Part 2: Catharine's Side of the Story
My new client was a little tense, not unusual under the circumstances, but this one had a nervous energy and intensity that was well out-of-the-ordinary.
The woman sat across from me, on the edge of the couch, and stared as I went through the standard disclosures. When I got to the payment part, she said she had no insurance and would be paying cash. I smiled inwardly. Insurance carriers were cutting back on allowable charges. A cash customer would pay the full rate and without the nuisance of billing.
Always curious as to how people find me, I asked how she had come to make an appointment. The woman said she had picked me at random from the internet! So much for my reputation bringing in clients!
The woman’s name was Tyler Knotts. She was 30-something, attractive in a preppy, athletic way. She carried herself as if she were used to getting her way in all things. I figured her for local old money; she had the New England accent. Tall and blonde, her shoulder-length hair was pulled into a loose pony tail; she had very blue eyes and lovely full lips, which were at the moment, compressed into a thin white line. She wore expensive tight jeans, a high-end hooded sweatshirt top and lovely leather knee-high boots that probably cost as much as my monthly rent! Even after being in the office for a while, she was still pretty wound up.
I tried the usual things to get her to relax. I asked what she did for work. She kind of hemmed and hawed and then told me she was a dominatrix! That was a first for me. I knew what the word meant, but I had never really looked into it. I was intrigued, but I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the session so I couldn’t satisfy my curiosity immediately. I did make a note to ask her more about it the next time.
She went on for several minutes about her ‘job’ and then handed me a business card that had her name and several internet site addresses where she said her work was on display. Having a better understanding of her ‘business’, I steered the conversation in another direction by asking her why she was seeking counseling.
Tyler started out haltingly and in a mono-tone. Like a lot of people she wasn’t comfortable talking about the things that really bothered her. She complained about lethargy, lack of interest in things, loss of appetite, all signs of depression. I was looking for her definition of the problem and what she hoped to gain from our visits. She was well spoken and as she relaxed a bit she became more animated.
She eventually related a story of sexual assault, kind of a turn-about, that had occurred several months previously. She related the basic details without any outward emotion. She had been attacked by two women who kept her bound and gagged while they forced her to perform sexual acts on them. I asked whether the police had been involved, whether she had reported it. She said that she had not, that the embarrassment of reporting it would have been a burden. She said that the assault was known to security personnel where it had occurred, but that they had been, basically, bought off to keep silent. I asked if the assault was due to her occupation. She hesitated and then said that it was indirectly related.
Our time was up just as she finished describing the assault. I told her that we had made a good first step and that I thought we could work through this. She paid (hallelujah) and left after making an appointment for next week. I quickly scratched some notes; I was very interested in working with this woman. She, if nothing else, would provide a welcome change in the usual domestic and family disputes and issues I dealt with.
She was on time for her next appointment dressed similarly as before but in a different outfit that was no less expensive. She seemed more relaxed and ready to participate. After she was seated, I asked her to elaborate on her work. I had looked up on Wikipedia some information on dominatrices, but I wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth so to speak!
Without hesitation and in a clear voice and with total eye contact, Tyler launched into a detailed description of what she did. She seemed to relish relating the details; I was fascinated hearing them.
Then, I asked her if not reporting her assault, which was basically a lack of acknowledgement of what had happened to her and the loss of the possible capture and punishment of her assailants might have a bearing on her feelings. She gave that some thought and then stated that she did not feel that, that she would be able to exact her own retribution and that the real problem lay elsewhere.
I was surprised at her reaction, particularly the sense that she would somehow take revenge on these women and stated that to her. She understood that I had a duty to report any possible danger to others; she indicated that her ‘revenge’ would not be physical.
I was perplexed by this and pressed her to explain. She indicated that her business would have suffered if the incident had gotten publicized and she did not want that to happen. She was well off and could afford to buy silence. She would ‘take care’ of these women through her network of clients; they were apparently rivals. Who knew that such a thing existed? Not me!
