The Therapist (The Therapist #1)

by Ws Greer

  “On the opposite side of that coin, though, I think you're addicted to me, too. I think you can't get enough of fucking me. I think you fantasize about my wet pussy all the time, and even now, you want to make me kneel in front of your bed and follow your every instruction. I think you crave my pussy, Malcolm. Well, I want to give you what you crave right now. I don't want to be here. I don't want to eat, I want you to eat me out. I don't want to suck down this wine, I want to suck your cock. I want you to feed my addiction right now. So, do us both a favor and shut up about the car outside your house. You don't even care about that. All you care about is how wet my pussy is right now. So, take me out of here, drive us to your house, and fuck me like you've missed me. If you're mad about the car outside your house, good. Fuck me like you're mad at me. Make me come, Malcolm, like I know you want to.”

  I stare at Ava with my words caught in my throat and my cock stiff in her hand. My heart pounds with excitement, and my brain feels like it’s scrambled and unable to pinpoint a thought. My body is in control now, and when I see the waiter place our plates of chicken fried steak on the table in front of us, I know we’re not going to eat it.

  My worries about Ava sitting outside my house are now being held hostage by my new thoughts—thoughts of Ava’s dripping wet pussy. I feel brainwashed by her, like I have no choice but to give in.

  Maybe Ava’s right. Maybe I’m addicted to her just as much as she’s addicted to me. I’m not sure about that, but I know I want her right now. I need to feel her this instant. I fucking need her.

  I don't say another word. Instead, I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, and drop a one hundred dollar bill on the table, far more than this meal will cost. Then, Ava and I exit the booth, and walk out of the restaurant together. We’re going to my house, and yes, I’m going to fuck her like I’m mad at her.

  22

  ~ Malcolm ~

  I was blind before she stepped in front of me. On the drive home, it barely registered that I was even driving. For all I know, I ran all the stop signs and red lights and had a hoard of police chasing me. If it was true, I wouldn't even know it. My vision was black, but now that we’re here, she’s all I can see. She's all I've wanted to see since we left the restaurant, and now there’s nothing else.

  I walked through the door first, and Ava stepped in after me. Now, the two of us stand in front of the island in my kitchen, staring at each other. The thoughts floating through our heads are the same—she wants me to fuck her, and I’m dying to. Nothing else matters except my desire to wreak havoc on her. I want to spank her, I want to choke her, I want her to come all over the tile beneath our feet, and I will have it all.

  The Dom in me isn't something I can control. It’s like an alternate personality that comes out when it wants, and I become a passenger within my own body. I’ve lost all control now, and every muscle fiber in my body aches to control her.

  When Ava steps towards me, leaning in for a kiss, I stop her with a raised hand. She looks down at my palm, and freezes… like a good girl.

  We lock eyes, Ava frozen in place and awaiting my command. “Knees. Now,” I tell her, and Ava lowers herself to the floor without a word. Once she’s down, she places her hands on her knees and looks up, the brown in her eyes locking onto me.

  This isn't my bedroom, so I don't have an assortment of toys at my disposal. I could go upstairs and grab a few things from under the bed, but I don't want to leave Ava’s side. Instead of going upstairs, I walk around the island and open a drawer next to my stove. Inside, I find a plastic, black spatula. There's a few other items I could make use of, but I settle on the spatula for now. When I walk back over to Ava, she’s right where I left her, sitting perfectly still.

  “In the restaurant,” I say, as my mind wanders back to the conversation at Cheddar’s, “you told me you were addicted to the way I fuck you. Do you love how I control you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ava whispers, and my cock twitches beneath the fabric of my pants.

  “You like having no control? For me to tell you what to do?” I ask, as I walk circles around Ava’s body.

  “Yes, sir. I love giving myself to you,” Ava replies.

  “Do you like it when I spank you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you want me to spank you right now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I walk in front of Ava and rub the spatula on her chest, over the fabric of her dress. I do it gently, but I want her to feel the material before it’s used on her. Once I’ve walked around, I stop at Ava’s back, and touch her shoulder with the tip of the spatula, before letting it slide down her back and come to a stop at the top of her ass, then I remove it for a few seconds. Just as the suspense peaks, I flick my wrist and let the spatula smack Ava’s ass. She jerks forward, surprised at the sting of it, before settling back down on her knees.

