Abby Davis and Madelyn Part 2
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He's Never Made Me Come free porn video
“Come in!”
I pushed open the door and shyly walked into her office, not really knowing what to expect after our last session. I’m pretty new to therapy, having only been recently diagnosed and only having had 3 appointments so far with my counsellor, but even I was fairly certain that what had happened last week wasn’t exactly usual.
It had begun like the two sessions before it; she’d welcomed me into the tiny office, we’d sat opposite one another in armchairs, she’d begun to delicately ask me about my mental state over the last week. We discussed in detail how I’d been, and she appeared noticeably relieved to hear that I was feeling better than I had been the last time I sat in that chair.
I know that the relationship we have is purely professional: I’m struggling with depression and it’s her job to try to get to the bottom of why, to coax me back to my old self. But that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t starting to develop feelings for her. Not romantic feelings, and certainly not sexual (she’s at least twenty years older than me!), but a definite attachment. I guess I was comforted by her. I felt safe being with her, knowing that I could tell her all the worst parts of myself, and no matter what I thought of myself, what I’d done to harm myself, she’d heard it all and worse before. Nothing I could say would shock or visibly upset her. It was liberating.
“Sit down,” she greeted me, “I just need another minute to type up these notes and I’ll be with you.” I nodded and took up my usual place, making myself as small as possible in the chair and staring out of the window at the setting sun. As she typed I glanced over at her, trying to understand how she could behave so nonchalantly after my last visit.
I suppose she wasn’t unattractive; I’d put her in her mid-forties, with dark hair and a slight frame. I, a mere twenty-one-year-old with long, off-blonde hair, always felt child-like in her presence. Here was a mature, professional woman, and I was just an average girl, only recently having come out the other side of a long, drawn-out puberty and still learning how to hold my 5’9 frame in a way that didn’t look awkward, despite my lack of curves.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come back.” She gently brought me back to the real World with her soft-spoken manner. She closed the door I’d left ajar upon entering and sat in the armchair opposite me, signalling that my counselling session had begun.
“Neither was I,” I replied with a small voice. She studied my face intently for a second, which always made me uncomfortable, as I felt sure she could see the things in my mind that I’d spent the last few years trying to hide from everybody else, before she spoke again.
“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last week.” She began. “What happened was entirely my fault and I should never have put you in that position. I don’t know what came over me, but I’m going to try to put it aside so that we can refocus these sessions on you.”
I nodded, noticing for the first time the sadness in her eyes, realising that I wasn’t the only person in this room that sometimes struggled to cope. I assumed that in her job as a counsellor at a University, she must have her life together. No issues, no insecurities, no instability. But then I remembered how her eyes had darkened last week, the fear and desperation that appeared to come over her as she had spoken to me, like she had no control over what she was saying...
“You’re telling me that you’re feeling better this week,” she had prompted, bringing me back out of my contemplative reverie to rejoin this conversation. “But you still seem distant, unengaged. Can you tell me where you went just now?”
I realised, slightly embarrassed, that I couldn’t. I had no idea where I was going during these episodes, I just knew that I left the physical World behind and sometimes struggled to find my way back. I shook my head.
“Is this...dissociation...affecting your day to day life?”
“I guess.” I’d replied. “Sometimes I unpack my folder at the end of the day and find pages and pages of lecture notes in there, so I know I went to my lectures that day...but I have no recollection of being there. The other day I spent 5 hours working alone in the lab, but when my flatmate asked me what I’d done, I couldn’t tell her. It’s kind of scary. How can I know that I’m being sensible and safe if I don’t even know what I’m doing?”
She looked at me, concerned, but not shocked. That was what I liked about her.
“What about other aspects of your life? Are you able to interact normally with your friends? Family? Do you have a boyfriend?”
The last question startled me. I felt the familiar shame creeping up my neck, my cheeks getting hot. “G-girlfriend,” I offered; both a reply and an apology. My sexuality was a source of great embarrassment and discontent to me, and I suspected largely to blame for my ill mental health.
For her part, she took this information in her stride, not reacting in any way but to ask how long we’d been together. My response, two years, seemed to satisfy her that it must be a stable relationship, and no cause for any concern on her part.
“And are you able to interact normally with your girlfriend?”
“Mostly, I think.”
“What about your sex life?”
Now my cheeks were definitely burning. I looked away from her, not able to hold her gaze as she waited for an answer. “I...um...”
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer if it’s too personal. I just thought it might be useful to know the extent to which this is affecting your life.”
“No, it’s okay, I understand.” I tried to regain some composure. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it. I hate discussing my sexuality, let alone my sex life. But actually it’s okay. No problems...I enjoy doing it. I can focus on pleasing her for hours...” I trailed off, embarrassed that I’d now provided more information than required. I shifted awkwardly in my seat.
This seemed to pique her interest. “When you say 'pleasing her...', what do you mean, exactly?”
Now this was definitely becoming awkward. I wasn’t at all comfortable sharing the intimate details of my sex life with a woman old enough to be my mother and who barely knew me. But at the same time I couldn’t help but reply. I guess I figured therapy only works if you’re willing to share everything.
“It makes me feel powerful. I love seeing her becoming more and more aroused the longer I keep teasing her. Knowing that the only concrete thought running through her head is my name. Feeling how much she wants me, and then feeling that want turn into need and desperation. Seeing her cheeks flush and her hips buck. Hearing her sighs turn to gasps turn to moans. Putting everything I have into making her feel better than she ever has before. And then when it’s over, knowing that I made it happen. It’s the best feeling ever.”
I think I’d almost forgotten that I was speaking aloud. I felt exposed and vulnerable, telling this woman about making my girlfriend come. When I finally met her gaze again, she was staring at me in that way, like she could see into my mind. She seemed engrossed in my description, and I noticed she had crossed her legs tightly since I’d last looked at her. She cleared her throat. “And what about you? Do you...? I mean...are you...satisfied?”
...Was my therapist asking me I was getting any? This was definitely veering away from the usual territory of our discussions. “Um, yes,” I answered. “But for me it’s secondary.”
“Secondary?”
“Yeah. It’s just not that important to me. I’m more interested in making her feel good. I can take it or leave it.”
“I see...” she trailed off, and for the first time in the conversation she looked away from me. She seemed to be struggling with something in her mind. I’m sure I spotted her thighs clench gently. Was what I was saying turning her on? It was starting to look that way, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d said that she wouldn’t have felt herself a hundred times before. Surely everybody wants to make their partner feel good? But I could see that she was lost in her imagination now, and her cheeks were definitely turning pink. I glanced down and yet again noticed the almost imperceptible tightening of her thigh muscles.
“I’m sorry if something I’ve said made you uncomfortable...” I started. “I guess I figured nothing I could say would bother you in any way.” No response. I tried to make light of the situation. “I totally get it if talking about lesbian sex makes you uncomfortable, I don’t enjoy it either!”
That brought her back. “No, it’s not that at all. I’m sorry. It’s just...hearing you talk so passionately about pleasing your partner. It just makes me wonder...why can’t my husband be like that? Eighteen years of marriage and he’s never...” She looked at me again, and for the first time since I’d started seeing her, it was her with tears in her eyes, not me. I held her gaze. “God I feel awful, making this about me. He’s never made me come. Not once. And here you are, a girl of twenty-one full of knowledge and desire to pleasure your girlfriend, and there he is, twenty-five years your senior, plenty of experience and yet no ability, or maybe no inclination, to satisfy me.” She was growing bolder, more animated. “Just listening to you talk just then turned me on...this is so wrong, I shouldn’t be talking about my life...I’m sorry.”
