When I was 22[F] I fired my 43[M] psychiatrist … then I fucked him. A lot.

Let me start this by saying that in my 20s I was so unrepentantly horny I am not sure how I functioned in my day-to-day. How I did something even as simple as hold down a little café job is absolutely beyond me. I masturbated in the walk-in a lot. But, I didn’t fuck a lot of people. To this day, I’m still selective. My vagina has a very “Oh, you wanna go out? Well, you’ve got orgasms at home.” mentality.

I understand now how completely inappropriate this former patient-doctor tryst was but at the time it was just really fucking hot. I was really fucking hot. I look at pictures of me back then and I can’t blame the guy.

When I met Dr. Ryan (43 at the time) he had an affect on me. But I didn’t want him to make me better, I wanted him to fuck me up. Like, really bad. I could barely focus during our initial therapy session. I definitely couldn’t focus on the next three I attended because that’s the kind of dumbass shit you do when you’re 21. You walk out of your psychiatrist’s office with soaked underwear and book the next one. Then you go home and furiously masturbate. I went to four appointments. And then I realized being horny for your emotions doctor could possibly sway results. I fired Dr. Ryan.

So that was that. I quit. Go me.

What I didn’t know was that I lived a mere three blocks from Dr. Ryan’s actual house. Where he, his rich dude smile and his penis lived. So imagine my confusion when he walked into my coffee shop. And smiled at me. I wrote my number down and gave it to him. I don’t remember how I got to the top of that mountain of gumption but I did it.

He didn’t call me for 13 days. And when he did he said, “I have to be very careful about this”

You know, he wasn’t very careful that time he took my underwear off and left them in his office potted plant. Or when he made a mess of my makeup in that little alley and got some of it on his slacks before a panel he spoke on and I attended. Or that time he had me tied up, blindfolded on his 2nd story balcony for fun and his friend stopped by.

We fucked on the first date. In his office. I wore a little black skater dress, black satin underwear, and probably some ugly military jacket. I had horrible jackets back then. We listened to Lightning Hopkins. He bent me over his big, cold desk and spanked me so hard I couldn’t sit down the next day. The throbbing purple welts on my ass and thighs reminding me of being pinned down, knee up on the edge of the tabletop while I called him Daddy. The moments before when we’d been making out and he had his fingertips barely touching the wet spot growing through the soft thin satin fabric of my panties. When I’d wiggle and arch my hips to his touch he’d quietly whisper, “Good girl”.

I was absolute putty in that man’s hands. And he bruised me, fucked me, choked me, tied me up, and made me drool buckets with them. I’m sure if I added up all the time I spent sucking his cock, I’d find the time to finally beat Battle Toads. He could text and I would be at his house in 5 minutes. I was his personal little fuck doll. I loved it. Any outfit, any toy, any binding I’d try. We had to stop after a few years. I got serious with a boyfriend.

We still live in the same city. He moved some blocks away but not far. Sometimes we still text. Sometimes we still meet up in a dark parking lot in our shared neighborhood and see if things still work the way they used to. They do. I’m very selective.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/kucyil/when_i_was_22f_i_fired_my_43m_psychiatrist_then_i