Sex Therapy 1

Sex Therapy 1 Sex Therapy 1

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Woman see's sex therapist

Summary

Woman see's sex therapist

Content

Submitted: January 13, 2015

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Content

Submitted: January 13, 2015

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~~ Staring at the ceiling in her dark bedroom, she tries to deny the pressure and heat growing between her legs. At this point, it’s been a few months since she has touched herself… if that’s even what you would call it. Her rational mind knows that she shouldn’t be ashamed of her body’s needs or her own touch, that everyone has these same desires. But, it has been ingrained in her psyche that such needs and behaviors are unladylike, dirty… vile and indecent. This is the second night in a row she hasn’t slept, tossing and turning while shoving a pillow between her thighs.
 Turning on her side, her mind races with lust-filled images she has seen from watching TV late at night. Her pussy feels like it is weeping in torment. She can tell she is wet just from the hum it seems to be emitting. A hum that is seducing her tired, exhausted mind. By now it’s the wee hours of the morning and her resolve is crumbling like it always eventually does.
Moving her hand over the sheet that covers her body and separates her from direct contact, she slides her fingers over her mound. Gently caressing her slit, her pussy opens up and she finds her clit. Soft and feather light through the sheet, she teases herself. She thinks of an unknown man, face buried where her fingers now reside. His tongue working like magic against her and inside her; it’s the only fantasy she has allowed herself over the years. The one guaranteed to make her orgasm the quickest. And she does, within minutes, to the man hungrily lapping up her juices. She rides the waves of her orgasm, and in her mind she pulls the man up from between her legs and kisses him, licking her flavor from his lips.
The pleasure subsides, replaced by such deeply ingrained shame she begins to cry. Her tears falling to the pillow as she berates herself for being so weak. Guilt overcoming her, she rises, making her way to the shower to wash the sin off her body and out of her mind. She turns the water to scalding, the steaming spray running down and turning her skin pink. She begins to scrub soap all over, cleaning again and again, methodically washing every inch of her body. Her skin is now an angry red but she feels better and more relaxed. She shuts the water off, retreating back to her bed and right before falling asleep a though jolts her: sex therapy. This could very well be the answer! It’s so perfect she’s momentarily confused as to how she didn’t think of it before and silently promises herself she will research the subject in the morning.
*****
Her right knee bounces in short, quick bursts, an outward symbol of the nerves wreaking havoc on the inside. She’s sitting in a nondescript waiting room, anxiously awaiting the therapist to make his appearance, to signal her back to a room where she has no idea what will take place, no idea if it will help or hurt her situation.
A week ago, the following morning after her last slip, she had poured over the information Google had provided about sex therapy and carefully compared therapists throughout her immediate area. Then, after selecting her top picks, she called and had brief conversations with each one. Finally settling on a male name Micah who had managed to come across as patient and kind in just a few short moments, whereas the others had seemed distracted and short.
And now she was here, wondering if maybe something was so dreadfully wrong with her that she would not be able to fix it, doomed to live out her life alone and ashamed.
She heard a door open and her heart began to beat even faster. Footsteps approached her and suddenly he was there, smiling warmly and gesturing for her to come with him, follow him… trust him. Trailing slightly behind she noticed how broad his shoulders were and his overall physique, which spoke of time in the gym or at least being physically active on a regular basis. Initially, she had held reservations about seeing a male therapist but his credentials were top notch, as well as his reviews. And when she spoke with him over the phone, his voice had calmed her, and she knew he was it.
They walked down a short hall and into a small and cozy room. It was furnished simply with a desk and a love seat, but honestly not much more could have feasibly fit in there. He asked her to have a seat, so she did. Easing herself down on the couch she turned and looked expectantly at him, waiting for his cue and unsure of how this process would go.
