Therapist

by Jaden Wilkes

  In my office, I throw my suit jacket over the back of my chair and open a window. It feels stifling, oppressive in my little space. I scan the street and notice Blythe sitting in a lemon yellow Ford Focus. She’s in the driver’s seat but not moving. I crane my head to see more of her and realize she’s furiously writing on a notepad, the same kind I use during sessions. It isn’t the kind of thing you’d be recording your grocery list on; the cunt is making notes about our lunch. I knew she was up to something, that sneaky little bitch.

  “Doctor Dane, I mean, Alexandre...your two o’clock is here a little early, can I send her in?” Meredith asks from my office door.

  I turn and look at my watch, she’s only ten minutes early but I need time to compose myself. “Bring her in at two,” I say, “I have to get a few things ready.” Meredith smiles and closes the door on the way out. I turn back to the street and Blythe’s car is gone. I can’t shake the feeling that she was studying me though, and I don’t fucking like it.

  I sit at the desk and open her file. Marie. She’s older than my usual patients, in her early forties. She’s more composed, elegant than the other girls, harder to crack but god damn dirty when I finally opened her up.

  “Alexandre,” I hear and look up. I still have a few minutes before Marie so I’m irritated by the intrusion.

  It’s Doctor Stevenson, one of the managing partners in our office.

  “Don’t get up,” he says and drags a chair in front of my desk. He sits down and looks at me, you can see his gears turning as he decides what he is here to tell me. “We have heard some disturbing rumours about your...relationship...with your patients. I wanted to come to you first and see what you had to say for yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you could be referencing. I have fantastic relationships with all my patients. Very professional.” Fuck. What have they heard? Who’s been talking?

  “We know and we appreciate the work you do. We want you to know that the partners and I are behind you, one hundred percent. We just want to give you a heads up that this is a tricky business, you have to make that boundary impassible so none of your patients mistake your professional interest as anything but that...professional interest. Are we clear on that?”

  I nod and bob my head like a sharecropper listening to the Farmer’s orders. I hate having to act like a fucking clueless imbecile to appease his curiosity, but of course I will. I will do whatever it takes to protect my research. “I do understand and I’m sorry you have had to come in here at all. Obviously I’m dropping the ball with somebody. I will be much more careful now that I know. Thank you.”

  He stands up and smiles, extends his hand and says, “Not at all, we look after our own around here. It wouldn’t do for the office to have a blemish like that on its reputation.” I stand and shake his hand, we exchange a few more pleasantries and he leaves.

  I sit back down and exhale. I mutter, “Fuck” under my breath and look at my locked desk drawer full of my patient files...those special patients receiving my special therapy. The ones I’m helping the most. There are eighteen all together. Well, seventeen if you consider the fact that Anna is out of the program now.

  I should take them home; I can’t leave them here if people are talking.

  Who could be talking? Is it one of the little cunts I’m trying to help? One of their friends? Bea? Anna? I clench and unclench my fists as I go through a mental checklist of possible suspects. I can’t seem to pinpoint a single one of them though; nobody seems more or less likely than the others. They all have their reasons to hate me and adore me.

  Two o’clock on the dot and Meredith peeks in my door cracks it open a little wider and asks, “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, send her in,” I say but I can feel the pinch of my fingernails in the fleshy pads of my hands. I can’t seem to unclench. Who could have told anyone anything about my work here?

  The door swings open and Marie steps inside. She shuts it behind her and stands at attention, waiting for my order. She’s a very attractive woman; she possesses a classic beauty, elegant and refined. She is also coming out of a decades-long wreck of a marriage and needs something to get her over the hump of sexual dysfunction.

  She’s unusual in that she hasn’t been raped or molested, nothing so trite or demeaning for my Marie. She was essentially harnessed and put into service by the man who bought her. Well, he didn’t exactly buy her, but he was the one her parents approved of for marriage. He had the money to invest in her father’s failing restaurant chain and Marie was taken into his home.

