Counselors and Affirmation.

Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Seeking AffirmationI fall prey to a predatory therapist.

Based on a post by nymphic

Disclaimer: Sexual relations between therapists and current clients are expressly prohibited.

It

took me years to become this relaxed in front of my therapist, able to

share the most shameful parts of my mind with ease. All the vile,

disgusting parts nobody else gets access to: he always reacts with a

cool, detached professionalism. He's heard it all before, and worse, he

tells me, and I've stopped apologizing for the revolting things I tell

him: all my self-destructive habits, my awful intrusive thoughts, my

horrific violent urges.

It takes me one careless sentence for all that trust to crumble.

We're

talking about how my current beau is terrible in bed, leading me to

mention how I think about other men when I'm fucking him. “And you're

one of them,” I add. Carelessly. Completely unnecessarily.

He pauses, then looks up from his notes. “Come again?'

Without

the input of my brain, my mouth decides the best course of action is to

blab further. “Sometimes he gets me so close, but not close enough, so

to tip myself over the edge, I think about you. You must know how hot

you are, your beard, and tattoos, and curly hair, and...' I trail off as

I notice his amused expression. “What?'

He

places his notes to the side and folds his hands over crossed legs.

“You're placing an awful lot of trust in me to share this.'

And

I'm beginning to regret that, with the way he's looking at me like

something to be devoured. I shrug. “I imagine you're good at your job.

Or at least professional enough not to take advantage or be a creep.'

He says nothing. The clock behind him ticks.

'I

think I'm the last person you'd creep on, anyway,' I continue,

stammering. “I, this is just a little crush. On a therapist. I know

there's no chance of reciprocation, not that I'm hitting on you, or

anything, but I mean,”

“There

are a lot of assumptions you're making,” he interrupts. His gaze is

intense, eyes so dark I can't tell where the pupil ends and iris begins.

“Hmm?” My mouth dries.

He

counts off his fingers. “You assume I'm good at my job. You assume I'm

not a creep, or a predator. You assume your fantasies are not

reciprocated.”

Whatever

rapport we've built has evaporated. I feel numb, foggy. I'm distantly

aware that I could be in danger, but I'm frozen to my seat as he stands,

like I'm a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox.

“You have no idea what I'm capable of, do you?” he says, towering above me.

My hands shake uncontrollably. “I don't understand?” I whisper. Surely, he won't...? There's no way, he wouldn't... not for me, surely?

His smirk is lazy, predatory. “Stand,” he says, a strong command.

I shrink into the chair. This can't be happening. I refuse to believe it.

“Stand,” he repeats, and there's an irresistible dominance to his voice.

What

can I do but obey? I wobble to my feet like a newborn deer, and his

hand clamps around my throat. I choke out a pitiful little gasp. He

walks me backward until my spine hits the wall. I'm trapped.

“What are you doing?” I whimper, my voice high and pathetic with the way he squeezes.

His

laugh is unkind, humorless. “What do you think I'm doing? I'm giving

you what you want.” His voice is baritone and gravelly, a lion's purr,

and his breath comes out hot on my face. I shiver. “Don't tell me you

haven't touched yourself to the thought of this,” he says.

He's not wrong.

With

the hand that isn't around my neck, he snakes his way into my jeans.

Deftly his fingers find their way under the fabric of my underwear, and

to my shame and horror, they caress the moisture building beneath my

folds.

“So

wet, already?” he whispers, “It's disgusting, how badly you want me.”

The words are harsh but they betray a smug satisfaction, and it sends a

heat surging through me.

His grin widens as he palms my aching vulva. I don't mean to, but my hips buck into him, and he chuckles.

“Don't worry, I'll give you what you want.'