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.'

“No, no...” I shake my head and whimper as his finger plunges inside me. I don't want this, I don't. It was just a fantasy, it was never meant to be real,

and I never thought he would, but he hooks his index inside, grazing

the pad against my front wall, and the moan that slips from my mouth is

obscene.

The

hand around my neck suddenly slaps over my mouth. “Shut the fuck up,'

he hisses, but he doesn't stop, and can't contain the moan that muffles

into his palm as he fucks his fingers inside me.

“Fuck,”

he groans, “can you hear how wet you are? How sloppy you are?” His

beard scratches at the sensitive skin of my jaw. “So pathetic and needy,

a pathetic little whore.'

His palm is wet over my face, and I realize I'm drooling.

“Pathetic

little whore,” he repeats, wiping my spit on my face. My legs inch

wider and I hear the indecent sloshing of my arousal beneath his hand.

“Bet you get off thinking about this after each session, don't you?

Horny little thing. You'd beg for it, wouldn't you? Beg me to rape you?'

I

try to shake my head, but the hand over my face grips too tight. My

thighs start to shake, and I can feel my wetness leaking, dripping down

the top of my thighs, gooey and disgusting, just like me.

“Tell

me you would. Beg me.” His voice is so harsh, but it's so hot the way

he's degrading me like this, and I'm slipping further and further off

the edge. Tears spill down my cheeks as I shake my head. I do want

to beg him, beg him to stop, but despite it all I can myself

approaching the edge. The heat builds in my belly, thighs clenching his

hand in a vice as they shudder and quake, and I'm so, so close, and I

don't want him to stop, and I hate myself for it.

“Oh

no, oh no you don't,” he says, “You're not going to come already, are

you? Fuck, you're more desperate than I thought.” His movements roughen,

adding another finger, fucking into me relentlessly. “Don't do it,

don't you fucking do it, you're not allowed to come, you're not allowed

to enjoy this, you disgusting slut, “

He's

whispering hotly into my neck, like an open-mouthed kiss, and it's too

late. I hurtle over the edge, falling apart, mouth open and drooling as I

come undone on his fingers.

He steps back. “Disgusting,” he says.

I

whimper and slide to the floor, red-faced and sweaty. I curl myself

into a fetal position. I am disgusting. Nausea churns in my gut, and the

room swims in front of my eyes.

He

squats beside me. His hand, the one which was inside me just a moment

ago, wipes my wetness over my face, smudging my slime over my lips. He

pushes his fingers inside my mouth, making me taste myself, then takes

my chin in his hand and forces me to look at him through half-lidded

eyes.

“Such a slut. You can't be anything more than a worthless whore, can you?” He tosses me aside and stands. “Get on your knees.”

Before

I know it, I'm doing as he says, sitting back on my heels as he

unbuckles his belt and frees his cock. I barely have a moment to breathe

before his hand is fisting my hair at the nape of my neck and urging me

onto his cock, shoving me down as far as I can go, until it slams

against the back of my throat. I have to hold onto his muscular thighs

for balance, the way he roughly drives into my open, slobbering mouth.

Above me, his mouth hangs open, breathing heavy. A flush spreads across his cheeks, and his brows furrow.

'What

would your friends say, if they could see you like this?” he growls.

“Debased like this? If they could see the pathetic whore you really are?

Would they laugh at you, knowing how much you love being face-fucked

like this?'

My

eyes roll back in my head and I sob, my mouth stretched around him.

Rivulets of saliva dribble down my chin, my neck, between my breasts,

which jiggle from the force of his thrusts.

He

makes a rough sound at the back of his throat. “Fuck... Would they use

you like I am? Would they want a turn to ruin you? Fuck your pretty

little mouth like I am? You wouldn't stop them, just let them take what

they want, just like I'm taking what I want from you, oh, you're so good

at taking my cock, “

He

pulls out and I gasp for air, gulping raspy breaths. I fall back, hands

catching myself on the carpet as I try to recover, but before I can,

he's positioning himself behind me, manhandling me so I'm on my hands

and knees, face pressed against the carpet, ass presented to him like an

offering.

No

preamble, no warning, he slams himself deep into me. The sound he

makes, a feral and debauched groan, might be the hottest thing I've ever

heard. It's equal parts primal and hedonic, all pretense of keeping

quiet long forgotten. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh of my hips

as he drives himself into me, over and over and over.

