Audrey Exposed

by Queen, Roxy

  “Very.”

  Graham’s…He, lies against his boxers, pink and taut. Tentatively, I touch the tip and find it’s remarkably soft. Like velvet. “See, not so scary,” he says.

  “Not yet.” I frown but run my fingers over the top, through the clear ooze seeping from the tip. He shivers. I wipe the residue on the comforter. “I’m not a big fan of fluids.”

  “Nature’s lube, don’t knock it. It comes in handy.”

  I do as he says; and again, He pulses and grows; not fully, but enough for me to get a good idea of his size. He’s large, bigger than Dylan. I push aside thoughts of what it will feel like inside; how, surely, it will hurt.

  Panic flares, tight in my chest. Breathe, I tell myself. Not now. Now is for exploration; not freaking out.

  “What should I do?” I ask.

  “Whatever you’d like; you’re in charge of this.”

  “Can I make you come?”

  He swallows and glances at the ceiling. “Is that what you want? How would that make you feel?”

  I consider the question, and say, “Yes, that’s what I want. I think it would make me feel empowered.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I’d be making you feel good which is nice.”

  “Me, feeling good is definitely not the point of all this.”

  “No, I guess not, but it’s nice for this to not be all about me for once, you know? I just want to see how I’ll feel when it’s over. Can I try?”

  He stares at me hard for a minute; and I’m afraid he’s going to reject me, and a different kind of stress flares up. I bite my lip and look away. I don’t want to cry in front of him. Not about this. He touches my arm. “Let’s do this, but get a towel from inside that drawer, just in case.”

  I don’t want to ask why there are towels next to the bed, but I find a medium-sized hand towel. There’s also a bottle of lube. I hold it up and say, “Want this too?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  I take out the towel but put back the lube. “Ready?” I ask, mostly to myself.

  He nods and I lift him with my hands. He’s still excited and that emboldens me, so I stroke him gently bringing further life to his cock. The clear ooze spills from the small slit on top and I smear it around, as Graham told me before. His eyes are open but hooded; his chest rises and falls with even breaths. I move my hand up and down the shaft, watching it grow from soft and pink, to a hard, blistering red.

  “Does that feel good?”

  “Uh, yes. Very good.”

  “Anything I should be doing?”

  “No, uh, you’re fine.”

  Reese says she likes to tug on a guy’s balls and I reach underneath and pull gently. Graham’s eyes pop open and a low rumble comes from his chest. “Bad or good?” I ask, unsure if I’ve broken him.

  “Fantastic.” His chin juts in the air.

  I shift closer, until I’m almost straddling him. His legs extend on either side and his cock sways upright between us. The tip is no longer velvet—it’s turned a taut shiny pink. Dark veins line the shaft and I see his hands gripping the comforter. He seems to be struggling with his hips.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “Why are you fighting me?”

  He barks out a laugh. “I’m trying to control myself and not come across like a complete degenerate.”

  “Well, don’t do that. Show me who you are, the way I’ve shown you who I am.”

  I return to his cock and stroke him with more pressure. His hips lift off the bed, which gives me easier access to the tender sack between his legs. His eyes flutter shut and his hands fist the bedding, clenching tighter and tighter with each pass.

  “Audrey,” he mutters through a heavy breath. He cranes his neck off the pillow and gropes for the towel on the bed. He jerks his hips and bats my hands away, covering the tip with the towel. He moves one hand to the base of his dick and stokes upward. I stop everything, marveling at his movements. What follows happens quickly, as he jerks to a sitting position and comes into the towel.

  “Jesus,” he says, lying his head back on the pillow. He hasn’t let go of his dick yet, milking it from base to tip, until everything has been released.

  Sweat shines on his forehead and he balls up the towel before dropping it onto the hardwood floor. He sighs and his dick lies heavy against his leg. “How was that?” I ask.

  “That was awesome.” He gives me a curious look. “I’m thinking you’ve done that before.”

  “I’m not a prude, Graham. I’ve done almost everything.”

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to say it that way. I know you’re not a prude.”

