Therapy does not progress well when the therapist is listening to the little voices coming from his big dick, rather than his clients’ mouths. I made a special effort at work, cognizant of my degree of personal distraction. Even if other aspects of my life swirled around like objects caught in the updraft of a small tornado, I made sure that I remained on track professionally, keeping the structure of my life together.

I employed the immersion technique in my practice with increasing regularity, especially in cases dealing with some form of overt or hidden addiction. The success rate was remarkable, enough above the statistical data I’d read elsewhere to believe that I had a special — perhaps even unique — talent for using the method. I found myself wishing that I’d pushed harder at both Mira and Lucinda, probing for any sexual needs that even bordered on the addictive. If I could alleviate addictive urges so effectively, I reasoned, why not the reverse?

I couldn’t see any graceful way to get Mira back on my couch, though, not when she believed that the method had failed in her case. But even without a second try, Mira was hardly off the hook. She called every second night, sometimes in the grip of powerful masturbatory urges, sometimes sobbing and declaring that she could never see me again, or even call. You can be sure that a lover’s rational mind is lost in a fuck-fever fog when she calls to tell you that she can’t call. Her skewed logic was almost laughable, but every word she uttered stiffened my dick. Even her impassioned proclamations of future fidelity to her husband made me hard, because I’d helped to energize her divergent drives, and every ounce of conflict she felt was bound to send her my way again, her pussy dripping liquid fire.

The liquid fire couldn’t come drip my way very frequently, though, because neither of us had a secret wish for a soap opera-like discovery of our relationship. Since so much of the sex we engaged in was over the phone, I got the bright idea of buying a portable digital recorder, and taking Mira’s calls on my speaker phone whenever practical. Most of the recorded material I erased, but there were hot volcanic passages I transferred to my computer, to replay and masturbate over. Her voice during sex was as beautiful and cum- inducing as the rest of her, although I really would have preferred the touch of her hard body more often.

The waiting started to get to me, and I became horny enough that I sought her out one evening, driving around the parking lot of the grocery store I knew she frequented, hoping to spot her, or at least her car. I found her on the second night of this wishful hunting, and “bumped into” her in the produce aisle, thrilled by the stream of conflicting emotions flashing through her green eyes. As I’d hoped, she couldn’t resist me once she saw me. Ten minutes later I had my fingers wiggling inside her pussy, her gorgeous legs perched on the dashboard of her BMW. She blew my dick with gusto in return, moaning with heat as I ordered her to swallow every drop and lick me clean. I’d never lusted for parking garage sex and it had its limitations, but with Mira right then, it was what I could get and it was divine.

On the Grace/Lucinda front, I didn’t hear from Grace for nearly a week, and I could only speculate as to the effectiveness of my session with Lucinda. On the special day itself I left a happy birthday message on her machine, and the next morning I got a call back.

“How was your birthday?” I asked.

“Infuckingcredible.”

“And how was my birthday present? Did you open her — I mean, it — up?”

“Michael… You opened her, not me. Whatever or however you did what you did… You should have been there, to witness the results of your new hypno-dealie magic. She tongued me for three straight hours. Three hours! Her tongue was like soft steel and I lost track of how many times I came. And her screams… What did you say to her when you had her under your influence? I’m going to have to start wearing earplugs to bed! What a birthday present! What a birthday!”

“I’m glad.”

“I call her The Tongueinator now. I mean, she licked me fucking raw!”

“’The Tongueinator’… Maybe I could work up some advertising using that one. Straights, gays… everybody could use a Tongueinator in their lives.”

“She’s been going at my toes, too, and letting me suck hers. God, how I love that!”

“You sound like a very happy woman, Grace, from head to foot.”

“There’s just one more thing I want, Michael. I want you to try your method on me again. Now that I know what it can do… Maybe I could relax differently, and make it work.”

“What would you want from it, Grace?”

“Fucking super-sex powers, what do you think?”

“And I thought you already had them.”

“Flatterer. Anyway, think about it. Lucinda has a birthday coming right on the heels of mine, you know.”