She did look sorry. She looked so uncomfortable that her mouth had betrayed her like that, voicing her personal response to what I was saying. Embarrassed, she looked away again, but I’d already noted the darkening of her eyes. Need.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I again tried to make a joke. “But you’re not telling me you haven’t had an orgasm in 18 years, are you? I mean... you can take care of yourself... right? Eighteen years... a person would explode!”
I was fully aware now that we shouldn’t be having this conversation, but somehow I couldn’t leave it. I wasn’t attracted to her, but I felt this need to look after her. She’d become an important part of my life. I guess this is what therapists mean when they talk about transference. She was helping me in my life, I guess I felt I owed it to her to listen if she needed to talk about this.
She looked up at me again, her eyes full of the fear and trepidation that mine usually were when she asked me a personal question. “I...well...I do, sometimes. But it’s not enough. I don’t satisfy myself...a stolen 5 minutes in the bathroom here and there...and then I feel dirty, ashamed. My husband and I have an active sex life...that should be enough for any normal woman...”
“Except he doesn’t care about your needs,” I countered.
“No,” she almost whispered. “As soon as he’s finished, it’s over. It leaves me so frustrated...”
“So you go off to the bathroom and finish the job yourself, but it’s not for pleasure any more, it’s just something that has to be done so you can get some sleep.”
“Basically.” She seemed surprised at how well I was reading her now, as if we’d switched roles.
“You know you deserve better than that, right? Your needs are just as important as his.”
“But I don’t know how to tell him. How do I make him do the right things when I don’t even know really what the right things are?”
I was growing more confident now in my role as impromptu sex therapist. “Masturbate for him,” I suggested. “Make him watch as you bring yourself to orgasm. Let him see how you turn yourself on, how you touch yourself. Let him hear your breathing change and your moans. Show him what he’s missing out on by not making you come.”
“I can’t!” She seemed terrified by my suggestion. “I’m not that person. I don’t have the confidence, I’m not sexy, I don’t even touch myself in the way I want to be touched. I just get it over with as quickly as possible...” She sounded miserable...but the thought of it had definitely turned her on. She was now squeezing her legs tightly together, and a red flush was creeping across her chest.
“So make it appear like an accident... set it up so he walks in on you. I can guarantee that there’s not a person on the planet who wouldn’t be incredibly aroused by walking in on their partner pleasuring themselves. Go home tonight, have a bath, relax, pamper your body. Then put on your favourite underwear, and have an early night. Spend the evening worshipping your body in the way you want him to. Take it slow, touch yourself all over. Learn how your body reacts to different things. Stop thinking and start feeling. Lose yourself in fantasy. Masturbate like you’ve never done it before. Tease yourself, listen to what your body wants. Let yourself moan out loud, don’t try to hide your pleasure. And make sure he catches you. Once he’s seen you completely lose yourself to pleasure, he’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure that next time it’s him that gets you there. But make sure that you’re in control. Tell him what you want and how you want it. Guide his fingers, let him know what feels good...”
She was wild-eyed now, totally absorbed by whatever fantasy it was that she would pick later.
“What are you thinking about?”
This time she looked at me with no shame, just pure lust. “He’s never gone down on me. I want to know what that feels like. I want to feel his mouth on me. His tongue, his lips, his teeth... but I don’t know how to guide him if I don’t know what to expect...”
Now I felt truly sorry for her. In her forties, married almost twenty years, never satisfied by her man... and never having experienced a warm, wet mouth on her most intimate parts. I looked her in the eyes, and she held my gaze, but I could see that she was squirming slightly in her chair. Without breaking eye contact, I stood up and slowly crossed the room toward her. I saw her breathing get shallower as I neared her, and she bit her lip as I knelt down on the floor in front of her, my head now inches from her knees, which were tightly locked together.
“W...what are you doing?” she whispered, her expression one of torment.
I rested my hand on her knee and realised she was shaking. I’d never seen her look so unsure of herself, so at war with herself. I realised in that moment that I would give her whatever she needed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Please... do to me what you do for your girlfriend. Make me feel good. I need to know that I can be made to feel sexy...I need something to fantasise about if I’m going to... masturbate... for my husband. I need to know what a tongue feels like...”
I considered her request. I so badly wanted to show her what she was worth, to give her what she deserved, but I couldn’t risk losing her as my counsellor. I needed to know I could still rely on her after.
“Just make me one promise,” I said, looking directly into her dark eyes. “You close your eyes and picture your husband while I do this. It’s his hands, his mouth, his desire all over you. Don’t make this personal. I’m just helping you to help yourself. Showing you what to show him. Okay? Promise?”
“...I promise.”
“Good. Now close your eyes. Relax into the chair. Picture yourself on your bed at home. You’re wearing nothing but your sexiest lingerie... and your husband’s just walked in on you with your hand down your pants.”
She seemed embarrassed, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink, but slowly her tense body sank back into the chair and her muscles relaxed. I continued her story.
“At first he’s surprised. Shocked, even. He’s never seen this side of you before. Panting and sighing, trailing one hand all over your body while the other rhythmically strokes your most sensitive part. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair a mess, your mouth is open... he’s never seen you look so sexy. You’re beautiful... and you’re his for the taking. He wants you. Badly.”
By now her breathing had become shallower and her lips had parted slightly. Her hands seemed to be growing restless by her sides. I gently moved her knee so that her legs were no longer crossed, and rested my hand halfway up her thigh.
“You know he’s there, you heard him come in, but you don’t open your eyes. You pretend you haven’t noticed him, because knowing that you’re being watched is turning you on more than you thought it possibly could. You decide to tease yourself more, and to make him wait longer. You slow your stroking and then stop, and even though you’re in control of this, you can’t help the soft whimper that slips out of your mouth as you draw your hand away from where you need it most and slowly across your stomach. You still don’t open your eyes. You don’t need to. You can feel the intense heat of his focus on you. You bring your hands up to your breasts. You squeeze and massage them gently, softly grazing your thumbs over your hard nipples. Your breath catches in your throat every time you graze your nipples. It’s been years since you felt physical changes in your body from arousal; you didn’t realise how sensitive you could be...”
By now I could tell that all doubts and fears in her mind were long gone, she was giving herself over to pure desire and fantasy. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She gingerly ran her hands up her body towards her breasts, but then seemed to stop herself, unsure. “Wh... what if I do it wrong?” she whispered.
“How could you? This is all about you. Forget me. There is no wrong. Just focus on making yourself feel as good as possible...there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows how to make herself feel good.”
At my gentle encouragement, she slowly moved her hands again to cup her breasts, but still seemed unsure. Slowly, I traced my fingertips from her thigh where my hand had been resting up her stomach, causing her breath to hitch. I softly placed my hand over hers, then did the same with my other.
“Is this okay?” I whispered.
She nodded slightly, and I gently squeezed her hands in mine. Even over her shirt and bra, this sensation seemed to be enough to relax her again. I squeezed again, applying slightly more pressure this time, and her head slowly tilted back as a sigh escaped her lips. Her relatively strong reactions to such little stimulus made me wonder just how long it had been since her husband had touched her at all, let alone properly. I felt a renewed desire to make sure I gave her what she deserved. Without ever breaking contact with her body, I slowly brought my hands back down her body, letting my fingertips drag slightly, bringing them to rest halfway down her thighs. I looked back up to her chest, pleased to see that she was now starting to slowly massage and knead her breasts, albeit somewhat gingerly.
“Good,” I encouraged, and the hint of a smile played across her face. “You’d forgotten how sensitive your breasts were...” I started, taking her back into the fantasy. “It’s been so long since anybody paid them this much attention. You pull gently on your nipples and roll them between your fingers...and become aware of the warm, wet feeling between your legs.” Now she was sighing between most breaths and gently biting her bottom lip as she pinched her nipples through her bra. She was amazing to watch. Her husband was a fool.
