Zara Maddox stepped off the elevator and into the underground parking lot of the advertising agency where the 31 year old had worked hard and risen through the ranks quickly to become a senior executive. She walked to her car, a red convertible, and got inside. The first thing she did was get out of her nylons. How she hated those! But they were a necessary evil when wearing a dress or skirt to work. Next, she got out of the car and took the top off. It was a beautiful late spring day and she wanted to feel the wind in her hair, even though it was cut quite short - solely because her husband liked it that way. She didn't care anymore what he liked, but she didn't want to antagonize him. She had tried growing it long at one time, but he shaved part of it off when she was sleeping and she had to finish the job and wear wigs until it grew out.

Leaving the underground parking, she headed for the freeway. It took her longer to get to it than she wanted. She hated city driving. Once on the highway, she cranked the music. It was about 40 minutes to her therapist's office. She'd left work a bit early to try to get there by the time Dr Holt was finished at 5:00. She'd misplaced her personal journal the other day, the one her doctor had suggested she start and which she carried everywhere she went so that she could write down her thoughts as she had them. She was so careful with it, not wanting anyone to get their hands on it and read it. It had made her sick to not know where it was. Yesterday, Dr Holt had called her, informing her he'd found it beside the chair she'd been sitting on at her appointment the day before. Due to work commitments, she had been unable to get it until now. She fervently hoped her therapist had not read it. Especially the parts about him. Things she had not told anyone, not even him. She was at ease with her doctor and could tell him almost anything – almost. There were a few things she could not tell him, including that. He would end their doctor/patient relationship. She would have to find a new therapist and start over and she couldn't bear the thought of that.

Zara parked her car behind Dr Holt's office and turned it off. She took her keys out of the ignition and put them in her purse before undoing her seat belt. Checking her phone, she realized it was after 5pm. She needed to get home and get dinner on. Her husband would be home soon. This was one of the few days a week he came home for the night. If dinner wasn't on, he wouldn't be happy and she didn't need the argument that would ensue. This should be a quick in and out, she thought as she ran a brush through her hair.

Getting out of the car, she stretched her legs. Smoothing out her skirt, she walked toward the patient door of the doctor's office. The office was located in the back of Dr Holt's home, a big house he'd had custom built on a large sprawling lot just outside Norcastle, a small city about 20 minutes from Zara's home – she lived in Pineport, a medium sized town between Norcastle and Greenham - the large metropolis she worked in.

Zara was normally very self assured and in control - she had to be in her job. But now she was quivering inside and trying not to show it. She approached the door and opened it. Stepping inside, she took her sunglasses off. It was a warm, bright day. She was wearing a grey business suit and button-down white blouse with the first couple buttons undone. The just-above-the-knee skirt showed off her shapely legs – now bare since she'd taken her nylons off. She took a seat in the small waiting room and adjusted her tailored blouse, which had slipped a bit, exposing her ample cleavage. She ran every morning and worked out three times a week. Her hard work paid off in giving her a nicely toned body. Too bad her pissant of a husband didn't appreciate it and was getting his rocks off elsewhere most of the time. He hadn't thought she knew, but she did. A woman always knows about these things. She'd have divorced his sorry ass a long time ago if not for the fact it would have cost her too much, as she made a lot more money than he did as a line cook. He had got very cocky when she confronted him about his unfaithfulness and told her he would take her for everything she had if she ended the marriage. What had she ever seen in him? she wondered.

She thought about her journal, wondering how it slipped out of her shoulder bag. She was sure the zipper was done up. Positive, in fact. Did she leave it alone at all? Oh yes, she had had to excuse herself to go to the washroom. She hadn't thought to take her bag with her, trusting that her doctor would not touch it. She'd forgotten about that.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door to the doctor's office opened. Myles Holt appeared and motioned for her to come in. He was a tall man in his late 40's with a tanned body from spending his days off on the golf course. He had short, but not too short, dark hair flecked with grey – much less than you'd expect at his age. His blue eyes could see right through you. He used to have a mustache, but shaved it off when it started to get grey in it. He didn't use a motorized cart on the golf course, preferring to walk, but despite that and good dietary habits, middle age was taking it's toll and he had gained a few pounds in the last year or so. Not a lot, but more than he liked. He kept vowing to join a gym but never seemed to get around to it. He was dressed in his typical attire – dress pants, shirt and tie.

Zara stood up. “If you'll just give me my journal, please. I need to get home.”

“Come on in, Zara. You know, we didn't really finish our session the other day. I got that phone call and had to rush off. I have some time now.”