“You want me to turn your tongue into liquid metal for her birthday?”

“No, I don’t want anything changed just yet, it’s too perfect. I’m just letting you know that Lucinda is throwing a big birthday bash, and she specifically asked me to invite you.”

“Uh-oh. She’s going to want me to perform hypnotic orgy tricks. I’m expensive, you know, especially my group rate.”

“You’re worth every penny, Michael. I… I really don’t know how to thank you for your present. I’m forever indebted.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You really should think about branching out into new therapeutic territory. Get a handful of testimonials from satisfied customers like me and you’ll have horny men and women beating – and beating-off — at your office door non-stop.”

“More hard work for the cleaning crew.”

She laughed, and gave me the date and time of Lucinda’s party, which was coming up fast. “I’m looking forward to it,” I said.

“Will you still feel that way when I tell you that Lucinda’s dancer friends will all be there?”

My breath drew in. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Miss Torso and Taylor will both be there,” Grace informed me, a crafty smile in her voice.

“I assume that Lucinda knows all about my private dirty dancing with Mira,” I said.

“Actually, I don’t think she does. I sure haven’t told her, and I don’t think Miss Torso has spilled all the beans, either. She has her reasons for being discreet, and I assumed you did, too.”

“Thanks for that, Grace.”

“Don’t make me out to be a saint. I’m going to give Lucinda a fire extinguisher for her birthday, because something tells me the atmosphere at her party is going to be extremely volatile.”

“Can you do this?” I asked Mira when she called next.

“I think so,” she answered. “I have good acting skills. I might be boiling for your cock inside, but I’ll smile and even flirt with my husband. He’ll never know unless you slip up.”

I was happy with her answer, because I felt that I could trust myself to behave in company. Two nights later I arrived at Lucinda’s downtown apartment, bearing the gift of several bottles of fine wine. I was punctual, meaning early, and Lucinda and Grace gave me a tour of the place, a nice two-bedroom with a porch view of the river.

Lucinda was dressed casually but sexily in tight shorts and a halter- top, her bare feet displaying the pretty painted toes that Grace loved to kiss so much. I kept sneaking glances at her powder-keg body, seeing with the X-ray vision of knowledge the shaved pussy that just might know how much it needed my dick to fulfill its ultimate orgasmic wishes. Several times I stood behind her, supposedly appreciating her art posters or some fine piece of furniture; instead, my mind imagined what it might be like to hold her from the rear like this, plunging my cock into her cunt while watching her head move between Grace’s parted thighs. We opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio at the kitchen table and I looked for signs that some part of Lucinda knew how much she craved me, but other guests arrived and she was taken with her hosting duties.

“Come out on the porch with me for a minute,” Grace urged, taking my elbow.

“What’s up?” I asked, knowing that something was.

“You made a real impression on my partner the other day,” she said, a bit enigmatically. “It’s that strong couch-side manner of yours.”

“I’d be out of business without it.”

“Try it out on somebody for me tonight. I’ve invited an actress friend to the party, someone I’ve been wanting you to meet.”

“Uh-oh. The Matchmakinator is ready to wreak havoc upon mankind.”

“I’m covering your ass, idiot. Her name is Tiffani and she really is a dear one. I’ve told her all about you and she’s genuinely interested in meeting you.”

“Grace… I’ve never had a blind date work out, you know that. And I’m…”

“Distracted by a certain dancer’s molten, married pussy, I know that. Go for Tiffani only if you two hit it off, or use her for cover tonight if you don’t. But be nice to her, regardless. I’d be very upset with you if you ignored her.”

“Thanks for the cover.”

“She was cheaper than a fire-extinguisher,” she joked, and we went back inside.

The party was going when we re-entered the kitchen. For the most part it was a young crowd and an unusually fit one, so many of the guests being other company dancers and their partners. Mira and Taylor entered as I poured myself a second glass of wine, and I felt goosebumps rise on my arms, because Mira wasn’t playing fair, not at all. The other members of the dance company, men and women, weren’t shy about their bodies, but Mira had gone the neon sign route, with a red leather mini-dress that looked shrink-wrapped onto her torso, and red fishnet stockings with matching tall heels. The outfit might have appeared nearly hooker-ish on a less beautiful woman; in her case, it just made her look like an ultra-curvy stick of dynamite, with smoke wafting up from the fuse.

