[MF] Is it bad to fuck your therapist? (Part 4)

*Apologies for the repost! There was a formatting error on my part that made it hard to read. You can read Part 1* [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12jiag2/mf_is_it_bad_when_you_want_to_fuck_your_therapist/)*, Part 2* [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12l60tq/mf_is_it_bad_to_tell_your_therapist_that_you_want/) *and* [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12px0qq/mf_is_it_bad_when_you_and_your_therapist_take/) *here.*

A few minutes went by as they lay there, almost motionless except for the slight heaving of their bodies as they caught their collective breath. It didn’t take long for their breathing to fall in sync, Thomas’ chest — by no means muscular, but comfortably larger than Lydia’s — setting the tempo, pushing Lydia’s upwards and letting it slowly fall back down. His hands, which were by his thighs at first, found her back, timidly caressing it with the tips of his fingers. At first, he was afraid that this would be too much for Lydia, an act of affection when she might see this as a purely sexual transaction, but he felt her relax as his hands touched her skin and could hear what almost resembled the dull purr of a satisfied cat.

Lydia was very satisfied. She was smiling, her cheek pressed against Thomas’ chest. For a few moments, she thought only of the fact that her naked body was pressed against the naked body of a man she found both incredibly attractive and genuinely interesting. The kind of man that she had realized that she wanted to spend her life with when she realized that Daniel was not the man she would spend her life with. As she felt Thomas’ hands caressing her back, moving from her shoulder blades to the small dimples at the lower end, and seemingly every millimetre of flesh in between, she turned her cheek slightly and pressed her lips against his skin, planting a slow, gentle kiss just below his breastbone. The idea that this was inappropriate — forbidden — only came to her as the glowing warmth of their sexual energy dissipated and a chill descended on their bodies.

She tried to ignore the thought, but she could feel the guilt taking root in her stomach. Thomas had started off by telling her that he had finally, after months, made love to his girlfriend and Lydia had reacted with jealousy — she had exploited his attraction to her to get off. At the same time, she knew that Thomas genuinely liked her — or so he said. She was conflicted.

Thomas felt a change in Lydia, as if she had tensed up and gone stiff. Their bodies were still glued to one another, but it felt like there was more distance between them. He tilted his chin downwards a bit, able to see the top of her head, her dark hair slightly tousled.

“What’s the matter,” he said, softly, his voice muffled by her head and the way he had contorted his neck.

Lydia lifted her head off his chest for the first time in minutes. Thomas felt a chill descend on his sternum, where Lydia’s cheek had been resting. She sat up and swung her left leg over him, rotating her body so that she was sitting beside him, to his left, on the couch. She felt awkward and didn’t know what to do with her hands — she was also starting to get cold. She turned to look at him, her lips pinched together and a look of worry in her eyes that even Thomas could read.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said, apologetically. There was a sadness in her voice.

Thomas reached his hand out and squeezed hers. He leaned in closer to her. “Don’t say that. I’m so fucking happy right now.” He said it with emphasis on the word happy, rather than the fucking.

Lydia opened her mouth to say something, but Thomas cut her off. “I’m serious, Lydia, I wouldn’t have if I didn’t want to.” Her lips closed and she let out a sigh through her nostrils. She still felt uneasy, but she felt less guilty.

Thomas smiled, wryly, at her. “I think I’m going to need a sink to wash the smell of you off my beard.” Lydia, too, smiled and laughed, the uneasiness washing away. She closed her eyes and nodded, standing up and bending down to pick up her clothes. As she did, Thomas couldn’t help but look at her. “You really do have an incredible body,” he said.