“So, what brings you in?” he asks. She sucks in a breath, holding it, unsure of where or how to start and embarrassed. She could feel the flush growing on her cheeks. She looks him in the face for the first time and is taken aback by his beauty. She remembers his picture and that she had thought he was nice looking, but now that she was right across from him, he was kind of stunning. Longish sandy blonde hair frames his face and stubble grows on his chin. His eyes are a piercing blue and his lips are full. Those lips… she trains her eyes on them, instantly picturing his mouth on her, what they would look like wrapped around her nipple and then trailing kisses down her stomach.
It is at this point that she notices her pussy and she crosses her legs, trying to quell the desire. Looking him in the eyes again, she scolds herself. These are not the thoughts that a lady should be having! Her mother would be so disappointed in her, so angry with her. And that is the thought that allows her to begin, to power through until it is all out.
Letting out the breath she had been holding, she begins her story. Starting from the beginning, she tells of how her mother had caught her touching herself when she was a little girl. How her mother had become so angry with her, shaking her violently by the shoulders while yelling in her face that she was a dirty, nasty little thing. That nice girls didn’t do such things and that she would have no friends if other people knew what vulgar things she did.
At some point she began to cry, tears sliding helplessly down her face and he had handed her a box of tissues. She pulls them out, one after the next, while she continues down the suppressive road of her past.
The next speedbump she had encountered happened on her third date with the only boy she had ever gone out with. They had decided to go see a movie and at some point he started kissing her, which was fine. But then his hands had traveled further south, at first roaming over her jeans and her heart had begun to pound with an image of her mother’s red angered face coming to mind. Then, emboldened, he had gone for her button fly and she had quite literally freaked out, running out of the theater. Later on, after the movie was over, he had found her outside on a bench, shaking and scared like a skittish deer. He’d taken her home, saying nothing during the ride. The next day at school he had told all of their classmates what a freak she was. They had laughed at her, outing her as different and weird, socially unacceptable. She had sworn off boys from that moment forward and had yet to date anyone else.
She talks of how she doesn’t have any close friends, how insecure she feels when women at work talk and joke about sex. She wishes she could be a free sexual being, but her past is always working against her, holding her back. When her mother had passed two years before of a massive heart attack, she had thought maybe she would shake the unrelenting disapproval. But just the opposite had happened. She had become even harder on herself, talking down to herself at every wayward thought, every sexual thing she encountered so that now she could hardly bare to go to work or even leave the house. How, on the rare occasions she decided to take care of herself, she had to touch herself through a sheet, unable to make direct contact, and had to wait through several sleepless nights trying to deny the need inherent within her. And when she did orgasm, how she cried and tried to scrub the filth from her in a scorching shower.
Now finished, she looks at him again, aware that she has been unable to keep eye contact throughout the duration of her monologue. She expects to see disgust in his face, but is surprised when its pity she finds shining in his bright blue eyes. He clears his throat and begins to break down every point she has made. Starting with the base need to be sexual, to reproduce, and continuing with the fact that her mother probably had her own traumatic experiences that caused her to be the way she was. Ending with the insecurities that her old boyfriend may have felt with his own blossoming adolescent sexuality. He then told his own story of finding his sexuality and thinking it was wrong, being embarrassed by surprise erections at inopportune times.
He finishes with an assignment; homework that makes her blush deeply. She is to masturbate with direct contact, no sheet. And a showeriss out of the question. Walking home from the appointment she thinks about how hard it will be to make herself follow through, to actually pleasure herself and resist the powerful urge to clean afterwards. She doesn’t know if it will be possible but understands the importance and vows to complete the task.
*****
Once again, she stares up at the ceiling, hands clenched at her sides. She is definitely ready, her pussy hot. Her appointment with Micah had given her mind plenty to fantasize about. Now able to put a face on the man who makes her come, she looks forward to playing out the scene during her homework. Well, sort of looks forward to it. Her apprehension is still with her, still tangible enough for her to feel a little sick to her stomach.
