[MF] Is it bad to tell your therapist that you want to fuck her? (Part 2)

*For Part 1, click* [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12jiag2/mf_is_it_bad_when_you_want_to_fuck_your_therapist/)*.*

​

Thomas liked his Fridays.

He woke up early, at 5, a few hours before Christine would be getting up. In the winter months, he’d start writing almost immediately, after a quick shower and an espresso. In the summer, though, he went cycling, getting 50 miles in his legs before most people were starting their day. He’d come home, shower, have another coffee and then get to writing. At some point between noon and 1, he’d stop and have lunch before leaving for a little walk. He’d take a circuitous route to clear his mind a little bit before ending up at Lydia’s office.

It was five minutes to 2 and Thomas was sitting in the small waiting room on the ground floor of Lydia’s office. There were eight chairs, but Thomas had only ever seen one other person waiting there — Lydia shared the practice with some other therapists, who he’d seen occasionally using a small office on the ground floor. There was another office on the second floor, but it had always been empty when Thomas saw Lydia.

Today it felt like Thomas was alone in the building, despite the fact he had to be buzzed in by someone — Lydia, he assumed. There was complete silence as he sat in the armchair. It was warmer today and he was wearing a pair of brown corduroy pants with a blue Oxford cloth button down and off-white Vans Authentics. He took his phone from his pocket and turned it on Do Not Disturb, letting out a deep exhale at the same time.

A few seconds later, he heard footsteps above him. Even though he knew that Lydia would be coming down the stairs to invite him up in a few seconds — as she did every week — he stayed seated — as he always did. He waited for her to come down the stairs and pop her head around the corner.

“Hey, Thomas,” she said with a smile, “you can come up now.”

Thomas turned his head towards her and stood up, smiling. Like last week, she started up the stairs in front of him — was this done on purpose or had she simply grown impatient of waiting for him? Thomas glanced upwards as he climbed the stairs, sneaking a look at Lydia’s backside. Unlike last week, she was wearing looser pants, a pair of light grey high-waisted trousers that accentuated the way her ass jiggled as she climbed the stairs — they were less revealing, but, in a way, made it harder for Thomas to ignore her ass. He swallowed, hard, making an effort to forget about the fact he found himself increasingly attracted to her.

As they crossed the threshold to her office, she stood to the side, holding the door open for Thomas, before closing it behind them. As Thomas walked by her, they were close enough that each could smell the other’s perfume. They were both wearing something light — appropriate for the season. Lydia smelled notes of sage and cut grass emanating from Thomas’s neck, while he smelled a touch of bergamot coming from her sweater, a thin, but loosely cut, grey turtleneck.

Sitting down, Lydia stared at Thomas. For a second, she thought about the events of last Friday, how she had masturbated after getting home. She had felt ashamed afterwards and had done her best to not think about him since that Friday evening, which she spent alone at home with half a bottle of wine and some sushi. She chased those thoughts from her head, but not before thinking that he looked good, with his short, dark beard, wavy brown hair and those small round glasses that framed his green eyes. He certainly looked the part of the mysterious writer. There was no denying that he was handsome — would anybody blame her for fantasizing about him? She told herself to focus on work.

“So,” she said, softly, almost whispering, “how are you coming in this week?”

“Good,” Thomas said, quickly, “how are you?” Even though he knew that she would always answer positively, he could never refrain from asking.

“I’m well, thanks.” She never offered more than that.

Thomas placed his hands on the couch, either side of his legs. “Yeah, it’s been a good week, I guess. First week I’ve been able to get out on the bike, which really seems to help.” He still couldn’t look her in the eyes for an extended period of time. It made him a bit uncomfortable how she looked at him, unflinchingly — but he also liked it. It made him feel like she was genuinely interested. His eyes darted as they usually did — painting, window sill, books, Lydia’s eyes.

Lydia nodded, watching Thomas’ eyes as they moved about the room.

“And how does that make you feel when you’re on the bike? Does getting your heart rate up feel okay?”

Thomas considered this for a second. “I feel free, I guess. I don’t worry. I know that the panic attacks make me think I’m having a heart attack, but if I’m cycling or playing soccer and my heart is racing, I don’t worry about that stuff — it’s weird, I guess.”

He crossed his legs and brought his hand to his chin, massaging his beard and scratching his cheek. He caught Lydia’s gaze following his hand and lingering for a second before it snapped back to his eyes.