I shook Taylor’s hand and gave Mira a peck on the cheek, then left the kitchen to restore inner calm and shove my eyeballs back in their sockets.

“Spwwiiiissssshhhh,” Grace sound-effected into my ear as she passed, moving her arm around as though holding the invisible hose of a fire extinguisher.

I settled into the living room and fell into a conversation with one of Lucinda’s neighbors, which Grace interrupted by introducing me to her actress friend, Tiffani. My potential match was a cute girl with close-cropped auburn hair and wide expressive eyes. There was nothing really wrong with her, nothing at all; even so, I knew in about three seconds that I couldn’t get too excited about her, not in the romantic sense.

We talked, mostly me asking questions about the play she and Grace were in rehearsals for. I was polite and seemingly attentive, but my peripheral vision was on overdrive, catching glimpses of Lucinda’s tight ass in her shorts, or Mira melting the paint right off the kitchen walls. Sexual tension was definitely in the air, yet there were no detectable signs that the currents might ripple out to include me.

Taylor eventually meandered into the room, and I ended up having a conversation with him about medical ethics, of all things. He had recently begun to participate in the Doctors Without Borders organization, and was flying to Ethiopia the following week in a trial advisory role.

You can bet that three cherries lined up in my brain at that one, although it surprised me that Mira hadn’t yet mentioned it. Good Mira, keeping mum so I wouldn’t press her for some quality fuck-time, or naughty Mira wanting to surprise me? Without actually asking how long Taylor would be away, I got him to supply the information I needed: Five days, four nights — or to my mind, an eternity of time for this mouse to play with the missing cat’s wife’s pussy.

“Your date is really cute,” he commented, referring, I assumed, to Tiffani.

I caught a glimpse of her through the kitchen door, then absorbed a stirring hit of red shapeliness. Mira regarded me with her wine glass poised at her lips, her eyes firing fuck-bullets straight at me.

“Need a refill?” I asked Taylor, glancing at his drained vodka tonic.

“Sure. From the sounds of things, the livelier elements of the party are having a real go of it in there.”

We walked into the kitchen together. Taylor moved to Mira’s side and I positioned myself near the other doorway and somewhat close to Tiffani, hoping for an overview of the dynamics at play.

“Well, has anyone ever done it?” one of the male dancers challenged.

A semi-awkward silence, before one of the female dancers boldly pronounced, “I did it, in Hawaii two years ago.”

“Tell us about it!” Lucinda urged. “Was it hot?”

It was, the other dancer assured her. Apparently the kitchen conversation was centered on multiple partners and group sex. The dancer told her story about staying with a friend for a week in Maui, and a late-night party on the beach that ended with three women and one lucky man doing the multi-nasty in a hot tub.

I didn’t know how the conversation had lighted upon the topic, and I didn’t sense that this group of young men and women was about to burst into orgiastic flames. But I did see burning curiosity in Lucinda’s eyes, and a tightening in the muscles around Grace’s mouth. Taylor’s right hand cradled Mira’s waist and Mira looked a little tipsy, her hot body not so quietly smoldering inside her red sheathing.

Grace caught my eye and the message beamed at me urged withdrawal. That suited me fine because I had heard nature’s call, and the hallway bathroom beckoned.

I quietly removed myself from the kitchen sex-talk and waited for the bathroom door to open, definitely feeling eyes on the back of my head. I wondered whether they were Mira’s, or Lucinda’s, or even Taylor’s. I caught a glimpse of red shifting behind me just before the door opened, and I went in, relieved to relieve myself. I peed and had just flushed the toilet when the door opened, and Mira swept in, flooding the smallish bathroom with vermillion color and an accompanying wave of heat. She locked the door behind her and leaned her back against it, breathing as though she’d been running. In the small tiled room her beauty appeared amplified or oversized, and aggressive.