  She became his legally wed servant, a slave for him and his deepest carnal desires. Being much older, he had the experience to come up with some sick fucking scenarios in which to use and humiliate her.

  He just might be my personal hero, but I would never tell her that.

  “Take a seat,” I tell her and realize I will have to pull back on my research for a while. I need to fuck her today; I need a release after last night with Jane, after lunch with Blythe. I need to pour myself into a vessel and shake the fucker up a little.

  She hesitates, uncertain and nervous. She can sense my tension, spending years with an abusive prick like her husband gave her finely tuned instincts. “Be a good girl and get on the couch,” I tell her.

  She immediately obeys. She sits on the edge of the couch, ankles crossed and hands folded on her lap like a fifties housewife. “I’m sorry I’m early,” she says, “I told the girl not to bother you, that I could wait.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I tell her, ‘what have we discussed about you apologizing for everything? Just don’t. It makes you look weak and needy.”

  “I know,” she replies, “it’s such a hard habit to break.”

  “Tell me you’re not sorry, tell me you aren’t going to apologize for being early, that’s what I want to hear.”

  She takes a deep breath, straightens her back and says, “Ok, I am not sorry. I will not apologize for being excited to see you. I will not apologize for wanting to get here a few minutes early so I could have that extra time with your…” her voice trails off, she goes bright red and looks down.

  “My what?” I ask and get up, walk around the desk and turn the chair to face her. I sit, lean towards her and adopt a predatory posture. I want to spring forward and rip her clothes off, she fucks like a demon most days...but I know I can’t. “Look at me, Marie, and tell me how not sorry you are.”

  The first time I fucked Marie it was like fucking a rag doll. She lay limp under my body; long limbs draped over the couch as I silently emptied my balls into her lax cunt. It was nothing to write home about. Over the last five months I have transformed her into a sexual demon. I love the fire in her eyes and her responsive body, but I must remain at arms length during today’s visit.

  “Your...cock,” she replied and bites her lower lip. You’d think that wouldn’t work on a woman her age, playing coy, but god damn she does such a good job at it.

  “You were hoping for some more time with this?” I say and grab my dick through my pants. I’m hardening as we speak. The talk with Doctor Stevenson fading as the blood flows from my brain to my cock. I don’t know if my plan to resist her cunt is going to work, but as each minute goes by I care less and less.

  “I was,” she says and wiggles on the couch, pulls her panties off and tosses them to the floor. She leaves her stripper heels on I note. She shifts again, exposing her shaved pussy when she opens her legs. “I was hoping to have just a few more minutes with you,” she continues and trails her finger up her thigh, slips it between her legs, then draws it out and sucks it...all while maintaining eye contact.

  I want to fuck, my body wants to fuck, but my brain won’t quite shut off even with the loss of blood and raging cock trying to take over. What if Marie is setting me up? What if she’s the one talking to Doctor Stevenson?

  “It’s not going to happen today,” I tell her and sit back. She eyeballs my hard cock and raises an eyebrow.

  “Are you s
ure of that?” she purrs and opens her legs even wider. I can see the slit of her cunt glistening with her wetness. I know she’d be easy to slide my length into; she’d be open and hot and wet. Willing and ready.

  Hot, wet, fuck. My cock is taking over again but I say, “I am sure, I am unable to continue our course of treatment. Things have come to light that will impede my research should I continue.”

  She pouts and closes her legs. I can see her plotting as she slides off the couch to her knees. “Marie,” I warn her, “I’m not in the mood for my patience to be tried. I told you I’m unable to treat you this way and I mean it.”

  “I think you still want to,” she replies and reaches for my cock. Her hand strokes me through my pants and it takes every ounce of control I have to not react.

  “I want to, but I am unable to,” I reply, my voice low with anger. I am angry that somebody fucking squealed to Doctor Stevenson, but I am growing angrier that Marie is openly defying me. Not only am I her sexual superior, I am her therapist...she is disregarding both of these things in order to push me to give her what she wants.

  I will not be manipulated.