Lydia blushed and, without turning around, she thanked him. “I’m glad you enjoy mine as much as I enjoy yours.” Clothes in hand, she led him to a small bathroom down the hall, with a sink and a toilet. She stood in the hallway while Thomas stepped into the white-tiled bathroom, bent over the sink, washing his beard. Slowly, Lydia got dressed while she watched him, taking in his body, the way his stomach folded neatly as he bent at the waist. She tugged on her jeans and put her silk shirt over her arms, waiting to button it until Thomas was done. He turned to look at her, drying off his face with the hand towel that was set out, before pulling on his boxers. Lydia buttoned up her shirt while watching Thomas get dressed — she made no effort to avert her eyes, nor did Thomas. They had fallen into the type of comfort with one another where they could stare for as long as they wanted.

“I’m not going to let you pay this week,” she said, with a finality that she hadn’t last week.

Thomas spread his eyes and turned his lower lip downwards in contemplation as he pulled his belt through the loops on his jeans and fastened the buttons one by one.

“What if someone asks about it?” He said.

Lydia considered this for a second, as she buttoned the third-to-last button on her shirt, the last one that she would close. She shook her head. “Nobody will,” she answered, confidently, “and if they do, we’ll say that I had to cancel it at the last minute when you got here — family emergency.”

Thomas nodded his head, slowly, then pulled on his T-shirt and finally the blue striped shirt he had been wearing.

“Okay, that works.” He didn’t say anything else for a second. “I wish we didn’t have to sneak around and lie,” he said finally before adding, “but there’s definitely something thrilling about it.”

Lydia smiled at him and bit her lip. “And it’s fucking hot, isn’t it?”

Thomas returned her smile and nodded. “It is.”

At the foot of the stairs, Thomas pulled on his coat and turned around to face Lydia, but before he could say anything, she spoke. “Same time next week?” She asked. Thomas had been planning to ask her if they could see each other before then, but the question disheartened him an all he could do was smile and acquiesce.

“I’m already looking forward to it,” he said, turning on his heels and leaving her office.

​

For the next few days, he found himself playing their afternoon back in his head, over and over. At night, as he lay in bed away next to Christine, he thought about what it felt like to have his hands on Lydia’s body — he remembered, vividly, the feeling of her warmth on his face, the way that she had wrapped her lips around his shaft and then her thighs either side of his head. Christine slept and he teased his hardening manhood, but refrained from getting up and stroking himself to orgasm. Eventually, his thoughts turned to the end of their afternoon — how he had swallowed his words instead of asking her whether they could see each other before Friday.

On Sunday evening, he was focused almost exclusively on that thirty-second interaction. Late that afternoon, Christine had gotten a call from work — she was an art director for a magazine — and been told that they had a 96 hour window to shoot a spread, including a cover, to accompany a story on the French actress Léa Seydoux. She’d be heading to the airport in a few hours and would only be getting back the following Saturday. Due to the nature of their work, both Christine and Thomas traveled frequently — and often at the last minute — so it wasn’t necessarily something new for them. What was new, for Thomas, at least, was the fact that he had someone he wished he could spend every minute of the coming week with — Lydia. As he watched Christine head out the front door, two suitcases in tow, his mind was filled with the regret of not having asked Lydia if he could see her before their session on Friday.

Not far away, Lydia, too, was thinking about Thomas, unable to focus on the book she was trying to finish — a book she had been slowly trudging through for what felt like weeks, but she was stubborn and couldn’t bring herself to not finish a book she had started. She was sitting on her couch, with her knees bent and the book resting on her thighs — she was wearing lightweight, loose pleated black pants by Issey Miyake, a grey cardigan and a white ribbed tank top. After finishing a particularly drab chapter, she leaned her head back and let out a loud sigh, putting the book down beside her, the pages splayed. She reached for her phone on the table and bit her lip. She had spent the last 48 hours resisting the urge to contact Thomas. Unlike her, he was very easy to find on Instagram — not that he posted there often, besides pictures of dishes he cooked and links to things he had written. She had found herself checking his stories on an almost-hourly basis over the weekend. It was the reward she allowed herself for not texting him or emailing him — she had his number and his email. An email felt like the safest bet, whereas a text ran the risk of being spotted by his girlfriend. Both, were risky in that they left a paper trail of their dalliance — his infidelity and her breach of professional ethics.