“Don’t even think of fucking her,” she commanded, referring to Tiffani.

“I wasn’t.”

“I can’t take it any more!” she whispered through clenched teeth. Before I could reply or even knew what was happening, she had her stockings and panties lowered halfway down her thighs. “Oh God, please eat me, Michael!” she implored, hiking up the hem of her tight dress. Her shoes came off and she leaped up onto the rim of the tub, her legs spread, hands holding onto the metal rod of the shower curtain.

“Are you…” I began, and I was going to say “crazy” at first. “Desperate?” I finished.

“Yes! Hurry! I… I’ll go crazy if you don’t!”

“I hear that Taylor will be away next week,” I aimed, thinking fast.

“Michael… please…”

“I want a special surprise, Mira. A promise that you’ll gift me with the hottest thing you can think of, while he’s gone.”

Her fingers spread the folds of her beautiful pussy in anticipation of my tongue, and I could see for myself how the strong muscles of her legs trembled from the emotions within.

“I… promise!” she capitulated. “Oh please… Eat me!”

It was funny how I heard Grace’s voice in my brain as I moved in on Mira’s thighs, giving her what she needed so desperately. If a woman like Mira Cassidy thrust her slit in your face, your tongue would start vibrating. She was so right, because my tongue moved as though someone had slipped several quarters into it, even when I knew that Taylor and dozens of others were out there beyond a single locked bathroom door.

Mira’s hips began to buck when I gave her the full mouth treatment, my tongue wiggling while my lips spread to make fuller contact. Her little cries began and she let go of the shower curtain rod to cover her mouth with a forearm, crying into her own flesh when she came. I pulled back as soon as she was over the edge, and watched the effects her orgasm had on her face, and the tops of her breasts, and the creamy flesh of her incomparable thighs. Then survival instincts kicked in, and I turned to wet and soap a washcloth, forcing it into one of her shaking hands.

“I’ll never stop needing you!” she whispered, cleaning up.

“We’ll both need attorneys if you don’t get out there and act like this never happened,” I whispered back.

She found a can of air freshener under the sink and waved a few sprays around, then said, “Stay in here a good minute after I leave. Here, hide behind the shower curtain just in case. It’s opaque enough that no one would see you.”

It felt silly, or perhaps I should say that I felt silly, but I did it. Mira reached out and gave my straining cock an encouraging squeeze before opening the door, and the party’s sounds entered the room as she left. I heard her say something unintelligible a moment later, and then the door closed. My flesh tingled as I realized it had been shut from within.

I stood motionless in the tub, endeavoring to not even breath. The sounds of pants being slipped down were surprisingly loud, as was the friction of an ass settling onto the toilet rim, and then the trickle of pee.

“I’ll bet you’re hard as hell in there,” Lucinda’s voice filled the room, just before the toilet flushed. A second later the curtain was drawn back, and we regarded each other, me cowering in her tub with an erection pushing at my pants, her with her panties and shorts lying on the tiled floor.

“I think I saw this scene in a soap opera once,” I mumbled, trying to dull my embarrassment with humor even as I gazed once again at her beautiful bare pussy.

“Mira’s vagina smells fabulous,” she whispered, her gaze going down, mirroring mine. “And just look at what playing with it did to you, you poor man.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but stopped short. Her expression was almost frighteningly intense as she reached out and pulled at my pants button and zipper, expertly freeing my hard-on out into the light. Looking like a child in a race to swallow the word’s biggest and most irresistible tootsie roll, she climbed into the tub with me, transferring my cock from her hand to her mouth before her knees even touched the bathtub floor.

“Um…” I semi-protested, thinking of Grace while feeling repercussions piling upon repercussions.

My cock popped out from Lucinda’s lips just long enough for her to say, “I’ve been dreaming of this! I’ll worry about Grace, you just enjoy.” And then she sucked me hard, her mouth wet and tight, her tongue performing its own excellent choreography up and down the length of me before settling in to tap dance on my sensitive tip.

