The Psychiatrist

A story by Aurora Jarvinen

Lingual assistance by John Courtney Boot

The Psychiatrist – A story for the 1st Xaaran Writer’s Guilt challenge, 29th of March 2015

I have a lot of experience with the mental help scene. After my severe and long psychosis in the nineties, I was diagnosed suffering from schizophrenia and was experimented on with various heavy medications. I had a lot of therapies, hundreds of talks and was shoved from psychologist to psychiatrist to therapist for years. Things settled, but one lingering problem remained. I was not the man I appeared to be.

So, in 2009, I stopped fooling myself any longer and I came out of the closet. I started dressing feminine and wearing make-up. Half a year later, I found myself in a specialized department of the University Hospital. Using prescribed hormone medication made my remaining psychiatric problems disappear, like snow melting in the sun.

The new psychologist assigned to me was a rather naive woman. It was clear she had no experience with gender problems at all. One day, I did not feel very stable and I mentioned the brutal  rape in India that was in the news at the time. A student was raped in a bus by several men and killed, thrown away during the ride. Disposable. My psychologist gave me a puzzled look when I said that this scared me a lot, my being a woman now. Actually, the brutal rape fascinated me; but I chose my words wisely.

“You are confusing me,” she said.

My next appointment was with the team’s psychiatrist.

I hear my name called and I look up from the game of backgammon on my smartphone. It is a familiar face I see; we had already had a couple of sessions. While I shake his friendly extended hand, I bend my knee briefly and humbly. He takes me to a random treatment room and switches the sign on the door to non-vacant.

He takes my coat and hangs it up. We sit together in silence as he reads my dossier for some minutes. It already contains quite a pile of test results and session reports. I follow his eyes and realize I do not like him very much. He is more a way to reach the goal that burns in my heart. We are respectful towards each other, but our relationship seems distant to me.

When he has finished updating himself on my last status in the dossier, we start to discuss the way I have felt during the last three months. It’s a rather stiff conversation. I try hard to convince him I am ready to advance on the final part of the route, but it seems that every little detail about my past has to be chewed over and over again. I try to stay positive.

Then he asks: “You mentioned you have a Mistress, last time?”

: - :

I am in Second Life, kneeling in Her warm wall mounted cage, cuffed by wrists and ankles. I know the room is decorated with beautiful stained glass but, as I am blindfolded and gagged, the world is limited to my hearing. The house is silent and I feel comfortable being naked, in that womb She has created for me. The clock ticks very slowly, steady, but I have only happy thoughts. I stretch my back from time to time, patiently and submissively.

After a while - I do not know how long - I hear the unhurried clicking of her heels on the hard wooden floor. I imagine Her immense beauty and her great intelligence. I wiggle happily and moan, biting the ball that seals my lips.  She leaves me in the cage for another half an hour while She is on the phone. I enjoy hearing Her clear and friendly voice. It sounds as if She is helping a friend with a difficult programming issue.

The sound of the ring of keys announces the moment I will be set free. When my blindfold is finally removed, my eyes immediately start to cloud with tears. The early winter light beaming through the window is pale, but still painful after the darkness. I see my Mistress - a dark, impressive silhouette - towering above me. She speaks sweet words to me and I melt into submission, bowing down to the ground before her feet. I shower her shiny leather boot with kisses.

She orders me to the bathroom. “Undress Me.” With much love and care I help Her out of Her clothes. For the first time, I see Her elegant naked body. The large Victorian bath tub is slowly filling with hot water, and oil makes its scent deliciously attractive.  She sighs with delight as I help Her step into it. I wait for Her directions, standing straight up, with lowered eyes. She gestures and I tumble with ecstasy towards her.

This afternoon I touch my Mistress with love and dedication, washing Her. With a sponge and soap I caress softly, carefully bathing Her legs and arms. I feel utterly honored that I may touch Her in such an intimate way.

: - :

“Yes Sir, I had a great time with Her, but it’s over now. I changed my mind.”

The psychiatrist smiles and observes the way I am dressed. His fingers quickly flip a few pages in the dossier and he raises an eyebrow. He starts addressing me on a final thing. I hold my breath.

Last session, he had seemed unpleasantly surprised by my appearance, and I must admit my goal was to be provocative. I had worn deep red rasta braids and a slutty fishnet skirt, together with dark eye shadow. I remember thinking that my mother would have disapproved of me in that clothing and sent me away. But today, I am dressed conventionally, not even wearing the headscarf which I now habitually wear.

“It wasn’t very lady-like, Sir.”

We laugh together, and he points at the clock. He starts to state his conclusions, telling me that I seem to be ready for that long awaited surgery. He will start the program as soon as possible. A heavy weight falls from my shoulders.

Being in a state of transcendence, I kindly reject his offer to bring up any last questions.

At the bus stop, the late winter cold makes me shiver. In the distance the headlights of the bus are already visible. I am an anonymous woman again, invisible to the crowd waiting with me on the platform. No one can guess my deep thoughts or secrets.

: - :

I love you, my Mistress.



For the 1st Xaaran Writer's Guild challenge, I have sent my 1000 word story, with assignment "The Psychiatrist", to my editor John Courtney Boot. Update soon!

