that I purposely don’t let her know what I’m thinking, it doesn’t mean I’m not just as concerned as she is about this woman. I don’t want this crazy kook killing the woman he has caged in his basement. There isn’t just the issue of him killing her either. There is also the issue of her not being able to escape if there is a fire or some other freak accident. Therefore, I periodically check on her for my peace of mind.
“There are two basement windows of which you’re already aware. There is the one in the front and the less accessible, yet more hidden, one in the back. The fact that he doesn’t have curtains on either one, but opted for frosted window film instead, is all part of the mind-fuck he is using against her.”
I want to know if Stormy is paying attention so I catch her off guard and ask her why he did that.
“Why do you think that he chose not to use curtains when he is committing a felony by holding a woman against her will?”
“I’m assuming it limits anyone being able to see in but, by her being able to make out blurred images and body forms walking past the window, he’s giving her the illusion of help being so very close, yet she knows it’s out of her reach.”
“Very good, now what else did you notice about the basement?”
“He has a clock on the wall that he has removed the hands from.”
“Well done. There is one more thing about her surroundings and if you can’t tell me what it is when we check in on her, you’re going to be disciplined. Details are of the utmost importance in our line of work; they are a matter of life and death. My life is in your hands, the hands of a novice, mind you. I expect you to be at the top of your game at all times. I refuse to pamper and baby you. If at any time you want to be coddled, then you need to take your ass back home. You can always go back to blogging.”
“You’re a smart ass, Miller!”
“Yes, I am… I am a living, breathing smart ass. I emphasize the living, breathing aspect.”
She just rolls her eyes and turns away like she always does, as if it doesn’t matter. I’m fully aware her mind is already trying to come up with answer though, asking herself what she missed in that basement. She damn sure better hope she figures it out or her ass is going to feel the fire of the cane five times. That is, of course, unless my dick gets hard while I’m hurting her. If that happens, and it most likely will, she may be looking at ten strikes. There is also the issue of having to decipher my riddle through frosted glass. The crazy doc isn’t the only one subjecting his woman to mind-fucks and he certainly isn’t the only one who enjoys doing it…
Lisa
My name is Lisa and I’m not certain how long I have been here. The man holding me captive is a man I once trusted, a man I spilled my innermost secrets to. You see… he is my psychiatrist.
I have to say that I believe the reason I chose to go and talk to him is because I simply do not, nor have I ever, bonded with anyone. When I say anyone, I do mean anyone.
He tells me it’s due to my childhood. Years of being ignored, neglected, and abandoned have left me a shell of a woman. I didn’t seek out counseling because I am troubled about my state of being, a state of being alone for a lifetime. I sought out counseling to understand why I am unable to bond with anyone. Curiosity, more than anything else, is what drove me to seek out his services.
My earliest memories of my mother are of having to step over her drunken body to change the TV station. My earliest memories of any kind of father figure are of trying to avoid the men she subjected me to. She brought a different man home every night and, as I grew older, I instinctively knew that staying anywhere near their vicinity would be unwise. To do so would only ensure that their sexual interests would fall on me rather than my mother. My foresight saved me from ever falling victim to their drunken sexual
“There are two basement windows of which you’re already aware. There is the one in the front and the less accessible, yet more hidden, one in the back. The fact that he doesn’t have curtains on either one, but opted for frosted window film instead, is all part of the mind-fuck he is using against her.”
I want to know if Stormy is paying attention so I catch her off guard and ask her why he did that.
“Why do you think that he chose not to use curtains when he is committing a felony by holding a woman against her will?”
“I’m assuming it limits anyone being able to see in but, by her being able to make out blurred images and body forms walking past the window, he’s giving her the illusion of help being so very close, yet she knows it’s out of her reach.”
“Very good, now what else did you notice about the basement?”
“He has a clock on the wall that he has removed the hands from.”
“Well done. There is one more thing about her surroundings and if you can’t tell me what it is when we check in on her, you’re going to be disciplined. Details are of the utmost importance in our line of work; they are a matter of life and death. My life is in your hands, the hands of a novice, mind you. I expect you to be at the top of your game at all times. I refuse to pamper and baby you. If at any time you want to be coddled, then you need to take your ass back home. You can always go back to blogging.”
“You’re a smart ass, Miller!”
“Yes, I am… I am a living, breathing smart ass. I emphasize the living, breathing aspect.”
She just rolls her eyes and turns away like she always does, as if it doesn’t matter. I’m fully aware her mind is already trying to come up with answer though, asking herself what she missed in that basement. She damn sure better hope she figures it out or her ass is going to feel the fire of the cane five times. That is, of course, unless my dick gets hard while I’m hurting her. If that happens, and it most likely will, she may be looking at ten strikes. There is also the issue of having to decipher my riddle through frosted glass. The crazy doc isn’t the only one subjecting his woman to mind-fucks and he certainly isn’t the only one who enjoys doing it…
Lisa
My name is Lisa and I’m not certain how long I have been here. The man holding me captive is a man I once trusted, a man I spilled my innermost secrets to. You see… he is my psychiatrist.
I have to say that I believe the reason I chose to go and talk to him is because I simply do not, nor have I ever, bonded with anyone. When I say anyone, I do mean anyone.
He tells me it’s due to my childhood. Years of being ignored, neglected, and abandoned have left me a shell of a woman. I didn’t seek out counseling because I am troubled about my state of being, a state of being alone for a lifetime. I sought out counseling to understand why I am unable to bond with anyone. Curiosity, more than anything else, is what drove me to seek out his services.
My earliest memories of my mother are of having to step over her drunken body to change the TV station. My earliest memories of any kind of father figure are of trying to avoid the men she subjected me to. She brought a different man home every night and, as I grew older, I instinctively knew that staying anywhere near their vicinity would be unwise. To do so would only ensure that their sexual interests would fall on me rather than my mother. My foresight saved me from ever falling victim to their drunken sexual
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