“You’re sighing and moaning softly now, writhing slightly. Your hips seem to be moving of their own accord, trying to release some of the tension that’s building between your legs. But you want to tease your husband some more. And more importantly, you want to tease yourself some more. You love being watched. You don’t want this to end. You let your moans grow louder as you tug harder on your nipples. Your hips are trying to grind now, but there’s nothing there.
You realise how sexy you must look, writhing and moaning as you play with your breasts. You realise how turned on you are, and how incredible it is that you’ve done this to yourself. You’re in control of your loss of control. You feel powerful.”
By now she was touching her breasts with confidence, squeezing firmly through the thin materials of her shirt and bra, as her lips opened and closed around vowels that were not quite audible. Yet. Her eyes flickered open and she appeared surprised to find me watching her so intently. She looked me in the eye as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt. As pleased as I was that she was gaining confidence, I didn’t want this to be about me. She traced her fingers delicately over her stomach and ribs back towards her lace-clad breasts and, thankfully, closed her eyes again as I continued speaking.
“You roll your nipples between your fingertips one last time, and are shocked by the guttural groan you let out. You had no idea you could make that sound, but in that moment it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.”
She had one hand cupping and gently squeezing her breast through her thin bra, but had managed to slip the other inside to play with her nipple just as I’d described. Her breathy whimpers, though far from the guttural groans I’d imagined, were coming thick and fast, and were just as sexy. I decide it’s time to bring her husband into action.
“You can’t take the torture any more. Your hips are grinding wildly in thin air...you have to relieve that tension. Slowly...so slowly you can barely take it... you trail your fingers down your torso towards the place you’ve been needing them all night. As you trace your fingers over your mound, a sudden sharp intake of breath from across the room reminds you that you’re not alone."
"Your eyes flash open and there he is. Mouth open, eyes dark...you see him gulp. 'Please...don’t stop.' He can’t take his eyes off you. You’ve never felt so desired. So empowered. He starts to cross the room towards you. Without breaking eye contact, you slip your hand underneath the thin material of your underwear and run a fingertip down your slit. You moan loudly, you’ve never felt yourself so wet.”
“Uhhh...” she half-sighed, half-moaned, now almost desperately pinching her nipples.
“Suddenly he’s on the bed next to you, kissing your lips, your neck. He wants you so badly. He always does, but this time it’s different. This time it’s all about you. He reaches down for your hand and brings it up between you. For a second you’re angry. But then, never breaking eye contact, he brings your soaking fingers to his lips and slowly, gently, sucks each one clean. 'You taste amazing.'”
At this, a strangled moan escaped her lips. I was sure now that in her mind she’d left this small office and was lost in the fantasy I was creating. As I’d hoped, she seemed to have entirely forgotten that I was there, and still feverishly tugging her nipple in with one hand, she skimmed the other down her torso and slipped it under the waistband of her skirt. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I didn’t need to. A moment later, as I watched, entranced, she brought her fingers up to her mouth to taste herself, for what I guessed was the first time. Gently sucking them one by one into her mouth, she let out beautiful little noises of satisfaction.
Sitting back on my heels, I quickly slipped her shoes off before running my hands gently up her calves. This elicited a contented sigh and, following my lead, she reached down and wriggled her hips free from the sheer tights she was wearing. Halfway down her thighs, I took over, gently rolling the thin material down her legs to expose the delicate, porcelain skin. I peeled the tights over her feet, preparing her for the next part of her story.
Sensing that she’d become tense and aware of her situation again, I gently massaged her feet and calf muscles. I needed her to relax back into her illusion. With some gentle coaxing and encouragement, she eventually relaxed back into the chair, slowly bringing her hands back up to her now exposed breasts. I continued to massage the muscles of her legs until I was sure that she was back in her fantasy, once again rolling and twisting her incredibly sensitive nipples.
“'You taste amazing,' he repeats, staring at you intently, his eyes full of desire. You’ve never experienced such an erotic moment. His big, strong hand glides gently up your stomach to your breasts, where one of your hands is still massaging of its own accord. 'Let me...' he whispers. But it’s not a command, it’s a request. A plea, almost. He knows that you’re in control of this. You nod your consent and draw your hand away, revealing your erect nipples to him. He moans, and you can feel that he’s hard, but this isn’t about him.”
By now one of her hands has wandered south again, slipping beneath the waistband of her skirt. The heavy material obscured my view of her hand, but I could see that it was now moving slowly between her legs. Her breathing was becoming laboured, punctuated by sensual “mhmms...” and “ahhhs...”
“His hands are much larger and rougher than yours, but he caresses the skin of your breasts as delicately as he can, raising goose bumps everywhere he touches. He’s studying your face intently, learning the expressions of your pleasure. He grazes his thumbnail across your nipple. You cry out. Then his lips are on yours, breathing in your moans as he repeats the rolling and pulling of your nipples that he watched you do.”
The pace of her hand’s movements between her legs was increasing, and I knew it was almost time to give her what she’d asked for. I couldn’t let her work herself up much more than this for fear that her fantasy would be over before it properly started. After all, eighteen years is a lot of sexual frustration to hold on to.
Her cheeks and chest were flushed deep pink, her nipples looked almost painfully hard, and her mouth hung open, her sighs, moans and gasps almost rolling into one another. I felt a throb of desire between my own legs, but I ignored it. This was her moment. I knew that we were reaching the part of the fantasy where my story-telling would become non-verbal. She seemed to be reading my mind as she parted her legs slightly, allowing me to slip one hand between them and gently, delicately stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
“His kisses begin to move lower, slowly working down your neck...” I leant up and softly planted my lips on her skin for the first time, just below her ear. She shuddered beneath me. I continued to punctuate the story with delicate kisses as I described them. I worked down her neck... across her flushed chest and towards her breast. As the man in her fantasy finally sucked one hard nipple into his mouth, my lips closed around it in real life. Still caressing her thighs with my fingers, I worked her nipple in my mouth, rolling it around my tongue, swirling my tongue over the very tip of it. As the man in her fantasy gently bit down, my teeth grazed her.
She was trembling now, her hand still moving frantically beneath her skirt as her moans grew louder. I reached between us and drew her hand up to my mouth, just as her husband had moments ago. I sucked on her fingers just as she’d done to herself. I lowered my head to whisper in her ear. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” came the breathless reply. “Please. I need...to feel his mouth on me.”
That was all the confirmation that I needed that her imagination would keep her husband in the room with us. I briefly sucked her other nipple into my mouth, causing her to cry out, before slowly tracing my tongue down her body, stopping only to kiss the delicate skin of her stomach and gently graze my teeth over her hips, leaving goose bumps in my trail.
As her hands began to wander over her torso again, I turned my attention to her legs. I kissed my way up both of her calves, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin behind her knees. I slowly parted her legs, encouraging her slight hesitance with gentle strokes of her thigh until her legs were spread wide enough for me to move between them. I kissed back up her torso again, my fingertips tracing patterns over her waist, desperate to make sure she was comfortable before we carried on. I ran the tip of my tongue over her nipple again, taking her by surprise, and eliciting a sexy, strangled sound from the back of her throat. I caught her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist, causing an appreciative sigh to fall from her mouth. Then I had another thought.
“Do you like to be scratched?” I murmured in her ear. I wanted to make this as perfect as I could for her.
“I’m...I, um...I don’t know...” She sounded embarrassed again, that was not what I wanted.
“Shhh...it’s okay.” I kissed the sensitive spot below her ear again. “Do you want to find out?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But please... be gentle...”
