Floral perfume filled his senses along with her softness and the coziness he felt as he lay with his head in her lap. This was the position they usually found themselves in whenever he had an appointment with her.
Thirty-four-year-old Max Harlow looked up into the green eyes of his psychiatrist Dr. Gail Hicks. She wore glasses, her face had fine wrinkles of an older woman in her sixties, and her hair was gray and white. Right now her expression was one of kindness and understanding.
Max said, “They’ll never forgive us, the fans. They won’t forget. All those mean things my colleagues have been tweeting in reaction to criticisms. Doesn’t matter that the tweets have been deleted. There are screen shots of the tweets floating around all over the internet. Fans have given backlash in retaliation. I don’t blame them.”
Gail stroked her favorite patient’s head. “This happens a lot in your line of work?”
Max Harlow was a big name in the comic book industry. He had written Superman and Batman titles for DC, revitalizing the importance of the iconic charaters to much acclaim, and was now writing a re-vamped Avengers for Marvel that was also doing well until the dreaded “pencils down” order came into effect due to the virus-induced shut down.
“Comic book fans have always been critical when they feel the need to, but the people involved in the creative process – people like myself – almost never fired shots back at the fans. That is until probably the last ten years. It’s become an awful mess.”
Gail cupped his face in her hands. “Would you describe yourself as old fashioned then? I assume you’re not one of the creative types who fire back.”
“I think I’m fairly progressive, although I’ve never allowed such elements to be the focus of my work. I believe in good storytelling first and foremost. If you want to call that old fashioned, go right ahead. Good storytelling is what has sustained the comic book industry all these years. There is no substitute for it. It’s essentially what sells comic books. Any negative responses to comics I’ve written, I’ve always dealt with in a respectful manner. I believe most comic book fans know what they want and they have the right to expect certain things from comics, especially the core ones like Spider-man and the Justice League.”
Gail kept one hand stroking Max’s hair while the other journeyed down under his shirt. She asked, “In your opinion, how have the comic book creators stood up to the task of providing fans with what should be their money’s worth of entertainment?”
Max chuckled humorlessly. “Collectively, we have been terrible. An utter disgrace. For so long, we’ve been peddling identity politics, PC and woke culture as the focus of our craft rather than decent storylines and strong, interesting characters. This pandemic isn’t what is killing the comic book industry. We, the creatives, have been doing that for a decade now. The virus is merely speeding up the death of the industry.”
“That’s a dark note to end on,” said Gail, her fingers running lines down Max’s chest.
“Is our time up?”
“We have eleven minutes,” she said softly.
They were soon moving together in unison on the couch, Max on top of her, driving his male organ deep into her private womanliness. Gail’s breasts heaved under his strong thrusts. Their clothes were discarded on her office floor, the only article of apparel on them was her unbuttoned white shirt, opened up so Max could play with her boobs and suck on them for their combined pleasure.
Gail felt herself approaching climax. She wanted to be on top. Re-positioning them, she rode him hard, milking him of every bit of cum. Finally she cried out and blessed him with her feminine juices, her internal muscles relaxing and contracting around his semi-hardness.
Max waited for her outside while she locked up her office. It was 9 PM. She intentionally scheduled him for this time twice a week because there would be no receptionist and no one else around other than the security personnel in the building.
They took the same elevator down to the ground floor, not saying anything to each other, but understanding that their next session would be the same: they would talk and then they would fuck.
Gail and Max bid the security guard good night, exited the building, got into separate cars in the parking lot and drove to their respective homes.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/fs5rq4/death_of_an_industry_mf_fiction