During this session, we got to the crux of the biscuit. She said that she was feeling guilty about how she treated her clients and had developed, during her time as a captive, an understanding of what they endured. She talked for a while about that and I got the sense that she had given this much thought. The guilt was weighing on her.
Just as she finished relating this, the session ended. We set another appointment, but I was bothered a bit by what I thought was an inconsistency in her thinking. If her ‘clients’ hired her to do those things to them, why should she feel guilty about it when she did what they wanted? I made note to follow that up at out next meeting; maybe it could be a means to get her thinking differently.
At that next meeting though she dropped a bomb! When I asked why she was guilty about providing what her clients wanted, she hesitated and then said “Well, I am a domme, but…my ‘clients’ are not necessarily volunteers!”
Startled, I said “Go on!”
“I kidnap them, take them by force and then, basically, use them… for sex and to satisfy my desire for putting women into bondage. I also photograph and videograph them and sell the images to a select list of people. One of the women that attacked me? I was caught by her friend, her lover really, while I was …um…playing with her.”
That put an immediate damper on things. I was actually speechless for a minute or so. Here was evidence from her own mouth that she performed illegal and violent acts.
Finally after a pregnant silence, I spoke. “When we first met you do recall that I said I might have to reveal what we say here if someone is at risk?”
“I do and that’s why I was beating around the bush, so to speak. But a lot of what I have said is true as are my feelings. I have been ‘clean’ now for several months. There is no one that is in danger of being harmed. That’s the issue! I don’t want to do this anymore!”
“Is it that you don’t want to do it anymore or that you want me to help you get back into it?”
She did not answer, which was an answer in itself!
“I need to think about this and make a decision as to whether I have to report it. I’m sorry, but I may have no choice. Let’s get together on Friday; I have my last slot open at 5 and we can discuss how this will go. I can try and mitigate what I report, but…I just don’t know!”
I stood and closed my notebook. She hesitated and then stood also, extending her hand. I shook it and she left me to my thoughts.
At home that night, I was cleaning out my briefcase and found her card with the site addresses she had given me several meetings ago. I was curious about just what it was she did; maybe it would help me work through this.
I opened my mac and searched for the sites. She had given me the exact address of one of the videos and I called it up.
The video opened with a shot of a car sitting in a parking garage. The sound of high heels on concrete echoed in the garage. A woman carrying a briefcase wearing boots, a black skirt and a white blouse approached and stopped at the car. A hooded figure dressed in black, weapon in hand, appeared from the shadows, confronted the woman and forced her to the floor. The figure in black handcuffed the woman’s hands behind her, pulled her to her feet and spilled her into the trunk, tossing her briefcase in after her. The figure bent over the trunk, apparently further restraining the woman and then slammed the trunk shut. The figure reached up to remove the hood, freeing a shock of blond hair. As the figure turned to survey the area, it was clear it was a woman and that the woman was Tyler. She got in the car, started it up and drove off.
The next scene was of warehouse-y space. Tyler spent the next 15 minutes of the video tying up the woman, presumably the same women from the garage, in increasingly more difficult positions. The woman struggled and fought, but Tyler was so very efficient; I’m embarrassed to say that I was impressed with her skills! The video culminated with Tyler masturbating the woman with a vibrator. As the video ended, Tyler dropped the vibrator and walked away, leaving the woman to struggle in an excruciating looking hogtie.
Technically, it was very well done and realistic; it had the look of professional editing and photography.
I sat staring at the screen, stunned by what I had seen. After what I had heard from her today, could I assume that this was one of Tyler’s clients and that she had paid to be kidnapped or had I witnessed a kidnapping?
But that wasn’t my only issue of concern, god help me!
What was bothering me was my reaction! When the video ended, my heart was pounding, my hands were sweaty and a tingly sensation in my gut signaled arousal! The damn thing had turned me on! The woman struggling futilely to escape Tyler’s ropes struck a chord deep inside me. To my astonishment, I flashed on being that woman!