“I always am,” I reassured her. I kissed that spot again, causing her to shudder, then began to kiss a gentle path down her neck and across her chest. As I closed my lips around her nipple and gently sucked, I brought my hand up to just below her breast. Still teasing her with my tongue, I very gently raked my fingernails down her stomach. Her stomach muscles twitched involuntarily, and a new, raw sound escaped her lips.
“Uhhhh...!”
I smiled against her breast and kissed her ribcage, then repeated the movement, this time applying a fraction more pressure and moving slower.
“Mmm.... uhh!” came the reply, and she shivered as I brushed my lips over the skin where I’d dragged my nails.
“Do I take that as a 'yes'?”
“U...huh,” she moaned her approval.
“Goood...” I kissed back down her stomach, holding her waist and gently digging my nails into her soft flesh. When my lips met the waistband of her skirt I sat back, repositioning myself so that my face was between her knees. This was it.
I ran one hand up her body again, roughly rubbing her breast, before again drawing my fingernails slowly and gently down the length of her torso, causing her to moan loudly and part her legs further. Slowly, I began kissing, licking and gently biting my way up the inside of her thigh, hitching her skirt up as I went. Her legs were trembling, her breathing quick and shallow. She needed this. Her own hands replaced mine on her body, alternating between pulling at her nipples and raking her nails over her skin.
As I gently pressed my lips against the inner part of one thigh, I delicately scratched the other. She cried out as her hips bucked, inching her lower in her chair and nearer to my mouth, and causing her skirt to ride up further, exposing her silk underwear and the considerable damp patch to me. I kissed further up the inside of her thigh, until I was only a couple of inches away from the damp material that covered her. I traced my fingertips slowly up her thigh to the very edge of the silk material.
She gasped and held her breath, biting down hard on her lower lip. Slowly, slower than I’d ever touched anybody before, I ran my finger over the soft material, over the folds of her desperate centre.
“Ahhh!” she cried out, a high-pitched, feverish sound, as her whole body tensed up. This one touch seemed to drive her need and frustration to a new level and her hips pushed up towards me as she desperately tried to find more pressure.
I gently but firmly pushed her hips back down into the chair as she whimpered in protest. Holding her still with both hands, I lowered my mouth to her and pressed my lips against the sodden material. She groaned loudly and tried to buck her hips against me, but I kept my hold firm, and my lips still.
“Oh...God!” she moaned, her voice now shaking with need. “Please...”
I slowly and gently grazed my teeth over the fabric, causing her whole body to shudder, then pressed my lips to her again, this time applying a little more pressure.
“Uhhh... h... uhhh!” The moan caught in her throat. “Please... I need more... please!”
Her skin was on fire, her face flushed and sweaty. Her every intake of breath had become a gasp, and her exhalations alternated between sighs and moans. It occurred to me that probably nobody had ever taken so much time over arousing her before, that she’d never been worked up into such a state of desperation. Her underwear were soaked through.
I hooked my finger in the crotch and carefully pulled it to one side. I glanced up, wary that this exposure might make her self-conscious again, but her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut and her hands roamed over every inch of her body. She was still lost in pure fantasy. I lowered my mouth towards her again, close enough that she could feel my hot breath on her.
“Mmmhhhmmm,” she whimpered, still trying to push her hips towards me. I touched my lips softly to her labia, one side, then the other. She was panting now. I kissed directly above her swollen clit and she cried out in frustration. I traced the tip of my tongue the length of her slit, amazed at how wet she was, stopping just short of her most sensitive spot.
“Ahhhhhuhh, please!”
I knew what she was asking for. But I figured that after waiting a whole lifetime, another minute wouldn’t hurt. I repeated the process again: gentle kisses and a long, slow lick, being careful never to touch where she needed me to. Her desperate pleas grew louder, her hips straining harder as I struggled to hold her still. I kept repeating this sequence as she grew wilder still, until finally I felt her hands on the back of my head, pulling me closer.
This was what I had been waiting for. She had taken control, taken responsibility for her own pleasure. She was showing her husband that her needs were just as important as his, that she knew she deserved to be satisfied, and that he would be the one to do it.
I didn’t resist as she pulled me down. I allowed her hips to rise up to meet me. This time, when I dipped my tongue into her soaking slit and slowly moved north, I didn’t stop.
As my tongue ran over her clit, her entire body froze for a second as she groaned, a primal sound I’d never heard before. I flicked the tip of my tongue over her swollen bud a few times, feeling her shuddering beneath me, and then closed my lips around her. I flattened my tongue, pressing it against her opening, then drew it up, coating her clit with her juices. I sucked gently on her and she cried out, holding my head tightly in place, grinding against my mouth.
“Ah... oooh... uuhh.” A string of vowels, all rolling into one another tumbled from her mouth, followed by a prolonged “Fuuuuuuck!” as I ran my tongue over her clit, still sucking.
I knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, I could feel her clit throbbing on my tongue. But I couldn’t let this be over just yet, she deserved more. Pulling my head back, a struggle against her hold, I dipped down lower. I repositioned her legs so that they were over my shoulders, spreading her wider. I gently bit down on her flesh, scraping my teeth over her ass cheek.
“Ughhhhh...” she groaned.
I ran my tongue slowly up her slit again, and then back down. But I didn’t stop this time, moving further south until the very tip of my tongue teased the ring of her other hole.
“Fuck! Fff...uuuuck!”
Her reaction to this new sensation was incredible, but I sensed it was not something she’d ever considered before, and I didn’t want to overwhelm her with new experiences. Better to focus on giving her one, unforgettable, new experience.
I ran my tongue back up to her slit, this time teasing her lips further apart, sliding slightly deeper. I licked slowly around her opening, trying to gauge her reaction, then tentatively probed her entrance, careful to only go millimetres deep.
She moaned loudly again, and still holding my head, pushed her hips towards me, forcing my tongue deeper into her. I pulled my tongue back and gently pushed into her again. She gasped and bucked her hips. I worked my tongue slowly in and out, building a rhythm with her as she moved her hips. I was fucking her with my tongue, and I knew she was close. Her walls were squeezing tightly, trying to clamp down on my slippery tongue, and she was moaning uncontrollably now. It was becoming difficult to maintain a rhythm as her hips were bucking erratically, her hold of my head becoming tighter.
“Oohhhfuuuuuuuuuck! I’m so... close!” she managed to gasp out between moans.
I spread her lips even further apart with my fingers and pushed my tongue deep into her one last time before pulling out and flattening my tongue against her. I glanced up at her face again, sweaty and delirious and then sucked her clit back into my mouth, closing my lips firmly around her. I sucked hard as I traced patterns over her with my tongue, rolling it around my tongue, working her clit as I’d worked her nipples earlier. I drew circles on her, starting wide and becoming smaller, picking up speed, increasing pressure, harder, faster, harder, faster, faster, faster, faster.....
She came apart beneath me. She cried out, a gasp that became a moan.
“Ahhhh... fffuuuuccckkk!”
Her thighs clamped down on me, holding me in position as she ground her clit on my tongue, bucking furiously, uncontrollably, a string of groans, moans and expletives cascading from her mouth.
I didn’t stop until she pushed my head away, spent.
Her body continued to tremble and convulse for minutes after, her panting was fast and shallow. I kissed the insides of her thighs as she came down from her high, not wanting her to feel alone of ashamed.
Eventually, her breathing returned to near normal. She opened her eyes, which seemed to be filled with a new life.
“That was...incredible” she admitted shyly.
“It’ll be even better when it’s with someone that you love,” I promised, smiling. “You’re in control of your own satisfaction, okay? Just remember that.”
As I got up to leave the room, she thanked me for showing her that she could be fulfilled.
“You’ve helped me a lot over these last few weeks,” I replied. “It was the least I could do.”
-------------------------------------
“So,” she brought me back to the present. “How have you been feeling this week...?”
