Sex Therapy

Eyes half-closed, she leaned back in the chair, the constant buzz of her client's conversation little more than background noise for her imaginings. She really ought to have paid attention to what she was being told; honestly, wasn't that what she was getting paid for? Still, something stuck in her mind like a thorn, irritating her, driving her mad, rendering her completely unable to focus on the matters at hand. She jotted a note and nodded, feigning interest, and the client went on.

How long HAD it been,

she wondered, silently tallying the months. Three years. Three years since her husband had died after a long illness. And really, it was far longer than that. He was in no shape for such activities long before his death. And since he died, she threw herself into her practice, seeing as many clients as she possibly could so she wouldn't have to be home alone. Sex, dating... all of the trappings of romance were out of the question because she was a young widow.

There seemed to be something foreboding about a woman widowed at a young age. She was 23 years old when the casket was slammed shut and her all too brief marriage was over. Most of her friends hadn't married yet, let alone been widowed. Most people offered her their condolences, but really no one understood. Men that she met who might have been previously interested suddenly shied away, spooked, as if she was somehow responsible for her husband's death. Her parents kept encouraging her to go out, to meet someone new, to be active, but for a long time she didn't have any interest in anything, not even a one night stand.

Until today.

When she woke up that morning, something inside her was different. Her pussy throbbed, and crankily demanded some attention. She was a little bit bewildered at the way her body mutinied against her, and she hurriedly got up and began to prepare for her day. When she picked up the suit she'd chosen for work, she suddenly came to a halt.

I don't want to wear this prudish thing,

she thought.

I want to feel sexy today. I want to feel like all of me still works.

She rooted around in her closet, and dug out a knee length black skirt that she hadn't worn in years. Then she chose a white oxford shirt, a short jacket, and some strappy black heels. Hunting around in the back of her underwear drawer she grinned as she felt just what she was looking for. A garter belt and lace-topped thigh high black stockings. Perfect. Slipping on a low-cut lacy bra and the garter, she skipped panties and finished dressing. Perching her small glasses on the bridge of her nose, she appraised herself in the mirror. In truth, she didn't look overtly sexy, but she felt incredibly naughty, and it didn't matter to her if anyone else knew.

She shifted in her chair, coming back to the present, but remembering how she dressed caused a sudden rush of wetness, heralding her need. She cleared her throat and turned her attention to her client, who was making his final comments. She leaned to one side, nodding, then rose, shook his hand, and watched him go down the hall to the exit. Once he was out of sight, she leaned against the wall and let out a tremendous sigh.

I'm the only one in the office now, and I don't have anyone else to see today… I could just forego the paperwork and satisfy this craving I'm having,

she thought, and then nodded to herself. Retreating back into her office, she shut the door behind her. The office was fairly spacious, with a comfortable leather couch on one end, a long wide light oak desk on the other with a stuffed oak chair, and a few extra armchairs against the wall. She sat on the edge of her desk, aware of the sudden wetness between her legs.

Why am I so turned on?

she wondered even as her hand sought out the slickness between her folds. Skillfully, she teased her clit, eliciting a moan of pleasure. She reached behind her and slid the files on her desk to the far end, and leaned back on her elbow, spreading her knees wide. She lifted one leg and hooked the heel of her right shoe on the wooden armrest of her chair. She took a moment to appreciate the silken smoothness of her pussy before she plunged her fingers back between the folds and began to work in earnest. The pressure was quickly building in her abdomen, and she knew she could climax quickly, but she took her time, slowly, steadily, and rather roughly stimulating herself. The great oak desk creaked and banged against the wall, further exciting her. Reaching for the buttons of her shirt, she undid the first few, sneaking her hand inside her bra, and she roughly tweaked her nipples.

She looked up on the wall, her eyes coming to rest on the camera there. She'd had surveillance cameras installed in every room to lower her insurance costs and further reassure the clients. She smiled at it, a naughty, wicked smile, and swiveled her hips to expose herself to the camera. She pretended she was a porn actress, masturbating for the camera, and she made a good show of it. It amused her to no end as she fucked her pussy with two of her fingers, thinking of the titles for the movie. Therapists Gone Wild. Sex Therapy. She laughed and moaned at the same time, and decided she was about done, moving her fingers back up to her clit and working again, low moans echoing in the room. With a final toss of her head, she felt the walls of her cunt contract, and orgasm washed through her. When the last of the shuddering was through, she looked up at the camera, and licked off her sopping wet fingers, and then sat up.

She panted for a moment, eyes resting closed, and she brought her feet to the floor as she sat on her desk. She was smiling, relishing the naughtiness of what she'd done.

Click.

The door opened a crack, and her heart was hammering in her chest. She looked at the door as it slowly opened, a client standing there. He didn't say a word, but his cock let her know exactly what he had on his mind.

"I was in the area and I stopped in to set some appointments. Uh…"

Her mouth went dry as she saw him looking up her skirt, no doubt easily seeing her naked snatch. She stood up and he crossed room, an unsure look on his face, but his dick rigidly attentive.