Deadline Sunday 29th of March, 2015


My entry for the 'Scandal' Photo Contest, more information inworld! Or, contact me.

Michiel Seetan says:

Alanis Gallery's 'Scandal' Photo Contest
The entries have flooded in: (Adult Flickr Gallery)
So we are bringing forward the deadline to this Thursday, 26th February.

Rape Story

"Take off your panties!"

As he often goes out of character like this unexpectedly when we are sending each other messages, I don’t hesitate to obey his command. It seems he has me in his power. I know he has had a long session with one of his girls just a moment before, forcing her to cum twice while having brutal sex, penetrated her in all her entrances.

We are in Second Life. More specifically, we are in Xaara, a sim dedicated to the pleasures of BDSM. We visit The Enclosure, which is a hidden place near the Alanis Gallery. It’s a small and rather sinister dungeon.

It crosses my mind that he intends to make our game as real as possible.

I obediently undress, slightly hurried, and write back. An out-of-character conversation starts.

“Yes, Sir. Am I to get my toy box from the bedroom?”

“Toy box?”

“It contains my vibrators and other things, Sir.”

“Get those and return, my slutty girl.”

I take a moment to go to the bathroom and pee - I presume I will not be able to do so for while - then scoot into the bedroom. I open the drawer of my perfectly made bed, take out the two vibrators, a condom and a tube of hot glide.

In a moment of clarity, I run into the dressing room while passing it, and take a small black towel from the neatly folded pile.

“I am back, Sir.”

“Welcome back, little one.”

Anxiously I arrange the toys on my desk. I wipe the pieces of rolling tobacco back into the pack and seal it in an experienced manner. I check the level of my last coffee and see that only a cold mouthful remains.

“Describe the vibrators.”

“The first a little ordinary and pointed and the other a huge one, with all kinds of programs!”


“Yes, Sir: grinding, heavy grinding, fast pounding, slow deep pounding. It’s my favorite toy! But it needs a condom, to be guided in well. It’s made from silicone.”

“Describe the size.”

At this command, I hesitate. How am I to describe the things size in heaven’s name? I decide to take the width of my own hand. It measures two full hands in length.

“Two hands long, Sir.”

“The diameter?”

I measure the bright white, flower-engraved vibrator against my wrist.

“3/4 of my wrist, Sir.”

It actually was half a wrist, but I don't want to burst the bubble of his fantasies. Then, the moment that lingered in the back of my mind has come.

“Open your legs as wide as possible. Put the program on pounding.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I part my legs and move my hips up.

“Insert it as deep as you can in your pussy, slutty one.”

In one movement, I quickly rip open the seal of the condom, remove it and slide the condom over the large silky white vibrator. Something I have found quite easy with practice. I take my time lubing my fingers with the tube of hot glide. Then take a deep breath and lube my little star as I pray to God.

I whisper to myself: “I am sorry Sir. Your girl doesn’t have a pussy, yet. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

 I slide two lubed fingers into my ass, slowly lubing my innards, preparing for the penetration of the vibrator. Oh! What a wonderful feeling, the soft skin inside that entrance. With wet fingers, I touch the program button of my vibrator a few times. It starts to zoom rhythmically. I press its head against my asshole, and softly slide it in. It hurts a moment, but then I unclench. It slides inside, the heavy vibrating filling my soul.

He starts fucking that other girl again on my monitor.

“How deep is it inside, my slutty one?”

I look down, and arch my hips.

“Three fingers are left of the condom, Sir. I feel so full.”

“Press it deeper.”

I press it deeper, and pain starts to come from my belly.

“That hurts, Sir.”

“Why does it hurt?!”

“I don’t know, Sir, maybe my womb is sensitive.”

“Do you feel full?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You will feel filled by me much more! Slide a finger next to it.”

On the screen, the most extreme scenes pass my eyes. What man would do such things!

I obediently slide a finger inside my little hole, next to the heavily vibrating dildo, feeling the soft skin and the resistance of my coronal muscles. It feels good, filling my soul with his penetration.

“And another! Keep in mind, you are being fucked for real now.”

I obey, but a flash of pain takes me over. It is like my insides are being ripped, and I quickly withdraw my fingers.

“It hurts!”

“Keep them in, slut! Move them in again, together with the vibrator.”

I stay silent about the hurt he is causing me and obey. The pain fills my brain. I slide out the vibrator a bit, press my two fingers against it, and force them  all together inside my little star. The pain is immense! The feeling of my fingers against the soft walls of my innards eases it just a tiny-tiny bit.

“Imagine: I am your real Master!”

“Yes... yes, Sir!”

A mixture of pain and arousal completely focuses my brain on his dominance. He says he will make me “online” pregnant, after he has heard me cum for real, with my microphone turned on. Dazed and in pain, I try to understand what that means. I can't let him hear me. Oh, Christ! Maybe I can do it with voice-morphing, I think, while tears start to roll down my cheeks. Please, don’t let this pass!

He forces me to cum and, as I cum, he cums as well, filling my online being with his semen.

Am I now pregnant?

He doesn’t realize there is a soul in great pain, physically and mentally, on the other side of his screen.

Story by Aurora Jarvinen - For the Xaara D/s short story contest 14th of February 2015
Edited by John Courtney Boot