I pushed open the door and shyly walked into her office, not really knowing what to expect after our last session. I’m pretty new to therapy, having only been recently diagnosed and only having had 3 appointments so far with my counsellor, but even I was fairly certain that what had happened last week wasn’t exactly usual.
It had begun like the two sessions before it; she’d welcomed me into the tiny office, we’d sat opposite one another in armchairs, she’d begun to delicately ask me about my mental state over the last week. We discussed in detail how I’d been, and she appeared noticeably relieved to hear that I was feeling better than I had been the last time I sat in that chair.
I know that the relationship we have is purely professional: I’m struggling with depression and it’s her job to try to get to the bottom of why, to coax me back to my old self. But that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t starting to develop feelings for her. Not romantic feelings, and certainly not sexual (she’s at least twenty years older than me!), but a definite attachment. I guess I was comforted by her. I felt safe being with her, knowing that I could tell her all the worst parts of myself, and no matter what I thought of myself, what I’d done to harm myself, she’d heard it all and worse before. Nothing I could say would shock or visibly upset her. It was liberating.
“Sit down,” she greeted me, “I just need another minute to type up these notes and I’ll be with you.” I nodded and took up my usual place, making myself as small as possible in the chair and staring out of the window at the setting sun. As she typed I glanced over at her, trying to understand how she could behave so nonchalantly after my last visit.
I suppose she wasn’t unattractive; I’d put her in her mid-forties, with dark hair and a slight frame. I, a mere twenty-one-year-old with long, off-blonde hair, always felt child-like in her presence. Here was a mature, professional woman, and I was just an average girl, only recently having come out the other side of a long, drawn-out puberty and still learning how to hold my 5’9 frame in a way that didn’t look awkward, despite my lack of curves.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come back.” She gently brought me back to the real World with her soft-spoken manner. She closed the door I’d left ajar upon entering and sat in the armchair opposite me, signalling that my counselling session had begun.
“Neither was I,” I replied with a small voice. She studied my face intently for a second, which always made me uncomfortable, as I felt sure she could see the things in my mind that I’d spent the last few years trying to hide from everybody else, before she spoke again.
“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last week.” She began. “What happened was entirely my fault and I should never have put you in that position. I don’t know what came over me, but I’m going to try to put it aside so that we can refocus these sessions on you.”
I nodded, noticing for the first time the sadness in her eyes, realising that I wasn’t the only person in this room that sometimes struggled to cope. I assumed that in her job as a counsellor at a University, she must have her life together. No issues, no insecurities, no instability. But then I remembered how her eyes had darkened last week, the fear and desperation that appeared to come over her as she had spoken to me, like she had no control over what she was saying...
“You’re telling me that you’re feeling better this week,” she had prompted, bringing me back out of my contemplative reverie to rejoin this conversation. “But you still seem distant, unengaged. Can you tell me where you went just now?”
I realised, slightly embarrassed, that I couldn’t. I had no idea where I was going during these episodes, I just knew that I left the physical World behind and sometimes struggled to find my way back. I shook my head.
“Is this...dissociation...affecting your day to day life?”
“I guess.” I’d replied. “Sometimes I unpack my folder at the end of the day and find pages and pages of lecture notes in there, so I know I went to my lectures that day...but I have no recollection of being there. The other day I spent 5 hours working alone in the lab, but when my flatmate asked me what I’d done, I couldn’t tell her. It’s kind of scary. How can I know that I’m being sensible and safe if I don’t even know what I’m doing?”
She looked at me, concerned, but not shocked. That was what I liked about her.
“What about other aspects of your life? Are you able to interact normally with your friends? Family? Do you have a boyfriend?”
The last question startled me. I felt the familiar shame creeping up my neck, my cheeks getting hot. “G-girlfriend,” I offered; both a reply and an apology. My sexuality was a source of great embarrassment and discontent to me, and I suspected largely to blame for my ill mental health.
For her part, she took this information in her stride, not reacting in any way but to ask how long we’d been together. My response, two years, seemed to satisfy her that it must be a stable relationship, and no cause for any concern on her part.
“And are you able to interact normally with your girlfriend?”
“Mostly, I think.”
“What about your sex life?”
Now my cheeks were definitely burning. I looked away from her, not able to hold her gaze as she waited for an answer. “I...um...”
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer if it’s too personal. I just thought it might be useful to know the extent to which this is affecting your life.”
“No, it’s okay, I understand.” I tried to regain some composure. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it. I hate discussing my sexuality, let alone my sex life. But actually it’s okay. No problems...I enjoy doing it. I can focus on pleasing her for hours...” I trailed off, embarrassed that I’d now provided more information than required. I shifted awkwardly in my seat.
This seemed to pique her interest. “When you say 'pleasing her...', what do you mean, exactly?”
Now this was definitely becoming awkward. I wasn’t at all comfortable sharing the intimate details of my sex life with a woman old enough to be my mother and who barely knew me. But at the same time I couldn’t help but reply. I guess I figured therapy only works if you’re willing to share everything.
“It makes me feel powerful. I love seeing her becoming more and more aroused the longer I keep teasing her. Knowing that the only concrete thought running through her head is my name. Feeling how much she wants me, and then feeling that want turn into need and desperation. Seeing her cheeks flush and her hips buck. Hearing her sighs turn to gasps turn to moans. Putting everything I have into making her feel better than she ever has before. And then when it’s over, knowing that I made it happen. It’s the best feeling ever.”
I think I’d almost forgotten that I was speaking aloud. I felt exposed and vulnerable, telling this woman about making my girlfriend come. When I finally met her gaze again, she was staring at me in that way, like she could see into my mind. She seemed engrossed in my description, and I noticed she had crossed her legs tightly since I’d last looked at her. She cleared her throat. “And what about you? Do you...? I mean...are you...satisfied?”
...Was my therapist asking me I was getting any? This was definitely veering away from the usual territory of our discussions. “Um, yes,” I answered. “But for me it’s secondary.”
“Secondary?”
“Yeah. It’s just not that important to me. I’m more interested in making her feel good. I can take it or leave it.”
“I see...” she trailed off, and for the first time in the conversation she looked away from me. She seemed to be struggling with something in her mind. I’m sure I spotted her thighs clench gently. Was what I was saying turning her on? It was starting to look that way, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d said that she wouldn’t have felt herself a hundred times before. Surely everybody wants to make their partner feel good? But I could see that she was lost in her imagination now, and her cheeks were definitely turning pink. I glanced down and yet again noticed the almost imperceptible tightening of her thigh muscles.
“I’m sorry if something I’ve said made you uncomfortable...” I started. “I guess I figured nothing I could say would bother you in any way.” No response. I tried to make light of the situation. “I totally get it if talking about lesbian sex makes you uncomfortable, I don’t enjoy it either!”
That brought her back. “No, it’s not that at all. I’m sorry. It’s just...hearing you talk so passionately about pleasing your partner. It just makes me wonder...why can’t my husband be like that? Eighteen years of marriage and he’s never...” She looked at me again, and for the first time since I’d started seeing her, it was her with tears in her eyes, not me. I held her gaze. “God I feel awful, making this about me. He’s never made me come. Not once. And here you are, a girl of twenty-one full of knowledge and desire to pleasure your girlfriend, and there he is, twenty-five years your senior, plenty of experience and yet no ability, or maybe no inclination, to satisfy me.” She was growing bolder, more animated. “Just listening to you talk just then turned me on...this is so wrong, I shouldn’t be talking about my life...I’m sorry.”
She did look sorry. She looked so uncomfortable that her mouth had betrayed her like that, voicing her personal response to what I was saying. Embarrassed, she looked away again, but I’d already noted the darkening of her eyes. Need.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I again tried to make a joke. “But you’re not telling me you haven’t had an orgasm in 18 years, are you? I mean... you can take care of yourself... right? Eighteen years... a person would explode!”