I did my best to keep my moans and groans at minimum volume, but Lucinda seemed to be unable to do the same. Her mouth action was expert — no lessons or guidance needed for this girl. Her tongue twirled around and around me in a clockwise pattern and her lusty expressions began to echo off the tiled walls. Sucking my dick was getting her way hot, and she had become a screamer, thanks to me.

Her voice and sucking became fragmented, nearly spastic — she had both hands working furiously at her bare cunt, but something bigger was happening. I felt chills as I remembered one of my immersion commands: You can trust Michael’s hard cock to give you the most intense orgasms of your life. There had been more, of course, but from the looks of things, the suggestions were into her pretty deep, stoking her fires. Lucinda was ready to pop, and pop uncontrollably.

I was only a few seconds away myself and I could imagine how her cunt and vocal chords might erupt when she got a taste of my semen. I did something I’ve never done before and couldn’t imagine ever needing to do — I grabbed two bath towels that were within reach and stuffed them in stereo on top of Lucinda’s face when we came, pressing in hard and shoving my dick as far as it would go down her throat.

I came at the back of her mouth, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out, and nearly toppling onto her. Lucinda’s entire body spasmed when she erupted, her writhing arms and hands reminiscent of an old electro-shock documentary I’d seen in school. I couldn’t witness her orgasms contorting her face, and much as I wanted to see every effect of my immersion commands rippling through her body, I didn’t ease the pressure from the towels until I thought she might be able to control herself.

“You… go,” she panted, looking like it could be some time before she could move or think straight.

I put myself together as best I could, washing Mira’s cunt from my face and Lucinda’s face from my dick.

“I need… more,” she hissed at me moments before I fled the bathroom, and the party. I didn’t know what Lucinda would tell Grace, and I didn’t say good-bye to anybody. I just got the hell out of there.

At home I replayed the night’s surprise sexcapades in my mind, literally feeling chills from the ramifications of what I’d experienced in Lucinda’s bathroom. I had managed to insert my cock inside of two female minds, and fucking with a woman’s mind was proving to be a reasonably reliable way to fuck the pussy connected to the mind. But more than that, I’d actually succeeded in upping Lucinda’s capacity for experiencing pleasure. My cock was like a hose gushing a trail of gasoline right to her pleasure centers, and the fuse was already half-lit. All I needed now was for Lucinda to get Grace into the action, and I’d be treated to some real screaming, from more than one direction.

I felt almost high from the possibilities, and the rush of power. I wanted more of this, much more of this, and I wanted it on my terms. I leaned back in my leather chair and closed my eyes, imagining the things I might tell Mira or Lucinda if I ever got my soothing voice inside of their vulnerable psyches again:

Life is not complete without fucking Michael. You will do what Michael tells you to do, and following his commands will make your pussy ache so much that you can barely stand it. Michael’s cock is your Ultimate Pleasure Tool — nothing can heat you up like your desire for Michael’s cock. Nothing can make you explode like fucking and sucking and teasing and pleasing Michael’s hard cock.

I could see them, writhing with desire, their athletic bodies filled with that single purpose, to worship and please my hard dick. And what about Grace? She wanted another go with the technique — could I bend her, too? She was just as susceptible to suggestion as the others, but to get her hot for my dick, or any dick…

It might not be possible. It would definitely be evil.

Well, I was no boy scout, and I loved a good challenge.

Mira called the next morning, crying.

“I should never have done that!” she lamented. “Every time I taste you, I just want more!”

Get over it, I thought, actually meaning the reverse. I never wanted Mira to get over it.

I reminded her of her promise, to do something special for me once Taylor was gone, and the whole string of conflicting impulses were voiced in a neat line, from angst and denial to lust and cock- hardening teasing. It would be a few days, but I felt I had something wonderful to look forward to.

Grace called just a bit later, and I knew a few words in that something was wrong.

“You sound down,” I fished.

“Just… pissed.”

“Oh?” I asked, my trouble-feelers alert.

“You sure disappeared from the party without a trace. Tiffani was disappointed, and so was I.”