  She unzips me and slides her hand inside, all the while maintaining eye contact. She licks her lips and pulls my cock out. I moan at her touch and reflexively push upwards to meet her gripping hand. I don’t want this though, not like this. I don’t want her to disobey me; I don’t want her to set me up.

  “Looks to me like you are able to,” she smiles and leans towards my cock. She licks the precum off the head, tongues the slit and starts to pump the shaft with her hand. I close my eyes and almost accept my fate, that she will milk my balls whether I tell her to or not.

  She drags her long fingernail along the shaft and I see red. The reaction is instantaneous and I feel a hot white stab of rage shoot up my back. I open my eyes, sit up and punch her in the face. She drops to the floor and cries out, her look of terror only serves to drive me on. She needs to be punished for her insubordination.

  I stand, my cock thrusting upwards, and drag her up. She can barely stand in front of me, her body is trembling so violently I don’t know if it’s from fear or excitement. Perhaps a little of each.

  “Please, don’t do this, don’t hit me,” she pleads. Her husband hit her, beat her and choked her while he fucked her into oblivion. That was just one of the things she endured under his care. A great deal of her treatment has been building her confidence by forcing her to act out the things he did to her. This is different though. I used to be able to force her face on my cock or hold her down and slap her tits while I fucked her cunt and still maintain control, but this is different.

  I am fucking angry. I usually possess a cool, professional distance while I force myself on my patients. This is not detached, this is full body rage and I want to do this, not for her but to please myself.

  “What are you crying about, you fucking cunt? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I pull her arms behind her back and push her down onto the couch. “Isn’t this what you fucking begged me for?” I hiss the words out, keenly aware that somebody might be listening at my door.

  “Doctor...Alexandre,” she cries out, so I push her face into the cushion to quiet her. I can’t have anyone knowing what’s happening here. She’s so well trained she stays there, arms behind her back. Her bonds are mental.

  “Just remember, even if this hurts, you fucking asked for it,” I say and push her legs apart. She’s perched precariously on her knees, her face down and her ass in the air. I stand above her and take in the sight. She’s beautiful for a woman her age, her skin is still tight and her cunt swollen with expectation.

  It’s not her cunt I’m after though. I spit on my hand and stroke my cock, sliding some precum down the shaft as I go. She’s gone completely still but her body isn’t slack so I know she hasn’t passed out. I’ve never taken her ass although I’m sure her ex husband has. I rub the head of my cock across her pucker, she tenses even more and I hear a muffled protest from the couch. I reach down and grab her arms to make sure she knows this is serious. I push against her, slowly splitting her open and entering her from behind.

  She’s tight, I should have used lube but I have none here in the office. Sliding past her entrance proves difficult, but I press myself inside of her. She grunts when my balls hit her ass and I realize she's loosened up considerably. She has clearly done this before.

  Knowing that, I pull back and thrust hard. She braces herself against the couch as I hit the deepest point I can go. I attack her after that, thrusting into her with no mercy, no care for her pleasure.

  I can feel the tell tale building of orgasm when I come to my senses and realize something, she’s crying. I can hear her staccato sobs with each thrust; the cushion can’t quite hide the noise from me. “You are wicked,” she cries out. I hear it as clear as a bell, as if spoken next to my ear. This brings my actions into clear focus and I am disgusted with myself.

  Mistress was right, I am wicked and I am a fucking mess. I stop, fully inside of her and consider my options. I want to explode and fill her ass up, pull out and watch my seed drip from inside her darkest places. I want to, but Mistress’ sibilant voice fills my head and I shudder at the thought of completion. I lay a gentle hand on her lower back and start to withdraw slowly, each nerve in my cock is on liquid fire and it takes everything I’ve got to retreat from my attack on her ass.

  “No,” she lifts her head and cries out. “What are you doing? I was so close! Keep going!”

  I stop pulling away, surprised. “What do you mean? I can’t do this to you.”

  “Do what, make me come?” she laughs, a sharp sound tinged with hysteria.

