Consideration
by David Erlewine
               
Nights and weekends, it turns out, Laura is a dominatrix.  I learned this last month.  As my psychotherapist, she knew everything: my hours off work to visit various doms--to be pissed on, to be smothered, to have my balls crushed, to lick armpits and feet.  At the end of a session last month, Laura removed her suit and sat on my face, allowing me only enough breath to affirm my acceptance of her offer.  Before I left that night, I signed a modification to our contract, agreeing to pay $485 every session, up from the $285 she charged for strict psychotherapy.  On the drive home, I figured that her curvy ass and tiny thong qualified as the $200/session consideration. 

Since then, every Tuesday and Thursday, our sessions have been the same.  For the first five minutes she checks e-mail while I whine about my wife and kids and my job at the Department of Agriculture.  Then she locks her door, strips me, and performs all sorts of vileness.
 
Today, a Tuesday, passes so quickly.  At 5:30, I try not to run to my car.  When I arrive at Laura’s office, I find her sitting at her desk.  There is a familiar-looking woman standing over her shoulder.  I glance down at the desk photos.  It's the woman I’ve assumed is Laura's sister.  The woman jerks her head toward the door.  I glance back at it.  "Lock it," she says, "imbecile."  The insult sends a charge through me.  I scurry over to the door.  Before I turn around, my arms are behind me and I'm handcuffed. 

"Laura tells me you’re only paying $480." 

I glance at Laura.  "485, actually."

The woman snaps her fingers at Laura, who hands the woman her purse.  The woman digs through it and wags a huge turquoise dildo in my face.  Then she throws me over the desk.

"$585 an hour is the new price.  Nod your head once if you accept."

I try to look up at Laura but she must be holding my head down.  My lips are pressed against her keyboard, rife with crumbs and dust.  Then the hand lets go of my head and a gun is flashed in my face. 

I nod.  "585 seems fair."

"Superb," the woman says.  She puts the gun in Laura’s face and squeezes the trigger.  It clicks.  "Stop undercharging.  Next time I might throw a bullet in." 

After she's gone, Laura helps to the couch.  "Liz is having a rough week.  Lot of customers are scaling back now, having lost their jobs and all." 

I nod, running the numbers in my head again.  "I don’t see how I can make the pay--"

Laura puts her middle finger on my lips.  She straddles me, working her way north.  She smells like lilacs and gin.  Thoughts of calling the cops or maybe a lawyer disappear.  As she bounces, I remember that I’m eligible to borrow at least $20,000, tax free, from my 401K.  My account is accessible online.  I’ll log in tonight, as soon as my wife and kids are asleep. 

END

BIO: My stories appear in a number of journals, including Black Heart Magazine, Pedestal, MicroHorror, Elimae, Word Riot, and others.  I live outside Annapolis, MD, with my wife and kids.  I write on the train to and from work, surrounded by snoring and explosive "Dancing with the Stars" chatter.  My blog is http://www.whizbyfiction.blogspot.com/