Couch Sessions Therapeutic Tango

Note- this story does feature themes that some may find triggering: power imbalance, mention of past emotional abuse, & brief (like one sentence) reference to the death of a parent. With that out of the way, writing this was an interesting experience, It has been a long time since I've written anything in 1st person, so hopefully, it's not complete shit. I welcome and appreciate any constructive feedback.

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"Taylor?"

I startled at the sound of Dr. Stone's deep voice, jumping in surprise as I found him standing only a few feet away, his brow arched in question as he gazed down at me. I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment at the realization that he must have called my name several times. Lost in my thoughts, obsessing over the events from a few nights ago, I hadn't even heard his office door open or noticed him approaching the waiting room. I was sitting in one of the room's oversized leather chairs, the same one I always occupied while awaiting my therapy session with Dr. Stone. His entire office was designed with comfort in mind --furniture in varying shades of red, brown, beige, and cream, complemented by walls of sage green and navy blue. Not surprisingly, he was a psychologist after all.

"Oh! Sorry, Dr. Stone. I've been a little out of it the past few days." I apologized. I could only envision the pink flush of embarrassment that accentuated my fair skin.

"It's okay, Taylor," he reassured me with a warm smile, delivering his next words with a wink. "What better place to talk about what's on your mind?"

His wink only served to make me blush again, and when he turned around to lead me to his office, I couldn't stop my gaze from trailing down to his perfect ass. Dr. Stone was an extremely handsome man. His gray slacks and navy sweater hugged his body perfectly, hinting at the hard muscles beneath. He was tall, much taller than me, and I was 5'7. His hair was my favorite feature of his, contrasting with the rest of his well-groomed appearance--unruly golden blond curls brushing just above the collar of his sweater, with untamed whips escaping to flutter around his forehead. He had sharp cheekbones and perfectly proportioned pink lips. Lips that always had me wondering just how soft they would feel against my skin. I wasn't certain how old he was, but I would have guessed no older than 35.

He paused just before his open door, gesturing for me to enter first before closing it behind us. As I swept by him, a hint of his cedar and sandalwood cologne reached me, sending a shiver straight down to my lower core. I was tempted to press closer for another inhale. If only getting caught sniffing my therapist wouldn't make me look like a total creeper.

I sat in my usual seat on his light gray couch, the fabric caressing the skin of my legs as I settled alongside the arm. The action made my cotton dress ride up, exposing the bare skin of my thighs as I crossed my legs. I was a little embarrassed, wondering if he noticed as I nervously tugged the hem of the cotton down. I felt my underwear dampen at the mere thought of him checking me out, adding shame on top of the embarrassment I had been feeling.

Dr. Stone sat across from me in his charcoal armchair, grabbing the leather journal he took notes in during our sessions from the end table beside him. I thought I caught his green eyes lingering on the exposed skin of my thighs, but figured I was probably just "projecting" my thoughts--something Dr. Stone says I do often, in various situations and people in my everyday life, but mostly in connection with things that make me feel anxious.

"How are you this week, Taylor? It sounds like you may have something on your mind?" Dr. Stone's deep voice never failed to make my body hum in desire. I felt guilty at the note of concern in his tone. If only the man knew how often he starred in my dirty fantasies--his deep voice stern as he instructed me to do naughty and depraved things. Even better, the way he would reward me with even dirtier things when I obeyed him.

"Um, yes, well....I went on a date a few days ago." I hesitated, reluctant to give him details, feeling shame and embarrassment as I recalled how the date went. Avoiding his gaze, I fixed my eyes on his black loafers. "It was like everything we've practiced in session just magically disappeared from my brain."

I paused, waiting for him to say something, watching as he crossed his legs, his pants riding up enough to expose black dress socks as he did so. Feeling uncomfortable when Dr. Stone didn't respond right away, I continued, "I tried noticing when my anxious thoughts began to overwhelm me, challenging and replacing them before they could gain traction, just like we talked about."

I took a breath, still not brave enough to look at him, before I admitted, "But in that moment, everything felt so overpowering, and I don't know what happened... I'm sorry, I feel like such a fuck up."

My voice sounded dejected, and I was. I was ashamed that I didn't have anything positive to report to Dr. Stone. I felt like I let him down. Like I was a disappointment.

