Chapter 10: Events of Miss Prescott's Boy Victim Recounted
Monica Prescott shuddered as she digested Dr. Withers' suggestion that it might be good therapy sometime in the future for her to be exposed naked in front of a group of people. The very notion sent an involuntary chill racing down her spine. In her state of trepidation, Monica had instinctively crossed her arms over her bra-covered chest.
Dr. Withers was about to reprimand her patient, but she decided to let it go, as she was interested in taking the session in a different direction.
"Okay, I'd like you to tell me about some of other punishments that you doled out in the schools. We've been focusing mainly on your female victims. You mentioned in our last session that you also really enjoyed humiliating the boys. Let's talk about that."
"Um... yes, sometimes the boys deserved to be punished, too. Just as much as the girls, really. Sometimes even more."
"Tell me about that. Did you try to embarrass them?" Dr. Withers was hoping to get her patient "lost" in her humiliation escapades as she had done before, watching for that telltale glaze in Monica's eyes.
"Yes. As you know I thought it was a very effective tactic."
"I'm sure it was. What was one of your favorite techniques that you used on the boys?"
Monica's eyes gradually grew distant as she traveled back through time. "Well, of course, having them remove articles of clothing was always a surefire way to embarrass them. Also... and I'm not sure why this is... but the boys really hated it when I made them put on any type of female clothing. Hated it with a passion that surprised even
me."
"Oh, I'm sure they did. There's something about femininity that threatens their carefully constructed masculinity, especially at that age. Did you employ that method often?"
“A few times. I remember the first time I did it. It wasn't even clothing, but it was feminine and had the same effect. They were bunny ears. Pink ones. I used to use those on my victims when I was in high—” Monica caught herself, apparently realizing that she had inadvertently broached a subject she wasn't inclined to discuss. Her misstep wasn't lost on Dr. Withers, who made a mental note to raise the subject in a future session.
“I had some of those lying around from some Easter celebration or another,” Monica continued, quickly redirecting the conversation. “I thought it might be a fun idea to use them on one of the boys as a shame punishment." She shifted in her seat, growing more animated as the story unfolded in her mind. "So I kept it in my bag that I brought to school, and a couple of days later a boy misbehaved. Nothing major, I think he was just talking to the girl next to him during a lecture. But I was dying to utilize the bunny ears, so I reached into my bag, pulled them out and placed them on his head. I knew he would hate it, but it was even better than I thought. I mean, he was beet red for the whole hour I made him wear them. His fellow students were giggling at him, and he just sat there in absolute mortification, and... oh, my goodness, it was really stimulating!"
Monica had lowered her hands to her lap. Dr. Withers took in the wide-eyed expression on her patient's face and knew she was getting caught up in her humiliation adventures. She wouldn't need much prodding to go into more detail; the floodgates were already opening.
"And you knew you were on to something there," Dr. Withers prodded anyway.
"Well, yes! I figured if a boy could get so embarrassed over some simple bunny ears, just think how effective some girl's
clothing would be."
"So you progressed to female clothing," Dr. Withers observed. "Tell me about the first time you employed that method."
"Well," said Monica enthusiastically, "I was so excited by the bunny ears scene that I went out shopping that night and picked out a few items that I thought might come in handy someday. I must have spent three hours in that store, handling the fabrics, imagining how they would look on this boy or that one. I would bring them with me to school every day in hopes of using them on some poor boy." She paused and smiled to herself. "Anyway, I got my wish just a couple of weeks later. It was at a different school in the same district. I had a sophomore class that day—I prefer them younger than that, but whatever—and I caught this bully-type boy tossing paper spitballs at the kid in front of him. I told him to stand up, and when he did, I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. He knew something was coming, but he didn't know what. I dug into my bag and pulled out a very feminine, baby blue article of clothing and held it up so he could see exactly what I was holding."
"What was it, exactly?" asked a very interested Dr. Withers.
"It's hard to explain," said Monica. "It's a cross between a dress and... I don't know, I guess it could qualify as lingerie. It's this satiny material, very short, with these little ruffles at the hem. All I know is that I was getting quite excited to humiliate the lad. Oh, would you like to see it? I have a picture of it on my phone."
"Sure," said Dr. Withers, who was only mildly surprised that Monica kept the picture on her phone.
