Weekly Sessions

She had come to me from a recommendation of a colleague. I had a full patient load, nothing too exciting really. A mix of bi-polar, manic-depressives and one obsessive compulsive. This one though, this one was so very, very different.

I had only agreed to the meeting to be courteous. She arrived at five, my last patient. My secretary Sara buzzed me, to let me know she was here. Lauren stepped into the room, and I instantly felt my heart skip. She was wearing a long dress, a deep blood red and black. I know nothing about fabrics, just that this was dark, a swirling pattern.

She had on far too much jewelry, so much that it worked. I saw that each finger had a ring. Multiple bracelets on each slim wrist.

My mind jumped at obsessive compulsive- that would be the mark here. The makeup so perfect, the hair swept back except for the ringlets she dangled on each side. The effect was breathtaking and carefully calculated. I could not see the shoes. Only razor sharp tips, black like the dress. She settled back into the chair, my hand weak from the grip she gave when we shook hands.

She looked around my office, eyes appraising the contents. She stopped at the Tamara De Lempicka, then the Alma Tadema, Rosetti. I saw her lips curl into either a smile or sneer. I could not tell. She swept over the bookcases, the historical figures in the glass case, painted by me. She said nothing, staring with dark intensity. I could tell I was being snap judged also, the realization focusing me back to the task of getting her to talk, to tell me why she was here. We made small talk, her medical history, family. She had a deep lyrical laugh.

She told me that therapy was not her idea, but her husbands. He felt that she had become too aggressive, was not herself. She laughed as she told me. I felt myself hanging on her every word, much more than most patients, I'm ashamed to admit. I blushed when she caught me staring at her mouth as she formed words, wondering what she tasted like. We agreed to a weekly schedule, Fridays, my last appointment.

I went home and could not get her out of my head. I realized when she left that I had been hard since she walked in. I had nothing to base this arousal on; I had met more attractive women, had been to bed with them.

This was different, the way she studied me, sized me up was thrilling. I wondered what she thought of me, my mind drifting to what she looked like under those clothes. Like a teenager I went to my bedroom, slipping down my pants, jacking off quickly, the semen sticking to my stomach. I dressed before my wife got home, sheets changed to avoid any questions.

Weeks went by, I learned of her past, the wanton sexuality. She spun tales that would have made DeSade blush crimson. She dressed more provocatively each time we met, her stories more detailed. I was not sure what was true, what was her fantasy life.

My hands shook sometimes as she told me of nights prowling the streets, picking up men, fucking them, leaving to find another, the sperm still hot in her as another man slipped in. She told me that she loved that feeling, one mans semen lubing her as she took another in. They always told that she was so hot, so 'wet'. Lauren told me that she had to stop herself from laughing, giving her secret away. She said she always agreed, told them how good they were, blah blah, blah....lies whispered to shut them up.

My hands tried to write as she crossed and uncrossed her legs deliberately. I had a clear view, right to her center. I thought the lips called to me, parted and wet. I could hear them, then I truly felt like I was losing my grip, that I was going to need my own therapist.

Now every session ended with a locked door, fisting my erection till I was spent, no longer able to wait till I got home. If Sara knocked, I practically screamed to just answer the phone, leave me be. I know she knew what I was doing. I stopped caring.

Each week the stories became more vivid, details spilling onto detail as she teased me. I knew she was pushing me, wanting to see just how far she could go in driving me mad. The scenes now included women, threesomes with me and her, secretive musings about Sara, questions about my wife.

She said that she had been with a few women, had played with them but preferred men, their weight, smell, cocks. She said that when she wanted another threesome now, two men filling her. She teased me asking about my sex life, what I wanted, had I fucked Sara? She said she could talk to her, set the three of us up. It was hard to steer her back, the image of her and Sara playing with me was fogging my brain. She left each session laughing at me, a bemused smile at my white knuckled grip on my pad.

Friday arrived again, months later now. I was so eager, in thrall. I was no longer a therapist. I was her scribe, recording the details of her debauchery. She arrived early again, as was her pattern. Sara eyed me with that same suspicious gleam she had been throwing me each week as I ushered Lauren in. As before she was dressed to excite me. This time it was the miniskirt and a sleeveless turtleneck that accented her tits. She pulled her chair closer this time, I could feel her breath. I could not look at her, stared at my notepad as she started.

"Do you want to know what I did last night?" she asked.

"Of course.... please" I creaked out. My eyes never looked up, afraid of what would stare back.

"I went by your home Doctor. I saw where you live. Nice place. I had a man with me. I have no idea what his name was, he thought mine was Sheila. We fucked on your lawn Doctor. I rode him right there. God it was so nasty! He had a nice big one, it went so deep. You like hearing this? How I fucked on your nice green grass?" she asked eyes locking on mine as I looked up, startled.

"Yes" I finally managed; my mind was doing somersaults, picturing her. I imagined standing at the window, watching as I stroked myself. God I wanted her, all of her.

"He turned me around, doggy style, slapping my ass as he drove into me. I told him you were my ex. That it was a grudge thing against you. Hell, he was drunk and horny; he would have fucked me on his mom's yard at that point. Well Doc, I fucked him, then sucked him off when he came, drank all that come down, felt it slide to my belly, warm, sticky..." she said, hands now sliding up my legs.

I felt her grip my erection, heard a deep moan, realized it was mine.

