Saturday Morning Session

My iteration of a theme done by many others: a good-looking therapist facilitates a forbidden relationship between relatives to the ultimate benefit of all concerned. Here I take on a step-mother and step-son, borrowing a bit of the plot from a pornographic video. Thanks to all who ably explored this scenario before me and helped inspire this story. I hope it's a worthy addition to the genre.

As always, all story characters involved in sexual situations are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

At the request of a friend, an important friend, I'd scheduled a Saturday session. I had no other appointments; we had all day.

It was clear that his son, who was now talking, had something he wanted to say, but he wanted me to force it out of him. The reason for the cat and mouse game was also clear. Several times, out of the corner of his eye, he'd glanced at his step-mother - they were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, each leaning on the arm rest. She hadn't notice his looks, I had. He was checking her reactions. Whatever he wanted to say was going to annoy her. He wanted to spill the beans, but wanted to be able to blame me when he did.

I decided to push anyway, repeating my prior question.

"Do you have a specific example you can share?"

He shuffled, pretending he didn't want to say what he was about to say. I'd seen better dissemblers, but in his defense he was nineteen and I'm an experienced psychologist specializing in family counseling.

"Well, there was the time I found her masturbating on my bed."

Annoyance sparked in her lovely green eyes, which were framed by her heavy pronounced eyebrows, but the look quickly vanished. She was far too intelligent, too cool a customer to give her feelings away that easily. Instead, in an exasperated, somewhat patronizing voice, she said, "Go ahead, tell her."

"Well, I got home early one day from playing basketball and found her in my bedroom, lying on my bed masturbating. Isn't that weird, I mean, in my bedroom. She's got her own room after all."

I turned my gaze to Jennifer.

"Yes, I was masturbating. I'd been making the beds, washing and changing the sheets. I'd just taken his linen out of the dryer and put mine and Alton's in."

Alton was her husband; he was the one who asked me to consult with his new wife and his son from his first marriage.

"I was making his bed; I'd been aroused most of the day and, as I said, my bed was unavailable. So when I was done with his I laid down and, y'know, started. In hindsight I shouldn't have, but I thought I was alone; he wasn't supposed to be back for another couple of hours."

When she finished Alex added, as if scoring a point, "There's another thing, she was only wearing underwear. I looked around the room; there were no clothes lying around. She was changing my bed wearing only a bra and panties."

Her tone still exasperated, "Yes, sometimes I did housework in my underwear, its fun and its comfortable. That's come to an end too."

It must have been quite a sight, I thought. Jennifer was a striking women, five feet five inches tall, 135 pounds or so, round face, full breasts, and an hourglass figure; like me, she was in her mid-thirties.

But enough admiring; it was time to get back to business.

He'd acknowledged taking the time to look around for her clothes. Exactly how long had he watched? I'd find out, but obliquely; I didn't want to scare either of them off.

"Alex, when you say masturbate, well that can mean a lot of different things, from a woman simply caressing her breasts through her clothing to using her fingers on herself to employing a toy. Can you describe for me in greater detail what you saw?"

Jennifer started to cut in, but I intervened, "Please, you'll have your turn."

She sat back and crossed her legs, letting me have my way. A lot of people wouldn't have, refusing to go further. She was giving me a lot of leeway. I'd take advantage of that.

He started haltingly, unsure of how far he could go. "Well, she was, she was lying on my bed, on her stomach, wearing panties and a bra, nothing else."

I wanted him to pay attention to the details, to fix the picture in his head.

"What color were they?"

"What?"

"The bra and the panties, what color were they?"

"White."

"Were they skimpy, like a thong, or more substantial, akin to a man's underwear, or somewhere in between."

I watched him do what I wanted him to do, turn his mind inward, re-imagine the moment. His blue eyes took on a hazy appearance, confirming that he was both seeing it in his head and enjoying the memory. No reason he shouldn't; as I said his step-mother was a lovely woman.

"The bra, well, it covered everything. The panties, I guess they were in-between. The waist band was lacy and white and ended in a thong. Later on, when she rolled over, I saw the front, it was more substantial. The band was still lacy and white, but the bottom, the part over her, over her..., it was black, it covered everything."