She let out a louder, more frustrated sigh, followed by a groan. “Fuck,” pierced the silence of her house, followed by the thud of her phone being tossed down onto the table. She closed her eyes and told herself that she’d see Thomas soon enough — only five more days — and that, if anything, giving him space gave him a chance to realize how much he yearned for her. She hoped that he yearned for her as much as she did for him. She thought back to the way he had told her he wanted her — the things that he had been willing to do to prove it to her. Closing her eyes, she could feel his short beard prickling the inside of her thighs as his tongue parted her lips and swirled around her clit. He had eaten her out with care and passion, like he wanted his tongue to be inside her. She could tell how much he enjoyed turning her on and making her cum. She was relieved that he enjoyed it as much as she enjoyed giving him pleasure. She wanted to taste him again on her lips.

Lydia spread her legs and slid her hand down the ribbed tank, letting it slip under the waistband of her pants. She moved it slowly along her panties, grey Clavin Kleins — not sexy but comfortable and classic — until her fingers were applying pressure to her mound. She let out a small moan and bit her lip. She pictured Thomas’ hands. As she was about to slide her fingers under the grey cotton to tease her clit, she was interrupted by the door bell. It was 8:57 and, as far as she could remember, she wasn’t expecting any packages. She hoped that it wasn’t Daniel — he still had golf clubs in the shed in the small backyard — because she didn’t trust herself to not take the familiar option when she was this horny. She stood up, pressed he hands down her cardigan and her pants, took a a deep breath to compose herself and walked towards the door.

She peeked through one of the small window panes and was overcome with a sense of shock. She opened the door at stared at the man in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” She thought back to what she had just been doing — she doubted she’d be able to resist inviting him in.

Thomas smiled, on the sidewalk. “Can I come in?”

Lydia stepped aside, closing the door behind Thomas as he crossed the threshold, entering her house for the first time — and likely not the last, she told herself.

“What are you doing here,” she asked again, more firmly this time, “please tell me that you didn’t tell her…”

Thomas laughed audibly and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I didn’t tell her, don’t worry,” he looked around, taking a few steps further into Lydia’s home. He could see the living room and the kitchen — it was a nice kitchen, with marble counters and a sizeable island. He spied a book splayed on the couch. He didn’t see any relics of a potential boyfriend or husband — no pictures of a happy couple or men’s shoes in the vestibule. Thomas looked at Lydia over his shoulder. “I just missed you,” he admitted, “I needed to see you.”

Lydia locked the door — she was paranoid about this — and followed Thomas down her hallway, before leading him to the living room, where she sat down on the couch, moving the book onto the coffee table. Thomas stayed standing until she tapped the fabric beside her, inviting him to join her.

“I missed you too,” she replied, “I’ve been thinking about you all weekend.” She smiled and put her hand on his. Thomas grabbed it and squeezed her fingers, before intertwining his with hers.

“I’m glad I’m not alone,” he said, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. The second that their lips touched, both were overcome with elation — a wave of pleasure that, while not orgasmic, offered a release of sorts. This wasn’t purely sexual — for either of them. Lydia parted her lips ever so slightly and Thomas seized the opportunity, his tongue darting into her mouth and entangling itself with hers. After a second or two, she pulled back and wiped her mouth, with a smile on her lips now.

“Fuck, Thomas,” she said, looking at him — she could see the hunger and desire in his eyes and she could feel herself getting nervous, the way she had once upon a time with Daniel, when they were young. “Isn’t she going to wonder where you are? How long do you have?” She was full of questions, but these were the most urgent — the ones whose answers would set her expectations and dictate her behaviour.

