707
Park Avenue
Don Winslow
The attractive blonde felt a twinge of
embarrassment, and quickly looked down, pretending to study the notes on the
clipboard she held in her lap. For some reason, this guy alone, of all her
patients, had an unsettling effect on her.
She knew he was watching her; watching her
every move. She could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of her face. In her
eight years as a psychotherapist she had never been so affected by a patient,
although she had learned quickly how to deal with passes from male patients,
while always maintaining her professional
cool. Till now, that is.
"Are
you alright, Dr. Heywood?" The young man, who reminded her of Tom Cruse,
leaned toward her sending a shock of thick black hair falling down across his brow,
while looking up at her with concern in his searching gray eyes -- those
terrible eyes of his.
"Huh...yes,...I'm ok, I think. I just felt a little warm, that's
all. I'm alright now." Her words came out shaky and hesitant. Not at all
the calm, competent tone she adopted so readily the minute a patient came in
for a session. She took a deep breath, determined to pull herself together.
"Ah...let's
go on, Benjamin. We were talking about your problems with girls, I believe. You
were saying that you thought you had some sort of ESP, and it was affecting
your relationships?"
"Oh,
that! That can wait," he dismissed his own concerns as trivial, while
edging his chair closer to hers.
"You
don't look too good Dr. Heywood." His voice was soft, surprisingly tender.
"I hope you're not coming down with something?"
She
was looking down as he shifted forward in his chair till their knees were
practically touching. She could feel his genuine concern; the voice of a man
who cared for her, who wanted to take care of her. She shook off the silly
thought. He wasn't even a man, after all, just a college boy, barely out of
adolescence, and a patient besides! She was the professional here; she was here
to help him, not the other way around! Then why was it she suddenly felt like a
fumbling schoolgirl in the young guy's presence? Why did she have such a hard
time meeting his steady gaze?
Why did she melt when he flashed her that
boyish smile of his? She shook her head. She simply had to get a grip on
herself!
She
nervously raked clawed fingers through her short blond hair, and passed a
trembling hand over her brow, finding it moist and warm. She felt flushed all
over. It was as if a hot flash that had suddenly come over her, but that was
absurd! Bethany Heywood was in her middle 30s, much too young to be having hot
flashes. She shook her head and gave her patient a weak smile that was meant to
be reassuring. It was the best she could do.
"It
is kinda hot in here," Benjamin allowed.
"Maybe you'd be more comfortable if you took off your jacket?" he
suggested helpfully reaching out to pat her shoulder with solicitous concern.
His touch startled her, and something quicken in her. 'This really is not
appropriate,' she told herself. Yet, there was this tenderness, the gentle caring
in his voice. Should she take off her jacket? She was suddenly confused. It
sounded like it might be the right thing to do.
"Go
on, Dr. Heywood, I can wait till you get comfortable."
She
blushed and looked aside. The boy was watching her so intently; she couldn't
bear the penetrating gaze that drilled right to her soul. She set aside her
clipboard, got to her feet, and without a word, slipped off the jacket to her
neatly tailored gabardine suit. She
carefully folded the suit jacket and set in on her desk, all the while
avoiding his eyes.
"That
must feel better now doesn't it, Dr. Heywood?"
"Yes,
I think it does, thank you." She felt a wave of relief. A refreshing
coolness. A feeling of...freedom.
"Before
you sit down again, ah...why don't you take your blouse off, Doc?"
The
startling suggestion took her aback. A silent 'oh' formed on her pursed lips.
She nervously removed her glasses, folded them, placed them on the desk. Standing next to her desk, the attractive
blonde seemed paralyzed as a part of her mind studied the suggestion with
clinical detachment. Should she take off her blouse? It was certainly
uncomfortable, hot and stuffy with the sun streaming in through the plate glass
windows. It would be so nice to simply slip out of her blouse -- to be free of
it. She longed to do it, to strip it off, right here and now. Yet, wasn't there
something wrong about that? The thought
occurred to her: If she took her blouse off, the boy would certainly see her in
her bra -- that didn't seem quite right. Instantly, the searing image of her
sitting there in her office chair in her brassiere, rocketed through her,
leaving her weak in the knees. The slightly-built blonde swayed, put out a hand
to steady herself on the desk.
"But
Benjamin, I don't think..."
"Go
on, Doctor H.," the boy urged softly.
She
didn't move, but stood before the seated guy with her blond head tilted down.