I was fully aware now that we shouldn’t be having this conversation, but somehow I couldn’t leave it. I wasn’t attracted to her, but I felt this need to look after her. She’d become an important part of my life. I guess this is what therapists mean when they talk about transference. She was helping me in my life, I guess I felt I owed it to her to listen if she needed to talk about this.
She looked up at me again, her eyes full of the fear and trepidation that mine usually were when she asked me a personal question. “I...well...I do, sometimes. But it’s not enough. I don’t satisfy myself...a stolen 5 minutes in the bathroom here and there...and then I feel dirty, ashamed. My husband and I have an active sex life...that should be enough for any normal woman...”
“Except he doesn’t care about your needs,” I countered.
“No,” she almost whispered. “As soon as he’s finished, it’s over. It leaves me so frustrated...”
“So you go off to the bathroom and finish the job yourself, but it’s not for pleasure any more, it’s just something that has to be done so you can get some sleep.”
“Basically.” She seemed surprised at how well I was reading her now, as if we’d switched roles.
“You know you deserve better than that, right? Your needs are just as important as his.”
“But I don’t know how to tell him. How do I make him do the right things when I don’t even know really what the right things are?”
I was growing more confident now in my role as impromptu sex therapist. “Masturbate for him,” I suggested. “Make him watch as you bring yourself to orgasm. Let him see how you turn yourself on, how you touch yourself. Let him hear your breathing change and your moans. Show him what he’s missing out on by not making you come.”
“I can’t!” She seemed terrified by my suggestion. “I’m not that person. I don’t have the confidence, I’m not sexy, I don’t even touch myself in the way I want to be touched. I just get it over with as quickly as possible...” She sounded miserable...but the thought of it had definitely turned her on. She was now squeezing her legs tightly together, and a red flush was creeping across her chest.
“So make it appear like an accident... set it up so he walks in on you. I can guarantee that there’s not a person on the planet who wouldn’t be incredibly aroused by walking in on their partner pleasuring themselves. Go home tonight, have a bath, relax, pamper your body. Then put on your favourite underwear, and have an early night. Spend the evening worshipping your body in the way you want him to. Take it slow, touch yourself all over. Learn how your body reacts to different things. Stop thinking and start feeling. Lose yourself in fantasy. Masturbate like you’ve never done it before. Tease yourself, listen to what your body wants. Let yourself moan out loud, don’t try to hide your pleasure. And make sure he catches you. Once he’s seen you completely lose yourself to pleasure, he’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure that next time it’s him that gets you there. But make sure that you’re in control. Tell him what you want and how you want it. Guide his fingers, let him know what feels good...”
She was wild-eyed now, totally absorbed by whatever fantasy it was that she would pick later.
“What are you thinking about?”
This time she looked at me with no shame, just pure lust. “He’s never gone down on me. I want to know what that feels like. I want to feel his mouth on me. His tongue, his lips, his teeth... but I don’t know how to guide him if I don’t know what to expect...”
Now I felt truly sorry for her. In her forties, married almost twenty years, never satisfied by her man... and never having experienced a warm, wet mouth on her most intimate parts. I looked her in the eyes, and she held my gaze, but I could see that she was squirming slightly in her chair. Without breaking eye contact, I stood up and slowly crossed the room toward her. I saw her breathing get shallower as I neared her, and she bit her lip as I knelt down on the floor in front of her, my head now inches from her knees, which were tightly locked together.
“W...what are you doing?” she whispered, her expression one of torment.
I rested my hand on her knee and realised she was shaking. I’d never seen her look so unsure of herself, so at war with herself. I realised in that moment that I would give her whatever she needed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Please... do to me what you do for your girlfriend. Make me feel good. I need to know that I can be made to feel sexy...I need something to fantasise about if I’m going to... masturbate... for my husband. I need to know what a tongue feels like...”
I considered her request. I so badly wanted to show her what she was worth, to give her what she deserved, but I couldn’t risk losing her as my counsellor. I needed to know I could still rely on her after.
“Just make me one promise,” I said, looking directly into her dark eyes. “You close your eyes and picture your husband while I do this. It’s his hands, his mouth, his desire all over you. Don’t make this personal. I’m just helping you to help yourself. Showing you what to show him. Okay? Promise?”
“...I promise.”
“Good. Now close your eyes. Relax into the chair. Picture yourself on your bed at home. You’re wearing nothing but your sexiest lingerie... and your husband’s just walked in on you with your hand down your pants.”
She seemed embarrassed, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink, but slowly her tense body sank back into the chair and her muscles relaxed. I continued her story.
“At first he’s surprised. Shocked, even. He’s never seen this side of you before. Panting and sighing, trailing one hand all over your body while the other rhythmically strokes your most sensitive part. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair a mess, your mouth is open... he’s never seen you look so sexy. You’re beautiful... and you’re his for the taking. He wants you. Badly.”
By now her breathing had become shallower and her lips had parted slightly. Her hands seemed to be growing restless by her sides. I gently moved her knee so that her legs were no longer crossed, and rested my hand halfway up her thigh.
“You know he’s there, you heard him come in, but you don’t open your eyes. You pretend you haven’t noticed him, because knowing that you’re being watched is turning you on more than you thought it possibly could. You decide to tease yourself more, and to make him wait longer. You slow your stroking and then stop, and even though you’re in control of this, you can’t help the soft whimper that slips out of your mouth as you draw your hand away from where you need it most and slowly across your stomach. You still don’t open your eyes. You don’t need to. You can feel the intense heat of his focus on you. You bring your hands up to your breasts. You squeeze and massage them gently, softly grazing your thumbs over your hard nipples. Your breath catches in your throat every time you graze your nipples. It’s been years since you felt physical changes in your body from arousal; you didn’t realise how sensitive you could be...”
By now I could tell that all doubts and fears in her mind were long gone, she was giving herself over to pure desire and fantasy. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She gingerly ran her hands up her body towards her breasts, but then seemed to stop herself, unsure. “Wh... what if I do it wrong?” she whispered.
“How could you? This is all about you. Forget me. There is no wrong. Just focus on making yourself feel as good as possible...there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows how to make herself feel good.”
At my gentle encouragement, she slowly moved her hands again to cup her breasts, but still seemed unsure. Slowly, I traced my fingertips from her thigh where my hand had been resting up her stomach, causing her breath to hitch. I softly placed my hand over hers, then did the same with my other.
“Is this okay?” I whispered.
She nodded slightly, and I gently squeezed her hands in mine. Even over her shirt and bra, this sensation seemed to be enough to relax her again. I squeezed again, applying slightly more pressure this time, and her head slowly tilted back as a sigh escaped her lips. Her relatively strong reactions to such little stimulus made me wonder just how long it had been since her husband had touched her at all, let alone properly. I felt a renewed desire to make sure I gave her what she deserved. Without ever breaking contact with her body, I slowly brought my hands back down her body, letting my fingertips drag slightly, bringing them to rest halfway down her thighs. I looked back up to her chest, pleased to see that she was now starting to slowly massage and knead her breasts, albeit somewhat gingerly.
“Good,” I encouraged, and the hint of a smile played across her face. “You’d forgotten how sensitive your breasts were...” I started, taking her back into the fantasy. “It’s been so long since anybody paid them this much attention. You pull gently on your nipples and roll them between your fingers...and become aware of the warm, wet feeling between your legs.” Now she was sighing between most breaths and gently biting her bottom lip as she pinched her nipples through her bra. She was amazing to watch. Her husband was a fool.