  “You like it?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir,” Ava answers.

  I smack her again, harder this time, and Ava releases a chirp of excitement. I pause only long enough to undo the knot holding Ava’s dress to her body, letting it fall to her waist and leaving her torso bare and exposed to my will.

  When the dress is down, I walk to the front of Ava and stare at her, taking in how perfect her body is. She’s not the size of a Victoria’s Secret model, and I’d be disappointed if she was, because Ava’s thickness is real. It’s womanly and human to me, so when her belly creases as she bends over, I love it—I caress it, I kiss it, I adore it so that she will, too. She’s flawless.

  “Do you know how perfect you are, Ava?” I ask. “Do you know how perfect your body is?”

  Ava takes a second to answer, before saying, “Yes, sir,” weakly.

  “It doesn't sound like you do. It sounds like you're second-guessing yourself. You are flawless, Ava, from head to toe, and you need to know that. Every inch of you turns me on.” I place the spatula on the island and bend over so I’m face to face with Ava. Her eyes lock onto mine, but my eyes drop to her bare chest and stomach. I let my hands roam Ava’s torso, kissing her skin with my fingertips.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re amazing,” I whisper to her. “What more could anybody want?”

  When I look into Ava’s eyes, I realize that she has tears in them. I don't know what she’s thinking, but I do know how many women feel insecure about their bodies. It’s not all the time, but often times, it’s men who make women feel like shit about their body fat, as if men are somehow immune to a slowing metabolism or simply being human. Men’s criticism can be a hammer to a woman’s psyche. That shit will never fly on my watch.

  I want to empower Ava to recognize and realize her beauty, and to believe that she’s flawless because there is no such thing as the perfect body. If there were, it’s a woman’s body that’d be perfect, not a man’s. Ava’s misty eyes let me know how much my words mean to her, and I can appreciate that, but what I want is for her to see her perfection herself. When I compliment Ava, I don't want her to cry tears of appreciation. I want her to say, “I know.”

  Before a tear can fall from Ava’s face, I kiss her on the cheek and look at her. “Are you okay?”

  She nods her head with a small smile.

  “Are you sure? Do you need to stop? Do you need to invoke the safe word?”

  “Absolutely not,” Ava replies with a strong and steady voice.

  I smile and nod my head. “Good. Now don't move. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Leaving Ava kneeling on the tile floor, I get up and make my way over to the freezer, where I pull out two pieces of ice. I place one piece on the island for later, and take the other with me. I return to Ava and kneel in front of her with the ice in my hand, and gently touch the ice to Ava’s nipple. She sucks in a breath, her body shocked by the cold, and I smile at the goosebumps that appear on her skin. I leave the ice there, rubbing tiny circles around her nipples until I know they have to be going numb. In my world, pain and pleasure walk hand
in hand.

  “Oh fuck,”Ava whispers to herself. Her eyes close as she tries to take it, and while she’s not watching, I reach up and grab the spatula. I smack Ava on her other breast with the spatula, and she jumps. “Oh my God.”

  “Don't move,” I command, before smacking Ava’s breast again. “Does it sting?” Ava nods without speaking, so I smack her again. It’s a small foul, but a rule has been broken. “When I ask a question, you will answer me verbally. You know the rules, Ava. You're not new to this, so there is no excuse. Now you must be punished. Stand up.”

  Ava lifts herself off the floor, and I watch her dress fall beneath her feet. The only garment left is her black lace panties. I let Ava watch me as I walk around the island and grab a steak knife. When I return to her, I rub the side of the blade over her stomach, raising more goosebumps, before slicing the panties off of her and throwing them on the floor. Now, she’s completely naked, and awaiting my punishment.