“I'm sorry, Dr Holt, I need to get home. I have to get dinner on, and Adrian will be home soon.”

“Adrian can wait. You can call him and tell him you are here. I insist.”

“He doesn't know about my sessions. You know that.”

“Tell him you are working late. How many excuses does he give you when he's boffing Becky – or whatever her name is.” Zara's eyes got wide – Dr Holt had never talked like that before. He took a few steps toward her and put his hand on her back, guiding her into his office.

She sat down in a chair in front of the doctor's desk. It was a comfortable arm chair – there was another one facing it – the doctor sat there during sessions. If the patient preferred to sit or lie on the sofa against the wall, he turned the chair to face him or her. There were two windows in the room – a large one on the far wall, opposite to the door she'd entered the office through and a smaller one on the adjoining wall. In front of the big window was a large mahogany desk. The top of the desk was neatly kept with typical office items on it, including a business telephone, old fashioned desk lamp, a box of tissues, a framed picture of his wife and an ashtray. That was Myles' one big vice – he liked to smoke a pipe, but tried not to overindulge. On the wall opposite the sofa there was a bookcase and a couple of small file cabinets. This was where he kept his patient files. Of course, he locked them up before leaving the office. On each end of the sofa was a small table with a lamp on top. Another box of tissues sat on one of the end tables.

At the other end of the office were two doors. One was a closet but Zara did not know what the other one led to. There was a children's play area, with a small table and some books and colouring books for when Myles had a child patient or a parent with an appointment didn't have childcare available. There was a door on the other side wall, beside the sofa, that led to the exit. Patients exited through this door so as to maintain their privacy and not be seen by any other patients waiting for their appointment. In the short hallway they walked down to get out was a door that led to Myles' house. He kept this locked at all times. On the other side of the hallway was a room he used for storage.

There were a few framed prints on the walls, including Myles' degrees and a large photo behind the sofa of Moraine Lake in Canada. Zara thought she might like to go there some day, it looked so beautiful and peaceful. A picture saying “Believe in Yourself” was on another wall – fitting for a psychologist's office.

She sat almost on the edge of the chair. It made her feel more in control of herself. She crossed her legs. “Call your husband and tell him you will be late”, her doctor ordered in a soft, yet firm voice.

Zara made the call. Adrian almost seemed relieved. Probably wanting to “boff” Becky, as Dr Holt had said. Her stomach cringed. She ended the call and put her phone back in her purse. “Could I have my journal? Please.”

“All right. Come with me.” He walked toward the door on the wall behind her, around the corner from the one she'd come through. Zara had wondered what this door was for. She was about to find out.

She rose and followed her therapist. He opened the door and turned on a light switch. She could see a staircase going down. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Down here, Zara. What's the matter? Don't you trust me?” He turned around to look at her.

“Of course I trust you, Dr Holt. This is just so strange.”

“Come, my dear. Let's not waste time.” She took a deep breath and followed him down the stairs. At the bottom, he unlocked a door to their right and opened it. He turned on a light and stepped into the room. Zara followed suit. When she got inside, she froze. On the back wall was a medical exam table, the head raised and stirrups in place at the foot. To the right were cupboards and a counter with a sink. On the counter were various things you'd see in a typical medical doctor's office. Jars with cotton, gauze, tongue depressors. The usual instruments were mounted on the back wall. A stethoscope hung from the basket that held the blood pressure cuff. There were a couple chairs on the left side wall. This was all very strange for a therapist to have in his office, but what really caught her attention and made her gasp was that there were what looked like restraints attached to the exam table and stirrups.

“Is something wrong, Zara?”

“N-no, Doctor”, she stammered. “I just need my journal, please.”

“It's over there on the counter.” She looked over and saw it beside the sink. She started to step over to get it when the doctor took her by the arm and guided her to the table. “I'm going to give you a very basic exam, Zara. You told me you have not had one in over 10 years.”

“You know I don't like going to the doctor.”

“Yes, I do. But you've been coming here for a few years now and you trust me, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You know I would never harm you?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Then trust me now.”

“But … those restraints!”

“Oh, those”, he said nonchalantly. “My wife likes to be restrained on the table.” It was a lie – his wife hadn't let him near her sexually in years. They had a good marriage, except for the lack of intimacy. He'd long ago accepted it and began to look elsewhere for his physical needs. Jolene knew but they never spoke of it. Except for her to tell him he better not be getting any diseases. He only “played” with women he knew to be free of STDs. He had drawn blood from Zara a few months ago when she wasn't feeling well and wouldn't see a general practitioner. He'd also gotten a urine sample. Unbeknownst to her, he had had tests run for an array of sexually transmitted diseases as well as the usual CBC etc. It had come back negative. At the time, he was concerned about her husband getting a disease and passing it on to her, since she had told him they still had sex at times.