"Good. Was she wearing her hair up or down?"

Jennifer had lovely thick black hair. It was up at the moment.

"Down, she wore it down. It was behind her head. She was lying on a pillow, pressing her head into it, facing the door, her eyes were closed, her mouth was open."

"Was she wearing make-up?"

He returned to the picture in his head. "Yes."

"Good, now tell me what was happening."

"She was lying on her stomach, she had two hands underneath herself, she was laying on top of them, she was breathing pretty hard and, I mean I couldn't see it, but it was pretty clear she was touching herself. She was raising her, well her..."

"Butt," I suggested.

"Yeah, her butt up in the air, over and over, but slowly, gently. It was pretty intense; it was clear she hadn't just started."

"Were her hands inside her panties or was she touching herself through her panties?"

He paused, referring to the picture in his mind. "I can't be sure, she was on her stomach, but when she rolled over she picked herself up on one arm and the other hand, well, it was pressed to the outside of her panties, against her..." He stopped, not sure, for the second time, what word to use. "I think she was touching herself through her panties."

"Excellent, now tell me what happened when she rolled over."

"You see, he kept watching ..."

I'd expected her to interrupt sooner. I turned to face her, squared my body, and with my best in-command voice and posture said, "Jennifer, you will have your turn." As I did I saw something unexpected; her breathing had slowed and deepened, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her pupils had dilated, not a lot, but enough for someone with my experience to notice. Part of her was digging this story.

She settled back on the couch, moved some hairs off her face, and with a slight quiver to her voice said, "I'm sorry."

When I asserted my authority, she responded. Good thing to know.

"It's okay. Its normal to want to interrupt, but right not I need you to listen, pay close attention to what he's saying, every detail. Will you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. Now Alex, please go on."

"She was facing the door, so as she rolled over on her back I could see everything. She pulled the band of her panties aside with one hand. The other hand, the one that had been pressed to her..., the one that had been on the outside of her panties, she slipped inside. At first I couldn't see exactly what she as doing, but the muscles on her arm were moving so I knew something was going on. I was about to turn around, leave, but I heard her gasp; I wasn't sure whether she was okay, so I hesitated. Then I could see it, a slight tent in her panties, rising and falling. Her fingers were bent, working on her..."

Here he stopped. For the fourth time he needed the word.

I gave it to him. "Her sex."

"Yes, yes, her sex."

I wanted both their minds focused on those fingers.

"Was she wearing nail polish?"

He was picturing the hand as it snaked inside her panties.

"She had polish on, but I'm not sure about the color; it was either clear or a very light pink."

"Could you tell what she was doing with her fingers? Was she pushing them inside herself, playing with her clitoris, stroking herself, something else?"

I looked at Jennifer from the corner of my eye, concerned she might interrupt, or throw a fit, or leave the room. I was counting on several things to keep her in place: our earlier exchange, my natural gravitas and excellent reputation, the fact that I'd been paid in advance and had the complete and wholehearted endorsement of Alton, Jennifer's husband and Alex's father, but as I looked at her I saw something else. She was leaning forward, breathing through her open mouth, the tip of her tongue lay on her lower lip; she rolled a few loose strands of her hair between her fingers, brought them to her mouth. My previous assessment had been spot-on; as Alex replayed the event in his mind, so did she, and the thoughts clearly aroused her.

Meanwhile Alex had grown quiet. In trying to answer my question he'd turned his focus completely inward, the movie of his step-mother's masturbation unfolding in his mind. Taking advantage of Alex's hesitation I turned my full gaze to Jennifer. When she realized I was looking at her she straightened up, trying to regain her composure. I nodded my head, letting her know everything was okay, that she'd have her turn.

Alex continued. "Well, you could see the tent in her panties grow and shrink. I mean I can't be sure, but it looked like she was pushing her fingers inside herself, over and over, sometimes moving them around inside. She started moaning, real low, long and drawn out and took slow deep breaths. Her skin glowed, a gentle red, her head rolled back on my pillow. I mean, I couldn't believe it, my step-mom was laying on my bed, masturbating. Then she put a second hand inside her panties and moaned again, but this time deeper, more from her gut. It seemed like this hand was playing with her clitoris. She started rocking her hips up and down. Then the hand, the one I think was on her clit, she took it out and brought it to her mouth."

