by KC Decker
He cups my face and murmurs, “Mercy, baby—I want you so bad, but I won’t take your virginity while you’re still my patient.”
The sexual haze dissipates in an instant. We have literally spent hours upon hours discussing the ritualistic sexual abuse that my hypnosis sessions have brought to the surface. Sutton knows I’m not a virgin.
“Sutton, a sick old man took my virginity under the guise of healing me with love. Why would you sa—”
“No, Mercy. That ruthless predator may have torn through your hymen, but sweetheart, I’m the one who is going to take your virginity.” His lips crush mine and leave no room for argument.
Not that I would argue. The idea of the Prophet taking something so special from me is a nauseating thought. I prefer Sutton’s revolutionary perspective that his dirty claim to me is nothing more than a thin membrane.
Sutton gave my virginity back to me. He gave it back, so he can take it from me—this time, with love. The Prophet’s hold on me is slipping away. The best part about that is that I can let it go. I can put down that horrific burden and direct my energy toward the future.
Seemingly of the same thought, when I wrap my arms around Sutton’s neck, he lifts me to his hips. The bare nakedness of my core pressed against his sexy body makes my heart pound loudly in my ears. It’s so simple, yet so terribly erotic at the same time.
He turns off the water and then carries me out of the shower. The cool air that hits my dripping wet skin is a welcome relief and helps mitigate the light-headedness that I feel from the long, hot shower.
He doesn’t break our kiss as he gives our clamped bodies a cursory once-over with a thick gray towel, and then carries me straight to his bed. The need in the base of my belly has started to blossom, but nothing prepares me for what he does next.
Sutton places his hands on my calves and then pulls me to the edge of the bed. Then he kneels on the floor and spreads my legs. The shock I feel from being displayed before him like this, naked and vulnerable—
completely open and exposed—vanishes the moment I feel his mouth make contact.
My gasp freezes in mid-air then shatters, and rains down on me in the form of contented moans. The act is completely lewd—his face between my legs—it’s invasive and shocking, but the sensation is intensely pleasurable.
The flicker and press of his masterful tongue are disrupted intermittently by the long swipe of his intimate kiss, and a suckling pressure from his lips. His skilled focus on my clitoris makes my back arch off the bed, but at the same time, it makes me grip the sheets in tight fists to keep from floating away.
“Do you like what I’m doing to you?” he asks in a sexy, raspy voice.
“Unggh,” I groan completely unintelligibly.
“I want to taste your orgasm, baby.”
“Oh, God.”
“I want to feel your release leak down my chin.”
“You’re so filthy…so good,” I pant, trying to address everything at once, but hardly able to string two thoughts together.
“I want to hear you say my name as you come against my tongue,” he says right before he presses his warm tongue firmly against my clit and wiggles it back and forth.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m gonna—Sutton, Oh, God. Sut….t….o…n…” I cry out as I wrench my head back.
“Mmmm, yeah, baby. Just like that,” he groans as he coaxes every last spasm from my sparking body.
After, while I lie limply stuck to the sheets, he moves my thighs off his shoulders and stands. Then he crawls up my body, hauling me deeper into the expanse of the bed, and kissing a ticklish trail all the way to the hollow of my throat.
“That’s just the beginning, Mercy. There is so much more for me to show you,” he whispers against the pulse in my neck.
“Show me everything,” I whisper as I find his lips with mine. “Absolutely everything.”
Just having his naked body next to me feels like it’s enough to make me happy forever, but the press of his erection reminds me that our bodies are starving for one another.
As I start to trickle kisses down his chest, he stops me. “No, Mercy, tonight, I just want to hold you and kiss you like you’re mine.”
“But—”
“And, one day soon, I will make you mine.”
Chapter 38
I’ve decided that today is the day I fire Sutton and Dr. Gingham. I’m not saying I’m cured, because I never will be, but I think I’m ready for regular-people therapy. You know? Like once a week, or twice a month. Something more manageable than five days a week. Plus, with Sutton as my doctor, I can’t focus on my mental health anyway. And now I’ve seen him naked, so there is no hope for any kind of focus in the future.
I left a message for Dr. Gingham this morning. I lied and told him I was moving away, and to take me off his books. I thanked him too, and even got a little choked up when I did it. He was an integral part of my mental health evolution, and I will be forever grateful for that.
I also arrived early for my appointment with Sutton because I wanted to see Colleen and make sure we had each other’s phone numbers. She was a good nurse, but she was so much more than that to me. Even though I feel strongly that today is going to be the last time I come here, I couldn’t do it if I couldn’t take her with me.
Now, it’s time to fire my doctor. I don’t know how he is going to take it, but I’m nervous as hell as I sit down on the couch in his office. His smile fills the room and makes me wonder what lecherous thoughts he is having.
“So, what’s on the agenda after you leave here?” he asks. “You going to tackle your computer setup, or do you want to wait until I can help? Maybe we can go look for a desk this weekend,” he offers.
“I wasn’t going to set it up until I got settled in my new place. It’s easier to leave everything in the boxes for now.”
The smile dissolves from his face, and his mouth pops open like he is going to say something, but he doesn’t.