She relaxes her hands, lifting them and letting them slide to her tummy and settle there. Her body’s physiological reaction to the stress is very apparent: elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, clammy palms. But she notices when she thinks about Micah, those things seem to diminish, her mind focusing on the image of his face, of his body as he walked in front of her down the hall.
Her pussy is starting to build with pressure again and, seizing the moment, she moves her hands further and further down until her finger grazes her pussy lips. Pausing for a second, she then reaches even lower and slides one finger up, moving through her opening and over her clit, surprised at how soft and slick she feels. Dipping her finger back inside, she pulls the wetness out and covers her clit, shocking herself when she moans out loud. The direct contact feels so much better, so much more intimate. At that realization, she wonders how much better it would feel to have Micah’s fingers down there… his mouth down there. She moans out loud again and rolls to her side, squeezing her thighs around her fingers, pressing them into her pussy. They find purchase inside her, swirling circles and easing back out and over clit. She continues to think of Micah, face held firmly between her legs, licking like a man starved just for the taste of her. In short time she feels her orgasm building, deliciously bubbling up inside her. When she comes it erupts throughout her body, tingling every part of her and escaping from her mouth through the sigh of his name.
Her heart slows bit by bit as she lies there, rocked from the strength of her orgasm. Calming down and now sated, the familiar thoughts began to creep into her psyche. But this time she doesn’t believe them as much, doesn’t put as much stock in their value. She still feels the urge to shower but that is more from the light sweat she can feel on her skin. The more she lays there, unmoving, the heavier her body becomes, the more tired and foggy her mind seems. And at some point she just decides to let it go and falls into a deep, restful sleep.
*****
Three days later she is back in the waiting room, this time anxious to tell Micah how well her homework assignment had gone. She has continued to fantasize about the man who had made her come harder than anything she had previously experienced (even if he was just a part of her fantasy) over the days following their first appointment. And like the good student she is, has dressed the part of a woman more aware of her body and the pleasures it can provide. She wears a short-ish dress that rides up her thighs whenever she sits down. Tiny, delicate flowers are printed on the sheer fabric with a slip underneath and a neckline that reveals the tops of her breasts and the smallest hint of cleavage. Her hair is in soft curls that cascade onto her shoulders and the straps of the dress and halfway down her back. The feel of her hair brushing against her skin is unfamiliar to her as she always wears her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck, but pleasantly sensual like a tease all its own.
When she hears the door to his office open she stands, ready to follow him and in no need of urging. When he rounds the corner a genuine smile lights up his face at the sight of her and she feels the blush start to creep up her neck to her cheeks. Maybe she can’t do this after all, his handsome beauty causing her to falter, to feel the embarrassment of the things she was about to tell him, mindful of what could amount to his judgment.
She follows him down the short hallway again and sits on the couch in his office, instantly pulling at the hem of her dress to cover as much skin as possible. He must have sensed her unease because as soon as he takes his own seat he speaks reassuringly. “It’s okay and perfectly normal to talk about sexual matters. Please… tell me how you homework assignment went.”
“Umm, I did it,” She states bluntly. Silence meets her declaration and she interprets the quiet as a not-so-subtle cue to elaborate. So she continues, describing her discomfort with the situation, laying in her bed feeling like she was forcing something that should come naturally. Then her resolve to accomplish something she didn’t think was possible: the conquering of her past, of her mother’s controlling and overbearing behavior. How, when she finally touched herself, skin on skin, there was a moment of clarity that allowed her to see that what she was doing was not disgusting but beautiful and satisfying.
“And there’s something else…” her voice trails off.
“Yes?”
“I thought of you. I mean… the thought of you is what made me orgasm. You… licking me,” she finishes quietly.
“I see… How would you feel if I asked you to touch yourself now? For me?” Micah inquires, decidedly stepping outside of a therapist’s bounds.