"Take off your blouse," he told her. Now there was a new tone to his
voice, the last words clear and precise - an order quietly given, yet given
with
such authority that there could be no
thought of disobedience.
His
eyes never left her small-breasted form, watching her slight bosom in the
cream-colored blouse as it rose and fell with the ragged undulations of her
heavy breathing. Her eyes were downcast, unseeing gaze locked on the richly
carpeted floor at her feet. He waited, then watched with a smile as her hands
slowly rose up as with a life of their own, to reach up to her collar and with
calm, businesslike movements undo the top button of the slick blouse she had
worn that day. He admired the deft fingers
of that opened each button in turn, the slim hands working their way downward,
hands that seemed detached, disembodied, as though some unseen force was
undoing the front of her blouse for her as the girl stood passively by, simply
submitting, letting herself be undressed. She peeled the open blouse back off
her twisting shoulders, drew her thin straight arms from the sleeves, and
carefully folded the silky blouse, to set it next to the discarded jacket on
the polished cherrywood desktop.
Now
she stood before him, letting him see her in her bra, a mocha-colored Bali,
trimmed with a narrow edging of lace. Her prominent nipples were dimly visible
through the thin wispy cups that softly cradled her petite breasts. She saw his
eyes widen with delight when her blouse came off and he took in her bare neck
and shoulders
and her reedy torso banded by the pretty
brassiere. She couldn't shake the
feeling that something was wrong, but the anxious feelings were immediately
lost by the warmth of the pleasure his eyes gave her. A feeling of well-being
surged through her. She smiled, looked to the seated boy for guidance.
He nodded.
"Just keep going Doctor H. Get
undressed. All the way."
The words cut through her like a hot knife
through butter, leaving her feeling loose, tinged with sexual freedom. A surge
of eager randiness rushed up from her loins. The full
realization hit her: she had to undress for him! But a tiny part of her brain
cried out in alarm, and she hesitated.
"But Benjamin, I'm not sure..."
Her voice was strained, low and breathy.
"Look at me," he ordered. Torn
with indecision, the woman raised her agonized
eyes to meet his.
"Keep looking into my eyes. You're
not to look away," he warned her.
Looking deep into those mesmerizing gray
eyes, she heard his voice tell her.
"Now listen to me, Doctor Heywood.
You are to take off the rest of your clothes. Now! I want you naked."
The erotic command thrilled her to the
core. 'He wants me naked.' Bethany bit her curled lip to suppress a tiny moan
that still managed to escape. Her eyes fluttered closed. The blond girl swayed
against the desk.
"No! Open your eyes. Look at me. I
told you ...keep looking into my eyes."
Her eyes flew open. Big, brown and shiny,
they were instantly captivated by his
hard, unflinching, snake-like gaze.
"Good. That's better. Now take off
your skirt."
Bethany's hands were trembling as they
went to obey, blindly finding the catch at her hip, lowering the little zipper,
bending foorward and bringing her knees together as she tugged down the narrow
beige skirt of her business suit with a girlish wiggle, all the while
remembering his injunction to keep her eyes on the masterful man-child who held
her in thrall.
She stepped out of the fallen skirt and
picked it up, holding it between the fingers of her right hand as she
straightened upright. She paused for an indecisive moment. It had come to her
that if she were to move to set the skirt
down on the desk with the rest of her
clothes, she'd have to turn away from the those
terrible eyes, ....and that she could not do! So she
simply held out her discarded skirt, kept looking the masterful male in the
eyes, and opened her
fingers, letting the skirt of the
expensive suit drop to the carpeted floor.
His eyes were on her, all over her body,
slowly sweeping from her pretty face down her lithe half-nude form to take in
her narrow hips and the sleek, smooth lines of her pantyhosed
legs. She felt a creamy surge of sexual excitement; a twinge in her vagina. She
knew she was getting wet between the legs, and wondered if he
could tell.
Still looking at him, she reached up
behind her to fumble with the catch on the brastrap.
The bra popped free, and she peeled the dangling straps off her shoulders. So
far this summer Bethany had managed to acquire a light tan, and the smooth
tawny chest contrasted strikingly with the breasts she now released: pale
white, soft and small, and cuddly.
Considering the size of her breasts, Bethny’s nipples were surprisingly large. Already, they felt engorged; the tips
stiffening with the exciting knowledge that she was exposing herself to him.
