|An Ordinary Life (standard:Psychological fiction, 2618 words)|
|Author: MsCroft||Added: Oct 05 2009||Views/Reads: 3781/1252||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This is a story about a psychologist who's sensual awakening is a result of the clients she attends to. Though erotic in nature, it portends to a more viseral experience for the reader.|
An Ordinary Life: by Hope Bastine The weekend bore its dull weeks' ending. Monotony was becoming a recurring theme among the Good Doctor's daily accomplishments. Not yet ready to head home she wandered aimlessly down town towards and thoughts of her last client evoked images that lingered darkly as she failed to come to grips with the apparent honesty of her last confession. Cosseting explicit descriptions of her indiscretions, client ‘V' revelled in shocking her confidant. Indulging her fantasies, she seduced the low lives with the curves of her body. Though her accounts betrayed a sardonic tone, it was clear she relished every minute of her undulated adoration; she found the power behind her seductive quality to be her drug inebriating her raison d' etre. To her saturated mind, she saw no other purpose than to observe the powers she held over these pansies, for though she was paid to twist and turn her saunter, it enthralled her being. She saw them as weak beings for which she had no respect; relinquishing their power over to her was a shoddy choice for in that lay their weakness. Yet power is what she had, and she drank that nectar well. Approaching the cusp of middle age the Good Doctor's life was a rulebook for the not so challenged. She played the game well, achieved the regard, and followed the path paved for the elite few, the yellow brick road if you would. Sure, she had friends that satisfied her obvious needs, but it was the satisfied part that was not in lieu with her. She could never really understand the condition of contentment, with her there was always a burning desire for more. She could never understand mere existence, for to her that is not what humans were placed on this earth for, to simply exist. She could never understand the day-to-day lemming-like mechanism that rendered a human ‘complete'. These words aroused sentiments that elicited a distinct state of mind she could never disregard, a feeling that portended a continuous state of eruption. Knowledge no longer offered a reprieve and even though the continuing pursuit offered some restoration, it began to manifest a dissatisfaction that lingered in sub-conscious waiting. Love, she thought she had but then again it did follow that rulebook of which she was so wary. Peter was caring and attentive, he was not spontaneous or passionate, but he did attend the social milieu that satisfied her inner circle. Nonetheless, the void was there, she could not quite place where it lay, but she knew better than to project it onto him. No, she knew it was with her the die had fallen. She found herself down a shady cobble-stoned side street her thoughts interrupted by low hanging shop window. Its dusty wood-lined frame enwrapped a dingy mishap of a boutique. The décor alone intrigued her; forgotten and unkempt, the dishevelments appealed to her current disposition of forgetting and escape. She had spent far too much time in deep thought of late and it became increasingly clear the need for action was long overdue. She made for the nearest exit but as she turned, a glistening in the far corner of the window caught her eye. In the corner of the shop window, staring at her square, lay a discarded sequin-lined smoky-black satin feline mask with a carmine lace trim along the curve of the cheeks. The mask and its encumbrance had always captured her interest since she had perfected that route all too often; almost afraid of the power it was able to unleash she held it at a safe distance away. With this, with this lay the threshold to her freedom, with this she would capture the libertine she refused to recognise, the epitome of all that was woman, a liberty from the mask she had grown all too accustomed to wearing. Its hypnotic power held its gaze as she soon found herself purchasing her prize. Mesmerised by its seductive quality, the epitome of female sexuality, the feline mask held its talent to no disrepute; under this influence, she began to appreciate the sensations client ‘V' described with relish and soon found herself aroused by her recount. She recalled that her client was on a very different sort of engagement and in a moment of latent impulse, she seized the opportunity to test the powers behind the feline mask. It did not take her long to locate that seedy establishment her client occasions and soon found herself making a rather irresistible deal with the greasy haired proprietor. Gerome, glib, slimy, and pot-bellied ran his plasmodial eyes over her well-trained form; he stood to make a bob Click here to read the rest of this story (169 more lines)
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