The Therapist [Part 5]

I spent two weeks not exactly sure how to feel about my next therapy appointment.

Becca and I didn't talk about Stacy, after the night out at the bar. I got the sense that Becca was a little embarrassed, and to be honest, I was, too. We had both cum hard.

...because she had started talking about how hot Stacy was, while we were fucking.

As a result, we kind of avoided sex. I felt a little guilty about that, but didn't mind, if I was being honest. I wasn't mad at Becca, but the feelings I had about it were just weird. And honestly, outside of sex, the two of us were getting along a lot better. She was friendlier to me; I wasn't in my own head as much.

But no sex left the matter of my homework from our last appointment. The thing that was supposed to help me address my premature ejaculation. Practicing, trying to last longer while I masturbated.

The problem was that -- thinking about Stacy, wearing that red dress she'd had on at the bar -- I couldn't. The memory of her leaning in to whisper in my ear about how I needed to be dominant while I fucked Becca, the way her lips had quirked up when she asked me if the homework was too difficult, just sent me over the edge quickly.

At first, I thought with a few weeks working on it, my time would improve. But it didn't. I'd start jerking off, and the thought of the cleavage practically spilling out of her dress, the long blonde hair, the red lips, the way it hugged her curves -- was just too much.

So after two weeks of 'practice' I was still cumming just as quickly. If I was honest, maybe even a little faster than usual.

The day of the appointment arrived along with an accompanying sense of concern. I didn't want to tell her about how Becca and I had had amazing sex...because we'd talked about her. I didn't want to tell her that I was getting a little faster when I masturbated.

But I wanted to go. Stacy had helped me with my relationship already, I thought, even if my stamina wasn't improving.

And...she was just so hot.

In the end, I knew it wasn't really a choice.

—

"So, how have you been? It was nice to see you at the bar...having an active social life is really healthy..."

As usual, Stacy was behind her desk, in her now-familiar professional attire -- white blouse, grey pencil skirt -- as she flipped through her legal pad, through our past notes.

"It, uh, was nice to see you too. I've been good." The swell of breasts showing in her blouse reminded me of what her full tits had looked like, on display in that dress...

"Mmm. Good. Now, there's an important topic we have to tackle first and foremost, Phil. It's going to get in the way of further treatment if we can't put it out in the open." Stacy was looking at me.

My eyes snapped up. "W-what do you mean?"

"I'm noticing a pattern of behaviors that may indicate that you've developed an...infatuation. With me, Phil."

Fuck. My concern about sharing anything else vanished in a heartbeat. I hadn't expected this. "T-that's not true," I said, weakly.

She smiled, sympathetically. "It's a hard thing to admit, but I think we've got to look at the facts." She started ticking things off on one hand. "You've been thinking about me while you've been masturbating. For weeks. And, unless my guess is wrong, based on your demeanor when you came in the door, your stamina is not improving. Perhaps it's even getting worse. Your girlfriend clearly senses something is off. You were researching me online. And you randomly showed up at a bar I was at with my friends."

When she put it like that, it was damning. But it was too embarrassing to admit. Defensively, I muttered, "I didn't know you'd be there."

She steepled her fingers, making direct eye contact. "Maybe not. Individually, maybe any of these things might be explained. All together, they paint a picture, though, Phil."

I didn't know what to say to that. And I knew she was probably right.

She continued. "It would be one thing if it wasn't getting in the way of your treatment. But it is, Phil. As I said, your stamina is not improving. My job is to help you. And I think I'm doing the opposite."

I opened my mouth, but was still speechless. Again, I knew she was probably right. But I didn't want to stop seeing her.

She smiled, and pushed her legal pad to one side. Her voice was gentle, but had finality in it. "If you were further along in your course of treatment, it would be one thing, but as it stands...I'm going to give you a referral."

"A w-what?" The word came out as a splutter.

She nodded. "At least for the next appointment. Maybe two or three appointments, so you can make some progress independent of me, and then we can try again. I have several colleagues who work in this building who are excellent--"

I cut her off. I couldn't help it. "Isn't there some...homework...a scenario we could try...something? I-I'm not infatuated, I swear. A-and I do think you've been helping! Yeah, I'm still, um...fast. But my relationship with Becca has improved!"

The words tumbled out of me. I didn't want a referral. I didn't want to go from talking to Stacy, to sitting across from some bald guy named Greg, who'd be wearing sweater vests and asking me about my relationship with my mother.

She paused, looking a little taken aback at my response. "Well...this isn't the kind of thing homework can really address, Phil. And I know your relationship with Becca has improved..." she trailed off with a sigh. "Look, yes, there is a clinical evaluation we could perform. But I think it will just confirm my hypothesis."

"Let's do it, then." I was aware I sounded a little desperate, but I didn't care.

She nodded. "Very well. But if the clinical evaluation demonstrates I'm correct, will you commit to accept the referral, and to attend appointments with that counselor until they recommend that you're ready to return to seeing me? I don't want you to lose ground on your treatment."