It's

animalistic and it's savage, the vulgar slapping of his balls against

my skin, the sweat and snot and tears and dribbling down my face, the

wretched sobbing squeaks I make as he fucks me relentlessly. It is both

endlessly hot and humiliating. There's the heat of shame curdling in my

gut, how I shouldn't want this, it shouldn't feel so good. But then the

way his strong hands tangle in my hair, pulling me, dragging me up

against him; then the way he clamps his canines into my neck, the sharp

painful pleasure of it; the way I know I couldn't fight him even if I

tried. The way I am completely and utterly at his mercy; all of it has

my thighs clenching and quivering as my second orgasm builds.

“You're

gonna come from this, huh? You close again, huh?” he pants in my ear.

“This is what turns you on? Used like the worthless piece of meat you

are?'

I

can't pretend. Sobbing, moaning, covered in drool and snot, I nod. “Uh

huh. You can have me, you can use me. Have me however you want,” I

whimper in my phlegmy voice. “You're so; oh; I'm so close; I'm gonna.'

“Nope,”

he says, suddenly pulling out of me, all at once leaving me empty and

wanting. “You're not going to come again. You're mine to use, you're not

allowed to like it too, you greedy little slut.” He rolls me over on my

back, and, kneeling above me, strokes himself over my face. I open my

mouth, tongue out, ready for him, while my fingers press against my

aching clit, desperately clutching at the remnants of my ruined orgasm.

“Fuck,

look at you,” he breathes, “slimy, disgusting little slut. Fuck, you're

so perfect.” He continues to mumble words both degrading and flattering

until, with a final moan, his come spills over my tongue, hot and

salty. As his spend drips down my flushed face, my hips gyrate into my

hands and I spill over, too. My second orgasm is a weak, ruined shadow

of the first, empty of my therapist but full of disgrace. I feel

thoroughly debased. Disgusting. Glazed with spunk, a husk of a woman.

The

air is hot and thick with sex. There's a heavy ache in my center, a

cold emptiness, as I stare up at the ceiling. I still don't believe

what's just happened. There must be some mistake, some misunderstanding.

Maybe I'm having a psychotic break. Maybe this is all in my head. Some

fantasy turned foul.

I

can hear him re-buckling his belt and shuffling about at the desk,

until he appears beside me, gently helping me sit upright. Tenderly he

wipes the goo from my face with wet wipes, deep brown eyes searching

mine. His dark curls are plastered to his face with sweat.

“Nobody

will know about this,” he says in a low voice. “You have my word. I

know better than anyone how fragile you are, and how poorly you will

handle anyone knowing how you threw yourself at me like that. Nobody

will know what a greedy whore you really are. You can trust me.” The

cruelty in his words are softened by how gentle he's being, softly

caressing my shoulders as he wipes away the gunk from my skin.

He's taking care of me.

It's nice.

He's a good person.

He helps me to my feet. I shake like a lamb.

“Anyway, our time is up.” He opens the door and ushers me out. “I'll see you next week.'

The last I see of him is a predatory, vulpine grin, before the door clicks shut.

Clinical PleasureKate visits Doctor Yang to treat her sexual dysfunctions.

Based on a post by nymphic

“Kate Williams?” calls the receptionist.

At the sound of her name, a fair-complexioned young woman jerks her strawberry blonde head up. “Yes?”

“Doctor Yang is ready to see you. Third door on the right.”

Timidly, Kate walks up to Doctor Yang's office. She smooths her dress and takes a deep, shaky breath before entering.

Doctor

Yang looks to be in his mid-forties--black hair slicked back, greying

at the temples. He's fit, with wide shoulders, and his shirt bunches

around his elbows where the sleeves are rolled up, showing off

well-defined forearms.

He gives Kate a firm handshake before ushering her into the room. “Miss Williams, welcome, I'm Doctor Yang. Pull up a chair.”

She

perches primly on a chair of squeaky vinyl while he takes a seat behind

his desk. There's an ancient, blocky computer taking up so much space

on his desk, there's barely room left for the messy notes scattered

about. Behind, a curtain half obscures an examination table. At the

sight of it, trepidation bubbles in Kate's stomach.

