Dottie smiled gratefully, her hands trembling at her sides. Only the doctor understood her misery.
His eyes roamed over her body with no visible signs of the lust glinting in the blue depths of his eyes. "Of course, it is always difficult for the man in me to reconcile your splendid physical properties with my professional knowledge of your case. I can't imagine a woman like you not making any man totally satisfied."
Dottie nodded wordlessly, aware of his eyes, but his firm, even voice stilled the nervous tension in her stomach.
"Now then," the doctor said quietly, "together we are going to view your body. We are going to determine all its flaws, locate all of its erogenous zones and we are going to teach it how to summon all its strengths to achieve the sexual satisfaction denied it all these years. Is that clear, Dottie?" he asked, dropping his hands to stare hard at her.
1
"He's really a bastard, doctor! How can any woman get excited when her fucking husband tells her she doesn't turn him on?" Sylvia Warren's velvet green eyes filled with tears as she fumbled in her pocketbook for a tissue.
Dr. Lou Miller smiled slightly, a hungry gleam in his sunken blue eyes. He sat down on the couch beside his forlorn patient, stretching his long legs before him, and rested a broad hand on Sylvia's shoulder, intimately. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Sylvia," he said sternly. "Forget about yourself! Why don't you turn him on?" he added, his voice lower and suggestive.
"Doctor!" Sylvia exclaimed, sitting upright, his disloyalty thrusting thoughts of her miserable husband away. "Why don't I-me!-turn him on?" An angry flush accented her high cheekbones and the full, pouting lips were drawn into a hard line.
A comforting smile played on his lips as he stilled the urge to tear off the tight knit shirt that covered the small round tits whose nipples were in a constant state of erection in his office, much like his prick, and sheer will power kept his eyes off them.
"Let's try a different tack, today," he said softly. "We won't discuss your getting aroused-after all, we both," he paused to stress both, "know that you are a sexually desirable woman. Let us assume that your husband has a problem. Not you, but with any woman. Think in terms of any woman. Now what do you think would arouse him?"
Sylvia shrugged. Shit, if I'm so sexually desirable, she thought, why don't you fuck me? For the kind of money you get, you ought to do something for me. But aloud, she answered, "How do I know? What does my man want? To be sucked off, I guess." Sylvia sighed.
"And do you object to, uh, sucking Ralph off?" The doctor paused over the word suck, his balls twinged violently inside his tight jockey shorts and his half-erect prick stiffened uncomfortably. He crossed his legs to hide the tell-tale bulge, but it wasn't necessary. Sylvia had closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch, considering the question. He stared hard awaiting her answer.
"Not exactly," she answered thoughtfully. "But if I already feel inadequate, then sucking him off makes me feel even more so. I keep thinking I'm not doing it right or something like that You know what I mean?" she asked suddenly, leaning forward to light a cigarette from the small table beside the couch.
The doctor licked his dry lips greedily, his eyes on the sensuous lips now pursed around the filter tip of the cigarette, the smooth cheeks drawing in as she inhaled deeply, imagining his throbbing cock in its place. His fingers pressed harder into her shoulder, more to still the trembling desire than to reassure his patient.
"Yes, I can understand," his voice low and husky.
"Oral sex is one of those most pleasurable love-making techniques the human body can experience. It's unfortunate that society has put it down so long." His fully erect cock pulsed in agreement and he shifted closer to Sylvia, his buttocks sweating with excitement.
Sylvia nodded silently in agreement, dragging on her cigarette, a vision of her husband's short, thick cock in her mouth, the strong, alien odor in her nostrils, the coarse foreskin rubbed irritatingly against the tender of her wet mouth, as she struggled to pinpoint the veins which would trigger the eruption and get it over with as fast as possible.
"I think, Sylvia," his voice indifferent and professional, his eyes closed to hide the hot hunger burning inside him, "that this might very well be the key to your sexual problems with Ralph. And there is no reason why we can't eliminate your feeling of inferiority in your performance, today."
Sylvia frowned and turned to look into the doctor's eyes, his presence radiating a sensual heat through her and her pussy itched, a stab of excitement shivered in her thighs. His tone was professional, but-her eyes studied his handsome face, the high brow lined with wisdom, not age, wrinkles,-the wide mouth and aristocratic nose, perfectly balanced with graying temples and sideburns she sometimes suspected he tinted. A face that had often filled her fantasies when her long, eager fingers burrowed into her frustrated crotch. Was he suggesting that-the thought was suddenly terrifying.
"Sylvia," the doctor continued, his voice low, almost paternal, "you're been coming here six months and we have made no progress whatsoever in your relationship with Ralph. It's time we tried a different approach. Don't you agree?"
"Are you-uh-I mean, what do you think I should do?" A sudden shyness engulfed her and she lowered her eyes, realizing as she did that the doctor had slid his hand quickly over his crotch. My God, she thought, did he have a hard-on?
"I am trying to help you," he answered, his other hand tipped her head up to face him again, away from the swollen lump twitching impatiently between his legs. "You should do exactly what I tell you to do. Do you agree?"
"Yes," she whispered, blindly reaching out to the table to stab out her cigarette, staring into his hypnotic eyes.
"Very good," he nodded professionally. "Now first I want you to imagine yourself sailing into the house tonight. Ralph is sitting in an armchair, sipping a martini. You are full of confidence, because you know you can give him the best blow job he ever had in his life. And that is exactly what you are going to do to him before he knows what hit him."
Sylvia's luminous green eyes widened and her full lips parted in astonishment.
"You will know that because your doctor has told you so," he said, staring hard at her puzzled frown.
She shrugged. "Words! Saying something doesn't make it real. Just because you tell me I can do something, doesn't make me feel I can do it." She sighed in resignation. More word bullshit. Why did she see a shrink anyway? she thought. Your friends will give you all the words you want for nothing.
"We are going to make it real," Dr. Miller announced. The authoritative tone jarred her.
"Remember, Sylvia, I am also a medical doctor. And I know," he paused to smile at her surprised expression, "I know what is sexually stimulating and what is not."
She nodded. Was he going to tell her how to give a blow job?
"We will play a little game," he continued, his long pink tongue flickering wetly across his thin lips. "Psychodrama. I will be Ralph and you will be Sylvia. Not the patient Sylvia, but the wife Sylvia. And you are going to give me a blow job. However, unlike Ralph, I will instruct you. Then, when you see the real Ralph, you will know you are more than adequate."
Sylvia frowned, half in disbelief-did she hear what she thought she had heard-and half in deep thought. "Are they all the same?" she suddenly blurted out, and her face flushed as she heard herself.
"Now, Sylvia," Dr. Miller chided her, "certainly you realize that the male member is basically constructed in the same way. Granted, it is of varying sizes, thicknesses and length, but the erogenous zones in the genitalia are the same. The issue is how you manipulate your organ to stimulate those zones."
"My organ?" Sylvia questioned, her eyes riveted to his, the phrase incomprehensible.
"Your mouth!" he answered impatiently, "and its parts. Perhaps we should begin with a simple anatomy lesson." The doctor sat upright on the couch, spreading his knees apart, and unbuckled his belt.
Sylvia stared down at his broad hands undoing the belt, aware now of a spreading sticky warmth in her crotch, the elastic of her panties biting into the tender flesh of her chafing thighs, the soft silk jersey of the pantsuit leg, usually cool and refreshing, now like a heavy adhesive bandage.
Silently the doctor unzipped his fly, 'his movements slow and deliberate, mentally willing his throbbing cock to quiet down. He turned down the elastic band of his shorts and the bright purplish head of his cock sprang free, the long, thick shaft straining, pushing the elastic band as far out as possible.
Sylvia stared in awe at the gleaming, circumcised prick. That would be easy to suck, she thought. Not like those thick ridges of skin on Ralph's dick.
"But it's not like his," she murmured, her eyes devouring the doctor's prick, wondering how long it was and how he looked naked. The thought of his tall, lean, athletic body wrapped around her sent electric-like spasms through her tits. Ralph was tall and athletic, too, but it had never occurred to her that the doctor, her fantasy lover, would have a different prick. It was his tenderness in love-making that brought her to climax, not his prick.
The doctor smiled indulgently. The cool air relieved the pressure in his balls and he was pleased with her reaction. There was always the possibility, although his cock was nothing to be ashamed of, that his patient's husband's cock was superior. Usually, he tried to extract some verbal picture from his patient before he began physical treatment, but Sylvia had been unusually close-mouthed about Ralph's body.
Dr. Miller stood up abruptly, his pants dropping to the floor, and turned to face Sylvia. Her eyes were locked to his bulging cockhead, mesmerized by the winking eye nestled between the fleshy heart-shaped mounds. Her mouth was open slightly, the sensuous lips gleaming as she licked her lips, her breath heavier, her hands rested on her knees, the knuckles strained white to control the excitement that pulsed through her tense body.
He stood before her, watching her face closely, his legs apart as he slowly rolled down his shorts to his thighs. His hand shook slightly in relief as his tight balls snapped together at the base of his cock. Freed, his perpendicular joint jutted out only inches from Sylvia's astonished face, the pink skin taut, a faint trail of bluish veins on the upper side of the pipe-like length barely visible.
Dr. Miller stood for a moment, his hands on his hips, savoring her fascination, his eyes on the warm sensuous lips that would shortly close over his eager organ. It was days like this that made it all worthwhile.
"Of course it's like his," he admonished at last, his voice deep but controlled.
She shook her head without looking up. "He isn't, uh, you know," she stopped, unable to say it, not wanting to compare them.
Shit, he thought. Uncircumcised. Professionally, he knew there was supposed to be absolutely no difference in erotic response, but the small loss of foreskin had always irritated him. He had never been able to quell the pang of envy which rose inside him in the showers of his high school gym at the sight of the hooded cocks of some of the guys-swinging dark and loose.
"Nonsense," he said, forcing down the hint of annoyance rising in his throat, "that makes no difference whatsoever."
Dr. Miller gripped his full shaft at the base, squeezing it lightly, the pressure thrusting the bulging cockhead out further, a large drop of colorless liquid popped through the winking eye, inviting Sylvia's mouth to taste. She stared at the drop, the desire to lick it away and taste him coursed through her, but her body remained frozen, the delicate tapered fingers of her hands hugged her bent knees tighter, every nerve ending tingled beneath her feverish skin.
He smiled smugly and pointed to the tough ridge of skin that curled around his cockhead, dividing the sensitive flesh from the rigid pole. "It's merely here," he said. His finger traced the ridge in a circle and her eyes followed the trail. "Not here," he added softly, his eyes shining, his forefinger and thumb pinched the small cheeks of the head together, squeezing the drop of juice further out of the split.
Sylvia nodded dumbly, unable to speak or move. Suddenly afraid that if she did anything, she would discover that the doctor was really sitting behind his desk and she was lying on the couch.
"And, of course, it is here-" he said, hooking his forefinger over the bulging head to point out the pulsing patch of engorged veins. He lightly fingered the throbbing mass and his thigh muscles tensed as a surge of excitement convulsed through him.
"An ideal blow job," he continued in a professional tone, "aside from creating the desire to perform same for the woman, is to arouse the man almost to climax before you have even gotten his cock all the way into your mouth. In other words, you don't gobble it up and suck as hard and fast as you can to get it over with as quickly as possible."
Jolted, Sylvia stared up at him. How did he know? She'd never told him about actually blowing Ralph. And his language! He never talked like that before. Her face flushed a deeper red-not from desire, but from embarrassment.
Dr. Miller smiled slightly, enjoying her discomfort. He had struck a nerve cord. Marvelous, he thought: Teaching a woman how to blow him was almost as good as a virgin's tight little hole.
"The tongue, gentle use of the teeth, and the hands are as, if not more important, than the force of the suction of the mouth. The balls too should never be neglected." He lowered his hand from his cockhead to cup his tight, full balls in his hand, holding his shaft upright with the other hand, his eyes glowing.
Sylvia lowered her eyes to his balls. They weren't as big as Ralph's. Stop, she warned herself. Don't compare them. Maybe I'm wrong about his tinting his hair, she mused. The sparse hair that coated the rough skin of his balls was speckled with gray. The cord that seemed to divide the hard eggs disappeared ihto a bush of thick black curly pubic hair that sprouted round the base of the shaft.
"And as you explore, attuning yourself to his responses, you will find the entire surrounding area ready for you." Another anticipatory drop leaked from his swollen cockhead and he stepped backward quickly, dropping his prick. "Now then, are you ready?"
Sylvia looked up at him startled. Begin? Begin what? Was she supposed to blow him?
He ignored her, pulling his jockey shorts up, forcing the hard hunk of meat into the tight pouch, then drawing up his suit pants. She stared at the solid bulge as he zipped his pants closed, buckled his belt, and sat down beside her again.
"Now, I am Ralph the husband, sitting here sipping my martini and you come home, self-confident and determined. Undoubtedly Ralph will question you about your strange behavior and we'll go over that later. For now, assume he is staring at you. What are you doing?"
"I'm uh-" gingerly, Sylvia placed one sweating palm on the doctor's thigh. What am I doing? In the living room? Never! Not since-
The doctor grasped her wrist lightly in his hand. "You are on the floor in front of me, secure in your ability, wanting only to blow him and his mind at the same time."
Sylvia nodded and stood up, the damp crotch of her pantsuit irritating when she walked. She knelt awkwardly on the floor between the doctor's knees and stared down at the bulge beneath his pants, aware now that it was much smaller. She would have to get it up again. What if it didn't come up? The thought was mortifying.
"Go on," Dr. Miller urged her.
Almost reluctantly, Sylvia undid the buckle of his pants and uncapped the hook of his pants.
"Get involved with what you're doing!" he said sternly.
His reprimand echoed in her ears. Biting her lip, Sylvia cupped her hand over the softened mound between his legs, pressing her hot palm gently into it as she slowly drew the zipper down. The flesh was warm through the soft wool of his pants and a small, quivering jerk in her hand testified to his ready response.
Her eyes fastened on the swell, her hands slowly parted the unzipped pants. The doctor raised his ass up an inch from the couch and she drew his pants down over his thighs, backing up to pull them down around his ankles. Her hot, nervous hands brushed lightly up the soft, hairy surface of his legs to his thighs.
"Mmmmmm," he whispered, "that's right. Contact."
The still concealed prick strained through the jersey cotton of his shorts, the swell now elongated. She struggled with the waistband until at last the tight shorts gave and she got them down around the ankles, her eyes locked to the upright pole. The mass of veins on the underside looked even larger close up.
She studied the prize, uncertain of what to do next, her tongue wetting her dry lips, afraid to look up at him, waiting for some kind of cue from him, knowing if he were really Ralph, by now he would have her head pinned down over his cock, pumping back and forth till she thought he would choke her to death.
"By now," Dr. Miller said, "you should have your hands positioned so as to prevent me from rushing your explorations."
My God, she thought, he's reading my mind.
He smiled encouragingly. "Follow your instincts. Think to yourself, 'This is the very first prick I have ever seen.' What do you want to know first? How it smells? How it feels? How it tastes?" His piercing blue eyes glowed with lust as he stared at his uncertain patient.
Sylvia leaned forward and pressed her hot palms flat against his lower stomach, her face inches away from his turgid dick, the strong male odor tickling her nostrils, excitement knotting her stomach muscles, stirring up the uncontrollable flow of juice inside her hungry cunthole.
A glaze seemed to form over her wide green eyes as she stared at the blinking, inviting eye of the fleshy mushroom of his cock. He was silent, his breath heavy, his body tense, awaiting the first touch of her soft, hot sensuous mouth on his impatient prick. His mouth watered in anticipation.
Sylvia hunched over his solid cock, the tip of her pink tongue nervously stroking her upper lip, oblivious to the office around her with its black-framed degrees, which she had stared at endlessly, trying to tell him about her life. The battleground for her mind had become the battleground for her body-his prick a gigantic weapon which she would conquer.
"No!" Dr. Miller said sharply. "Keep your head up, tilted as far back as possible so that he may see what you are doing. An effective blow job includes all the senses-sight is as important as touch!"
Obediently. Sylvia raised her head, but did not look up at him. Her eyes locked to the slit, her pink tongue darted out, swept over the glistening cockhead, and drew back inside to savor the taste of his love juice. She closed her eyes, her senses turned inward, the smell of his strong body mingled with the pungent, unidentifiable taste of his cock. A dizzy intoxication whirled in her head and and excitement pounded in her ears.
He had caught his breath as he watched the tongue snake out and now he exhaled slowly, reveling in his triumph. She was totally in his power. She was learning and if she learned well, he might even consider giving her an extra therapeutic hour each week.
Sylvia swallowed, and a warmth, like the after effect of straight gin, spread through her stomach. The taste and smell were still unnameable. She opened her mouth wider and her long, pink tongue slowly caressed the sensitive cap.
The intoxicating dizziness in her head subsided, replaced by a sense of power. I could become a real cock-teaser, she thought, and nearly giggled aloud at the idea. She had never played with a cock before. Blowing Ralph was just something she had to do now and then. And worse, he ate her like he forced her to blow him-hard and fast. She had pretended for a while that she enjoyed it, but after a while she couldn't stand it any longer. She told him she liked to fuck much better and he had accepted that without protest.
Her lips closed lightly around the firm ridge of skin that divided the full head from the shaft. Her tongue swirled the flowing juices in her mouth around the small fleshy mounds, savoring the knowledge that she was exciting him and teasing him. Her ears picked up the sound of his heavy breathing and her fingers pressing into his stomach were magnets absorbing his sexual tension.
She sucked lightly on the rubbery head, jutting her jaw forward to brush the throbbing veins in the rigid shaft below, rewarded by a faint, "Mmmmmm," of approval from the doctor.
He leaned back into the couch, his eyes glowing with hunger, the low suckling sounds tickling his ears, her shoulder-length, silky blonde hair brushing his bare thighs, pulsating desire rushed through him in waves. It would take a lot of effort to keep from shooting off prematurely. That would certainly destroy his authoritative doctor image.
Explore, Sylvia told herself, drawing back and releasing his cock head with a last squeeze, a promise to return. The mushrooming head quivered in the cool air, the surface gleaming with her saliva, and she smiled at it, as though it stood alone, unconnected to the man itself.
She moved the thumb and forefinger of one hand around the base of the long shaft, her hand automatically registering its thick girth, wider than Ralph and the heavy growth of hair surprisingly softer, or was she imagining it? Imagining it, because this cock was new? She willed the instinct to compare away and her eyes traveled down the length, studying the intricate network of blue to red veins, some barely visible, others prominent "and bumpy. She was certain she could see the blood coursing through.
She stretched the tip of her pink tongue out as far as she could to press into the shallow indent beneath the short overhang of his cockhead, wiggling her tongue back and forth lightly, slowly moving down, tracing the path of pounding veins, her head tipped back, her face glowing with pleasure, her eyes closed, luxuriating in the sense of his body's response, underlined by his husky panting breath and occasional involuntary low groans of pleasure as her exploring tongue and hot breath struck an extra-sensitive chord that resounded in his ears.
His balls ached pleasantly, contracted inside their tight pouch, the rising tide of come, forcing him to concentrate on his control. The usual mind games he played eluded him. His favorite-to pretend she was a whore and he paid till he came-was impossible. There was absolutely nothing whore-like about her. But then, perhaps he had been wrong.. Her feverish tongue and sensuous lips were moving in anything but an amateur's pattern.
Sylvia reached the base, his soft pubic hair tickled her chin as she moved her head in closer, the rich male odor stronger now, and her pussy contracted frantically, begging to be released from the tight confines of her panties and pantsuit.
Her hot, wet mouth opened wide over the expanse of his balls, the tongue circling, absorbing the sensitive flesh, tracing the firm cord between the hard ovals. She pressed the shaft above against his stomach, burrowing into the nest below.
Gently, she sucked in one oval, moving it slowly around the hot cavern of her mouth, marveling at its Strange feel. Her teeth grazed the firm ball, chewing tenderly as her tongue circled rapidly around inside the grip of her teeth.
His body tensed in a sudden convulsion and he shifted his feet, thrusting his torso closer to her. He stifled the .moan in his throat and closed his eyes. The sight was more than he could stand as the tide of come threatened to burst into the air.
What would he do if I really bit it, she thought, and choked at the idea, releasing the ball to catch her breath, gasping.
Alarm flashed in his eyes as he looked down at her, but she didn't look up. She smiled at his balls and leaned forward to take the other inside her more than willing mouth.
Dr. Miller frowned. What had caused her to choke? Her mouth wasn't that full. Yet, he knew why. He knew what had passed through her mind. But she hadn't done it. The threat of premature ejaculation had vanished and as he stared at her, his alarm evaporated, his body giving into the sensuality of her probing mouth.
Sylvia was unaware of his momentary tension. She was lost to the feel of the other ball inside her sucking mouth. Was it bigger? The first had felt a tiny bit smaller. Or was it just that the other one had moved around more freely inside its pouch. It was strange too that the outer skin looked so rough, but felt so soft.
The hot mouth gave a final suck on the egg and released it with a soft smack. Her nose buried into the base of his swollen cock, the tongue stroking the cord, moving down underneath the sac, her mouth opening wide, measuring the expanse of his balls. Could she take both in at once?
Her forehead pressed against the underside of his erect dick, and her hands closed over his thighs, kneading and massaging the skin, the fingers moving down into the dark crevice, until he parted his legs wider. Her tongue stretched out, reaching into the firm patch of skin between his ass and balls. A slightly bitter flavor mingled with the sweet taste of his balls and she quickly drew back.
Dr. Miller smiled knowingly at her change of pace. The ass is an acquired taste, he thought. Like Scotch. There was plenty of time. One step at a time.
Her hands still massaging his inner thighs, Sylvia licked her way up the solid pole, her eyes closed, the bitter flavor gone as the juices in her mouth flowed over, running down onto his balls.
At the top, her mouth licked off the fresh drops of leaking dew, and her lips smacked together with pleasure at the fresh taste of his cock. Now she wanted more.
Her mouth opened wide and sucked the cockhead in, her teeth digging lightly into the outer ridge. She sucked in, contracting her smooth cheeks in and out, the tongue stroking the sensitive surface eagerly. Inch by inch she sucked the long shaft in further, her tongue pausing to caress each new patch of skin. Her cheeks stretched out slowly to accommodate the inflexible tube that filled her mouth. The shaft pressed down on her tongue, the veins throbbing, the underside scraped the roof of her mouth, and the inside of her cheeks stroked the sides of the tube, sucking steadily.
His mouth open, his eyes hot with lust, he watched his cock disappear, going further and further inside the vacuum. He clenched his fists to keep from thrusting his body forward to hasten the mouth, knowing she would choke and that would jar her out of the numbing cloud of sensory ecstasy into reality.
Can I take it all? Her mind drifted lazily, her body pulsing with excitement, the pressure in her cunt so great that she was sure she had blown the crotch of her pants right out. Unbelievable. The soft pulpy head pressed into her throat and her nose nestled into the soft pubic hair. She was at the base. She had taken it all.
The juice inside her mouth ran out the comers of her pursed lips as she struggled to work her mouth all over the incredible prick. She twisted her head from side to side, sucking in and out.
Above her, the doctor gasped with pleasure, his hips pumping slowly back and forth as she moved from side to side. He wanted to urge her on, but his vocal cords were strangled. The desire to grip her head was intolerable and he thrust both arms back along the couch to hold on tightly.
Her whole body was now aware of the sensations she was causing within him. A renewed sense of power flushed through her and she moved faster, sucking harder. Her fingers between his thighs pinched his balls, kneading them. She shifted and gripped both eggs in one hot hand, the heat radiating through him, as the other hand slid beneath his ass, gingerly exploring the tight crack, inching into the sweating canyon.
He couldn't hold back. The muscles in his chest contracted as he groaned, his hands clasping her head, his body heaving and pumping into her mouth, an endless flow of come spurting out the tiny split, pouring into her throat, holding her in place.
Sylvia gasped with the sudden eruption, her eyes opened wide, staring blankly into the expanse of white flesh that covered his stomach as she gulped and swallowed and swallowed, the stream of hot liquid spewing into her throat, overflowing, running out the corners of her sucking lips, the effort of swallowing too great to savor the moment.
His chest heaving violently, his necktie unbearably tight, Dr. Miller threw his head back and gave into the incredible pleasure of release, groaning his come. His pumping hips slowed and he released her head, his arms stretching out again to the back of the couch.
As the solid pole weakened inside her mouth, the flood of come eased and she regained her breath. Her cheeks continued to suck, enjoying the feel of the steadily softening cock, the once powerful weapon now conquered. And she had conquered it.
A wave of guilt suddenly dampened her sense of power. She stared at his stomach, unable to raise her eyes. Guilt for what? Her mind fought the unpleasant feeling in vain. A flush of embarrassment rose in her cheeks and her sucking mouth worked feebly on the doctor's limp organ, until it plopped from her loose lips.
Dr. Miller breathed deeply, staring down at his once again forlorn patient. She squatted on her haunches, her eyes lowered, unwilling now even to look at his spent prick, the prick she had devoured.
"Your performance was an extremely good effort," Dr. Miller pronounced, the words only slightly slurred, his professional voice not quite restored.
Good! she thought stunned. Only good? Why? What had she done wrong? If it was only good, it was his own goddamned fault! He was supposed to be the instructor. Why hadn't he given more instructions! Anger replaced the guilt and embarrassment. But as she stared up at him, she was unable to hide the hurt in her expression.
He smiled paternally, leaned forward and patted her head gently. "In fact, extraordinarily good, considering it was the first time-"
Sylvia's sensuous lips pouted and she pulled back away from him violently, sitting on the floor away from his spread legs. "That is not," she answered as icily as she could, barely controlling the tremor in her voice, "that is not the first time I ever sucked anybody off, doctor." A faint sneer underlined his title.
"Now. Sylvia," the doctor said patronizingly, as he stood up and pulled his pants up, "Let's be honest. The basis of our relationship is honesty. I cannot continue to treat you if you are dishonest. You must admit to yourself and to me, that that was the first time you gave a blow job in which you were totally involved."
Sylvia got up from the floor and slumped on the couch with a shrug. A feeling of defeat flooded through her. She stared silently at the beige carpet below, her eyes on a cigarette burn marring the plush pile. Distractedly, she reached out for her own cigarettes. She inhaled deeply, the harsh smoke drowning the lusty after smell of sex in her nostrils, the taste of nicotine restoring her equilibrium.
His clothes adjusted, the doctor settled himself behind his desk. A pleasant warmth effused through his body, as his mind focused on his patient. Perhaps he had been a little abrupt at the end. No, he decided, studying her dejected face. His eyes drifted down to her ever-erect nipples which he had yet to see. He was not ready to give her back to her husband. Not that fast.
"All you need, Sylvia, is more practice," he said coolly. "Right now, you should compare your performance here with what has been your performance at home. We must evaluate you, not your husband.
Now, if you acted with Ralph-" he paused encouraging her to respond.
That was certainly true, Sylvia thought, oblivious to the renewed spark of lust in the doctor's steady blue eyes. If I sucked Ralph off the same way, it would certainly blow his mind. But could she do it the same way? How did Ralph's cock taste anyway? She'd tasted it all right, but now she couldn't remember what it tasted like. Could I? The question blinked in neon lights in her brain as half of her head answered yes and the other screamed no.
Dr. Miller smiled smugly. He had her now. The expression confirmed it. Her show of confidence had only been temporary, as he had planned.
Sylvia raised her head, her eyes staring blankly at the jumbled scrawl of black Gothic letters on the degree hanging on the wall directly opposite. There was really nothing more to be said. As usual, he was right.
"Perfection, of course, is achieved only through constant practice. That is a fact applicable to all things. Whether it be cleaning your house or making love." The doctor had resumed his professional voice and was readying himself for his next patient.
Cleaning your house? Sylvia turned her head to stare at him. Behind his desk, it never happened. Had it happened? She smiled slowly as she heard his voice explain the proposed psychodrama. A sudden vision of Ralph's astonished expression when she knelt before him in the living room flashed in her mind and she convulsed with laughter, bending over to clutch her stomach, ignoring the doctor's studied look.
