Sybian Therapy

The chime rang, Aaron pressed the button, buzzed his client through.

"Good morning, Lorraine. How are you?"

"I'm here. How do you think I am?"

Aaron let it pass. Lorraine Gillis-Barton had never missed a session - not in over three years. She was a striking woman. Thirty-something. Had the look of money both in what she wore and how she, well, looked, as in down her nose at most people. She probably had a bit of surgery when she'd hit the big 3-0, but you couldn't tell.

Aaron rose from the desk, stepped over to a door, held it open for her. She preceded him down the short hallway, stopped by another door, which he also opened and held. Once she was inside, he closed the door and went back to his desk. He tapped a key and the interior of the room sprang up on the display.

She undressed quickly. She wore her trademark suit, crisp blouse, frilly underwear (an odd juxtaposition). She either hung or folded everything neatly. Naked she looked damn good. Her tits were full and impossibly firm. Her heart shaped ass equally firm. Her arms and legs were thin, bordering on skinny, as was the fashion. Lorraine pulled a sheet from the stack, pulled it over her as she settled on the table. Aaron headed back down the hall.

In the room he slipped on a white smock, pulled a bottle of aromatic oil from the shelf and got to work. He didn't so much give her a massage as a rub down, head to toe, twice, both front and back. Not a word was spoken.

When he had finished with the oil, he took a roll of tape from the shelf, peeled the end, and pressed it across her eyes. She sat up and Aaron wrapped her head. It was the way it always went. She didn't like being naked in front of others and without her sight she was spared some embarrassment.

Aaron wound the stretchy tape over under and around Lorraine's head. He left a bit of a gap for her mouth, just a bit. She could breathe well enough, but only through clenched teeth.

He worked his way onto her shoulder and down her left arm, down over her fingers, back up and did it again. He repeated the process on her right arm. She raised her arms and Aaron wound the tape around her chest, down to her waist. Again he added a second layer. She crossed her arms on her chest and Aaron covered from shoulder to waist.

He raised a foot, wrapped it, wrapped her legs up to her thighs. Lastly, he helped her stand, spread her legs. He wrapped her from her shin to her crotch, wound the tape around her hips. When he was done, Lorraine was a generic female form, all white, with just her pale bush peeking out between her legs.

He led her through another door.

The room was small, soundproof. The sybian sat on a plush white towel on a plush red carpet. A decorative table sat to one side with a ornate wooden box on it. Aaron opened the box. He selected the appropriate shaft, kind of looked like a big, rubber stick shift, a largish ball on a fattish shaft. He mounted it. He slathered lubricant on it and between Lorraine's legs. He eased her down, straddling the sybian, positioning her and, with a bit of adjusting, the fat shaft disappeared between Lorraine's full, nether lips. He made a couple of more adjustments until Lorraine was fully impaled, kneeling astride the machine.

There was a long, leather strap under the device. Aaron pulled the ends up over her legs, buckled it across her thighs, trapping her, binding her in place. When she fainted, and she would, she'd be in no danger for the few seconds she was out. The leg strap would hold her in place well enough.

Aaron doffed the smock and went back down the hall to his desk. He sat down at the computer, moused a bit, clicked. A kneeling, wrapped Lorraine appeared on the screen. Next to the video a graphic control panel appeared. He clicked a drop-down menu, selected Lorraine 5. Clicked START.

An equalizer popped up, the introduction to Vivaldi's Four Seasons filled the room. Lorraine specified the music and Aaron keyed the sybian to it, the vibrations ebbing and flowing in synch with the score. Aaron set the levels, adjusted the volume. The directional mic in the room would capture Lorraine's moans, grunts, gasps, squeals. She was a noisy bitch. He liked that.

It was unethical of course. His shrink buddy, Saul, had suggested it.

"These women have issues with sex, like doesn't everybody? But they have money and want things fixed, even the things that can't be fixed. Things that probably shouldn't be fixed. You know? Problems that aren't really problems. So we'll set up shop, call it therapy. An hour here, an hour there on the machine. Here's your prescription, Mrs. Lindon, for Prozac and another for sybian therapy. Take the pills twice a day and the machine once a week."

They laughed. It was supposed to be a joke, but Aaron soon realized Saul wasn't joking.

In Lorraine Gillis-Barton's case, she was a bit frigid. She rationalized visits to Aaron's as a kind of spa treatment. Hence the scented oils and wrap. As for the machine, it was a great way to get that old heart pumping without the mess of actually doing exercises. According to Saul, that was her rationale.

Whatever you say, Mrs. Gillis-Barton. Of course, we'll bill your insurance company. Have a nice day. And we'll see you next week.

Aaron pulled a bottle of vodka from his desk draw. The draw was actually a tiny cooler. He kept an assortment of beverages there. Some of his clients liked that. They liked to have a drink after their "treatment." He splashed some vodka into a glass and sipped. He rocked back in his chair and smiled. Two minutes in and she was already squirming, making those sounds that were uniquely hers. He took another sip. His smile broadened. It was going to be some show.

Sybian therapy - coming soon to a city near you.

16.04.12