The Slut in Sex Therapy

Dr. D was My Therapist

I started coming to him 3 weeks ago, and telling him about my “problem.”  Air quotes because I don’t truly believe it’s a problem at all.  I love my insatiable lust and desire.  The more I quench my needs, the deeper, hotter, and crazier they get.  Dr. D thinks I’m there to help myself, and technically he’s right.  But what i’m helping myself with, is my newest fantasy: Fucking my therapist.  So that’s why I’m sitting across from him now, as a slut in sex therapy.

Today, I’m wearing something especially revealing.  It’s the pinnacle to the long string of progressively scandalous outfits I planned to see him in.  And safe to say, it’s working.  As I stare at him now, I can see his shallow breaths, and slight discomfort.  His eyes are already undressing me, as mine has done to him many times in the past 3 weeks.  But today is finally the day that the slut in sex therapy gets everything I planned.

The Slut in Sex Therapy Always Beats the Therapist

In this game of turning the emotional to physical.  During every appointment, I drip fed Dr. D the most tantalizing, and taboo details of my sexual endeavors.  Always, I left space for his imagination to swell with ideas by telling him how open I was for new sexual quests.  Being the professional he is, he never bit, until today.  My cleavage showing through my low cut blouse must have had him distracted, and full of craving, because he asked what I’d been waiting for him to hear.  Now, the slut in sex therapy was all ears.

“So May, what is the next fantasy you’d like to fulfill?” The subtext in his words were hard to ignore.  I felt the tension between us blossom, and explode.  The room felt hot, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he adjusted his tie.  “You.” I said in a sultry voice.  Then, before he could take it back, I took his notebook from his hands.  I knew it was filled with details of me.  Probably his ever growing lusts, and cravings all about to be quenched as I straddled his lap.  He loved his slut in sex therapy.

I Slowly Pressed Myself to Him.

I felt my chest against his, and my nipples harden underneath my shirt.  Then, I clasped my hands delicately at first, but then firmly around the back of his neck.  Next, his hands fell to my waist, then to my hips.  With his strength, he gathered and almost ripped my skirt as he moved it out of the way.  It stuck to my waist, and uncovered my bare, soft thighs.  His coarse hands traced my thighs, then my ass, and barely grazed the edge of my pussy.  I could feel him hesitate, so I kissed him-hard.  I wasn’t ready to stop anytime soon.

That’s when I felt his hands pull me towards him, and his hips thrust against me simultaneously.  I was dripping wet by now, and wondered exactly what got him off the same way the idea of him did to me.  Was it gang bangs? A fetish for pretty feet? Was it fucking his slut in sex therapy? Suddenly, I was pulled from my thoughts, and my question was answered as he pulled his throbbing shaft out of his pants.  Then, he pulled my panties to the side, and guided himself into me.  Obviously, it was the ladder.

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