“You’re sighing and moaning softly now, writhing slightly. Your hips seem to be moving of their own accord, trying to release some of the tension that’s building between your legs. But you want to tease your husband some more. And more importantly, you want to tease yourself some more. You love being watched. You don’t want this to end. You let your moans grow louder as you tug harder on your nipples. Your hips are trying to grind now, but there’s nothing there.
You realise how sexy you must look, writhing and moaning as you play with your breasts. You realise how turned on you are, and how incredible it is that you’ve done this to yourself. You’re in control of your loss of control. You feel powerful.”
By now she was touching her breasts with confidence, squeezing firmly through the thin materials of her shirt and bra, as her lips opened and closed around vowels that were not quite audible. Yet. Her eyes flickered open and she appeared surprised to find me watching her so intently. She looked me in the eye as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt. As pleased as I was that she was gaining confidence, I didn’t want this to be about me. She traced her fingers delicately over her stomach and ribs back towards her lace-clad breasts and, thankfully, closed her eyes again as I continued speaking.
“You roll your nipples between your fingertips one last time, and are shocked by the guttural groan you let out. You had no idea you could make that sound, but in that moment it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.”
She had one hand cupping and gently squeezing her breast through her thin bra, but had managed to slip the other inside to play with her nipple just as I’d described. Her breathy whimpers, though far from the guttural groans I’d imagined, were coming thick and fast, and were just as sexy. I decide it’s time to bring her husband into action.
“You can’t take the torture any more. Your hips are grinding wildly in thin air...you have to relieve that tension. Slowly...so slowly you can barely take it... you trail your fingers down your torso towards the place you’ve been needing them all night. As you trace your fingers over your mound, a sudden sharp intake of breath from across the room reminds you that you’re not alone."
"Your eyes flash open and there he is. Mouth open, eyes dark...you see him gulp. 'Please...don’t stop.' He can’t take his eyes off you. You’ve never felt so desired. So empowered. He starts to cross the room towards you. Without breaking eye contact, you slip your hand underneath the thin material of your underwear and run a fingertip down your slit. You moan loudly, you’ve never felt yourself so wet.”
“Uhhh...” she half-sighed, half-moaned, now almost desperately pinching her nipples.
“Suddenly he’s on the bed next to you, kissing your lips, your neck. He wants you so badly. He always does, but this time it’s different. This time it’s all about you. He reaches down for your hand and brings it up between you. For a second you’re angry. But then, never breaking eye contact, he brings your soaking fingers to his lips and slowly, gently, sucks each one clean. 'You taste amazing.'”
At this, a strangled moan escaped her lips. I was sure now that in her mind she’d left this small office and was lost in the fantasy I was creating. As I’d hoped, she seemed to have entirely forgotten that I was there, and still feverishly tugging her nipple in with one hand, she skimmed the other down her torso and slipped it under the waistband of her skirt. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I didn’t need to. A moment later, as I watched, entranced, she brought her fingers up to her mouth to taste herself, for what I guessed was the first time. Gently sucking them one by one into her mouth, she let out beautiful little noises of satisfaction.
Sitting back on my heels, I quickly slipped her shoes off before running my hands gently up her calves. This elicited a contented sigh and, following my lead, she reached down and wriggled her hips free from the sheer tights she was wearing. Halfway down her thighs, I took over, gently rolling the thin material down her legs to expose the delicate, porcelain skin. I peeled the tights over her feet, preparing her for the next part of her story.
Sensing that she’d become tense and aware of her situation again, I gently massaged her feet and calf muscles. I needed her to relax back into her illusion. With some gentle coaxing and encouragement, she eventually relaxed back into the chair, slowly bringing her hands back up to her now exposed breasts. I continued to massage the muscles of her legs until I was sure that she was back in her fantasy, once again rolling and twisting her incredibly sensitive nipples.
“'You taste amazing,' he repeats, staring at you intently, his eyes full of desire. You’ve never experienced such an erotic moment. His big, strong hand glides gently up your stomach to your breasts, where one of your hands is still massaging of its own accord. 'Let me...' he whispers. But it’s not a command, it’s a request. A plea, almost. He knows that you’re in control of this. You nod your consent and draw your hand away, revealing your erect nipples to him. He moans, and you can feel that he’s hard, but this isn’t about him.”
By now one of her hands has wandered south again, slipping beneath the waistband of her skirt. The heavy material obscured my view of her hand, but I could see that it was now moving slowly between her legs. Her breathing was becoming laboured, punctuated by sensual “mhmms...” and “ahhhs...”
“His hands are much larger and rougher than yours, but he caresses the skin of your breasts as delicately as he can, raising goose bumps everywhere he touches. He’s studying your face intently, learning the expressions of your pleasure. He grazes his thumbnail across your nipple. You cry out. Then his lips are on yours, breathing in your moans as he repeats the rolling and pulling of your nipples that he watched you do.”
The pace of her hand’s movements between her legs was increasing, and I knew it was almost time to give her what she’d asked for. I couldn’t let her work herself up much more than this for fear that her fantasy would be over before it properly started. After all, eighteen years is a lot of sexual frustration to hold on to.
Her cheeks and chest were flushed deep pink, her nipples looked almost painfully hard, and her mouth hung open, her sighs, moans and gasps almost rolling into one another. I felt a throb of desire between my own legs, but I ignored it. This was her moment. I knew that we were reaching the part of the fantasy where my story-telling would become non-verbal. She seemed to be reading my mind as she parted her legs slightly, allowing me to slip one hand between them and gently, delicately stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
“His kisses begin to move lower, slowly working down your neck...” I leant up and softly planted my lips on her skin for the first time, just below her ear. She shuddered beneath me. I continued to punctuate the story with delicate kisses as I described them. I worked down her neck... across her flushed chest and towards her breast. As the man in her fantasy finally sucked one hard nipple into his mouth, my lips closed around it in real life. Still caressing her thighs with my fingers, I worked her nipple in my mouth, rolling it around my tongue, swirling my tongue over the very tip of it. As the man in her fantasy gently bit down, my teeth grazed her.
She was trembling now, her hand still moving frantically beneath her skirt as her moans grew louder. I reached between us and drew her hand up to my mouth, just as her husband had moments ago. I sucked on her fingers just as she’d done to herself. I lowered my head to whisper in her ear. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” came the breathless reply. “Please. I need...to feel his mouth on me.”
That was all the confirmation that I needed that her imagination would keep her husband in the room with us. I briefly sucked her other nipple into my mouth, causing her to cry out, before slowly tracing my tongue down her body, stopping only to kiss the delicate skin of her stomach and gently graze my teeth over her hips, leaving goose bumps in my trail.
As her hands began to wander over her torso again, I turned my attention to her legs. I kissed my way up both of her calves, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin behind her knees. I slowly parted her legs, encouraging her slight hesitance with gentle strokes of her thigh until her legs were spread wide enough for me to move between them. I kissed back up her torso again, my fingertips tracing patterns over her waist, desperate to make sure she was comfortable before we carried on. I ran the tip of my tongue over her nipple again, taking her by surprise, and eliciting a sexy, strangled sound from the back of her throat. I caught her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist, causing an appreciative sigh to fall from her mouth. Then I had another thought.
“Do you like to be scratched?” I murmured in her ear. I wanted to make this as perfect as I could for her.
“I’m...I, um...I don’t know...” She sounded embarrassed again, that was not what I wanted.
“Shhh...it’s okay.” I kissed the sensitive spot below her ear again. “Do you want to find out?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But please... be gentle...”
“I always am,” I reassured her. I kissed that spot again, causing her to shudder, then began to kiss a gentle path down her neck and across her chest. As I closed my lips around her nipple and gently sucked, I brought my hand up to just below her breast. Still teasing her with my tongue, I very gently raked my fingernails down her stomach. Her stomach muscles twitched involuntarily, and a new, raw sound escaped her lips.
