles were still crossed, and swinging now, the toe of her shoe almost tapping my knee with every arch. "No, Mr. Higgins. I was hoping though, to show you how easily it might have been done, even without you being aware of it. Submissive people are also easily suggestive, and in the last few minutes I've been using a few subtle 'tricks' to both spark your interest and to help you relax. Are you relaxed, Mr. Higgins?"

I was, I had to admit. I was also excited, watching this woman swing her legs, and I think she knew it. I nodded, whispering a barely audible affirmative. She smiled.

"I thought so. But don't worry. I would not hypnotize you without your permission. I believe that someone else may have, however, and I would like to try myself."

"Why?"

"Under hypnosis you may be able to remember more details concerning your experiences. You may be able to remember who tied you up with a little coaxing. And as far as your encounter in the deli; I believe that someone might have placed a suggestion in your sub-conscious to do what you did under certain circumstances."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Mr. Higgins." She shrugged, fully crossing her legs and linking her fingers over her knee. "Obviously nothing that I have said or done since you came to see me. That's something we might discover if you allow me to put you under."

I frowned, watching as she twirled her foot, stretching her ankle. I had no doubt that she could hypnotize me. Hell, I was almost under just watching her shoe. I was hesitant though. I wanted to find out what was happening to me, and why I was doing the things I was doing. It was all so strange and sending my life into a spiral. But what if I did not like the answers that she found? What if Steve had done something to me? Or Sharon? What would I do then? How could I go back to my life? But then, I really did not have a life now, never knowing when I might humiliate myself again. I had to do it, and face the consequences.

"All right." I mumbled, staring at the floor as she slid off the desk.

"Excellent!" She seemed happy as she went to the door and dimmed the lights a bit. When she returned to her desk she sat in her chair and started to rummage through her desk. She placed a small device on the blotter and turned it on and it immediately lit up and started to strobe a slow steady flash of light. She buzzed on the intercom and told the receptionist to hold her calls.

I was watching the strobe already as she started talking, telling me to do so. Her voice seemed normal, but softer than before, and almost monotone. I could see the shadow of her face, just beyond the flashing light, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with every illumination. I listened to her words, watching the blinking light. I smelled smoke.