Sensuality

Now who was the therapist and who was the patient?

She heard the rustle of his jacket and surmised that he’d shrugged.

“Fear, betrayal—it could be a myriad of reasons.”

“Then how is it that you think you know what she wants and needs?”

“Because I can see inside her when she’s not looking. Like when she’s writing something down.”

She shifted uneasily, but remained impassive.

He came back around and sat back down in front of her, his legs wide apart, his fingers interlocked in front of him. “Some people expect a person to be a certain way,” he said, with even control. “And, sometimes, that same person can only dream about what they want. They want it badly but rather than act on it, they remain in a safe zone and send their desires off in a miasmic cloud that seeks a place to settle where it can offer itself.”

“To what end?” The question was as soft as a whisper.

“To know.”

“To know what?” she asked with a tinge of impatience.

“To know what it would be like to be naked underneath, or over, the man she thinks she is helping.”

“So, then, it is sexual.”

He grinned and shook his head.

“For anyone else it would be sexual; for her it would be animalistic fucking.”

She cleared her throat and pushed her glasses up on her nose, even though they hadn’t slipped an inch.

“Well, it looks like our time is up.” She rose and walked to her desk.

He watched her ass, which was round and tight even though her dress tried to hide it from him.

She looked at her date planner. “I see you won’t be available next week, so I’ve scheduled a session a week from next Friday. Is that suitable?”

He nodded.

“I’ll see you then,” she said. Her face hardened into its professional mode, her lips, which had been so soft before, were now strict and straight as a slide rule.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and left her office.

When he was gone, she allowed her body to relax. She went to the narrow floor-length mirror on the side wall and snapped open the barrette. Her hair fell in loose curls to her neck and she ran her hands through them to allow for maximum airy freedom.

In the mirror she lowered her eyes to her neck, her chest, and finally on her breasts. Her nipples were hard and pouting through the material of her dress. They were large and round—and perfect. She reached up and ran a long-nailed finger over one. She flinched—it was sensitive and a shudder shot through her.

It was always like that after he left her office. Now in the confines of her own privacy, she was able to recall their earlier sessions. He had been freer then, with his offerings about what he considered to be “a problem,” and it had been sexual.

Her professionalism had remained intact as she queried him, then listened as he told her with the relish of a bawdy sixteenth-century monarch how much he needed it, craved it, and desired it. Outwardly, she’d remained unfazed when he used words like pussy, or phrases like, “I sucked her dry. I tongued her so deep I felt her baby room.”

Inside she was jelly.

But it had been that one particular time he’d told her how he’d placed his woman on all fours and talked the cum out of her, then made her wait patiently while he teased her with his tongue. It was with little tingly, flickering movements at first, something akin to a butterfly kiss. He explained how the woman had moaned and moved backward, trying to get more of his teasing tongue.

Her office had grown warm when he told her how hard his cock had gotten, and how he let the woman see it, touch it, but not lick it—something she wanted so desperately to do. He explained how he’d spread the woman wide and blew against her proud puffy lips and talked to he

r. Deep, dirty, nasty things about what he intended to do. How he was going to drink her, taste her, own her pussy. Then he explained how the woman had loved every second of everything he did.

She closed her eyes as she thought of that session, and her hand that had been teasing her nipple wandered down over her waist, then her thigh. She pulled her long matte jersey dress slowly up into a knotted bunch. She smiled as she thought of the garter belt she wore with no panties, her own naughty little secret that no one would ever suspect.