The day after my visit to the clinic and three wonderful shots from Kim, I had a behavioral therapy appointment. Michelle had really helped me be more productive in both personal and professional pursuits. We usually communicated between sessions via email so she was current with issues in my life and would then incorporate them into the therapy. The usual structure of our 30-minutes sessions was 10-15 min of conversation followed by an equal period of Michelle administering her other form of therapy - a stern bare-bottom spanking. I think she really enjoyed spanking - almost as much as I enjoyed being spanked. I wasn't sure when this fascination arose, but for as long as I could remember I had thoroughly enjoyed baring my butt for female authority figures as a prelude to shots, rectal thermometers or spankings. Today, there were tight, sore lumps in each ass cheek where Kim had injected the antibiotics. I replayed the session in my mind, particularly the surprising epilogue of her finishing me with her hand. I yearned for the same sort of conclusion to a spanking from Michelle, but if she was inclined to service the boner her spankings always produced, she had never yet acted upon it.

Today's session had an unusually brief discussion part. Michelle had mentioned that her primary concern was how long I had procrastinated before seeking medical attention. That delay was ill-advised and she indicated would result in a rather intense spanking. She signaled the end of the discussion phase, by standing from the arm chair she usually sat in during conversation and pulled a straight armless chair to the center of the room. "Fetch the brush," she instructed. I did as told, extracting a wooden hairbrush from a drawer in the side table next to the chair where I sat. She took the brush and waited impatiently while I moved to her right side and lowered my pants and underwear. She guided me over her lap and briefly massaged my bottom, touching upon the injection sites and the tight muscle below. She began to spank me bare handed and when I was feeling quite warm, she switched to the brush. It provided a sting that was delicious yet often bordered on the upper limits of my tolerance for pain. I think she knew this and applied it expertly keeping me right at that boundary for a sustained period. When my ass was thoroughly heated she allowed me to rise and then chided me on the wet spot on her skirt. "I'm obviously being too easy on you if you're finding this arousing," she noted. I sense a bit of amusement in the comment as she pulled my heavy leather belt from my slacks that were bunched at my ankles. "Bent over. Hands on your knees," she commanded and then stroked my already fiery ass a dozen times with the doubled-over strap. I so much wanted her to relieve the sexual stress I felt but she handed me back my belt, signaling the end of the session. "I'm going to go make some tea," she announced. "Take your time re-arranging yourself," she added with a smile, pushing a box of tissues across the desk. "Unless you'd like me to stay and watch?"

"Perhaps you could help. Lend a hand?" I suggested meekly.

"Perhaps," she offered, "...but then I would feel compelled to append a paddling to our session."

My butt was so very sore but the notion of her assisting release of my throbbing boner and a subsequent paddling only made the strain that much more intense.