"To that end," he said carefully, his voice reflective as though he did not hear her laughter, "I think I might be able to juggle my appointment book to give you another hour each week. Only temporarily, of course. It won't be long, undoubtedly, before you will not have the need to see me more than once a week." He smiled reassuringly.
Startled, Sylvia looked up at him. Another hour? Did he think she was going to blow him three times a week? The sonofabitch! She stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth opened incredulously. She was speechless.
He ignored her stunned reaction and casually thumbed through his appointment book. He murmured, "Yes. It's just possible you might have Friday afternoon at two, also. What do you think?" He looked up at her cautiously.
Sylvia was smiling broadly, her eyes dancing mischievously. "Good!" she answered louder than-she had intended to.
It had just occurred to her that it wouldn't be a blow job every session. Undoubtedly, they would branch out into her other feelings of insecurity and inferiority to reach the ultimate fuck. A smile of pleasure crossed her lips as she nodded approvingly at the doctor.
2
In the outer office, Dr. Miller's receptionist Gloria Stern clenched her teeth to keep from screaming, "You two-timing motherfucking bastard!" Her dark, heavily fringed eyes blazed as she leaned over to switch off the tape recorder hidden in her desk drawer.
The knuckles of her hands whitened with the force of her grip on the edge of her desk, necessary to cool down before he came out to greet Dorothy Alban, who sat primly across from her on the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap and ankles crossed below, awaiting her session.
Gloria breathed deeply and forced a smile to her pink lips. Remember, she told herself, you'll have the last laugh. Regaining her composure, she removed the earphone from under her long red hair and placed it on the dictaphone beside her typewriter. The earphone led to the tape recorder in her desk, but appeared to be part of the dictaphone.
The latch on the inner office door clicked and Gloria snatched the paper filled with rows of meaningless characters from the typewriter. If he saw the page, he'd think she'd flipped. She giggled at the thought. She shoved the paper under the desk.
Her eyes impassive. Gloria smiled sweetly at Sylvia, who stood beside the doctor in the doorway Don't be nervous, dear, she thought, you're not the first nor the last, as you'll find out.
Ignoring Dorothy Alban, who stared at him adoringly, her hands clasped tighter, the doctor stared hard at Gloria.. Had she heard anything? She was such a strange broad with those on-again, off-again expressions. But that sweet red pussy! His balls jerked at the thought and he quickly turned his head to look down at Sylvia, who wished the floor would open and swallow her up. Gloria and the other patient were now more than she could bear.
"Gloria," the doctor said paternally, "Mrs. Warren will be with us on Friday at two. Please make a note of that."
"Yes, doctor," Gloria answered. Her voice was indifferent, but her mind screamed WITH US! You fuck!
Sylvia nodded dumbly and backed away toward the exit. The doctor smiled condescendingly and Sylvia turned and ran out the door. He ignored her escape-like exit and turned his piercing blue eyes on Dorothy Alban, the tip of his tongue running over his upper lip.
Dorothy held her breath under his scrutiny, pulling in her stomach, vowing to stick to her diet and look more like Mrs. Warren.
The doctor's eyes devoured her voluptuous breasts. Slim women were great on your arm at a cocktail party, but a body like Dorothy Alban's was something you could sink your fingers into, he mused. Watch it, doctor, he warned himself. You don't want anyone accusing you of Oedipus proclivities.
Smiling with sudden warmth, the doctor stretched out his arms, palms up in invitation, "Dottie," he paused, enjoying her timid little smile. "How are you?" His tone filled the insipid question with charged meaning.
Why mentally ill, of course, Gloria answered silently for Mrs. Alban, turning her back on the scene to roll a fresh piece of paper into her typewriter. It won't be much longer, she consoled herself.
Dorothy smiled weakly, rising from the sofa like a bashful schoolgirl. She loved it when he called her Dottie. Dorothy was so formal and the title of Mrs. Alban sent a wave of repulsion through her. Funny though, it was only when he, the doctor, called her Mrs. Alban that that happened.
She followed the doctor into the inner office, her walk awkward, holding her plump thighs close together with her full shoulders hunched over hiding her big tits. Only her chin was thrust forward, her jaw distinct, unsoftened by her jet black hair, which was cut in a short, unstylish wavy bob.
That broad really invites a punch in the mouth, Gloria thought, glancing at her waddling rear disappearing through the doorway into the inner sanctum with distaste. Gloria sighed, drawing the white miniskirt of her uniform up over her thighs to bare her reddish-blonde pussy. She slipped a new tape into the recorder and switched it on. As she adjusted the earphone, she scratched her pussy lazily.
Her clit tingled, already swollen and wet, and she fingered it lightly. Mad as that two-faced prick made her, listening in on his therapy still got her horny as hell. She laughed softly. When it was her turn, and her cunt was all ready for him. and the egotistical bastard thought it was because she spent all afternoon thinking about him. If he only knew!
Inside the office, Dorothy sat on the couch, ankles crossed and her hands folded in her lap. The lusty smell of sex permeated the room and for a moment, she wondered what the doctor and Mrs. Warren had done. She quickly discarded the thought-the smell was her imagination. Her anticipation for her own session. Mrs. Warren could obviously never have any sexual problems.
The doctor settled in his armchair behind the high desk, Sylvia forgotten, his mind focused on Dottie-the body. He smiled at the phrase, enjoying his own wit. The stupid woman hated her body. He was taking his time, but he would change her, teach her how to love her body-enjoying it himself on the way, of course.
Dottie stared at the floor, her folded hands pressing into her covered cunt. Under his scrutiny, an absurd sensation of nakedness filled her. He had an uncanny ability to strip her despite the fact she could see she was fully dressed.
"Well, Dottie," the doctor said, his voice low and intimate. "Did you follow my instructions?"
Dottie sucked her full lower lip in under her surprisingly narrow upper lip nervously and shook her head no. Unable to meet his reproving eyes, she continued to stare down at the plush carpet.
Of course, she hadn't, the doctor thought with amusement, enjoying her squirming posture.
"Dottie!" Dr. Miller exclaimed in surprise.
Dottie's brown eyes blurred with tears, her hands twisting nervously in her lap, her chubby cheeks pale, a picture of misery.
"No progress at all! Dottie, I am very disturbed. I can't help you if you won't help yourself." The doctor paused to sigh dramatically and then said, "You are thwarting my efforts to treat you. You are, in effect, questioning my competence. I cannot continue to treat you under these circumstances." He leaned forward, his face stern, staring fixedly at Dottie, measuring the effect of his words.
Dottie choked, her eyes open wide meeting his gaze. "No! Please! Please don't say that, Dr. Miller. I tried-I-" Her full face dissolved into helpless tears and she lowered her head.
Smiling smugly, the doctor leaned back. "Stop acting childish, Dottie. Let's examine the problem again. Take off your clothes," he added, his tone of voice clinical and almost disinterested, belying to the spurt of activity in his groin, as his closed eyes savored the picture of her enormous, creamy white breasts. I must get her to grow her hair, he mused. Flowing black hair would provide the perfect frame for the magnificent globes of flesh.
Her full lower lip trembling, Dottie choked back her sobs, and stood up, her oversized body hunched over awkwardly. Slowly, she unbuttoned the high-necked, tent-like dress, exposing the milky white flesh of her chest, her big tits swelling out of their tight encasement-a plain, white cotton bra.
Dr. Miller's eyes opened and burned into the visible swell of her breasts, his hot tongue turned inward rubbing the roof of his mouth. He could almost taste the sweet rich milk her mammoth tits could hold.
"Really, Dottie," he sighed deeply, his voice weary, hinting of resignation. "How many times we have gone over this."
Dottie froze, her hands falling limply at her sides, her tortured eyes locked unseeing into the polished, unbroken wood grain of the front of his desk. "Yes," she mumbled barely audibly, dismayed over his tone, but unable to plead for his understanding.
"Dottie?" he said in sudden surprise, "do you think I have some other reason for asking you to take off your clothes?" His blue eyes widened incredulously in shock.
"Oh, no!" Dottie cried out, her anguish forgotten, her eyes blinking earnestly. "It's just that-I-" she bit her lower lip nervously.
He smiled reassuringly, "All right, my dear." His voice now patient and understanding. "Perhaps I should repeat our plan before each of our sessions. I'm afraid," he sighed his self-rebuke, shaking his head, "that I want you to progress so much that I sometimes forget myself."
Dottie smiled gratefully, her hands trembling at her sides. Only the doctor understood her misery.
"And," he said slowly, his eyes roaming over her body, no visible sign of his lust glinting in their blue depths, "of course, it's always difficult for the man in me to reconcile your splendid physical properties with my professional knowledge of your feelings of inferiority over the same."
Dottie nodded wordlessly, aware of his eyes, but his calm, even voice stilled the nervous tension in her stomach.
"Now then," he said quietly, intertwining his long fingers to extend his palms outward, blocking her face from his view, "together we are going to view your body. Together we are going to explore your body. We are going to determine all its fine points and all its flaws. We are going to locate all of its erogenous zones and we are going to teach it how to summon all its strengths to achieve the sexual satisfaction its mind has denied it all these years. Is that clear, Dottie?" he asked thoughtfully, dropping his hands to stare hard at her.
Dottie nodded her head vigorously in agreement, her brown eyes eager, her breasts thrust out, the tension gone. Her body was now another person in the room-another thing. It. Together, she and the doctor would determine its properties. Her mind had detached itself from her body and sat behind the desk beside him ready to begin.
It was a little large, she noted. But she had seen worse. The dress was all wrong, she decided. Its camouflaging properties only served to underline what it was hiding. Drawing in her breath, holding her stomach as far in as possible, Dottie pulled the dress up over her head and discarded it on the floor with one swift motion, her back erect, her breasts jutting out defiantly.
The doctor smiled encouragingly, pleased with her actions. He leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the arms, and shifted his legs, the desk hiding the sudden burst of activity below his belt.
Dottie rested her hands on her waist, her fingers pressing into the roll of flesh above and below the elastic belt of her pantyhose. Since the physical sessions had started, she had stopped wearing a girdle completely-the ugly red marks would not fade away and were a constant reminder of her ugliness. And the indignity of struggling back into a girdle at the end of the session was unbearable. But without the girdle, she had had to purchase a whole new wardrobe of the tent-like dresses. Now she resolved to strike some kind of medium.
Suddenly, she giggled. What would he do if she arrived in a maxi-fur coat with nothing at all on underneath? His receptionist would probably think she had flipped completely. She could see her running into his office, "Doctor! Come quick! Mrs. Alban's suffocating in a fur coat and won't take it off!! ! "
"What's so funny, Dottie?" the doctor asked patronizingly. He shook his head reprovingly. "I don't see anything funny about it at all. Unless, of course, you were thinking of its mind?" he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Dottie smiled. There was nothing funny about the body. He was quite right. It was quite a body at that. She unsnapped the three hooks of large white bra and threw it aside, throwing her fleshy curved shoulders back to raise the heavy globes as high as possible, slightly angling her profde to better display her oversized tits.
The doctor's eyes feasted on the deep crevice between her tits, now visible at the angle she stood. His cock stiffened and jerked between his legs as he envisioned himself smashing the two globes together and ramming his thick rod into the crevice, forcing her tits to fuck him. It was possible. She'd let him do anything he wanted to her body in the name of therapy. Including, he thought with relish, beating that vast rump black and blue. That is an idea. I could institute punishment for her failure to progress. His blue eyes glinted hungrily at the idea. A mild spanking might be just what she needed instead of the same boring pep talk each session. He would have to think about it.
The body's tits were large, Dottie conceded. And they did sag a bit. I'm going to call that surgeon tomorrow, she promised herself. The breasts were definitely one of the best assets the body had and deserved an uplift. The dark brown nipples puckered into semi erection at the. thought. The extraordinarily wide, pale brown areolas grew taut, accentuating the hardening brown buds, inviting a mouth.
His face fixed, the doctor's eyes devoured the inviting breasts. His lips drawn tight, his tongue circled the roof of his mouth faster and faster, tasting the milky flesh, his teeth ground together, sinking into the soft flesh.
Pleased with her newest resolution, unaware of the doctor's hungry eyes, Dottie calmly rolled down her pantyhose, careful not to snag the fragile nylon, wondering as always why she thought a snag in her stockings would tell the outside world what had happened inside his office. Any other time, snags were simply a nuisance and expensive.
Her mind focused on the white, waist-high rayon panties. God, she thought, why do I buy those awful panties? At least black ones would be sexier. But outside the office, she couldn't summon the nerve to ask the pretty, skinny young salesgirls for her size in black panties, much less bikinis. She pulled the offensive white panties down quickly and bent over to step out of them.
The doctor's eyes shifted to the endless curve of her pure white ass, the whiteness blinding in contrast to the creaminess of her breasts, balanced against the rich brown of her nipples. His erect, insatiable cock throbbed with excitement as he saw it ram through the tiny hole, invisible but there beneath the buttocks that flowed into each other. His balls ached and he tightened his grip on the arms of his chair.
Dottie straightened, her hands resting lightly on her full hips, her stomach muscles as tight as possible, her breasts thrust forward, and her head thrown back with eyes shut tight as she envisioned the' body. In her mind, the red crease from her pantyhose faded to pale pink and the puckered brown nipples glistened, fresh from a loving mouth.
Wetting his lips, the doctor cleared his throat. His hands rested on his pulsating thighs, Sylvia's performance less than an hour before totally forgotten by his uncontrollable passion. "We will begin, as always, at the top," he announced, staring at the soft planes of her face. "Veils are out and therefore the face of the body has accepted its role. It has no place to hide," he intoned. "However, the persecution complex is clearly evidenced by the severity of the hair style."
Dottie's eyes opened, her brow furrowed in confusion. He had never mentioned anything wrong with her face before. She knew the short haircut wasn't exactly flattering, but it did add a certain nondescript element to her physical being that was a kind of protection.
The doctor closed his eyes, envisioning the flowing black tresses framing the creamy white breasts. "Don't get upset, Dottie," he said sharply. "Certainly we have progressed far enough to extend our critical commentary somewhat. Don't you agree?" he added in a softer voice.
Dottie nodded, lulled back to relaxation by his soft voice, her mind seeing her body again as he saw it. But that was the problem. As he saw it. Did other men see her that way? Did David, her husband, see her that way? Did David see her?
"The neck," the doctor continued as Dottie arched her neck in response, "is unquestionably perfect." He leaned forward studying Dottie's response.
The neck was perfect, she thought, stretching her chin as high as she could. Drawn back, the hint of wrinkles vanished, and the neck a bridge to the glorious body below.
He smiled confidently. "The shoulders are fine. Strong enough to carry many burdens, but clearly a woman's shoulders. The skin is soft and luscious, inviting the hands to seek the bones to be sure the body is real." His voice was low and intimate. "Find the bones, Dottie," he whispered as his own hand slid down to grasp his rigid cock through the soft wool of his pants.
Lost in the sensual, erotic music of his voice, Dot-tie raised her arms, her hands stretched out, to reach her shoulders, her movements choreographed deep inside herself. Elbows jutting out, Dottie's fingers pressed into her fleshy shoulders, rubbing the bone. Her skeleton was there, invisible, but she could feel it there. Her mouth parted unconsciously as her breathing increased. I'm real! My body's real, she silently crooned.
"And the arms," his husky monologue went on, "the arms are perfect. Not too short. Not too long. With fine strong hands to match the shoulders."
As his voice trailed off, Dottie's hands clasped her biceps and squeezed tight, a brown nipple peering-through each crooked elbow. And not too muscular, she added silently, kneading the biceps, her toes curling under, digging into the carpet, her pussy warm, the heat spreading slowly but surely through her. She smiled at nothing, her eyes closed, neck rigidly arched, her body giving into her body as her mind watched.
Hands that could really grip a cock, he thought. His cock. The doctor slid to the edge of his chair, his feet spread wide apart and braced firmly on the floor, his hand still holding his solid joint, his mind willing her hand in its place. He leaned forward to rest his chin in his other hand, his elbow supporting his head, completely concealing the rest of his body from Dottie's sight. Slowly and rhythmically he fondled his prick through his pants, his eyes on Dottie's massive tits.
"The breas-s-s-ts," he lingered over the esses, tasting her breasts, his voice baring the flesh.
Still smiling, the sensual tone directing her, Dot-tie relinquished her arms, her hands stroking the surface of her tits as her shoulders arched back, thrusting her breasts higher.
"Magnificent," he murmured, "is there any other word but magnificent? They are truly breasts," he intoned. "Not the excuse for breasts that fill fashion magazines. Not the scrawny, flat figure that's the trademark of women's lib. And why is that so? It's a denial of womanhood-real womanhood. Open any man's magazine and you will find breasts. Real breasts. Breasts that have nurtured mankind." The doctor sighed deeply.
Smiling broadly, eyes shut tight, Dottie's open palms lifted her breasts to the doctor, all thoughts of Sylvia Warren's enviable figure forgotten. The doctor wanted her breasts. He loved her breasts. He wanted her no other way. I am all woman, she said to herself. All.
The doctor's eyes glinted, fastened to the erect brown buds of her nipples, the deep crevice between them an inviting cave for his throbbing dick. He gripped the hidden shaft tighter, his hand willing the pulse to slow down.
"Breasts like these breasts inspired the grand masters of the arts. How can you deny the world to them, Dottie?" The doctor shook his head reprovingly and Dottie sucked in her breath, thrusting her tits out further.
"And more important," he said softly, "is their sexuality. Did you know, Dottie, that some women have developed the sexual response of their breasts to such a degree that simply sucking on the nipple can produce an orgasm for them?"
Dottie's breasts tingled at the thought, excitement spreading through her body, causing her to sway involuntarily forward, her hands proffering her breasts to the mouth that addressed them.
The doctor leaned forward over the desk and lightly tweaked one nipple between his forefinger and thumb, rolling the hard knob round and round as his other hand moved in unison on his cock beneath the desk.
Dottie's lips parted in a gasp of pleasure, her body frozen, her breasts thrust forward as far as she could without falling over the desk.
The doctor released his cock, drawing his thighs close together and reached for the other breast. He pinched both nipples, his eyes on her face, enjoying the warm flush spreading through her cheeks under his mouth. "When was the last time..." He paused, his mind racing, David, that was his name, regretting he had neglected to scan her history sheet before the session.
The sudden mental exercise instantly slowed the frantic pumping in his erect cock and blood slowly receded from the engorged veins as he pictured David. The insurance broker who liked to eat, drink, and screw. But who wouldn't eat Dottie. A typical case of the sexually uneducated couple, he had observed during Dottie's first visit. The frustrated wife with too much money to spend who became a food-aholic first. Then unable to stop eating, hating her body, growing more and more frustrated sexually, turns to the word-of-mouth shrink to solve her problems. Sex, he mused, the poor man's psychiatrist, the rich man's need for a psychiatrist.
The doctor drew back, his fingers giving a promising little pinch. Dottie's hands dropped to her side, her open lips glistening with saliva from her hot mouth.
He rose slowly and walked around the desk, standing behind her, only a slight swell in his crotch where his ever-ready prick awaited new stimulation. "When was the last time David," he continued, his voice caressing her ear, "sucked your breasts?"
Dottie shrugged, his closeness intoxicating, her chest heaving with excitement. She clenched her fists into a ball on each side, pressing into her hips, to calm her excitement. David. When was the last time David had even noticed her breasts? Oh yes, she remembered. After the last session, she had gone home and removed her bra under the jersey muumuu. He had noticed all right. He had glanced at her breasts and asked if she were gaining more weight. Tears of anger welled in her eyes.
The doctor's hands came slowly around, the palms raised to weigh the heavy flesh, his fingertips playing with the hard nipples. He bent his head over her shoulder, his eyes devouring the massive tits, molding them together, forming the cave for his hungry cock. How could he do it? If she were on her hands and knees on the couch, it would be just the right height, he decided. His semi-erect dick agreed with a sudden jerk, the movement causing his pants to brush against her ass.
Dottie's clenched fists moved backward slowly and timidly till they reached the soft wool of his pants. The heat in his palms burned through her and her nipples ached. She fought back the urge to scream suck them, please suck them.
As though he heard her, his fingers closed together and rubbed gently back and forth on the aching nipples. Electric-like spasms tingled in her nipples shooting through her body and her cunt muscles contracted violently. His eyes on her breasts, he thrust his hips forward, his swollen cock pressing against the fleshy furrow between her buttocks. It would be nice in there, too, he thought. His tight balls contracted in agreement. His cock would be happy anywhere deep inside the folds of her body. Any orifice that was ready.
His cock? Dottie thought, frightened but unwilling and unable to move. Of course, it's his cock, she told herself. He loves your body and desires your body. Naturally he's going to have an erection. But her stomach muscles tightened with fear. What are you scared about? He is a doctor. Do doctors have hard-ons? Of course, they do, stupid. All men have hard-ons. His hard-on looked just like David's. But no picture of David formed in her mind. The doctor was too close.
"Your breasts should be stroked and loved. Kissed and suckled, drained, to give life to the man who partakes of them," he smiled, pleased with the tremor that rolled through her, pressing her closer to him.
His right hand crossed over to her left breast and took hold firmly. Gently, but his hand steady, he pulled, turning her around to face him, his left hand trailing lightly over her smooth back. With her-breasts now facing him, he held the sensitive mounds in his hands, his palms flexing to cover the nipples, his fingers pulling and elongating the creamy globes.
Dottie's mind focused on his touch, the gentle milking action sent her body swaying to and fro automatically. His erection was now forgotten as her self turned inside, giving into her body, the frame curved and soft, not flabby and ugly.
Perhaps if she bent at the waist, he thought, I might just make it. He pulled harder, out and down, then back, and further out and down, his eyes blinded by the white, flexible flesh in his hands. Too hard, he warned, watching the body muscles stiffen. She wasn't ready for that yet. But soon, he promised himself, loosening his hold. He stepped back, gently lowering her breasts.
His tugging hands had jarred her. She had followed the turn to face him with ease, but the pull of his hands downward abruptly reminded her of his maleness. His eyes burned into her closed lids, willing her to keep them closed, knowing she was not ready yet to look at him in the flesh or herself for that matter.
The doctor slipped one hand into his pants pocket, rubbing his fully erect joint reassuringly, and reached out his other hand to lightly tap one nipple. "Definitely an erogenous zone, Dottie. For you especially." He underlined especially and then returned to a professional tone. "We know, of course, there is another bud that is also erogenous. But we must not make the mistake of thinking that is the only erogenous zone of your body, must we?"
Dottie shook her head no, her body relaxing again as she viewed her clit from his eyesight. The fiery red M-shaped mound was not attractive. The curling, wiry black hair that covered her pussy lips and the pure whiteness of her skin inflamed the inside lips so vividly, she thought they looked diseased. No wonder David didn't want to kiss her there.
"Too often," the doctor lectured, "people think that the clitoris is the sole source of sexual pleasure. Like the penis, all sorts of myths have sprung up about this organ. One of our first steps in our therapy here is to dispel these myths. And to determine your clitoris' sexuality."
The doctor turned and walked over to the long, highly polished coffee table in front of the couch. He grunted softly with the weight, picking up one end and turning it to form a T with the sofa.
Dottie stood motionless, her hands at her sides, dimly aware of his movement across the room, her mind centered on her clitoris. Myth? What myth? A clit was a clit. Now cocks had lots of history, she reasoned. It doesn't matter what size it is, if he knows how to make love, a girl will have an orgasm. David was pretty well hung and since he was the only one she'd slept with, she didn't know. But her girlfriends all said they'd take a big one any day and that some man had thought that one up who probably had a pretty small dick to start out with. She knew he was pretty well hung, because her friend Marianne had flipped when she said it was about eleven inches erect.
But then, what did size matter, if he shoved it in, came off, and pulled it out just as she was warming up a little? Maybe it was a combination of both. But what kind of myth could there be about the clit? It didn't go in anywhere so its performance could be measured or judged. The confusion in her mind relaxed her body and her pendulous breasts sagged, the fat forming In ridges below.
The doctor sat down on the couch in the middle, his long legs spread apart, a fleeting expression of annoyance at her posture on his face. The hefty flesh of her body was titillating when tense. Then, he wanted to bury himself inside it. But flaccid, he could understand her husband's turnoff. But, he smiled at the thought, her husband wasn't turned off. He was simply indifferent, a not uncommon emotion in today's society.
Back to business, he reminded himself. It would be nice when he no longer had to go through the building-up routine with her. It wasted so much time. He looked down at the coffee table, positioning his bent knees at angles to each corner, settling his ass comfortably on the cushion. Pity I can't have a real examining table with stirrups, he thought. But it would be too difficult to explain. He made a mental note to look into the feasibility of detachable stirrups.
"Well, Dottie," he said, turning back to his patient who waited breathlessly for his guidance. "I'm sure you've read about the merits of the vaginal orgasm versus the clitoral orgasm. Those who think one better than the other have never proved either. Nor have they proved for that matter that they are distinguishable. At this point, then, we can assume an orgasm is an orgasm."
Is an orgasm, Dottie repeated silently. I don't care which, just give me one, she pleaded wordlessly. If David would simply rub her clit to orgasm it would be sufficient. Before or after he got his, she didn't care. But was that really true, one part of her mind argued. She had practically come off rubbing her thighs together on the bridge chair under the table, the day Marianne was complaining between bids at the game, about how she couldn't get her husband to stop eating her and how she was beginning to feel he was queer because he couldn't get it up without eating her first.
Since that day, all of Dottie's sexual fantasies had revolved around a hot tongue lapping her clit. David had never even kissed her there, though. How she could imagine it happening was ridiculous. Of course, David was never in her fantasies and her finger lovers could do whatever she wanted or they wanted. Dottie gnawed on her lip in frustration. If she could only tell him about her fantasies, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. She couldn't even say the word orgasm.
"My personal theory, as you know," the doctor rested his hands on his spread thighs, his eyes on her face, "is that a true orgasm is the combined effort of the clitoris and the vagina. That they are not independent of one another."
Dottie nodded, distinct or combined made no difference. Just be, she implored. Her cunt muscles contracted in response and a chill went up her spine.
"Of course," he added indifferently, "the clitoris is our most easily accessible organ. Thus, we must work from there. Come, Dottie," his voice faintly impatient, "you know what to do by now, don't you?"
Her eyes on the rug, Dottie half ran to the table and sat down on it in front of him. Once on "the table, she closed her eyes again, unwilling to meet his. She leaned backward, her hands gripping the solid, comforting wood, gently resting her head on the hard surface. She raised her bare feet to the table and set them flat on each corner, her toes pointing at his knees, her knees straight up.
He smiled his approval, his eyes roaming slowly down her body, pleased at the smooth expanse of flesh, the rolls of fat stretched flat when she was on her back. The breasts were flat too, but there was so much of them, the still erect nipple defined them. Her full, padded hip bones gave off a pleasant illusion of thinness to her lower stomach and the swell of her pussy looked only slightly lower than her hips.
The doctor clucked his tongue softly in disapproval as his eyes rested on the fur-covered Mound of Venus, the black hair so thick and curly that not even a suggestion of her clit peeked through. Dottie screwed her eyes tighter at the sound of his clucking tongue. She had tried, but she just couldn't do it. She had clipped a little hair at the top, but it had itched for days afterward.
"I didn't tell you to shave it all off," he said, a note of exasperation in his voice. "I did tell you that exposure would hasten the full sensitivity and that David might well be more attracted to what he could see versus what he can't. No wonder you are making so little progress!"
Her body frozen, Dottie quickly reached down and separated her cunt lips, holding the furry folds wide apart, misery contorting her face. His disapproval was unbearable, but he was so right. But every time she stood in front of the mirror with the scissors, she couldn't cut a hair.-
The doctor studied the elongated oval, wet with earlier excitement, hungrily. The clit was full and fleshy. It always amazed him how different clits looked. He had never eaten one that looked identical or tasted the same as another. Dottie's was large enough to peer out of the nest of pitch black hair that hid it away. I'll have to do it myself, he decided. Just a little will probably be enough to get her to finish the job by the next visit.
