Two weeks later, the phone rings. It's Karen. Oh, my stiff cock girl! "We've booked an appointment for you for tomorrow afternoon at two." End of conversation. No "Can you make it?" or "I hope you can be here." It's an order: "Be here". Fuck you, Karen. Indeed, I want to fuck you, Karen. Your thighs enclose a joyful pussy experience. Never forget that I know the taste of your cunt.
My emails to two acquaintances are brief and to the point. I can't keep our date. Something came up, a very important something.
The waiting room at the doctor's office is empty as I arrive the next day. I wonder where Karen is. The door to the washroom opens and she emerges, adjusting her dress. I contemplate her body and imagine what her pussy looks like on the potty as she urinates. She frowns as she sees me staring at her. She knows what lustful thoughts I'm thinking, and it makes her angry. That's too bad, but it just means I will have to find a way to force her into another sex session.
Karen nods curtly to the door of the examination room and tells me to go in, returning instantly to her computer and ignoring my gaze as I drift past her to the inner sanctum.
As I open the door, apprehension hits me in the gut like a fist. Romaine is sitting there in the chair, a scowl on her face. Her verbal assault feels physical. "What is this about a health issue?" she demands. She hasn't raised her voice much, but she becomes agitated and fixes me with an accusing stare. "Do you have a disease I didn't know about? What am I going to tell my new partner?" The doctor comes in and interrupts her, to my great relief.
"Patient information is confidential," he says calmly, staring straight at her. "But that's not why you're here. My patient's health problem is not physical. It is emotional. And you caused it." He continues to stare at her.
Before she can blather on with questions about what kind of emotional problem and sixteen excuses as to why it wasn't her fault, the doctor goes on. "Your treatment of this gentleman has caused his sexual dysfunction. The treatment we are going to perform now is called abreaction. It involves re-enacting your sexual encounter with him to erase his memory of failure and plant a memory of success with you."
She sneers again. "What make you think he won't fail again?"