Thomas licked his lips after kissing her. He could taste her lip balm with his tongue, it was sweet and fruity. His eyes scanned her living room, quickly. She was reading a beefy red book with red lettering on the cover, The Catholic School, he had heard of it — it had won a prestigious prize in Italy — but hadn’t read it. He spotted a Dyptique candle on the ground — the oversized ones that were meant to last hundreds of hours. His gaze snapped back to Lydia as she asked him how long he had. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth.

“She left.” Immediately, he could see Lydia’s eyes widen, with a mixture of surprise, shock and — she’d admit — a touch of panic. He knew what he was doing and he smiled mischievously. “For the week,” he added, “she had to go to France for work. So, to answer your questions, no, she won’t wonder where I am and I have until Saturday afternoon.”

Lydia’s mind raced through the possibilities. There was plenty of time for them to enjoy themselves and yet she felt a need to not waste even a second of it. She played it cool, though, turning her upper body to face Thomas, but leaning back a little bit into the corner of the couch. She didn’t expect Thomas to seize on that opportunity and she was surprised to see him moving towards her, crawling onto the couch and cornering her — not that it was something she had a problem with. He leaned into her and brought his lips to hers, kissing her again, pushing his tongue into her mouth, while his left hand gripped her thigh.

“I’ve been thinking of you non-stop,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as their tongues fought for control. He dug his fingers into her thigh, gripping it as if he never wanted to let it go from his grasp. He bit Lydia’s lip, tugging on it as he pulled his head back slightly. “Fuck,” he groaned.

Lydia could feel the vibrations emanating from his throat as he spoke and groaned. It drove her rabid. She placed her hand on Thomas’ chest, pushing him back so that he was lying on the couch. Straddling him, she slid her cardigan off her arms. Thomas reached up and pulled her tank top off with one fluid motion, revealing her breasts and causing them to jiggle ever so slightly as they were freed. Thomas sat up and brought his mouth to her left breast, kissing it delicately, then taking her nipple between his lips. He could feel it hardening as he ran his tongue over it. Pulling his head back slightly, he dragged his teeth over her hardened, pink nipple.

Lydia let out a moan as she felt Thomas’ teeth on her nipple. His tongue has sent shivers down her spine, but the change in texture and intensity that his teeth presented made her weak. She cupped the back of his head, guiding it to her other breast.

“I fucking love the way you do that,” she said, looking down at him as he took her right nipple into his mouth.

When he released it, she slid her hands down to the bottom of his back, gripping his sweater by them hem and pulling it — and the t-shirt he had on underneath — up along his torso and over his head. Thomas was happily to oblige. Before his top had even hit the floor, Lydia’s fingers were on his belt, tugging at it, desperately trying to undo it. Thomas leaned back, eager to watch her work — how famished she looked to get his pants off — pressing his hands behind him. As a result, his entire upper body was flexed and Lydia, finally undoing the belt buckle and yanking it off, ran her hand along his toned stomach, digging her nails into his skin gently.

“I guess I can leave a little mark if she’s gone all week,” she said in a quasi-snarl, a mischievous smile revealing itself on her lips as she pressed the edges of her nails into Thomas’ skin a little harder, dragging her hand back down his stomach, leaving fine red trails in its wake, right up to his waistband, which she promptly flung open, undoing the single button with ease and lowering the zipper in one motion.

Thomas looked down at the faint red marks on his stomach. The slight, sharp sensation when Lydia had dug her nails into his skin just so had made his swelling manhood throb. He wanted her desperately — he wanted them to be one — their bodies, their tongues, their saliva, their souls intertwined and indistinguishable from one another. Feeling her nails digging into his skin, beyond the surface, he had wished he could feel her hand absorbed inside of him. It sent a wave of lust through him and he propelled himself forwards onto her, pushing her back into the corner of the couch.

She giggled, and Thomas, ever the opportunist, took advantage of that slight parting of her lips to slide his tongue back into her mouth, pushing it up against hers, tossing it around to and fro as he used his right hand to tug her waist of her pants down to her knees. With her own hands, Lydia was grabbing at the pockets on Thomas’ pants, using them as leverage to pull his trousers down, too. As they each succeeded, Thomas pulled back, Lydia followed him, almost magnetically, their foreheads pressed together.

