Page 45 of Imprisoned

21

WILLOW

My chest tightens with each frantic beat of my heart as I walk into the staff meeting, the butt plug still inside me, a secret only I know. I feel dirty, so wrong, and yet so aroused. I can’t concentrate, my clit tingling. I shift in my seat, trying to ease the ache, but it only worsens.

I glance around the room, noticing Eleanor’s concerned look. She must sense something is off with me. I force a weak smile, hoping to reassure her, but I know my eyes betray the storm within me. My skin feels too tight, sensitive to the soft brush of my clothing. Every nerve is alive, aware of the plug, a constant reminder of Axel’s control.

The meeting drags on, and I can’t focus on a single word. I’m aware of my body, the dampness between my thighs, the heavy throbbing that demands attention. I shift again, crossing and uncrossing my legs, desperate for relief.

A text buzzes on my phone, a vibration that cuts through the tedium of the meeting. It’s from him, Axel, a simple message.

Thinking of you, doctor.

Time seems to slow around me. I know he’s thinking of me wearing the butt plug. He knows the power he holds over me. I picture his intense gaze and his hands on me.

I excuse myself, feeling flustered and unable to endure the meeting any longer. I need to be alone, touch myself, and find some release. In the bathroom, I lock the door, my heart pounding. I feel reckless, desperate for release now that my inhibitions have been splintered. I pull up my skirt, tear off my panties, and my fingers find my clit, sensitive and swollen.

It doesn’t take long, the tension coiled tight, ready to snap. My release comes fast and intense, a rush of pleasure that shatters me to pieces.

I slide down the wall, my legs weak. The tile is cool against my back, starkly contrasting my burning skin. My fingers are slick, and I wipe them on my skirt without thinking. A small whimper escapes me at the evidence of what I’ve just done.

My mind drifts to this afternoon’s schedule. I’ve already adjusted it, moving appointments around to see Axel daily. The paperwork sits on my desk, waiting for Eleanor’s signature. My official reasoning states his “rapid progress” and “need for consistent support during this critical phase of treatment.”

A knock at the door startles me. “Dr. Matthews? Are you alright?” It’s Dr. Pierce.

“Yes, just... just a moment.” I scramble to my feet, smoothing my skirt. “Just feeling a bit under the weather.”

“The meeting’s over. Would you like to discuss your patient load? I noticed some significant changes.”

My heart skips. I wash my hands, taking deep breaths to steady myself. How can I explain this? What will they think when they see him on my schedule every day? The other doctors will talk. They’ll wonder. They’ll question my motives.

But I can’t stop. I need this. Need Axel. The thought of seeing him daily makes my pulse race again.

I open the door. “Of course, Eleanor. Let’s discuss it.”

My legs are still weak as I follow her down the hall, the plug a constant reminder of what’s to come. Each step reminds meof my choices and my descent into depravity. I notice Eleanor glancing back at me with concern, and I quickly straighten my posture, hiding any sign of discomfort.

“Are you feeling alright, Willow? You’ve been... distant lately,” Eleanor says as we walk. “I thought perhaps we could grab dinner after work? Like we used to during your first week?”

The invitation catches me off guard. There was a time when I would have jumped at the chance to spend more time with my mentor to absorb her wisdom and experience. Sitting across from her, making small talk while carrying these secrets, makes my stomach turn.

“I’ve been swamped with work,” I offer weakly. “Maybe another time?”

Eleanor’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s what you said last week. And the week before.”

I follow Eleanor into her office, my heart racing as she closes the door behind us. She settles into her chair, my schedule request spread across her desk.

“These are quite significant adjustments, Willow. Daily sessions with Morrison?”

I smooth my skirt, willing my voice to stay steady. “His case is... complex. I’ve noticed breakthroughs in our sessions that warrant closer attention.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrow. “What kind of breakthroughs?”

“He’s opening up about his childhood trauma. The abuse he suffered.” I lean forward, channeling my professional demeanor despite the plug’s constant reminder of my lies. “I think daily sessions could help maintain this momentum. He’s showing vulnerability for the first time.”

“Vulnerability can be manipulation, Willow. You know this.”

“Of course.” I nod, gripping the arms of my chair. “But I’ve reviewed his previous files. No other therapist has gotten him todiscuss his father’s death in such detail. He’s processing guilt, showing signs of genuine remorse.”

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