Page 14 of Doctor Stuff

Just him saying those words turns me on even more and I swear I can feel my clit pulse against my fingers. I swallow hard.

For some reason I want to keep doing as he says. There’s a part of me, a very small part, that wants to rub myself fast and hard and get myself off, to spite him… but deep down I know I won’t get as much satisfaction from that as I am from following his orders.

“Let’s talk about what changed in middle school.”

Let’s not.

But I know that if I stop talking, he won’t let me come.

Sure, I can wait till the session is over, but I don’t want to rush to the bathroom and get myself off there. I want to get off in here. On his couch. With him watching me.

Which is probably also something I need therapy for.

I can barely focus on the questions he’s asking, much less the answers I’m giving him. It’s probably the most honest I’ve ever been, because my head is too sex-fuzzed to lie right now or even watch what I’m saying.

“Okay, Traci. You have three minutes left in this session. Get yourself off.”

Dr. John sits back in his seat, his eyes watching me like a hawk, as he rests one ankle on his opposite knee, the clipboard on his lap. I stare back at him, my fingers slick with my need, my body aching from how I’ve been teasing myself… Part of me thinks that he can’t be serious, and yet I know he is.

Does he think I won’t do it?

I stare back at him, not blinking, not looking away, as I rub my clit harder. Faster. Something flashes across his face, too quick for me to pin down what he’s thinking, and I moan, lifting my hips against my hand. He wants a show? I’ll give him a fucking show.

Let’s see if he can stay stoic through this.

I arch, pinching my nipple with one hand, rubbing my clit with the other, letting my moans spill from my lips because I want him to hear me. I want him to know what I sound like when I come.

And I do.

I come so fucking hard.

Wave after wave of pleasure that starts in my pussy and then ripples through me with explosive intent. I shudder on his couch, under his gaze, as erotic bliss washes over me, leaving me limp and sated.

When I look back at him, panting for breath, I swear for just a moment I see his own desire. But then it’s gone, the second I blink. My hand is still in my underwear, my tits hanging out of my dress.

“Good job today, Traci.” He doesn’t smile, but there is real approval in his voice and something inside of me basks in it. When he gets up, I can see the bulge at the front of his pants. He reaches over his desk and picks up a couple of tissues, walking over to where I’m still sitting on the couch, feeling slightly dazed. “Clean yourself up.”

The dismissal is as humiliating as it is arousing.

Heat fills my cheeks as I pull my hand from my panties, casting my gaze downward as I wipe my fingers clean on the tissues. I can still smell my arousal though, musky and sweet. My hand is going to smell like that until I can actually wash it. He turns and heads back toward his desk.

Suddenly feeling small and vulnerable, I snap my knees together as I yank my skirt down and start frantically doing my buttons up to cover my breasts. I almost feel like I’m about to cry.

“Traci.” Dr. John’s voice is not gentle or loud, just firm and clear as always as he sits down behind his desk, setting his clipboard in front of him.

I clear my throat, lifting my chin defiantly. I don’t want to let him know he got to me.

“Yes?” My voice doesn’t shake even a little. I’m proud of that.

“If you have another good session next week, I’ll let you blow me.”

He looks back down at his notes in front of him, as if he didn’t just drop a verbal bomb on me. I sit frozen on the couch, my brain trying to find some kind of balance when I feel like I’m in freefall.

“I’ll see you next week, Traci.” Dr. John doesn’t even look up.

So I do the only thing I can do – I flee.

And I already know I’m going to spend the next week fantasizing about him watching me masturbate… and about being on my knees and blowing him.