"I want you, no more talk. I know you want me, that you're hard now. I bet you jack off right after I leave don't you? You dream about me like I have you, nights when I fucked them, thinking of you" she said, her face inches from mine.

Her breath seemed hotter than a normal person, sweet like cinnamon. I was motionless, unable to form words. I had pictured her doing this in my mind, never thought they would happen. Lauren stood, unbuttoning her shirt slowly. I watched her shrug it off, falling down her arms. Her bra was white, the lace pattern delicate and expensive. She reached into her bra, pulled her breast up, pulled my head to her nipple. I suckled like a newborn; sounds coming from me that were new, primal. I reached for her; she backed up quickly, a stinging slap on my cheek bringing me to focus.

"What… I ... sorry..." I managed to get out before she silenced me with a finger on my lips, her faced a crooked sneer, then she kissed me her tongue kicking in my mouth.

Completely confused now she stepped back again, skirt gone, puddled at her feet. She had on a garter belt, white, her hose matching. She settled back into her chair, only now her legs were over the chair arms. I watched her slide her right hand down, brush her lips, her clitoris, so delicately, then stop. She placed both hands under her knees, drawing herself open and legs back. I was mesmerized by her cunt lips. They parted open, the fluid now shiny and obvious. As she strained to open her legs even farther, I saw the chair staining from the wetness, realized that my shirt was wet, a line of drool coming from my mouth unnoticed by me. I went to her on my knees, her eyes on me, no words but her command clear. I sniffed her, that dark musk that is a woman.

I felt myself getting harder, the wool of my pants itching against the throbbing in my shaft. I leaned in, trying to delay our pleasure, lost completely as I drank her in. I plastered my face to her lips, sucking deep, hard. I licked fast, as hard as I could. My hands held her open now, fingers under her knees, opening her wide. My mouth and lips sizzled as I waggled my head, fucking her with my face, pushing against her. I raked my fingers down, sliding two of them into her. I sucked her clitoris, felt her tremble; call out as she came, legs shaking. I curled my fingers up, touching those rough pads, felt the swelling fluid. I pumped them, another finger added. My lips still glued to her clit, hand racing in her. I felt the swelling, the trembling as she started to lose control, no longer forming words other than 'fuck, FUCK ...FFFUUUUCCCCCKKK!!!!!!!!' as she peaked. I pulled my head back, waiting. The dam finally burst, the streams of fluids hitting my face, soaking me. I opened my mouth again, it filled quickly. I drank greedily. Still I fucked her with my hand, orgasm after orgasm rippling, till she grabbed my wrist, stopping me. She lay there, so open for me, exhausted.

I stripped, finally free of clothes. I did not care about ethics, or her mind. I wanted her body. I wanted to be one of her stories that she hissed to another man as he fucked her. I straddled the chair, grabbed her head. I pulled her mouth to me. I had heard her stories of sucking countless cock after cock, how she wanted to be fucked like that, rough, used by men. I pushed it till I heard her breath kick out in a cough, spittle running down her chin as her eyes teared up. Still no words from her, just a look in her eyes of raw need, daring me to go on. I pushed in again, slipping into her throat, her hands on my ass, pulling me in making me go deeper. Again I heard the cough, but held her, choking her with my prick. Then I pulled back, the saliva now running freely down her face, makeup now a mess.

"God YES, do it, c'mon fucker, DO IT," she heaved at me, hands pulling me, stroking my shaft.

" You wanted this didn't you? I knew it the first time you looked at me" she stopped talking when I pushed the head in again, only gurgled around me as she laughed and tongued, sucking me till I screamed her name out.

Her head dipped down, laving my balls wetly, the licking sounds an obscene chorus as she kept up the talking till she pushed me higher, tongue stabbing at my anus. She pushed me roughly then, down to the floor. I started to lay back; she stopped me again, rolling me till I was on my hands and knees, her hands pawing my ass, my cock from behind. I felt that wet tongue again, lewdly circling my ass, heard then felt the spit hit me, her finger pushing against me... I almost shot off right then, but felt her squeeze me, cutting the semen off. Her finger replaced her tongue, going slow, steady, till I felt her knuckle.

She withdrew, added a second finger, sliding in and out as I wanted to do to her. I turned then, grabbing her and pushing her back, no longer wanting to please her, just wanting to be in that wetness, to come. I pulled her legs up roughly, placed them on my shoulders, pinning her. My hands held her wrists a she was bent double this way. My hips pumped fast, hard, needing release. I finally cried out, shooting shot after shot of come into her, holding her immobile.

I slipped out, cock not really soft, just not as hard. Lauren lay there, mouth open, tongue licking the air as she pulled her nipples. I dipped my fingers into her, felt my come, pulled white fingers out. She took them gladly, holding my wrist. She sucked them like a child eats ice cream, the whorish delight causing me to blink, the room still spinning. She guided my hand back into her, wanting more. She crawled to my cock sucking down the last drops. She finally was satisfied that there was no more laying back to swirl her fingers over her clit again, hips pumping up at the air. I knew I could never, ever keep up with her.

I think I passed out, blacked out, what's the difference? I felt a hand on me, tapping my cheek. I looked up and my secretary Sara was over me, a smirk on her face. I was still naked, my clothes piled where they had fallen. She turned and left, her hips swaying a little more than normal, one last glance back at me with that same smarmy grin.

"I'm leaving, you better get dressed, you have play tickets tonight. I suggest you put on a tie!"