The Therapist [Part 1]

"Bro, I'm telling you, she really helped me out. I thought therapy was bullshit but like...she just knows what she's doing, I guess. She's got a bunch of credentials. I was super skeptical but my relationship has never been better."

This was a very surprising comment. Trevor was my bro-iest friend, a golden retriever in human form. His earnestness was characteristic of him. But his enthusiasm for talking about his perennial problems with his girlfriend -- let alone with a woman, let alone in therapy with a woman -- was absolutely out of left field.

"Really dude?" I was both interested and astonished to hear Trevor talking this way. "How did it help?"

"Uh, I'm not really supposed to talk about the details of what happens in our sessions...but, like, she helped me find better mechanisms to manage some of the conflict I have with Kate, you know?"

The therapy-speak coming out of his mouth was absolutely out of character. I blinked a few times. Was Trevor ...blushing? Hard to tell -- we were both drunk, and the bar was poorly lit.

But that did sound helpful. "Yeah? I mean, Becca and I have our share of problems..." I said the words ruefully.

"Give her a try, man. You won't regret it." He grinned, sloppily, at me. "Also, she's a total smokeshow. So worst-case scenario, you'll have some hot chick listening to you talk for an hour, you don't even have to buy her dinner, and Becca will think you're, like, really working on yourself."

That sounded more like Trevor. I grinned and clapped him on the back. Maybe I would give it a shot.

--

So several weeks later, I pushed the glass doors open and walked into the offices of Dr. Lundstrom, clinical therapist, psychologist, counselor, marriage and relationship coach, and licensed sex educator, a couple of weeks later for a consultative appointment. They were airy, spacious, and bright -- floor to ceiling windows and lots of natural light. I was impressed.

She greeted me at the door. My overwhelming initial impression was professional, Scandinavian, and hot -- tall, long blonde hair, blue eyes. She was maybe in her late 20s or early 30s, tops, wearing heels, a white blouse tucked into a grey pencil skirt.

She shook my hand. "You must be Phil. I'm Dr. Lundstrom, but please call me Stacy." Her red lips curved upward in a warm smile.

I tried to give her a strong, masculine grip. "Yeah, I'm Phil. Great to meet you, Stacy." Trevor had not been kidding -- she was a smokeshow. Pretty face, high cheekbones, full lips in bright red lipstick -- and her blouse was unbuttoned to reveal more than a hint of cleavage. She filled out that blouse really nicely. Damn.

"Right this way," she turned around, leading me into an office. I got to check out the way her pencil skirt clung to her ass. Yep, I could get used to therapy.

She sat down behind a desk and invited me to sit on a couch. "So, Phil. Tell me about why you're here? Your intake form mentioned..." She opened a manila folder in front of her. "...some intimacy problems?"

I thought about what to say here. Did I really want to talk about the problem I was having with Becca? "Yeah. I love my girlfriend, Becca -- but it feels like she, uh...doesn't always respect me, in spite of how much I do for her. I'd like some mechanisms for working on that."

"I see...well, Phil, I'm afraid we can't work on other people in therapy and counseling, only ourselves. But I'm happy to talk about some approaches that might help you feel differently about the situation, and maybe some behaviors you can try to change the patterns of your interactions."

I flushed. "Oh, uh, yeah, that makes sense. Okay."

Stacy smiled encouragingly. "So, tell me about why you feel she doesn't respect you?"

"Um, well...she kind of teases me. A lot." My face heated.

Stacy leaned forward. I could see down her blouse; the top of her tits strained against her bra, round and soft. It was difficult to make eye contact. "I see. Tell me more about that. What does she tease you about?"

"I, uh...it's kind of uncomfortable to talk about..." I instantly regretted my choice to come here, realizing that I was now in the position of telling this incredibly hot therapist about my...problems in the bedroom. For some reason that hadn't been real until this very moment.

Stacy smiled encouragingly, and reached across the desk to take my hand. "Phil. I've seen and heard about a lot of different problems, and I'm a professional. Most problems are treatable, and where they aren't treatable, there are certainly mechanisms for helping to manage them. Is it...something related to physical intimacy?"

I nodded. Her hand was soft and warm. Was she...flirting with me? I didn't think therapists were supposed to touch their clients.

Stacy pursed her lips, a look of sympathetic understanding on her face. "I know these topics can sometimes be difficult to discuss, but I'm a professional. Why don't you just tell me. Or if it's easier, you could write it down..."

I sighed. "No, no...I, uh...I can't seem to last for her. You know. In bed." I flushed. We had gone from embarrassing to fucking emasculating. But I did want help, and Trevor said she had helped him...

Stacy nodded sympathetically. "I can see it's hard for you to talk about. But you don't have to be embarrassed; this is a judgment-free zone, and that is a common issue men face. I can definitely help." She pulled her hand away and made a note. "When you say you can't last, how long would you say you typically last after penetration?"

My flush deepened; I was pretty sure I was blushing bright red now. "Well, it-it varies a lot. Sometimes maybe thirty seconds or a minute...sometimes...sometimes less."

Stacy nodded once more, making another note. "I see. When you say it varies a lot -- is there something specific that is causing you to prematurely ejaculate?"