"Unfortunately, I don't have one of the boy while he was wearing it. But this is what it looked like." Monica proceeded to reach into her pocket and pull up the picture for the intrigued Dr. Withers. It looked like this:
"Oh my," said Dr. Withers, leaning in to examine the image. "Yes, that would be quite embarrassing, indeed. Did you make him put it on? And the panties, too?" she asked hopefully, already anticipating the answer.
"Yes!" said the animated Monica, her voice rising with excitement. "That was my favorite part. So first I just pulled out the dress. I held it up and he just looked at me quizzically, like he couldn't quite process what was happening. I said, 'For your punishment you're going to wear this for the rest of the period.' He had a look on his face that just said, 'no way.' I asked him if I needed to talk to the principal about this. I was aware that he had a history, and that another incident would set him up for at least a suspension. I could tell by the look on his face that I had him. 'Now take your shirt off and put this on,' I said. He paused for a moment, but he knew what he had to do. So he took off his shirt."
"What kind of body did he have?" asked the doctor.
Monica was so caught up in the story that she didn't even consider what relevance the question had. Of course there was none, other than Caroline Withers' prurient interest, her own fascination with these scenarios that went well beyond professional curiosity.
"It was... more developed than I usually like. He was a bit husky and well into puberty. But I wasn't going to let that stop me. (
giggle) There was way too much potential for some great humiliation. Anyway, he pulled the dress over his head. Everybody was laughing at him and his face was so red! It was awesome! Then I reached into my bag and pulled out the panties and held them up, spread out between my hands so everyone could see. I had a big grin on my face. And the look on
his face! Oh my God. Then I said, 'After you take your shoes and socks off, take off your trousers.' He couldn't believe it, but I had him totally under my control. Gosh, it was so delightful to have him so subservient and humiliated."
Monica was practically vibrating with energy now, her hands moving restlessly in her lap. "He removed his shoes and socks, then reached under the dress and unbuckled his jeans and slipped them off. But I wasn't done. 'Now your underpants,' I said. His classmates couldn't believe what was happening. Some of them were shocked, some were laughing, but none of them could tear their eyes away. He almost looked like he wanted to cry. But he was mine. He reached under the dress again—it came down to just above mid-thigh—and slipped off his boxers. I held out the panties and said, 'Put these on.' And he did!"
"So you were really enjoying yourself," Dr. Withers observed, her own voice slightly breathless now, "since he must have been really feeling the humiliation. Did you make him get naked?"
"No, I didn't. He had these hairy legs, and I don't know... he just wasn't the type that I like to employ forced nudity on. He was too developed, too masculine in that way. But I did expose him in the panties, and that was fun. With about five minutes left in the period, I called him up to the front and said, 'I'll take the dress back now.' He hemmed and hawed, and asked for his trousers, begged really, but I wanted everyone to laugh at him while he was just in the panties. Which is exactly what happened. I made him stand there in the panties for a few moments so I could soak in his humiliation while everyone laughed at him." Monica paused for a moment and looked fixedly at her psychiatrist, who returned her gaze with an understanding nod. "Anyway, I let him put the dress back on so he wouldn't be naked, then he took off the panties and got dressed."
"You said he wasn't the type that you like to strip naked. What is that type for you? What makes a boy worthy of total nudity in your eyes?"
"Well, I prefer to do that to the more underdeveloped boys," Monica explained. "The ones who haven't reached puberty yet, unlike most of their peers. At that age—and I'm talking about 13 or 14, usually an eighth grader or a freshman—I've observed that they are extremely self-conscious about their bodies, and especially about the fact that just about all of their friends and fellow students have developed, growing body hair, and also bigger penises. They're already insecure, already aware of their inadequacies. Taking away their clothes just amplifies that existing shame, I believe."
"I agree. So, you prefer to strip the boys with small penises and not much body hair," Dr. Withers prodded.
"Oh, yes!" Monica exclaimed enthusiastically. "I must tell you about this one boy. I was substituting for an eighth-grade class for an extended period—the regular teacher had some surgery done and would be out for three weeks—and I had this one boy sized up that I was just hoping would make a false step so I could do him. His name was David. He was either thirteen or fourteen at the time—it was late in the school year so he could well have been fourteen—but he was obviously a slow developer and didn't look a day over eleven, maybe twelve. He had blond hair, blue eyes and this innocent looking baby face, and a nice, slim physique. Barely any muscle definition at all. He was perfect! The kind of boy who was clearly lagging behind his peers in development, who probably changed in bathroom stalls to avoid comparison. And I knew that if I could get him to shed some clothing in front of everybody that his embarrassment level would be through the roof!" She clapped her hands together, almost prayer-like. "Anyway, as luck would have it, on the very last day of my three weeks stint, the poor lad made a mistake that I'm sure he'll regret until his dying day."