  I sigh and lean back on my hands. “To be fair, this is the first time I haven’t wanted to throw up afterwards.”

  “I think we mark this up as progress then.” He smiles at me with hazy eyes. “Next time though, the focus is back on you. Dr. Markson’s not going to approve of me getting off every session.”

  “What if it’s half and half?” I move off the bed, ready to put some distance between us.

  He sits up and grabs my wrist. “Our time isn’t up.”

  “No?” I sit back down.

  He looks me over, and says, “You ready to take that top off?”

  He’s right. I did it once and it’s time to do it again. I’ve been pussyfooting around this for the last couple of sessions. At some point, he has to see me completely naked. I saw him; he should see me. I’m the one that wanted even footing.

  I shift on the bed, crisscrossing my legs. Graham pushes my hair over my shoulder and trails his fingers down my arm. With a deep breath, I pull the trigger—or unclasp the clasp—popping the front closure open. I remove my bra completely, shivering from the cool air on my skin. This is it, I tell myself, and cast my eyes downward. Silent and still, I wait, wondering what comes next.

  Chapter 22

  (Graham)

  I want to touch her.

  Them.

  Her.

  I saw her once before, bare like this. Now, post climax, I can take her in better. I’m consumed with the woman in front of me since I’m not holding back, not fighting against the beast in my pants. I’m spent. Serene. All I want to do is touch those fleshy, pink tips to see if they feel as nice as they look.

  To see her squirm.

  The sound of her voice breaks my singular focus and I look up into her bright green eyes. “Sorry, what?”

  “Want to rub my back?” she asks, hopeful. Nervous. I nod and wave for her to turn around. This position is really better for the both of us. The degenerate I fought earlier may rear his head again if I have to see her like this much longer.

  “Lean into me,” I direct. She scoots back until her butt is flush with my crotch. I pull her by the shoulders so she rests against my chest. I begin rubbing her arms, stroking from her fingertips to her collarbone.

  “How do you feel?” I ask. Her neck is close to my face and her hair moves from my breath.

  “It’s easier not having to look at your face.” She laughs and her chest vibrates against mine.

  Up and down. Up and down, I stroke her arms. With each pass, she relaxes a little more, sinking into my chest. Our breathing is coordinated, and we rise and fall against one another.

  With the pads of my fingers, I explore her clavicle. Then my hands run under her chin and I make a final dip between her breasts. She doesn’t flinch as I expect. To my surprise, she arches her back, pushing her ass into my crotch. I like this side of Audrey, the one who’s not afraid to show who she is or what she wants. Maybe all she has needed is a little empowerment.

  I continue my ministrations, up, down, stroke, dip, and each time coming closer and closer. Audrey shivers, her arms dotted with goose bumps. I peek over her shoulder; and I’m greeted by the sight of the rounded tops of her two beautiful, tempting tits, heaving up and down.

  My eyes flutter shut and I swallow. I’m hard again.

  She’s into this and I’m not going to waste an opportunity if sh
e’s feeling adventurous. I stop what I’m doing, and say quietly, “Will you lift your arms and link them around my neck?”

  She shifts silently, draping both arms and clasping them loosely behind my neck. As Audrey reclines against me, I assess our positions. With a sweep of my eyes, it’s obvious I have complete, unhindered access.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  She nods, her hair rubbing against my chin.

  “Say the words. I need to hear them.”

  “Yes, I’m comfortable.”

  “I’m going to continue exploring and exposing your body; your full body, above the waist.”

  “I’m ready.” Her voice is quiet but she doesn’t hesitate. I study her pale skin. When she’s nervous or upset it flushes pink, and I’ve seen the red streaks where her nails left marks across her flesh…scratching away at the anxiety. However, not today, even the goose bumps have disappeared, replaced by a warm heat.

  My hands work on instinct, brushing against the smooth sides of her breasts, cupping them gently. Some women want it rough, pinched nipples and sharp nails. Obviously, Audrey’s not there…yet. Maybe one day. Maybe, I consider optimistically, we can explore that together, too.

