Page 12 of Doctor Stuff

I immediately go down the hall to the bathroom and lock myself in. Leaning against the wall, I pull open the front of my jeans and shove my hands into my panties. My pussy is soaking wet. So wet that it’s almost too slippery to give me the friction I need against my clit.

Pleasure explodes inside me as I remember the look on Dr. John’s face when he told me I could go. I rub as fast as I can, hampered by my jeans, gasping for breath as the ecstasy sweeps through me, leaving my fingers sticky and my muscles quivering.

That was so fucked up.

Chapter 2

What do you wear to an appointment when the week before, you showed your therapist your tits?

That is the question.

I decide to go with a summer dress. One that has buttons all the way up the front. Not just for decoration. Working buttons. In case I need to show off my tits again.

No bra today.

Am I playing with fire?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

I’m going to show Dr. John that I’m not afraid of him. Not afraid of his psychobabble bullshit, and not thrown by the fact that he told me to show him my tits – and I did. He’d outbluffed me last week. That’s not going to happen this week. My dress screams “you don’t faze me.”

Because it’ll be super easy to unbutton it and show him my tits again.

I can flip up my skirt and show him my thong if I want to.

I can’t help but feel buzzed as I saunter into his office.

Dr. John glances up at me from where he’s sitting at his desk, his gaze skimming over my outfit. Just like last week, he doesn’t smile when he sees me. Today his suit is a dark blue, perfectly fitted to him, and paired with a silver tie that’s almost the same shade as his hair.

“Good afternoon, Traci,” he says, as if he didn’t order me to flash him last week. As if he’s never seen my tits. His complete nonchalance is making me feel a little crazy. I want to rile him up. The way I feel riled up. “Go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be right with you.”

Pressing my lips together, I give him a fake, pursed smile, and go to sit down. I flounce onto the couch, my skirt fluttering around me and I stare at my bare thighs which are mostly exposed. If I was anywhere else, I’d pull my skirt down. But I’m not. I’m here.

So let’s see what he thinks of my skirt being so high up on my legs.

He doesn’t even glance up from what he’s writing, and when he finally does look up, it’s with the same blasé expression as always. Which is infuriating. Sure, he’s hot and a total silver fox, but I know I look good too. Especially in this dress. He can’t have THAT much pussy being thrown at him that he’s completely immune to me, right?

“Well, Traci, how was your week?” he asks as he moves back to his chair, which is directly across from the couch I’m now sitting on. It means the only thing between us is a low coffee table, which does not obscure the view of my legs at all.

“Fine.” I’m not trying to be pouty, I’m really not, but I know that’s how it’s coming across. Oh well. I’m going to pout then. He’s acting like nothing happened last week at all.

“Did you masturbate?”

“What?” Once again, I’m thrown off-kilter by him, because he asks whether or not I masturbated in the exact same tone of voice that he asked how my week was.

“This past week, did you masturbate?”

“I… yes.” Heat fills my cheeks. If he can be nonchalant, so can I. I press my thighs together as need curls between them. My pussy is already perking up with interest.

“Were you thinking about showing me your breasts when you did so?”

“No, I was thinking about blowing you,” I retort, just to see what he says. That was the least of what I fantasized about doing with him while I was jilling myself.

He nods thoughtfully and makes a note on his stupid clipboard. I squirm in my seat, trying to keep up my bravado and feeling like I’m failing. Just like I did last week.

“Show them to me again,” he says calmly, folding his hands over his clipboard. His gaze bores into mine, and I feel the blush in my cheeks grow even hotter.

“You want to see my tits again?” I run my hand over my chest, trying to take control of the situation.