It was three years later that she recounted these events to a therapist. It had taken six months for Brigitte to bring herself to have sex again. When she did, it wasn't with a boyfriend: it was at a club where people paid women for sex in back rooms. She'd been terrified at first, but she'd quickly gotten into it. She'd been doing that regularly ever since. She didn't know why she did it; she'd never been a slut before her rape. She'd had three boyfriends in her twenty-eight years and had slept with every one of them on numerous occasions, but she'd been faithful to every one of them during her relationships with them. Yet she'd enjoyed what had been done to her so much that she seemed to have become addicted to the same feelings she'd experienced during her rape. Because of this, she'd decided to see the aforementioned therapist.
The therapist – Dr. Jamie Ellsworth – had her own odd reaction to Brigitte's account of her various sexual encounters. That reaction was rather potent in its own right: arousal. While it was true that she was technically a 'sex therapist' – someone who helped people feel comfortable in social and sexual situations – she'd never dealt with a woman before. She'd also never been one to fall prey to such things as homosexuality or bisexuality. Yet the stories that Brigitte told were of the most arousing kind that she couldn't help but feel attracted to this romantically decrepit harlot. Something about the way she described her encounters made Dr. Ellsworth want to see what the woman had to offer under that blouse of hers that men found so agreeable.
At first, her curiosity was only partially unprofessional. According to Brigitte, she had trouble walking around her condo naked anymore because she suffered from periodic 'episodes' of heightened sexual tension. During these episodes, she was both terrified and anticipatorily excited about someone breaking in and raping her. She'd even begun fantasizing about it to the point that she was unconsciously leaving her door unlocked at night and masturbating at least a couple of times an hour. When she was at work, she had difficulty focusing because she was constantly aroused by the feel of her underwear rubbing against her pussy and the memory of a man's sexual scent. She masturbated on every one of her breaks and was even spending her lunch time fingering her pussy instead of eating. No one knew, but people realized that something was up; no one had ever said anything to her, though. They all just figured it was the pressure of the job.
Dr. Ellsworth's approach was a bit different than it was for the people who usually came to her; in a sense, she was reversing the treatment she usually gave in favor of Brigitte's unique position. She had told Brigitte that she should try to lie in bed for a while without touching herself each time she was in the house. Unfortunately, that treatment failed miserably – which led to the present situation.
Dr. Ellsworth was used to taking off her clothes in front of her patients, but not for sex. It was no different in this case. She now sat naked before a nervous Brigitte, who was lying on the couch as nude as her therapist. Ellsworth was the perfect picture of calm, the exact opposite of Brigitte. It had been almost an hour since the therapist had removed her clothes, after which Brigitte had slowly done the same. Jamie was now reading a book about howler monkeys with one leg crossed over the other; she was as comfortable as though she were wearing her favorite jeans and t-shirt. Brigitte, on the other hand, was squirming more than a snake in the grass as she tried not to move.
Her hands twitched at her sides and she shifted her position constantly, first raising one knee in a futile attempt to relax and then raising another. After about twenty minutes of this, she'd started to reach for her pussy; she'd imagined her strong fingers nimbly delving between the folds of her pink paradise and fucking herself over and over again as she drove her body to a powerful orgasm – but Jamie had stopped her. While not quite as nervous as Brigitte during their two-hour sessions together, Jamie couldn't help but study her patient. She couldn't focus on her book because her eyes kept drifting unwaveringly to the supple mounts of flesh that were slowly rising and falling before her. She couldn't help but let her eyes rove over the clean-shaven cunt that seemed to be calling out to her. Why was she so intent on this woman? She had seen women naked in locker rooms back in college, yet she had never wondered until now what it would like to kiss a woman. Was it better than a man's kiss? Would it be better than her husband's? And if Frank found out, how would he react? Would he be turned on or would he be appalled?
Jamie turned her attention back to her book. She had to stop thinking that way. She was no lesbian; she loved men. She had sex with her husband regularly – and she enjoyed it. Just last night, she had given him a blowjob. At this point, she couldn't help but think back to the previous evening. She remembered her soft lips caressing that long pink muscle, taking in all its glorious length as she tasted the flesh of her man. She remembered his moans, how he whispered her name while in the throes of pure ecstasy as she worked his hard cock with her mouth. She reveled in the memory of her sucking her husband's large cock with reckless abandon, the wonderful taste of his hot white cum flooding her mouth and running smoothly down her waiting throat.
As she came back to reality, though, she realized two things. First, she realized that her nipples were stiff and she was rubbing her legs together; she stopped. The next thing she noticed was that Brigitte's hand was between her legs and she was halfway to orgasm.
"Shit," she muttered, getting up and setting her book down on the coffee table. She tried to pull the young woman's hand away, but her patient would have none of that. "Come on, Brigitte; it's time to stop."
"Then stop me," she moaned as she quickly and firmly replaced her own hand with Jamie's.
Jamie was shocked at first; by the time she was able to recover, though, she realized that she didn't mind what she was doing. Even so, she stopped herself – or tried to, anyway. Brigitte took matters into her own hands and forcefully fucked herself using Jamie's hand as a dildo. Jamie felt her fingers slide deeply into Brigitte's pussy and tried to pull back, but she couldn't; it was half because of Brigitte's surprising strength and half because Jamie didn't really want to. It was the latter that shocked her even more, but she was getting used to it. Finally, she gave up and started fucking Brigitte on her own. In moments, Brigitte was crying out and convulsing pleasantly to the tune of a gigantic orgasm. When the good doctor was finally able to remove her hand from the woman's tight folds, she had girl cream all over her fingers and hand; Brigitte quickly pulled it to her and cleaned it with her mouth and tongue. Jamie, still half in shock at what she'd just done – what she'd been drawn into doing, both by her own deeply hidden desire and by the girl she was supposed to be treating – let Brigitte suck and lick her fingers and hand clean.
When it was done, Brigitte grabbed Jamie and pulled her in for a kiss. Jamie kissed back. It was deep, long, and fulfilling. For several minutes, Jamie made out with her patient; she couldn't help it and didn't want to. She just couldn't bring herself to let go. When at last she was able to pull away for breath, she instinctively started kissing her way down Brigitte's neck and chest. Lowering herself to her knees on the floor beside the couch, Jamie let her lips and tongue carry her to the nipple of Brigitte's left breast. She licked and suckled the nipple, making Brigitte arch her back and half-smile in delight. Jamie pleasured Brigitte like this for a full minute or more before finally moving further down. She kissed her way down Brigitte's stomach, her kisses soft and slow, until she finally reached Brigitte's waist.