"Taylor, what did we talk about?" his tone was stern, "It's like learning a new skill or hobby. It takes time and practice to become good at something new, and applying the skills we're learning in our sessions will require the same.

"Look at me, Taylor," he said softly "You shouldn't feel bad and you're not a 'fuck up'."

I finally lifted my eyes to meet his green ones, relieved to find no judgment in his expression. I gave him a nod, feeling my lips lift in a small smile.

"Good girl." Dr. Stone's praise took me aback for a second. This was the first time he had ever called me by anything other than my name. I began to imagine other situations where he may call me a 'good girl'--me on my knees, leaning over his lap as I take his hard cock in my mouth. His hands in my hair, controlling my pace, making me gag as I--

"Taylor?" His questioning tone abruptly silenced my overactive imagination, and I found him looking at me with an arched eyebrow. I felt my whole body heat-- and not in a good way, either-- as I realized that he had asked me something while I was busy daydreaming about deep-throating his dick.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry Dr. Stone. I didn't catch that--could you repeat it, please?" My words came out in a slightly higher pitch, my discomfort evident.

"It's okay, Taylor" He chuckled, flashing the dimples on his cheeks, "I asked if you could give me a detailed account of the date?"

"Oh, yeah. Um, sure." Still embarrassed by my dirty daydreams, I was happy to talk about anything else.

I began to go over the events of two nights ago. I had agreed to meet my date at a local restaurant downtown. I had connected with the guy on a dating app and felt hopeful because we had solid chemistry over our text exchanges. I found him attractive in person, and could still feel some chemistry between us. As soon as we sat down at our table, I felt my heart begin to race, and self-doubt crept in. I found myself ordering multiple drinks throughout the night to counter my nerves. The alcohol helped calm my nerves, and I didn't feel as anxious, so I agreed to go for drinks with him at a nearby bar. Long story short, I ended up back at his place that night, making out on his couch. My buzz had begun to wear off, and with each touch of his hands on my body, I began to panic, until finally I made up some lame excuse and hightailed it out of there.

I struggle with severe anxiety, especially in social settings. It spiraled after my dad passed away a few years ago, and took a turn for the worse with the arrival of Covid a month after. Just before all this, I had ended a long-term relationship, leaving me in the depths of grief, living by myself, and without much social interaction. My relationship with my ex was a nightmare for my self-esteem. He constantly tore me down, criticizing my looks, intelligence, and comparing me to others. The sad part was that I wasn't even the one who broke up with him. The fucker had dumped me, claiming I needed to "work on myself". I hated him, but I hated myself even more for believing all the things he told me and letting it impact my life so completely.

Despite my ex's repeated comments about my appearance, telling me that he wished I was prettier or would 'take better care of myself'', I knew that many people considered me attractive. At the age of 27, I exercised regularly and especially enjoyed running. My ass and tits were perky, both a generous handful. My hair, a rich dark brown, flowed down to just below my breasts when I wasn't wearing it in a high ponytail. Unfortunately, it didn't matter how many compliments I received. I would begin to hear my ex's voice creeping in, criticizing and tearing me down, making me doubt myself.

I started seeing Dr. Stone a few months ago because I was tired of my self-doubt and anxiety controlling my life. I rarely went on dates, and only two of those dates ended with sex, mainly because I had drunk enough alcohol to dull my insecurities and anxiety. I had only had sex twice over the past few years, each a one-time occurrence. It was the thought of spending the rest of my life alone, never being fucked by another person, of my orgasms deriving solely from my fingers and sex toys, that had finally caused me to reach out for help. And now here I was a few months later, fantasizing about fucking my therapist.

"I think it may be more helpful if we go over what you were feeling and thinking during those moments when your anxiety began to take over," Dr. Stone suggested after I had finished detailing my date, "Would that be okay, Taylor?"

"Um, sure?" I'm not sure why I answered him in the form of a question. However, I had no regrets as he flashed me a sexy smile while he held my gaze with his green one, making my pussy throb.

"Good girl," He praised, and once again, I felt a shock of desire run through me at his words. Making me so wet, that I could practically feel my juices running down my thighs. "You can lay down on the couch. It will help you recall the night better if you're in a relaxed position."