“Take your fucking pants off,” Thomas said, reaching down to fully remove his, followed, quickly, by his boxers, revealing his now fully erect shaft. Lydia didn’t need to be told twice. Her pants were already on the floor and she was pulling her panties when Thomas grabbed them around her ankles, yanking them off, and then wrapping his hands — those big hands — around Lydia’s ankles, parting her legs. He leaned in, his lips caressing the inside of her legs on his way to her. As he got closer to her mound, he nibbled on the toned flesh of her upper inner thighs. “Oops,” he said, in jest, after leaving a small, round bite mark on her left thigh, but before Lydia could say anything or even see, he had plunged face-first into her waiting, welcoming warm wetness, his tongue spreading her labia.

“Fuck,” Lydia let out, closing her eyes and throwing her head back. When she reopened them, she reached down and grabbed hold of Thomas’ hair, using it as leverage as she slowly bucked her hips up and down, complementing Thomas’ tongue moving side to side. Thomas was, in gastronomic terms famished. He wasn’t beating around the bush, he wanting all of Lydia’s womanhood in his mouth. He wanted to taste her. To have his tongue pressed so closely to her clit and her lips that he could feel the tissue twitching and reacting as he flicked it back and forth. Lapping his tongue back and forth across her clit, he and Lydia became aware of just how loud they were — his breathing was primal and guttural, like he was running a marathon, and he let out satisfied moans the way one does when they eat the best dish they’ve ever been served; Lydia, too, was moaning in pleasure — writhing, too. “Right there, yes, yes,” she shouted, her breath hitching as Thomas’ tongue swirled around her clit and he slid his fingers inside her for the first time, “holy fuck yes.” The sound of his tongue on her wetness was, perhaps, most noticeable — especially in those moments where Lydia’s breath hitched and Thomas’ sounds were entirely muffled by her mound.

As Thomas’ index slipped inside her, it was enveloped by warmth. Lydia’s moans and cries of pleasure only encouraged him further. He moved his finger slowly, at first, with his tongue focused on her clit. He pressed upwards, against the inside of her walls. He felt Lydia shudder as he dragged his finger back towards him. Lydia looked down at him, her mouth agape. “Fucking right there,” she screamed, her hands tugging on Thomas’ hair more forcefully. She closed her eyes and let the waves of pleasure wash over her — course through her — as she felt Thomas’ finger pressed against the inside of her slit. Each time he moved his finger, she could feel her insides tightening ever so slightly, more and more with each brush of that fingertip. He sucked on her clit for a second before licking it again, letting his spit drip down his tongue to mingle with her wetness. His finger moved in and out of her effortlessly — deeper than she had ever had fingers in her before.

“Don’t fucking stop,” she yelled, arching her back. Thomas was a man on a mission right now. He moved his finger faster and faster — just the one — in and out, curling it a little bit more with each thrust. He pressed his tongue down on her clit as hard as he could, moving it from side to side. He felt her tightening around his member. “Yes,” Lydia screamed, “yes, right fucking there.” Thomas stopped moving his finger in and out and instead started making small, quick circles with it, smaller and smaller, faster and faster. “I’m going to fucking cum,” Lydia shouted, her voice breaking with ecstasy as she moaned, stammering to get the words out. “I’m going to fucking cum.”

“Fuck!”

Thomas had never heard someone scream so loudly from pleasure — except in porn, which he knew was always faked. But judging from the way that Lydia’s hips bucked as she screamed and the way that he could feel her thighs twitching as he moved his tongue across her sensitive little nub of flesh and the way he felt his finger fully enveloped by her womanhood, gripped so tightly that it was difficult for him to move it — judging by that, he knew that she wasn’t faking it.