"Was her motion fast or slow, did she seem in a hurry or was she taking her time, like she was not worried about being interrupted?"

He swallowed. "Taking her time, like she didn't expect me home."

"Go on," I said, "tell me about the hand."

"Well she dragged it nice and slow on her skin, touching herself with her fingertips along the entire trip to her lips. The fingertips were wet, you could see them glisten in the sunlight. Her movements were really quite graceful, elegant. When she got her hand to her mouth she licked the fingers, once, then again, with the tip of her tongue. Then her tongue came out of her mouth and she lay the fingers on it and drew her tongue and the fingers into her mouth."

He stopped, the memory burning into his brain, clear in his mind's eye, and said, "I remember now, her fingernails were pink."

I caught Jennifer in my peripheral vision. She nodded her head in agreement; she was recalling the moment just as he was, agreeing with his assessment. I looked to her hands; she had a surgeon's hands, well cared for, strong, long, and graceful, nails carefully trimmed and painted, as they were on that day, a light pink. Unconsciously, she repeated the movement her step-son was describing; she brought her hand to her mouth, her tongue came out and lightly touched the fingertips. She pivoted her body towards him and crossed her legs, her foot now pointing in his direction.

"Two fingers, three fingers, how many?"

Again he closed his eyes, focusing on the memory.

"Two, I'm sure it was two."

"Did she get them nice and wet?"

"Yes, she sucked on them for awhile, rocking them back and forth in her mouth. I could see her cheeks moving."

"What happened next?"

"She took the hand from her mouth and moved it back down her body, again dragging it across her skin, leaving a thin trail of moisture behind. I was watching her hand, so I didn't see, but she must have taken the fingers out of her sex, for when she reached her panties that hand was holding them open. She moved both hands inside her panties and started touching herself again, but this time picking up speed. One was pushing inside her the other was on her clit, they started slow, but began moving faster and faster; the motions were also firmer, I could see the muscles of her arms flexing. She started breathing hard; there was like a little moan with each breath, then she began rocking her hips and, it didn't take long before she began moving her entire body in long steady ripples."

"Undulating?" I said.

"Yeah, that's the right word, undulating."

Out of the corner of my eye I again looked at the lovely woman sitting next to him. I imagined that body, her well developed muscles rippling as she writhed on the bed, her sensual moans bouncing off the wall. She seemed to have the same picture in her mind; she was biting down on her lip, touching her face. Her pupils had further dilated. She might claim to be annoyed, she might actually be annoyed, but she was also unmistakably turned-on.

So was I. I shifted position, taking advantage to scoot two fingers under my skirt and press them to my damp panties; I ran a knuckle up and down my slit.

"Then she took the hand working her clitoris from her panties and dragged it up her body, real slow, like she did before, just her fingertips drifting across her skin, leaving a line of her juice behind. When she reached her..."

He stopped. Addled by his own arousal - his skin was flush, his breathing slow - he was having trouble finding the right, not too offensive, word.

"Breasts," I said.

"Yeah, that's right, breasts, she stopped, pulled the top of her bra aside, not all the way off, just enough, and covered her breast with her hand, squeezed, moved the hand to the other, forcing it under the bra, worked on both of them, squeezing them."

"Which breast did she start with it?"

He pivoted, looked squarely at his step-mother's chest, taking his time, as if orienting himself. Instead of shielding her chest Jennifer, without thinking about it, arched her back, offering her breasts for inspection. I imagined her nipples, as they had been that day, were stiff and thick with blood.

He turned back to me.

"She started with her right breast, it was the one closer to the door where I was standing, then moved to her left. It was clear she was enjoying herself, because her, her..."

"Her nipples were hard?"

"Yes, that's it."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jennifer bring her hand to her mouth, brushing her breast as she did so. A slight shudder ran the length of her body.

