The assignment completed, I passed the clipboard back to Dr. Armstrong with a shrug.
He glanced over my responses, then flashed me a very warm smile. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’ve had some unfortunate dealings with interviewers, and this was my way of testing your sincerity. I’m at your service now, but I do hope it was valuable for you to get a sense of what it’s like to be a new client.”
I had to laugh. “Actually I did learn a lot. How do your real clients deal with such intimate questions?”
“The women who come to me are confident in their desires. They enjoy being dominated and appreciate my professional approach to establishing the parameters of my services.”
“Indeed, while we’re on that topic, Doctor, exactly what type of services do you provide?”
He leaned back in his chair, clearly relishing the chance to elaborate on his area of expertise. “That varies with the client and her level of experience. Many novices are satisfied with verbal chastisement culminating in a mild administration of the hand or paddle, just enough to keep them remembering the session for the rest of the day. The more seasoned veterans have built up a tolerance and seek variety in the implements—crops, canes, belts, hairbrushes. They appreciate my specialty--maximum sensation with minimal marking—especially if their partners are unaware of their sessions with me, although I’m confident my therapy has a positive effect beyond this office. A select group of special clients are permitted to request additional services. For example, I’ll allow them to masturbate in my presence after their spanking or let them perform fellatio on me, if the request falls within the proper guidelines.”
I immediately pictured a naked woman with a rosy bottom kneeling before the doctor to take his stiff cock in her mouth. Flustered by the obscene image, I spoke without thinking. “I see. Do you also have intercourse with these ‘special clients,’ Doctor?”
Armstrong’s serene expression immediately darkened. “Ms. Patterson, you are showing your appalling ignorance of the type of eroticism I offer here. Spanking is an art, not a cover for male prostitution.”
My face flamed with embarrassment at my faux pas, exactly the kind of cheap journalism he wanted to avoid. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Armstrong. That was terribly insensitive of me.”
My hasty apology seemed to placate him. “Perhaps we can avoid such misunderstandings in the future if you look over some of the introductory materials I give to my first-time clients?”
I nodded vigorously. “I look forward to learning more.”
“Then this is a good time to take a break. Can we follow up tomorrow afternoon at this same hour?”
“I appreciate the second chance, Doctor.”
Escorting me to the reception area, the doctor told his assistant to “give Ms. Patterson the introductory reading and An Education.” With a final nod to me, he disappeared into his office.
Smirking, the woman walked over to a well-stocked bookshelf in the corner of the room. The first book she handed over was a slim paperback with a plain blue cover entitled Dr. Armstrong’s Joy of Spanking. It was the second, however, that made my eyes practically pop out of my head. The glossy cover was a photograph of a woman’s bare buttocks, a plaid skirt hiked to her waist and white cotton panties pushed down her thighs. The voluptuous ass cheeks were marked by a red handprint, but most shocking of all were the exposed labia, pink and pouting and glistening with arousal. The title was written in neon pink: An Education for Samantha by Anonymous.
Blushing fiercely, I shoved the books into my briefcase and rushed out the door.
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