Who's Your Sex Therapist Baby?

Lucky me. Mila's last client cancelled.

"Hello, Sam. I am Mila. I'll be your sex therapist today," she says and leans toward me, genuine regard oozing out of her deep chocolate eyes.

Her look takes on a strange shift, and so does her normally therapeutic tone.

"So it's settled, then? No more question about this, right? I want you to come in my mouth and I am going to swallow you. Okay?"

Shocked, I look around, not sure if she's kidding, not sure if she knows how loudly she just said that, and I nod. After all, dinner is not the traditional therapy setting any more than this is a traditional therapeutic technique.

"Sure. Okay." I'm pretty much following her lead now.

Mila leans closer to me across the table and continues steadily, just barely beneath the voice level where she will be heard by the diners at the next table.

"Let me tell you why," she says. "It is the most incredibly intimate thing two people can possibly do. You eat me and mine, I eat you and yours. Sample, taste, swallow. Everything about it turns me on. I am getting wet just imagining it."

"I'm not doing too badly myself," I say, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. I take a sip of tea to steady myself. I'm nothing if not honest with her.

"The first time I want to take a lot of time, and gradually build up to the full deed. We need to do a lot of very wet, messy, kissing – tongue fucking. Really getting the taste of each other started and flowing, then just follow where it goes. Do you know what I mean?"

I am already way down the path with her, and I simply nod. Her beautiful face is so near mine I smell the delicious heated perfume rising from her neck and feel the heat this conversation is generating in her.

"And I want you to worship my pussy while I am getting used to your taste, and what you feel like, and look like there in my hand, in the candlelight. Candlelight would be good. Do you want to taste my pussy as much as I want to taste your cock?"

"At least. Probably more. Probably more than I have ever wanted to do anything. Probably more than I should under the circumstances, Mila."

I mean ever word. I'm not sure how much more I can take. But Mila isn't through.

"It's all about heightened spiritual sensation. Creating longing and passion. I am getting there now. I could fuck you right here on this table, Sam. I mean it. But, then, I already am fucking you here on this table. Aren't I Sam? Do you feel it, Sam? I'll show you what I mean," she says.

Uh oh.

I look around quickly to make sure that everyone in the restaurant isn't standing around staring at us in total shock, but amazingly, everyone is still fully engrossed in their own conversations – conversations that are, I am very sure, fully interesting to them at the moment.

I, on the other hand, have never been happier about anything than that I am the one sitting across the table from Dr. Mila Williams, the best damned sex therapist in the world.

I suppose I should have been shocked that it was me she asked to dinner (letting me know that it was my treat of course) when her last client of the day cancelled. Lucky me. Pity for that client.

"Sam, look at me." She pulls my face back to face hers. "look me in the eye.

"Do you feel me fucking you on this table, right now?"

I close my eyes for a second, and, yes, I actually feel her hot cunt wrapping itself mercilessly around my cock. And my cock is indeed straining at my pants trying to reach Mila's cunt. This is why she's the best. These images she creates with her words.

"Sam, I am getting so damn wet. I am going to take off my panties and hand them to you under the table, okay? Watch."

Mila takes her white cotton napkin and slides her hand under the table, her eyes never leaving mine. She shifts slightly and rises a little in her chair, then settles back down, smiling. I feel her foot rub against my leg as she rolls slightly to one side, then the other; it amazes me that everyone else in the restaurant who might glance our way only sees her shifting to get comfortable. She sits for a few seconds, simply smiling, silent.

"So, what do you think Sam? Do I have on panties? No. Sam. I don't. Here."

I feel her hand on my knee and I reach under the table to feel her silky panties.

"They are a little wet now, Sam," she says matter-of-factly, "because I have been fucking you on this table all evening. My pussy is hot and wet. I love this. Is it okay with you?"

It is. I am enjoying this and seriously considering how I could get my dick into her vagina under the table.

"So are we fucking now, Sam?"

"Like rabbits," I laugh nervously.

"I am going to talk more about what I want for tonight, but I am going to start fingering my pussy while I tell you, if you don't mind. I have this wide couch and all kinds of pillows that we can arrange however we need to get into positions that work. Here is the setting:

"No one knows where we are, or that we are together, or even really that we exist this evening - let alone the trivial part about us being into this therapy relationship, you know. This is just about us, and about sex - forget the fucking therapy thing for the weekend. We are going to take our time and build a whole weekend of sex, REAL sex. No phones, no computers, no distractions, no fucking progress notes – only things about fucking like neither of us, well, maybe one of us - me, has ever imagined."

I follow her quite easily, actually. Her images are that evocative.

"I am sliding my finger inside my cunt now, Sam. God, I am so wet! Would you like to see?"

"Sure, Mila." Quietly, ever so quietly, I placate the best sex therapist in the country.

Mila brings her hand subtly from underneath the table and casually props her chin on the back of her hands, her strong, feminine fingers, two of which are glistening now, casually draped right before my hungry eyes.

She reaches toward her dessert tray and looks both ways, teasingly, as if to see if anyone is noticing, knowing full well they aren't - probably - then puts her fingers into my mouth as if feeding me a piece of her dessert. But when I take her fingers lightly in my mouth, all I taste is the pungent juices from deep within Mila.

She and I both groan lightly at the same time, then we both laugh.

"Okay," she continues, "So, I was saying I want to get comfortable somewhere, maybe on that couch, maybe on the floor, and take my panties off – oh, they're already off!" she smiles wickedly, "and spread my legs in front of you. I am going to dance my pussy into your mouth and you are spread out comfortably in front of me, mesmerized with my cunt, smelling it, tasting it, touching it with your fingers, for a long time, teasing your cock, keeping it hard for God knows what wicked thing you are planning.

"Meanwhile I will be studying your cock. We will have you out of your underwear so we don't lose any of your early warm up cum. I will be touching you very softly and tasting those first cum droplets, getting ready for the entire load. The entire load, Sam. Think about that."

That hand has slipped under the table again, and I feel Mila's foot running up the inside of my leg.

"I'm wetting my finger, and rubbing it down along my pussy, Sam, now my ass, Sam, making it wet. I think I can feel myself opening – yes, definitely opening to the touch. How in the hell are we ever going to get out of here?!" Mila bursts out laughing loud enough that everyone within three tables looks.

I feel my whole front body starting to throb in a frighteningly orgasmic fashion.

Mila smiles at me innocently. "So, who is your sex therapist, Baby?"

"You are, Mila."

Mila traces a line from my chest to my belly button with her fingernail.

"Well, Darling," she giggles, "It's a goddamn good thing for both of us that you're married to me, and that you are a sex therapist, too, and that you are not my client – or we would both really be fucked!"