Shaken, I sat back and considered. I had never been involved in bondage; I knew of it, but until now it held no special interest for me. Why now was I so intrigued? Intrigued! Hell, I was totally taken with it! How could that have happened so quickly? Was it a latent fetish that was waiting for the just the right situation to surface? In my experience that rarely happened; when you had a fetish you had it and knew it.
And for sure this wasn’t the right situation! I mean, Tyler was my client! I had responsibilities to her and to my profession. I could not be involved in this even peripherally as a voyeur.
Even worse were the legal and ethical aspects. What if that poor woman had been kidnapped? Who was it? Where did it happen? This was an older video by the date stamp; there was no imminent danger to anyone. Tyler by her own admission was not now involved in this sort of thing, but so what, she certainly was when she made the video! Should I give the police the video and Tyler?
God, what a mess!
I shut down the computer and tried to get my mind off what I had seen, but…jeez, that woman, struggling and the tying up itself was so erotic!
Ok, I decided I had to stop this, right now!
I busied myself with some chores, took a shower (a cold one) and went to bed. I managed to distract myself with some reading until I fell asleep, but I knew I had to come to a decision and the sooner the better.
I managed to not look at the video the next day, but Wednesday evening I succumbed to its siren song. In spite of my resolve to stay away from it I watched it several times, each time reacting in the same way. I searched the internet for additional bondage-oriented sites and managed to blow away most of Wednesday night. There was so much stuff available and I sank into it like a stone, submerging myself and wallowing in it. And avoiding thinking about what to do with Tyler!
I was distraught! I cried myself to sleep that night and awoke early on Thursday. I had decided I would not continue my gutter tour of the bondage universe. I had had enough of that; if I were going to pursue this new-found fetish of mine it would be real, not some sleazy pics on a computer. I went off to work feeling a bit more in control and managed to put off any thoughts of bondage.
By Thursday night it was time, regardless of where I went with this bondage thing, to deal with the issue of Tyler and our sessions. But, what to do? I knew honesty would be the best approach; I would tell her that I couldn’t continue to work with her, but should I report her?
Was the woman in the video a willing victim? If she had been taken by force, I should really report Tyler to someone, but to whom? I really had no basis for thinking she had been kidnapped. There was no imminent danger to anyone; Tyler by her own admission was not involved in plying her trade.
Finally I decided that I would have to turn her in; it would be hard and she would be very unhappy, but I really had no choice. The best that could happen would be that she could provide proof that the woman had hired her. There should be no criminal issue if they both agreed to it!
I had several early clients on Friday and then went home to change before meeting Tyler. I was going out trolling tonight in the clubs in Town. Right after I dealt with her, I’d hop a train and see what happened. All that bondage and sex porn had lit a fire that could only be quenched with sex with a perfect stranger! Who knows maybe she would be into bondage…yeah, right!
I dressed in clingy black, thigh highs and wore my new black suede booties with the skyscraper heels. I wanted to put this whole thing behind me by immersing in drink and, hopefully, sex. But first I had to deal with Tyler!
At the appointed time I rose and went to my office door. I took a deep breath and opened it. Tyler was there waiting in her usual spot. Tonight she looked different to me with an intense predatory look in her eyes. I had a momentary jolt of fear; I was going to piss her off and she already looked pissed!
She also was dressed down. No elegant casual clothes, just a pair of camo cargo pants, a jeans jacket, skater shoes and a ball cap; very un-Tyler like!
I didn’t speak to her as she passed me and entered the office. I just stood back and let her pass; she didn’t speak either. I followed her in and went to my desk to get my note pad.
I sensed her right behind me and began to turn when I felt something jammed into my back.
“That is a pistol, Catherine, don’t do anything foolish! Please get down on the floor.”
I froze, my mind filled with one thought, Oh my fucking god, she’s going to kidnap me!
And she did!
story continues in The Therapist Part 3: Catharine's Basement