The Therapist [Part 4]

I left the last appointment, got home, and started googling Stacy. Frankly, I was dreading it a bit. I expected to find evidence that she wasn't really a therapist, that this was some kind of weird hoax or scam.

Instead, I found an astonishing amount of evidence to the contrary.

She was a regular contributor to the Journal of Counseling Psychology and the Sexual Counselors of America's annual conference, averaging one research or applied practice paper every 18-24 months or so for nearly the last ten years.

Sexual Deviancy and Counseling: Repairing Childhood Trauma through Talk Therapy.

Sexual Dysfunction in Therapeutic Settings: A Research-based Primer on Practical Approaches.

La Petit Mort: Cultural Differences in Attitudes Towards Orgasm.

Much of the topics and terminology used was technical counseling language that I couldn't make easy sense of, but it certainly all looked legitimate.

Hell, she even had...a TED Talk?

Why Won't He Go To Therapy? And What Therapists Can Do About It.

I pushed play.

"When I opened my intimacy therapy practice focused on men, lots of women were really pleased that their partners were actually going to therapy. Then they saw photos of me, and they weren't nearly as happy."

The opening line got a huge laugh from the audience. Stacy grinned, as effortlessly in command on the stage as behind her desk during our appointments. Even her outfit was the same. White blouse. Grey pencil skirt. Blonde hair, red lipstick, high heels. That hint of cleavage.

I watched, entranced.

"And I get it. When people think of talk therapy for men, they mostly picture a middle-aged man in a sweater vest, not someone who looks like me..."

Over the next 15 minutes, across a series of anecdotes both hilarious and heartwarming, Stacy outlined a set of principles she'd arrived at for effectively treating men through therapy. The focus seemed to be on giving men actionable next steps, not dwelling on feelings. Offering them role-playing scenarios. Assigning homework they could report back on. That sort of thing.

Those definitely sounded like the principles she was operating against during our appointments.

I looked at the view count. Surprisingly low, I thought, for an attractive woman delivering a good talk. She was an engaging speaker. But I guess she wasn't talking about artificial intelligence or climate change or the future of education or whatever. Therapy for men was a far more niche interest.

At any rate, she didn't just seem like a legitimate therapist, she seemed like an incredible successful one. She was contributing back to the field of therapy. Although topics like making your clients orgasm, or masturbation during appointments weren't addressed directly in the talk, I thought wryly.

Now I had a new question: was this what all her appointments were like, or was I getting special treatment? There was only one thing I could think of that might help answer that question. I texted Trevor, my buddy who had referred me to her.

Hey man. Thanks for suggesting Stacy. Have had 3 appointments so far.

I debated whether to add anything to that, but decided not to. His reply came back a few minutes later:

Trevor: No sweat dude. Glad you're going; the first few were weird but it felt easier over time.

Well, that wasn't helpful. I mulled over what I could say. "Hey, did she make you cum during any of your appointments? No? Just me?" didn't seem like a good way to go. And I doubted he wanted to talk about what he was going to therapy for; Trevor hated talking about his feelings. I settled on something less direct.

She's hot as hell too, like you said. Kinda distracting.

Trevor: LOL! I know it. I felt guilty at first, bc it was definitely what kept me coming back at least initially. But that faded after a bit when I started seeing results in my relationship. Anything changing with you and Becca yet?

I set my phone aside at that point. I was feeling...bizarrely jealous, I realized. Stacy was clearly a successful therapist; probably had dozens of patients. Most of them were men, probably. Maybe she was doing...this...with all of them. I didn't like that thought very much.

Which was a crazy, unhealthy way to feel. She was my therapist, not my girlfriend.

"Hey, what're you up to?" As if on cue, Becca appeared in the doorway. I hurriedly closed my laptop, wracked with guilt. She didn't need to see a browser full of research on Stacy. And who was I, feeling jealous of what my therapist was doing with other guys? I was supposed to be focused on Becca.

"Ah, just browsing the internet, nothing important." I looked up at her, giving her a tentative smile. I felt a little guarded. The last few weeks had been pretty rocky, after all.