“I can move it all to a closet if you want it out of the way,” I suggest.
“I was hoping you would want to stay,” he says softly.
“You want me to stay?” I ask, stunned. I thought his place was only temporary until I could get settled. When he brought me there, it was a last resort, not my future residence.
“I will help with whatever you decide. I don’t want to hold you back—I was just… I just really want you to stay.”
I think about what he just said for a long minute. Besides a few instances of weakness, he has been mostly unreadable about my presence in his place. He wants me to stay with him. Sutton wants to keep me.
He must know what I’m thinking. He’s spent countless hours deconstructing my issues with not being wanted. I’ve been abandoned and tossed back my whole life, him wanting me to stay with him is so much bigger than just a place to live. It’s a place to belong. Finally.
“Say you will stay. At least for now,” he says. His eyes are sincere, almost pleading.
“I’ll stay,” I whisper. After another lengthy pause, I speak again.
“You’re fired.”
“Is that right?” he asks, almost laughing.
“Yes. I’m going to find a psychologist that specializes in PTSD. A woman this time, for sure. I’ve already looked into it. I’ll have to pay out of pocket, but I figure I’ve received free therapy for over a decade, so if you amortize the out of pocket cost over my lifetime, it’s pretty reasonable.”
“Wait. So, you are serious right now?”
“Yes. You’re fired.”
“In that case, will there be anything else?” He looks offended, as if I fired him for not being a good doctor. The truth is, he gave me a life. A life that’s free from the grip of my past. A life I can move forward with. And I love him for that…but not in a transference kind of way. Don’t get it twisted.
“Actually, there is something else,” I say as I stand up, grab my purse, and walk around his desk.
“This ought to be good,�
�� he smirks and then slides his chair back from the desk to make room for me to squeeze between the two pieces of furniture. I ease onto the desk and then primly cross my legs in front of him.
“So, my friends bought me something, and I’m afraid I have no idea how to use it,” I say coyly. “Maybe you could help me figure it out? It would be a show of good faith, and it would let me know that you harbor no hard feelings about being shit-canned by a patient.”
“Why don’t you tell me a little more about this gift from your friends?” he says, equally as coy. But he goes from leaning back leisurely in his office chair, to sitting forward with interest. He places both hands on the back of my bare leg and slowly begins to run his palms up and down.
“How about I just show you?” I say as I pull the vibrator from my purse.
“Ahh, yes. I recognize this particular device.” He smiles the way an apex predator would smile at a lonely, bleating lamb. Then he twists the bottom of it, releasing an insistent hummmm.
“Spread your legs,” he says as he glances over to make sure his in-session light is on. I do, but the fabric of my skirt falls between my thighs.
He slips his hand up my skirt, probably to investigate exactly how bold I actually am. He lets out a groaning breath when he finds me bare.
His fingers toy with the silkiness of my body, teasing me while indulging himself. Our eyes are locked together as the vibrator hums persistently from his lap.
“Lift your skirt, Mercy.”
I hold my breath, and slowly raise the front of my skirt. My pussy is on full display now—as I sit on the edge of my doctor’s desk in full view of his intent stare.
He runs a finger leisurely up my crease and then fiddles with my clit until I’m breathing heavy and starting to squirm. I almost cry out when he swipes the vibrator through my wetness and then uses the tip of it to circle around, and rock against my sensitive clitoris.
I can’t sit up anymore, I have to lean back on my elbows and drop my head because I don’t have the strength to support it any longer. As raunchy as this position is, I feel like I can’t wrench my legs open wide enough.
As the insistence of my climax ratchets up, I feel a new sensation as Sutton slides a finger into my vagina. I whimper as he begins to ease it in and out.
“Ooooo, that feels so good,” I whine.
He turns off the vibrator and lays it on the desk next to me. Then I feel his mouth on my clit as his finger continues to pump in and out. He slips in another finger, amplifying the tightness of the fit.
“Baby, squeeze my fingers and focus on what I’m doing with them,” he says before once again lowering his lips to my writhing core. I can feel him rubbing against the inside of my vagina as he continues to finger me.
When I squeeze around his fingers, he lets out a sexy groan that vibrates my clit and pushes me over the edge.
My elbows dissolve, and I fall back onto the desk, grinding my teeth closed and trying to stay quiet while my orgasm suffocates me and pins me down.
When the violence of my release calms to a gentle vibration, I open my eyes. Sutton is standing between my spread legs and leaning over me with supporting hands against the desk on both sides of my body. He lowers a kiss to my lips, then says simply, “That was fucking sexy.”
I laugh, but when I wrap my arms around his neck, it pulls him closer, and his stony erection brushes against my overly-sensitive sex, causing me to gasp.
“Slide it in,” I whisper. He is still wearing pants, but I want to feel his hardness.
Now he laughs, “I’m not going to fuck you on my desk. I’m not a barbarian.”
“I want to feel it, Sutton. Please.”
He doesn’t answer me, but he does unzip his pants. When he glides the head of his cock through my slit, I shiver. It’s hot and silky as it slides back and forth, bumping against my swollen clit and then pressing between my lips as if he were about to enter me.