Hearing her say the clinical words, naming my problem, made my heart sink. "How do you mean, specific?"

"Well..." Stacy considered, pursing her lips. "As an example, I've had men who couldn't handle blowjobs, or a woman riding them, or some other specific sex act, for very long. Others had a specific body part -- say, feet, or breasts -- that would cause ejaculation. Is there a specific trigger for you? Or is it a more general problem?"

Her word choice -- I've had men -- was interesting, I thought. Not I've worked with clients, or I've had patients. Just I've had men. I tried not to think about the implications of Stacy -- tall, blonde, athletic, hot Stacy -- having men who couldn't handle a woman riding them for too long. "Oh, uh, I see what you mean. Um, yes. I used to last longer, but she has started teasing or mocking me about...not lasting long...cumming too quickly...and once she starts doing that, I can't seem to hold back."

Stacy smiled encouragingly, her full red lips curving upward. "Aha, I see. How interesting. More on that in a moment. But first...what does sex look like in your head without this problem? How would you want to be performing?"

My mouth was dry. "I, uh...I'd like to last long enough for her to cum, a few times." I licked my lips, a little nervously. "I-I know many women can't cum from penetration, but Becca says she can, and...I'd like to be able to give her that." Talking about how I wanted to perform in bed with this hot blonde was...turning me on, I realized.

Stacy broke into a huge smile. "It's great that you seem to be such a giving partner. Caring about the pleasure of our sexual partners is really healthy. As long as you aren't tying your self-worth to that, I think it's a really nice goal to have."

Her approval made me feel really good.

She shifted, leaning forward again. Fuck, her tits in that blouse were distracting -- I could just catch a hint of red fabric that must've been her bra. "Now, I want to circle back to something you said earlier. You said that you used to last longer for Becca...does the premature ejaculation only happen when she teases you? Or have other partners teasing you produced a similar result?"

I thought about that. "Uh, I-I don't really know, actually...I've only experienced it with her, but--"

"But you don't know for sure because you haven't had other sexual partners who have teased you about it?" She finished my sentence, nodding. I nodded agreement.

"I see. So before your current partner, this wasn't problem?"

I considered. "No, not really..."

She nodded, and made another note. "Well, I'm going to have to do a little clinical evaluation to establish whether this is a partner-specific problem, Phil." She stood up and walked around the desk so that she was standing in front of me, leaning against it.

"Okay?" I was taken aback. What did that even mean?

"I need to see how you respond to the triggers, and we need to know if this is a problem unique to your current partner. I'll do that by engaging in some roleplaying, utilizing your triggers. This is strictly for clinical purposes, you understand?" She made eye contact with me, one eyebrow raised.

"Uh...I guess?" I did not understand. Roleplaying? Triggers?

"Great." She paused, and then her entire affect shifted. Her lean against the desk became less rigid, more like she was lounging.

Her lips parted, and she gave me a small, mocking smile. "Phil, what if I told you that I've actually already talked with Becca, and she described your condition to me."

The shift in her whole demeanor was profound, but I was focused on her words. My heart practically stopped. "Wh-what?"

"Mmm, that's right. I do some checking on all new patients. You listed her as your emergency contact info, and so I gave her a call."

I wavered between indignation, embarrassment, and curiosity. Indignation won. "Y-you had no right--"

"Phil. Please. You're only getting upset because you're embarrassed about what she told me. But it was only what you've already told me yourself." She smirked and leaned in close, whispering in my ear. "You're a quick cummer. You don't last longer than a minute, tops."

I froze. I was, I realized, rock hard. The shift had happened so fast I was almost lightheaded. She was so...fucking hot, and she was teasing me...just like Becca did...

She continued. "She said you sometimes cum before you even get it in," Stacy giggled. It was completely at odds with her previous professional demeanor, a rich sound, and I felt my cock twitch in response. "Is that true?"

"I-I mean, I guess it's happened once or twice, but..." I couldn't believe this was happening, that she was talking to me this way.

"Mmm, I see. She told me she could make you cum just about any time she wanted, just by teasing you about it. That she's got complete control of you." She smirked again. "Is that true?"

I was rock hard, but also wanted to crawl under a rock and die. "Th-this feels..." I trailed off. I didn't know what I was going to say? Unprofessional? Fucked up?

But Stacy was unbuttoning another button on her white blouse. You could see a lacy red bra, now, and most of each of her full breasts. She laughed.

"This feels what? Hot, Phil? I can see your..." I could hear the dismissive, teasing note in her voice... "...boner in your pants...does it feel like you might lose control?" She smirked. "When Becca told me about it, I just had to see for myself. And look at you, already hard..." she glanced down, grinning. "I wonder if you'll cum in my office. Just blow your load right here."

I panicked at the thought. I was really turned on, though...and now that she had planted the idea, I could feel the familiar sense of being overwhelmed, of losing control, building. "I won't---"

But she cut me off. "Mmm, tell me. Am I hotter than her? I mean, you cum quick for her...would you cum even faster for me?"