Becca rolled her eyes, and there was a tinge of disgust in her voice. "Ugh, just sitting on your computer. It's Friday! Can't we do something?"

Stacy's words from my last appointment rang in my ears. Do you think she likes you as a person? Do you feel wanted?

At the moment, the answer was no to both, I thought. But I had a homework assignment. "You're right. C'mon, let's do drinks and dinner. Go get dressed up."

Becca let out a surprised, pleased giggle. "Oh...okay. Sure."

I dressed, and a half-hour later we were headed out the door.

---

Two beers after that, I realized, I was actually having a good time.

For one thing, Becca looked great. Tight black leggings and a pair of heels showed off her full, round ass, which I had always loved. For a relatively thin woman, her butt had always been amazing. A loose white top left her pale shoulders bare -- made all the more dramatic by her cropped dark hair. She was laughing at my jokes; I was laughing at hers. I could feel myself relaxing into our conversations in a way that I probably hadn't in months.

Becca was clearly having a good time as well. She smiled at me. "Hey, let's skip dinner and get some takeout at our place or something. Just let me hit the ladies room."

I smiled back, trying not to be too eager. "Sure thing." I knew what skip dinner and takeout at our place was code for.

She walked off to the bathroom. I watched her go, staring at her ass as it shifted in the leggings. I could feel myself getting hard. God damn. It had been way too long since we had had sex.

I turned back to the bar, flagging the bartender down. I was just paying the bill when, from further down the bar, I heard a sound that froze me.

A laugh. A rich, throaty, sultry, laugh. Stacy's laugh.

Glancing down the bar, I could see her standing with a few other women.

I debated what to do. Just pretend I hadn't noticed her? But it'd be weird if she noticed me, and I didn't say hello. And I was in a good, social mood -- Becca and I were having a good time. I should say hi.

So I walked over to her. "Hey, Stacy!"

"Oh my god! Phil! Hey!" She gave me a warm, friendly smile. "Ladies, this is Phil, one of my new clients."

I was introduced to, and greeted by, her two friends, but admittedly, their names and appearance escaped me almost immediately. My eyes were focused on her. I had only ever seen her in her work attire. Tonight, she was wearing a tight-fitting red dress. It plunged low in the front, revealing a truly staggering amount of cleavage. And it was short on the bottom; her legs looked incredible. I did my best not to stare.

One of her friends leaned over to whisper something in Stacy's ear, giggling. Were they talking about me?

Stacy ignored her friend. "So, Phil, are you out by yourself tonight?" Stacy took a sip of her drink.

"No, Becca's in the restroom. I'm doing my homework, as instructed." I smiled at her, still in a good mood.

"Ah, I see. Well, we won't ask you to hang out, then. I wouldn't want to keep you from your homework. You're such a good student," she said. There was, unmistakably, just the hint of a teasing note in her tone. She seemed so much more relaxed than during our sessions. Which made sense, I guess. She wasn't on the clock.

To hang out? I tried not to imagine what that might be like. And I tried to ignore how it felt when she called me a good student.

"I, uh, thanks." Trying to recover, I directed my glance to meet the eyes of her friends. "Stacy's really helping me out. She's been great."

One of them giggled again. Stacy playfully slapped her on the arm. "Don't mind her, Phil, she's drunk. And speaking of which..." she drained her glass. "I need another drink...c'mon..."

She looped her arm through mine and pulled me over to the bar. Her skin was warm, smooth. I felt myself get harder at her touch.

"So how's the rest of your homework going, Phil?" Stacy asked, as she leaned against the bar. Glancing over and down, I could see her tits, on full display in her low-cut dress. The image was seared into my mind. And I had thought her in a white blouse and pencil skirt was hot.

"The rest..." I trailed off, my face reddening again as I understood what she meant. The rest of my homework was to try to last two and a half or three minutes while I masturbated. While I masturbated thinking about Stacy.

"I, uh, I haven't...done that...yet..." I stammered the words out, trying to keep it circumspect.

Her lips toyed with a smile. "Is the assignment just too difficult? Or have you not tried yet?"