"What was the transgression?" asked Dr. Withers, whose excitement level was growing in her anticipation.
"It was actually outside, during the afternoon recess. I happened to be looking out the window, and David caught my eye. There was a walkway that was repaved in the yard that was cordoned off to protect the fresh cement. Well, the little rascal reached over the yellow tape and carved his initials in big letters with a stick. D.M. for David Miller, right there in the wet cement." She laughed, delighted. "I must admit that I was grinning from ear to ear, knowing that was all the ammunition I needed for an excuse to do David."
"After the kids came back in and settled down, I addressed him directly. 'David, is there anything you want to tell me about your recess activities?' His face went white, and he couldn't conceal the guilty look on his face. I didn't want to waste any precious time on denials, so I said, 'I saw what you did on the new cement. I watched the whole thing from the faculty window.' His shoulders slumped and he was very apologetic. Of course, his apologies would get him nowhere. 'I'm afraid you need to be punished for your actions, David,' I said. I paused just to watch him squirm, then I said, 'Do you know the meaning of shame punishment?' I had a teacher who was known to use that very question before punishing one of her students. I think it had a very strong effect on the student, knowing he or she was about to be shamed. I knew by the look of terror on his face that it certainly hit home with him. His mouth opened, then closed again. He didn't answer, so I continued. 'I'd like you to take off your shoes and socks and bring them to me, please. Right now.'
"I could tell by the looks of wonder on most of the other kids' faces that, though they didn't know exactly what was about to transpire, they were now quite interested in the nature of David's punishment. It took David a minute to gather himself, but he saw how serious I was and obediently removed his shoes and socks and walked up the aisle with them. He looked like a frightened puppy, and I felt that familiar thrill building inside me.
"I took them from him and deposited them in the bottom drawer of my desk. He turned in hopes of heading back to his desk, but I said, 'I'd like you to stay up here with me, David. I have some interesting plans for you.' The frightened expression on his face really got my juices flowing. I knew right then I was going to have a wonderful humiliation session with him. I have to say my heart was beating a mile a minute with excitement. I decided it would be
so delicious to undress him myself. But first I wanted to be assured that there would be no resistance. So I put my hands on his shoulders, looked him in the eyes and said, 'You do realize, David, that defacing school property is grounds for expulsion. How do you think your parents would react if that happened?' The panicked look on his face was all I needed. 'So,' I said. 'We can either take care of your punishment right here and now, privately, or I can march you down to the principal's office and let him and your parents handle it.' I don't think he liked either option, but the notion of his parents being involved did the trick. So he was mine.
"I made a show of it. I undid the top button of his shirt, then the next. 'Since that was a shameful thing you did out there, I'm afraid you're going to have to be shamed, David,' I said as I continued to unbutton his shirt. 'If I make you spend the next hour wearing just your underpants, I think that would do the trick, don't you?' A little humiliation to match the shame of your actions?'
"He was now petrified. His face went full tomato. 'Please, Miss Prescott,' he pleaded. 'I promise I won't do anything like that again. I promise!' Oh, the poor boy was desperate! 'It's too late for promises, David,' I said as I pulled his shirt from his pants and slipped it off his arms. 'Actions have consequences.'
"He was wearing a white undershirt beneath. I thought it might be nice to have his classmates take in his humiliation, so I turned him around to face them. 'Look at David, everyone,' I said. 'Look how red his face is.'
"I took hold of his wrists and gently lifted his arms up above his head. 'Hold your arms up
niiiice and high for me,' I said. I let go and he obeyed. 'Good boy, David,' I said as I pulled his undershirt up and off, revealing his pale, smooth skin. There was kind of an uproar from his classmates—I'm sure they were incredulous at what they were witnessing—and David dropped his arms to his sides, trying to cover himself.
