Story Preview: Doctor Cindy’s Practices

Dr. Cindy’s Practices
A Smuthunter story


            “Officer, excuse me, officer, hey!”

            Officer Grant’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, and his hand fell towards the grip of his service weapon. “Ma’am, what are you…”

            His voice trailed off as he took a look at her.

Standing there under the streetlight with her platinum blond hair up in a high ponytail, dressed very much like she was about to go to yoga, was a woman with a small gym bag over her shoulder. The only problem was, it was two in the morning, and this was the middle of the suburbs.

            Officer Grant’s cop instincts were kicking him hard, telling him something wasn’t right here.

            “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to lower your bag and put your hands over your head, very slowly.” He didn’t draw his weapon, didn’t escalate the situation immediately, he just worked to establish control over the moment.

            “But officer, I called for you…”

This mystery blonde stuck her hip out to the side and made a truly confused looking face at him.

As he looked her over, he saw as clearly as anyone else that she was attractive. Long legs, narrow waist, large breasts, all under leggings, and a tight jacket, that matched with the bag, really did make her look like she was just another girl on her way to work out. The only thing was, her sneakers were muddy, very muddy.

“… and you’re looking for someone suspicious right?” Her voice also matched her look. She sounded as blonde as any woman he’d ever met, light, airy, even bubbly in her sincere confusion about what was happening.

“Ma’am, I’m not asking. Put the bag down slowly, and very slowly put your hands up.” He didn’t move on her, he waited for her to comply, and it seemed like things were going to get more complicated before he got her sorted out.

“I’m so confused,” now her chest jutted out instead of her hip, and even as she did slowly lower her bag to the ground, it also seemed like she was arching her back and sticking her chest even further forward.

There was a lot of chest there too under a thin, pale pink zip up jacket, “I’m trying to help you, why are you… are you arresting me?”

Officer Grant found himself tacking a step back at that. She sounded so genuinely shocked about what was happening, so surprised and so slow about putting it together, that he almost believed her.


As she lowered her bag, she’d also adjusted her jacket and the zipper had come down. She was wearing another shade of pink under her jacket, a very tight T-shirt with a very deep, plunging neckline.

This woman might have been the bustiest woman to ever try and flirt her way out of trouble with him, but she wasn’t the first.

“There’s been a report of suspicious activity in this neighborhood, ma’am, and based on your shoes, and your approximate height, you match the description of the suspect, so please, put your hands up, behind your head.”

“But,” and she actually bounced a little to make her tits jiggle, “I’m not suspicious, I’m going to my car, and I was trying to tell you I saw your suspect, I think.”

There was a confused confidence to her voice, and Grant could tell she was trying very hard to convey how much she believed what she was saying. He’d experienced it before, the subtle shift of when someone is trying to will you to agree with them, the difference between the sincerity of the truth, and the sincerity of trying to impose their truth on you.

Her hands were up, but not behind her head, though, she’d nudged the bg away from her person, which he appreciated her doing without being told.

“Ma’am, do you have any weapons on your person, are you hiding anything I should know about?”

She still looked baffled by all of this, and while he doubted her sincerity, her consistency was making him wonder just a little bit.

“I,” she made a nervous little giggle, “I do have something tucked away. And, and I’ll reach for it slowly, look both my hands are right here, and it’s not a weapon okay officer, I’m just going to pull it out so you won’t think it’s weird or that I’m trying to hide anything okay?”

As she spoke, her left hand stayed up, and her right hand reached down between her breasts, and removed a golden pocket watch by it’s long bright chain.

It started to swing.

“See, just this, everything else is in my bag, there’s just this.”

And it kept swinging back and forth in front of her breasts…

Damn it.

That hadn’t gone according to plan at all.

Nosey neighbors, nosey, shallow, stupid, busy body neighbors.

Who was awake this late? In this neighborhood?

Cindy knew.

People like her client, unhappy, miserable people, that’s who.

But she was an attractive, well-educated, white woman, and she wasn’t dressed like a burglar despite what she’d just done, so all she had to do was walk to her car a few blocks away and…

That cop had gotten hear too quickly…

Wait, was it a cop, or private security? The uniform was semi-indistinct, and she’d only glanced at his car for a moment.

Or was it a cop working private security?

He had that look, he looked to familiar with what he was doing to only be a rent-a-cop. With one of them, Cindy knew she could walk by him, overpower him with her purpose and intention the way some people could go anywhere they wanted as long as they had a clipboard, but this guy, whoever he was, didn’t have that easily cowed air about him.

What could she have done differently this time? What about this time had been different than the last few times? How exactly did this happen?

It didn’t matter, there he was, on foot, his cruiser twenty yards behind him, and if he saw her first, there might be running, or chasing, or some other overreaction, so she called out to him in her fakest, most vacant sounding, innocent voice possible.

He walked like a cop, stood like a cop, talked, moved under the streetlight so she could get a better look at him, and was patient like a good cop. His gun, which his hand was very close to, was more real than his security uniform, which was the important thing to notice, so she stayed calm, she stayed cool, and stuck to the plan that was forming inside her head.

Mental discipline.

Follow-through with your actions and your decisions.

Be accountable for what you are doing and why.

Doctor Cynthia Strauss, PHD Psychology, focused on the moment and let herself become comfortable with these inner practices for success. She would own her moment, and she would get out of this situation.

“It’s important to me so I always keep it close at hand, and it’s very useful, very useful for me in so many ways officer. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m a hypnotist, I’m an actual hypnotist swinging a pocket watch in front of your face right now, and I know you want me to stop, I know you want me to stop what I’m doing, because you’re starting to feel very overwhelmed by what’s happening, but I’m not going to stop until you’re completely hypnotized into being more reasonable, and just listening, just listening to the sound of my voice as you watch the watch now officer. You can’t look away, you can’t take your eyes off me, you have to watch, and the longer you watch, the closer and closer to deep trance you’ll become.”

It was silly, but being silly was part of her charm right now.

Her tits were out, his eyes had been on them for a while, and now the pocket watch and the declaration of what she was doing were serving as a direct, overt suggestion for him to stare at her and listen to her.

She was assaulting him with anxieties, that’s why she’d chosen the direct approach. She was power talking at him too, not letting him get a word in, not letting him gather his thoughts enough to speak, and she was going to work at his brain, working at the high tension of the moment, using everything like a sledgehammer until she cracked him open and had his mind sinking between her tits.

It was always the tits…

“Do you feel comfortable with me Troy? It feels to me like we’ve come a long way over the past few weeks, and I hope it’s gotten easier for you to open up with me.”

Dr. Strauss sat in her plush leather office chair, and as she spoke to her client, she let her right hand rest on her chest. It was just so she could slide it down to undo another button on her rose red silk blouse as soon as Troy started looking inward to answer her, instead of outward to ogle her like he usually did.

Her legs were crossed at the ankle, and her black skirt was just short enough where, if he was the right kind of observant, she’d let Troy see the lacy black and white panties she was wearing. But the truth was, getting her client not to stare at her breasts was almost impossible.

No, that wasn’t right. He was a subject, not a client. Clients came to her to be helped, subjects came to her to be used. But then again, the subjects never had any idea what they were.

“I do Doctor, it’s really nice to come here even if it’s just to vent.” Troy’s insurance covered his once a week visits, and though he’d only been coming to see her for a month, after the first session Cindy knew exactly how to manage him.

It would be managing too.

She helped her clients, she managed her subjects…

Wait, what’s this psychologist up to? Why is she doing what she’s doing? There’s only one way to discover her motivations, and her techniques for getting what she’s after.


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