“What brings you in today?” the doctor asks.

“Um.” She stares intently at the floor, unable to explain to this handsome doctor all of her sexual inadequacies.

After

the silence between them becomes sufficiently awkward, Doctor Yang

takes pity on poor Kate, clearing his throat and shuffling his notes.

“Look,

it's normal to be nervous, but I assure you, I've heard it all before.

This is a judgement free space, and I'm here to help you.” He looks at

her with kind, dark eyes. “Whenever you're ready.”

Kate

fiddles with the hem of her sundress as she begins. “Well, I'm in a

pretty new relationship right now, and. We're having intimacy issues.”

“Intimacy

issues,” says Doctor Yang. There's a distinct lack of judgement in his

tone, which calms the anxiety in Kate's stomach. He's almost detached as

he clack-clack-clacks the clunky keyboard. The behemoth computer buzzes

and whirs away as he types. “Tell me more about the issues you’ve been

having.”

“My

boyfriend and I; he's the one who urged me come here; are, well. We

just started sleeping together. And I'm finding it quite difficult.” She

bites her lip.

“Difficult in what way?”

Kate looks down at her sandals as she says, “I'm told sex ought to be pleasurable.”

Doctor Yang chuckles, showing off deep dimples. “It's generally supposed to be, yes. That hasn't been your experience?”

Kate

shakes her head, curly hair bouncing around her shoulders. “No, not the

times we've tried together. I just can't see how anything can... fit.”

She can feel her face heating up. “Every time we try it's so

uncomfortable for me. Sometimes it hurts. Plus, I've never been able

to... get there. Not when we're together, at least.”

Doctor Yang nods. “You know, many women your age have that experience too. It's completely normal.”

“What? You mean this is just how it is?”

She

must look panic-stricken, because Doctor Yang immediately backtracks.

“No, no! It shouldn't hurt, it should never hurt! What I mean to say is

that this issue is more common than you realize, and it's definitely

something I can help with.”

She slumps back in the chair with relief, air whooshing from her lungs.

“To

get to the bottom of your problem, though,” Doctor Yang continues, “I'm

going to ask a few personal questions. There will be no judgement from

me, I just want you to answer honestly. Is that okay?” His face is open

and friendly, and Kate trusts him, but what could he mean, personal

questions? How much more personal can it get?

“Sure,” she says, and if Doctor Yang notices her hesitation, he doesn't let on.

“Do you masturbate?”

Ah,

that personal. Kate's face flushes red with embarrassment. She nods,

and Doctor Yang types into his computer. Great, now her medical records

will show she touches herself.

“And do you bring yourself to orgasm?”

“Yes,”

she squeaks. Is this going in her file, too? Of course he's typing.

Gosh, she must be redder than a fire truck by now, toes curling with

mortification. Surely it can't get worse.

“And how often would you say you reach orgasm when you masturbate yourself?”

Kate's

embarrassment has reached such a peak that it's circled back around to a

still serenity. Doctor Yang is a professional, calmly and impersonally

asking her about her masturbatory habits, what reason is there to be

shy? They are just two bodies, lit by stark fluorescent light in a cold,

clinical cube. She looks him right in the eye and states, “Most of the

time, I would say.”

“Most

of the time, great,” repeats Doctor Yang as he types away. “One last

question: do you stimulate yourself internally or externally, or both?”

“Hmm?” She tilts her head like a confused puppy.

“Penetration,”

Doctor Yang clarifies, “Do you... er.” Now it's his turn to be

uncomfortable--though he moves past it quickly, clearing his throat

before continuing, “Do you finger yourself? Do you use dildos?”

Kate shakes her head vigorously. “No. All external, I guess.”

“Good, good.” Clack-clack-clack goes the keyboard.

Suddenly

Doctor Yang slaps his hands on the desk, making her flinch. He turns to

her, deep brown eyes boring into her, before standing up and striding

to the curtain at the back of the room. A quick, violent tug of the

curtain reveals the examination table, upon which Doctor Yang floats

down a towel, then pats it.

“Hop on the table and I'll give you an examination. Okay?”

“Okay.” Kate nods.

“I'll step away for a minute. I want you to remove your clothes, then lie face-up, on the table, with your feet flat up here.”