"At first she took her time, just kind of massaging them, kneading them, using her entire hand. She was moaning, and her moans grew stronger, louder, more intense. Her breaths got faster and shorter, she began rocking her head in time with her breathing. She cupped the breast closest to me, rolled it forward, picked up her head, angled the nipple toward her mouth, licked it, a long lick with the flat of her tongue. When she did she groaned and dropped her head back to my pillow, took hold of the nipple, rolled it between two fingers. She groaned again, the sound was guttural, then she squeezed the nipple hard."

"While she did this could you tell whether she was playing with her clit or pushing the fingers inside herself?"

"Pushing them inside. I remember because she was rotating her hips into her fingers."

"Go on."

"There's not much more to tell. Her movements grew more intense, her breathing sharpened, her moans got harder, shorter, she kept working her nipples, then she pushed her fingers into her sex, held them there, let out an intense cry, and climaxed; she arched her back, bent her knees, and jerked them over her chest and towards her head, then dropped her legs back to the bed. Her whole body relaxed and she lay there, looking very happy, covering her breasts with her hands, kinda squeezing them, kinda holding them."

He'd been spitting out his words. Now he stopped, trying to calm himself.

"What happened then?"

"Well, she was all peaceful and happy, her eyes were closed, she seemed half asleep. I figured it would be safe and she wouldn't notice, so I backed out of the room, past the door, down the hallway, trying not to make a sound. I left the house."

I wondered, did he have a girlfriend? If not, where had he gone to masturbate?

"It's been weird since then, when I get in my own bed, I can't get that memory out of my head."

He shifted position, laying his hands on his lap, gamely trying to hide his erection.

I turned to Jennifer. She was looking down, playing with her hands, toying with her wedding ring. When she sensed my gaze had turned to her, she sat up, rolled her shoulders back, straightened her hair, touched her cheek, covered her mouth, she was trying to buy the time to get her own arousal under control. Was it Alex's description of her masturbation? It had gotten to me. Did she like being watched? Both?

Finally, in a quavering voice, she said, "He watched me masturbate. Isn't anyone going to say that's weird?"

Weird was not the word I'd use. How many teenaged boys would have come on that scene and not hung around to watch?

"Inappropriate, an invasion of privacy, yes, I would agree. How did you find out?"

In more an act of confession than anger she said, "We were having a fight a couple of days after his girlfriend left town. He threw it in my face."

* * * *

That is why we were there. Jennifer's husband, Alton, had come to me, told me his new wife and son not only fought constantly, but that the fights were growing increasingly intense. He loved them both and he, a man who always knew what to do, couldn't figure out what to do. He said their fighting was ripping his heart out, that the most important thing in his world was that they get along.

I had known Alton socially and professionally for years. But then, everyone knew Alton. He'd turned a small local hospital into a regional powerhouse with an international reputation, then retired several years ago to run the hospital's charitable foundation. His wife, to whom he had been devoted, had passed away five years earlier and although he ranked among the community's most eligible bachelors, had rarely dated until he commenced a whirl-wind romance with Jennifer, one of five doctors visiting the hospital on a three month grant to study new surgical techniques. Both Jennifer's extraordinary good looks and the thirty year difference in their ages gave rise to gossip of a trophy wife, but if Jennifer was a trophy wife, she was the smartest, most-driven, most accomplished trophy wife I'd met.

I'd seen Alex and Jennifer separately, administered the MMPI, interviewed them. Neither my observation nor the personality testing indicated either was prone to fighting. Neither had an angry, vicious, or resentful side; both were optimistic and positive. They understood and regretted the effect their fighting was having on Alton. However, both confirmed the nastiness of their fights. Whatever was going on was occurring in the dynamic between them. I decided to see them together.

* * * *

Wanting to slow things down, I bent over my notebook, jotted a few things. I crossed my legs, noted the way Alex followed them. His step-mother was not the only older lady he found attractive. Pushing aside a few strands of red hair that had fallen across my face, I looked to Jennifer. She had relaxed, no longer sitting pressed to the arm rest.

"Please, tell me about his girlfriend."

Alex started to cut in, but I said, "You'll get your turn."

Jennifer smiled, enjoying watching me shut her step-son down as I'd shut her down a few minutes ago.