Chapter Text
“Miss Vidal, you were driving under the influence. Again. And when I say ‘again’, I mean for the third time. I went easy on you when you were under age, but you’re an adult now.”
Rio is so fucking tired of rules and laws and people not getting the fuck out of her way when she wants to do something. She just looks at the judge, wishing laser beams would shoot out of her eyes and incinerate the bitch. Then she blows a bubble and lets it pop obnoxiously.
“You’re chewing gum?” her lawyer hisses.
“Spit out the gum, Miss Vidal,” the judge says blandly.
Rio chews louder.
“Very well, Miss Vidal,” the judge says, shaking her head. “You leave me no choice but to suspend your driver’s license, place you on house arrest for ninety days, and mandate you to complete ninety hours of therapy by a professional with experience in substance abuse disorders.”
“Thank you, Judge,” her lawyer says quickly once the gavel bangs.
Rio still says nothing. Who fucking cares? She can pry off the ankle monitor in her sleep.
--
The therapist is going to come to her house because she’s not supposed to be able to leave it. Never mind that she’s already gone to a few parties in the three days since her sentencing hearing.
She’s blasting music in her room, playing her guitar, when a loud knock comes at the door. “What?” she yells.
“Rio, honey, your therapist is here,” her mom calls through the door. Her parents know better than to open it without being invited.
“Tell him to fuck off!” she calls back with a smirk, which fades instantly when the door opens anyway. She’s about to rage at her mother, because how fucking dare she—oh holy fuck, mother of God, that’s not her mom. That is sex on legs. That is… that is… this can’t be her therapist, that would be truly insane. Rio can’t move, can’t speak, can’t really even breathe very well. Just the woman’s hair is turning her on. She’s never been turned on just by someone’s hair in her entire life. And then when you include her face and her body and her clothes and—
Agatha hides the instant effect this childish creature has on her, walks into the room, kicks the door shut behind her, and rips the radio cord out of the wall.
The silence is deafening.
Rio’s knelt up on her bed with the guitar and she just stays still, staring. “You’re my therapist?” she finally squeaks out after way too much time.
“She speaks,” Agatha says, hand to her heart. She inspects the girl from head to toe, peeking around to see behind her since she’s up on her knees. “Where’s your ankle monitor?”
“Under my bed.”
“Put it back on.”
Rio unslings the guitar from around her neck and sets it on her bed, then wonders why her body is climbing down to look under the bed. Face flushed, butterflies flitting wildly in her stomach, she reaches around until she fumbles across the device, grabs hold of it and pulls it out. She makes the mistake of looking at her therapist again and the confident, expectant expression the woman is wearing makes her fix the ankle monitor back on.
“Don’t take it off again. Understand?”
Rio just nods, eyes wide. She hates being told what to do. So why is she wet to do everything this woman says? One microscopic hint of approval from this woman would probably make her come in her pants.
“Now. I’m going to need a chair.”
Rio practically trips over herself darting out of the room to find a chair.
“Is everything okay, honey?” her mother asks.
“Shut up,” she says, grabs a chair from the sitting room, and carries it back to her bedroom.
Agatha will tackle the way this girl addresses her parents once she learns more about where the behavior is coming from. She takes a seat in the offered chair, crosses her legs at the knee, and tosses her hair over her shoulder, out of her way.
Rio’s just standing there stupid.
“Have a seat,” Agatha says, extending a hand toward the girl’s bed.
Rio jumps onto the bed and pulls one knee up to her chest, letting the other dangle off the edge. “I’ve never done therapy before,” she says.
“If you had, I’d question the effectiveness of your previous therapist,” Agatha says. “Start by telling me what got me sent to you.”
Rio is suddenly ashamed of her DUI and her cheeks go hot. “I was, um, driving drunk,” she says, eyes darting around nervously.
“Yes you were,” Agatha says, the girl’s blush making her hot under the collar. “You were driving drunk for the…?”
Rio wants to sink into her bed and disappear. “Third time,” she says quietly.
“The judge didn’t report any remorse,” Agatha says, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you whispering and blushing now?”
Rio’s not sure she can still speak after that. She’s too busy trying to keep breathing.