She

makes her way nervously to the table, and Doctor Yang closes the

curtain around her. “Give me a yell when you're all set,” he says.

Kate

can hear Doctor Yang rustling through notes, the whirr of the computer,

the buzz of the air conditioning unit. She unbuckles her sandals, then

unbuttons her dress with nervous fingers. The yellow fabric floats down

and puddles around her bare feet as she unclasps her bra and wiggles out

of her underwear. All at once her skin is exposed in the cool air of

the room--not so cold that it's uncomfortable, but the bubble-gum pink

of her nipples still peak at the sudden exposure. Naked, she folds her

clothes and places them neatly at the foot of the table, then gets into

position.

“Okay,” she calls. Doctor Yang yanks the curtain back once more and takes in her naked form.

He

snaps on a pair of latex gloves before dipping his fingers in a pot of

jelly lube. He rubs his hands together, warming them, before placing a

hand gently on soft ginger curls of Kate's vulva.

“Try to relax, okay, Kate?” he says.

She

certainly tries, naked legs spread out, feet on the massage table and

knees to the ceiling, “I'm just going to put one finger inside, very

slowly, but you need to tell me if it's painful. Legs a little wider

now, that's good, and remember to keep breathing, okay?”

Kate

nods. Doctor Yang's finger strokes a cool stripe from the base of her

vulva to just beneath her clitoris. She shivers; it's hard not to tense,

but she breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth. One

finger slowly enters her, sliding its way between her folds, barely a

knuckle in, and Kate's breath hitches.

“Tell me if it's painful, okay, Kate?”

Another

nod. It's not painful, but not comfortable--the intrusion is cold and

slimy. Unpleasant, but not unbearably so. That is, until he slides in

one knuckle further, and there's a sharp, sudden pinch. Kate flinches,

jerking her hips away with a yelp. Tears prickle behind her eyelids.

Doctor

Yang removes his hand from between her clenched thighs. He steps back,

peels off his gloves and tosses them in the wastebasket beneath his

desk. “It's okay,” he soothes, “just breathe. You did so well for me,

Kate.”

He

takes a seat behind his desk and clacks at his computer. Kate rests her

hands over her pubic mound and stares at the ceiling. It's irrational

to feel like a failure, she knows; this issue is the reason she's here,

after all. But she can't help it, she still feels the cold weight of

shame and frustration pressing at her ribs. Upset that her body doesn't

work right, and the icy fear that it never will.

“Talk

me through how you bring yourself to orgasm,” Doctor Yang says, in an

almost commanding way. It's not a question, it's an instruction:

detached and professional, as he has been the entire appointment.

Somehow, this adds to the humiliation. This doctor, who is handsome,

friendly, and kind, is asking these questions of her. Her, lying here

completely in the nude, vulnerable and naked (and a little chilly, to be

honest), and him, handsome in his rolled-up dress shirt and slacks,

neat and professional.

She

wrings her fingers together. “It's kind of weird--it's not on my back,

like normal women. I lie on my stomach, on my front. I don't even take

my clothes off or anything, just press down, right on my clit over my

clothes, and use the weight of my body to rock into my palm. And then I

can finish in a few minutes like that. I can't really finish any other

way.”

“Interesting,” says Doctor Yang. “Perhaps you can show me?”

“Show you?”

“Yes.” He steeples his hands, elbows on the desk. “Flip over and show me.”

She

hesitates. But his gaze is heavy and insistent, examining her, and her

skin feels too tight around her body. Too be watched? When she does

this? Something even her boyfriend has never seen her do? It's not the

way the women get off in porn, legs spread with everything on display.

To Kate, it's the opposite of sexy. A bodily function like any other, an

itch to be scratched. He might have asked to watch her use the

restroom.

Doctor

Yang walks around to the front of the desk and perches against it. He

makes a gesture for her to begin, looking expectant. Kate supposes there

are worse things he could ask of her, so she rolls over, her freckled

breasts squeezed against the table, and begins. The left half of her

face presses against the towel on the examination table, and she can

still see Doctor Yang out of the corner of her eye.