'Did I say you could put your arms down?' I reprimanded. He quickly raised them back up, and I turned him around to face me. It was such a lovely sight."
"Describe what he looked like to you right then," asked the curious, deviant doctor.
"Oh, I was in heaven," responded her even more deviant patient. "Here I had this half-naked—and soon to be
more than half-naked (
giggle)—student at my beck and call. His skin was so smooth... not a trace of hair anywhere below his head so far. He was blushing up a storm and was certainly terrified about the prospect of being stripped to his underpants. And that only egged me on. I wanted to see more, to push it further.
"I moved closer to him and began undoing his belt. He whimpered, just a little, but he didn’t resist. His breathing got a little quicker. I thought it was cute how his bare tummy moved in and out with each breath. And his hands were still high in the air, obediently in place. I told him he could rest them on his head if it was more comfortable, which he did. Either way I had free reign to depants the poor lad.
"Without further ado I unclasped his pants, pulled down his zipper and started drawing down his trousers. Behind him there were gasps of—I guess you could say gasps of astonishment, and a fair amount of enjoyment—when his underpants became fully exposed. He was wearing those white briefs—the kids call them 'tighty-whities'—and when I pulled his trousers free from his feet, he was a sight for sore eyes."
"What did his legs look like?" asked Dr. Withers.
"They were kind of pretty, actually. (
giggle) Smooth, no hair—a little bit of peach fuzz, but that was it. And they were shaped just right, slender but not skinny." Monica smiled at the recollection.
"'So, was he able to keep his hands on his head after you exposed his underpants? ' Dr. Withers pressed.
"He did. I'm sure it was hard for him. But he was very compliant. I think, under the circumstances, that he was afraid to cross me. Afraid of what else I might do."
"I'm sure you looked at his underpants closely. How big of a bulge did he have?"
Monica answered without hesitation, again not even thinking to question the relevance of the psychiatrist's question. It was one pervert talking to another with no sense of judgment. "Not much at all!" (
giggle) "It was just delightful. I don't think I could have picked a better subject."
"So then what happened?" prompted Dr. Withers, who was quite anxious to hear more details.
"So I told him he could go back to his desk and think about his misdeed while sitting in his underpants. It was delectable—he kept his hands on his head during the walk to his desk. I let him sit there like that for a while. It was really something. He was leaning forward a little bit, and his knees were clenched tightly together, trying to preserve some modesty. His face was tomato red, and of course he knew that everybody was staring at him. After a couple of minutes, I told him he could relax his arms. He immediately dropped them and covered his little bump with both hands. It was so
cute!
"I started reading from the history textbook," Monica continued. "But occasionally while I was reading I would meander down his aisle. I'd stop at his desk, look him over from head to toe, and just smile at him. Sometimes I'd lean down and whisper something, just to make him blush harder."
"What kinds of things did you whisper?" Dr. Withers asked curiously.
"Oh, I told him how cute he looked in his little underpanties, and how embarrassed he must be to be sitting there almost naked. Things like that. I really enjoyed teasing him. The poor boy's face couldn't have been any redder."
"Did you take it to the next level?" asked Caroline hopefully. Monica knew exactly what she meant, of course.
"Well, I wasn't planning on getting him naked. At the time even
I thought that might be going a bit too far. But... I don't know, the more I looked at him sitting there all red-faced and humiliated, clutching himself, the more I knew that I just
had to take the next step. I simply couldn't help myself. Oh, and you'll
love the way I did it. I'm standing in the front reading aloud, then I paused and looked up from my book. 'David,' I said casually, 'could you kindly spread your underpants out on top of your desk for me?' Oh, my goodness, the look on his face of shock and horror was precious! His mouth actually fell open. And the hubbub from his fellow students was something. I'm sure they were as incredulous as David that I was asking him to get naked... but they were enjoying the idea a lot more than
he was." (
giggle)
"So did he do it?" asked the tickled and stimulated Dr. Withers.
"Well, like I said, he was very obedient. I was pretty sure at that point that he wasn't going to challenge me. It took him a while to build up the courage, but after sitting motionless for a few moments he suddenly reached down, slipped off his undies and laid them on his desk. Just like that, he was naked! Oh, my, I can still picture it vividly to this day." Monica had a smile on her face and a glazed look in her eyes as she revisited what was a very pleasurable scene for her. "He was clutching his privates for dear life while his fellow students looked on in amazement. He had a grinning girl on either side of him and they were both craning their necks, trying to get a peek at his genitals.
