Taking a seat in the lobby of his psychiatrist's office, Avery crossed his legs and picked up an issue of Vogue off the end table beside him. He never understood fashion's do's and don'ts but the people around him always complimented him on his innate sense of style.
He wasn't attracted to the models in this magazine; there was no basis for attraction. Their billowing garments, intricately patterned and sharp coloured made it difficult for him to perceive the natural beauty they undoubtedly possessed.
What Avery yearned for was some ass-in-them-leggings, and nowadays, due to the pant's extreme comfort and association with fitness, many girls regularly had their lower bodies enveloped by these new-aged tights, leaving no crevice for the mind to envisage.
"Avery," called a voice coming from the corner of the lobby. It was his therapist, Becky, beckoning him to hurry his ass up and get into her office.
The contrast between the formless models and Becky's skin-hugging outfit jump-started his arousal.
"What's with the rush?" Avery grinned as they continued past the door that separated the lobby from a corridor leading to her office.
"You know why you're here."
"Do I, now? Because I really do forget at times. I came here begging for your help and now it seems that you can't do without mine."
They walked into her office. She shut the door and turned on the white-noise machine atop the end table by the chaise longue.
Avery reclined back on the sofa, letting his gaze rest on the blankness of the ceiling. Becky sat in a swivel chair to the right of the sofa.
He clasped his hands over his stomach and started, "You know, I feel
used
after I exit this room."
Becky stood up.
Her heels accentuated her legs and her leggings compounded that. She wore a tight black top overlayed with a cropped black blazer. Her dark brown hair took the form of a shore line, flat before curling inward at the ends.
Becky placed a knee to the right of Avery's head then swung her other knee over him so that and arch formed above his head.
The white ceiling above him, yellow-tinged by a desk lamp was replaced by blackness. The air above him had suddenly become moist.
Avery reached his hand out in front of him, cupping her crotch.
"Your pussy's wet already?" he said.
"Did you expect me to be dry? When have I ever been dry around you?"
"You're like Pavlov's dog."
"The moment you walk into my office, honey."
Becky bent over and wagged her ass above Avery. The more she wiggled it, the higher the tent pitched below his waist became.
"I see you like when I shake it like that, huh?"
"I can't hold back—you're a smoke. That fat, tan ass; the way you throw it around; that whoreshly professional outfit."
"Aw, thank you baby."
"But I could still use some
actual
counseling from time to time."
"We'll get back to that, I promise. But as for right now—"
She peeled back her leggings so her exposed ass hovered above him with all its glory. Her wet pussy, equally as plump, glistened in the dim, soothing light.