"No, I'll be able to...that is, uh, I, um, haven't tried yet." I was aware that I was blushing and had a full-on erection, now.

"Well, we'll see, won't we? I'm looking forward to hearing about whether you can...complete the assignment. And how's Becca's mood, tonight? Think you'll get a chance to be intimate with her?"

"Yeah, actually, we might...y'know. This has been great. Thanks. I meant it when I said our sessions are really helping."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. I do have one additional assignment, then."

She leaned towards me, putting her mouth close my ear in a whisper and lowering her voice. "If you end up fucking Becca tonight...I want you to not worry about how long you last. Instead, focus on being...assertive. Masculine. Dominant. Even if it means you cum faster. That's okay."

I shivered. I couldn't help it. Her voice was intoxicating. It's not like she was being seductive on purpose, but something about the way she said fucking was so hot. I was aware of the sensation of my cock twitching a bit, leaking precum.

"I-I'm always assertive..." I protested.

She pulled back, looking up into my eyes, and arched one perfect eyebrow. "Phil. Every guy tells me that. Are you always as assertive as you could be? You know, aggressive, throwing her around, pinning her down, fucking her hard, positions that put you in charge..." she mused.

My face was flushing, which must've been answer enough. The reality was -- with Becca teasing me, and how fast I had been cumming as a result -- I had probably been a lot less assertive recently. I certainly didn't feel assertive. Hearing Stacy talking this way was turning me on so much.

She smiled gently, her voice still soft. "Just try it if you have sex, okay? Even if it makes you lose control quickly. And if Becca teases you, just ignore it."

I nodded, shamefaced. "I...I will."

I tried to think of something else to say. "Oh, I meant to say, Stacy -- I watched your TED Talk!"

She smiled -- this time, one of surprised delight. "Really! What did you think?"

"Really good," I enthused. "Interesting to hear the principles behind your approach."

She nodded, her smile growing a little sly. "I see...how'd you happen upon it?"

"I, uh...was just..." I trailed off, off balance once again.

She laughed -- her genuine, sultry, throaty laugh, though with a bit of a teasing note in it, again. "Oh, Phil. You were either stalking me or researching me. Either of which would be perfectly natural. We can talk about it next session."

I reddened further, opening my mouth to respond, to deny it or to make it sound less...obsessive. But I was interrupted.

"Phil? Who's thi..." It was Becca, coming up behind me. She trailed off as she saw Stacy.

I tried to provide some social lubricant before Becca spent too long filling in gaps with her imagination. "Oh, uh, Stacy, this is Becca. Becca, this is Stacy, my therapist."

Stacy smiled and gave Becca a hug. "It's great to meet you, Becca. Phil talks about you so much!"

"Does he?" Becca looked curiously at me. I shrugged.

"Oh, yes. It's clear your relationship is really important to him," Stacy said, seriously.

"Oh. That's nice." Becca looked gratified, although I could see her eyes, assessing Stacy's body in the dress.

"Anyway, Phil mentioned you two were leaving...I hope you both have a nice evening," Stacy said, smoothly. "Phil...make sure to do your homework." Stacy leaned over and gave me a hug.

I tried not to blush as I hugged her, feeling the sensation of those full tits against me. And not to stare at her body in that dress as she went back over to her friends.

Becca's lips were pursed, and she was silent, as she watched Stacy hug me and walk away. After a moment, she just said, matter-of-factly, "Wow, she's really hot."

Denying it felt stupid, indefensible. Just acknowledging it seemed like the better play. "Yeah, she's pretty. I'm glad you got to meet her. She's really, um, helping me work on our relationship, you know? C'mon, let's get out of here. I think you suggested heading home and getting takeout?"

I put my hand on her lower back, and guided her out of the bar.

---

It was a mostly quiet drive home. Becca was...well, not stewing, exactly. Not giving me the silent treatment. But I could tell she was preoccupied, no doubt mulling Stacy over in her mind. Thinking about her in that red dress. About her boyfriend, alone with Stacy for an hour every two weeks. But also thinking about what Stacy had said about our relationship.

