Therapy A Catholic Girl Gone Bad

"You're a slut."

Joan was shocked. A Harvard-educated psychiatrist calling her a slut was like Catholic priest telling her god didn't exist. Which Father McMurphy did, but that's another story...

The anger in Dr. Lucas' voice added to her perplexity. Other than an occasional sympathetic smile, Dr. Lucas had never shown any emotion. Never once laughed or raised his voice.

"Admit it!" Dr. Lucas shouted. "You're a slut."

Once she got over the shock, Joan felt the debilitating emotions that were her childhood companions. Fear. Guilt. Shame. Self-hatred.

"I'm waiting," Dr. Lucas growled.

For the first time since beginning her therapy with the highly-esteemed mental health professional, Joan was tongue-tied, struggling to come up with an appropriate response.

"I admit it," Joan said eventually, reluctantly, hopefully. "I am a sex addict."

"Fuck that," Dr. Lucas spat dismissively. "You're a slut."

"I don't understand," Joan protested, dazed and confused by Dr. Lucas' unrelenting character assassination.

Dr. Lucas leaned back in his chair, removed his horn rim glasses, rubbed his nose and shook his head.

"Listen to me," he ordered impatiently. "If it wasn't for the court order, if I didn't owe your lawyer a favor, you wouldn't be sitting here. OK fine. Here you are. But like everything else, there's a limit. There has to be a limit."

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," Joan said apologetically.

Joan's gratitude had the opposite of its intended effect. Dr. Lucas' enraged face reddened. His eyes narrowed contemptuously.

"You know what I've done for you?" Dr. Lucas demanded. "Nothing. All I've done is listen to pathetic excuses for your endless 'relapses.' Your slutty behavior."

Dr. Lucas held up his tablet.

"You know what I call this?" he asked rhetorically. "The diary of a cock hungry slut."

Dr. Lucas' malicious mocking sent Joan spiraling into a deep dark hole, leaving her dignity in shreds.

"Let's see..." Dr. Lucas said, rifling through his notes. "Remember that guy at Whole Foods? The blowjob that ruined your dress? You should do. It was last Thursday."

Joan wanted to run. Hide. Disappear. She couldn't. She was paralyzed, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

Dr. Lucas tossed his glasses onto the desk behind him, then turned back to face his patient.

"What kind of sick, sad, desperate, depraved woman picks-up a man in a grocery store and sucks him off in the parking lot?"

"I'm trying to be good," Joan pleaded, her brown eyes welling-up with tears.

"Oh I'm sure you're good," Dr. Lucas agreed with a smirk. "Good at sucking cock."

Joan couldn't help but smile. Some part her was proud of her blowjobs. The always-appreciated way she used her fingers, hands, tongue, mouth and throat to empty a man's balls of its precious bodily fluid.

"Say it Joan," Dr. Lucas insisted angrily, leaning forward in his chair. "Say 'I'm a cock-sucking slut.'"

"I'm a good girl," Joan said plaintively, tears cascading down her cheeks.

They were the same words Joan whispered to her father before he punished her for mouthing off. For disobeying him. For dressing like a slut. For "sleeping around." For thinking about sleeping around.

"A good girl?" Dr. Lucas repeated derisively. "You'd do anything to feel a hard cock sliding down your throat, pounding your pussy or ramming your ass. Wouldn't you?"

Joan grabbed a tissue and dabbed her eyes and mopped her cheeks, unable to look at her therapist.

"And then there's your cum addiction."

"Oh god," Joan gasped, clutching the sodden tissue.

"You love the taste of hot spunk on your tongue don't you? You love playing with it in your mouth. Feeling the cum sliding down your slutty little throat."

Joan felt sad, lonely and lost. At the same time, Dr. Lucas' dirty talk excited her. Moistening her private parts. Making her heart hammer.

"You love it when a man sprays your face with cum. When he pulls out and fires his load onto your stomach. When you feel it oozing out of your freshly-fucked cunt or ass."