“Customarily, the therapist asks a question and the client answers,” Agatha says, trying not to enjoy the girl’s discomfort too much.
Rio just sits there staring like she’s never had a conversation in her life.
Agatha shifts and feigns irritation, when in reality she feels anything but. “If you’re not going to speak with me I’ll have to leave and inform the judge of your lack of cooperation.” You little miscreant, she wants to add.
“Don’t!” Rio says, dripping wet and having trouble focusing. “I’m cooperating. Can you repeat the question?”
Agatha folds her hands in her lap and leans slowly forward, holding the girl’s gaze. “No.”
Rio’s chest is rising and falling so heavily she doesn’t know what to do. What was the question, what was the question, what was the question, what was—oh, blushing and whispering, right? “Ididn’tlikethejudge,” she finally says in a rush of jumbled words.
“You didn’t show remorse for endangering the lives of everyone on the road because you didn’t like the judge?” Agatha asks.
The mocking tone makes her shudder and squeeze her thighs together. “I—yeah?” Please bend me over the bed and fuck me.
Agatha leans back again and sighs, tilting her head to study the girl. “Why did you drive drunk?” she asks after a few minutes of scrutiny.
“I needed to get home.”
“Try again. The truth.”
“That is the truth. I needed to get home.” It is the truth, isn’t it? She thinks it is.
“Think harder,” Agatha says. “You needed to get home. Yes. But you were drunk and shouldn’t have been driving. So why did you do it?”
Rio closes her eyes and thinks back and the answer comes but she doesn’t want to say it right now. “Because I—” She stops and opens her eyes, and the way she’s being taken apart by this woman’s gaze makes her breath hitch. She closes her eyes again or she won’t be able to say it. “Because I didn’t care. I don’t like rules. I do whatever I want.”
“Said every spoiled brat ever,” Agatha says.
Rio’s eyes fly open. “Are therapists allowed to say that?”
Agatha laughs, but it’s not kind. “Therapists are allowed to say the truth.”
Humiliation blooms on her cheeks and down her chest, and she’s so close to rutting against the mattress she can barely think. “Oh.”
Agatha’s predatory urges are at maximum thrust, to the point she has to consciously shove them down before she speaks. “So, you think about how spoiled you are, and I’ll see you in two days,” she says and stands.
Rio wants to block the door and keep her from leaving. “What’s your name?” she blurts out instead.
Agatha flashes the girl a slightly wicked grin. “Keep that ankle monitor attached to your ankle and I’ll tell you my name on Wednesday.”
She slips out the door and Rio can hear her mom start asking questions, and she presses her ear to the door as tight as she can to listen, but the therapist just says their sessions are private, and oh God Rio is done for. She gets in bed and rubs her clit and makes herself come three times before she falls asleep.
--
She wakes up like an hour later to more knocking on her door.
“Rio, honey, dinner!” This time it’s her father.
“Fuck off!” she shouts and puts a pillow over her head.
She hears his footsteps recede. A minute later her phone buzzes and it’s a text from her best friend Jen inviting her to a costume party. She stares at the ankle monitor and thinks about what the therapist said about keeping it on, but she’ll just put it back on when she gets home, so… there’s that problem solved. She pries it off and shoves it under the bed, then raids her closet for a suitable costume.
--
Agatha has mixed feelings about seeing this little minx again. She’s supposed to be helping the girl with her drunk driving inclinations, and all she wants to do is fuck the brat out of her. She knocks on the door and greets the girl’s parents, then goes straight to the bedroom and walks in.
Rio shrieks and turns to the door, ready to unleash holy hell, but long messy locks of hair sneak into the part of her brain that knows what boundaries are and attack it, leaving her unsure what to say about the invasion of privacy.
Agatha shuts the door behind her and sits in the chair that’s still there in the girl’s room. The surprised look on little Miss Vidal’s face is precious, and those pouty lips are begging her to kiss them like she owns them. “Did you do your homework assignment?”
Rio’s cunt feels like it’s just… turned inside out or set on fire or something. “What homework assignment?” she somehow manages to ask.
“I told you to think about how spoiled you are. Did you?”
“But—”
“Yes or no?”
Rio’s already breathing fast. “Yes,” she lies.