He rose and went to the desk, extracting a small nail scissor from the top drawer. He open and shut them in one hand, testing the clip in the air as he returned to the couch.
Dottie released her cunt lips and grabbed the edge of the table at the sound of the scissors. A curious mixture of excitement and fear flooded through her. In her marriage, she had committed herself to the role of David's wife. As he had committed himself to the role of husband. As her days grew longer-the housework was finished in a few short hours-she had searched for something more. The dominant subject of conversation in her outside-the-house world was sex. And the more she had heard, the more she knew she wasn't having any sex. At least real sex.
She had come to the doctor for advice and now she had committed herself to him. Just as she had committed herself to David. What" she couldn't do herself-manage money, buy major household appliances, hundreds of things-David did automatically and unquestioningly. Now, what she couldn't do herself, but what she knew had to be done, the doctor was doing for her. There might always be a man to take care of her. Her fingers' grip on the table edges loosened as she relaxed.
The doctor sat down and leaned forward, his eyes glued to the furry rug of pubic hair. Sliding one lip between his index and forefinger, he raised the flap, baring the wet hairless channel below. He snipped carefully from the bottom of the lip to the top, cutting the hair to the root, pale pink skin gleaming at him, the color dissolving into the white flesh as the hair lessened on the outer rim.
"There," he said softly, sliding his fingers back out, eyeing his handiwork critically. Just enough, he noted. He slid the index finger into the channel on the other side, propping the lip up and resumed snipping, from top to bottom, creating an elongated oval to match the inner rim around the clit.
He set the scissors down beside him ;on the couch, and bent close to her trimmed pussy. He blew gently and the loose hairs on the top of the curly mound specked her stomach. Dottie groaned in shocked delight, his hot breath sending shivers through her as her hips jerked uncontrollably toward the breath.
His cock stiffened at her response. It would be so simple and so natural to bury his mouth into her cunt and give her what she wanted. But that was too dangerous. He'd never be rid of her. He could eat her only after she had gotten someone else to eat her. Then she could compare and it would be all right if she found him superior. She would be able to handle it then.
"That's better," he said professionally, leaning back on the couch, his hands on his thighs, ignoring her excitement. "Much better. We can see what we're talking about."
If her clitoris was now exposed, Dottie couldn't feel the difference. His mouth was no longer close to her pussy, but the memory was still there. Why had he stopped? Did she smell bad? She knew all the jokes about dead fish-she had heard David recite them often enough-but they had never meant anything to her. Maybe she did smell like dead fish. The doctor wouldn't tell her so. Shalimar! Why hadn't she. doused her pussy hair with Shalimar. That intoxicatingly heavy perfume drowned out all smells. How stupid of her.
The doctor reached into his breast pocket absent-mindedly, his eyes still on the indented mound of bright red flesh now peeping through the hairy folds of her pussy. He extracted a ballpoint pen with a feather in place of the eraser, an elegant quill pen case, disguising the ordinary metal tip of the penan amusing little gift from Gloria that had come with the card, "For your prescriptions." Little did she know, he thought, how many prescriptions he would write with it.
Dottie remained motionless, every nerve and sense in her body concentrating on his movements. She could hear his starched shirt rustle, but she could not bring herself to open her eyes. That she was naked and lying on a coffee table before him was unimaginable. She longed for him to speak or to touch her, every pore in her body was open to him.
The doctor cupped his limp cock in one hand, rubbing it gently, his other hand held the pen, waving the feather back and forth in the air pensively.
"Much like the penis," he cleared his throat in an effort to stage the next step, "the clitoris swells and, uh, deflates."
Deflates? Dottie frowned. Damn, that wasn't so great, he thought. He had to get back into it, but before she got too distracted.
"You see," he continued, leaning forward to stroke the tip of her clit with the feather, tickling the sensitive surface, deftly, as her buttocks shifted with squirming delight on the table. "Now we have something to work with."
The light touch of the feather throbbed through her body, driving away all other thoughts. She wanted his mouth there, not whatever he was putting there. Her hips rose slightly off the table, her buttocks sliding further down the table, the muscles in her calves taut, reaching toward him.
He gripped his swollen cock's shaft tighter. Her pussy was too inviting. He tapped the feather harder on the tip of flesh peering through. "Inside the vaginal tract," his voice was thick, "the muscles contract to thrust the penis against the underside of the clitoris, pushing it back and forth to create a friction."
Dottie's legs opened as wide as she could spread them, the wet rim of her cunt hole now visible as she strained toward the mouth speaking. His cock inside his pants strained toward the opening and he pressed it back. Too soon, his mind warned. Fuck her now and it might be all over. He had never had a failure himself and to have one coupled with hysteria would really be a horror show.
The doctor eased his pants zipper down and slid his hand in under the elastic band of his shorts to hold his solid cock. His eyes riveted to the yawning red hole before him, his voice slightly slurred, he said, "Back and forth. Back and forth," repeating the phrase like a chant, his hand keeping time on his throbbing prick.
He leaned forward and teased the tip of her clit, brushing the feather back and forth till Dottie's hands raised slowly, her movements trance-like, to part the folds of her pussy to get more of the titillating feather.
His eyes on the pulsing little button, his tongue swirling round and round in his mouth, his hand on his prick beating faster and faster, the doctor slowly inserted his index finger in the red cave below, pressing upward in a slow back and forth massage.
Dottie pinched her pussy lips to control the passion exploding inside her, her feet braced hard against the table, suppressing the orgasm with unbearable agony. The waves of release rolling through her wiped out all her control and her hefty body shuddered involuntarily.
"Back and forth," he groaned, pulling his finger out of the tight hole, his come spurting up his stomach, his hand frantically milking his rod dry. He slumped back on the couch, breathing deeply, closing his pants automatically, his mind still in the throes of orgasm. He patted his spent prick fondly. There were those who claimed they had varying degrees of orgasm, but for him, in a mouth, in a cunt, or in his own hand, each one was greater than the last. The only thing that made everything else worth while.
Dottie lay still, her body luxuriating in the warmth of release, but her mind focused on the doctor. Was that a zipper? No, it couldn't be. He hadn't fucked her. She blushed. She had fucked herself. Did he know? Of course, he knew. Embarrassment flooded through her as her knees trembled.
Where had he left off? The doctor cleared his throat. A soft buzz whirred in the silence. Saved by the bell, he smiled, flicking the buzz off on his wrist-watch. "I'm afraid we have to stop now, Dottie," he said softly. "But perhaps next session, we won't have to spend so much time on our preliminaries."
Dottie scrambled off the table, keeping her back to him. Bent over, she dressed hurriedly, as his eyes bore into the smooth white flesh of her inviting ass. A half-hearted twitch pulsed in his balls, but his cock stayed put. He rose from the couch and went to sit behind his desk.
Dressed again, Dottie sat in the straight-backed arm chair in front of the desk, still unable to meet his eyes. She stared at the metal sculpture of psychiatrist and patient, unrelated to the real doctor and her.
"I want you to promise me," he said coolly, "that you will do all your exercises every day for fifteen minutes. It is the only way we are going to get your body in tune. Do you agree?"
Dottie nodded yes, raising her eyes timidly to meet his steady look.
"And no cheating," he added firmly, smiling affectionately at her. "You are to be naked and in front of a full-length mirror each time. And as you describe aloud to the person in the mirror the particular part of the body you are exploring, you will test the parts sensitivity and, of course, you should speak in the vernacular."
It sounded so easy, she thought, lowering her eyes. But she felt so silly every time she tried it. And she couldn't possibly do it on the weekend. If David caught her-she blushed at the thought.
The doctor frowned, "Certainly, your own body doesn't embarrass you," he said mockingly, knowing indeed it did. "I think next week, I'll have you demonstrate your exercise for me in front of a mirror," he said thoughtfully.
Dottie shuddered at the thought, but the shudder had a curious twinge of sexual excitement accompanying it. She couldn't even tell him about her sexual fantasies-How could she describe her body in front of him and use words like pussy or tits? She couldn't. Physical responses were one thing, but mental ones were quite another.
"All right, my dear," he said brusquely, rising from his chair to walk her to the door. "We will see how things are the next session--. "
Dottie rose, smiling adoringly at him, hating the end of her hour as always, wishing she could stay all day, all night, forever.
He slipped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her lightly, reassuringly. "Till then," he murmured intimately, his parting smile warm.
Dottie walked toward the door, the smile on her lips fading. Was everything on straight? Would Miss Stem notice anything different about her? She resolved again that the next session, she would carry her coat with her so she could run right past Miss Stem. She closed the door behind, her face flushed, eyes frightened, and took a deep breath ta control herself as she headed for the coat closet.
3
Gloria folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair, a taunting, knowing smile on her pink lips, her eyes dancing as she greeted Mrs. Alban. Of all his patients, Mrs. Alban amused her the most. The silly ass all but fell on her fat face getting out of the office.
Dottie was the last patient of the day and left the inner office alone. The doctor never saw Gloria's merciless treatment of Dottie. As Dottie mumbled goodbye, struggling to get into her coat and out the door away from Gloria's mocking taunt, Gloria slowly crumpled the latest sheet of typed figures in her hand.
Her pussy itched and she scratched the surface lightly, her fingers soaked with hot juice. She knew exactly what the mother-fucker was doing. Flat on his ass on the couch, resting his overworked body. But now it was her turn. She had wanted to fuck desperately when she heard the back and forth chant. She could feel his big cock deep inside her.
But it was too soon to fuck. Experience had taught her that his ever-ready cock was not quite so ready as her frustrated cunt, if she wanted to fuck right away. Gloria stood up and stretched, wiggling her hips to lower her short skirt. If she waited too long, he might actually be asleep and she could forget her turn. Awake, he performed immediately, afraid she might suspect something otherwise.
Gloria tossed her long red hair back and walked to the inner office door. Smiling seductively, she opened the door, striking a ballet dancer's pose, one gleaming white-leathered toe thrust forward, revealing the fine orange hairs on her. thigh, one hand on her hip, leaning against the door frame, her dark eyes gleaming as she studied his prostrate body.
Five more minutes, he begged silently, his eyes shut, his body summoning new strength, his mind knowing it was no use, she wouldn't wait. She claimed to wait all day and he didn't dare to disappoint her. But one after the other today was rough. I must get to the club tomorrow, he thought. The office exercise was strenuous all right, but it didn't use enough muscles. He smiled, opening his eyes to meet hers.
Gloria smiled sweetly, but her eyes were challenging. "Rough day, sweetie?" she said softly.
The doctor stared hard at her. He could never tell what she was thinking. Sometimes he was sure she knew everything, but in the next second, he was sure she hadn't any idea at all and moreover wouldn't believe it, if he told her. "Rough?" he shrugged. "The usual frustrated wives. It's difficult, though, to imagine the sole topic of conversation, day in and day out, for them is sex. They really ought to have whorehouses for women," he chuckled, closing his eyes he rested one hand on his forehead. "But then I shouldn't say that," he added. "I'd be out of a job."
Gloria raised one eyebrow in teasing disbelief, her eyes boring into him, and casually lifted her skirt to reveal her silky red pussy, the hair so fine no trim necessary, the wet button thrust out, swollen and ready. "Personally," she said, her voice throaty and inviting, "I don't really talk too much about it. I'd rather put my bod where my mouth is."
The doctor grinned, opening his eyes. He slid his hand down to his lower abdomen and patted the surface lightly in invitation, his gaze meeting hers.
Oh no, you don't, you bastard, she thought. You had your blow job for the day. You're going to work a little. Gloria ignored his invitation and looked thoughtful, "By the way, Jon, there's something I wanted to ask you all day. I was reading this article last night," her eyes rested on the telltale wet spot below his pants buckle and quickly shifted up to his face again, "that said there's a difference between a clitoral orgasm and a vaginal one."
Startled, the doctor stared at her, the flicker of alarm in his deep-set blue eyes vanishing quickly. Shit, she was always doing this to him. Was it just that he felt so damn guilty? Maybe he ought to confide in her and start some three-way treatment. No, that would be' impossible. He couldn't decide whether or not she was in love with him. But why else would she indulge every sexual whim he had? She certainly didn't earn a hell of a lotta money. And she never mentioned marriage. But there was something about her that just didn't equal "I'm in love." He couldn't identify it and nothing added up right. But there was that possibility she was and if so, he was almost sure, she wouldn't tolerate others.
The doctor closed his eyes, rubbing the lids gently. "You're the woman," he said, "you ought to know."
Gloria grinned, "You're the doctor. I'm asking for a professional opinion," she added, her tone coaxing. "You know, it's ridiculous. Every time you pick up a woman's magazine today there's some endless definition of the orgasm. In fact," she giggled, "right this minute, I couldn't tell you what an orgasm felt like, much less the difference between one or the other."
The doctor laughed, "For me," he said wearily, "each one is better than the last. That's the only difference there is."
You can say that again, she thought, closing the door in back of her, sliding the latch into place, her eyes glinting with sudden anger. Stiffening to regain her composure, Gloria walked slowly over to him, standing beside the couch with her hands on her hips, raising the short mini-skirt to present her soft, bare pussy.
"I'll tell you what," she announced, her eyes dancing, "I'll be your laboratory assistant and we'll perform an experiment. Is the clitoral orgasm different from the vaginal orgasm? Clitoral experiment first."
The doctor laughed, all question of what she knew or didn't know forgotten, the sweet aroma of her pussy wafting in his nostrils. "Into every doctor's life must come some research," he said, his eyes staring lustily at her warm pussy. He rolled over on his side to face her, supporting his head on one hand, the other sliding around to grasp one bare thigh. He extended his long red tongue, wriggling it back and forth in invitation and slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.
Gloria smiled happily, all animosity toward him temporarily forgotten, the desire in her hot pussy taking over everything. She spread her legs wider apart, thrusting her furry red mound up to his tongue, her knees braced against the couch.
The doctor's eyes closed as his tongue darted into the soft lips, circling round and round her explosive clit, the sweet smell and taste of her pussy whirling in his head. Was she ever satisfied? He couldn't remember ever having to arouse her first. And when they finished, he was so drained, he couldn't prove it, but he suspected she could start all over again. His tireless tongue continued to tease the ravenous pussy, sweeping up and down the shallow crevice, attacking the clit on all sides, refusing to stay long enough in one spot to set the passionate explosion off.
Gloria moaned above him, grinding her hips forward to pin the expert tongue down in vain. Each time she pressed forward his head moved further back, his tongue still on target, but refusing yet to give her the pressure her cunt demanded. The muscles in her calves ached and the fire in her cunt raged. , "Oh God," she moaned, "you're killing me."
He laughed and she grabbed his hair, forcing his head back down on the couch. She scrambled up on his chest, her knees on each side of his head, her wet pussy, dripping with the flowing juices of his mouth and her cunt, inches away from his mouth. Her dark eyes glowed down on him, the fine nostrils of her nose flared with lust, the full pink lips shining in the heat of her panting mouth.
"Captured," he whispered, extending his tongue to her waiting pussy.
"Yeah," Gloria exhaled, lowering her pussy to his open mouth as she gripped one ankle on each side of his chest for support, her eyes on his face, commanding his mouth to work.
The doctor's hands gripped her ass, squeezing and kneading the firm buttocks, his fingers burying deeper and deeper into the tight crack, pulling the meaty mounds apart. His cock strained inside his pants, rejuvenated by the smell and taste of her pussy. He wished she had let him open his pants at least, but she was too far gone to stop her. His cock seemed only inches away from her ass. It almost seemed possible that he could get it inside her ass while he sucked her cunt. He raised his legs, bent at the knees and thrust his hips toward her ass, pulling on the buttocks to meet his prick.
Gloria smiled at the pull, pressing down harder on his mouth, grinding her clit against jaws, frustration mounting inside her. He could eat pussy like nobody else could, but when he started thinking about his own satisfaction, he could be a pain in the ass, she thought. Back to work, buddy, she silently warned him.
He relaxed. It was impossible anyway and Gloria wasn't fooling around. Was she ever? He opened his mouth, his tongue working the hairy lips apart, until his mouth sucked in the swollen clit. forming a tight vacuum around it. His mouth sucked harder as his tongue twirled round and round the throbbing button, his hands gripping her ass tight.
Gloria's chest heaved with excitement, her long finger nails digging into her ankles. Not yet. Not yet. Make him work awhile. Don't let him use you like he does his stupid patients. But she couldn't stop.
The afternoon of listening was more than her cunt could take and the orgasm exploded inside her, ripping through every vein in her body, nerves convulsed, and her head pounded. Her knees gripped his head in a vise-like hold, her fingers buried into his hair as her body humped his mouth wildly, uncontrollably banging into his face.
The doctor's mouth went limp as he struggled to breathe beneath her suffocating cunt, his hands on her hips pushing her back, his body pushing upward to free his head.
Gloria moaned her ecstasy, returning slowly to the present, her ass settling back on his chest, the grip of her knees loose. Gently, her palms stroked the sweating surface of his face and returned to rest on her ankles. She stared down at his relaxed face, still flushed from eating her. At moments like this, it was hard to believe he was such a prick. Was he a prick? True, he used his patients, but then she knew they were up for grabs. And it was also true he had never taken their relationship outside the office. Sometimes that annoyed her. But when it did, she had to remind herself that she didn't want their relationship to go outside the office. Sex with him, no matter how good it was, and she was no slacker either, was just a pleasant diversion in her master plan.
The tapes were going to be worth a lot of money. Not only would she be financially independent, she would be better-dependent on no one. She would pick and choose her lovers. She smiled at him fondly. It was lucky he was such a good fuck. Slowly, she reached out behind her to stroke his hard prick. It was almost time to plan the next step.
Under her touch, the doctor opened his eyes to look up at her. Her dark eyes were hooded, mysterious, the contours of her face relaxed in the pleasant aftermath of an orgasm. Her beauty was undeniable-whether her features were contorted with pure lust, glowing with satisfaction, or simply set in the professional receptionist expression, greeting patients. But what went on inside her beautiful head eluded him. He never really knew what she was thinking. His perception with patients was unfailing, but Gloria's mind remained intact. Would she be different outside the office? He had often wanted to try, but the risk was too great. Not sure what she might accept and might not was not worth finding out. He had grown used to money and luxurious living-he could not begin again.
"Now that, doctor," Gloria drawled, "I believe could be called a clitoral orgasm. I am, of course, certain only that it was an orgasm." She laughed, rubbing his prick harder, her eyes dancing mischievously.
"Very good," he answered, mimicking her. "I thought it might be and I'm glad to hear your confirmation. Would you care to describe the properties of the clitoral orgasm for the record? We should keep detailed notes of our experiments."
Gloria smiled secretively. Oh, we do, doctor, we do, she thought. Unrefutable notes. "All consuming," she announced. "The clitoral orgasm," she paused, her eyes steady, staring into his, " 'includes all the senses.' And all the body. Definitely, all consuming in my opinion."
His eyes sparkled momentarily. All the senses. That was familiar. Annoyingly familiar. Oh, Christ, he thought. She did say she had read an article on it and that was another one of those meaningless pat phrases. "Surely, you can be more specific than that. All consuming does not allow for much comparison, don't you agree?" He grinned up at her.
Gloria shrugged. "It does-if the vaginal orgasm is not all consuming." She gave his hard prick a quick squeeze and let go, sliding her bare rump down to his stomach, supporting her weight on her knees. Her thighs gripped his sides and she rested her hands on her hips.
"Are you sure it's not too soon for the next experiment? There might be a carryover and we won't be able to isolate the-" he laughed as She shook her head no vigorously.
"If there's one thing I know, at least from the woman's point of view, is that it's never too soon for another orgasm," her expression teasing, "versus the too-soon male orgasm!"
The doctor raised his eyebrows in query. That was certainly not a failing of his. Or was it? Did she fake orgasm? The thought startled him. His sexual prowess and ability to please a woman were as important to him as was his own orgasm. It had taken a lot of work, a lot of will power, and a lot of women for him to learn how to really satisfy one. Now the suggestion in her words irritated him. He frowned, his voice petulant, "Do you often encounter that problem?" Unable to identify it, he stressed the that.
Gloria grinned broadly, enjoying his uncertainty. He was so vain. As a man, he was amazingly dependent on his physical being. He had so little respect for his mind. His mind had gotten him into the best medical schools and internships in the country and all the societies, at least according to the framed degrees and appointments on his office walls. But then, she thought, that was probably the problem. He had spent so many years inside his head that now his body was all consuming. She wondered what he looked like as a student. Glasses? Crew-cut? Undoubtedly an innocent air, exploring women's bodies in his textbook. No tits for him, they must have been mammaries, was that the word? She giggled, the expression in her eyes distant.
The doctor pushed the desire to throw her on to the floor, off of him, away. His hard cock gradually softened, despite the warmth of her hand still oh it, annoyance replacing his ardor. What was the cunt up to, he thought. That was her all right. A cunt. A' real cunt. He dropped his hands to the couch. He wanted to leave. Go home to his penthouse, pour a Scotch, and relax with soft music in the background. He'd had enough for the day, but now how to communicate that to Gloria.
His hands on the .couch and the sudden softness of his prick revived Gloria. Whoops, save the daydreaming for later, she cautioned herself. That was probably the problem; She never got to daydream anymore, listening to him work out with his patients. "That," she said, matching his emphasis, "has certainly never been a problem with you." She leaned forward and lightly kissed his closed mouth, her tongue lingering a moment before she sat upright again.
He didn't look convinced and she slid her hand back down behind her, pulling the zipper down and unfastening his pants. He raised his hips and pushed his pants down below his ass, his eyes still on her face, his action automatic.
Her warm hand fondled his limp prick as she met his gaze. She could suck it back to life, but a sudden picture of Sylvia appeared in her mind. No, fuck him. He could get it to life himself. He owed her this fuck. She inched her ass down his stomach and pressed the limp head of his cock below her ass, below her ass-hole, not quite reaching her cunthole, pinning it to his stomach snugly.
"Why, doctor, I don't think you're taking our experiment seriously," Gloria chided him softly, slowly unbuttoning the front of her white silk uniform.
He smiled faintly, his eyes on her glimmering pink painted fingernails undoing the pearl buttons. Delicate, feminine hands, but deceptively so. The grip of her fingers was astonishingly strong when they held his arms or legs, but soft and gentle on his prick.
In one swift, graceful movement, Gloria raised the uniform over her head and tossed it aside, her stunning breasts thrust out, their natural uplift amazing for their fullness. The cherry-red nubby nipples were half erect, the pink-encasing circles of flesh taut and unblemished. If he stared hard at the nearly perfect breasts, he could see the faint blue traces of veins crisscrossing her chest.
She tossed her head, enjoying his look, her red hair tumbling across her chest, a vivid contrast to the milk white skin of her body, no hint of past sun tan lines. "Do you tan?" he asked suddenly, looking up at her. He was surprised at himself. The question sounded so personal.
She pouted, pursing her full pink lips. "I freckle." Scowling, she added, "Damn, Jon, what's that got to do with my twat?" She wiggled her bare ass on his limp dick, reminding him of her wants.
Of course, freckle, he mused. Redheads either blistered a painful red, especially unattractive on women, puffing their faces and chapping to peeling spots, or freckled to a crazy patchwork of varying brown-hued blemishes. Only a few lucky ones tanned a rich brown and never naturally-it was a long, time-consuming effort of careful, gradual exposure. "Nothing, really,"" he said smiling, "I was just thinking that I need a vacation and it might be nice to lie in the sun for awhile. But not necessarily alone."
"Ugh!" Gloria exclaimed with a grimace. "I hate the sun and even worse, sand!"
The doctor grinned, "Sand in your twat doesn't appeal to my taste buds either."
Gloria giggled, "You can have the sun and surf. I like my entertainment after the sun goes down. Except, of course," she wriggled her hips again, inching further down on his limp shaft, "when it's available in the afternoon. But not outside!"
The doctor looked at her thoughtfully. A vacation. That was a great idea. In a week alone with Gloria in a hotel, he could learn a lot about her. At the same time, he could keep his city life out of it. Would she go? What if she refused? Would their relationship remain the same? Could he tolerate her rejecting him? Shit, he thought. There were plenty of women out there and who came into his office every day that would do anything for such an invitation. Her expression was now guarded, watching him. The idea challenged him. Casually, he spoke, "A vacation in Puerto Rico could meet both our needs. You could stay up all night in the clubs and at that the gambling tables and I could lie in the sun all day."
Gloria looked surprised. He'd never even taken her out to dinner and now he was talking about a vacation in Puerto Rico. He was insane. But Puerto Rico! A vacation paradise for the rich, close enough to hop there on weekends. A vision of beautiful people-gowns, tuxedos, and jewels-gathered round a dice table lit by an ornate chandelier complete with George Raft holding the dice flashed in her mind. The place she planned to visit often once her financial position was secured. Her eyes glowed with excitement-the paradise suddenly so near.
The doctor smiled, pleased with look of desire in her eyes. "Well, what do you think?" he asked softly, not committing himself to proposing a specific plan until he was sure she would accept one.
Gloria raised her eyebrows inquisitively, "There's one little flaw. With a schedule like that when would we fuck? And speaking of fucking-" she slid down to sit on his thighs, her knees squeezing his hips, her eyes on his limp dick, looting on his flat stomach.
The doctor grinned. "We'd fit that in, rest assured."
Gloria fondled his dick, gently rubbing the wrinkled skin up and down, squeezing the rubbery muscle inside, "This won't fit in anywhere at the moment," she pronounced, and then added softly, her voice a throaty whisper, "It might be nice to be in a bed for a change instead of on the couch."
The doctor with her in the vacation paradise was not part of her master plan. She had never even considered him as a part of her future. She wasn't sure why, but somehow his action being the ultimate source of her financial independence excluded him. A vacation might be deal. She would be well rested when she launched the second stage of her plan. And besides, she couldn't think of a better bed partner for a week of fun and games. She closed her eyes, projecting the scene in her mind-she in an elegant black gown and he in white dinner jacket and black pants, a striking couple, one of the beautiful people, perfect for any travel folder ad.
He saw them too, only they were in a king-sized bed, blinds drawn, soft music and lights encouraging their beautiful naked bodies to intertwine and explore one another anew, he tanned, his cock insatiable, health radiating from every pore; she whiter than ever beside him, her sexual energy meeting his every demand. The seductive picture made him dizzy and his cock hardened in her hand, her body hotter than the sun's rays. He raised his hands, his eyes still closed, to clasp her breasts, the hard nipples burning into his palms.
Gloria opened her eyes and looked down at his broad hands and her breasts. Beautiful hands on a beautiful body. And a beautiful cock too. She licked her lips hungrily, her eyes on his bulging cockhead, the slit winking, the invincible pole perpendicular, ready for her to mount, the vision of Puerto Rico forgotten. She longed to suck on the delicious, giant lollipop. Her cunt muscles contracted involuntarily, the walls snapping back and forth reminding her it was her cunt's turn now.
Smiling Gloria released his cock and raised up on her knees, "Coffee break's over, doctor," she announced professionally, "Time to get on with our experiment."
Jarred from his fantasies, he dropped his hands to the couch and opened his eyes to look up at her. His balls twitched their readiness to begin, his erect cock pulsed with eagerness, and his breath quickened with a sudden wave of desire. "Mmmmm," he acknowledged his approval, "carry on, nurse."
Gloria gripped the hard shaft in one hand, pointing the head toward him, and spread her cunt lips with her other hand, the swollen, shiny clit thrust out between her fingers. "We have determined the properties of the clitoral orgasm," she said evenly. "The next question, or step, is to determine the properties of the vaginal orgasm."
The doctor laughed, "You mean we determined the property, as I recall."
Gloria shrugged. "All consuming must have more than one element. Anyway, we are now using different organs and we must take that fact into consideration too."
He watched her with amusement, the warmth of her body and her beauty washing over him. Even clothed in a bulky coat, her body radiated sensuality. He knew every curve, every mole, every hair of her body so well that when they climaxed together they were one.