"Oh okay, um sure?" I answered, distracted by his suggestion and unable to conjure anything more complex than that --too caught up imagining some other relaxing things that we could do on that couch. The last two years of being deprived of sex have me feeling like I'm a horny teenager.

"Um, shoes on or off?" I asked, finally moving beyond the imagery of him fucking me on the couch. It's like my pussy is the equivalent of Pavlov's dog, conditioned to salivate whenever I hear Dr. Stone's voice.

"It's up to you. Although you may be more comfortable without." I sensed Dr. Stone's gaze as I bent over to unstrap my sandals. Feeling his eyes following my every movement as I settled onto the couch, arranging my body to lie down the length of it, resting my head on an accent pillow against the corner. The hem of my dress felt daringly short, skimming just above my upper thighs and revealing my bare legs. I was unsure what to do with my hands, so I ended up resting them on my stomach. I could feel the waistband of my thong through the cotton of my dress, and I felt my mind begin to race, as I waited for his next words.

His voice sounded hypnotic, both captivating and entrancing, "Close your eyes.... good. Now think back to when you were sitting at the table in the restaurant." With my eyes closed, I did as he asked, "Now, recall that moment when you felt the urge to order a drink, can you remember what you were thinking? What you were feeling?".

"My date had just complimented me, telling me I looked pretty. I...I remember feeling uncomfortable with the compliment, not really believing him. I heard my ex in my head, telling me the only reason guys looked at me was that they wanted a hole to fuck. That any hole would do. That it was my fault, that I was begging and desperate for attention. That I was easy, a whore, a slut.

"I remember doing what we talked about last session. I was able to notice the direction my thoughts began to go in and stop them. Challenge them as not true and it worked. At least until I began to worry about sounding stupid as we talked, wondering if I was boring him. My ex made me feel stupid often, so it brought all of those negative feelings and thoughts back. That's when I felt the need for a drink, my anxiety skyrocketed when I began to obsess about the right thing to say so that I wouldn't come across as dumb or boring. Once the buzz hit, I felt more in control and less worried."

"Let's transition to the end of the night," Although Dr. Stone's voice was soft, I thought I detected an edge. Like underlying frustration or anger in his tone. But he spoke before I could put too much thought into it, "You're at your date's place, on the couch.... You mentioned the alcohol had begun to wear off. Tell me what you were thinking. What were you feeling?"

I felt myself heat all over, both in nervousness and desire, as I thought about what Dr. Stone was asking. He wanted me to share such intimate details with him, and as I began to speak, I could hear a smokiness in my tone.

"I...I was on his lap, straddling him on the couch. His hands roamed my body, and then he took off my shirt. Leaving me in my bra and skirt. He began to kiss down my neck, not stopping until he reached my breasts. His hands moved underneath my skirt, cupping my ass...I began to think about my body, being naked in front of him, what he would think. Would he wish I had bigger tits? Or find my pussy ugly? Or that I'm a bad kisser? Or bad at sex? I tried to push those thoughts away and force myself to endure each touch, but it just became too much, and I couldn't handle it."

I inhaled sharply at the sudden feeling of something warm enveloping my upper thigh. It was Dr. Stone's large hand touching me.

"He touched you here?" His voice was strained, as the hand wrapped around my thigh flexed.

"Y...Yes. He did." I breathed, keeping my eyes closed, afraid this was my imagination playing a cruel trick on me.

"What about here?... Did he put his hands here?" His words held a challenge as his hand slid higher up my thigh until his fingers brushed my thong. His tone husky, he whispered, "What are you feeling? Tell me, Taylor...What's going through your mind right now?"

"I feel...I feel hot... Like I'm going to explode" I gasped, so fucking desperate to feel his hands on me, roaming my body.

"And when I tell you how perfect you are? How I've thought about burying my face between your legs? Tasting you... Making you come on my tongue?" He hissed, having lowered his voice with that last question. "Do you believe me when I tell you that? That after every one of our sessions, I stroke my cock, imagining fucking you?"

"Yes," I moaned, his words filling me with so much want and need, unlike I'd ever felt before in my life. Because I did believe him. And I was so damn relieved that this wasn't all in my head. That this wasn't one-sided, that I haven't been alone in my lust.

He moved his hand until he reached the crotch of my thong, cupping my pussy through the damp fabric. When he felt the evidence of my want for him, how much he turned me on, he hissed, "My good girl, so perfect, so wet for me.... You're so fucking beautiful, Taylor".

