Marcy Lyles was finishing up the case notes from her recent therapy session when her receptionist knocked on her office door.
"Come in!" She called out.
Sara opened the door and waddled in, pregnant belly first. She had a file in her hand and brought it to Marcy's desk, saying as she laid it down "Here's a list of candidates for the intern position that the university is sending over, and their resumes in order of their scheduled interview times." She put both hands on her stomach as she looked around the office that she had already made pristine. "Is there anything else you need? Do you want me to stay until they all get here?" Sara asked hopefully. Going home today meant her maternity leave started, and maternity leave starting meant her baby was coming soon, and Sara was reasonably terrified about it.
But Marcy waved her hand at Sara, shooing her towards the door. "No, go! Enjoy your maternity leave. I know you're nervous about the labor and having the baby and all that that entails, but you'll have to find something else to keep your mind off it." She smiled warmly at Sara. "Bring all the baby photos and videos when you come back."
Marcy was left alone, and she leaned back in her desk chair and leafed through the resumes. She had a long afternoon ahead of her.
***
Marcy heaved a sigh and rubbed her temples. One more interview to go, and then she had a few days to pick who was to help her. There was a promising young woman who seemed to be here for the right reasons that Marcy would probably choose.
Marcy Lyles wasn't your run of the mill therapist. Also technically she was a psychiatrist, but the term therapist just seemed more palatable. She specialized in a field that was overlooked at times, exaggerated in the media, and maybe a little fetishized. She was a sex therapist. Typically, her clients were couples that were trying to reignite the spark or keep it alive, but she also had other clients that were there for various reasons such as rehabilitation after an assault, trouble figuring out their sexuality, trouble accepting their sexuality, and many others.
Most of the interns she had run through didn't seem to want to be there to actually help people, like she did. They were just there because it would be fun to work around sex, legally.
And then, the last candidate walked in. His resume said he was Logan Harris, aged 23. He was still an undergrad, psychology major, with the intention of going onto graduate school. She hadn't had high expectations for him. As sexist as it sounded, she was expecting him to be there for the fun, not to really help.
But to her astonishment, the interview went well. He seemed a nerdy sort - and she meant that in a complimentary way. She was a nerd herself, at all. He genuinely seemed interested in helping people. She was drawn to him, unexpectedly. He was quite adorable.
He did seem vague about why this was the perfect spot for him to help, though, so Marcy had to be sure he knew what he was getting into.
"You're aware of the therapy I specialize in?" Marcy asked, her elbows on her desk as she leaned forward, relishing the way Logan's eyes darted to the cleavage that flashed as she did so, not understanding her need to rattle him. He looked so proper and put together for a college student; his charcoal trousers had obviously been ironed, as was his crisp white button up shirt under his tan blazer. His glasses were the old school round kind, and seemed perfect for his face. His eyes were so green, his messy, tousled brunette hair looked like his fingers were constantly running through it.
Logan blushed a little bit, and Marcy wasn't proud to admit it, but it turned her on. Just a tad. A smidge. An iota. "Yes, I know what type of therapy you specialize in," he answered. "I was very much hoping for this internship, actually. I would like to have access to some more books on the subject. Hoping for..." but he trailed off.
"Hoping for what, Logan?" Marcy prodded. His blush grew, and Marcy felt a kick in her pulse again.
"Hoping to..." he trailed off again, but found the courage to finish his thought. "Hoping to figure out why I am the way that I am. Why I... why I like what I like."
Marcy kept her expression impassive, but she couldn't help the next jolt of arousal that slid through her. She was pretty sure she knew where this was going, and now it made sense why she was so instantly attracted to Logan. He was exactly her type. She must have just sensed it.
"What do you mean?" She asked in a brusque, professional tone.
"Well, you s-see," he stammered, biting his lip and looking away before he could continue, "most guys seem to... well, most guys that are straight like... like to be in charge."
"In charge of what?" Marcy prodded again.