  For now though, I squeeze her breasts together, kneading the soft, firm tissue. The pink berries on top grow harder as I graze the tops with my palms. She shivers beneath my touch.

  “Again.” Her breathing is jagged, her eyes closed. I make her wait, resting my chin on her shoulder. Behind my neck, her fingers twist and tug in my hair. “Graham.”

  My hands are big; her breasts aren’t small. So they fit nicely together. I skim the tips once, then again, and then again with flat palms. By the third time, she’s arching forward, trying to meet flesh to flesh. If that wasn’t enough, her hips push forward, seeking relief where there is none.

  We’ve reached a crossroads where the exposure leads beyond arousal. I can pull back, let her go home, and work herself over with the rocket; or I can bring her to release myself. I’m about to suggest one of these two when a third option pops into mind. I cup her breasts, encasing them in my hands and hear a quick gasp. I whisper in her ear, “Audrey, I know you’re aroused. It’s normal and natural with the level of exposure we’ve completed today. I’m worried about proceeding forward. But if you’d like to stimulate yourself, I can continue massaging your upper body.”

  Her hands clench at my nape. I wait a beat, worried she’s going to call me a pervert or that I’ve scared her off for good. Once more, she surprises me, dropping her arms, one after the other, before placing her right hand on her stomach, fingers covering her belly button. The silver ring on her right hand flashes in the candlelight. I lay my hand over hers, massaging her fingers with one hand and her breast with the other. Her hand slides toward the waistband of her pink and green panties.

  “Do what feels right,” I tell her, removing my hand from hers. I don’t want to pressure her. To make her feel like this isn’t her choice. “You’ve got ultimate power right now.”

  “This feels right,” she says, bending her knees and letting them rest to the side. Her hand moves between her legs, over the panties and she strokes the fabric. You can learn a lot from a how a woman pleasures herself. I shift my head for a better view. I need to know what makes her feel good, what she’ll want from me later.

  We maintain this position for several minutes. I watch. She fondles herself through the fabric, making small movements with her hips and quick breaths. Then she stills.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Without looking at me she says, “I feel too self-conscious.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Yes. It feels good; but then, I think about you watching me and it kills the mood.”

  “Hmm.” I’ve encountered this before with a client. She was so far in her head, overanalyzing everything that she couldn’t relax. “What do you think about when you touch yourself, when you’re alone?”

  “Uh, I don’t know.”

  I lean over so I can see her face. It’s scarlet red. “I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.”

  She sighs, dropping her head into her hands. “Hot guys. Movie stars. My ex, Dylan.” She mumbles something else I can’t hear.

  “What was the last one? Because the first three are perfect.”

  “I said you,” she says, turning my way. Her eyes flash green and streaks of red travel from her cheeks down her neck. “Sometimes, I think about you.”

  Her confession comes as a relief. It means I’m doing my job. She no longer views me as a pain in her therapeutic ass, but as someone desirable. My dick strains against my shorts and I should confess the same to her. Knowing she thinks about me when she’s alone in her bed while getting off is hot, always. “Sounds like what you need is a distraction. You’re too worried to focus, or not focus, on the task. When you think about me… or the others, what are we doing?”

  She leans back against my chest. Her breasts rise and fall with deep breaths. “I think about how they look above me. How their weight presses against my body. I like that. How heavy and strong a man feels. Kisses distract me. I love kissing. It’s the ultimate seduction, in my opinion.”

  “That’s all I need to know,” I say, wrapping my arms around her body, hugging her tight. “Try again.” Her legs fall lax again and her hand goes back between her legs. My arms press against her bare tits.

  She starts her movements, again over her underpants. I’m not going to fight that battle today, it doesn’t matter how she gets off, as long as she’s successful. Audrey leans into me; but I shift her to the side of my chest, so I have access to the side of her face, her ear, and throat. I plant leisurely kisses across her skin, tugging gently on her ear or sucking on her jaw. With each contact, she unravels and I realize this is what turns Audrey on. The small things. Less sexual, more sensual.