"Perhaps," she said softly, staring down at his cock, "we should have used the penis instead of the mouth." She rubbed his cockhead against her hot, wet clit lightly, and her pussy tingled with lusty excitement, the muscles flexing rapidly, willing to suck the head away from the clit.
He moaned in agreement, clenching his hands into fists to keep from grabbing his throbbing cock and ramming it into her. This was her show, he told himself. Lie back and enjoy it. There's plenty of time.
"If there's still any questions after the next experiment about a difference, we will try using the penis to bring the clitoris to orgasm," Gloria said, amused at the idea of using his cock on her clit. Would he come too or would he just be frustrated without her tight cave swallowing all of him?
She inched a little further up the couch, positioning her pussy over his cock. She reached behind to hold his cock in her right hand between her legs. She leaned forward, her left hand on his chest to support herself, her head bent over to watch, blocking his view.
"Now," she continued, her voice husky, "the prick approaches the pussy slowly, checking its readiness to receive its huge body."
The doctor closed his eyes, listening to her melodic voice, a vision of a huge prick below a yawning, sweltering pussy forming slowly in his mind.
Pressing the mushroom head of his cock hard against her clit, Gloria drew the path the cock made toward her cunt hole slowly, then circling the hole with the cockhead, round and round, coming closer and closer to the hole, savoring the excitement pounding in her thighs, awaiting the first thrust inward, the best part of the fuck till orgasm. The juices flowed from her hot pussy, wetting the head, heating the blood hotter and hotter in the rigid pole.
He willed the rushing come back, the first threat of premature ejaculation always the hardest to control. His chest tightened, his muscles tensed, as he willed his excitement to subside, mind over body, mind over body, he repeated silently, till the threat was under control.
Gloria held his cockhead at the rim of her pussy firmly, deciding how she would do it. One swift slide down the rigid pole that would send a hair-splitting shiver of ecstasy through her? The entry that was often accompanied by a rape fantasy. Or inch by inch, her body rising up and down, the hot walls parting and absorbing the huge cock, agonizingly slowly, driving them both mad with desire? The virgin fantasy. Or the compromise? Inch by inch, till halfway in when she could no longer stand it and she pulled all the way off and snaked wildly down, her ass slapping wildly onto his thighs and balls. like anyone she wanted fantasy.
The latter she decided. Still holding his cock, she raised her head, straightening her back, adjusting her knees comfortably on either side, her mind rapidly setting up the details for the fantasy, behind her closed eyes.
She was a virgin, dressed in a white flowing gown, naked beneath the gown. Her hands were chained behind her, heavy leather wristbands connected by a foot-long steel rod, forcing her full breasts to jut out. She stood on a low platform, her legs spread wide apart, the ankles encased in similar bands, a steel rod holding them in place. The General sat before her, studying her body. She was to be his slave.
Gloria held his cock tightly, and pressed down on the head, allowing the rim of her pussy to close over it, the walls squeezing and pulling, urging his cock further inside. The doctor held his breath, his body rigid, quelling the overwhelming urge to grab her thighs and thrust her down. His hips thrust upward and his hands pressed down on his thighs to hold himself back and to stay in control.
The General was strikingly handsome. He had classical features, curly black hair, and a well-proportioned muscular body. If he looked like someone she knew, Gloria was unaware of it. His only identity was as The General and he wore a tailored white uniform. A small jeweled star on his collar testified to his rank, his allegiance was unknown. In one hand he held a rubber prick. He tested the switch on the bottom and the flexible sides of the rubber prick vibrated.
Her eyes begged him not to, but he reached out and tore the gown open, baring her breasts and cunt. "It's better this way," he said softly and leaned forward to insert the tip of the rubber prick into her virginal pussy.
Rising slightly, Gloria lowered her pussy on the doctor's cock another inch, her hand holding the base of the shaft firmly, allowing no more than the inch, taking a deep breath as the tight walls of her cunt gave way to his cock's entry, contracting and grabbing fiercely, demanding more of the solid pole.
The doctor groaned ecstatically, his chest heaving with the effort to control himself, loving the torturous entry mentally, but physically the strain of controlling his fiery body was more and more difficult.
Gloria's fantasy progressed, the rubber prick vibrating its way into her, but the pain faded. Her body trembled with feverish desire, as she slid up and down on his cock, a little more each time, her cunt pulling and sucking, demanding more and more, till she could stand it no more. The fantasy vanished, she rose, and with a loud cry of pleasure, her ass drove down, all the way down, her ravenous cunt tearing open with screaming relief, as the walls devoured his cock.
Panting, her head slumped forward, luxuriating in the solid fullness inside her, the exquisite sharpness of the final entry exhausting, her pussy temporarily numbed. She rested her weary body on her hands, flat on the couch on either side of him, breathing slowly to regain her strength, oblivious to him, aware only of his prick deep inside her.
He waited patiently, enjoying the tight hold of her cunt on his cock. Her muscles were incredible. His mind drifted. Did she exercise the muscles? There were not many women whose cunt could remind him of a mouth, the pull and suck so incredibly vacuum-like.
Slowly and weakly the cunt muscles began to contract, the hold faint at first, then steadily harder as she regained her strength. The General was now inside her. Not the rubber prick. He was a giant, holding her ass, standing tall, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he raised and lowered her pussy on his gigantic cock, faster and faster, turning her ass simultaneously from side to side as he thrust back and forth.
Her fists pounded the doctor's chest as she bounced up and down on his cock, her hips twisting and turning, screwing their way down the pole, the pussy swallowing his cock faster and faster, the walls slippery now, her body banging harder and harder, the crest coming closer and closer.
He gripped her ass, his body writhing to meet her demanding pussy, grinding and thrusting upward to meet her downward crash, sweat pouring off his body, his pumping cock beyond control, their bodies melded, orgasm meeting orgasm, all barriers between them instantly dissolved as she fell onto his chest, his arms circling her, holding her tightly, their collapse complete.
His cock drained slowly, falling out of her pussy with a wet plop, the only sound in the room. Gloria shifted her weight to his side, her hot body still sticking to his, her head resting on his shoulder, her mind blank, her body still basking in the afterglow of the tumultuous orgasm. She knew by his breathing, the relaxed muscles of his body, and his silence that he too had come and come with her. But when it had happened, she had been totally unaware of his presence. It was a strange paradox. The most intimate act of all performed with another person could at the same time be so mutually exclusive. She wondered if it were the same for him. Did he fantasize when he fucked? Was she another woman when he climaxed?
Gloria smiled at the thought. She wouldn't dare ask him. He was so fucking vain about his sexual performance that he would never be able to bear the thought that it wasn't he who fucked her. To ask him would tell him about herself. She tried to remember when she had first started to fantasize with him. At the beginning of all her affairs, a fantasy was never necessary. But sooner or later, a sexual relationship with one person became routine and she slipped into fantasies, almost unconsciously. Despite his expertise and inventiveness, she now did it all the time. A defense mechanism, she mused. Shit, Gloria, you're beginning to sound like him! Defense, crap! But the question disturbed her.
His mouth was dry and his body sweaty and uncomfortable. He was not a shower freak, but the steady sexual activity had finally caught up with him. Her body was heavy and the office incredibly hot. He longed for a Scotch on the rocks and a shower, and he was not sure which he wanted more. An orgasm was indeed all consuming, he thought, but for so short a time. The grateful body began to demand again. Endless slaves to our physical needs.
He tapped her hip and moved to the edge of the couch, freeing himself. Rising, he walked to the bathroom m the reception room. He stretched in front of the mirror over the sink, his eyes peering closely at the lines around his eyes. Age? Nonsense, he told his reflection and bent over the basin to douse his face with cold water, spraying his arms and chest, trembling from the cold but invigorating spray.
"There ought to be some kind of portable shower we could install in here," he said aloud to no one, surveying the small washroom. Drying his face, rubbing his cheeks hard, he studied his face again. Better, he decided, but a week's vacation would help. Would she really go? He dried his chest and arms, flexing his biceps in the mirror, smiling at his smooth, taut flesh. Pretty good shape for an old man, he thought, knowing full well he did not consider himself an old man. Age and the aging process were not real to him. Age happened to other people. He looked the same as he did twenty years ago, in his own eyes.
Gloria was stretched out lazily on the couch, her pussy sticky and a bit uncomfortable. It was time to go and she wanted to, bat pulling her clothes on over her sweating body was the most unpleasant act of the day. She sighed deeply, willing herself to sit up on the edge of the couch and begin to dress.
The doctor came through the door, a towel around his neck, his walk springy, his cock swinging between his legs. Gloria looked up at him and quickly lowered her gaze. Where did he get his energy? It was obscene how he could perform all day and still look so wide awake when she was ready to collapse.
"Listen," he said, his voice indifferent, all intimacy gone, "I really can't see why we. can't get a portable shower. It's ridiculous in this day and age that some manufacturer can't accommodate us."
A shower, Gloria nodded silently. Christ, don't you think there's nothing more I'd like better right at this minute? And if there were any way we could have one, I think I'd pay for it myself.
"Of course." he added, his eyes dancing, "it would be pretty risky. It would probably be too small for two, but we wouldn't be able to resist trying it anyway," he laughed. "We'd probably flood the whole fucking building."
Gloria laughed with him, pulling her uniform over her head. About that he was certainly right. She too could see them thrashing around in a foot of water, trying to control the flood, both naked with the building superintendent staring at them in shocked disbelief. Oh, yes.
The doctor buttoned his shirt, tucking it into his pants, his eyes on her fingers, deftly buttoning her dress. He had a sudden desire to see her in something other than a uniform. Something black and slinky, he thought. He sat down on the couch and reached for his shoes. "Well, my dear," he said softly, "you haven't said. Was there a difference?"
Gloria flopped down on the chair in front of his desk, turning to face him. Her expression puzzled. Difference? Oh, yeah, she remembered, the orgasm. Smiling seductively at him, she said, "I'm afraid the results of our experiment are inconclusive. After all, an experiment of this magnitude often requires much more research."
"Mmmmm," he" answered, his blue eyes staring at her intently. "Perhaps a week's worth. A week of precisely scheduled orgasms. In fact we could expand the premise to every form of orgasm, involving every orifice. What do you think?"
Gloria didn't answer, her dark eyes meeting his, equally intense, her fingers clasped in a reflective pose. The vacation. He was serious about it. Did he want an answer immediately? Of course, he did. He waited for no one. The proposal was enticing, but something inside her warned against accepting. She would have to think it over; weigh all the possible setbacks against all the advantages for herself. If she said yes now, and then decided against it, it might be difficult to get out of. Of course, she could always get sick or an unfortunate death in the family could occur. That was always the best excuse. It was so easy to get a telegram. Accepting would give her all' the time she needed to plan the next steps.
She was taking too long to answer, he fretted. Of course, she's wondering why, he answered himself. Jesus, you never took her out to dinner, now you want her to go away with you. But then, he smiled confidently, his eyes still locked to hers, from nothing to everything. What could be more dramatic than that? She was probably just stunned. God, it was amazing how she could outs tare him. Any other woman would have long since looked away.
Gloria smiled radiantly as though she had just understood what he had said, her eyes opening wide, "A marvelous idea, doctor. We could publish the results in Wild World of Orgasm! Why, if we submitted our hypothesis, they'd probably sponsor the research. That's a great idea!"
He laughed, half in relief and half in excitement. A whole week with Gloria as a patient. He would have to plan the trip carefully. First class all the way. Overwhelmed by luxury, she'd open up and he'd know what she was thinking. His eyes glowed with anticipation. Life had been too dull lately. Even his patients were beginning to bore him. This was the perfect tonic. A new challenge.
Gloria noted his hungry look. She knew he had more than a week of fucking in mind. What else, she had no idea. It would take a lot of analysis and a lot of self-control to handle the scene. Of that she was certain. For now she would simply have to play it by ear.
"We have sponsors," he said thoughtfully, his mind racing, studying the over-all aspects. Cash, lots of fast cash would be necessary. Most of his was tied up in investments. But there was an easy solution.
"We have?" she asked cautiously. Had he guessed her plan? Did he know about the tapes?
"Certainly," he said happily. "Our clientele. After all, for an experiment of this magnitude, we have to have the best of laboratory conditions. And that requires a considerable outlay of cash and who has more of that than our clientele?" His words tumbled over one another, his eyes sparkling, his mind formulating the details.
And who would be more interested in the results? she thought grimly, her expression composed, her eyes half lowered, waiting for him to explain, a tight knot in her stomach. If their plans were the same, what would she do? Agree to go along with him? Act horrified, flee, and set her plan into motion before he started his? She crossed her legs, pressing her thighs together, willing herself to stay calm.
"We'll stage a group marathon session with three couples. I'll have to decide who. A twenty-four hour session of husbands and wives together in the same room under my direction. You'll be along to add an air of professionalism. We'll charge $500, no-$I,000 a couple. They can afford it. What do you think?" He looked at her impatiently.
Gloria smiled quickly, "Brilliant. Ingenious," she shook her head admiringly.
He clapped his hands together and stood up, pleased with her approval. "Okay," he announced with finality, "I'll work the details out tonight. I think I can pull it off within two weeks. Just think, darling, in two weeks we'll be sipping champagne on an airplane winging to Puerto Rico!"
Gloria forced a broad grin, her thoughts confused and anxious. It wasn't the same plan, but it could be the end of hers. Keeping husband and wife separate was essential to hers. And good God, it should be to his practice! Had he gone mad? She stared at him in silence.
The doctor pulled on his overcoat and grabbed his briefcase from the desk. Turning to her, he bent over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Naturally, she was stunned, he thought. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll work it all out and tell you about it in the morning. Good night, dear."
"Good night," she said weakly, watching him disappear through the office doorway.
I need a drink, she thought, heading for the liquor cabinet in the corner of his office behind his desk. She poured a double shot of brandy, and sat down at his desk sipping it slowly. She opened his desk drawer and took out the extra pack of cigarettes she kept there, fumbling with the package, her mind whirling.
Another sip of brandy and a deep drag on her cigarette calmed her. Think it out, she told herself. Leaning back in the armchair, she closed her eyes, enjoying the comforting smoke wisping from her nostrils. Don't be hasty. Remember, he isn't screwing all his patients, or whatever. You hear enough of their dull sessions. He's not-likely to select the ones he's giving his physical routine to. She smiled in relief. Of course, not.
Smiling broadly, she drained the glass of-brandy and stood up. In fact, his plan was ingenious. She could hear him now-"Something dramatic, Mrs. Jones! Something that will wake Harry up. Three couples unknown to one another will realize they are not alone in the world. That other couples have exactly the same problems. And I have chosen you, you, Mrs. Jones, because your extraordinarily perceptive mind will be invaluable to the others. And it will give Harry a chance to see your mind in action."
Gloria burst out laughing, doubling over, tears running down her cheeks, her stomach aching. Each one would hear the same speech and God, how they would eat it up. The master con. Everything was perfect. He would do the vacation up. When he did something, he did it right. For whatever reason he wanted her along, she knew it would be no economy trip. A taste of the splendor planned for her future. And it would be an out and out incentive for her to begin her plan. Once she had a taste, she'd want more.
She stood up, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray, and picked up her empty glass. A warm glow of well being effused through her and she refilled the glass. Carrying the glass, she went to her desk and sat down. She flipped off the recorder and rewound their tape. She labeled the cartridge carefully: JON PLAYS GENERAL. She giggled, this one would be fun to play back while she soaked in a tub, feet raised and arms behind her head. Jon would be stunned if he knew her background music when she jerked off. But then, he'd probably be surprised to learn that she jerked off. Did he? A tub: That was exactly what she needed. Smiling to herself happily, she headed home.
4
Gloria sat at her desk, yawned, and sipped her morning coffee from the cardboard container, grimacing at the taste, but too lazy to get a coffee cup from the washroom. She had slept fitfully all night, thoughts of the vacation dominating everything. Should she go? Was he trying to make their relationship into something it wasn't? It was one thing to fuck in the office and that was that. Twenty-four hours with someone was quite another thing.
What did she really know about him? How did he eat? Noisily? Chewing with his mouth wide open? Of course not. That wouldn't fit his self-image. When did he shit? Every morning, every day? Stop being an ass, she chided herself. What's the matter with you. Think of it this way-you're going on a vacation, and he's going along to please you. It's only a week and you can stand anything for a week. Knowing when something's going to end is the key to surviving it.
Gloria lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the smoke harsh in her throat. She coughed and drained the luke-warm coffee from the container. The fresh air in her lungs on the vacation would sure help the morning hacks, she smiled. Hell, for all I know, he might have cancelled the whole thing last night after he thought it over. Play it by ear.
She opened the appointment book and glanced down at the patients' names for the day. Welles. She smiled sadistically. A bull dyke, if she had ever seen one. Not a practicing one, but might just as well be. And her husband's scene! Gloria had nearly choked to death stifling her laughter when she had first heard that story.
The office door swung open and the doctor entered breezily, his face glowing with health and satisfaction. He glanced quickly around the waiting room before speaking, to be sure no one was there. Gloria smiled pleasantly at him. No, it hadn't been cancelled. She was sure of that.
"Good morning, my dear!" he shouted. "You'll be absolutely amazed to hear what I've accomplished in one evening and one hour this morning. Come on in and I'll tell you." He opened the inner office door without looking back, heading for his desk, stripping his coat off on the way.
No, my dear, I wouldn't be in the least amazed to hear what you've accomplished. Your accomplishments no longer amaze me. I'd have bet money, Sylvia Warren wouldn't-the first time you proposed it. She shook her head and stood up, following him into his office.
The doctor leaned back in his chair, his hands folded, eyes glowing. She went to the washroom for his coffee cup and emptied the container he had brought in into the cup. She tore open the Sweet n' Low bags without looking at him, stirring the coffee solicitously.
He leaned forward and grasped her hand, "Hey!
How come you're so cool? Don't tell me you've changed your mind?" His voice was cheerful, his smile teasing, but his eyes were searching her face.
Gloria grinned, "Of course, I haven't. I'm just tired. I think I got tired when I realized how much I needed a vacation. I just can't believe it's true." She squeezed his hand reassuringly, her expression tender.
He let go of her hand and picked up his coffee cup, settling back in his chair, contented. He had forgotten in his rush to set everything up, how overwhelmed she probably was. She had never been on a trip like he was planning. It would definitely be her most unforgettable experience. He promised himself that.
"Well, where should I begin?" He asked, his voice confident, radiating his authoritativeness. "The trip itself, the encounter session that will finance it-in part, of course, or, no wait, this first." He extracted a black leather folder from his suit breast pocket and held it out to her.
Frowning quizzically, Gloria accepted the folder and opened it, smiling slowly at the sight of two bank credit cards. Unlimited credit, she exhaled slowly. These were the real thing, not her own credit card-only one, at that, and to a large department store which put one through a humiliating wait while they checked your purchase for anything over twenty-five bucks. These were bona fide bank cards, acceptable everywhere. Not sure what to say, Gloria stared at them, fingering the folder lightly, assuring herself they were really in her hand.
The doctor sipped his coffee, enjoying her surprise and at the same time admiring how coolly, she accepted everything, waiting for him to speak to match his cue. He was more confident than ever he would crack her shell on this lavish vacation. "The thing is," he said casually, "the idea was so spontaneous that I was sure you wouldn't have the necessary wardrobe assembled. And about the only place you can buy warm weather, dress," he paused, stressing dress, "clothes at this time of year is a cruise shop."
"Mmmmm," she murmured appreciatively, staring at him thoughtfully. God, he thought of everything. Clothes had passed through her mind, but she had never expected this.
"Anyway," he said airily, "buy whatever you need for eight days of sun and fun. Sun for me, fun for you."
"Us!" she added gaily, folding her arms across her voluptuous chest, the credit card folder snug inside.
"Now, the trip," he said happily, extracting an airline folder from his other breast pocket, holding it out to her.
A wave of sudden fright passed through her, her eyes on the ticket folder. It was all real. He'd even gotten the tickets already. She needed time to digest it all, regain her cool. It was happening too fast.
"Whee," she whistled softly, accepting the ticket folder. "Wait a minute, love," she said quickly, "Mrs. Welles will be here any minute and I want to hear all the details at once. Comstock cancelled the next hour, so we can talk then."
Fuck, he thought. He'd forgotten today was Welles' hour. Neither his mind nor his body was prepared for her. He nodded abruptly, his expression professional and detached, "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten.
Give me a few moments, my dear."
Gloria smiled sweetly and left the inner office, clutching the tickets and credit folder to her breast. In the outside office, she sat at her desk, staring down at them in fascination. Visions of cruise ships, flowing gowns, and jumbo jet airplanes whirled in her head mingling with an uncomfortable sensation of being cornered. Somehow the plastic cards and paper tickets were so final. She was trapped.
The outside office door opened and Gloria quickly slid a piece of typing paper over the tickets, a plastic smile on her lips as she turned to greet Vivian Welles. "Good morning, Mrs. Welles. Doctor will be with you shortly."
Vivian grunted, striding across the room in an athletic gait, and dropped her lanky frame into leather armchair. Doctor will be with you, she snorted to herself. If there was anything she couldn't stand, it was a sickeningly sweet woman. She hooked one leg over the arm of the chair, stretching the denim of her slacks taut, outlining her muscular thigh. The other ankle high, leather booted foot tapped impatiently on the floor.
Gloria bit her lip to hide her amusement. I'd be impatient too if I had an old man with an act like yours, she thought, reaching for the phone to buzz the intercom announcing Vivian's arrival.
Vivian stared straight ahead, hearing the receptionist, but maintaining an expression of disdain on her thin lips, her blue eyes cold.
Inside his office, the doctor sat quietly, his expression pensive, all thoughts of the vacation temporarily shunted aside. Vivian Welles. At their last session he had dangerously provoked her, suggesting it was women she really wanted and that Neal knew this subconsciously and that was the reason he insisted on wearing women's undergarments during foreplay. Her violent rage had quickly dissipated to tears when he told her he didn't really believe that, he had just wanted to test her femininity.
The disintegration of her physical appearance continued to disturb him. When she had first come to him, her hair was cut stylishly short in the front and long on the sides, frosted silver on chestnut, her make-up applied well, and she had worn definitively female pantsuits, accentuating her small, firm breasts, the jacket flared, hinting of a good sized rump below.
Now, she had switched to ill-fitting denim pants and jackets, no longer wore make up. revealing too short eyelashes for her deep eyes, and underlining the circles below, and her hair was growing out, the frosted ends bizarre and ragged against the dull new hair. It was difficult to ignore.
He had planned for this session carefully. But the titillating diversion of the proposed vacation with Gloria had distracted him. Now he replotted his strategy. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out an oversized dildo, the rubber molded penis in full erection, uncannily flesh-like to the touch, complete with hanging balls, attached to a leather belt. He laid it down on the desk carefully, the phony erection directly in front of him.
He stood up, his face stern, and went to the inner office door. Without looking at Gloria, he said sharply, "Mrs. Welles." He turned and went back to his desk settling in his chair, his expression angry.
Vivian strode into the room, her eyes took in the dildo and registered faint shock. She turned around and hesitated, before closing the door, as though deciding whether to run or not. She crossed the room studiously ignoring the dildo, her eyes on him, and sat down in the arm chair before the desk, quickly swinging one leg over the arm. Her hands rested lightly on the arms, her body tense. Only the leg over the arm holding her from flight.
She wanted to look closer at it, but couldn't bring herself to with him studying her reaction. She couldn't trust herself. She had come prepared with a speech. He was full of shit. Just as full of shit as her husband was. Maybe more so. He had a lot of pat, book-learned theories that he was constantly spewing out, but none of them fit her and she knew it. She was no dummy. And if that was the best he could do in the way of treatment, than he could go fuck himself. But the words wouldn't come out. The dildo had unnerved her. She drew her mouth into a hard line. He could do the goddamned talking. She had nothing to say.
"Look, Vivian," he said firmly, a distinct note of irritation in his voice, "I'm a busy man. I don't like to waste my time and I don't have time to waste."
Vivian's eyes sparked, but she remained silent. Waste your fucking time! I pay for every goddamned minute I use of it and pay well, she thought. I can do whatever I want with this time, it's my time.
"This is work for me. I don't play games when I work. Every time you come in here, you start beating around the bush. You're entrance alone is enough to make me give up. Look at you!" His voice was harsh as he gestured toward her mannish clothing.
Vivian lowered her leg to the floor and gripped the arms of the chair tighter, her knuckles whitening. A faint flush was visible in hr cheeks, her eyes filled with hate.
"You tell me you're not attracted to women, yet you dress as much like a man as you can. The clothes, .no make up, you're even beginning to walk like a man. And what are women attracted to? Men. Are you trying to tell me you're not attracted to women, but you want women to be attracted to you?" His brow furrowed as he stared intently at her.
Her face was pale with anger, a small red blotch on either cheek, her glowing eyes burning into his. "I hate women!" She screamed, the sound choked with her fury. .
"You see what I mean?" He nodded his head. "You can't even give an honest answer. Why are you dressed that way, Vivian? Why? Answer me why?" His question was a command. He leaned forward his hands holding his chair, matching her stance, his face demanding and cruel.
Suddenly Vivian slumped forward, her shoulders hunched, her eyes wet with tears, staring down at her denim-covered knees. He was right. No, he wasn't. She didn't like women. But why was she dressed this way? Why was she deliberately trying to make herself unattractive? Please, she begged silently. That's why I'm here. For you to tell me why I do the things I do and why Neal's the way he is and tears streamed down her cheeks.
The doctor thrust a box of tissues toward her and sat back in his chair, his expression hard, his hands clasped together, steadily watching her as he spoke, his tone milder but firm. "If you are a lesbian and refuse to admit it, there is nothing I can do to help you. However, since you continue to deny lesbianic traits, I will proceed for a while with the assumption that your sexual desires are those of a normal, heterosexual woman, whose husband's lovemaking techniques are a bit bizarre so that you find it difficult to deal with them."
Silently, Vivian reached for a tissue and wiped her face. The rubber penis was still there and now it was frightening. What was it there for? It didn't look particularly attractive. I'm not a lesbian, she repeated to herself, nodding her head to him, urging him to go on.
"Neal," the doctor continued, "is obviously a fairly well-adjusted man, despite his minor fetish. He's a very successful lawyer, outgoing, generous, intelligent, and according to you, an attractive man physically."
That he was, Vivian agreed. All those things. If he just didn't have to put on those fucking panties to get an erection. In their whirlwind courtship, there had been no opportunity for her to find out. She would never forget that first night in the hotel room when she slipped into bed in her filmy nightgown beside him. His arm around her, they kissed. Her hand slid down and discovered he still had his pants on. But then she felt the lace, and she knew they were not his pants, but panties.
She had demanded an explanation and he had looked surprised. What was wrong with them, if he liked them? They were just his thing. Didn't she have any preference or needs when she made love? He had never thought to tell her, because he'd never thought it would be a problem-she was such an intelligent, broad-minded woman.
She found them intolerable. They simply weren't masculine. She was nauseous whenever he walked into the bedroom wearing them. The frillier and softer they were, the more he liked them. And occasional nightgowns, too. That had been the last straw. They had not slept together since.
She had called him a pervert and he had refused to give them up or to discuss it further. It was he who suggested she see a doctor. A doctor could tell her what a pervert was. In fact, he'd said, she might even find out it was she who was the pervert.
Vivian stared at the penis. Why wasn't Neal's erect penis like that out in the open? Nervously, she twisted her hands in her lap, anxiously listening to the doctor, "Of course, why Neal wants, needs, or has to wear female undergarments or lingerie when making love, is a question only Neal can answer. I will only say that all men have some female elements in their personality as do all women have some male elements. And in some men these elements may manifest themselves more evidently than others." The doctor stopped, smiling suddenly. That really sounded good, he thought, please with himself.
Vivian stared at him, digesting his words but uncertain what he meant by it all. The real difficulty with Neal and his panties was that there wasn't a damned thing else feminine about him. Nor did he swish about when he put them on. His tall, muscular physique looked ridiculous.