Zara stepped onto the stool beside the table and sat down on it. “Let me have your suit jacket”, the doctor said to her. She took it off and handed it to him. He hung it on a hook on the door, which he'd closed and discreetly locked. Coming back to the table, he guided her to a lying down position and took the stethoscope from the basket and hung it around his neck. He got the blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around his patient's upper arm. When he had his reading, he remarked “It's a bit high. You need to relax.”

“I-I'll try”, she said in a weak voice.

Myles reached down and stroked her inner arm in an effort to get her to relax. Then he put his fingers on her wrist and found her pulse. Her heart was racing. “Your heart is beating fast. I want to listen to it.” He undid a couple buttons on her blouse, exposing her bra. She was wearing a sexy white lacy one that showed off her 38C's. Very nice! Myles thought to himself as he put the diaphragm of his stethoscope on her chest. He could feel himself getting aroused as he listened to her heart, taking his sweet time. It was still beating faster than normal, though it had slowed down a bit. In a soft, soothing voice, he told her to close her eyes and relax. She didn't comply. “Don't you trust me, Zara?” he asked.

Zara hesitated. She did trust her therapist, but she had no idea what he was doing. “Dr Holt, why are you doing this? You aren't an MD.”

Myles finished his auscultation and put the stethoscope back in it's place. “My dear, have you not seen the diploma on my wall? I certainly am an MD.”

“Psychologists don't go to medical school.”

He chuckled. “We don't have to and most don't. I wanted to. At one time, I practiced medicine part time and psychology part time. Then I went full time with the latter. But I've kept my credentials as an MD up.”

“Oh, I didn't know that.”

“Don't you remember us having this same conversation when you were sick and I drew your blood?”

“No, I forgot about that.”

“Now, please trust me and close your eyes.” Zara reluctantly complied. Myles began stroking her inner arm again. He had done this when she'd had an anxiety attack in his office once and it had had a calming effect on her. Soon her heart rate and breathing slowed. When he was sure she was relaxed, the doctor opened the restraint near her wrist and did it up loosely. At first, Zara didn't notice, but as she felt it close in around her wrist, she realized what was happening. She tried to sit up, panicking.

“What are you doing, Dr Holt?” she almost yelled, her heart racing again.

Myles quickly tightened the restraint and gently but firmly pushed Zara back down. “I told you I will not harm you, Zara”, he said in a patient voice. “You need to trust me.”

As he reached over the table to do up the restraint on the other side, he kept talking. “I think you will like this, my dear.”

“Why on earth do you think I would like being restrained?” she asked as she again tried to sit up.

“I read your journal, Zara.”

Zara gasped in horror and fell back against the head of the exam table. Oh God, she thought. He read it! She could feel her face flush with embarrassment. “No need to be embarrassed, Zara. I am your therapist. You can tell me anything.”

“N-not th-that!” she stammered.

“Why not, Zara?”

“It's forbidden. You will make me see someone else now and I can't – I just can't!”

“Nobody else needs to know.” He took one of her feet and placed it in a stirrup before securing a restraint around her ankle, then did the same with her other leg. The cuffs were made of soft leather and fleece lined the insides. He had paid a pretty penny for them, but his favourite patient's comfort was worth it. He had bought the table from a fetishist, so it came with restraints. It was initially used on a lady he'd seen for a while. She loved being fucked on it with her hands and feet restrained. After reading Zara's journal the other day and formulating a plan, he had gone to a fetish store in another city – he didn't dare risk being recognized here at home – and bought these, wanting her to be comfortable. He'd also bought the collar there.

Zara had considered fighting him, but with her wrists restrained, all she could do was kick and that would be futile. When he had her feet secured, Myles took his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. Going to the counter, he picked up the journal and opened it to a page he had bookmarked. He began to read aloud.

“I don't know what it is about him, but I've become attracted to Dr Holt. When I first started seeing him, I didn't find him particularly good looking, but ever since he shaved that mustache, I have found him to be sexy as hell.”

The doctor turned to another bookmarked page. ”I had my weekly session with Dr Holt today”, he continued to read. “What is it about him? He is so much older than me – probably close to 20 years. I don't need a father figure, I loved both of my parents very much. I wonder what Dr Holt would be like in bed? He is so gentle, so understanding, caring and compassionate. I bet he'd be a good lover. Certainly not like Mr Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am that I was stupid enough to marry.”