"How?" Joan wailed.

"You walk into my office dressed like a fucking slut and wonder how I know?"

"I want to change," Joan said desperately, unable to stop her tears.

"Sure you do," Dr. Lucas agreed. "And we both know why."

They'd been over it a dozen times. Her divorced father's relentless punishment. Her sexless mother's constant warnings. The nuns' verbal and physical abuse.

"But knowing why doesn't change a thing, does it? Does it Joan?"

"I want this to work," Joan sobbed.

"Good for you! But it's time we face it. Nothing I've done here has changed your behavior. That said, you sure as hell have done something to me."

"I have?" Joan asked incredulously. "What?"

"Made me want to fuck you."

The resulting silence was just as disturbing as Dr Lucas's foul-mouthed accusations.

Joan looked up. Dr. Lucas stared at her like a lion about to rip a wounded gazelle to pieces. Worldly-wise as Joan was, Dr. Lucas' predatory gaze scared her. Shut off the waterworks.

"Is that what you want? You want your psychiatrist to fuck you like the cock-sucking cum-loving slut you are?"

Dr. Lucas stood up. Joan's eyes widened at the eye-level view of the enormous bulge in Dr. Lucas's pants.

"You don't want to stop," Dr. Lucas declared. "You want to wallow in your guilt. Punish yourself for acting like a slut. Until you do it again. And you will do it again. You can't help yourself, can you Joan?"

"No," Joan said quietly.

"No you don't want to be punished, or no you can't help yourself?" Dr. Lucas pressed.

"No I can't help myself," Joan said, her eyes fixated on her therapist's massive hard-on.

As it had so many times before, Joan's basest instincts took control. She sank to her knees, helpless against her desire to submit to Dr. Lucas' sexual need.

"Get up slut."

Joan was bewildered. Her humiliation complete.

"Bend over my desk," he commanded.

Joan's mind cleared; getting fucked over a desk or table was familiar territory -- even if it was the last thing she expected when she walked into Dr. Lucas' elegant office.

Joan got up slowly and made her way to Dr. Lucas' stately oak desk. She cleared a space on its polished surface and assumed the position.

"Eyes front!" Dr. Lucas barked before Joan could swivel her head to see what was happening behind her.

"Tell me you want this."

Considering Dr. Lucas's display of unbridled aggression, Joan was uncertain what "this" was.

She didn't care. At that moment, her therapist could take her any way he wanted, as many times as he wanted, as hard and fast and deep as he wanted.

"Are you a good girl?" Dr. Lucas asked in the quiet, compassionate voice he'd used for Joan's previous therapy.

Joan heard Dr. Lucas' belt sliding out of his pants. Followed by the thwack of bunched-up leather against his hand.

"Yes," Joan answered without thinking.

Dr. Lucas' free hand lifted Joan's thin cotton skirt over her hips, exposing a gym-honed ass barely bisected by a thin thong.

"Wrong answer," Dr. Lucas said before striking his patient's ass with the stiff leather belt.

"I'm a bad girl," Joan cried out in pain.

"Wrong again," Dr. Lucas laughed.

Joan felt the belt sear her ass. More violently than before. More than she thought possible. More than she could stand. Making her scream.

And yet... And yet... Joan welcomed the pain. For one simple, inescapable reason: she deserved it.

How many times had she debased herself to satisfied her carnal craving? Countless. What did that make her? A cock-sucking cum-loving slut.

Dr. Lucas' belt struck her ass again. And again. And again. Both cheeks. Top and bottom.

Joan's orgasm started in her shaking legs, spread to her pelvis, then swept through her soaking pussy like an enormous wave.

She came with a force she'd never experienced. Not alone. Not with any man ever, regardless of who, what, when, where and how.

The climax built upon itself, layer upon layer up layer, taking her further and further away from all rational thought. To a place where she was what she wanted to be: a fuck toy. To be used and abused at a man's pleasure. A real man.

Joan's therapist stopped. Joan's orgasm did not. It took forever to descend even halfway down that mountain, leaving her on the edge of the abyss that had consumed her.