The doctor cleared his throat. "Our problem then, since you do not want to dissolve the marriage, is to get you to accept them. Has it occurred to you that one reason for Neal's lingerie might be a conscious or subconscious wish to be dominated, as the male has dominated females for centuries? A wish that he cannot express to you in any other way. Sexually, he wants you to dominate him and in wearing the panties, he is inviting you to do precisely that! Of course, it has occurred to you," he added quietly, his blue eyes glowing with passion.
Vivian looked stunned. Was it possible? But there wasn't anything feminine about Neal. She had always been impressed by his confidence, his firm knowledgeable tone when he spoke to clients. There was no situation Neal could not handle. His was definitely the "dominant personality in their relationship. Goddamn, it was he who wore the panties and she who saw the shrink! Wasn't that proof enough? "No," she answered slowly, "that has not occurred to me."
The doctor smiled patronizingly at her. "Of course, it has occurred to you. Perhaps not consciously, but it certainly has. That is precisely why you have let your appearance deteriorate, dropped your femininity so to speak. You are challenging his femininity!" He viewed her startled expression wit pleasure. It was going better than he had hoped. He had not been sure quite whether the masculine act she had adopted was an act or her natural self. Now , he was confident she was ripe for a little physical therapy.
Vivian stared at the doctor in awe. In the cold war tension of her marriage, she had simply stopped taking care of herself. She didn't care how she looked. At first, she had gone all out to attract Neal-frosted her hair, put on sable eyelashes and sexy lounging gowns, but he wouldn't give an inch. Making herself up and dressing had become too much of an effort. The denim suit was wrinkle-proof and could be thrown in the washing machine. She literally lived in it. His explanation certainly sounded right. Everything fit neatly together.
"Of course, one thing your appearance has proved is that you're a very feminine woman," he announced with a tone of approval, smiling benevolently.
Vivian frowned. How did her neglected appearance prove she was feminine? A truly feminine woman would never let herself look like she did. "I don't understand-that, not the other," she said haltingly.
"Neal has confined his femininity to the bedroom, which is not only private and personal, it is also the place where he wishes to assert it. You have taken your challenge out in public. A very feminine act. Given a one-to-one situation she can't cope with, a woman will always seek a confidant. Failing that, she will make every effort to communicate the problem to the outside world without actually verbalizing it, as you have done. In your case, in particular, you, a formerly stylish, attractive woman, have told anyone who sees you and who knew you that your problem is a sexual one. That is the only reason a woman would let her appearance deteriorate." He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, his lips twitching to keep from smiling at his own performance. Excellent analysis, doctor, excellent, he congratulated himself.
Vivian looked down at her denim jacket in shock.
Good God, is that what she had done? She never wanted to see the suit again. She vowed to throw it in the incinerator that very night. Suddenly, she tore open the snapped front and yanked the jacket off, throwing it to the floor.
"That's certainly a step in the right direction, Vivian, but let's get to the real problem. Are you willing to accept the dominant role in your sexual relationship?" he asked softly, his eyes boring into hers.
Vivian shrugged, weighing the question, lowering her eyes to the dildo, the rubber symbol of masculinity. "I don't know," she replied uneasily. "I really can't answer yes or no because I don't know what that-what the dominant role would be for a woman. I mean, am I supposed to always get on top, or what?" She looked helplessly at the doctor, the earlier mask of cool control gone, her face softer.
"Mmmmm," the doctor murmured. "Tell me, do you have rape fantasies? You know, where you are being attacked brutally, you fight back, but are subdued as you near climax?"
"Sometimes," Vivian muttered barely audibly.
"Don't be alarmed. Rape is one of the most common female fantasies," he said professionally. "And I'm glad that you are secure enough in my presence to admit to sexual fantasies," he smiled encouragingly. "In fact, mutual trust in our relationship is absolutely essential to any treatment. Do you trust me?" He eyed her steadily, his mouth beginning to water in anticipation for the coming scene.
"I guess, uh, yes. Yes, I trust you," she said firmly, her eyes closed. His incredible diagnosis of Neal's behavior and her own erased any doubts in her mind as to his competency. His theories might be book learned, but they fit her situation to a T. Did he have an answer for everyone?
"Good," the doctor remarked, studying her face. Relaxed she was so much more attractive, but then a hardness in some women was undeniably exciting. Watch it, doctor, he cautioned himself. Let's not let masochism rear its ugly head.
"You've taken some giant steps today, Vivian. Ordinarily, I would suggest a transference experiment at a much later date. But the fact that you are so physically upset by the sight of the lingerie at home, and that your mind is right now so open, I think it would be a greater risk to postpone it. The sight of Neal in his undergarments could very well undo all the work we have accomplished today. Don't you agree?" He smiled, his eyes on the dildo. A masterful piece, he thought. But then it should be. He slid his hand down to his crotch fondling his prick; it had a masterful model. He chuckled to himself.
Vivian opened her eyes, looking blankly at him. What did he say? A transference experiment? She had read somewhere that all patients in a shrink's office eventually go through transference. That they love" their shrink instead of their real mates or mothers or something. But that was just supposed to happen naturally. It wasn't an experiment. "Anything you think best, Dr. Miller," she said quietly.
"Transference itself, of course," he explained, "is usually defined as a quite natural emotional state a patient goes through during analysis-that is, of transferring the emotions the patient feels toward a parent or a mate to the analyst instead. In my own practice, I have taken transference a step further. I believe .that being inside another's body mentally allows one to see the other person's feelings much more deeply and understandingly."
Vivian nodded in agreement, listening attentively, but still weakened by the shock of his earlier analysis.
"God," he stated firmly. "Then let us take Neal. You, of course, understand Neal far better than I and I can only understand Neal through you. And further, I therefore understand you better than I understand Neal. Correct?"
Vivian stared blankly at him. She thought it made sense, but there were too many things to understand. Who-understood who through who? She shrugged a half-hearted response and slouched in her chair, trying to sort it all out.
He smiled comfortingly at her "It's confusing," he reassured her, "but we are trying to identify Neal's problem," he stopped and cleared his throat, he was confusing himself. "That is," he continued professionally, "we are trying to identify your problem of Neal's problem." He smiled brightly.
She stared at him dazed not at all sure she understood what the problem was, period. What it was, who had it, and for that matter, why they were bothering at all.
"In this type of transferral experiment," he went on quickly, embarrassed over losing track himself, "you will be Neal and I will be Vivian. For the moment, you will step inside Neal's body and become Neal. You will be Neal, because you know Neal. I will be Vivian, because I obviously cannot be Neal. I will try to react like Vivian. You may not think that is how Vivian would react, but remember too that we are trying to bring out in the open how Vivian should react as well as how she does. After all, we both know the past. We are in the present and the present has already today altered the past. Are you following me?" He leaned forward in his chair eagerly, his hands clasped in his lap, his eye gleaming with excitement.
Vivian sat utterly baffled. So much had already happened that her head ached. He spoke too fast. She tried to focus on what he had just said. They were going to act out the Welles face to face. But she was going to be Neal. Impossible. It would have to be a bedroom scene because there were no other problems. How did Neal feel, then? I don't know how he feels, except he thinks his thing is okay, she thought. If he has some female image going, I haven't got the slightest inkling to it. Automatically, her hands clutched her breasts, "I-I couldn't be Neal. I don't feel like Neal. He's, well, I don't know, but-" she stopped, unable to identify Neal or her inability to play Neal.
"Nonsense!" the doctor retorted sharply. "I'm not Vivian, but every time you come into my office, at some point, I'm inside your body seeing the same things you're seeing. It may not be the way I normally see them, but at that moment, I'm seeing a scene as Vivian sees it."
Vivian sat upright, her expression serious. "I know you're right, doctor, but remember you've had lots of training in this transference thing. I mean, I think of Neal. I get a picture of him in my mind, but I couldn't be him." '
The doctor swiveled in his chair to one side, presenting his aristocratic profile to her, his eyes on the mounted array of degrees, expensively framed, most with nearly indecipherable Roman letters, black'on white parchment. He bent forward and pulled a pair of lacy black bikini panties from his bottom drawer and threw them over the erect rubber penis without looking at her, carefully closing the drawer and leaning back to study his collection again.
Vivian stared dumbly at the panties draped over the erect penis. A wave of nausea swept over her and she blacked Neal's athletic figure out of her mind completely. The pants looked familiar. Did Neal have black lace ones? Once she had opened his drawer to look at them, out of curiosity, but when she picked up the top pair, she couldn't stand it any longer. She had slammed the drawer shut and run from the bedroom. She stared fixated at the panties. They were his, she decided. He had seen the doctor and they had plotted this together, forcing her to face his panties.
"Did he come to see you?" she demanded to know, her eyes blazing at him.
The doctor did not turn. He sighed deeply. "Vivian, stop being childish! We are too close to have you interrupt into some paranoiac imagine now." His voice was sharp and she slumped weakly back in her chair, without protest.
"Now then, you are Neal. But you say you can't be Neal. There's probably some truth to that. Perhaps you can't be Neal, because you aren't Vivian at this moment. You are not the Vivian that Neal knows!" He raised his hand triumphantly in the air, "Of course. That's it."
Vivian looked down at her tight denim pants, pants that six months ago, she would not have been caught dead in. Her unpainted face suddenly felt naked and her scalp began to itch, reminding her of her ragged hair. "That's true," she mumbled, tears in her eyes. Could she ever be Vivian again?
"Stop indulging yourself!" the doctor ordered, staring thoughtfully at the wall.
Vivian sniffed and sat up straight in the chair, eager to please him, silently reprimanding herself for acting so stupidly in what was surely the most insightful session they had ever had together.
"Then we must first establish that you are Vivian," he said quietly as though talking aloud to himself. "Yes. I Know, Vivian, stand up and take off your clothes. That's it! It's the clothes. Your body hasn't changed. Without your clothes, that ridiculous costume, Vivian will be with us again."
Vivian's eyes opened wide as she stared dumbly at him. Take off her clothes? But he was a head doctor, not a medical doctor. She couldn't just take off her clothes. The jacket was one thing. She had a sweater on underneath. But, the thought drifted away as she stared down at her pants. It had all began with her appearance. He was right again. Underneath the clothes was Vivian. Unlike some frustrated women, she hadn't begun eating like a maniac. Her body was in good shape.
She raised her eyes to the rubber dildo, staring hard at it. It looked real, she decided. Beal flesh. The panties draped over it heightened the illusion. There was no body attached to it, but then a man with an erection was not the same man without one. And with this penis, it was not necessary to black out the body attached to it to replace the person. She could attach anyone to it whom she wanted to.
A sudden sense of. Neal enveloped her, as though he were in the room itself.
The doctor sat silently, listening intently for some movement that would indicate she was following his instructions. He was certain that if he pushed too hard he would lose her. Once she had her clothes off, she was his. But that she would have to do herself.
She saw Neal now. In their bedroom, dressed in black lace panties. Panties exactly like those on the rubber model. His body was clear: lean and muscular. Surprisingly muscular. He was attractive in his tailored suits, but the combination of his intelligence and gentleness did not merge in her mind with a muscular body. Even the hair on his chest somehow always surprised her. His pale complexion somehow suggested a hairless chest. The face in the vision was blurred. She could not determine his expression. What did he want her to do? What was she going to do? Face him, she ordered herself. Find out what he wants!
Her eyes still on the dildo, Vivian stood up abruptly. Grasping the waist of her jersey, she pulled it up over her head, throwing it to the side. Her hands behind her, she quickly unsnapped her bra and threw it on top of the discarded jersey. She kicked off her boots and, unzipped the fly of her pants. Her mouth set in a determined line, she rolled her pants down, taking her underwear with them, and stepped out of them. She stood naked in front of the desk, still staring hypnotically at the rubber penis, oblivious to the doctor, yet uncertain about what she should do next.
The sound of her zipper was music in his ears. His balls twinged and his limp cock jerked inside his shorts. The clasp of his hands on his lap automatically tightened to still the urge to grasp his crotch and adjust the position of his rapidly warming prick. He licked his lips, setting a bland expression on his sharp features. Slowly, he swiveled the chair around to face her to see the situation before he spoke.
"His eyes absorbed her physical equipment in one cursory glance, returning quickly to her face. She was small breasted, the nipples a faded coral, areo-las a hint of orange. Naked, her flesh was darker than he had imagined. She was always so pale looking. He realized suddenly how painful her visits to his office were for her. His tongue traced the roof of his mouth, circulating the warm saliva. He had been right about her ass. A very slender waist, her ribs almost visible, but wide full hips below promised a well padded terrain on the other side.
"Vivian," he said smiling, his voice friendly, "it's good to have you here again. I haven't seen YOU, in quite some time. Sit down." He gestured toward the chair.
Startled, Vivian looked at him, confusion and fright flickering in her deep blue eyes. As suddenly as it had come, the startled look vanished and she matched his friendly smile. "Hello," she answered, as though greeting him for the first time that day. "It's nice to be here," she added with confidence, sitting gracefully down in the armchair. Her naked body felt strangely at ease seated in the chair opposite him. The lust in his eyes did not register in her mind.
"Are you comfortable being Vivian again?" he asked softly, watching her eyes closely. She certainly looked it, he thought, realizing he was on a very dangerous ground. She was too comfortable. What if she had flipped out completely and refused to get dressed later? Then he remembered the cancellation for the next hour. Gloria and he could get her into a hospital before the next patient arrived and while their stories as to what happened might be different, his would be accepted. And, of course, she would not want him to treat her at the hospital or any longer for that matter. He marveled at how easy it was for a doctor to push someone over the fine line of sanity into madness and then deny his role in the act. How many people on hospital wards with bars were described as raving, but were actually telling the truth about the exchange with their doctor which landed them in a nuthouse? The thought was unpleasant, and he turned his attention back to Vivian forcefully-
"Very!" she said, her voice light and gay. "I feel like I've just come back from a long vacation away from my problems. I've got new energy. I'm going to face whatever it is I have to face." Her face was relaxed, her eyes shining, and her voice bubbling. An almost girlish look had replaced the earlier cold, hard look. The transition was striking.
"Good," he said seriously. "We'll get right to work then." He leaned forward and hung the lace panties over the erect dildo, the crotch covering the mushrooming head.
Vivian shook her head negatively, her eyes on the shrouded penis, her mind weighing the prop. The lacy black tent on the desk was not right. Then she knew. She had never seen the erection inside the panties. When he approached the bed, before she turned her head away, she could see it was still soft.
She had felt it hard through the soft nylon, but had never looked. Fascinated with her self revelation, she stared, a small smile forming on her thin lips.
Puzzled by her thoughtful initial rejection, the doctor was relieved to see the smile of acceptance. "Transference," he began, his voice patient like a teacher explaining a difficult problem to a child, "in this instance will replace what I would normally call simple psychodrama. In that case, I would play the husband. But in our case, I actually know very little about the husband. Very little."
Vivian frowned, her eyes raised to the doctor. He knew all about Neal. God, that was all she ever talked about to him. At least that's all she could remember talking about. How much more did he have to know? .
The doctor smiled patiently at her frown, "Of course I know all the superficial things about him what he does for a living, his social charm, things of that nature-but I don't really know how he thinks. That's because you haven't let me know how he thinks. Not because you don't know, but I believe because you were too busy avenging him."
Vivian nodded in agreement. That was true. She was in the office telling him about Neal, publicly exposing him, with the doctor's' assurance that it would remain in his office, but it had still been necessary to assert her side and gain his alliance. Much more necessary than to speculate on Neal's opinions or thoughts.
"Good," he said, acknowledging her silent approval. "This brings us to the third stage. The first," he summarized, "was to recognize Vivian in disguise; the second, to bring her here; and now, most important, for Vivian to bring Neal here for our confrontation. Is that clear?"
Vivian's eyes flickered again with startled fear. Bring Neal here? Never! She could see them now, two men, laughing together at old-fashioned Vivian, who couldn't and wouldn't try anything new or different in bed. The two of them dancing around the office, wearing panties, laughing uncontrollably at her. She bit her lower lip nervously, her eyes begging him not to even suggest such an idea. She couldn't stand it.
"Vivian," the doctor chided her gently, kicking himself mentally for his choice of words, knowing she couldn't tolerate her husband giving his casual, indifferent statement that he saw nothing wrong in what he did. Nor did the doctor see anything wrong per se. It wasn't his bag, wearing female dress of any kind, but his sexual philosophy was definitely to each his own. The only identity he made to Neal's desire was that he himself occasionally preferred a woman in a negligee or even better, an old-fashioned garter belt with black stockings, the twat bared for his pleasure. But even that, he could take or leave. He had a fine appreciation for a naked woman's body.
Vivian lowered her eyes, blushing at his quiet reprimand. She was not sure why he had stopped her that way, but she knew she was letting her mind get away from her. She stared at her smooth kneecaps unblinking. That they were bare, not even a nylon covering them, or that she was bare, had no impact. She was inside a room, not an office. She was with her doctor. Outside was Neal. Nothing else existed in the world. She did not hear the traffic below on the busy crosstown street nor the occasional shouts of people passing by, sounds that she had always been aware of during their other sessions, wishing she were there instead of here.
"I did not mean bring Neal here in person." His voice was firm, the tone of a parent attempting to reason with a child. "This is between you and me. But you are the only one who can present Neal's side. We have already established that."
Vivian smiled gratefully. Of course, how stupid she was! You really are dumb, she scolded herself. She slapped her hands lightly on her thighs happily. Here you are, stark naked; and you think he's going to bring Neal into the room and they'll both start laughing at you. How dumb can you get?
Pleased with how skillfully he was managing as indicated by her ready responses, the doctor continued. "As I said before, I will be Vivian. I know a lot about Vivian, but I want you to remember something very important when I, Vivian, am responding to Neal. My actions may not be what you think Vivian does or would do in the situation. I will be calling on all my knowledge of the conscious Vivian as well as the subconscious Vivian. In other words, I may react in what I professionally consider to be the way I think you really want to act and that may be mixed a little with how I think you should act. Do you understand the idea behind the transference experiment?" he asked as an afterthought, sexual arousal stirring throughout his body as he laid the groundwork for Vivian's physical therapy. The challenge of the verbal foreplay was almost as exciting as physical foreplay, and in this instance, more so. The seduction of the innocent. She was his virgin. Physical virginity had-nothing to do with it.
Vivian's eyes sparkled with excitement. What an incredible idea. Not only had he told her about herself, but now he was going to show her herself, as well as demonstrate his solutions. A shiver ran through her body. She could hardly wait to begin. Her eyes burned into his, demanding that he start.
"All right," he said brusquely, "Let's begin. First we will bring Neal here. Close your eyes, lean back in the chair, and relax. Neal is sitting beside you and you are going to transfer your mind into his body. I want you to talk in the first person. You are Neal. Tell me your name, your age, your profession and what you look like. Remember now, not what Vivian thinks you look like, but what you, Neal, think you look like. Begin when you are ready."
The doctor lowered his eyes, permitting himself a closer inspection of her breasts. The nipples were harder now, turning upward, the soft swell of the underside now visible. Well-proportioned, he observed with satisfaction, his prick growing larger as his mind tasted the budding cherries. Her body shifted in the chair and he quickly raised his eyes to her face to concentrate on her expression, ready to intercept any faltering before she quit, unable to do it. Her eyes screwed shut, Vivian concentrated as hard as she could, placing Neal's body in her place. She crossed her legs. No, he never sat that way. He was too sure of himself. His legs were always slightly apart, his. back erect, but he still gave the air of sprawling, at ease with the world and those around him. She uncrossed her legs, spreading her legs, aware suddenly that the leather seat of the chair felt warm and wet. God, her pussy was all wet and she hadn't even realized it. Over Neal? No, her mind insisted. The doctor? No. He had never implanted himself in her mind as a bed partner. Maybe it was just sitting there naked. The warm, wet spot grew steadily larger inside her head. The picture she had tried to form of Neal sitting there was gone. In its place was the doctor,fully dressed, looking at her naked. Odd though, she admitted to herself, that she was naked didn't bother her. It was just that he was dressed, and in a suit and tie at that.
Vivian opened her eyes and met the doctor's steady gaze. "I can't," she said shortly, sliding forward in the chair, the wet spot forgotten. She raised her arms and crossed them over her breasts, her face serious and earnest.
"Nonsense," the doctor answered quickly. "You're just not trying hard enough. Perhaps I gave you too many things to say at once. Instead of trying to fix his image, try speaking for him first. You will probably then automatically fall into his posture and mannerisms." He smiled encouragingly.
She smiled back, shaking her head no. "I can get his image. I mean, I had his image for a minute. But you're in its way! I know what's wrong," she added eagerly.
The doctor raised his eyebrows questioningly, waiting for her to explain. Damn, he thought. Hell of a time for her to start transferring on him. The seduction scene was too novel to be fucked up by her simply wanting to screw him. His cock agreed, the tension quickly subsiding. "What do you think is wrong?" he asked patronizingly, implying that her opinion wasn't worth very much in this situation.
She smiled shyly, acknowledging his rebuff, 'You're dressed. That's what's wrong. I know," she went on, speaking rapidly, "you can probably transfer all over the place. I mean, be anybody you want to be when you want to. But if I'm Neal, I just can't see you as Vivian when you're dressed in a suit and tie. Not the real Vivian anyway," she giggled.
Good God, he thought, it was going to be easier than he thought. She would know he was naked. Fantastic. He nodded sagely, "Of course. I never thought of that. Very good thinking, Vivian. I quite agree with you." He stood up at his desk and unbuttoned his coat jacket, carefully hanging it on the chair behind him.
Gloria glowed with pleasure over his praise. She closed her eyes to summon Neal back in her place. Her legs were parted, but she was no longer aware of the wet spot on the seat. His back would be straight, but one arm on the back of the chair, she decided, the other relaxed on the arm, his fingers lightly touching his thigh. As she formulated the details, she struck the pose, enjoying the game more and more.
Watching her out of the corner of his eye, assured she was not looking, Jon Miller slipped quickly out of his pants and shorts, his half-hard cock swinging between his legs. He sat down, drawing the chair closer to the desk to keep his eventual erection out of sight. For now, he said silently, patting the soft muscle happily. "Is it easier now?" he asked softly, his voice intimate.
"Oh, yes," she laughed softly, enjoying thoroughly the release of being someone else. "Do tell me exactly what you think is wrong with my wife. Do you have a name for it?" She paused, her eyes still shut, smiling broadly in the doctor's direction.
The doctor's eyes glowed hungrily as he leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped over his thighs, holding his erect cock down. "Really, Neal," he said, his tone of voice exasperated, "I know you big lawyers think it's really cute in the courtroom to address someone in the third person, but I think it's a drag, so fuck off unless you've got something you want to say to me. If you do, the name's Vivian." He watched her response intensely.
A faint tremor of excitement rippled through her as she repeated the doctor's words to herself. Is that what she would have said? No, not fuck off, although she said that often enough under her breath. But Neal never swore and when she did, the words hung in the air afterwards and embarrassed her.
Vivian opened her eyes and looked at the doctor. "Yes," she said eagerly. "I've got the idea. I feel it. He might have then made a crack about fucking, only he wouldn't use the word. Or he might have just shut up and ignored me. I'm not sure."
The doctor nodded approvingly. "Good. Now when you have a choice, remember that ultimately we're trying to identify a sexual problem. So in the last case, you most certainly would use the crack about fucking. Also, we're trying to avoid silence as much as possible even though it might be a natural response on his part at home. Try to think of any possible answer he might give Vivian rather than silence. Okay?" His hands clenched tighter waiting for her agreement.
"I know what you mean," she answered, grimacing slightly in discomfort. "It's okay, just that kind of exchange. But I'm not sure about him sexually. I mean what he feels when he reacts to something I say or do. You know what I mean?" She was willing but confused. What did he feel in his panties with his cock hard? If he wanted her to dominate the way the doctor had said, what was he thinking? What did he actually want her to do?
"Yes, I understand," the doctor said, a paternal note in his voice. "That's why I thought this might be useful." He pulled the black lace panties off the dildo and handed it to her.
Useful? Useful for-the thought floated away. The cock was in her hands, upright in one palm, her fingers of the other hand wrapped gingerly around the shaft. The smooth surface had a funny feel. Not flesh, but not rubber either. She wondered suddenly if this were the material they made artificial arms and legs out of. It certainly looked real, and it was surprisingly lightweight. It looked so much heavier.
"Strap it on," he coaxed her, his voice low and husky. "It will provide a focal point for your sexual identity." His eyes burned with lust as he stared at her, his own cock now in full erection, a duplicate of the rubber model Vivian held.
Oblivious to the office and to him, Vivian suddenly stood up, the dildo in her hands, staring down at it, her eyes glazed. Neal's presence hovered above, coming closer and closer. Unthinkingly, she turned away from the doctor, standing with her back to him, holding the dildo in front of her.
His eyes feasted on the firm, satin finish of her enormous buttocks. The twin globes met in a prominent cleavage. He could not see the entryway, but his cock throbbed violently, already plunging into the excruciatingly tight hole. Hunching forward in his chair, he slipped one hand into the bottom desk drawer, removing a tube of lubricant, his eyes riveted to her ass. He unscrewed the cap and applied a generous glob of the grease to his cock, his hand thoroughly coating the pulpy cockhead, sliding down the hard pole, circling round and round until his prick gleamed in the soft light.
Wordlessly, Vivian hooked the leg straps of the dildo around her thighs and adjusted the belt to her waist, staring down in fascination at the erect penis that had sprouted over her pussy. Gingerly, she grasped the shaft and slowly rubbed her hand up and down. Her pussy responded immediately to the faint friction and a sexual warmth spread through her thighs. The stimulation in her frustrated cunt spread through her body, her breasts tingled and her face flushed.
Was this what it was like for a man? she mused. No, she decided. She wanted to .ram the solid organ up inside her. Ram it up inside her hungry cunt faster and faster till she screamed in the ecstasy of an orgasm that she had been so long without. In seconds she would come. Her grip tightened on the shaft, stilling the urge, forcing herself to focus on her male role. Actually, she thought, that's what he feels. He wants to do the same thing. She smiled in delight, rubbing a little harder to increase the pressure on her pulsing clit.
Noting the action of her elbow, the doctor reached for the panties. He didn't want her to jerk herself off. Not yet, anyway, he smiled, suppressing his own excitement. "All right," he said softly, but firmly, "Let's return to our roles. Put these on." He held the panties out to her, his other hand holding his lubricated cock down out of sight.
Vivian accepted the panties with a small smile, her eyes on her prick, one hand still holding the shaft as though she were afraid that if she let go, it would disappear. She sat down in the armchair, and bent over, pulling the panties up to her knees. Would they fit? She suddenly wondered how Neal had figured out what size to buy. What size did he buy? Strange, she thought. There was no revulsion in her now about the panties.
She stood up, pulling the panties up over her cock, pinning the shaft to her stomach. The silky lace nylon stretched easily over the erection and the balls below fit warmly over her hot wet pussy. She closed her eyes, absorbing the stimulation, contracting her thigh and cunt muscles to squeeze the balls harder against her aroused box.
"Excellent," the doctor murmured. "You're getting right into. You are Neal. Remember that the feel of the panties is essential to your arousal. Caress the panties," his voice was low and husky, caressing her.
Instinctively, Vivian rose, her hands gliding over her hips, exploring the hard swell inside the silky prison. "I want to fuck, Vivian," she whispered. "Come on, Viv, feel it. Feel how much I want to fuck you." Her head whirled at the sound of her own voice. No, I don't want to fuck. I want her to fuck me. That's what I want. She opened her eyes wide in surprise, excitement pounding in her ears, her hands trembling, massaging her hips and cock, kneading the flesh, her thighs chafing together, embracing the balls inside the tight nylon crotch.
His eyes glowing intently, the doctor leaned forward in his chair, his hands on the desk, his legs spread wide to free his glistening cock. "Fuck?" he asked scornfully. "You want to fuck me, Neal? No, Neal. You want me to fuck you. You want me to rip you apart! To stomp on you! Admit it, Neal. Admit that's what you want!" His voice was a command. A snarling, angry command, his teeth bared savagely, his body crouched, ready to spring.