“Not making a perfect match is what has you upset?”

“No, that was just mildly annoying. The real deal involves Lucinda. She’s being… difficult. It’s really got me pissed off.”

“Anything you want to share?”

“No, and that’s the whole point, dammit!”

“You’ve lost me,” I falsely confessed.

“Did you hear any of that orgy-porgy conversation at the party? Lucinda is fixated on having a multiple-lover experience. You should hear her, begging and pleading… It’s got me freaked out.”

“Maybe that conversation tapped into something deep inside of her.”

“She wants something or someone deep inside of her alright, at the same time she eats me out.”

“Wow. You… would never go for it?”

“No, never.”

“Then… what?”

“Then I don’t know. She keeps trying to convince me. She has it all planned out in her mind, and keeps telling me how incredible it will be. She… Christ, she tries to fucking bribe me with toe-licking, Michael. I love the action, but the intent is all mixed-up. I feel used and... This is awful!”

“Her ideas don’t excite you at all?”

“No, they just don’t.”

“It sure sounds hot to me, Grace. Three or four gorgeous women with gleaming dildos, making star patterns like aquatic dancers on a big bear rug…”

Silence.

“There’s something else you want to tell me, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Only I shouldn’t.”

“Okay. Then don’t.”

“Fuck you, Michael!”

“Hey…”

“I’m sorry, forgive me. You don’t deserve that. It’s just… She’s trying to talk me into doing it with her and a man. She specifically wants it that way, the two of us and a man, and as you might recall, I don’t do men.”

“I see.”

“Not entirely. Because the man she wants… is you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. She thinks you’re sexy, and that you and I would be good together, too.”

“And you think…”

“I don’t think! It’s unthinkable!”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, it’s not that, it’s… Well maybe it is that, I can’t help it! But even if you were a goddess with blazing suns for tits, I couldn’t do it. No way, not you, not the man in the moon or even the woman in the moon. I couldn’t share Lucinda’s thighs with anybody! I just can’t!”

“So tell her that. She’ll feel special.”

“Ha! She’s a fighter. She just tells me that I can’t see what she really needs, and that I don’t care enough. She thinks I’m being selfish.”

“Well… Are you?”

“Of course I am! I fucking love her! I have the right to feel selfish!”

“Maybe I should talk to her. I could try…”

“No! Not now. She’s too… fevered. I mean it, Michael, if you showed up at the door she’d probably try to talk your cock into her mouth, and she’d work hard to drag me into it.”

“Like I was saying…”

“No, don’t joke about this!"

"Sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so. She just got her imagination stirred up at the party, and she knows how much I trust you. Just stay away for a bit, until we get past this unfortunate obsession, okay? She’ll calm down. My tongue will fucking make her calm down.”

“Good luck,” I said, almost meaning it.

“Thanks.”

You might think it was hard being so awful behind my friend's back, but it was the waiting that really ate at me. It seemed that I was always waiting for Mira’s pussy to fall my way again, and now I was waiting for Taylor to leave on his good Samaritan trip, and I also had to wait for Lucinda to wear Grace down. I felt a restlessness in my soul, and it bubbled to the surface as I worked with my most attractive client, Rosita Bello.

Perhaps it was inevitable that my fantasies would find their way into my practice, especially when I had a client like Rosita. She was a part-time pole and lap dancer at a local club, who had come to me for help with an addiction to cocaine. She only worked four nights a week but she made good money with her dancing, no doubt because she was the best-looking woman at the club. She was twenty-four with a trim men’s magazine body and a pouty, knowing smile, and I could just imagine the way she used her dark eyes and puckered her full lips to coax the dollars out of her patrons’ hands.

What sealed the deal, however, had to be her oversized set of knockers. Rosita had remarked herself upon the big tit/big tip connection, gazing down upon her all-natural assets like she couldn’t even believe how amazing they were, and how lucky she was to have them. I’d always found her physically fascinating and alluring, to the point that I sometimes found myself staring too intently at her breasts, and I had to admit that I loved it when she wore tight or low-cut blouses to our sessions.