  I run the ice in my hand up and down Ava’s body. I draw a map of wet lines on her torso, relishing in the sound of her moaning and quivering in front of me. As the ice melts from her body heat, I rub circles around her belly button, before sliding the ice back up between her breasts and up her neck. When I reach her mouth, I tell her to open it, and slide the ice inside.

  “Don't chew it,” I tell Ava. “Don't swallow it until it’s completely melted. Nod your head if you understand.”

  Ava nods, and I grab her by the shoulders to force her to turn around. Once she's facing the island, I push her torso forward so she bends over, and I have access to her backside. One look at Ava’s ass and pussy makes me want to forgo everything and dive in with my tongue, and maybe I would if Ava hadn't broken the rules. Instead, I force Ava’s legs apart before grabbing the second piece of ice off the island and pressing it against her clit.

  Ava nearly jumps through the ceiling when it touches her.

  “Do. Not. Move,” I snip, emphasizing each word. I leave the ice pressed tightly against Ava’s clit, moving it slowly from side to side. “Do you know the rules, Ava?”

  “Yes, sir. Oh,” Ava says, struggling with my hand still between her legs.

  “Good. I suggest you don't forget them again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl. Now, tell me how your clit feels right now.”

  “It’s freezing cold.”

  “Would you like me to warm it up?”

  “Yes, sir. Please.”

  I rub the ice over Ava’s clit one last time, before dropping it on the floor between her feet. Once it’s down, I do what I wanted to do the second she bent over, and plunge my tongue into Ava’s pussy. It’s a bit of a task to reach from the back, but I manage to tickle her clit with the tip of my tongue, making sure to heat it back up. Ava’s head yanks backwards as she stares at the ceiling.

  “Holy fuck!” she barks, and I feel compelled to keep going.

  My tongue dances on Ava’s clit until I feel the muscles in her legs tighten around me and I know her body is surging towards an orgasm. I put all of my effort into caressing Ava’s clit as fast as I can, just as she begins to grind her body. Ava moves herself back and forth, fucking my tongue, and it just might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. It’s so intense, I reach down and unfasten my pants, freeing my hard cock from its prison, and I begin stroking it while Ava rides my face. I see her glance down between her legs, and the second she sees my cock in my hand, she erupts.

  “Oh my fucking God! I’m coming!” she screams at the top of her lungs, followed by a slew of body spasms. Ava rocks and jerks above me, and her legs clinch around my head, locking me in place. I struggle to breathe as Ava comes, and as much as it hurts to be squished between her legs, I revel in it. As long as I’m making her feel good, there's no other place I’d rather be. Pain is pleasure.

  When the orgasm releases Ava, I turn her around by grabbing her hips and spinning her. She looks down at me, panting, and I take her by the hand.

  “Now, get down here and fuck me,” I command, just before lowering myself onto my back. With my pants around my knees, I reach into my back pocket and grab a condom.

  The tile freezes me, but I don't care, and Ava climbs on top of me. The second my erection is inside of her, Ava goes to work, grinding on me like she’s dying to get to another orgasm. I place my hands on her hips, and grind with her, and the two of us create heaven right here on the tile floor.

  Ava is so amazing on top of me that I know I’d come in an instant if I was any other man. When we first met, she would complain that the men she’d been with, including her most recent boyfriend, could never satisfy her, and they never managed to last when she got on top. It was a very specific point of contention, so I take pride in being able to not only take it, but grind with her, enhancing it. I lift my hips and dig myself deeper into her pussy, before moving one hand down to her clit, and the other hand up to her throat.

  “Yeah, take control, Ava,” I tell her, just as I start to squeeze her throat. “Take it how you want it. Let me feel you come on top of me. Let me feel your cum splash all over my dick. Take it.”

  Ava doesn't speak, she just puts her head down and works like a woman on a mission. Sweat glides down her cheek and drips off of her chin just as I begin rubbing her clit and squeezing her throat tighter. I see her face turning red, but Ava doesn't slow down or back away. She keeps going, even while struggling to breathe past my grip on her throat, but before I know it, she sucks in a huge breath like she just surfaced from beneath thick waves in the ocean.