She

uses the meat of her palm to press into her clit, and her hips rock

into it, humping a rhythm. Almost immediately, the discomfort of Doctor

Yang's intrusion abates, and she thinks of nothing but the physical

sensations in her body, the first glimmers of pleasure shimmering on her

skin. She feels the flush in her face, the coil of heat growing warmer

in her belly, the muscles in her thighs squeezing together. Her

breathing grows heavy, her heart thumps in her chest. She sneaks a look

at Doctor Yang, and it surprises her to find that his magnetic gaze

heightens her pleasure. The handsome doctor's eyes drink her in, and as

they make eye contact, she can't muffle the sharp moan that escapes the

pink O of her mouth. Sweat beads on her brow as she gyrates against her

palm, and she can feel herself becoming slick and hot beneath her

fingers.

His

expression remains unchanged, cool and distant, dark eyebrows over

darker eyes. He probably smells so clean, like cologne and aftershave,

and absently she wonders what it would be like to lick up the column of

his neck. She presses harder into herself, and suddenly, all at once,

she reaches her climax. Looking him straight in the eye as she comes,

panting, mouth open in pleasure, toes curling.

She rolls back as she comes down, boneless, damp, and warm. She flexes her fingers.

Doctor Yang clears his throat, and she starts. She sits up straight.

“First

of all, Kate, that is normal. Clearly the equipment is in working

order, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with the way you get off.

You're not dysfunctional, and there's nothing to panic about.”

“If it's all in working order, why is sex so painful? Why can't I get off with my boyfriend?” Kate says.

“There

are a few possible causes,” Doctor Yang replies. “It could be anxiety;

it could be tension stuck in your body. If you are willing, I'd like you

to lie back down on the table, and I can begin some massage therapy, to

release some of that tension. If you're relaxed enough, we can try

penetration again with a vulva massage. If that brings you to orgasm on

your back, great! It's only your first session, though, so if it doesn't

happen, don't worry. It will still be nice and relaxing. Does that

sound good?” As he talks, he puts another pair of gloves on.

Doctor

Yang's fingers inside her, again. Somehow, this time it doesn't seem so

scary. In fact, there's a sense of curiosity and excitement wriggling

in her chest. Could it feel good, this time? She nods, trying not to

look too enthusiastic to get fingered again.

Kate

lies back on the table the way Doctor Yang instructs, legs spread,

staring at the ceiling once again. He begins firmly working her quads,

left then right. He smooths his gloved hands up her legs, thumbs

kneading the meat of her inner thighs. It's intense, but her reminds her

to breathe, relax into the way his fingers dig into her inner thighs,

and how could she not, with a voice as hypnotizing as Doctor Yang's?

Gradually,

she relaxes into his hands, and the tightness in her body eases. Doctor

Yang rubs tight circles around the skin where her thighs meet her pubic

area. Her legs, jelly as they feel, might melt into the towel beneath

her, and she didn't realize until now how wide her legs have flopped

open of their own volition. One foot dangles off the edge of the table.

Doctor Yang checks in with her. “How does that feel?”

“Really good,” she all but slurs.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes are half lidded, but she can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah.”

“You

certainly look more relaxed.” Understatement of the century. As his

fingers slowly and ever so gently stroke the folds of her labia, she

turns into goo, pliant under his touch. It's delicious; she wants more.

“I'm going to insert a finger now, okay?”

“Please,” she breathes.

He sinks a finger in--she practically sucks him in, and the gentle slide of his finger is so slow, so soft, it's almost torture.

“No pain?”

Giddily,

she laughs, “None at all.” She wants to tell him to go faster, even. He

probably knows what she wants already, given the way she tilts up her

hips and spreads her legs further.

It's

the smug way he says, “You look like you're enjoying yourself. Bet this

is the best you've felt in a while, right?” as he slides another finger

in.

It's the way Kate finds her vocal cords have produced an obscene, pornographic sound entirely without her permission.

It's

the wet sounds of his fingers curling inside her. It's the way her hips

rock in rhythm with him, her own hands white-knuckled clutching the

edge of the table. It all builds and builds and builds.

“Just breathe into it,” instructs Doctor Yang, “Don't think about climaxing, just focus on how it feels.”

There's a sheen of sweat across her forehead, and her strawberry blonde hair sticks to her skin.