  “I am using you,” I reply, “you said it yourself, I am fucking wicked.”

  “I never said that,” she protests and clenches herself around my cock, trying to prevent my exit. “Please keep going...I need this so much today.”

  “How can you want this? How can you fucking want this?” I ask her, confused by this entire transaction.

  “You’re the one who got me to this,” she replied and shifts, trying to turn around to see my face. “I love being forced, you know that. I want you to hold me down and tear me apart, there’s nothing better, nothing hotter. I can’t get off unless I’m being forced.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I tell her and rub her back with the palm of my hand. “You were tortured for years, why would you want it now?”

  “Is this a test?” she laughs again. “Are you ok? You’re the one who taught me this. You opened me up to this. I love being forced, but only with somebody I trust. With a man I lo—”

  “Don’t say it,” I warn her, “don’t fucking finish that sentence.”

  “I will not apologize for having feelings for you, Alexandre,” she replies, her voice low and steady. “You will not make me ashamed for wanting to be fucked like I’m being raped. Not after everything you’ve done for me. I will not apologize for this, I am not sorry.” She arches her back against my hand, wanting me to stay inside her. I can smell her scent wafting up to me, musky and sweet, a deep organic smell. My cock responds, twitching slightly in tight confines of her canal. “Please, you can’t stop.”

  I can hear the defiance in her voice, but an undercurrent of uncertainty. She knows this is her kink, this gets her hot, but my reaction is destroying her. If I stop fucking her like I own her, if I reintroduce shame into her sexuality, I would ruin all my hard work. But I am a filthy wicked man. Mistress said so. Marie said so. They all know how disgusting I really am, but they keep giving me second chances and I don’t know why.

  “Ok, you little whore,” I tell her and grab her hips. “I’ll do this for you,” I say and thrust back inside her ass, knocking her face first onto the cushion. I hear her cry out, a joyful noise this time, not crying at all. I slam into her repeatedly, in and out, over and over, wondering how I mistook her pleasure for fear.

  My grip on reality seems tenuous at times. She hadn’t been cryin
g, she’d been crying out in passion. I don’t know why I thought tears.

  “Fuck, yesss,” I hear her hiss from the couch, “Yes!”

  “Play with your cunt, Marie,” I order and she pulls an arm from behind her to find her own clit. She works it and thrashes her head around when she finds the sweet spot.

  This eggs me on and I resume my attack on her, plunging in and covering her like a rutting buck. I feel my own lust build to match hers. My hands dig into her flesh, my thumbs pressing into her hips so hard they will leave marks. I squeeze tighter, wanting to mark her, wanting my presence known on her body somewhere.

  I feel her tense under me, followed by a triumphant yet muffled cry. She’s coming; her cunt spasms and I feel the rhythmic muscles through the thin wall. She milks my cock with her ass and it works. I fuck her harder and groan. I want to hang onto this moment for a few seconds longer, so I close my eyes. I feel as unschooled as a teenager fucking his first pussy. I have no control, no fantasies come to mind that could beat the woman writhing on the end of my cock. I open my eyes and take in her lithe body, writhing with ecstasy and I join her.

  My cock explodes, my balls spill their load and I come in her sweet, tight ass. I fall forward and bite her neck as my cock spasms its last into her body. I am shaking with the intensity of my orgasm and bite down harder. She gasps but doesn’t object as I let my energy ebb. I feel as though every bit of my strength flows out with my come and I fall harder, pressing her body into the couch. She wiggles underneath me so I roll and pull her to face me. The intimacy of this moment leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed.

  I don’t like it.

  She does. Marie smiles at me, her face shining with contentment. She got what she wanted. I am a weak and pathetic man; I can’t turn down a willing pussy even with the threat of my partners knowing. My cock softens and I feel it drying in the air. I am suddenly aware of the mess she might be making on my couch, fluids leaking from her and all. I push myself up and stand.

  “Oh boo,” she says and pouts, “I was hoping we were going to have some cuddle time.”