It was true, of course. My relationship with Becca was important to me. But Stacy had done me a solid by saying it, I realized. Probably on purpose. I got the sense that most of what Stacy said was purposeful.

We got home. I went to the fridge to grab another beer. Becca leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's up? You were kinda quiet on the drive home."

"Just thinking..." she murmured.

I set down the beer and came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and pressing against her. God, her ass. It felt incredible against my groin. "About?"

"I feel like you and Stacy have...I dunno, chemistry, I guess." Her voice was quiet, a little sullen. She didn't pull away, but didn't lean into me, either.

I was grateful she couldn't see my facial expression, because I'm sure I looked guilty as hell. "What makes you say that?" The fact that she's made me cum during our appointments?

She shrugged, a little irritated. "I mean, I could see your body language from across the bar. You're into her. And it sounds like you've had some really deep conversations with her..."

I sighed, uncomfortable and guilty with how close to home that hit. "I-I mean, she's my therapist, Becca. So yeah, I guess we have had deep conversations. I'm not into her, but I feel comfortable around her."

She scoffed. "Yeah? Does she wear that dress during your therapy appointments? It didn't look like it was making you feel comfortable..."

I tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid thinking about Stacy's body in that dress, the way she'd looked leaning against the bar... "No, c'mon. We ran into her when she was out with some friends on a Friday. She wears professional attire because she's a professional, Becca."

"Oh yeah? What do you guys talk about?"

I decided I had to try to reroute this conversation, or we were just going to descend into the same argument. I remembered Stacy's advice. Assertive.

Still standing behind her, I leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Well, we talk about how important my relationship to my girlfriend is," I said, in a low voice. "Admittedly, I haven't talked about how sexy you are. But she saw you in these pants, so she knows now. I assume it'll come up in our next appointment." As I spoke, I slid my hand down and squeezed her ass.

She giggled, and wiggled her ass against my now-hardening cock. "Oh?"

"Mmm. I'm sure it'll be her first topic." As I spoke, I kissed the back of her neck; I could hear Becca's breath catch in her throat. Pitching my voice higher, trying to imitate Stacy's precise, direct, clinical tones during our sessions, I said, "Phil, we have to talk about your girlfriend. She's just too hot. I'm not sure it's healthy for you to have that much stimulation in your life."

She giggled again, and then moaned as I reached one hand up to fondle one of her tits, palming a handful, tweaking her nipple. I slid my hands down her body, and in a single motion, yanked her leggings down over her ass and around her ankles. She made a pleased gasp. "Oh...someone's eager..."

I grunted, and pulled my own pants down. I was hard, ready, leaking precum -- the conversation with Stacy at the bar, how she'd looked in that red dress, and now the feel of Becca's full ass against my hard length, were more than enough to have me ready to go.

"Hopefully not too eager..." Becca had a teasing note in her voice, now, twisting to look back at me as she felt the wet tip of my cock against her.

Ignore her. Be dominant. I didn't say anything -- I just grabbed her hips and slowly, but firmly, worked my length inside her. With her heels on, the angle was perfect.

She let out a little moan. "Oh...."

"You're really wet..." I grunted, adjusting to the sensation of being inside her.

"Yeah? You like that wet pussy -- ah -- on your cock?" She moaned as I slapped her ass in the middle of the sentence, trying to stay dominant, like Stacy had said.

"Y-yeah..." I stammered the word out, trying to keep in control. I leaned over and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck.

"Mmm...you're being aggressive tonight...I like it. I know I've been teasing you a lot recently about, you know...how fast you've been...I'll skip that tonight. You're in charge." Her giggle turned into another moan as I thrust into her again.

That was a welcome reprieve. I felt a brief surge of shame -- her teasing about my stamina invariably made me cum almost immediately; it was what had me going to see a therapist in the first place.

But I got past it, and started into a steady rhythm. Without her teasing me, I could last. She was wet, tight around me; her butt was warm against my hips. For thirty seconds or so, the only sound was her ass slapping against me, and our grunts and moans.

And then Becca broke the silence. "Do you think this is how Stacy likes to get fucked? Just bent over and railed?" she half-whispered, half-moaned the words out.