Doctor

Yang takes his other hand and presses the heel of his palm onto her

pubic bone, and suddenly everything intensifies, as without warning she

hurtles into her second orgasm of the appointment.

“Oh, god, oh fuck, “

Her

hips thrust into his hands, and she arches her back, lifting her

sweat-damp skin off the towel as the pleasure unfurls inside her and she

clenches around Doctor Yang's fingers. His fingers still pumping inside

her, she grips his forearm, fingers digging into skin, as she comes

with a stream of breathless profanity. She's distantly aware of Doctor

Yang talking her through the orgasm with his soothing voice and gentle

accent.

She falls back onto the examination table, breathing hard. “Holy shit.”

Doctor Yang's gloves are off again. “I knew you could do it! Proud of yourself?”

Kate nods weakly. She doesn't trust her vocal cords right now.

Doctor

Yang checks his watch. “We still have a bit more time before the end of

the appointment. If it's okay with you, I'd like to demonstrate how you

can involve a partner with you when you masturbate in your preferred

position. Is that okay?”

Kate

nods again. She will do anything Doctor Yang tells her at this point,

which is why when he spreads another towel on the floor and instructs

her to lie in position upon it, she does so without hesitation, despite

her weak and wobbly limbs.

“The examination table isn't sturdy enough for the two of us, I'm afraid,” he explains. “Tell me if it's too uncomfortable.”

“It's

fine,” Kate assures. She's already facedown, ready for whatever Doctor

Yang has in store. She hears the clink of a belt unbuckling, and then

the heavy warmth of Doctor Yang settling in behind her. A thrill races

through her belly as she feels the weight of him on top of her, perching

on her thighs.

“When

you are with a partner,” he says, voice close enough to send goosebumps

down her spine, “it would be a good idea to let him massage you first,

get you nice and relaxed. Maybe even use fingers, like I did, to open

you up. Warm you up and stretch you out before penile penetration.'

Kate nods. His hand is warm on her hip, and she feels the hot press of something blunt pressing against her entrance.

“Ideally,

you should orgasm at least twice before penile penetration. This allows

enough dilation and lubrication for him to fit without pain, okay? Look

at me,“ she cranes her neck to see his face a hair's breadth from her

own, “I want you to insist on this. Insist on coming first.'

She

can barely answer as at that moment she feels his cock slowly slide in.

Stretching her in a way that is unfamiliarly pleasant. He begins

fucking her deliciously slowly, talking her through it all the while.

His voice is low, his breath on the back of her neck. She arches her

tailbone up and bounces back against him. She can feel his smile on the

back of her neck.

“You want more?”

She nods.

“You have to tell me what you want, Kate. Use your words. Ask for what you want.”

“I want more; faster, harder,” she stammers. “Please.'

He

obeys. Pumps away relentlessly, his full weight on top of her as she

grinds into her palm. She squeezes hard, and barely a moment passes

before she's coming again, moaning into the floor. He doesn't stop or

slow, just fucks through her shaking orgasm until it passes.

Slowly he pulls out of her, tucks himself in and re-buckles his belt.

“Oh my god.” She laughs and covers her face with her hands.

“How was that?'

“Really,

really good,” Kate replies, shakily making her way to a sitting

position. She's light and giggly, messy-haired, flushed and giddy. Warm

and gooey and pleasant. He helps her stand, holding her steady as she

shakily clothes herself once more. He hands her a glass of water and

instructs her to sit.

“I'll

let you catch your breath. I'll be with you in a moment.” He clacks

away at the computer for a moment, and she takes the time to appreciate

the flush on his cheeks, the few tendrils of dark hair out of place. The

printer in the corner makes a noise reminiscent of a demon from hell

and spits out a sheet of paper, which Doctor Yang hands to Kate.

“I

want you to take this with you. It's a summary of everything we've done

here today, and some exercises for next time. The main points are

relaxation of your pelvic muscles, orgasm before penetration, and

obviously you can try prone position with your boyfriend. Any

questions?” Kate shakes her head no. “My recommendation is to come back

for massage therapy on a weekly basis--it will help your body learn to

relax on command. Sound good?'

Kate cannot wipe the grin off her face. “That sounds amazing.'

She folds and pockets the printout, pays him, and books the next appointment. She leaves as a satisfied woman.

 Based on a post by nymphic for Literotica.