What kind of evaluation were we talking about here? But after a moment, I decided it didn't really matter. I wanted to keep seeing Stacy. Even if it meant risking seeing some other counselor. I nodded, enthusiastically.

She smiled. "Good. Now, for this evaluation, we'll be avoiding your triggers entirely, of course. No teasing or mention of premature ejaculation. My hypothesis is that you'll ejaculate quickly anyway, as a result of your infatuation with me. Let me know when you're ready to begin." She looked at me, expectant, waiting.

Oh, shit.

But what was I going to say, that this wasn't fair? I found her too attractive to be able to last? That sure sounded like it would be admitting that I was obsessed with her. It would only prove her point.

I took a deep breath. She was really hot. But she wouldn't be teasing me. I just had to last, and I could keep seeing her. There wasn't another option.

I nodded, again. "That makes sense. I'm ready."

She stood up and moved around the desk towards me, a small smile on her face. My heart was pounding. Try to last.

She sat next to me, crossing her legs. "It was really nice to meet Becca," she murmured.

There was no abrupt shift in her demeanor -- just her, coming to sit next to me, speaking quietly. After the complete changes, the mocking tone she had adopted in past sessions, I found it a little confusing.

"She's really pretty," she said, softly, looking at me.

"Y-yeah, thanks. I think so too," I said, haltingly. I wasn't sure where this was going. Was this...the scenario?

"Did you guys fuck after you went home? I bet you did...I could tell she wanted it." Her voice was knowing, now. She traced a hand up one pale thigh, toyed with the hem of her pencil skirt.

My eyes followed her hand, transfixed. "Y-yeah, we did..."

"Mmm." She was biting her lower lip, now, as if turned on by the idea. "Did you fuck her doggystyle? I’m sure you did. How could you not. She's got a great ass."

"Y-yeah...um...yeah..." I was getting turned on, I realized. And if I wanted to keep seeing Stacy, I needed to last. I tried to focus on that.

She giggled. "You just keep saying yeah, Phil." Her hand had moved up her skirt to her blouse, now, toying with the neckline. My eyes were on her fingers, entranced.

"Yeah, I know, I..." I tried to get my act together. "She does have a nice butt. And I did fuck her from behind." I couldn't help it. The frankness of the conversation was turning me on quickly. Try to last.

Her hand waved, dismissively, and she had a soft, coy smile on her face. "I bet you followed my suggestions. You made her cum, didn't you?"

I nodded.

"That's hot," she whispered. Her hand shifted, and, slowly, she squeezed one of her full breasts through her blouse.

I was almost instantly rock hard, staring. In the back of my mind, I knew that this was just one of her scenarios, that this was just a tactic to turn me on. I didn't care. Stacy telling me it was hot burned away all other rational thought.

"Is fucking a girl from behind your favorite position, Phil?" She brought her other hand up to her chest, kneading both her breasts now, but keeping eye contact with me.

I just nodded, dumbly, still staring.

Stacy pouted, leaning forward towards me. "Aw. Are you sure? I mean, it's fun, I guess...but my favorite position is being on top. I like the way it feels, seeing a man looking up at me, reaching for my breasts...the way I get to control the pace, riding a nice, hard..." she let out a wanton sigh.

That was all too easy to imagine. My pulse was so loud I could hear it thundering in my ears.

"Do you think you’d like that?" She was still whispering, her voice low, seductive. "Me, bouncing on your lap? Even though it's not your favorite position?"

I was dumbstruck. Dimly, I could feel my cock, sticky, leaking in my underwear. But I couldn't think of anything besides her riding me. "Y-yeah..."

She giggled again at my monosyllabic response, and I blushed again. I opened my mouth to speak, but she stood up, moving in front of me so I was looking up at her.

"Maybe we should try it," she whispered. "I mean, it might be your new favorite position...with the right woman..."

I nodded, breathlessly. She unzipped her pencil skirt and slid it down to her ankles. Long, pale legs flexed as she stepped forward out of the skirt. Black panties, the swell of her hips, and the tops of her thighs peeked out from under the bottom of the blouse now that it wasn't tucked into her skirt.

I unbuckled and pulled my pants and boxers down in record time. She looked down at my cock and let out a low, throaty, laugh. "Mmm. You're so hard."

She took another step forward, straddling me, still standing, but one leg on either side of mine. She leaned forward, so she could whisper in my ear. "I want it."

I let out a moan as I felt the bare skin of her thighs slide against mine, and I realized that I had a problem.

I was close to cumming already. I couldn't help it.

This was just so hot. For weeks now, I had imagined what it would be like to fuck Stacy in every appointment I'd had with her -- and now I was going to get to do it. She was going to impale herself on my cock, ride me. She thought it was hot that I had made Becca cum.

And it hadn't been long at all, I knew. If I came now, I'd be seeing a different therapist.