"I'm not going to---"

"If I were fucking you, I mean. I know you think I'm attractive, I've seen you looking. It's...cute that you seem to care about Becca's pleasure, that you want her to cum when you can't even last thirty seconds most of the time..." she giggled.

I blushed.

"I can cum from penetration too, you know...but I need at least ten or fifteen minutes of nice, deep thrusting to get off, and to be honest, Phil, a lot of men can't really handle me..." she ran a hand through her long blonde hair, tossing it out to the side. "My confidence combined with my body...well, it's just too much for them."

I was gawking, staring at her tits in the lacy red bra. I didn't respond. I was thinking about what it would be like to have her riding me. I knew it would make me blow my load in no time. My cock was leaking.

"Do you think you could handle me, Phil? Or would you cum right away? It sounds like you're a really quick cummer for Becca..." She pouted and pushed her tits together. "But the way you're staring at my tits...I'm guessing you'd be an even quicker cummer for me. She doesn't have tits like these, huh?"

My mouth was dry. I was lightheaded...and on the verge of cumming. "N...no..." I wasn't even sure what I was saying no to.

She stepped forward, her tits almost up against my chest, so that she was whispering in my ear again. "So...are you going to blow your load right here in my office? That would be so embarrassing, Phil. I've dealt with a lot of clients with premature ejaculation, but you'd be the only one to cum in your pants just from a little teasing..."

"S-stop..." I said it halfheartedly, most of my attention occupied by trying to stave off my impending orgasm.

"Stop? Stop what? I'm just talking, Phil. Diagnosing you. I'm not doing anything to you...it's not like I'm sucking your cock, or letting you fuck me on top of my desk...though I'd bet you like it if I was..." she was still whispering in my ear, standing close enough that I could feel her body heat. "I'll tell you what. If you can put your hands on my tits without cumming, I'll stop teasing you. But if you blow your load...well, you really are a quick cummer, aren't you?"

I was breathing hard. "I-I could grab them if I wanted..."

"So do it, Phil. A real man certainly could." The words came out dripping with derision.

"Shut up..." I wasn't sure if I could. I could feel the point of no return, right there. But I had to try after she said that. I reached out, and put my hands on her full breasts.

Instantly, her hands shot out, holding mine in place. "Mmm, they feel good, don't they?" she purred.

"Y-yeah...f-fuck, I'm gonna...it's gonna make me..." I trailed off, fighting a battle I could feel I had already lost. The building orgasm was overwhelming. Her tits felt so good, big, warm, full and soft in my hands. It was already too late, I could feel myself cresting over the edge.

She kept talking as I felt myself losing control. "Oh, I'm gonna make you what, Phil? Are you going to blow your load in a therapist's office over a little teasing? That's the kind of thing only a quick cummer would do...are you a quick cummer, Phil?" Her tone was mocking.

I couldn't respond; how hot she was, how confident, how her tits felt, the teasing...it was all too much. Moaning, my hips bucked, as I exploded, spraying cum on the inside of my boxers.

She stepped away, moving unhurriedly. She let my hands fall away from her tits, buttoned her top back up, and sat back down behind the desk. She had a sympathetic expression on. "My, yes, it certainly seems like you've got a premature ejaculation problem."

"W-what?" Her entire demeanor was different again -- clinical, reserved. I was still coming down off my orgasm and the whiplash was profound.

"Well, Phil, that was a very helpful clinical evaluation. To be clear, I haven't actually been in touch with Becca; that would be completely inappropriate, but I needed to quickly put you into a defensive, humiliated mindset, to better understand your triggers, and that was the fastest way. It certainly seems like your premature ejaculation issue is more about her behavior than it is about Becca herself, since you were incredibly stimulated by my teasing as well. So that will be our starting point." She made a few notes on the pad in front of her.

"I...yeah...okay..." I was confused. I was especially confused about whether she just expected me to stand there without cleaning myself up.

"It seems very deeply-rooted; the course of treatment won't be easy. I'm going to put you in for a regular appointment in this time slot. I'll see you in two weeks."

"O...kay...?" the word came out uncertainly. Was this what every appointment was going to be like? It had been...hot...but...also humiliating. It didn't seem to be solving my problem. Is that what I wanted?

"Before next appointment, I want you to try to have intercourse with Becca at least four or five times. Tell her that your therapist's recommendation is that frequency of intimate encounters will be part of addressing problems that are limiting your relationship. When you have intercourse with her, I want you to pay special attention to how long you last. No need to use a stopwatch or anything, just keep an eye on the clock and note down the duration of intercourse." she smiled. "And when you achieve completion, I want you to pay attention to what's happening when it happens -- is Becca saying something? Is there something she's doing? An expression on her face? Something in her body language? That's all data that will help us get to root causes and address them."

This felt more like the kind of conversation I expected to have had, but I was distracted by the cum soaking through my pants. "Uh...okay..." I was trying to reconcile her current tone with the sense of humiliation I was feeling.

"I appreciate you coming, Phil. We can get to the bottom of this problem together." She stood up and held out her hand. I reflexively reached out and shook it. Was...was that double entendre?

Moments later, she had ushered me out in the hallway.

I pushed the down button on the elevator. What the fuck had just happened?