All characters are over 18. This is the second part of an ongoing series, but the story in this part concluded.
This is a piss fetish story about an unrealistic compulsive behavior, which leads to situations similar to mind control. There are mentions of prior incest. There is straight sex and lesbian sex with a very old, diapered woman. There is some reluctance and some very immoral behavior.
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"Hello?" Helen called out as she peeked in through the open door to the office of her therapist. "I wasn't sure I could come in. The receptionist's not there."
"It's ok," answered the lovely Susannah. "This is the last appointment of the week. She doesn't have to stick around."
The 27-year-old patient closed the door behind her and walked over to her seat. Susannah the therapist seemed to think twice about possible misunderstandings of what she'd just said.
"Of course, we can pick any time that feels best for you," she clarified. "It's important that you feel comfortable and safe for these sessions."
It was easy to feel safe with Susannah. She was calm, friendly, and very beautiful in a non-threatening way. The therapist's very large and well-accentuanted breasts were soothing and motherly. She was in amazing shape for her 47 years, and her business suits and tied-up, brown hair signaled a professional woman in control of life's chaos. She was the female rock that Helen had been missing in her life.
Helen herself was slender and appealing, but she could sometimes give a mousy impression with her plain clothes and straight, ordinary hair. Although, that impression chanced once you noticed her breasts, which were impossible not to be drawn to.
The breasts were large without being overly large, and they were round, firm, and perfectly proportioned. A remarkable thing was how they were always stiff-nippled and very visible under a thin top without a bra. The description that came to mind was grip-sized -- made to be touched -- begging for it, even.
"Everyone important to you has abused you," Susannah established. "You have to feel safe from that here. You've told me many troubling things, and it's important for your future mental health that you can relax in this room."
"It's fine," Helen ensured. "I don't mind late meetings. Whatever you think is best."
Therapy had started three weeks ago. Helen had needed to unpack and properly process the recent loss of her father. Then, there had been some issues with molesting, involving an old neighbor. In addition, Helen had needed to deal with her very severe intrusive thoughts, which had been the initial reason for therapy.
As it happened, the intrusive thoughts revolved very much around those grip-sized breasts of hers.
"Good," the therapist responded. "I was a bit worried after the rather controversial approach last time."
During their last therapy session, Susannah had put her hands on Helen's breasts.
It had been at Helen's insistence. At first, Susannah had objected to this approach quite sternly. But that day, Helen had been very agitated, worrying about the temptation to return to her abusive old neighbor for help, and they had been running out of time. The therapist had convinced herself that one touch could be justified to avoid potential disaster.
While squeezing the softness of the breast, giving Helen instructions for her week, Susannah had noted what appeared to be rapturous sexual bliss in her patient's face. Ever since, Susannah had wondered a lot about the importance of this ritual to her patient.
"How did it make you feel?" she asked with a hint of worry and concern in her voice.
"Right when someone touches me, it's amazing," Helen said with dreaming eyes. "I just... I don't know. I transform a little. Before the touch, I'm always afraid, but then it feels even better than I had hoped!"
Helen explained how she could enjoy everything about life after a touch. Without her touching ritual, she could barely perform everyday activities. The effects of a touch reminded her of ice-water, washing away all turmoil in her mind. At the same time, she insisted the touches gave her stronger sexual release than any orgasm.
They had talked about this before, and Susannah had never heard or read about such an unusual neurosis or coping mechanism. Frankly, it had been a miracle that more people hadn't taken advantage of this very vulnerable woman.
"We will talk more about this, but I want to take a step back to understand your situation better," Susannah decided. "The best way might be to start from the beginning. Tell me more about the first time it happened!"
"With Daddy?"
"Yes, if that was the first time."
"Well, there was something else a few days before before Daddy touched me. I guess the first time it happened was when I lost my virginity. I just took me a while to understand."
"Tell me more!" Susannah said. "You were 18, at the end of high school, and something happened for the first time."
And Helen started telling her tale.
* * *
That day, she had been sent to a storage in school with one of the shy guys in her class. He and she had been part of a work group, preparing an examination hall. This guy had always been withdrawn, but he had been normal enough that Helen had always felt safe around him.
So, in the storage, she had been very surprised and confused when she had noticed him creeping up behind. He had reached around, and he had put his hand on her breast without warning. Helen had been completely unprepared for her own reaction.
Thinking back now, retelling it for the therapist, Helen speculated that she'd had an orgasm, right there, in her panties.
Then, the guy had started talking.
"I just wanted to feel them," he'd said. "Sorry. I'm 18, and I've never even felt a pair of tits. I just wanted to squeeze them, you know. Do you like it?"
Helen had done nothing, allowing him to stand there, squeezing her tits. Her cunt had become very wet.
"I don't want to graduate a virgin," he'd explained. "We have a few minutes before they notice we're missing."
She had understood what he had wanted, and his hands on her tits had made pleasure throb through her entire body, making her unable to think of anything but pleasing him.
"You can pull your pants down and bend over the table," he had explained. "I just want to put it in, so I can know how it feels."
Those words had filled her with an uncontrollable need to do everything he wanted. She had realized she was being used and treated as an object. But at this moment, she had wanted to be used and treated as an object! For the first time in years, she had felt calm and free, unbuttoning her pants with focus and determination, pulling them down with the panties, bending over, presenting her naked ass and her sopping wet cunt for cock.