Logan looked back at her with wide eyes, and answered "You know..." and it was like he was pleading with his eyes to not make him say it out loud. Marcy simply raised an eyebrow and waited for him to realize yes, she was going to make him say it. "In... in the bedroom. Sexually. With women."
Her nipples hardened at the scandalized way he whispered sexually. "But not you?" She continued.
Logan dropped his gaze again, this time to look at his hands crossed in his lap. "No," he said so softly she could barely hear him. "I like... I don't like being in charge."
Logan's head jerked up when he heard Marcy's chair squeak as she rose from it, and watched as she walked around her desk to sit on it, right in front of him, barely a foot between her legs and his. Her legs, that were encased in sheer hosiery, and Logan couldn't help the twitch in his cock at the thought of them being thigh high stockings. She crossed one leg over the other and her skirt rode up just a little bit and he almost bit his tongue at the confirmation of little lacy tops peeking out from under.
Marcy placed her palms on the edge of the desk and leaned forward over her crossed legs, and she could see Logan gulp hard as his eyes crept up from where they had seen the end of her stocking to the cleavage now so much closer to him and better disposed.
"So you like being told what to do instead then, is that right, Logan?"
Logan's eyes rose to meet Marcy's, and he just nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking. Even though he was long past puberty, sometimes in high stress situations, it still warbled a little. And this seemed to qualify as a high stress situation. Logan was almost positive Dr. Lyles wouldn't want such an acquiescent intern. She probably expected her men to be actual men, burly, confident, aggressive. Logan's eyes started to drift down as he realized he was probably about to be dismissed.
And his eyes widened almost cartoonishly as he was greeted by the sight of her stockinged foot starting to rub up his leg, first over his pants, and then after a stroke or two of that, trying to burrow her foot under his pant leg to stroke his bare shin. His cock, which was almost in a perpetual state of half arousal due to it not getting much use, was now all the way hard.
"Do you only like to take orders in the bedroom?" She questioned, using his phrase from earlier. "Or are you good at obeying commands in other places as well?"
His eyes snapped up to her, but she didn't reveal any thoughts on her face, so he stammered out an answer. "Oh, well... uh, I.... Uh." Yes, brilliant, Logan, he thought to himself - but then he wasn't thinking at all because her foot had moved from his leg to right over the crotch of his pants. He went rigid at the first gentle touch and couldn't help but let out a moan as the pressure increased, as she pressed her foot down on him a touch harder.
"For instance, if I asked you," Marcy went on, "to spread my legs on this desk and eat my cunt until I cream all over your face, what would you do? What would you say?" She bit her lip a little, knowing she could get into a little trouble here. After all, he was an intern sent from the university. But she wasn't his professor, he was legal, and she wasn't paying him, so it was more of an ethical gray area, not anything actually illegal.
But good God, this college student in front of her was ripe for the plucking. Shy, submissive, smart, and adorable - Marcy wanted to use him as much as he'd let her, and let him use her in return.
The way his jaw went slack and his eyes glazed over, though, his tongue flicking to his top lip like he was imagining the taste of her on his lips right then and there - Marcy sighed, wishing she could have a picture of that exact look to fuel future fantasies. Even if he said no - which she doubted he would, considering the same lust she felt was reflected in his heavy lidded eyes - that face made the risk worth it.
"You... I... what?" Logan drifted out of his initial reaction.
"I guess maybe you're not as good a listener as I first thought," Marcy tsked. She removed her foot from his crotch and Logan almost whined at the loss, and wanted to defend himself as she stood up from the desk - but he couldn't speak as she hiked up her skirt around her hips. Her flesh colored stockings with their lacy edges wrapped around mouth wateringly thick thighs, and his eyes traced up those thighs to the apex - which was covered by dark blue satin. He continued to watch as she sat back on the edge of the desk and spread her legs, putting one foot on each of the arms of his chair.
Then she pulled her panties to the side and repeated her demand. "Eat my cunt until I come all over your face, Logan. Now."
And Logan didn't have to be told twice.