"And what brought this about?" she asked.

"Well, I …" he trailed off a moment, visibly shuddering. "I didn't see the receptionist, and I was going to just leave, but I heard noises. So I went down the hall, and I saw the door to the camera room was open. I went in and I…"

She paled. He'd seen her performance when she was completely sure she was alone. She didn't know what to do, and simply gaped at him. But her horror soon made way for desire. She wanted him to fuck her, as unethical as it was, and as much as she shouldn't do it, she wanted him.

She'd been seeing him for minor depression. He had had a rough childhood and now, in his early 30's, was coming to terms with it. She'd always thought he was personable, more stable than he thought, and it baffled her that he wasn't married yet. He was a normal guy, with the beginnings of male pattern baldness and a tiny bit of a paunch. She liked that about him, his reserved ways, and how utterly average he was. He had small glasses a lot like hers, and tended to dress well and conservatively. She was puzzled that he'd even come into the room, as uncomfortable as he seemed. She looked up at him and met his eyes. As tremulous as his voice sounded, his eyes hungrily devoured her. Her decision was made.

Her hands sought out the fastening on his khaki dockers and she tore them open, exposing his cock. She let the pants and boxer shorts fall to his ankles, and she took in the look and smell of his cock. He was, again, normal, with an average sized prick, and large, smooth balls. Her eyes met his, asking permission, and he leaned down and kissed her, offering his silent assent.

It was so strange to feel another person's lips against hers. It had been so long, and her pussy leaked juice onto the desk. His hands rest on her knees and gently edged them apart. He stepped between them, his glans gently probing her wetness. He slowly, slowly worked open the buttons of her shirt, sliding it and her jacket down her arms and onto the desk. Reaching around behind her, he unfastened her bra, and freed her breasts. She leaned back and gave him a good look. He was rubbing his cock on the outside of her, teasing her still-sensitive clit, soaking himself in her fluid. She couldn't help the way her hips moved on the desk as his hands roamed her, his thumbs gently brushing her nipples, his mouth on hers. Pulling her close, he eased himself inside of her; everything he did was so gentle. Hands on her ankles, he wrapped her legs around his waist, and he picked her up, still balls-deep in her pussy, and walked with her to the couch. He laid her down gently, eyes on hers, and with one foot on the floor, began to slowly fuck his therapist.

She moaned like a whore, her cunt still quivering from her orgasm, and she writhed beneath him, which drove him nuts. He fucked her at varying paces for a while, then withdrew from her, spilling some of her juices onto the couch.

"Do you like it very hard?" he asked softly, startling her with his consideration. She blushed suddenly, as if his speaking broke the spell, and she nodded. His hands guided her to a kneeling position on the floor, leaning against the couch, and she felt him lift up her skirt and press into her again. His hands firmly grasped her hips, and slowly, deliberately, he thrust in and out of her.

"Harder!" she hissed. He went slower, his motions even more gentle.

"Don't tell me how to fuck. You'll get it exactly as I choose to give it to you. No faster, no slower. Be quiet," he said, deliberately, gently, but firmly. Her pussy throbbed in response. She'd never been told to be quiet. She liked that he knew how he was going to fuck her, and he didn't let her take over. Just as she acclimated to his gentleness, she felt him slam into her, the sound of his impact sharply echoing off the office walls. Suddenly he was pounding into her, penetrating her so deeply she screamed and bit the couch.

"Mmm… that was what you were looking for, wasn't it?" he asked, just as softly as before. She moaned loudly in response. He continued to roughly fuck her pussy, her thighs banging against the couch so hard she was sure she'd bruise. But again, just as suddenly as he started, he stopped, and withdrew.

"Lie down on the floor," he urged, helping her down. In a heartbeat she found herself lying on her back, her ankles in his hands. "I want you to hold onto your ankles. Don't let go." She nodded, and reached up, grasping her ankles. He smiled, and nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Pull them back a little," he said, pushing her feet back.

This is a weird position,

she thought.

I wonder why he wants me to…

Her question was immediately answered when he plunged back into her, more deeply than she had ever been penetrated. She yowled and bucked as he wildly fucked her, his cock slamming into her mercilessly.

This is how whores fuck. I have NEVER fucked like this,

she thought. His face tightened up, and she knew he was about to come. She felt his violent spasms inside her, his eyes tightly shut. Finally his muscles relaxed, and he eased back onto his knees, smiling at her.

They sat in awkward silence, and finally he said, "I should probably get home and leave you to finish your work, huh?" She nodded in response, and watched as he quickly dressed. Sitting in her chair, she smiled over her shoulder as he quietly slipped from her office to let himself out. She sat there alone for a good long while, smugly satisfied at the good lay she'd gotten. She was touched at how kind he was, yet selfish enough to take things as he wanted them. He definitely turned her on.

And for his part, he whistled a cheery tune as he walked to his car, flipping a black rectangle in his hands. He never thought he'd live out his greatest fantasy, much less have gotten it all caught on tape for him to enjoy whenever he pleased...