  “Oh fuck!” she yells, and then she comes again. This time, when Ava orgasms, I literally feel a splash of liquid squirt from her pussy. Her warm juice splashes on my stomach and slithers onto the tile, and seeing it all snatches an orgasm out of me.

  “Oh God, yes! I’m coming!” Ava musters up just enough strength to grind her hips on me and make my orgasm that much better, before collapsing onto the tile floor next to me.

  The floor beneath us is soaked, but neither of us gives a fuck. We don't move away from it, we relish it, soaking it in.

  “I’ve never come like that before in my life,” Ava says through ragged breaths.

  “Well, it was fucking incredible,” I reply.

  “Yeah it was. You were incredible as always. It’s gonna be a struggle to walk tomorrow. My legs are fried.” I smile at the thought of Ava’s sore legs tomorrow, and I feel a sense of pride flare up. “You’re amazing, Malcolm. Do you know that? What am I talking about? Of course you do.”

  I don't say anything. I just stare at the ceiling, struggling to catch my breath. I let my mind wander around and latch onto nothing in particular for a few minutes, but the silence is broken when Ava speaks again, and her words drop on my chest like a sack of bricks falling from the ceiling above me.

  “I love you, Malcolm,” Ava says, and I suddenly feel like I can't breathe.

  Love isn't what I do. Love isn't what this is. I don't know what Ava and I have between us, but it’s not love. We fuck, that’s it. Yes, I want to empower her to have faith and pride in herself, but I don't love Ava. I’m a Dom, and I want my submissive to be full of confidence, so I say what is needed in order to facilitate that. I mean everything I say, which is why I don't say I love you.

  I don't know how to respond, so I sit there quietly, and Ava doesn't look at me for a response. It’s like she knew I wouldn't know what to say, so she just lays there next to me with her eyes closed. After a few minutes of pure fear running through my veins, I lift myself up and look at Ava, clearing my throat before I speak.

  “Umm, I’m gonna go shower really quick. Be right back. You can stay here.”

  Ava doesn't say anything, and she’s so still I think she might be asleep. When she doesn't respond, I get up and make my way out. I leave the kitchen and head for the stairs, but before I round the corner, I peek out the window for a reason I can’t pinpoint. What I see makes me swallow hard.

  Parked at
the end of my driveway, right in front of my mailbox, is Ava’s car. Looking at it in the dark now, I realize it’s definitely the same vehicle I saw the other night. There’s no question about it.

  I knew it, Ava was outside my house, and now she believes she's in love with me.

  Fuck.

  Open

  23

  ~ Sean ~

  It’s funny how one thing being wrong can ruin all the good around you. One bad thing swimming in a sea of goodness, and we always focus on the bad thing. It’s human nature, I suppose, so I can’t help but think about the one bad thing in our ocean of goodness.

  The past week with Becky has been phenomenal. We’ve been having sex like rabbits, and every time we do it, Becky has an orgasm, and mine follows. It’s never the other way around. Both of us have become more vocal, and I’ve learned so much about what Becky wants that I feel like we’ve started the sex process all over again. You know, the process of having sex with someone the first few times and everything is new and exciting. We’re not married yet, but this feels like what a honeymoon should consist of. Sex all of the time, learning about each other, laughing, more sex, more orgasms, more love, and more happiness than anything you had before. It’s been great, but underneath all of that is the one issue we haven't addressed—the one thing I can't let go of.

  Becky has no reason to show interest in another man, and maybe I’m feeling insecure about nothing, but the messaging on her phone hasn't stopped. It hasn't even slowed down. I thought that I could circumvent the issue by leaving it alone. I figured if I fixed our sex life, Becky would stop texting who I believe to be Dr. Bishop, but as far as I can tell, it hasn't stopped. She keeps texting, and when I ask who it is, she plays it off. It’s a friend from work who I don't know, or it’s John sending her something work-related. All of these excuses sound reasonable enough, but when she tells me, I just can't believe her. I don't know why. I can't explain it, but something in me just has a hard time believing that somebody who looks like Dr. Bishop can't have whoever he wants, and if he texts a woman, she’s not into it.