Agatha chuckles but lets it go for now. She sees a discarded Poison Ivy costume on the floor by the closet and gets up from the chair, slowly walking over to pick it up. “Hm.” She’d like to slice this outfit directly off of the girl’s body with a letter opener. “This wasn’t here on Monday.”
Rio’s in the middle of ruining another pair of underwear. “Um, it was in the closet,” she says, wondering why it matters.
“Where did you wear it?” Agatha takes a step toward her.
“Just around the house,” Rio lies again. Thump thump thump, her heartbeat’s in her ears.
That’s two lies in five minutes, Agatha thinks. “Honey, I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” she says. A mantra of ‘hit her, hit her, hit her’ won’t stop playing in her mind. Her fingers itch at her sides. She drops the costume and forces herself casually back to the chair.
“I—I am,” Rio says. She’s usually such a better liar than this, it’s pathetic. “So,” she changes the subject slightly, holding up her ankle to show that she’s wearing the monitor. “You said you’d tell me your name if I didn’t take this off.”
Agatha’s blood boils at the girl’s audacity. “But you did take it off,” she says, and her tone is quiet but foreboding.
“No I didn’t,” Rio insists.
Agatha’s hands clench into fists and her eyes flash with fury. “Stop lying to me,” she hisses softly. “Your ankle monitor didn’t move an inch from Monday night at eight o’clock until Tuesday at six o’clock in the evening.”
“I was sleeping,” Rio nearly gasps. How the fuck did the therapist know that?
Agatha grips the arms of the chair until her bones ache to keep from launching out of it and doing exactly what she wants to do to this gorgeous, infuriating girl. “Do you think that being pretty is going to keep you out of jail?”
But all Rio gets from that is the therapist thinks she’s pretty. “You think I’m pretty?”
Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I’m done with you.”
Rio has never felt panic like the wave of dread that tears through her now. “No, please,” she begs. “I’m sorry… I didn’t think about how spoiled I am, I took off the ankle monitor and I wore that costume to a party!” she says all in one breath.
The way it twists her stomach when the girl begs. Dark tendrils of want swirling around and settling between her legs. She relaxes her grip on the chair and takes a calming breath. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Between thinking the therapist was going to walk out and the therapist saying she’s pretty, Rio is a mess. “I just—do you like me at all?” she asks, because she’s confused and turned on and desperate for approval for the first time in her life.
What a delicious question. “What an inappropriate question,” Agatha says. “I’m here to help you, Rio.” It’s the first time she’s said the girl’s name, timed for maximum damage.
Rio’s face burns, and she just wants to crawl on the floor for this woman and beg for any little scrap of affection. “I’m sorry,” she says, twisting her hands. “I—I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. I know you’re just trying to help me.”
Agatha almost feels bad, but she can’t quite do it. She taps her nails on the arm of the chair as she ponders how to proceed.
Rio’s eyes dart to the long, manicured, sparkly purple fingernails tapping out a death sentence on her mother’s dining chair. God, they’d feel so good inside her, tearing her apart.
All the sex she’s had has been fumbling and awkward, with guys and girls that don’t know what they’re doing and could never hope to actually get her off. She always takes care of herself afterward. Always. But this nameless woman, Rio knows could fuck her to oblivion.
“Why do you drink?” Agatha asks after a minute.
Rio thinks before speaking for once. “I guess for a lot of reasons,” she says. “Mostly I just like it, it feels good and it’s fun, but sometimes if I’m having a bad day it makes me forget. Or makes it easier to handle maybe.”
“And what is a bad day to you?”
That one takes more thinking, but she doesn’t want to lie again and have the therapist walk out. “I don’t know exactly. Different stuff. If I’m fighting with my friends or if people keep wanting me to do stuff, or tell me not to do stuff, or ask me to do them a favor, or expect something out of me, or—” She stops and stares. “Fuck, I am spoiled.”
Agatha fights a smirk. “You are,” she agrees. “But you’ll work on it.”
“How?”
Agatha leans forward and lays a strategically placed hand on Rio’s knee. “You’ll do five favors before Friday without complaining.”
Rio’s skin is burning, from her knee straight up between her legs, and she tries not to breathe so the therapist won’t take her hand away.