“Well, that’s good,” she said, speaking without breaking eye contact. Thomas made an effort to not look away. “Physical activity helps regulate stress and anxiety by using up adrenaline, especially if an elevated heart rate doesn’t trigger panic.”

Silence settled in, again. It was torturous for Thomas to not look away. Lydia wouldn’t look away, he knew that. Four seconds of intense eye contact turned into five, then six, seven. Finally, Thomas turned his head to the right, slightly, averting his eyes.

“It’s unsettling when you do that,” he said, before looking back towards Lydia.

She was a little taken aback.

“When I look at you?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said, looking away again, “it’s this, like super intense staring, without saying anything. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.”

There was silence, again, for a few seconds.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, softly. It wasn’t unusual for patients to feel observed and uncomfortable, but she didn’t think that Thomas would say anything.

Thomas chewed the inside of his lip before speaking again. “Don’t apologize,” he looked up at her, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I think I actually kind of like it, even if it’s uncomfortable and unsettling.”

Lydia looked at him, intently, but didn’t speak. Thomas didn’t look away either.

“There’s something that feels really intimate about it, I guess — like you really care? Like you’re able to read my thoughts before I even say them. I guess it makes me feel like you’re genuinely interested in me… like I have your undivided attention.”

Lydia smiled, subtly. “You do have my undivided attention, Tom,” she said, speaking softly. “Thank you for telling me how you feel and that something I’m doing makes you uncomfortable, I really appreciate the honesty and the generosity.”

Lydia watched as Thomas bowed his head, staring at his feet. What, she wondered, was he mulling over.

“You know — I find you attractive.” The words came out of his mouth without him realizing what he was saying, really. Immediately, he regretted it. He expected her to move on, or tell him that that meant she would have to refer him to another therapist. He was stupid, he told himself — because he found her to be a good therapist who was helping him make progress, not just because he was attracted to her.

Lydia crossed her own legs. She felt her heart rate quicken a little bit and an uneasy feeling spreading through her core. This wasn’t the first time that a patient had told her that — in fact it was quite a common occurrence in therapy and she, like all therapists, had been trained in how to deal with this (there was something to be gleaned from it, after all) — but it was the first time that she had also found the patient in question attractive. And it was definitely the first time that the patient in question had been the subject of her orgasm-inducing fantasies. She looked at Thomas as he lifted his chin, their eyes locking. She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he would add more.

After a few seconds she realized he wouldn’t.

“I’m flattered,” she said, “thank you for sharing that with me. How do you feel, saying that?”

Thomas closed his eyes and looked skyward. She watched his chest move as he took a breath. His voice was quiet when he spoke — she had never really heard him talk this way.

“I feel stupid, I guess,” he said, “ashamed. Like, does this make me a creep? You’re my therapist and here I am thinking about you being hot.”

The word hot was different than the word attractive — there was something primal and sexual about it — and both Thomas and Lydia knew it.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed, or stupid, it’s quite normal for patients to develop similar feelings for their therapists.” It was like a well-rehearsed script. She knew what to say, even though she wanted to tell him that she, too, found him attractive and that she was glad — so fucking happy — that he found her, as he said, hot. “It’s called transference,” she continued, “and there are different forms it can take — maternal, romantic, erotic — Sigmund Freud was the first to observe and theorize on it. Is it getting in the way of our work together?”

Thomas considered this for a second, sitting back and letting himself sink into the couch. “I don’t think so, unless it bothers you or makes you uncomfortable, that’s the last thing I want.”

Lydia smiled and shook her head. “No, it doesn’t,” she answered, “and this isn’t about me, it’s about you. If you don’t fee like your feelings are restricting you, there’s actually a lot that we can learn from this if you feel comfortable talking about it — we can look at why you’re feeling this way, why you’re seeing me this way, why you feel like you might have to transfer your erotic thoughts to me. Do you think it has anything to do with what you were saying before? That you feel like I’m interested in you? That I care?”

How the fuck did she manage to do that, Thomas wondered. He hadn’t really considered that, but there was something that made him feel more attracted to her because of the interest she appeared to be showing in him. It made him feel appreciated. He felt like Christine sometimes tuned out when he spoke.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think maybe that’s part of it. Like I wish someone just couldn’t take their eyes off of me, kind of the way you do — that I’d consume their thoughts. Maybe that’s part of what drives the fantasy.”