“Uhhhh...!”
I smiled against her breast and kissed her ribcage, then repeated the movement, this time applying a fraction more pressure and moving slower.
“Mmm.... uhh!” came the reply, and she shivered as I brushed my lips over the skin where I’d dragged my nails.
“Do I take that as a 'yes'?”
“U...huh,” she moaned her approval.
“Goood...” I kissed back down her stomach, holding her waist and gently digging my nails into her soft flesh. When my lips met the waistband of her skirt I sat back, repositioning myself so that my face was between her knees. This was it.
I ran one hand up her body again, roughly rubbing her breast, before again drawing my fingernails slowly and gently down the length of her torso, causing her to moan loudly and part her legs further. Slowly, I began kissing, licking and gently biting my way up the inside of her thigh, hitching her skirt up as I went. Her legs were trembling, her breathing quick and shallow. She needed this. Her own hands replaced mine on her body, alternating between pulling at her nipples and raking her nails over her skin.
As I gently pressed my lips against the inner part of one thigh, I delicately scratched the other. She cried out as her hips bucked, inching her lower in her chair and nearer to my mouth, and causing her skirt to ride up further, exposing her silk underwear and the considerable damp patch to me. I kissed further up the inside of her thigh, until I was only a couple of inches away from the damp material that covered her. I traced my fingertips slowly up her thigh to the very edge of the silk material.
She gasped and held her breath, biting down hard on her lower lip. Slowly, slower than I’d ever touched anybody before, I ran my finger over the soft material, over the folds of her desperate centre.
“Ahhh!” she cried out, a high-pitched, feverish sound, as her whole body tensed up. This one touch seemed to drive her need and frustration to a new level and her hips pushed up towards me as she desperately tried to find more pressure.
I gently but firmly pushed her hips back down into the chair as she whimpered in protest. Holding her still with both hands, I lowered my mouth to her and pressed my lips against the sodden material. She groaned loudly and tried to buck her hips against me, but I kept my hold firm, and my lips still.
“Oh...God!” she moaned, her voice now shaking with need. “Please...”
I slowly and gently grazed my teeth over the fabric, causing her whole body to shudder, then pressed my lips to her again, this time applying a little more pressure.
“Uhhh... h... uhhh!” The moan caught in her throat. “Please... I need more... please!”
Her skin was on fire, her face flushed and sweaty. Her every intake of breath had become a gasp, and her exhalations alternated between sighs and moans. It occurred to me that probably nobody had ever taken so much time over arousing her before, that she’d never been worked up into such a state of desperation. Her underwear were soaked through.
I hooked my finger in the crotch and carefully pulled it to one side. I glanced up, wary that this exposure might make her self-conscious again, but her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut and her hands roamed over every inch of her body. She was still lost in pure fantasy. I lowered my mouth towards her again, close enough that she could feel my hot breath on her.
“Mmmhhhmmm,” she whimpered, still trying to push her hips towards me. I touched my lips softly to her labia, one side, then the other. She was panting now. I kissed directly above her swollen clit and she cried out in frustration. I traced the tip of my tongue the length of her slit, amazed at how wet she was, stopping just short of her most sensitive spot.
“Ahhhhhuhh, please!”
I knew what she was asking for. But I figured that after waiting a whole lifetime, another minute wouldn’t hurt. I repeated the process again: gentle kisses and a long, slow lick, being careful never to touch where she needed me to. Her desperate pleas grew louder, her hips straining harder as I struggled to hold her still. I kept repeating this sequence as she grew wilder still, until finally I felt her hands on the back of my head, pulling me closer.
This was what I had been waiting for. She had taken control, taken responsibility for her own pleasure. She was showing her husband that her needs were just as important as his, that she knew she deserved to be satisfied, and that he would be the one to do it.
I didn’t resist as she pulled me down. I allowed her hips to rise up to meet me. This time, when I dipped my tongue into her soaking slit and slowly moved north, I didn’t stop.
As my tongue ran over her clit, her entire body froze for a second as she groaned, a primal sound I’d never heard before. I flicked the tip of my tongue over her swollen bud a few times, feeling her shuddering beneath me, and then closed my lips around her. I flattened my tongue, pressing it against her opening, then drew it up, coating her clit with her juices. I sucked gently on her and she cried out, holding my head tightly in place, grinding against my mouth.
“Ah... oooh... uuhh.” A string of vowels, all rolling into one another tumbled from her mouth, followed by a prolonged “Fuuuuuuck!” as I ran my tongue over her clit, still sucking.
I knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, I could feel her clit throbbing on my tongue. But I couldn’t let this be over just yet, she deserved more. Pulling my head back, a struggle against her hold, I dipped down lower. I repositioned her legs so that they were over my shoulders, spreading her wider. I gently bit down on her flesh, scraping my teeth over her ass cheek.
“Ughhhhh...” she groaned.
I ran my tongue slowly up her slit again, and then back down. But I didn’t stop this time, moving further south until the very tip of my tongue teased the ring of her other hole.
“Fuck! Fff...uuuuck!”
Her reaction to this new sensation was incredible, but I sensed it was not something she’d ever considered before, and I didn’t want to overwhelm her with new experiences. Better to focus on giving her one, unforgettable, new experience.
I ran my tongue back up to her slit, this time teasing her lips further apart, sliding slightly deeper. I licked slowly around her opening, trying to gauge her reaction, then tentatively probed her entrance, careful to only go millimetres deep.
She moaned loudly again, and still holding my head, pushed her hips towards me, forcing my tongue deeper into her. I pulled my tongue back and gently pushed into her again. She gasped and bucked her hips. I worked my tongue slowly in and out, building a rhythm with her as she moved her hips. I was fucking her with my tongue, and I knew she was close. Her walls were squeezing tightly, trying to clamp down on my slippery tongue, and she was moaning uncontrollably now. It was becoming difficult to maintain a rhythm as her hips were bucking erratically, her hold of my head becoming tighter.
“Oohhhfuuuuuuuuuck! I’m so... close!” she managed to gasp out between moans.
I spread her lips even further apart with my fingers and pushed my tongue deep into her one last time before pulling out and flattening my tongue against her. I glanced up at her face again, sweaty and delirious and then sucked her clit back into my mouth, closing my lips firmly around her. I sucked hard as I traced patterns over her with my tongue, rolling it around my tongue, working her clit as I’d worked her nipples earlier. I drew circles on her, starting wide and becoming smaller, picking up speed, increasing pressure, harder, faster, harder, faster, faster, faster, faster.....
She came apart beneath me. She cried out, a gasp that became a moan.
“Ahhhh... fffuuuuccckkk!”
Her thighs clamped down on me, holding me in position as she ground her clit on my tongue, bucking furiously, uncontrollably, a string of groans, moans and expletives cascading from her mouth.
I didn’t stop until she pushed my head away, spent.
Her body continued to tremble and convulse for minutes after, her panting was fast and shallow. I kissed the insides of her thighs as she came down from her high, not wanting her to feel alone of ashamed.
Eventually, her breathing returned to near normal. She opened her eyes, which seemed to be filled with a new life.
“That was...incredible” she admitted shyly.
“It’ll be even better when it’s with someone that you love,” I promised, smiling. “You’re in control of your own satisfaction, okay? Just remember that.”
As I got up to leave the room, she thanked me for showing her that she could be fulfilled.
“You’ve helped me a lot over these last few weeks,” I replied. “It was the least I could do.”
-------------------------------------
“So,” she brought me back to the present. “How have you been feeling this week...?”
Libbie
- 12.09.2020
- 15
- 0
- Category:
- Oral Sex