"I was almost overcome with delight, but I kept reading aloud from the history book like nothing else was going on. At one point I strolled down his aisle while continuing to read aloud. I looked at him and smiled as I passed him by. Then I turned around, and on the way back I casually slid his underpants from his desk and stuffed them in my pocket. A lot of the kids were giggling. I didn't turn back to see his reaction, but I knew he was quite distressed. I mean, can you imagine? Sitting there completely nude, and then your last bit of clothing just disappears into your teacher's pocket?"
"Oh yes!" answered Dr. Withers, somewhat excitedly. The psychiatrist was getting caught up in her patient's story and momentarily forgot her place. "I mean, the poor lad was sitting there stark naked, and you just took possession of his last remaining article of clothing. I'm sure he was beside himself!"
"Oh, absolutely!" replied Monica. Both women had a smile on their face and a faraway look in their eyes, as though they were picturing and relishing the scene in their mind.
"Did you, or anyone else get to see his penis?" asked Dr. Withers, her tone casual, as if she were inquiring about the weather and not the details of young adolescent's sexual humiliation.
"Well, I had gone that far... I mean, I had him naked! So yes, I had to see him in all his glory." Monica paused and looked at Dr. Withers. "More humiliation for him, right?"
"Of course," answered the doctor.
Monica leaned forward, her hands clasping together as she relived the moment. "I looked at the clock and there were only a few minutes left, so it was then or not at all. 'David, could you come up here, please?' I said. He bolted upright in his seat. I'm sure he was incredulous of what I was asking him to do. He didn't budge, so I said, 'If you want to get your clothes back, David, you're going to have to come up here right now. Otherwise, I'm going to lock them in my drawer, and you can just go home as you are.'"
"Oh, my," said the enthralled Dr. Withers. "So did he do it?" she asked hopefully.
"Indeed, he did!" responded Monica, her voice rising with excitement. Her stimulation from reliving the event was evident with the ever-increasing excitement in her voice and the wide-eyed expression on her flushed face. "He was quite a vision as he scooted up to the front of the room completely naked, with his hands firmly clutched over his manho... I mean his
boyhood." Monica giggled and looked at the psychiatrist, who smiled in return. "Anyway, he was standing there facing me, trembling and staring down at the floor. I let it play out for a few moments. I was in humiliation heaven, and I didn't want it to end! Then I held out my hands, palms up and said, 'Give me your hands.'"
Dr. Withers leaned forward with genuine interest. "And?"
"He couldn't pull the trigger. He was frozen, paralyzed by shame. So I said it again, but this time more... authoritatively. 'I said give me your hands, David.' He managed to peel his hands from his privates, and I took his hands in mine while staring down at his nakedness. The poor boy was completely exposed, completely at my mercy."
"Can you describe what you saw?" interrupted Dr. Withers, unable to resist.
"Oh, it was delectable, Dr. Withers! Exactly as I'd anticipated. He was way behind in his development for his age. There was no hair whatsoever and his little penis was—how do I put this—like a baby turtle's head peeking out of its shell." Monica made a small circle with her thumb and forefinger, then both women burst out laughing.
"What about his testicles?" asked the depraved doctor.
"They were undersized, too!" Monica said, still giggling. "And they were all shriveled up. I suspect his embarrassment probably had something to do with that. Fear and shame do interesting things to the male anatomy, don't they?"
Dr. Withers nodded. "Indeed they do. The physiological response to humiliation is quite... pronounced."
"In any case, like I say, it was a delectable sight. I don't think the poor boy could have been any more embarrassed." Monica shook her head, still amazed by the memory. "I could tell he wanted so badly to cover up. A couple of times he tried to pull his hands from mine, but I squeezed them tight and wouldn't let go. He eventually was resigned to his fate and just rested his hands in mine."
"Did you turn him around for the class to see?" Dr. Withers asked.
"You know, I never did. I thought about it, but his humiliation was already sky high, and honestly, I was satisfied having him all to myself, so to speak. We were having a nice moment, just the two of us," said Monica with a devious smile. "Although I did manage to ratchet his humiliation up a bit before I gave him his clothes back. And at the same time, I also afforded his classmates a pretty good mental image of what I was looking at."