When no response is forthcoming, Agatha moves her hand and nicks Rio under the chin with a crooked finger. “Well?”
Rio swears to god she’s in heat. The urge to climb onto the woman’s lap and start riding the chair is going off like a rocket. “Yes,” she says lamely, because of course she’s going to say yes to literally anything this woman tells her to do. “Can I please know your name?”
“If you keep that ankle monitor on until my next visit,” Agatha says. “And do your five favors. I’ll be checking with your mother to see if you do them without complaining.”
--
“Rio, honey, can you help me put away the groceries?” her mother asks on Thursday afternoon.
She almost yells fuck off but remembers what she wants from her therapist and comes out of her room quietly instead and helps her mom.
“I like your eyeliner, sweetie,” her mom says as they both put stuff in the fridge.
A biting retort is on the tip of her tongue and she clamps down on it. “It’s new,” she says instead, and while her voice isn’t as peppy as her mother’s, it’s not rude either, it’s just kind of flat.
“Well, green is a good color on you,” her mother says with a smile.
“Thanks,” Rio mumbles and puts away the bread and some crackers, then goes back to her room and shuts the door.
She lays in bed thinking about wild hair and purple fingernails, and before she knows it she’s rubbing one out and wishing she had a name to cry when she comes.
--
Agatha goes out on Thursday night and finds a hot little brunette to take home and ravish as a substitute for Rio Vidal. She doesn’t even mind that Agatha wants to call her Rio.
--
Rio is confident she’ll get her therapist’s name this time because she kept the ankle monitor on and did five favors for her parents without complaining. She’s practically giddy about it and she spends over an hour getting ready for the visit. She puts on her best dress, a black one with tank sleeves and a pleated-ish skirt, and she puts on her favorite perfume and does her eyes fancy with glittery green shadow and jet black liner, and tousles her hair a little so it’s messy but not too messy. She looks pretty damn irresistible, honestly.
She sits on the edge of her bed and waits for her therapist to barge in, but this time there’s a knock. “Come in,” she calls.
She hears her mother say “she never says that to us” and then the door opens and she swears she sees something flash in her therapist’s eyes, but it’s vanished before she can be sure.
“Did you ask her?”
“I did.”
“So do I finally get your name?”
“You do.”
Rio’s about to spontaneously combust. “What is it?”
“Dr. Harkness.”
Rio doesn’t even care about not getting her first name because Dr. Harkness is so hot in and of itself and she can picture saying it when she makes herself come later. “Dr. Harkness.” She shivers. “Dr. Harkness, do you like my dress?”
Agatha motions her to stand up and do a twirl, and when Rio sits back down she offers a little smirk. “Asking inappropriate questions again, Miss Vidal.”
Rio’s fucking desperate for it. Her hands are clenching her blanket so tightly it hurts her fingers. Just one word of approval… she doesn’t think she can live without it.
Agatha tosses her the tiniest of scraps. “It’s nice.”
Rio’s practically drooling. Her clit is pulsing and her forehead feels clammy. “Thank you,” she chokes out, the warm glow spreading through her body.
“I’m twenty-five years older than you, Rio,” Agatha says then. “And I’m your therapist. You shouldn’t be dressing up for me and painting your face like that.”
Rio’s heart is trying to break through her bones. “But you said you liked it,” she says in a ghost of a whisper.
Agatha takes hold of Rio’s face and drags her thumbs through the glittery eye shadow, smearing it across the girl’s temples, then sits back down. “I do,” she says, her eyes raking up and down the girl’s body. “Which is all the more reason you shouldn’t be doing it.”
Rio almost moans at the feel of Dr. Harkness smearing her eye shadow, but she’s too scared to make any noise. The touch is gone all too soon and she gasps at the loss. “I’ll do anything,” she says before she can stop herself. “Anything you want.”
“Who says I want anything?” Agatha says sternly and gets up. “I’ll see you Monday, Rio.”
Rio wants to scream and beg her to stay, but she already knows it wouldn’t make a difference. So she desperately clings to the one thing she hopes she can get out of Dr. Harkness. “What’s my homework assignment?”
Agatha feels the pull of all the demons of hell, and there’s too many to fight. She leans toward Rio and whispers, “Don’t say my name when you come.” And then she’s gone.