At the suggestion she instantly feels her pussy’s response. A flash of heat spreads from her core and up her stomach, making her thighs clench together. She still sits perfectly straight on the couch, her back in a perfect line, hands nervously pulling on the hem of her dress. But she knows deep down that the whole reason she wore the dress was for this specific purpose. Never dreaming that it would actually happen, but wanting to have the possibility that it could in the back of her mind. Now faced with it as a legitimate option, a dual reaction is happening: elation met with apprehension. Her want for him outweighs her trepidation and she lets go of her dress, allowing it to slip up her thighs. She places her hands lightly on her knees, spreading her legs while her fingers trace a path down the inside of her thighs.
Glancing up she sees his tongue snake out and lick his lips and she imagines doing the same thing: licking his lips before easing her tongue inside to play with his. She had never imagined these things with anyone else before and the images that crossed her mind where at once astounding and deliciously titillating. The scene playing in her mind allowes her to drag her fingers lower and spread her legs further apart. She had picked out a light pink, lace panty that spoke of femininity and they were now on display for him. Her fingers dance over the frilly fabric and her slit, rubbing up and down softly, teasing herself as she watches his face and the hunger growing in his eyes.
Laying back on the couch, her fingers slip underneath her panties and into her soaking pussy. Her eyes roll back and she sighs as she continues to play with herself. The chair creaks and she thinks he is just shifting in his seat but shortly after the sound she feels him settle between her legs. She keeps her eyes closed, expecting his touch at any second. The anticipation is making her pussy audibly wet as her fingers explore her crevices.
But his touch never comes. She opens her eyes and sees him sitting on his knees in front of her, watching with rapt attention as she pleasures herself. She stops her fingers abruptly and his eyes snap up to hers. “Your cunt is so pretty,” he says, pausing slightly and licking his lips again before continuing. “Watching you do this is very hot, but I must ask: is it ok if I touch you, too?”
She nods. “I want to hear you say it,” he demands.
“Yes,” she states clearly.
“I want you to focus on your clit,” he tells her. At his command, her fingers began to circle. He pulls at her panties and she lifts her hips so that he can push them down and off of her. Once they lay on the floor, he brushes his own fingers along her thighs towards her opening and her back arches into his touch, another sigh escaping her mouth. Her eyes have closed again, her mind only wanting to focus on the sensations of both of their hands on her body. When the first finger enters her, barely pushing inside, she thinks she might explode with pleasure, but a couple of deep breaths hold her at bay. She wants the pleasure to last for as long as she can possibly stand. 
Now his finger is circling inside her, matching the pace she has set on her clit, pushing deeper and deeper. Her stomach is doing all kinds of crazy flips and she is amazed at how good it feels to have a man’s hands helping her.
Suddenly he moves her hands down to her sides and she wonders at what will come next, temporarily forgetting about his mouth and tongue, solely concentrating on the sensational things his fingers are doing to her. But then he spreads her pussy lips open and within seconds she feels the most incredible, inexplicable, heat and pressure on her pussy. She can’t look fast enough at what is transpiring. And the view she is met with is literally her dreams come true.
Micah’s head is buried between her legs, his tongue slowly traveling from bottom to top, flicking against her clit before moving back down to the bottom. Her fingers reach for his hair, intertwining there and pulling him closer against her. She scoots down on the couch so that he has complete access to her and drapes her legs across his broad shoulders. She can’t believe this is actually happening! She is so close to an orgasm, when he sucks her clit into his mouth while pressing his finger inside her, she comes instantly. Sparks explode in her pussy and behind her eyelids and she screams his name as the pulses of her orgasm rock her body. He continues to suck on her clit, letting her squeeze out every drop of gratification that she can.
When her body goes limp, he gets up and sits back down at his desk. Clearing his throat, he asks her when he should make her next appointment. It requires no thought on her part. “Tomorrow,” she says, picking up her discarded panties from the floor and stepping into them. After pulling them up and into place she crosses the room and sits on his lap, grabbing his face and tugging him towards her. She presses her lips against his, flicking her tongue out and against his lips, loving the taste of her. “Tomorrow,” she whispers, getting up and walking out the door, closing it quietly behind.


© Copyright 2017 Rachel Cox. All rights reserved.

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