"Yes!" she cried out. "Yes! That's what I want. That's exactly what I want. I'm tired of giving, giving, giving! I want to receive. I want you to do something for me for a change. You hear that, Vivian?" Her voice was equally demanding. An impassioned rage consumed her. Her female identity was gone. She was Neal and they were in the bedroom. It was all out in the open.
"Is that the reason, Neal?" the doctor sneered. "Is that really the reason? Or can't you just admit that you're so wrapped up in your self-image, you've got no outlet. Mr. Macho needs a prop. He's got to have his panties on to get a hard-on. That's not really true, is it, Neal? You've got those panties because they hide your weakness. They're just bizarre enough to take my mind off you. The you that's in bed with me." His breath came fast, the tension between them electrifying them both, the transferal almost complete. His eyes burned with passion, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, holding himself back unconsciously.
"No!" her eyes blazed, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, the knuckles white with strain. "No, that's not true! You're the weak one. I just want to feel something different for a change! I'm bored shoving it in and out of a twat. Giving,' I'm always giving it to you. I want you to give me something! What have you got to give me, Vivian?" The frenzied rage contorted her features, her body tense, ready to spring, a fiery animal lust blazed in her blue eyes challenging him to attack.
"I'll give it to you, Neal," he growled, rising slowly from his chair, his body crouched, inching stealthily around the desk, his eyes holding her firm. "I'll fuck you, Neal!" he shouted, and sprang forward, gripping her wrists, pinning her chest down on the desk.
She struggled fiercely, but his weight held her down, one hand stretching her wrist across the blotter. She kicked at his ankles and he swiftly thrust his knee between her legs, holding her thrashing leg up against the wood panel.
"You bitch! You rotten bitch!" she screamed at him, pounding the desk with her free hand.
"I'll fuck you!" he howled back. "I'll fuck you. But I don't need these!" He tore the panties, his nails ripping into the lace, shredding the delicate fabric.
She writhed in vain beneath him, tears running down her face, moaning, "Noooo, stop. Please stop." Her voice trailed off in a sob, fear and a delirious excitement of anticipation of pain flooded through her. She struggled to free herself, but at the same time her muscles holding as close together as she could.
His hot breath in her ear, he laughed triumphantly. "Oh, no, Neal. You asked for it and I'm going to give it to you. I'm going to give you what you've been begging for." His hard, grease-covered cock pressed against the tight crack of her ass.
The pressure of his cock against her ass terrified her. "Nooo," she groaned, renewing her struggle, her ass pulling away from him now, the hole shut tight, her muscles holding as close together as she cold. But the more she wriggled, the better she positioned her ass for his penetration.
He let go of her wrist and flung his hand across her chest, pressing her closer to him. His other hand grasped his slippery prick and he hunched his ass back directing his cockhead to his target. His hips thrust forward, his hand pushing his cock head into the tight crevice.
She cried out, a muffled, strangled sound at the alien pressure in her ass. She wanted it. Wanted it desperately, but as much as she wanted his cock in her ass, she was afraid of it. The initial pressure warned of the oncoming pain. She sobbed, unable to fight any longer.
"Relax, Neal!" He ordered, his heavy breath in her ear. "Relax, and it won't hurt so much. Now you know, Neal. Now you know what it's like to be fucked. And maybe you won't want to" be fucked ever again!" He released her chest roughly, pushing her down on the desk, his knee holding her legs apart. He stared down at his target and thrust forward. His hands gripped the meaty cheeks of her ass, the fingers digging in on each side of the tender crevice, forcing the hole open.
Vivian was slumped over the desk, but as his cockhead, the heavy coat of grease causing it to slide around awkwardly, pressed into the hole, the pain took over. She screamed in agony, her nails clawing at the blotter, the pressure in her ass unbearable and unrelenting.
"Relax," he whispered. "Just relax. It won't hurt once I'm inside." He pressed in harder, humping back and forth, and the slippery rod penetrated the tight walls despite her automatic resistance. It was difficult at first, he nearly came out on the first few forward thrusts, but now the lubrication was working. He was sliding in. His hands gripped her waist, pinning her to the desk, his eyes on his cock, glistening in the light as it slid in and out, a little further in each time.
"Now," he cried, and rammed in as far as he go, sweat streaming down his brow, his biceps rigid, holding her in place. He fell over her, his breath a gasp, his hands around her chest, holding her to him.
She had screamed, but no sound came from her lips. A ripping, tearing sensation tore through her. He was splitting her apart. She was no longer Neal. She was a woman and he was a man, not a doctor, a man who was assaulting her body like she had never been assaulted. Not even the loss of her virginity was comparable. This was wrong. This was perverted.
His cock buried inside her ass, the doctor waited for her tension to recede, his body attune to every twitch of hers. The pain subsided, but his cock felt huge. Unreal, she thought. He wasn't a man. He was a giant with a monstrous cock.
As her breathing grew more even, gently he slid his hand under her belly down to the dildo. He unhooked-it expertly, his fingers sliding into her wet pussy. She tensed, but his exploring hand quickly zeroed in on her swollen clit, forming a vee with his fingers to massage the pulsing button lightly.
Vivian's eyes widened as her pussy throbbed. Impossible. A huge cock in her ass and, the thought floated away as her body and her senses focused on the hungry throb in her pussy. Her cunt pulled toward the hand. She wanted something inside her, too. As she moved, the cock behind her reminded her of its presence, but it was no longer really painful.
Slowly, he moved back and forth behind her, his hand moving faster as his fucking action increased in tempo. His fingers were getting closer and closer. She couldn't stand it any longer. She arched backward, pushing her cunt forward, her ass clapping against his driving body.
The orgasm ripped through her, tearing her apart, flooding waves as she howled her ecstasy, her body convulsing wildly, her arms flailing in the air, pulling every ounce of relief in it out of it. Her whole body collapsed in an endless plummeting wave, draining all strength, leaving her nearly unconscious.
As she had screamed, he had shot, bucking and humping her ass, filling the tight hole with a steady stream of hot come that overflowed, running down the backs of her thighs to the carpet below. The hole was still tight enough, despite the liquid flow, to hold him firm, and he thrust back and forth slowly, letting her ass milk him dry, his chest heaving from the exertion.
Reluctantly, he pulled out, his cock spraying the few last drops on the rug below. Vivian dropped to the floor, her knees hunched up to her chest, clenched into a fetal position, her violated ass uncomfortably wet and the hole had a curious stretched feeling. Cautiously, she flexed her buttocks. She was not ripped apart. For a moment, she thought the wet hole was covered with blood. Inside felt numb. If it were blood, there would be pain, she thought. His come. Of course, it's his come. A sense of relief flooded through her. And with the mental relief, her body swam into the stream of her physical relief. The orgasm had shattered her. Why? she asked. Because it's been so long? No. She had just never had an orgasm like that before. It wasn't even the rape of her ass. It was everything. She opened her eyes staring at the legs of his desk. Good God, she thought. The doctor! It was. She clenched her knees tighter, listening intently. Where was he? What was he doing? What did he think?
That he had initiated the whole scene did not occur to her. She was incapable of reasoning. What had really happened? She shifted on the floor, the rug uncomfortable against her sweaty, sticky body. Her toe touched the dildo and she looked at it. A spark of recognition penetrated her dazed mind. The cock. Neal's cock. She was Neal and the doctor was Vivian. She stifled a giggle at the absurdity of the whole thing. She wondered suddenly what Neal would do if she told him about her session. What would he say? She sighed. She knew what he'd say. He'd tell her that most patients get sicker before they get better and to think her shrink was fucking her was the most common syndrome of all. And that it was nice that she had such an active imagination. Most patients were happy with simple intercourse. The rustle of tissues above her jarred her back to reality. She flushed with embarrassment at the thought of getting up and facing him.
The doctor wiped his cock clean and picked up his shorts. Coolly, he pushed the box of tissues off the desk to the floor beside her. He dressed carefully, adjusting his shirt cuffs and tie, his mind working rapidly. That had been a great fuck. He had gotten what he wanted. Vivian's ass. And now that that was conquered, there was really nothing else he wanted from her physically, he mused. She could hot, of course, duplicate the scene at home with the real Neal. How accurate was his diagnosis of Neal? Fetishes like Neal's always amused him and stimulated his curiosity. The diagnosis of her was elementary. She needed an explanation so badly, she would have believed anything he told her.
The doctor frowned. She was still on the floor and her session was nearly over. Quietly, he moved the hands of his alarm wrist watch further ahead. The soft buzz warning that time was nearly up whirred in the silence.
Vivian sighed, fatigue settling into her muscles. Unwillingly, she extracted a tissue and began to wipe her ass, balling the wet tissues up in her fist, not looking at them. She turned her head and spotted her clothes strewn on the rug. She grimaced at the sight of the tight jeans. Those would really feel good on her ass, she thought. Ugh. She reached for her underwear.
The doctor smiled, content that she was getting ready.to leave, his eyes glowing with a new idea. A perfect solution to the whole thing. It will be no problem to persuade her right now. The sound of the surf and the feel of the hot sun enveloped his relaxed body. He folded his hands in his lap, waiting for her to be ready.
5
In the outer office, Gloria tapped the ear plug under her long red hair in disbelief. The crazy bastard had raped her in the ass! He'd actually raped her in the ass! She wouldn't have carried on like that if he were in her cunt. She was certain of that. He's losing his fucking marbles, she thought, staring at the unhappy clown print on the wall in amazement.
That broad was crazy enough as it was. He could have pushed her right over the edge. A cold shudder went through her at the thought of a hysterical Vivian Welles in his office. Jesus, she thought, her full lips curling with distaste. For once, her pussy was dry and cold. She looked down at the airline tickets sitting on her desk. He was a madman. How could she even think of going away with him?
It wasn't the ass fucking. Gloria took hers in any way, shape or possible form. When he had started to set the scene, his melodic, husky voice had had its usual titillating effect on her cunt, and she had settled back in her chair to enjoy the details, visualizing the scene as he went along.
In the back of her mind, she had thought of Neal. He would be the easiest target for her master plan. A successful big wheel lawyer wouldn't want anyone to find about his little preference for wearing ladies' undies, she had giggled to herself. She probably wouldn't even need to tell him about her tapes. The very fact she knew would be enough. He'd be a good starting point, she had thought. The first success would erase any doubts she might have, not to mention the incentive of money in her hand. He would be perfect.
His diagnosis of Vivian's act and Neal's desires didn't bother her. Vivian had said enough about her husband in past sessions to satisfy Gloria's womanly instinct. She wouldn't tell her husband, and if by any chance she did, Gloria was certain her husband would never believe her.
But as the scene in the inner office had progressed, Gloria had suddenly realized what the doctor was going to do. A mixture of fear, fright, and anger rushed through her. Fear that he would blow everything and her master plan would never get off the ground; fright at the thought of dealing with authorities over Mrs. Welles' hysteria; and anger that he would risk both their careers for some ass-hole patient. And all because of his insatiable passion.
She had almost buzzed the intercom with some inane message to interrupt the scene, but she had quickly realized that that could be worse. It might be all Vivian needed to topple right over the edge. And if Vivian did flip out, Jon would Undoubtedly blame her for the woman's hysteria. Frozen in her chair, she had forced herself to ride the scene out.
It had worked, though, she admitted, shaking her head. Was he lucky or had he known exactly what to do with her? When he was into his sexual therapy, it was hard to connect his psychological counseling.
She shrugged to herself, I'd have lost money on that one too. She raised her hand to the ear phone, waiting for the session to end, marveling at Vivian's nonchalant tone, as though nothing had happened to her at all.
Suddenly, Gloria frowned. Shit! He wasn't! The mother-fucker was but of his mind! Panic flooded through her. She had to stop him somehow. But how could she stop him without letting him in on her master plan? There was no place for him in the plan. It was her plan! Stop! she ordered herself, removing the ear phone defiantly, throwing it into her top desk drawer, unwilling to listen any further. Calm down and hear his plan first. You can't do anything till you know what he's got in mind. Wait till Vivian leaves. Biting her trembling lower lip, she went to the bathroom to compose herself.
In the inner office, the doctor was smiling pleasantly, thoroughly enjoying Vivian's transformation. She was eating it up, exactly as he had known she would. She had quickly forgotten her embarrassment once she had heard his proposal.
"I don't know, Dr. Miller," she said earnestly. "It really sounds like a great idea, but I don't know if Neal will go for it or not. I mean to me he's casual about his thing, but I don't know if he'd want it discussed in public. You know what I mean?" Her blue eyes were anxious. Twenty-four hours of therapywhat a great idea, she thought. And Neal would be there, too. They might be able to resolve everything in that time. The hour sessions were never long enough. Just as she was getting into something, the alarm went off. Even today-a faint blush crossed her pale cheeks as she remembered the earlier scene and she lowered her eyes. But even today, there was no time to talk about what had happened. Not that she had anything to say, but she assumed the doctor would have plenty to say.
"Nonsense," the doctor scoffed lightly, still smiling. "One, I can't even guarantee that that would be discussed. In a group therapy session no one is pre-armed with any knowledge about the others' problems. They either surface or they don't. In this case, I'm quite certain that if Neal didn't want to discuss his fetish in front of the others, he wouldn't. And I doubt that you would be able to bring it up without his doing so first. Second, as a lawyer, Neal must have an analytical bent," he paused, searching for the right words to clinch her participation.
"Oh, yes," Vivian nodded her head vigorously. "He can analyze anyone out of anything. I mean, he's got me thinking I'm the crazy one and here I am." She giggled suddenly, her sore ass reminding her she was indeed there.
"Yes," the doctor nodded sagely, "that's exactly why a session like the weekend marathon would be ideal for you as a couple. You have a very perceptive, analytical mind yourself, my dear Vivian. Unfortunately, in your home life, I believe, Neal dominates arguments, because his skill of analyzing is in constant practice. In the group situation, if your argument is valid, you will find the others supporting you and you will finally have an opportunity to present your side in full. In other words, on a one-to-one basis, you are too easily intimidated. The superiority or at least equality of your mind would have a chance to emerge and confront him. Can you visualize what I am saying?" The doctor's voice was warm and encouraging, his deep-set eyes glowing with warmth, his body relaxed.
Vivian glowed with pleasure at the doctor's praise. He was marvelous. That was exactly how she felt when she tried to protest to Neal. He was always so, so, what was the word? Objective? He always saw every side of something. In opposition, of course. But he never saw the other side when he was on the defense. He wouldn't even consider the depths of her feelings about his underwear bag. Her eyes sparked at the thought. Could he be so casual in front of other people about his panties? She'd get him to admit his underwear bag at the session. And if the others saw nothing disgusting about it, that would be fine, too, because then she'd have to face it and it would be easier to face with others knowing about it. But would he go?
"I want to go," she announced, hitting his desk firmly with her clenched fist. "I'm going. You can sign me up. I don't know if he'll go, but I'll go anyway."
The doctor smiled approvingly. "I think he'll go. I don't think he'll be able to resist it. When you present it to him, however, Vivian, I want you to tell him that there will be three couples there. All of you are approximately in the same financial bracket. There is, of course, a common denominator in the group. All of you have come to me with sexual problems. However, no one in the'group will know anything more about the others' problems. But knowing a basic theme will provide the group with some cohesion for openers. Would you rather I telephoned him and presented the proposal myself?" he added thoughtfully, watching her reaction intently.
"No," Vivian said firmly. "I'll do it. I think you're right. I don't think he'll be able to resist. For all his cool, I think he's just dying to know what I have to say about him to you and what you have to say."
"Good," the doctor answered, "but if you change your mind once you're home alone, call me and I'll telephone him. Otherwise, call me on Wednesday for confirmation and I will give you the time and place."
Vivian rose from her chair and he walked her to the door, his arm across her shoulder.
Excitement and determination radiated from her body. Her head high, she entered the receptionist's room barely glancing at his sexpot nurse. Burn the denims first, she told herself, then have the drinks ready this evening. Take him by surprise. He won't know what hit him. "See you all later!" she shouted cheerfully, slamming the office door behind her without a backward glance at the doctor.
"Good-bye," Gloria murmured, raising her eyebrows questioningly at the doctor, her composure restored. "What got into her?" she asked maliciously.
The doctor looked quickly at her, his eyes startled. But she was smiling pleasantly, denying her tone of voice. He reached out and tweaked her chin affectionately, laughing softly, "Why, I'm curing her, of course," he answered jovially.
Gloria frowned. He never discussed his patients as individuals. At least not frivolously. When one stopped coming, he never told her why, he merely announced the hour would be free for other patients.
No, she thought, he joked about them collectively. "I'm curing her," was too personal. She didn't like the change.
"Come on, my love, you're supposed to be deliriously happy with the cure I have in mind for you. Come into the office and I'll tell you the details." He walked into the inner office briskly, rubbing his hands together, oblivious to the lingering odor of sex, the heat in the room, and the faint grease stain on the rug. His mind was on the trip. He sat down at his desk, pulling the travel agency literature out of his top drawer.
Gloria smiled weakly at his retreating back, and rose to follow him. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. Keep your cool, she warned herself. You can figure it all out later, but make sure you get all the details now. Good, she thought, he's at the desk. It would be harder, sitting next to him on the couch. He knew her body too well. She was sure he registered the slightest muscular twitch. He had to. He wouldn't get away with what he did, if he didn't. She giggled, lowering herself into the armchair in front of the desk, conscious of the warmth of the leather seat and hoped Vivian had wiped it off.
"Which first?" he asked grinning broadly, flipping the folders in his hands, "the financing or the trip?"
The financing, her mind shouted, but she met his grin with an expression of exasperation. "What a stupid question, you lunk! The finances." She stopped just in time. She was about to say they were his problem, but that wouldn't do. He might not tell her and she wanted to know everything first.
"The finances?" he looked surprised, and just a little disappointed. His mind was already picturing the tiny villa. The hotel referred to it as a guest cottage, but to him it was a villa.
"You can be dumb," she chided him. "Here you've had me on pins and needles for the last hour, sitting at my desk with two airline tickets and a bunch of credit cards, and you really think I want to hear about finances!" Gloria laughed, clapping her hands together with delight at his sheepish expression.
"I'm getting carried away myself," he said, laughing with her. "What I really want to do is cancel the rest of the week's patients and take off today."
"I know what you mean, but that would allow us only a couple of days," she added quickly, "and this way, we've got eight whole days!" Her eyes glowed with promise and she leaned forward, thrusting her breasts upward, emphasizing eight days of sheer pleasure with her body.
"You're right," he answered, admiring her practicality. The thought of finally finding out what went on inside that gorgeous red head returned his enthusiasm with a rush. "The hotel, what a hotel! It's got everything: beachfront, sauna baths, heated pools, game tables. You name it, they've got it. It's literally a miniature city by itself."
"Do we have a suite?" Gloria asked, smiling dreamily, a vision of the luxurious palace of pleasure unfolding in her mind. The paradise "filled with movie stars, limousines, jewels, flowing gowns and tuxedoed.men.
"Suite?" he scoffed. "Suites are for the peasants, my dear. We have a villa! Our own villa with a view of the sea." The doctor's eyes flashed triumphantly.
Gloria looked dismayed. A villa? They'd be alone. She wanted the excitement of the hotel. They could be alone in their room. Good God, he'd probably have her cooking! How could he even think of a villa when a splendid hotel was right there!
"Don't jump the gun," he reproved her gently, noting her disappointment. "It's not an isolated villa. In fact they call it a guest cottage. But it's all connected to the hotel and it has room service. It even has a miniature refrigerator, which I've ordered stocked with champagne. I chose the villa out of consideration for the other guests," he added, his eyes twinkling.
Gloria smiled with relief, a vision of her entrance into the main hotel in satin and sparkling tiara replacing her body bent over a stove. She nodded, urging him to continue.
"I was afraid we'd give the others a complex in the main building with our constant screams of ecstasy. I'd probably have to conduct a therapy group session every night before we went to bed, to appease the management."
Gloria laughed and closed her eyes, leaning back in the chair, her hands clasped across her breasts to contain her excitement, his earlier madness forgotten with the enticing lure of the luxurious vacation in the islands, just a taste of what her life would always be like once her plan was launched.
The doctor smiled at her entranced expression. He was right not to have cut corners on the expense. The sheer luxury of it all would overwhelm her. She would be clay in his hands and all her defenses would be down. He had had her body every way either of them knew. There were even times they had to prompt each other to vary positions. He, when lit had realized his patients were becoming more intriguing than her practiced body and she, because she thought his patients were getting better lays, unknown to him. Now. he reflected, a week alone with her, out of the office, would be like having a new woman.
He leaned back in his chair contemplating her beauty and smiled intimately, "I want you to buy anything you need to look ravishing during the entire eight days-in or out of bed," he whispered, his voice husky, his eyes dressing her in filmy black lace. "Only promise me one thing."
Gloria sighed, "Anything. I'll promise you anything. Every hole I have is yours. Even the ones I don't have. What do you want me to promise you?"
"You'll buy nothing white nor bring along anything white. Not even a white bra!" His eyes rested on her full chest hungrily, his prick stirring in a sudden spurt of energy, inspired by the visions of her in a black negligee.
Gloria giggled. "Bra? What's a bra?"
"Mmmmmm, you know what I mean. I don't want anything to remind me of work. It's all play. All work and no play, makes for a very dull lay. And speaking of lay." he fondled his half-erect prick lazily. Funny it wasn't hard, he mused. Must be all the other elements. Her obvious excitement was almost child-like, he concluded. I want to enjoy it some more.
Dull lay. my ass, Gloria thought vehemently. There's a lot of people out there who'd like to do your work, baby. "Okay, I dig," she said opening her eyes, her lips parted sensuously. "Nothing white.
But don't worry about me. Worry about yourself. You're going to spend the whole vacation chasing the lusting men away from me. You'll probably lock me in my room, so you can rest awhile. But tell me more about the hotel. I want to know everything they have. What kind of food-"
"Nope," he said firmly. "I'm not even going to let you see the folders. Expectations can ruin a good thing. I want it all to be new for you, okay?" He ' studied her mysterious eyes. Would he ever understand her? At that moment, he'd say no.
All new to me? That's an assumption, she thought. How would he know what's new to me? So that's what it's all about! The whole thing fitted neatly together. In a way she was flattered. She had thought him only interested in her body and he certainly knew that well enough. He wanted something more. What, she wasn't sure, but now she knew that he knew and was planning to conquer her in some way. Knowledge was half the battle. She could handle this well and enjoy herself in the process.
"Okay," she replied slowly, smiling seductively. "But I'm going to be new to you, too. In fact, we'll meet at the airport the day we leave. You might not even recognize me." She giggled, imagining herself arriving with a brand new wardrobe, airline ticket, his credit cards, and passing him by, boarding the plane for paradise alone.
"Great!" he said, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. "Come over here. I want to make sure I'll recognize the body, if not the being." He held out his hands, inviting her to join him on the chair.
Gloria shook her head no and raised a finger in the air reprovingly. "Okay, you don't tell me the details of the vacation, but fill me in on what we have to do to get out of here," she said, a faint note of resignation in her voice, acknowledging nothing could be as beautiful and easy as he had so far presented it.
"All right, but only if you'll come over here and let me look at what I want to look at while I talk." He licked his lips, wiggling his tongue at her.
Gloria grinned, "You'll need your tongue to talk," she warned, as she got up and walked around behind the desk.
"True," he answered, his eyes on her breasts, "you know, the first revelation I ever had as a child was discovering that the tongue had other uses than licking ice cream cones and talking. That was an insight!"
"As a child!" Gloria exploded with laughter. "You know, I believe you! How old were you when you ate your first pussy?" she asked, her eyes admiring. He had probably plunged right in to the first muff bared for him. She didn't doubt it in the least.
The doctor raised her skirt, his fingers caressing the firm flesh of her delicious ass lovingly, the sweet red fluff warm and inviting. He inhaled deeply close to the furry cloak and Gloria pressed her hands against his forehead, pushing his head back, away from her cunt.
"Okay, okay, slave driver," he groaned, his lips pursed in a kiss to her. "Sit up here and let me look. It's an inspiring sight. I think of it every time I have to give a speech. My patients would be flabbergasted to know what I see when I lean back and close my eyes, interpreting their problems."
Oh, yeah, Gloria thought. I'll just bet you see my cunt when Vivian's ass is right up there under your nose. Wordlessly, she backed up to the desk and sat on the edge, her skirt up around her waist, aware her pussy was dry, but warming up. She was getting as bad as he was. It might well really turn out to be a battle of wits for eight days, she considered. The bodies instantly and constantly grappling, the minds constantly sparring. The thought was irritating, and she pushed it away.
The doctor pulled his chair closer and raised her legs to his shoulders. She inched her ass to the edge of the desk and spread her thighs wider, her legs sliding over his back to the arms of his chair obligingly. He rested his hands on her inner thighs, his eyes locked to her cunt, the plump clit pushing out the full hairy lips, its vivid red tint striking against the gold red pubic hair that covered the treasure.
Gloria studied his handsome face. The age lines were there on the high forehead, but they improved his face. The older he got, the handsomer he would be, she reflected. The gray on his temples lent a certain austerity to his features. He'd make a perfect model for an advertisement with a shrink in it, she smiled. No husband would ever believe his wife's tale of her adventures in her shrink's office after they had one look at him. There was no connection between his appearance and his actions. Incredible.
"Now, where was I? I've told you everything but the details of the encounter session, correct?" He leaned forward and his tongue darted out, nudging the protruding button.
"Un-uh," Gloria squealed, his hot tongue right on target, her cunt involuntarily contracting to hunch toward him. She thrust her hand out, pushing his head back. "And uh-huh," she murmured. "The details."
He smiled, his eyes closed, the taste of her pussy rich in his mouth, the aroma in his nostrils. His cock was solid now, filling up instantly, throbbing and ready for more. His hands dropped to his lap, undoing his pants rapidly. He raised his ass and pulled them down to his ankles, sitting in his chair with his cock straight up in the air, the mushrooming head glowing in the soft light, the slit oozing already, expressing its readiness.
"Three couples," he said, struggling to focus on the details he had carefully set up. "I can't have it here, because this is the women's refuge. If the weekend goes sour for them, they can run back here. Of course, I don't expect anything to go wrong, but I don't want to risk losing any patient who can afford to send us on a vacation, do I?" He inhaled again, his tongue jabbing her clit wetly, his head moving back before she could push him away.
She smiled, marveling at his calculations. He thought of everything. Everything but what he might be doing to them. She swallowed the distasteful thought. He really didn't even give a shit about their bodies. He just didn't want to lose their bread. Her pussy itched from the last contact of his tongue despite her disapproval of his use of his patients.
"Mmmmm," he smacked his lips. "That was good. Wouldn't it be great if every time a guy had to give a speech, instead of a pitcher of water on the lectern, he had a hot wet pussy to taste? Sure make a lot of dull speeches more interesting."
Gloria laughed. Too much. He thought pussy twenty-four hours a day! "I see what you mean," she said seriously, "but where are we going to hold it then? The encounter session."
"Well, I thought of a hotel room, but that's too impersonal. Besides wasting time personalizing the room, they would all be consciously aware of where they were. And if it got too heavy, the temptation to leave would be irresistible. One departure would be enough to destroy the whole group." His voice was reflective now, his eyes still on her pussy, but un-focusing, his cock slackened perceptibly. The session was very important and all the details had to be right. He was re-evaluating his decisions as he related the logic behind them to her.
Gloria's brow furrowed and she shifted her body, the position uncomfortable now when her mind was not on sex, but she didn't want to break his chain of thought. Should have started on the couch, she thought ruefully. Where did he plan to hold it? Not his house. God, not his house. That would be too much of him all at once. She didn't want that.
"Naturally," he continued, "I thought, well, then, it'll have to be my apartment. It can accommodate the group more than adequately and I can have a neighborhood catering service supply food and coffee. I want to keep drinking to a minimum. A little's fine, but anybody drunk would also destroy the group."
