The Pseudo-Sex Therapist

Note: The following is a silly little story I wrote in answer to a Story Ideas posting on the Literotica Bulletin Board. It's certainly not autobiographical like most of my work. I was just high and feeling whimsical so I wrote it at the request of member BlueFlame6178. I hope he enjoys it.

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The chat rooms had become somewhat stale for him, and he had had his fill of whores on Chatterbate. The videos on Xhamster, Pornhub and Motherless had gotten repetitive and predictable. He had literally burned out on internet porn.

Being an older, fatter kind of fellow, entering the dating pool again seemed like a weak option for him. He needed new fuel for his overactive sex drive and chronic masturbation.

On a lark, he had the idea of advertising himself as a sex therapist. It would be extremely false advertising -- if anyone needed therapy about their sex hang ups it was him -- but he thought that at best he might meet an attractive nymphomaniac or at least hear some stories about fucked up sex acts from fucked up people.

Since his real job was selling a complicated financial product he already had an office with chairs, etc. and it was simple enough to change out the sign out front if he should actually ever get someone to respond to the ad. Finally, after about two weeks a couple did, and an appointment was booked for the following day.

He made the swap to his sign, and the couple arrived on-time, but instead of juicy tales of cheating or cuckoldry, instead the problem was a sexless marriage. It was all deeply disappointing, but the wife was rather hot in a MILF-ey kind of way and her milquetoast husband looked like he might be stupid enough to pay him a good fee for weeks or months to come, so he listened to all their complaints and charges and countercharges.

The session started out using very guarded language. "They had not been intimate." "The spark was gone from the bedroom." Boring PG rated discussion that our imposter therapist found frustratingly dull, but he had a knack for keeping discussions going.

"She hasn't sucked my cock since George Bush was President" the husband charged causing his wife to almost die of shock before getting pissed off enough to counter charge "and he hasn't licked my bush since Bill Clinton was fucking his interns."

Now they were getting somewhere, and our pseudo-psychologist took the opportunity to goad both sides. "Does she really still have a bush in his day and age and if so, is that why she no longer excites you?" was a fun question as was "And why would you expect her to put her mouth on your penis when you won't put it her pussy." Coming up with sentences that combined real intellectual discourse with crude street language was amusing, and he found ways to combine relationship questions with words like "swallowing," "three way" and "anal sex."

The hour long session ended up with a huge argument that pitted the husband's porn addiction against the wife's acquired addiction to a certain sex toy that she had thought was well hidden in her make-up bag. Once the couple had finally gone, our therapist had perhaps the most pleasurable jerk off session that he had experienced in years, and enough spank bank material to keep him going for a few days. And on top of all of that, the check cleared.

On the eve of the couple's second scheduled session, the pretend practitioner had decided on a course of treatment that might both rekindle their desires and also provide him with some better stories. She was given the assignment of sitting and watching computer porn with her husband -- and both were encouraged to wank along with the on-line erotica together before attempting any kind of return to the bedroom. Her little buzzing friend should not only be used by her but shared with him as well in a way that the "doctor" did not specify and that the two should decide on together.

Of course the two refused to play along at first. It would be embarrassing and perhaps not sanitary but the therapist held his ground. "Masturbation is organic and natural. You should explore it together." With a bit of coaxing, both agreed to give it a try and left, providing the therapist with a throbbing hard-on and an inspiration.

That evening, in the spirit of sharing healthy and natural masturbation, the therapist shared his cock and cum by by masturbating up a storm while a mousy young woman watched him on ChatRoulette. It was most gratifying.

New week -- new appointment. An unexpected turn of events and a crisis of sorts when it is revealed that the dear husband had "lost" the vibrator in his asshole during their attempt to share the sex toy. The wife, it appeared, had been just a bit too enthusiastic about inserting it into him again and again and she had eventually pushed it up so far that she couldn't pull it out again. The incident had happened just the night before, and the poor husband was still buzzing with indignation as the small toy was still crammed up his ass even as the couple shared the problem with their therapist.

A minor emergency but one that could be fixed without an embarrassing trip to the emergency room as it happened. The therapist just happened to have a supply of lubricant on hand and while he could not touch the husband due to insurance issues over the next few hours he managed to show the wife how to stretch out her husbands asshole enough to push her hand in and grab her beloved plastic vibrator.

It was not a clean procedure -- but not for the reason one might expect. The amount of offensive excrement was quite minimal. The problem was that the dear husband came like a race horse not once but twice during the time he was indelicately bent over the office desk. He left feeling rather raw and tired, but she seemed to have a confidence when they left. Perhaps he really was helping.

The checks from his couple provided enough that evening that he could afford to tip a young couple on webcam to imitate the day's procedure, but this time our therapist could witness it all with his dick in his hand.

On the next appointments, the therapist made steady inroads with this patient couple. By the end of appointment 5, she had sucked his cock twice. (One fellatio session was done at home and the second as part of an in-office observation process.) By appointment 7 he had taken a razor to his wife's out of control pubic fur and then used his tongue and mouth to clean up the area.

Our therapist was not only making a great supplemental income at this point, but had learned how he could grasp his raging cock under the desk during sessions by simply cutting the pants pocket from a pair of his trousers. It was a revelation that redoubled his listening skills and quadrupled his dry cleaning bills.

The ongoing appointments, outrageous treatment recommendations, and increasingly enthusiastic patient participation continued for many more weeks. Progress on simple coitus gave way to experimental treatments involving cuckoldry. Bigger and more complex sex toys were deployed as were creams, lubricants and lingerie.

Keeping with the theme, more porn was viewed by the couple both at home and in the office while the therapist observed, and finally in the little glory-hole equipped booths at the adult bookstore on the highway. The book store adventure was a hit with the wife, but seemingly left a bad taste in the husbands mouth. (The therapist, who had secretly participated in the session from an adjoining booth, decided that two mouths on his cock was perhaps the nicest single sensation he had ever experienced.)

The progress in the case was so great that soon enough the couple would arrive at the sessions with their own assignments and observations, providing details about swing clubs, bondage and bukkake.

Finally came the session where the therapist became too enthusiastic and, losing all appearance of propriety, actually unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, openly flogging his willy while the wife described an especially hot scene involving four men while her husband sat tied to a chair watching. The couple -- seemingly accepting the visual cue -- raised skirts and dropped trousers and played along -- with the wife happily recounting how taking on three men while a fourth orally raped her bound up husband had really strengthened the marriage and helped her understand how much he was willing to do to keep the marriage strong.

Finally, the day came when the couple reached the conclusion that the therapist was no longer necessary in their lives, and called to cancel the arrangement. The therapist argued there was still much to do, but his disagreement fell mostly on deaf ears.

And so the pseudo therapist was left without patients, but found his bank account and his spank bank had filled nicely. Feeling the satisfaction of a job very well done, he booked himself a trip to a small country in the former soviet block where he spent the rest of his days humping blonde hookers for what amounted to pennies per poke, and dreamed of again some day finding another couple to counsel.

The end.