"Please," she begged between. "Fuck me."

Dr. Lucas grabbed one of Joan's arms and wrenched it behind her back. Pinning it there, he grabbed the other arm and positioned it next to the first, then trapped both wrists with one hand.

Before Joan knew what was happening, she felt a thick plastic band constrict around her hands, zip-tying them in place.

That done, Dr. Lucas slowly and gently lay his enormous cock on the crack of Joan's ass. When the soft skin of his wrist-thick shaft touched her bruised and battered flesh, Joan came again.

The return to ecstatic oblivion wasn't as powerful as her first orgasm, but it left Joan with a message: the man standing behind her had total control of her body and soul.

"Put it in," she moaned when her second cum finished. "Please!"

"Let's get one thing straight," Dr. Lucas said, removing his cock from its perch atop Joan's reddened ass.

"Anything," Joan moaned.

Joan felt Dr. Lucas' belt wrap around her neck, pulled it tight, lifting her head and upper body up and backwards.

"You are a slut," he said, bringing his fist-sized cock head to the opening of Joan's soaked pussy. "But..."

With a single thrust Dr. Lucas shoved his huge hard cock into Joan's cunt. All of it. Every inch. Balls deep.

"You're MY slut. Do you know what that means?"

Joan's therapist started slowly fucking his patient, deeper and deeper with each determined thrust, stretching her sex in every direction.

"Anything," she repeated, feeling herself on the brink of another mind-blowing climax, sure she'd pass out when it arrived.

"You, only, suck, or fuck, anyone, with, my, permission."

Dr. Lucas punctuated each phrase with a violent thrust, banging on Joan's back wall without fear or favor. And then fucked her like a man possessed, his huge balls slapping against her clit.

"Yes!" Joan screamed, the sound muffled by Dr. Lucas' belt.

"Promise?"

"Only you," Joan gasped.

Joan tried to meet Dr. Lucas' thrusts with her hips but it was no use. She couldn't move.

After what seemed like an eternity, Joan felt Dr. Lucas' cock stiffen inside her. His breathing change. His thrusts slow.

Joan's mind begged her pussy to wait. To climax when Dr. Lucas' gigantic cock fired its load into her, filling and coating her cunt with hot spunk.

Dr. Lucas held his cock still, buried in Joan's pussy, and unloaded his balls. Firing spurt after spurt of cum into her deepest reaches.

Dr. Lucas' release untethered Joan's orgasm: an all-body climax that went on forever. Sweeping Joan away from everything and everyone. Especially, thankfully, gloriously, herself.

Joan had no idea how long Dr. Lucas held her there, pumping cum into her. How long he waited before releasing the belt's pressure on her neck, before slowly withdrawing the monster that had destroyed the doubts and fears plaguing her mind.

Dr. Lucas cut the zip ties. Joan raised herself up from the desk and rubbed her aching wrists. Her shoulders hurt like hell, but the return of unrestricted air more than made up for it.

As she watched Dr. Lucas return to his chair, Joan was struck by a realization: she'd found what she needed.

A dominant man who accepted her for the slut she was. A man who could satisfy her need for pleasure and, she now understood, pain.

"You're a clever man Doc," Joan said, leaning against the desk provocatively.

"How else could I stop you from being so god damn promiscuous?" Dr. Lucas asked, gesturing at Joan's chair.

"Do I text you?" Joan asked, lowering herself onto the chair.

"No more than twice a day," Dr. Lucas instructed. "If I don't answer the answer is no. Understood?"

"Same time next week?" Joan asked, nodding.

"Only if you're good," Dr. Lucas replied with a genuine smile.

"What if I'm bad?"

"Then you won't be punished," he revealed, as though the answer was patently obvious.

Joan laughed, releasing a trickle of cum into her thong. Then sighed, contemplating the ramifications of Dr. Lucas' "therapy." Wondering if he would approve of the stock broker she was meeting for lunch.