Shit, Gloria groaned silently. I knew it. Of course, I knew it. But where else? Think, dummy, think. You can talk him out of his house, if you think of some place else. Her own one room studio apartment was out of the question. But still it would be better than having to go to his house. She didn't plan to be in that one room much longer anyway. "I don't know about that, Jon," she began, speaking slowly, her tone searching.
He slapped he thighs lightly, "Good girl. You're right. Just as this office is their refuge, so my apartment is mine. To have them there, even though their husbands were with them, is to personalize myself. In other words, I'm human, something most patients don't know until they're ready to stop treatment." He laughed, his voice patronizing, suddenly reflecting his contempt for their stupidity.
Gloria exhaled slowly, her breath a whistle of relief and amazement. Stop improvising situations that don't exist, she reprimanded herself. He's got everything under control. Hear him out and then figure out any objections and their solutions before you voice them.
He smiled proudly, looking up at her now, his hands tapping her thighs demanding her approval. "Then I remembered a cottage out on the Island. A friend of mine owns it and it's about an hour's drive. It's got a fireplace and all the trimmings. It's perfect. Warm, intimate, and far enough away to prevent anyone from leaving. We'll go out a couple of hours earlier and set things up-food, fire, and all the other shit. We'll be all ready for them when they arrive. What do you think?" His eyes glowed with self-pride, eagerly watching hers.
"What do I think?" Gloria broke out in a broad grin. "I think you're an absolute genius." She shook her head, expressing her astonishment. "It almost sounds too perfect. I know, we'll get out there and it'll be full of weekend guests. Of course, we could always charge them, too, and include them in the marathon. At that rate, we could spend two weeks on vacation!" Gloria giggled, a sudden .picture of a mass orgy in the cottage flashing in her mind, everybody fucking and sucking, with the doctor trying to restore order to his group.
"No problem. It's all arranged for this weekend and nobody but us and our group," he announced with satisfaction. His hands tightened on her thighs, as his mouth buried into her cunt, his tongue circling her clit rapidly, saliva running across the soft hair in rivulets.
Gloria squirmed with delight, her thighs trembling, her body taking over her mind. She grabbed his hair, yanking his head back. Our group, her mind echoed. Who's in the group? Hold on, Jon, let's hear the rest first.
"Ouch!" he scowled at her, his scalp burning from the force of her pull.
She smiled mockingly at him, her lips puckered feigning sympathy. His scowl evaporated and he thrust his chin forward, pressing into her pussy, daring her to stop him again, his eyes burning into hers.
"One small detail you've neglected, my love," she said softly, her voice sexy and suggestive. '
He looked surprised, his eyes challenging her. He had overlooked nothing. Everything was set. It was not his style to overlook a detail, even a small one. And if he did, it wasn't obvious to anyone but himself. She was teasing, he decided. He stuck out his tongue at her, wiggling the bright red tip, his lips drawn round it, his cheeks sucking in, telling her what she was missing, ignoring her comment.
Gloria let go of his head and put her hands on her hips indignantly. "Aside from the major detail of who's the group," she said, "you-"
"Ah, the group! That's the best of all," he exclaimed sitting up. "I've got it all figured out. Vivian Welles and her husband," he said," counting on his fingers. "Sylvia Warren and her husband and the fat one, Dorothy Albans, and hers. They're a perfect combination for a group."
Gloria stared at him aghast. All three were at the top of her list on the master plan. She was prepared for Vivian, but not the others, too. He was crazy! If one of them said something, it could start a chain reaction. The men would kill him, if the women didn't first. The power over them had gone to his head. He couldn't be serious.
He stared hard at her. What was she so surprised at? She couldn't know anything. He'd tested the soundproofing of his office himself. They never talked to her. They weren't in the waiting room long enough anyway. They ran out like little white mice. Gloria's appearance didn't invite confidences. His brow furrowed, his eyes hard, he asked, "What's the matter with you? Is there something wrong with my choice?" His voice was steady and distant.
The panic inside her quickly subsided. You're blowing it, you fool, she shouted at herself. Smiling weakly, she said apologetically, "Of course not. I was really being selfish. Of all your patients," she paused, recovering her voice, "it's uncanny. Of all the patients, those three are the ones I'd like least to spend twenty-four hours with. I was hoping it would be someone like Mrs. Epstein or-"
"Yuck," he said, his face registering distaste. Mrs. Epstein, she had her problems all right. Mousy little woman who wanted to get laid. He thought of her as gray, all gray, and withered. She wasn't, by any means. She just gave off the wrong vibrations. Yeah, Gloria would like her. Bustling in with her cheery greetings, smiling her I'm not sick smile, I'm just here on a friendly visit.
"She's very sweet," Gloria pouted defensively, relieved that she had distracted him from her shock so effectively. Blank it out, she cautioned herself, till later. If you can't handle this scene, sweetheart, you can't handle eight days.
"Sweet!" he snorted. "Listen, baby, for this session we don't need sweetness. First of all, they're forking over a thousand bucks apiece, maybe fifteen hundred, I haven't decided. They're going to want some action, not friendly chatter. Physically, the three women will bounce off of each other. Dorothy wants to look like Sylvia, Sylvia wants Vivian's look-strength, and Vivian's got them both to play off against, so she can air her grievances. All I've got to do is direct the conversation and that's what I'm paid to do. All you've got to do is wear your uniform to remind them I'm a doctor and the purpose of the session is therapy, not a battle." His face was angry, his tone irritable that she should even question his arrangements.
His long speech gave her time to regroup and she leaned forward, one hand lightly touching his cheek. "I said you were a genius," she whispered seductively. "But you still haven't told me the one small detail, lover."
The doctor smiled. He was really getting carried away. There wasn't any reason to doubt Gloria. It was that old guilt thing cropping up again, he decided. He'd lose that on the vacation. He had overreacted, because he was aware that it was a potentially dangerous group, but that was the only thing that made it interesting. It would require all his skill and manipulation ability to keep everything in its proper perspective. Sylvia and Dorothy had been an easy decision, but he had only just decided on Vivian an hour ago. It had been impulsive and he hadn't had time to weigh any possible backfiring in her presence.
His hands slid up Gloria's thighs to her pussy, his fingers tickling the sensitive surface. His head bent forward swiftly and his lips covered her clit, sucking hard on the red button. The gust of pussy perfume filled his flared nostrils, desire blowing away his anger and irritation. His balls tightened as his limp prick sprang back to attention, a solid pole between his legs, the fiery head begging for its own contact.
Gloria moaned her appreciation, her voice breathless, her hands on his head, her fingers in his hair, urging him how to stay where he was, "Don't you want to know the detail?" she gasped with pleasure, her ass squirming toward his busy tongue.
His reply was incoherent, his mouth open wide over her clit, his tongue darting in and out of the folds, swirling wet juices over the silky hair. "Ummm," he repeated, nodding his head up and down between her legs in assent. Her thighs closed tighter around his head. She was back in control now. After the group, nothing could shock her. He was either completely mad, she thought, or the most egotistical bastard she had ever known.
She lowered her head to his ear, her hands still on his hair, encouraging his mouth to stay busy, "You haven't told me yet," she whispered in his ear, her tongue grazing the surface, her breath hot and heavy in the sensitive inner circle, "what kind of overtime you're paying me for this weekend work."
The doctor choked, gasping with laughter, pulling back from her grip, collapsing against the back of his chair. He coughed violently, the laughter rolling over him, his stomach aching. The absurdity of her questioning had released all his spoken qualms and tears rolled down his cheeks.
Gloria laughed with him, but her eyes were grave. I've got to get out of here, she thought. Quick. Go home and think. She looked down at his turgid prick without feeling. Get it over with, she thought. She grasped the thick shaft in one hand and dug her feet into the chair under his thighs on each side. "It's not so funny, darling," she crooned, "after all, I won't be ( getting my usual fringe benefits if there's a twenty-four hour therapy session going on, now will I?"
He shook his head wearily, his body momentarily exhausted with the spasms of laughter, but his cock still hard. He smiled indulgently at her, his chest still too tight to speak.
"I'm sure you'll arrive at an equitable figure," she said, "and now if yoti don't mind, I'll collect today's." Nimbly, she squatted over his lap, holding the shaft firm, she guided his cockhead to her yawning hole, still wet from his tongue's earlier work. Her cunt muscles contracted, positioning the cockhead, sucking it inward. She shut her eyes and gave herself up to the exquisite tearing sensation of his cock penetrating the tight walls of her cunt, gasping with pleasure as her buttocks reached his thighs, his cock filling her up.
"Ohh," he hissed softly as the hot cave swallowed his rigid joint, his pleasure matching hers. The come boiled up and his body stiffened to control the threatening tide.
Gloria melted against him in response, her head buried into his neck, her tongue circling round and round, sucking gently. No fantasy surfaced. She had too much on her mind. If she moved fast, he'd shoot. He wasn't ready for her when she had slid down. If he came right away, he'd be too flustered to realize she hadn't. And to acknowledge she hadn't would mean another fuck. His vanity wouldn't permit him to leave her unsatisfied.
She raised her head, her hot tongue burying into his ear, moaning softly, her knees tightened around his body, her ass moving from side to side. She pushed hard, her ass gyrating, her cunt muscles contracting rapidly on his hard shaft, her breasts grinding into his chest, her hands rumpling his hair.
He gripped her waist to slow her down, alarmed by the surge in his groin, his control dissolving with each twist of her hips. He tried vainly to push her away, certain a little air between them would restore his pounding prick. "Wait," he pleaded, his voice a strangled groan. "Wait, baby, I-"
"I can't," she sobbed. "I can't." She bounced up and down on his lap frantically, her ass slapping on his thighs, her thigh muscles strained with the awkward position, pulling his hair, her convulsing body forcing him to come with her.
"Noo," he protested feebly. It was too late, his prick was jetting into her, unconnected to his mind, exploding its steady stream of sperm deep inside her. His arms circled her, hugging her to him tightly, his mind still frustrated by the speed of his orgasm, but his body giving into the waves of pleasure rippling through him, draining his strength.
Her body crumpled against him, easing the strain in her legs, pushing his still pumping cock half way out of her wet cunt, not caring, exhausted, unwilling to speak for fear she would clue him in to her act.
He thrust his hips upward weakly to reinsert his cock, but her weight was more than he could handle. His dick flopped out, sticky and wet against his hot thighs. He felt oddly uncomfortable. He had come, but it reminded him of coitus interruptus, yanking his cock out of young girls, spewing his seed across rugs, car seats, wherever, in the days before the pill had made its debut. It had been a long time, he thought, suddenly feeling depressed. He sat quietly, his hands resting lightly on her back, fighting back the desire to push her off his lap.
As though she had read his mind, she suddenly raised her head and lowered one leg to the floor. She climbed off his lap sliding her skirt down her thighs, her movement gracefully natural. She turned away from him and walked over to the couch, picking up her cigarettes as she passed the desk.
The doctor looked down at his prick, lolling between his legs, shining with her pussy juice. He hadn't lost control like that in a long time. He hoped it wasn't a sign of age creeping up. Premature ejaculation was a common syndrome of middle-aged men. God, he hated that phrase, middle-aged. He pulled up his pants swiftly, an overwhelming desire to conceal the offending member swept over him. He yanked the zipper shut and sat back down in his chair, his eyes resting on the travel folders. The trip would cure everything. He just needed a good rest and some exercise. The only muscle he'd been using lately was his cock and the strain was beginning to show.
Gloria' inhaled deeply on her cigarette, watching him from lowered eyelashes thoughtfully. He wasn't happy, but she was in no mood herself to cope with his. Cautiously, she spoke softly, "I'm sorry, Jon." A helpless expression fixed on her face, she shrugged weakly. "It's just, all of it's just more than I can take at one time. I'll make it up to you."
Her voice startled him. He had forgotten she was there. What was she sorry about? He'd come. Come too fast. Did she blame herself for that? "There's nothing to be sorry about," he said peevishly, glaring at-her.
Gloria dragged again on her cigarette, forcing back her own irritation and desire to snap at him. I've got to get out of here. "Jon," she said suddenly, her eyes dark and luminous, "I'm wiped out. Can I have the rest of the day off?"
He frowned, the cloud of depression growing darker around him. He wanted to be alone, but at the same time, he didn't want her to go. He wante." her outside the office in case he needed her. The contradiction was inexplicable. He needed no one, but he didn't want her to go. Silently, he reached for his appointment book to check the rest of the day's roster. A dull afternoon, nothing interesting till 4:00. Little Rosemary then, a petite girl with the biggest pair of tits he'd ever seen. They were almost freak-like, he mused. Her husband wanted her pregnant, not so they could have a child, but so he could milk her. He vowed once they were started, he would never let them dry up again. Rosemary was terrified.
He smiled, feeling better. He would try milking them himself. To get her over her obsession, of course. He would figure out how to do it while Mrs. Epstein whimpered on the c uch; Poor woman, he wished there was more he could do, but there was something about her that his cock refused to respond to.
Gloria bit her. lower lip anxiously, relieved to see him smile. That was better than this deadly silence. What was he smiling about. Oh, yes, she remembered. Rosemary Guilford. That would liven up his afternoon, all right. But it wouldn't do her any good. That was one tape she'd miss. The group flashed in her mind. She had to do something and she couldn't do it here or sitting out at her desk. She crushed her cigarette out. I'll count to ten and then ask again.
"Do you feel all right?" the doctor asked suddenly, his tone solicitous and tender.
Gloria smiled broadly, her eyes lighting up happily, "I'm fine. It's just that I'm so excited about everything, I want to take a long walk and clear my head. And then," she giggled, "then maybe I'll go on a mad shopping spree!"
The doctor smiled appreciatively. So that was it. Just like a woman. Give them a credit card and they can't sit still. She wanted to go out and buy her wardrobe immediately afraid that he'd take the cards back and the vacation itself would turn out to be just a passing whim.
"Okay, princess," he agreed warmly. "But remember, nothing white and nothing that doesn't look absolutely ravishing. A new costume for every night. Promise?"
Gloria laughed, her self-confidence renewed. "Every night, love? I don't think the airplane will take a steamer trunk in its luggage compartment, jdo you?" She stood up, walking slowly to the door, her hips swaying suggestively, the white nylon skirt taut across her generous buttocks, the crack beneath almost visible, her smooth thighs brushing together.
"There is one white thing you can buy, on second thought. But not for the trip," he added, his smile teasing, but his eyes serious as he stared at her.
Gloria turned at the door, her hand resting on the knob, her body poised, every curve inviting. "What?" she queried.
"A pair of panties for the group session. Those poor ladies have enough problems without worrying about their husbands lusting after you."
Gloria laughed merrily, .covering her cunt with one hand. "It's just as well. I wouldn't want you to find out you don't enjoy other men lusting after my body till after we're-on the airplane! I'll see you tomorrow, love." She blew him a kiss and left the inner office, closing the door behind her.
At her desk, she shut the tape recorder off and grabbed the tapes, shoving them into her handbag. She covered the machine and looked carefully around for any evidence. She hated to leave her desk unguarded, but she had to be alone to figure out what to do. Besides, she consoled herself, with the Guilford broad coming in, it's not-likely he'll be snooping around in here..
Satisfied that everything was safe, Gloria took her coat from the closet, staring without seeing at her image in the floor-length mirror on the inside door. Home, she decided. Get out of this crummy uniform, have a drink, and think it all out. She shut the closet door and turned to face Mrs. Epstein. Jon was right. She was creepy. She hadn't even heard her come in.
"Hello, dear," Mrs. Epstein babbled eagerly. "Are you going somewhere?"
No, Gloria thought. I just wanted to sit in my coat for a change. She smiled sweetly at Mrs. Epstein and nodded her head. "Yes, I'm not feeling well and I'm going home for the day. But I'll announce you to the doctor first."
She raised her eyes to meet Jon's, who stood silently in the doorway making faces at Mrs. Epstein's back.
"You mean the doctor and I will be all alone today?" Mrs. Epstein's eyes opened wide.
Gloria burst out laughing and Jon ducked out of sight in the hallway. "Don't worry, Mrs. Epstein," Gloria gasped, "you're perfectly safe. Why, I'm alone with him lots of times."
She grabbed her bag from her desk and sailed out the office door, her spirits lighter and her head clear.
The doctor waved good-bye wanly, forcing himself to go in and greet Mrs. Epstein. He envied Gloria's departure. He had a sudden desire for a long walk in the cold air. Or was it a nap he wanted? There was a dull ache in his back. Think Rosemary, he told himself. She's ripe.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Epstein," Jon Miller said, his voice bland, his eyes puzzled. The crazy woman was standing in the middle of the room, still in her coat, twisting her hands nervously together. "What's the matter?" he asked coolly.
"I didn't know we were going to be all alone," she stammered, her shoulders hunched over.
A look of disbelief flashed across his face and hiding his smile, he stared hard at her, "Mrs. Epstein," he said sternly, "I am not going to fuck you."
A spark of excitement kindled in her gray eyes, the naughty word tingling in her ears.
Why, she almost looks interesting, he observed with surprise. Perhaps there was more to her than he thought. "Would you like me to fuck you?" he asked in the same authoritative tone.
Mrs. Epstein blushed, staring speechlessly.
"Come in the office," he said, his tone gentler. "And we'll discuss the idea." He turned, walking quickly to the inner office, a familiar twinge in his groin. There might be something worth rejuvenating there after all, he mused.
6
Gloria flopped naked on her bed, her body relaxed, the tension eased, pounded out by a steaming hot shower. She sipped slowly from a tall gin and tonic, inhaling on a cigarette between sips, the cold liquid erasing the harsh smoke. For a moment, she gave in to the marvelous sensation of freedom that comes to a nine to fiver lying home in bed on a weekday.
Away from the doctor and the office, her alternatives were clear. The marathon session was out of the question. He had set the scene up on the egotistical or maniacal, either was plausible, premise that his skill to lead them was greater than their despair, and he had forewarned them that their common denominator was a sexual problem. In twenty-four hours, as the resistance and defenses wore thin through fatigue and mounting frustration, one of the six would reveal himself or herself. That would be all that was necessary to set the others off. Even if the doctor's activities were somehow miraculously unmentioned, the tapes would be useless. Their value lay in the secrecy of their content-how important it was to the individual that it remain secret. Once exposed, it would be entirely different matter.
The only practical solution, she decided, was to attack first. Neal Welles was still first choice. Vivian had said enough about him during her early sessions to convince Gloria that his positive self-image was essential to his career. A known sexual fetish like his, bizarre to the straight world, could destroy his career. He was wealthy enough to instantly accommodate her demands in cold hard cash.
She smiled lazily-even better, he would hardly attend the marathon session while he was being blackmailed! If he worked out, and there was no reason to doubt that he would not, she could move in on the others before the session. They would all cancel out and while the doctor was figuring out ' what happened, she'd collect and disappear. She knew the availability of cash from them was unquestionable.
Gloria drained her glass and reached for the telephone directory. Higgins, Morris & Welles, there it was. She giggled, sounds like a bunch of old drunks. She dialed the number confidently, "Mr. Welles, please." Before the operator could ask, she added in a low, throaty whisper, "A friend. It's a personal call."
The low, husky charm in his voice surprised her. She had expected a professional tone, brusque and suspicious. "Mr. Welles?" she asked, the sensually provocative tone still present.
"Mmmmm," he answered, "I said, 'Welles here'. "
Slightly perplexed, Gloria ignored his comment and said, "I'd like to meet with you for a drink this evening. I have something that I believe is very important to you that I would like to discuss." Her voice was firm, but still suggestive.
Neal was silent for a moment and then he chuckled softly, "Are you Hall's wife?"
"No, I'm not," she answered, a trace of annoyance in her voice. "The matter I wish to discuss concerns you."
"Hmmm," Neal said slowly, "why not? If the body's as good as the voice, it might be interesting."
Gloria's eyes opened wide. Good God, she had never considered the possibility of other women in his life! Somehow it didn't fit. Vivian was a jerk, but she would have mentioned any prolonged absences and men who made the scene with other women always left telltale signs. In her state, Vivian wouldn't have missed them. Besides, she reasoned, if he had a woman on the side, he wouldn't have needed to do his underwear number with Vivian.
"The matter I wish to discuss," Gloria said icily, "is quite serious."
Neal sighed, "Isn't everything, my dear? All right, The Library at 6:30. How will I know you?"
Gloria snickered, pleased that he was falling into line. For a moment, she had been afraid he wouldn't come. "Don't worry, I'll know you," she answered pointedly. "Six-thirty it is, then. Good-bye, Mr. Welles." She hung up the phone without hearing his reply.
His voice was disconcerting. That was the trouble with hearing too much about someone before you met them. You had a preconceived idea that never matched the real person. He was probably a good lawyer, she thought. He had the kind of voice that could reassure you that everything would be all right, even though you were standing in front of the judge awaiting sentencing.
Gloria raised her head and glanced at the clock: It was only 2:30. She could go shopping, but she didn't want to arrive at The Library laden with packages. She was going there to do business and her appearance was important. He had to be convinced she meant what she said.
She got up and made herself another drink in the tiny closet kitchenette, struggling with the ice cube tray's impossibly small plastic boxes. "Someday," she grunted, "I'll push a button and the cubes will spew out."
She stretched out again on the bed with a magazine, but after reading the same paragraph twice she threw it aside. Her nervousness was building up. She had still not figured out how she would present the situation. She kept hearing his voice clearly and premonition that she should not prepare anything at all. That instead she should rely on her instincts. But the nervousness grew stronger, a simultaneous self-anger building beside it.
She forced her mind to focus on Jon, but even the palatial hotel refused to define itself in her fluttering thoughts. Who was with him now? She couldn't remember. Another gray one. But at four, Rosemary would be there. That was a tape she would have liked to have for home use. Perhaps I ought to call him up, she thought, smiling malevolently, about 4:30. That would probably be just about right. Her big tits would be bared, his cock would be ready, and the sound of the telephone alone would dissolve her.
Why don't you play one of Vivian's tapes? she thought. A little inspiration for the meeting. But the idea of hearing Vivian's voice and seeing her in her denim suit was suddenly repugnant. Neal's voice had been too charming.
She closed her eyes and a picture of Neal formed slowly in her mind. She stood at a crap table, the dice in her hands, rolling them back and forth in her palms, her fingers glittering with sapphire stars and blood red rubies, willing the dice to surface as she commanded.
A full-length, black velvet gown gloved her voluptuous figure, liquid smooth around her waist, flowing over her hips, swirling around her ankles, her sandaled feet sunk into the fur-like carpet below. The top of the gown barely covered her breasts, the rich black striking against the creamy white of her skin.
Her dark eyes were coals, willing the dice in her hands. The shimmering frosted shadows over the eyelids matched the glint on her fingers. Mountains of red hair framed her striking face, her beauty electrifying the awed silence of the others around the table awaiting her throw breathlessly.
Beside her Neal watched, his expression arrogant, thoroughly enjoying the crowd's hypnotic response to her act, secure in the knowledge that he possessed her, that he, and only he, could go beyond her beauty and arouse her to heights of passion that stripped away her untouchable mask. He wore his tailored tux with the sophisticated ease of the very rich, moving with the fine coordination of an athlete. His dark tan gave his strong face a sensual quality that removed him from the locker room. Despite his small smile of amusement as she played with her audience, a certain cold shrewdness emanated from his being, and only she knew what that coldness was capable of doing.
She was his toy, despite her ability to captivate the men around her. He took her how he wanted her and when he wanted her and she was helpless to resist. He moved closer, his thigh brushing hers and she knew he would take her again soon. He wouldn't fuck her in front of them, but he would make it absolutely clear that that was exactly what he was going to do when they left the room. And she would leave at his command.
Gloria moved her left arm across her breasts, fondling the right breast, gently rolling the nipple in her fingers as the crap game drama unfolded in her head. Her right hand cupped her clit, forming a pocket of heat over the trigger of the passion that was steadily mounting in her body.
"You're going to blow it, baby," he said softly, his. voice husky with sex. "Two tits, watch." His hand slipped around her waist, sliding up under her right breast, squeezing it gently, as all the onlookers' eyes stared at his hand.
She blushed, standing motionless to combat the embarrassment washing over her, the heat of his palm burning through the velvet, branding her body with his stamp of ownership. "Seven come eleven," she said, her voice shaky. "Not snake eyes. The dice are hot tonight."
"Snake eyes?" he snickered, stepping directly behind her, his other hand under her left breast, holding them up in his palms, his fingers gripping tighter, aiming the covered nipples at the audience.
A chill went down her spine as her nipples hardened, solidly outlined beneath the black velvet stretched by his hold. "Seven eleven," she repeated, her eyes black with passion, her body rigid, fighting his public assault.
"Two tits," he answered, his deep voice louder now, "When you roll, it's two tits. That's what's hot tonight," his eyes were locked to the croupier's, who stared at him with undisguised envy, lust written all over his swarthy features, his heavy lips parted with desire.
The middle finger of the hand cupped over pussy, flexed, wriggling its way into the soft furry folds of her cunt lips, slowly circling the wet, swollen, reshaped mound, refusing to give into the craving itch for pressure, suspending the impassioned pressure pouring through her. She pinched the nipples harder, her hand moving from breast to breast, till her nipples ached for more pressure, begged for her hands to grind the flesh, flattening the erect buds.
The women around them were stunned, their eyes on him, two with unmistakable desire to be in her place. She glanced at them coldly, he .was hers, but the ravenous eyes of the men renewed her embarrassment.
"No!" she cried out, flinging the dice across the thick felt lawn, her hands outstretched in protest. v
The dice clattered, rolling over one another, striking the back wall, two eyes on each. A rush of air echoed over the table as the audience exhaled, all eyes on the pair of deuces. His hands were on her shoulders, sliding the straps of her gown to the very edge of her arms, his head bent forward, staring down at the white swell of her breasts. "Four tits," he whispered, whistling with appreciation.
The croupier passed the crop across the table, depositing the dice in front of her. "Four to win," he intoned, "the house rides with the lady."
"And seven dismounts her," Neal laughed, the "dis" barely audible and all eyes turned on her breasts now, the black velvet barely covering the erect nipples.
Instinctively, she grabbed the dice and rolled them frantically in her palms, her arms raised to cover her breasts, to shield them from the hungry eyes, his hands on her shoulders reminding her that if he chose he would let them see, his fingers tapping lightly on her collarbones, inching their way down her chest, contemplating their move.
He had done it, too. At the pool. He had forced her to come to the pool one morning and the treacherous sun waited for her vulnerable body. She had lathered herself with the most expensive sun cream she could buy, but she knew it was hopeless, she would blister in minutes.
There were hundreds of people gathered around the pool and all eyes were on her as she stepped out of her full-length robe towel, hating him for subjecting her to the dreaded sun. Suddenly, he was an angel, concerned about her skin's exposure. Grabbing the sun cream, he poured great gobs over her back, the lotion running down her chest.
His hands swished the fluid rapidly over her shoulders, as he stood behind her, his hands reaching down inside the cups of her scanty bikini top, coating her breasts with cream, his eyes watching his busy hands studiously. And around them, all the other eyes watched as he lifted each breast out of the cup to be sure he had reached the underside.
She had closed her eyes, the heat of the sun worse than an oven, unable to meet the incredulous stares around her as his hands made love to her with the sun cream.
He knelt behind her, rolling the brief panties down to soap her full buttocks with the same careful eye, coating every inch of skin, soliticiously rolling the panties back up, his hands between her legs, nudging her thighs to open wider to get into the cracks, under the elastic.
The finger on her pussy moved faster now, each time the explosive tension mounted to the precipice, she slowed, enjoying the iantasy as much as the throbbing desire for orgasm, not wanting it to end. Each time she slowed, he changed his posture, pouring more sun cream in his palms.
Still on his knees, he was in front of her now, his fingers under the waist of her bikini bottoms, roving back and forth across her lower abdomen. His oily hands embraced her waist, sliding across her flat stomach, and his jewel-encrusted pinkie ring neatly caught the single hook that held the bikini top together. Her heavy, lubricated breasts sprang free, shimmering in the sun, blinding and dazzling the ringsiders.