We had made excellent strides against her cocaine issues, but as sometimes happens, her addictive nature reappeared elsewhere in her life. It’s a common problem, and one that can extend therapy for many months or even years. In Rosita’s case, there was an underlying emptiness — something like a hole in her psyche — that needed to be filled. I tried to uncover positive dreams of hers, some kind of dormant goals that could occupy that space; instead, once she lost her lust for coke, she unconsciously filled the void with a stream of semi-abusive boyfriends. We were now addressing these two problems simultaneously, and making remarkable progress with the new technique.

This day — the day my professional ethics did their official clockwise spin down the toilet — Rosita lay on her back as usual, her huge boobs seeming to defy gravity. Her breathing was slow and steady as she followed my voice, and I spoke encouragingly to her, helping to ease any lingering cravings while bolstering her will.

“You feel strong in resisting any lingering desires for cocaine,” I repeated several times.

“Yes. Strong.”

“How long has it been since you last abused any sort of drug, Rosita?”

“Five months.”

“You can feel very proud of that. A sense of well-being fills the place where the need for cocaine used to be.”

“Yes.”

“And you feel strong in yourself. You have no need to enter into a damaging relationship, do you?”

“No.”

“How long has it been since you shared your bed with an abusive man, Rosita?”

“A little over two months.”

“You…”

And this is where it happened. I was supposed to repeat the well- being bit again, but my lips froze. I sat next to Rosita watching her breasts rise and fall as always, simply admiring their magnificence, and then, almost like having a switch flipped inside, the new direction was there to see in its entirety.

The opportunity calling out to me is termed “transference”. I had navigated the dynamic numerous times, that period when some clients begin to project in-love feelings onto me. The therapist/client relationship is complex and extremely intimate by nature — people feel free to speak of many things they might never admit to their spouses or parents or friends, without fear of judgment or reproach. Because of this, a certain glow can begin to form around the therapist in their patients’ eyes. We become the recipient or embodiment of deeply rooted needs for acceptance, and to the patient, these feelings are often confused with love and attraction, including sexual attraction. We’re all trained to see this dynamic for what it is, and never, ever exploit it.

Rosita had been showing the signs recently, addressing me more intimately by my first name and sending out subtle but clear signals through her eyes and posture. Even the way she attired herself had begun to shift recently. In our early sessions, she had worn loose clothing, as though to separate as much as possible her nighttime activities from the serious nature of our daytime work together. Now, her jeans were tighter, her skirts shorter, her blouses more revealing. Rosita didn’t love me, but some part of her believed it did, and she wanted to catch my eye.

Knowing this, my eyes swept the length of her reclining body, reading every curve. Even when she’d covered herself in baggy clothing, her physical treasures had been evident. Her legs were well-formed, her ass firm and round. Another dancer, I thought, my pulse quickening. Not the same — this one was more earthy, her slim and stacked body built more for straight-on fucking, rather than art. She was undeniably gorgeous, though, and so absolutely trusting. I surveyed the expanse of those tits, my eyes eventually settling upon the full, pouty lips that must be able to smother a cock. My dick began to ache and my tongue felt thick, the mind-rape to come feeling just as solid as my cock, its pull irresistible.

“Two months,” I continued. “You've gone two months without sex entirely?”

“Almost. I… masturbate.”

“But no real cock has filled your pussy in two months.”

“No.”

“Do you ever fantasize about specific men when you masturbate?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever fantasized about Michael when masturbating?”

“Y…yes.”

Ka-ching. “Two long months, Rosita, with no one to fill your pussy or satisfy its needs. A sense of deep need inhabits your pussy, doesn’t it?”

“Uhh…"

"A very intense feeling of need and emptiness inhabits your pussy."

"Y…yes.”

“You cannot go to bed with fools or abusers any longer, but your pussy aches from the emptiness.”

“Uhh!”

“You are such a beautiful woman, Rosita. A beautiful woman deserves a kind and intelligent man to fuck.”