She felt the heat rising in her, her cheeks burning as she realized his eyes
were now fixated on her newly-freed breasts: delicate mounds, firm and taut. He
watched them move with just the slightest wobble, as the blonde sat back on the
desk to lean over and raise each leg in turn, reaching down to slip off her
flats. In the act of taking off her shoes, she forgot his injunction.
"Look at me." He quietly
reminded her.
She looked up. Their gazes met and stayed
locked together, as she slid her butt to the front edge of the desk to perch
there with nyloned legs dangling down.
When she reached for the waistband of her
pantyhose, she saw the hunger light up his eyes. She gathered up two handfuls
of the honeyed nylon at her hips and dragged the tightly-fitted pantyhose down,
lifting her bottom to ease their descent, tugging the clingy nylon down her
legs, and pulling the stretching fabric off her feet.
Now the doctor sat on her polished wood
desk clad, naked, but for her thin, hip-hugger panties. The briefs were of a
matching set with the bra: the same pale mocha in color, also opaque, with a
slick reinforced gusset, and trimmed with the same narrow band of elastic lace.
Bethany was super-aware of the lad watching her strip; the effect she was
having on him had her tingling with excitement. She felt the dampness in her
crotch, knew her panties were wet down there. The girl was burning up with
heat, breathing through open lips as she reached for her underpants, but then
she paused and a half-formed question came to her eyes.
"Go on," he nodded; his voice a
silky whisper.
A wildly erotic thrill rocketed through
her, as she lifted her butt, and quickly slid the silky panties down her legs
and off her feet. She let them lie where they fell. For a moment no one spoke.
"Stand up." A quiet order. She
was a puppet in his hands.
She eased herself up off the desk and
stood with bare feet on the thick carpet only inches away from the seated male,
standing before the young man completely naked. Standing there before the man,
she felt cool and free and deliciously naked, randy, wishing to flaunt her
tight young body, every inch of which was wonderfully alive and tingling. She
was extremely sensitive of the situation, aware, super-aware of his eyes on
her, greedily drinking in her slender form. It was turning her on.
He eased back in his chair, letting his
gaze leisurely take in Bethany Heywood's nude body: the modest bosom, the
slight swells of breasts that were small but appealing. The slender lines of
her well-toned body, the flattened belly with skin pulled taut over jutting
hipbones, and her womanhood exposed now for him to see: a modest tuck in a
slightly bulging pubis, adorned with its puffy bush of soft brown pussyfur. He wanted to fuck her. And he would fuck her. But
not just yet.
"Yes. Very nice, Doc. You are one hot
chick, do you know that?"
The words burned her ears. She flushed,
but otherwise the neutral expression on her face never wavered, even though she
was secretly pleased and the pleasure she took in her feminine pride brought a
flare of lust that heated her up even more.
"Now I want you to sit down again,
and we're gonna go on with our little chat, right
where we left off. Maybe you remember, I was telling you about this ESP thing I
had."
Now the inner voice that had been niggling
at her quietly, persistently pointing out that something was wrong here, broke
through to scream into her head. This was crazy! It had to be a dream! Here she
was -- stark naked in her office...and in front of a patient! And even as that
desperate scream rose up in her it was instantly flooded out again with sexual
excitement, thrill after thrill surged through her, each more intense than the
last. The creamy rise of pleasure drove her to the very edge of orgasm.
Her body was no longer under her control.
It responded to orders from another, with movements that were calm and
collected, belying the raging conflict of emotions going on inside her. Moving
as in a dream, the nude woman obediently took her seat in the large overstuffed
armchair, plunking her bare bottom down on the cool black vinyl seat
cushion and easing back into her familiar
pose. All business-like now, she took up her clipboard, re-settled the glasses
on her pert nose so she might examine her notes, then leaned back and
automatically crossed her slim legs; the last
gesture got a frown from young Benjamin.
"No! Don't do that! Don't cross your
legs like that," he warned. "Keep 'em open,
and spread your knees...wider. I want you showing me your cunt while we talk.
Remember Doc, I'm paying for this hour, and I might as well enjoy it."
Her knees slowly parted. It was all so
bizarre; utterly surreal. Here she was: sitting in her office with a male
patient, in nothing but her birthday suit, brazenly exposing herself to him.
The full realization might, in another time,
in another world, have seemed absurd to
her. So absurd as to be unbelievable! Was she losing her mind?! But the jarring
disconnect never entered her mind; she felt perfectly
at peace. What the two of them were doing seemed the most natural thing in the
world. The pretty doctor took up her pen, and gave her handsome young patient
an inquisitive look.
"Now where
were we?"
The End