As he read to Zara, the doctor ran his free hand up her leg, pushing her skirt up a bit and gently running his hand over her inner thigh. Despite her utter embarrassment, Zara could feel herself getting wet. She feared him getting too close to her crotch and noticing.

Dr Holt put the open journal back on the counter and approached the table from a spot near his patient's abdomen. He pulled her blouse out of her skirt, finished undoing the buttons and pushed the sides away. Then he leaned over her and reached around and under her chest, finding the clasps of her bra and undoing them as if he did this every day. His face was close to hers, she could feel his breath on her lips. She held her breath, wondering what he would do next. He brushed his lips ever so slightly against hers before standing up. “Zara, I'm going to release your right hand for a moment. Do you promise not to give me a hard time?” She considered telling him where to go, but knew if she did, he wouldn't take the cuff off her hand. Should she fight when he did? She was in excellent shape, but he was bigger than her and could probably overpower her. Besides, her other hand was still restrained, as well as her feet. “Zara? I promise you, I will not harm you. How many times have I said that? You need to trust me.”

“Okay, Dr Holt”, she replied as she resigned herself to whatever was to happen.

“That's my girl”, he smiled for the first time since they had come downstairs. “I will also tell you I won't do anything that you really don't want me to do”, he informed her as he undid the restraint and took her wrist out of it. He pulled her arm out of the sleeve of her blouse, then slid her bra strap off. Bending her arm so that her hand was beside her head, he fastened a cuff to her wrist. “You know I've read your journal so you also know that I know what you want. I will give you a word to use if you really want it to stop.” He reached over her to her other side and did the same as he'd done on her right side. He pulled both her blouse and bra off her, leaving her chest completely exposed. The air was a little cold there in the basement and her nipples were erect. She was very proud of her breasts, and often wore clothing that showed them off. They were a nice size – big enough to be attractive, but not so big that they sagged. She enjoyed wearing lacy bras even if nobody but her saw them anymore.

Myles continued to talk to her. “Your word is 'dragon'. It's a word you wouldn't otherwise say in a situation like this. If you use that word, I will stop and we'll discuss what is happening. If you really want me to not continue, I won't. If you just want me to stop what I was doing in that exact moment but you want to continue, we can do that, but I am hoping that you will give everything I do a fair chance. Since you have a safe word, if you say 'no', I will take that to mean you don't really want it to stop. That is why we have a safe word.”

The therapist went to her knees and pushed her skirt all the way up, bringing her lacy white panties into his view. “Oh my, Zara, such pretty panties to go with your bra. I have to wonder if you wore them for me.” Zara remained silent. He went to the counter, pulled open a drawer and took a pair of scissors out. Approaching the table, he asked “Do you sew?”

“Um... a little”, she answered, wondering why he was asking.

“Good. Then you can sew these back up.” He used the scissors to cut her panties on the seam at the side. Reaching over her, he did the same with the other side and pulled the garment off her. He turned around and put both scissors and the cut underwear on the counter. Zara closed her legs at the knees, feeling even more embarrassed than she had at having her breasts exposed. Dr Holt noticed as soon as he turned back around and parted them with his hands. He ran one hand up the inside of her nearest bare thigh, stopping when he reached the top. Zara held her breath. She was getting so wet, she could feel it. She hoped he didn't notice. Or maybe not. Maybe I do want him to notice, she thought. I have nothing to lose now anyway.

The doctor picked her journal up again, and turned to another page.

“I couldn't wait to get home from my appointment with Dr Holt today. I was so aroused, I was very tempted to turn onto a side road and pull over to finger myself. I managed to make it home, though, and headed straight for the bedroom. Thank God Adrian was not home yet. I came almost as soon as I touched my clit, but I didn't stop until I had a couple more orgasms.”

He turned the pages. “I must say, I'm very flattered”, he told her, “That a young, attractive woman such as yourself would find me so sexy.”

“I'm sorry, Dr Holt.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for, my dear. Like I said, I'm very flattered. And nobody but us needs to know. Now, let's continue, shall we?” He began to read a new entry.

“Last night, Adrian wanted sex. I'd had all this pent up sexual energy from my fantasies about Dr Holt and all I could do was masturbate. Here was a chance to have actual, real cock. Ha! He was done in a few minutes and then fast asleep. I was left wanting. I reached down between my legs and began to fantasize about my HOT doctor.”