He said this like it's a fact. Like there was no question of my beauty, making me blush. Then I began to hear my ex's voice, telling me that nobody would ever actually want me, just a tight pussy to cum in.

It's like Dr. Stone sensed my thoughts shift direction. His fingers began to stroke me, tracing a pattern from my clit to my entrance over the fabric of my thong.

"Taylor," he warned, "say it. Tell me that you're beautiful."

Even though I was still blushing, I felt myself drawn back to the present, my ex's harsh words erased from my mind. And I found that I did. I did believe that I was beautiful. Confidence resonated in my voice as I responded, "I'm beautiful."

I'm rewarded by his thick finger plunging inside of me, having pushed my thong to the side to do so. I could hear my juices splashing with each pump inside of my pussy.

"Good girl" he praised, before he removed his finger from me, making me want to cry from the loss. "Take off your underwear" he ordered.

With my eyes still closed, I didn't even hesitate before fulfilling his demand. Gliding my hands down to where my thong hugged my hips, lifting my dress out of the way as I did so, and feeling air caressing the newly exposed skin. Lifting my hips slightly, I slid the material down my legs, bending to guide the lace over my knees, and down to encircle my ankles.

With a deep breath, I finally opened my eyes, my heart quickening in rhythm as I took in the scene before me. Dr. Stone knelt next to me, his unruly golden hair within touching distance, fierce green gaze pinned on me. His eyes held mine captive, assessing me, like he was making sure I was okay with this. I found myself reaching towards him, my hand unsteady as I brushed an errant curl away from his face. This seemed to be enough to reassure him because his gaze sharpened before rolling down my body, fixing on the scrap of lace around my ankles.

"Taylor," Dr. Stone admonished, "I explicitly told you to remove your underwear, did I not?" his reprimand sent shivers down my spine. I imagined him punishing me--perhaps he would bend me over his lap and spank me, or shove his cock so deep down my throat, that I choke. Just picturing him doing those naughty things had my pussy clenching. Without the barrier of my thong, I could feel my juices trickling down my bare skin, collecting on the cushion below me. As powerful as the desire for him to punish me was, it was the thought of pleasing him that turned me on the most. I wanted to be his 'good girl'.

I reached down to free my thong from my ankles, the material drenched from my juices. I looked at Dr. Stone, waiting for his next order.

"That's a good girl," The pleasure was evident in his voice, "Now, hand them over."

I hesitated for a second, I was worried he might be grossed out by how wet the fabric was before I reminded myself that desire is nothing to be ashamed of. My worries dissipated as I dropped the ball of lace into his hand.

"Fuck," he hissed, closing his hand tight around the soaked material, "You make me so hard, Taylor."

I swept my eyes down his body, confirming that his cock was very hard, indeed. The outline of his dick through his gray slacks made my breath hitch, he looked huge. I found myself wondering how he looked without the cover of clothes--something I'd repeatedly fantasized about over the past three months. Fucking myself with my vibrator, pretending it was his cock.

"Can I kiss you?" his voice was soft, and I felt my heart squeeze at the thoughtfulness of his question. I had shared with him how hard kissing was for me, another trigger zone, courtesy of my douchebag ex.

"Yes," I whispered from where I lay on the couch, my pulse racing. I watched Dr. Stone rise from where he kneeled on the floor, before straddling me on the couch. his body enveloped me, one knee positioned between my legs, his handsome face inches from mine. He traced a finger down my face, his eyes holding mine, and I saw tenderness reflected in his green gaze. I couldn't think too long about that tenderness though, within a heartbeat he had his lips pressed against my own. I melted into his gentle kiss, all rigidness leaving my body as I began to kiss him back, at first hesitant. It wasn't long before our kiss became something more, his large hand moving to grasp my chin, keeping me in place as his lips became more demanding.

My hands moved to grip the front of his sweater, tugging him closer until he was pressed against me, the action forcing our mouths apart as he resettled over me. With one of his legs between my own, his body essentially covered mine. Our heads were aligned closely, with his elbows positioned on either side of my face, our eyes meeting as he moved to capture my lips again, kissing me. His tongue gently entangled with mine, giving me time to adjust to the sensation. I moaned into his mouth, impatient, deepening our kiss.