Thomas’ cock was throbbing, now, the tip glistening with precum. Lydia didn’t even have to touch it. She tried to, though, reaching her hand out and running it along the shaft, trying to bend down and bring her mouth to it, to taste his manhood again.

“No,” Thomas said, pushing her back down against the couch, “I need you.” He leaned in to kiss her, passionately. As he did, he gripped the base of his cock between his index and thumb. He glanced down, his forehead pressed to Lydia’s and guided the tip to her slit. He ran the swollen tip along it, barely parting her lips.

“Fuck,” Lydia moaned.

“So fucking sensitive,” Thomas snarled, playfully.

Lydia bit her lip and nodded her head, her eyes widening as she looked at Thomas. He brushed the tip of his member against her clit, from side to side. Lydia let out a small yelp, closing her eyes. When she reopened them, Thomas pressed his hips forward.

For the first time, Lydia’s lips parted completely for Thomas. He could feel her warm wetness spreading across the head of his cock as he pressed his hips forwards, flexing his back and his core. Lydia could feel herself stretching for Thomas — even though she had no control over it. As he slid inside her, bit by bit, Lydia felt every additional micron of her being filled. She welcomed him with warmth. After a few seconds, Thomas’ shaft was buried inside Lydia in its entirety. He kissed her, again, and pulled his hips back. He thrusted slowly, at first, in and out, feeling how much easier it became each time, as Lydia’s wetness coated his shaft. Before long, he was moving inside Lydia effortlessly, pulling his cock out entirely between each stroke, teasing her, watching the way she whimpered when he wasn’t inside her — when she was empty. She yearned for it, she grabbed at the small of his back and pulled at him, tugged at him, she screamed for more.

“I need you inside me,” she yelled finally.

Thomas obliged. He wrapped his hands under armpits and gripped her shoulders, pulling her towards him as he began thrusting inside her with increasing frequency, the tip of his cock remaining inside her now. His breathing was faster. He moaned for her, which made her moan for him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he said, his breath interrupting each word.

He wanted to kiss her neck but instead he found himself sucking on her flesh, licking it, feeling her pulse in his tongue, tasting the slightly salty sweat that was beginning to coat her collarbones. Lydia loved the way it felt to have someone want her fully.

“Yes, again,” she said, as Thomas fucked her faster. It was caring and affectionate, sure, but it was undeniably primal. They weren’t making love the way he had with his girlfriend, they were fucking the way two people who need each other do — like their lives depended on it.

“I’m going to fucking cum again,” Lydia squealed.

Thomas pulled his head back, and looked down at her, his strokes quickening, his mouth opening. “Fuck,” he groaned. His thrusts slowed and he made each more forceful, and deeper than the last. The sound of his hips hitting Lydia’s ass and thighs, which were spread either side of her, echoing through the house. He grunted with each thrust.

“Fuck,” Lydia said, another thrust hitting her, “yes,” and another, “keep,” one more, “FUCK!”

As Thomas felt Lydia contracting around him, he pulled out, gripping his cock in his hand. “I’m going to cum,” he said, repeating it quickly, breathlessly “I’m going to fucking cum.” Despite the fact he was on the verge of orgasm, he was worried about the lack of protection. He’d settle for cumming on Lydia’s stomach. Lydia was a woman possessed.

“I’m on the fucking pill,” she said, forcefully, gripping his lower back and pulling him back towards her, as her hand moved to his shaft and guided him inside her.

That, alone, was enough to push Thomas over the edge. As he felt Lydia’s pussy seize around his shaft, the penetration pushing her over the brink, he felt that familiar warmth spreading through him.

One last stroke was all he could muster before the two of them screamed out in pleasure, in unison.

Then their lips locked together, kissing. Their bodies, their saliva, his manhood and her womanhood, their cum, their souls — they were all one.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12u1mm7/mf_is_it_bad_to_fuck_your_therapist_part_4