“I have to stop before it’s not possible to stop,” he murmurs, but repeats the slick sequence again, in defiance of his words.
“Put it in a little,” I coax. “I just want to feel it inside me.”
“I don’t have enough self-control to do that. I want to, but I can’t. Not here,” he says quietly as he rests his forehead against mine.
“Just a tiny bit. I’ll go crazy if I can’t feel you inside me right now.”
He kisses me sweetly to pacify my need for him, but after a minute or so, I feel the smooth head of his dick part my lips and press in. My eyes fling open as I feel the press and stretch of the intrusion.
He only enters me for a few seconds, and only about an inch, but it scares him enough that he quickly backs away from me. He scrubs his hands over his face and then runs his fingers through his hair before dropping into his chair.
“Jesus,” he exclaims in a whisper.
I sit up and attempt to make myself presentable. I smile at him wickedly as he strokes his deprived cock, eyes locked on mine. I slide off the desk and get on my knees between his legs.
I swipe his drop of wetness around with my tongue, tasting the saltiness as he combs his fingers through my hair along the scalp. The motion tugs at the roots and brings a chill up the back of my neck.
We both freeze when there is a knock at the door. Then we fly into action and do our best to neutralize the last hour, in the space of thirty seconds.
When I exit his office, it’s with a handful of tissues held to my face as if I had been crying. I mumble a quick, “Sorry about that. Today was a rough one,” to Sutton’s next patient as I breeze past.
When I leave the hospital, I feel none of the sadness or anxiety that I expected to feel. It’s been home to me for a long time, but there is no longing ache. No swollen lump in my throat.
I’m taking the good parts with me. My friends, Sutton, my education, and career. I’m taking the happiness and life skills with me. Anything of value is a part of me now. The rest is just the garbage I get to leave behind.
Wait.
Didn’t Sutton say something like that to me once?
Chapter 39
I’ve spent the last four hours on my phone watching computer set up videos on YouTube and trying to get everything set up and installed before Sutton gets home. He’s right, I need to get a desk this weekend. The kitchen island is not an ideal place for a home office.
In defense of my computer splurge and the extravagant setup, I’ve always wanted dual monitors. On top of that, my old laptop was a fossil. It was given to me by one of my graphic design professors as a donation from the university, and only after it lived a full life on campus and eventually became obsolete for anything more than use as a paperweight or a door stopper.
Speaking of paperweights and door stoppers, I now have a shiny new, three-inch-thick, Photoshop manual that I will never read because that’s what YouTube is for.
“Hi, beautiful.”
“Oh shit!” I yell as I spin around to see Sutton is home. “You scared me!” I say as fight or flight endorphins are dumped into my system. “I mean,…Ta-Daa!” I say as I theatrically throw my arms out to the sides. “I got everything set up!” I say excitedly.
“I didn’t know you worked for NASA. Tell me, will you be launching rockets straight from the kitchen, or do you require a more sophisticated network, like the Kennedy Space Center perhaps?” he teases. I know he is proud of me though; his eyes are twinkling with it. He is also holding flowers behind his back. Roses. Big ones. Big, red ones.
“Are those for me, or did you get them for, Ben?”
“Ben already got your first date, he’s not getting flowers too,” he says as he produces them from behind his back. My heart is already so full with Sutton, there’s almost no room for the roses.
I walk up to him, but instead of taking the offered bundle, I slip into the space between his chest and the sweet-smelling flowers. When I pull his head down to mine, he meets me for a passionate kiss, one that is full of gratitude—but not for the roses.
>
“Let’s go out. I want to take you somewhere special,” he says against my lips.
“I’m a little sweaty and gross, I need to take a shower.” His eyes widen at my mention of a shower, but then I have a better idea.
“No, let's take a bath!” I have always wanted to take a bubble bath, and although we had tubs on the unit, the stoppers were removed, so the most you could hope for was a hair clog and slowly draining shower water.
“If we take a bath together, the date is getting sidelined.”
“Dates are all about getting to know someone. We could do that in a crowded restaurant…or we could do it here—in your Olympic sized tub.”
“It’s hard to argue with your logic,” he says as he finds a spot on the counter for the roses. “What about food? I’m starving.”
“I’ll make us some snacks while the tub fills!” I say, way more excited for a bath than a person should be. He chuckles at my enthusiasm, but my guess is that he would rather stay in too.
***
When I walk into the bathroom with a tray of misfit food, Sutton is shirtless and brushing his teeth. He winks at me in the mirror, probably after catching me gawking at the muscles in his back.
“I struggled a little bit with snacks, but we won’t starve,” I announce as I present the tray of toast and RedBull. In truth, I didn’t try all that hard. Sutton introduced me to Nutella toast last weekend, and since then, I’ve consumed enough Nutella to sink a ship. I put it on everything, waffles, bananas, strawberries…a spoon.
“It’s ok, I had to improvise too,” he says as he points to the bottle of dish soap on the edge of the tub. The water is still running, but there is no telling how deep it is because of the crazy amount of bubbles. I’m sure Sutton wants to take a bath with a grown woman, but I’m not too sure I won’t act like a kid when I get in there.