"Whoops," he murmured, staring up at her bared breasts in feigned amazement. Laughing, he grabbed her robe, before she could reach it, leaving her several anguished seconds more on display as he got to his feet and draped the robe over her shoulders.
His cock was a solid lump in his bikini bathing suit, the elastic stretched taut over the bulge, and now the men were openly leering.
Smiling smugly, his cock nudged her ass from behind, simulating its entry as he held her in his arms, whispering in her ear, "I'm sorry, dear. I don't think the sun's a good idea for you, anyway. I've got another idea."
Her expression tortured as she faced the leering audience, Gloria's finger gave way, unable to stop, rubbing frantically, the orgasm exploded inside, roaring through her body, the waves washing away the poolside figures, the gaming table long gone. As her hand slowed its frenzied action, her pussy itself numb, the glorious relief drowned the tension in her muscles.
She lay still for several minutes, luxuriating in the peace of mind and body that accompanied the extended orgasm. After awhile, her energy returned. Back to work, she thought, rolling to her side. She drained the drink glass with distaste, the ice had watered the bubbly mixture and the liquid was flat. She lit a cigarette quickly, dragging hard to replace the unpleasant taste in her mouth.
It was almost five o'clock, she noted with surprise. She laughed, mocking herself. Nothing like a new fantasy to make the time go faster. She'd better get a move on it. She waved her index finger at herself, giggling, "Did you have as much fun as Jon today?-I'll bet you had more!"
A half hour later, Gloria surveyed herself critically in the mirror. Perfect, she concluded, smiling at her attractive image. She had almost worn a pants suit, but at the last minute realized she was catering to her fantasy rather than the real Neal. A reminder of femininity would be necessary, she reasoned, and dressed in a suit with mini-skirt and a jacket that revealed ample cleavage, tossing the underblouse aside.
The brown suit gave a hint of business-a career woman, but its fit-underlining a sensuous woman-was not a choice of the liberated career woman. She smiled smugly at herself. Gloria knew all her assets and unfailingly used them. The bar where they were meeting would be filled with fatigued high-pressured executives who would have a hard time deciding if she were a high-priced hooker or one of them. She would be the last to identify herself. Not that she would be asked.
She sailed out the door, her walk suggestive but sure. She wasn't worried about what she would say or how she should approach her reason for meeting. She would play it by ear. In a way, she was glad Neal had so easily entered her fantasy. No one measured up to a fantasy, at least not in her life. That made the reality so much easier to deal with.
Settled in the backseat of a cab, Gloria's mind wandered. There was always the possibility that he would come early and be lying in wait for her, seizing her up before she arrived. If he were as self-contained as his wife described him, it was an excellent possibility. But that action didn't match the voice. No, he would come in looking. She would know it was Neal immediately.
Inside The Library, Gloria settled into a dim corner with bookcases behind and beside her, the next table far enough away to afford privacy. She ordered an extra dry martini on the rocks, a drink she could easily dawdle over. She glanced at the books beside her and began to laugh. From a distance, the book lined walls of the bar were marvelously attractive. Close up, the Good Will bargain basement of cost per pound rather than quality was evident. Oh well, she thought, at least they looked read.
She smiled when she saw him. He wore a red carnation in his lapel-a nice touch, she grudgingly admitted. He was not the Neal of her fantasy, but there was a definite air of arrogance about him. Suddenly, his fetish seemed incongruous and the thought occurred to her that Vivian might have invented the whole story!
Nervously, she raised her drink in a half salute to him and sipped. He stood in the doorway for a moment, studying her thoughtfully. He wore tinted glasses, the frames dark and heavy, lending an air of being a prop rather than a necessity. They hid his face as he considered her.
She was ravishing, he noted with surprise. Sexy, but there was something about her. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was there. His mind, which normally ran with computer-like efficiency, coding, slotting, and filing each person he met, automatically placed her in the in basket. He would see. He returned her salute, smiling casually, and walked toward her.
His gait was easy, athletic, his suit fit well, and the tie was mod. Yes, she thought, he's a lawyer. And the kind you'd trust. Surprised, she realized she would trust him, just looking at him, even though she knew. Did he know that? No, she decided. A person with an extreme fetish would never believe others could accept it. At least, I hope not, she said to herself, wriggling her toes inside her shoes, the only acknowledgement of her sudden nervousness.
Still smiling, he reached the table and pulled out the chair adjacent to her. He sat down, his eyes meeting hers, and said, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure-" His voice had the same sensual quality as he had had on the telephone, but now alarmingly intimate.
"No, you haven't," Gloria answered coolly. "Eve Austin." The name had flashed in her mind and she smiled, amused. That had been her pseudonym for picking up men in bars years ago, before she had gone to work for Jon. Recalling it was somehow propitious.
Neal nodded silently, his mind searching for the name, but found no connection. He flagged the waiter and ordered a double Scotch and another martini.
A sense of ease enveloped her in his presence. The waiter's response to his order was efficient and respectful. It was hard for Gloria to retain the image of Neal in ladies' underwear. He was too masculine.
The drinks were served and Neal lit a slender cigar. Folding his arms on the table, the cigar raised like a pointer, he said, "Well, Miss Austin, what's the nature of our urgent meeting? Divorce? Blackmail? Scandal?" He paused, his smile smug, the gray smoke of the cigar wreathing overhead.
Startled, Gloria stared at him. How did he knew? She wished desperately that she hadn't come, hadn't contacted him at all. What he represented was suddenly a fantasy of her own creation. An impossible fantasy and she was out of her league.
"Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said smoothly. "After all, my specialty is corporation law, except for helping out a few friends now and then, and I assume you've been sent by a friend. You hardly look like the type who would be wrangling with a corporation. Unless, of course, it's a consumer problem, in which case you could hardly afford my services."
Relieved, Gloria recovered her composure. His answer fitted his wife's picture of him-the self-contained man who set the stage. She fought back the urge to tell him the question was whether or not he could afford her services. Instead, she smiled approvingly and said, her voice low and throaty, "Please call me Eve," she smiled warmly, restoring the intimacy between them.
"Of course, it doesn't have to be your divorce," he answered, matching her smile, but his eyes studying her carefully, warily. "It could be the age-old triangle, which is the lot of high paid lawyers. Potential scandal opens and empties a wallet faster than anything else I can think of at the moment."
"I certainly hope so," Gloria answered, sipping her drink slowly, reaching out for a cigarette.
"Empties?" he asked, extending his lighter to her cigarette, the smile gone, his expression professional-the lawyer seeking the details objectively.
"Thank you," she murmured, dragging on the cigarette, "No, opens is the word. But there's no scandal-yet."
Neal studied her in silence, waiting for her to continue. He disliked messy divorces and mud-slinging trials. He preferred the impersonality of corporations paying fees on cases with enormous sums from anonymous sources-cases which seldom saw the inside of a court room. He made it a practice himself to never seek advice from friends, except for an occasional professional reference.
His silence did not disturb Gloria. It increased her confidence. She decided she had the upper hand and she would go all the way, bluntly. Shocking him, if possible, would be the best tactic. She would keep the offensive. "And," she said evenly, "divorce is not involved, at least not with my role."
Neal shrugged and drained his scotch. "Really, Eve," he said, a hint of impatience in his voice, "I don't like guessing games. Do you want to get to the point?"
"Of course, you're a busy man," she said mockingly.
Neal frowned, annoyed with her game. "I really don't have time for nonsense," he said firmly, reaching for his wallet.
"No, my dear," Gloria said quickly, grasping his arm. "Actually, I've come to discuss sex."
Neal burst out laughing, and raised his hands to the table, his eyes gleaming. "That's more like it. It isn't every day a corporation lawyer gets to talk about sex with a potential client, especially one as beautiful as yourself." He flagged the waiter again, indicating another round, and turned his attention back to Gloria, still smiling.
"It's come to my attention," she continued, her voice low and husky, her eyes challenging, "that you engage in certain sexual practices."
Goddamn, he thought, she is a hooker! A classy one at that. His cock throbbed inside his shorts. It had been a long time, he mused, and she was some piece of ass. The ache in his balls said whatever her price, it would be worth it.
Discreetly, the waiter served the fresh drinks and vanished swiftly. Neal's eyes stared into hers intently, a small smile on his lips, he answered softly, "Mmmmm. And I gather you, uh, appreciate my sexual practices?"
Her lips twitched faintly, suppressing her smile.
She had forgotten he hadn't had any in a while. He thought she was propositioning him! Well, I am, she mused. "Yes, I appreciate them," she paused, choosing her words carefully. "And I appreciate their, shall we say, secrecy?"
Neal shifted in his seat, his knee, grazing hers under the table, leaning forward resting on his folded arms. "Secrecy?" He chuckled. "Obviously, they're not too secret."
"They're not exactly public knowledge, are they?" Gloria shot back, irritated by his answer. She had expected him to question her about how she knew, not to react this way.
Suddenly, what she was up to hit him. She wasn't a hooker. The bitch was proposing blackmail! He laughed till his stomach ached, taking his glasses off to wipe them dry, no longer looking at her.
Gloria sat frozen, her dark eyes revealing nothing of the turmoil inside her stomach. Why was he laughing? Was he mad? Wearing ladies' underwear didn't exactly fit his image. She wondered suddenly if he wore them all the time. Did he have a pair on right now as he laughed? As he laughed at her? What was he laughing at?
Neal replaced his glasses and leaned forward, grabbing her hand in his, staring intently at her. "No, my dear. You're right. They aren't exactly public knowledge. But if they were, do you really think it would matter? Listen, Eve, if indeed that's your name, if you've come to me with a blackmail scheme about my sexual practices, chase that silly idea right out of your beautiful head. If, on the other hand, you'd like to indulge my sexual practices for a price, I'm more than interested." He squeezed her hand in his, waiting for her reply.
Stunned, Gloria stared at him, her mouth half open. She sputtered a weak "But-"
Sighing wearily, Neal smiled indulgently at her. "My dear, just tell me to whom you plan to reveal my sexual practices? And even assuming you had, let's say, some important clients of mine in mind, do you really think they would believe you?"
Gloria glared angrily at him, pulling her hand away. "I have proof!" she shouted defiantly.
"Shhh," he whispered conspiratorially, "if you make them public now, you'll never get a cent," he smiled mockingly.
Gloria blushed. He had rattled her and she had lost her cool. Stupid, she chided herself, reaching for her drink.
"That's better," Neal said, smiling smugly. She was beautiful and the aching twinge in his balls returned. He would have her, he decided. Why not?
His voice low and authoritative, he said, "Do you know the penalties for extortion?"
Gloria's eyes sparked with anger, her nostrils flaring, her voice harsh, "You wouldn't dare. Then it would be public."
"Your penalty for attempted extortion, Eve, is a piece of ass. And I would dare. What do you think my story would be to the arresting officers?" His eyes were shrewd, watching her closely he signalled the waiter for the check.
Defeated, Gloria stared at him blankly. Of course, he would. And if he had her arrested on an extortion charge, regardless of what he said it was about, Jon would know. But what if he took her to bed and then called the cops? "Is that all?" she asked weakly.
"Yes," he answered, dropping a large bill on the table. "I'm not a vengeful man. And I haven't been laid in a while, which you probably know, too. You must tell me sometime how you and Vivian met," he added, rising from the table.
Wordlessly, Gloria rose and slipped into her coat, following him out the door. On the sidewalk, she wanted to spurt down the street, but a sudden vision of him yelling, "Stop, thief!" forced her meekly into the cab he hailed.
The trip to the hotel was a blur, lights flashing by, as she stared fixedly out the window. She wasn't even sure where they were, but he did not stop at the reservation desk. Did he have a love nest too? Or had he planned it all in advance?
Neal dropped his briefcase on the floor and flung his coat on the dresser, turning to face her, grinning. He was enjoying her discomfort enormously. Her attraction to him had doubled in the brief cab trip. He was in a sense raping her, although she was not physically fighting him. Her very passiveness was a challenge to him. Could he bypass her cold silence and arouse the passion she was deliberately forcing back? For the first time in a long time, his prick was fully erect without the aid of the fragile fabrics which removed his mind from the business world and transported him to the intimacy of the bedroom.
He unbuckled his belt and opened his fly swiftly, dropping his pants. Gloria stared down at his erection. His sturdy prick stared back, the helmet-like head meeting her eyes, the centered slit a dark crevice in the maroon-shaded cap. The pubic hair at the base was a rich brown, the hairs curling over one another loosely, his balls hanging below.
Unwilling to distract her by bending over, he struggled out of his shoes, his cock still pointing at her, and kicked his pants aside. He stood erect, his hands on his hips daring her to express what was going on in her head. In the back of his mind, he considered the facts. She was not a friend of Vivian's. He was sure of that. A hairdresser? No, Vivian hadn't had anything done to herself lately, and not intimately enough to invite that kind of confidence.
You've been had, baby, her mind said as she stared at his erection. A good sized cock and certainly not swathed in ladies' underwear. But it just didn't fit, she argued. Vivian was simply incapable of that kind of tale. But now Neal was her problem. The sooner she got out of that hotel room, away from him, the better. As long as she was there, she would never figure out what happened.
Gloria shrugged, pulling off her coat, folding it carefully on a nearby armchair. "It's been had before," she said icily, "and it'll be had again."
Neal grinned, "But, Eve, you said you knew my sexual practices!" he exclaimed teasingly. "Not only that, you said you appreciated them. Remember?"
Startled, Gloria looked at him and then lowered her eyes as she realized he had done it again. Without looking at him, she unbuttoned her jacket and slipped out of her skirt. If he wanted a whore, she would play whore. She was surprised at the sticky warmth in the crotch of her pantyhose as she rolled them down. Couldn't deny it was a healthy-looking cock, could you, she said silently to her warm pussy. Getting worse than Jon, she thought.
She left her panties on and walked to the side of the double bed, yanking back the spread and blanket beneath. "I assume," she said haughtily, dropping down on the bed pointing to her panties, "that I should leave these on."
Neal unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "It's kind of hard to fuck through them, isn't it? Certainly, you take the pill?"
Ignoring him, Gloria rolled on her side and reached for her bag to extract her cigarettes. His eyes roamed the curve of her full ass lustily. Beautiful body, he thought. All woman. And you're going to make it all woman. His cock throbbed in agreement, his body twitching involuntarily, the desire for contact surging through him. He stripped quickly and got into bed beside her, dimming the lamp on the bedside table.
Gloria lay still on her back, the lit cigarette held over the ashtray, aware physically of his presence and enjoying it. She stared up at the ceiling, fighting the sexual desire rapidly spreading through her. Let him put it in, spurt, and pull it out, she told herself. Don't give him anything at all. Fuck him. But what if the real problem were that Vivian couldn't satisfy him? What if he were one of those fuck all night? There you go again, she warned herself. You've been fucked over once by him and now on the grounds you know best, you're afraid he's going to do it again. Lie back and enjoy it. He's not-likely to make any stink if he has himself a good time, is he?
He lay on his side beside her, resting his head on one hand, his other hand stroked the swell of her breasts lightly, his touch soft and warm, gliding lightly over the nipples. "Shall we start with my breast fetish?" he said softly, the source of her knowledge clicking in the back of his head.
Stop, she commanded. He doesn't know anything. It's all conjecture. Hang loose. Smiling faintly, still staring at the ceiling, she said, "Fetish?" Her voice was indifferent, but the hint of what's a fetish was there.
Sliding his hand under one breast, he pushed it up, leaning over her chest. "Come, my dear, you know what a fetish is." He lowered his head and nibbled gently on her nipple, his tongue twisting around the soft bud, prodding it to erection.
She closed her eyes, his mouth on her nipple disconcerting. His touch was gentle, but there. The soft warmth in his hands coupled with his controlled, intimate voice gave her an odd feeling of comfort. She wanted him, but she wanted to bask in his strength and his warmth too. What the hell about him had sent Vivian to a shrink anyway?
His mouth moved slowly across her chest, the hot tongue tracing wide wet circles, his hot breath chilling her warm flesh. A strong hand slid down her belly, gently kneading the swell of her hips. He pulled lightly at the elastic band of her panties and she raised her hips to accommodate him. As he pushed the panties down, he lowered his head, his tongue tickling her ribs.
Gloria squirmed under his tongue, her hand on the back of his neck, tugging his head back. His fingers buried into her hot wet crotch and he laughed, raising his head. "Why, Eve," he whispered, his voice teasing, "it's all ready. All moist and ready. And so soon."
"Mmmmm," Gloria answered, annoyed at him, but the desire for him mounting steadily inside her. She pushed his" head down, directing his hot mouth to her volatile pussy.
He obliged, his tongue sweeping over her flattened stomach, tracing the perimeter of the triangle as he scrambled over, resting his weight on his elbows, his solid prick over her breasts, his bent knees inching backward at her sides, searching for her mouth, his tongue promising reciprocity.
Gloria sighed as she raised her hands to grasp his cock and guide it to her mouth. She hated sixty-nine. To her the two pleasures of giving and receiving detracted from one another. But now she was at his command.
She pulled the hard pole under and he hunched his ass backward till his prick was over her waiting mouth. Half-heartedly grasping the shaft, her warm lips closed over the thick cockhead and she sucked slowly, the excitement of his voice and hands and tongue gone now with his body looming overhead, pinning her to the bed with his cock and his tongue.
His tongue dove into her furry pussy lips, but there was no response in her thighs. He thrust his cock down and she took a little more inside her partially slack mouth, her tongue blocking further entrance as she sucked lightly, her clit almost numb to his probing tongue.
He swung to the side swiftly, his prick dropping easily from her lips. He sat upright, one hand grasping her thigh tightly. "What's the matter?" he demanded, his voice harsh. Her sudden physical dropout filled him with a strange fury, his cock harder than ever, his balls tight.
Gloria stared up at him in the dim light, her smile disdainful. "Look, man," she answered, her voice taunting, "you want a blow job? I'll give you a blow job. But let's not play games about it."
His eyes flashing with anger, he swung over her, pinning her to the bed, his hands gripping her shoulders, one leg wedged between her legs. "No, that's not what I want, cunt," he sneered. "Open up! All the way!"
Their eyes locked in mutual fury, he bent his knee, digging into her thigh, forcing her legs apart, as she struggled to hide the pain, her fingernails digging into his back.
His grip on her shoulders tightened and she winced, relaxing her fingers. "Wider, baby, wider," he hissed.
Her left leg spread out, reaching to the side of the bed. He smiled cruelly, rolling over between her legs, his hard cock pressing against her pussy. He rose, kneeling between her legs, his hands under her ass, raising her cunt from the bed, positioning his cock, his eyes on the furry red mound. In one sharp plunge, his cock entered, ramming down the hot canal, pulling it to him as he raced down inside.
Gloria moaned, her face contorted, as his prick split her wide open inside. Her legs gripped his back, her hands clutched his biceps, holding him tightly, as the violence of his entry washed over both of them, he motionless, his eyes closed surrendering to the grasp of her pussy on his hungry cock, the passion rising faster and faster. It would not take much.
Catching his breath, he drew back, his hands digging into the crack of her ass. He rammed forward, hard and fast, his cock buried to the hilt. Back and forth, faster and faster, his balls slapping into her ass, the come pounding in his joint, as the effort to hold back as long as possible made him oblivious to her writhing, moaning body beneath him, her own orgasm coming in shuddering waves, her body thrusting to meet him, to take more and more of him, although there was no more to take.
He came, hurling his body down on her, pinning her to the bed with his weight, his body jerked sporadically with each last spurt deep inside the long sweltering tunnel.
The passion receded slowly and his weight grew heavier. Silently, Gloria pushed gently on his shoulders. He rolled over qn his back, his breath heavy, his eyes closed, their bodies not touching. A feeling of self-disgust permeated the physical relief in her gut, the air in the room heavy and suffocating.
Silently, she reached for a cigarette, striking the match hard, her face impassive in the flare. "Is that all?" she asked quietly, her voice indifferent.
He sighed, his mind focusing again on the body beside him, searching for something to say. He no longer wanted to hurt her. She was the best lay he'd had in some time. But there was really nothing to say and he knew he would probably not see her again. Whatever ploy had been on her mind, he had successfully destroyed.
Gloria dressed rapidly without looking at him. She snatched up her purse and headed for the door.
"Just a minute!" Neal shouted, his voice cold.
She froze at the door, her hand twitching nervously on the door knob, her back rigid.
He stood behind her naked, his spent prick dangling between his hard thighs, smiling now, his expression denying his tone. He dropped a folded hundred dollar bill into the cleavage of her jacket, "All released prisoners get carfare home."
Her face flushed, Gloria opened the door, half running down the hall in search of the elevator.
Neal sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for the phone, dialing quickly. "Mac? I've got a special job for you. I need some information by morning. I don't care what it costs."
7
The alarm clock buzzed a long time before Gloria reached out to turn it off, her head fuzzy, a pit in her stomach forming slowly as the night before slowly returned. I can't, she thought, I can't go in there yet. Her throat dry, she lit a half-used cigarette butt on the ashtray, and coughed violently as the smoke filled her lungs.
She reached quickly for the phone and dialed the answering service. Between coughs, she left a message that she could not be in till late afternoon. Stubbing out the butt, she rolled over on the bed and sleep mercifully erased the growing desperate fear of now what. She would deal with it later when her mind was clear and functioning, the excessive late night drinks of the night before-slept away.
In the office, the doctor heard the message with annoyance. It was a day of gray appointments with one free hour in which Gloria would have eased the monotony. But it was rare for Gloria to be out and it would be best if she were well rested for the afternoon meeting with the marathon couples, he thought, turning away from the phone.
He had been somewhat surprised that all three couples had insisted on meeting beforehand. He had agreed reluctantly only because he feared their refusal and the cash was now essential to the vacation. Why not? he had decided. It might even be a help. Meeting them in person, he'd be better prepared to deal with the men.
The morning moved slowly, one voice the same as the next, one story the same as the next, and his jaw was stiff from stifling yawns. But at last the last scheduled patient exited.
As he reached for the phone to dial her, Gloria entered the reception coffice. He went out to meet her and was startled by her pale face and the dark circles beneath her eyes.
"Are you all right?" he asked, slipping an arm around her shoulder, hugging her gently.
She smiled weakly, "A little too much to drink last night. That's all."
His mouth tightened and he forced the sudden pang of jealousy 'away. He knew she had another life. That had always been understood between them. But it irritated him that she wasn't as involved in the marathon plans as he.
"Come on in," he said cheerfully, turning his back on her. "I've got some news."
"Okay," she murmured, shrugging off her coat. At leas his tone of voice meant nothing was wrong yet. She had reached no decisions yet on her next move, only that she could not be present on the weekend. She would tell him at the last minute. Gloria followed him into his office and dropped weakly on the couch, lighting a cigarette, staring blankly at the wall.
"There's been a slight change in plans," the doctor said, sitting down at the desk. For a brief second, a spark of hope flashed in
Gloria's eyes. The Welles had cancelled. Neal had figured out the connection and had ordered Vivian to stop seeing the doctor.
"Everyone's more or less agreed to the weekend, but they all insisted on meeting first," he continued, his voice professional. "I didn't really like the idea, but there seemed to be no alternative. They should be arriving shortly."
Gloria's eyes opened wide, "Here?" she asked weakly.
The doctor looked puzzled, "Of course, here. Where else? Is something wrong?" his tone was searching, his eyes studying her intently.
The outside door opened and Neal and Sylvia Warren entered. Gloria stared at Neal, her face white, her hands trembling as she pressed them in her lap to calm the tension.
The doctor stared at Vivian in amazement. The transformation was unbelievable. Her hair was frosted and stylishly cut, her too-short eyelashes dark and long, and her blue eyes radiant. The ugly denims were gone, replaced by a clinging knit pant-suit that enlarged her small breasts and gloved her soft, round rump.
"Why, Vivian," Dr. Miller said softly, rising from his desk chair to greet her with outstretched hands.
Blushing, Vivian came forward to grasp his hands. Neal walked in behind her, his eyes twinkling behind the tinted glass, enjoying Gloria's discomfort as he gave her a barely perceptive nod of recognition.
Gloria turned away and stared at Vivian. It was all too much. How had it all happened? And why didn't Neal say something. Why was he shaking the doctor's hand and not denouncing her? Did he think Jon was in on her blackmail scheme?
Jon pulled up a chair to the desk for Neal and turned to introduce Gloria. She nodded acknowledging the introduction, not trusting her voice to speak. "The others will be here soon," the doctor said, returning to his desk chair. Gloria was really out of it, he thought. Damn, I wish she'd stayed out all day.
"Fine," Neal said, glancing around the office, his eyes on the wall of framed degrees. "You know, Dr. Miller, I spent a lot of time and money yesterday."
The doctor frowned, staring hard at him. No, his mind froze in panic. Not now. Not at this point.
Gloria blanched. Fear and anger mingling in her gut. What was a crummy hundred dollars to him? And he'd gotten his time's worth. More than his time's worth.
"Yes," Neal continued, smiling smugly, meeting the doctor's hard stare. "When I heard about the proposed weekend, I decided it was time to check you out."
The doctor's face was pale, but impassive. Gloria looked from one to the other. He couldn't know about Jon's therapy. Who could he check that out with? Yet Jon was visibly shaken. Her own fear subsided as she studied the two men.
"Then, doctor," he smiled, lingering over the title, "I went home prepared to make a statement today."
"And?" the doctor said quietly, his mouth drawn tight, his face pale, but his eyes steady.
"I went home and found my wife. Not the wife I've been coming home to, but this wife," he smiled at Vivian who blushed and lowered her eyes. "I'd thought, you might say, to puncture a balloon or two." He paused and turned his head, his eyes sweeping the wall of degrees.
"And?" the doctor repeated, his voice shaky, his eyes on his challenger.
Neal smiled and glanced over at Gloria who was staring quizzically at him, but who promptly turned to the doctor when she met his eyes. "I'm a great believer in results. You got results. And being a lawyer, I haven't much of a conscience. And to that I'll only add should you need a lawyer, doctor, don't hesitate to call me."
The doctor was silent. It had finally happened. He had almost forgotten the degrees weren't real. But if it had happened once, it would happen again.
The outer door opened and Sylvia and Ralph Warren entered. The doctor's composure was quickly restored by the presence of the new couple. Introductions were made and the Warrens sat down beside the Welles.
Ralph, grinning broadly at the doctor, said, "Look, doctor, I understand the, uh, common denominator? of this group is a sex problem. Well, I'm afraid we no longer fit in. After what that little woman did to me last night, we aren't ever gonna have a problem again!"
Neal roared with laughter, "You're too successful, doctor!"
Sylvia's eyes danced, "I did it just like you rehearsed me, doctor. And it worked!"
Ralph fondled her thigh, still grinning at the doctor, "I don't know what your rehearsal was, doctor, but after last night, I wouldn't even care if she blew you."
"I'm sure he's not that unethical," Neal commented with a chuckle.
The doctor sat silently, his hands elapsed before him, studying the couples. The weekend was out. No question about it. The wives glowed and the men were satisfied. Damn, he'd really let it get out of hand. The telephone jarred him back to reality and without waiting for Gloria who sat speechless on the couch, he answered, "Dr. Miller speaking."
He listened for several minutes, his eyes open wide in surprise. Dottie had shaved her pussy and that was what David had wanted all along. In between breathless giggles, she said, "So we won't be going for the weekend. David has other plans for me than talking."
The doctor congratulated her and hung up the phone, suddenly amused at the turn of events. It seemed impossible, but it had happened.
The couples rose to leave and Neal stopped in front of Gloria and asked softly, "Was he an accomplice?"
Gloria shook her head no and closed her eyes, leaning back on the couch, the Master Plan shattered.
The doctor closed the inner door and snapped the lock. He walked slowly over to her, his hands on his hips, and said, "Accomplice to what?"
Gloria looked up at him, her eyes hard, "Look, Mr. Miller, you explain your bit and I'll explain mine."
The doctor sighed wearily, "Let's fuck. It's been a long day."