  The sound of her inhalations, quick and sharp fill the room as she squirms under my arms. I tighten them, providing pressure, and her lips part, tongue darting out to lick her lips. She’s falling into the feeling, seeking release. God, she’s beautiful. Her fingers disappear beneath the green edging of her panties and I kiss her. On the mouth.

  That kiss brings Audrey alive. She reacts with a shudder from her toes, a long breath exhaling from her mouth to mine. My plan (however spontaneous it may have been) is to go slowly, but her teeth clamp down on my bottom lip and she’s the one that whimpers.

  God, this girl. This girl.

  I’m faintly aware of her hand working furiously against her clit, her hips grinding against her palm. I’m equally lost in her, the way her lips feel against mine, her sweet, sugary scent when she pulls her mouth away and moans with her eyes closed. Nose wrinkled. Hands down her panties. Lips red and wet. The moan trails off. Her hand lingers near her pussy, but she’s still in my arms.

  For some stupid reason, I ask, “Did you come?”

  She opens her eyes. They’re hazy and glazed. “Yes. God, yes.”

  Pride for her surges through me. I lean in, and once again, I press my lips against hers. She sighs happily and curls into my chest, kissing me slower now, sensually. I revel in the moment; as from the safety of my arms, she basks in the glow of ecstasy.

  Chapter 23

  (Audrey)

  “Holy shit, you masturbated in front of him?”

  Reese is in shock. It’s clear from the expression on her face, which includes her eyes bugged out and mouth hanging open. I think I’ve shocked her with my sex life, for the first time ever. I’m ridiculously proud.

  “Yes. It was kind of amazing.”

  “Well, I…” She’s speechless but holds out her palm. “High-five, sister. Even I’m not comfortable with that.”

  “Really?” I ask. We’re taking our weekly jog on the campus trail. “It wasn’t that bad. I mean, it took me a minute to get into it; but once he distracted me, everything clicked.”

  “What do you mean, ‘distracted you’?”

  I shrug and jump o
ver a muddy puddle. Brown dirt splatters all over my socks and shoes anyway. “I felt a little self-conscious so he did this thing where he kissed all over my neck and shoulders and then…”

  “Then what?”

  “Then he kissed me on the mouth, and damn girl, it was definitely the best kiss I’ve ever had. I almost came right then.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Really good. Perfect amount of tongue. Strong but not too dominant,” I explain. “Honestly, I haven’t thought much about who Graham is outside the therapy. I know he’s a psych grad student, but he’s very…skilled. Sexually. Like, amazingly skilled. It definitely makes me wonder who taught him so much. I know he did some training before we started; but how do you train for all that?”

  “So one kiss, and you’ve got a million questions?” she asks, wheezing a little. She pops her inhaler in her mouth and inhales. It’s hard for her to run and talk at the same time.

  “Not just the kiss. It’s everything. He’s so patient and he really picks up on my cues. He never goes too far or pressures me; but then, next thing I know I’ve pushed myself further than I’d planned.”

  “Wait. Stop,” she says, clutching my arm. “I saw Pretty Woman; isn’t kissing on the mouth totally against the rules.”

  “He’s not a whore, Reese.”

  “Oh, right. So you think he’s just some kind of sex god, then?”

  “Oh, I know he’s a sex god.” In looks and actions. He oozes confidence and self-control. “I think I just want to know how he became such a sex god. He’s only twenty-five or something. Where did Dr. Markson even find a guy like Graham?”

  “Maybe it’s his superpower. He could be the Batman of sex.”

  “I think Batman is probably the Batman of sex,” I laugh. “He does this thing where he has a whole arrangement of smiles. Friendly. Charming, sympathetic, sexy…and then, of course, there’s the panty dropper.”

  “What, he rotates them?”

  “He brings out the perfect one at exactly the right moment. I fall for it every. Freaking. Time.”

  “Maybe he practices in front of the mirror.” She makes a face. “Never mind, that’s so douchey. In my mind, sex gods aren’t douchey.”