I felt the blood rush to my face, picturing it. Stacy, bent over, that red dress hiked around her hips, lips parted in a wanton expression. "I, uh, I dunno..."

Becca moaned, and then continued. "The way she looks, she's probably used to getting fucked by hot guys with big dicks, don't you think?"

"Becca, c'mon, stop, I don't really want to think about Stacy right now..." The imagery that conjured was hotter than I wanted to admit.

Becca moaned as I continued to thrust into her. "You don't? I mean, she's really pretty...and that body...I think it's hot to think about her getting fucked. Maybe after we left, she picked up some guy at the bar, and he's bending her over just like this right now..."

I felt the all-too-familiar sensation building. It had been weeks since we had had sex; and an even longer time since I had fucked Becca from behind, one of my favorite positions. I had only been jerking off recently. I couldn't help it: I was thinking about Stacy, getting bent over, taking a big cock, those lips parted in a moan.

Becca gasped. Without meaning to, I had started thrusting into her faster. "Ah...fuck, Phil...I knew you thought she was hot, you're fucking me harder just thinking about her...Stacy probably likes getting fucked hard and fast like this, just pounded by a stud with a big cock who can last for hours..."

I felt myself starting to lose control. Thinking about Stacy, getting fucked just like I was fucking Becca, but by some guy with a bigger dick, who lasted way longer than me...and then during therapy appointments with me, I came for her in seconds...

I didn't think Becca was teasing me on purpose, but it was having the same effect. I slowed down, still thrusting into her, but trying to control my orgasm. "L-let's not talk about...I don't want to think about my therapist like that..."

"Why not? We're just talking, this is harmless..." Becca twisted, turning around to look at me, mouth open as I continued to thrust into her. I saw her assess my expression, my movements.

Comprehension flickered across her face, and her lips curved up into a teasing smile. Oh no. I knew what that smile meant.

"Oh, I see. Does thinking about your therapist getting fucked by a big, thick cock -- one that can last -- turn you on?"

I let out a whimper of frustration mixed with desire. I stopped moving, desperately struggling to keep from cumming, now. "N-no, that's not it--"

She cut me off. "Is it going to make you cum, Phil?"

I made another sound in the back of my throat, no words this time, frozen, fighting the orgasm I could feel getting closer and closer.

She continued. "She needs a big dick, Phil. Not an average cock, like yours." Her smile turned amused. "Although...I guess there's nothing average about your stamina, is there?"

I was about to cum, now. I was trying to stave it off, but knew I wasn't going to be able to stop myself, even by holding still; this was the kind of teasing from Becca that I just couldn't handle.

Stacy's advice flashed through my mind, cutting through the shame and arousal I was feeling: just ignore her teasing, don't worry about lasting. Easy enough to follow in this moment. I gave in, grabbed a fistful of Becca's hair, right by the nape of her neck, and started fucking her as hard as I could, letting the frustration at how easily she got under my skin boil over.

"She's so hot --" but then Becca let out a surprised groan, barely able to get more words out as I pounded into her. "Ungh -- you'd -- cum -- way -- too -- god -- fast -- for her -- to..." but she couldn't finish the sentence. With a moan, her orgasm overtook her, at the same time as I grunted and started cumming. I lost control completely, repeatedly thrusting as I sprayed my load inside her, feeling her spasm and clench around me.

Panting, I leaned against the counter next to Becca, trying to recover. She was doing the same thing. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, and then she broke the silence.

"That...that was intense..." she said, in a small voice.

"Yeah...I, uh...I don't think..." I wasn't sure what I was going to say.

She jumped in. "I...I know it was a lot. But it, uh...you really...it was..." she trailed off, before blurting, "I came really hard." She blushed.

I nodded. "I could, uh, tell. It was hot. Let's just not...do that again, okay? Not without talking about it first."

She nodded, and moved to lean against me.

I wrapped my arms around her. Becca sighed, contented.

But I had a sinking sensation in my stomach. Stacy was definitely going to ask how intimacy with Becca was going.

How was I going to explain this when she started asking about the details?