"Tell me about that," prodded the highly enraptured Dr. Withers.
"Well, for starters, he was staring straight down at the floor, avoiding eye contact. I wanted him to be more engaged with me and with his humiliation. So, I rectified that. 'Look me in the eye, David,' I said. He did, and I really enjoyed that, because you can really perceive their humiliation in their eyes. When he looked at me—gosh, he had these big, beautiful blue eyes, and I could almost
taste the humiliation he was feeling. It was exquisite.
"Then, while I knew he was looking at me, I made a point of looking down at his hairless little penis and cracking a smile while I stared at it. Just a small smile, nothing exaggerated. Then I looked back up at him and smiled some more. Not a word was spoken—none were necessary—but that whole interaction spoke volumes. The look on his face—and he was blushing crimson—oh, my goodness, his humiliation level was off the charts!"
"Oh, I can imagine!" said Dr. Withers. "I'm sure he wanted to just die right on the spot."
"Oh, I'm sure!" responded Monica with a laugh. "And I wasn't quite done. Like I say, I didn't want the session to end. I was having far too much fun. And I wanted to involve him more, make him participate in his own humiliation, so I made him converse with me. So while continuing to hold his hands—I wanted to maintain that physical connection the whole time—I looked him in the eyes and said, 'Do you think you've learned your lesson, David? Has the shame punishment worked?' He just nodded, so I said, 'I need you to tell me the shame punishment worked, and that you'll be a good boy from now on.' He said, 'I'll be a good boy from now on.' His voice was quivering. I smiled and said, 'So you feel sufficiently shamed and embarrassed?' He nodded again, but I made him say it out loud. He finally said, 'I'm sufficiently embarrassed,' in this tiny, trembling voice. He was shifting his feet like a little kid who had to pee. It was so cute!" Monica paused, a faraway look in her eyes as she visualized the scene.
Dr. Withers was anxious for more, and redirected her. "What did you do next?" she asked.
"I said, 'What are you embarrassed about, David?' He just stared at me, totally lost. So I said, 'Tell me, in your own words why you are so red-faced and embarrassed.' He finally said—and he stuttered a little bit, since I'm sure he was flustered—he finally said, 'Because I'm not wearing any clothes.' I said, 'Indeed, you're standing here stark naked in front of me and all of your classmates. It's no
wonder you're so embarrassed!' I let that sit there for a moment or two, then I looked down at his privates, then back up at him and said, 'Is it extra embarrassing for you because you have a teeny-weeny pee-pee and there is no hair on it?'
"Oh my!" Dr. Withers chimed in.
"I know!" said Monica, grinning. "All the students were laughing, and his face was glowing like a red neon sign. The perfect humiliation. It was delicious!"
"Did he respond?" asked Dr. Withers.
"He didn't, and I pushed him for a minute, but all he came up with was a mumbled 'I don't know.' He looked like he was about to start crying, and I didn't want that. When they cry it spoils the moment for me. It becomes about their distress rather than their shame." Monica paused and shrugged her shoulders. "So I didn't press it. I just said, 'Well, I'm sure it's adding to your embarrassment that I'm staring at your cute little pee-pee, and that it's so tiny and hairless.' Then I looked down at his little penis and smiled. It was a nice final moment, and the bell rang right then. Perfect timing. I squeezed his hands before letting go and said, 'Thank you, David, for the little nudie show. You be a good boy from now on and you'll be able to keep your clothes on.' Then I retrieved the poor boy's clothes and let him get dressed." Monica paused, her face assuming a sort of dreamy expression. "I'll always remember that one fondly," she said.
"Yes, I'm sure you will," responded the psychiatrist.
* * * * *
Dr. Withers rose from her chair, turned and leaned over her desk. She had quite enjoyed the first half of the session, and would also enjoy the upcoming proceedings of the second half. The same could not be said for Monica Prescott.
She pressed the intercom button and said, "Tina, has everyone arrived?"
Tina responded, quite cheerily. "Yes, Dr. Withers. They're all here."
"Great, bring them in," said Dr. Withers.
Monica, wide-eyed and horror stricken, sat straight up in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, a chest that was covered by only a black, lacy bra. "No!" she screamed.
"All part of the therapy, Miss Prescott," said Dr. Withers as she prepared to greet her guests. "All part of the therapy."