“Yes…”

“You have very special breasts, Rosita. A woman with special breasts deserves a kind and intelligent man to fuck.”

“Yes! I… deserve…”

“Michael is a kind and intelligent man.”

“Yes…”

“Michael loves your special breasts. He is extremely attracted to them.”

“Ummm…”

“It makes you feel so good, having such special breasts. It makes you feel so hot, knowing that Michael loves them.”

“Yesss…”

“Are your breasts sensitive, Rosita?”

“Yesss… Very…”

“You love the way your sensitive breasts feel when you think of Michael. You dream of seducing him, and when you enter Michael’s office, your nipples tingle and it makes you feel so good, and so special, and sooooo hot.”

“Ummm! Yes! Oh yes!” she moaned, her hands rising to squeeze her twin mountains.

“It feels so good when a kind and intelligent man like Michael stares at your special breasts. And if Michael ever touched them, ever touched your special, extremely sensitive breasts…”

“Ummnnnohhh! Oh please… touch them…” Her hands were beginning to get rough with them, and I’d never seen anything move around so beautifully in my life.

“Your nipples will harden whenever Michael stares at your breasts, Rosita. The delicious tingling goes everywhere, and you want so badly to touch Michael’s penis…”

“Yesss!”

“…And feel his penis rubbing against your breasts.”

“Ummmmmoohhh! I … need…”

“You get so hot over a kind and intelligent man like Michael, Rosita. You delight in the pleasure in your nipples and pussy whenever you see him staring at your breasts, because you know that Michael can give you the best orgasms of your life.”

“Ummm!”

“All of your addictive energies will focus on your need to play with Michael’s penis, Rosita. All of your sexual energy will focus on turning Michael on with you’re hot body and your incredibly sensitive breasts. The emptiness inside of you must be filled with dreaming of Michael, and wanting to seduce him and pleasure him with your beautiful body and incredibly sensitive breasts. Do you understand?”

“Y…yes! Oh yes! I need… Michael…”

I had begun to stroke myself through my pants part-way through the seduction, and almost felt lightheaded from the pressure inside. Rosita was in similar shape, causing me to guide her through an extra step or two to get her to stop massaging her tits. She awakened relatively composed; even so, the woman’s nipples looked like they would explode right through her blouse. She glanced furtively at my crotch and I was hard, and I could see her trembling as she asked to use my restroom.

She was unsteady on her feet and I took her arm, making some comment about dizziness being an occasional side-effect from the hypnosis. Rosita turned her body funny before I let go, one of her breasts grazing my arm. I could just imagine her in there, either rearranging her tits in her bra or uncontrollably fingering herself while fantasizing about finding a way to touch my cock with her tits. When she finally came out, she asked for an extra session as soon as possible and I assured her that it could be arranged.

“I’ve… thought of asking you this before,” she said, standing at my door. She looked both shy and horny as hell, and obviously reluctant to leave. “I’d really like it if you came and saw me perform sometime. I know you probably never go to clubs like that, but…”

“They aren’t unknown to me,” I confessed. “Although it’s been years.”

“It would be weird for me if you were there, watching me do my… thing. I’m a really good dancer, Michael. I become… passionate, and get lost when I dance with the pole. I’m so good… at moving around a pole. You should really see me sometime.”

She looked down at her tits and I could follow the image with her, of my hard pole squeezed between her enveloping tits.

“It’s… tempting,” I replied, my eyes staring at her huge mounds right along with her.

She looked up and caught me staring, and blinked and teetered a bit sideways as though feeling dizzy. She complained of tiredness, and I worried for a moment, until I saw that it was only an excuse for her to yawn, her arms thrust back with her rack powering forward.

“I really can’t wait until my next session,” she whispered when she finally left.

I needed an extra fifteen minutes before my next client, and used the time to whack-off in the bathroom. Everything I had done in that session was wrong wrong wrong. But even when staring at my cock over the toilet and seeing the intersection of my hard meat and the toilet's porcelain whiteness for the metaphor it was, why was it that I suddenly loved — in a way I never could have imagined — everything there was to love about my chosen profession?