As I watched, she started to lower herself, pulling her panties to the side. I felt the head of my cock brush along her inner thigh, leaving a wet trail of precum. That sensation alone was almost enough to send me over the edge.

My face was bright red, I knew. "Let's, uh, wait a sec before we start. No reason to rush things," I mumbled, trying to buy myself some time. I tried to slow down my breathing.

"Sure," she purred out, smiling gently. She leaned forward again, pressing her full tits against my face. "There's something I wanted to ask you anyway..."

Try to last. 

But I groaned into her tits by way of response, reaching up to fondle them through her blouse. The weight of them in my hands, their shape...my cock twitched, lurching against her thigh again, and she giggled, before continuing.

"What was different with Becca, this time? You've talked about how you wanted to make her cum...how'd you do it?"

"I, um..." I trailed off. What was I going to say? Well, she started talking about how you probably like to get fucked for hours by a big cock, and that had us both cumming in no time?

"You know what I think? I think I was involved." Stacy reached down and stroked a hand up my cock. Again, the only thing I could let out in response was a moan.

"I mean, I saw the way she was looking at me...and I heard her saying how hot I was as I walked away..." she grasped me more tightly with her hand, now, and started pumping me steadily.

I could feel the orgasm rising. I tried to fight it.

"Now, she's obviously a bit threatened by me," she mused. "So I doubt you all were talking about you fucking me...she wouldn't want that..."

I groaned, both at the sensation and at how easily she arrived at the truth. I was going to cum. I couldn't hold it back any more than I could hide what had happened with Becca from her.

At least fuck her if you're going to have to see a different therapist anyway. "I-I'm ready now, let's do it," I stammered.

"In a moment," she murmured in my ear, continuing. "You were talking about me getting fucked by someone else, weren't you, Phil?"

Her hand was relentless. I didn't respond; all of my attention and willpower was focused on not cumming.

"Was it someone with a big, thick cock?" she moaned the words in my ear, lips brushing against me. "Someone who could really fill me up...and with stamina...just fuck me for hours..."

Her voice wasn't teasing at all, just aroused.

But that was more than enough.

Her hand on my length, what she was saying, the helpless knowledge that I had missed an opportunity to fuck her because I couldn't last longer, and now I wouldn't even do appointments with her anymore, that there might not be another chance -- it overwhelmed me.

"S-Stacy...Fuck..." and then my words dissolved into a groan.

She smoothly dismounted me, getting clear of the line of fire, but continuing to stroke my cock with her hand. Moaning, I sprayed rope after rope onto my own shirt and pants. I was lucky I didn't cum on my own face, I was cumming so hard. She made a pleased sound in the back of her throat, watching as I came.

"Well." Her voice was sultry as she pulled her skirt back on, moved back around behind her desk. I detected an undertone of...admiration? Amusement? Maybe it was just my imagination. I was dazed, reaching reflexively for the box of tissues she kept on her desk to clean myself up.

"I'm afraid that didn't take very long, Phil. You do seem fixated on me in a way that I think is getting in the way of treatment. My goal is to address your premature ejaculation, not to make it worse. So I'm going to insist on that referral." She said it firmly, but sympathetically.

I nodded, glumly, still coming down from my orgasm, but feeling deflated. She had proven the point. It was hard to argue with the evidence.

She was scribbling something on a pad of paper. "Fortunately for you, I know just the counselor for the job. Here's a written referral; with your permission, I'll pass along my written notes and case summary so that you aren't starting from scratch and can make progress more quickly."

I blushed at the idea of what her written notes might say, of someone else reading them. But it would let me get back to working with Stacy faster... "Okay. Who are you referring me to?"

Stacy nodded. "A fair question. She and I have worked together before several times. I think a few sessions with her will help you immensely. She has a similar interdisciplinary background to me; both clinical therapy and sexual counseling are in her wheelhouse. And I know she'll keep me updated on your progress."

I blinked. She.

Stacy continued, pursing her lips briefly. "We have...certain philosophical differences, in our approaches, as I think you'll see. But we are good collaborators, and I respect the effectiveness of her methods immensely. I think you'll like working with her. I'll be sorry to miss our appointments, but I think this is critical to make sure that you and I maintain a productive working relationship."

I nodded. Well, at least it wasn't a man in a sweater vest. Probably an older woman in a sweater vest. "W-what's her name?"

Stacy smiled. "You've already met her, actually. I was out with her on Friday when I ran into you and Becca. Good luck, Phil. I'll see you in a month or two."

I walked out, desperate now to change clothes, and trying to recall anything about Stacy's friends. There had been two women with her, I thought. Maybe one had been a redhead? I wasn't sure. I had the impression they were attractive, but I had been focused on Stacy.

I glanced down at the slip of paper. My referral was to an Alexis Chao. It sparked a dim recollection -- Lexie. One of the women had introduced herself as Lexie. The one who had been giggling and whispering in Stacy's ear. But that was all I could recall about her.

Maybe some more internet research would prove illuminating.