The word fantasy was like a gust of wind in the room. Lydia was a bit surprised and curious. Why, oh why, had he used the word fantasy instead of thoughts. Lydia’s mind turned to her own fantasies. Maybe she wasn’t alone.

“That’s an interesting word,” she said.

Thomas smiled, sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess,” he said quietly, looking briefly at Lydia before turning his gaze to the painting, then the window sill, the bookshelf, but this time he couldn’t look at her again — he went back to the painting and his eyes lingered there. He knew she was staring at him.

Finally, he brought his gaze back to hers. He swallowed hard. “Last week, after our session, I went home and I masturbated.” He felt disgusting and immediately looked away. “I’m sorry, that’s inappropriate.”

​

And yet, despite feeling he had crossed a line — he felt lighter. He also felt aroused and he could feel a warmth spreading from his balls to his stomach, blood flow increasing to his crotch.

Lydia wasn’t quite sure how to react. On the one hand, she wanted to tell him that she, too, had masturbated after their session, but on the other, she knew that she risked losing her license if she did. Instead, she decided to play the understanding, curious therapist. She waited a second, looking as though she were mulling over what he had said.

“Sex and masturbation isn’t inappropriate in therapy — it’s something that all humans engage in. What makes you feel like it was inappropriate?” She knew what he was going to say, but he wanted to hear him say it.

Thomas wanted to lie — to say that he had watched a porn video that involved a therapist and a patient — but he couldn’t. He looked at Lydia, directly. “Because I masturbated to you, to the thought of you, picturing what you looked like — what you would look like.”

​

“Naked,” he added.

Lydia looked at him without saying anything. She was happy that he was being honest. She could also feel herself getting wet, between her crossed legs. She was intrigued — in a way that was more than just professional — and she felt guilty and conflicted about that. She didn’t say anything, but she kept looking at Thomas, trying to lure him into saying more.

For some reason, Thomas didn’t feel intimidated by Lydia’s staring now. There was something liberating about telling Lydia that he had masturbated to her.

“It was so good, too,” he said, “like I could picture it so fucking vividly.”

Lydia was screaming inside. She wanted to throw herself on him, to tell him that she, too, had pictured him. That she had cum harder than she had in months by picturing his hands on her body, his fingers inside her, massaging her G-spot until she climaxed. She could hear that something had changed in his voice, too. There was something deeper in it — even if he was speaking softly and quietly. She could tell that he was speaking from a personal place — uninhibited, really. She watched as he uncrossed his legs and noticed that there was a slight bulge on the inside of his thigh.

Thomas caught her looking, too. She saw him blush a little bit, and she, in turn, blushed too.

“Does talking about it and thinking about it turn you, Thomas?”

​

This was uncharted territory for her. Her heart was racing. She was torn — on the one hand she knew how close she was to crossing the line into unethical territory. On the other, there was definitely something legitimately therapeutic about where this might go. And, then there were her own feelings and curiosities that were somewhat clouding her judgement, making her push forward into uncomfortable — but oh so satisfying — territory.

Thomas hadn’t expected Lydia to react this way — not that he had planned on telling her anything, but when the words came flowing from his lips, he thought that she would be incensed, offended, disgusted. Instead, she was curious and he thought he detected a touch of intrigue in her voice.

“It does,” he conceded. He spread his legs a little bit, making no effort to obscure the growing bulge that his hardening shaft was creating along the inseam of his pants. He felt a rush of energy course through his veins. There was something electric in the air, but he wasn’t sure how far to push things or how honest he could be with Lydia. “If I were alone, I’d probably undo my pants and, honestly, I’m going to probably tap into this feeling later tonight when I am alone.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. She considered her words carefully before parting her lips.

“Pretend I’m not here,” she said, “but vocalize your thoughts, we can learn something from that.”

Thomas was shocked, but not necessarily in a bad way. His eyes snapped back to Lydia’s. “Is this a trap or something? Like a test?”

Lydia shook her head, without breaking eye contact. “Not at all. I want you to feel like you don’t have to hide anything or repress anything. Let me in, Thomas.”

Lydia could feel a warmth emanating from her between her legs. Her panties — dark green lace — must’ve be soaked. But she did her best to maintain her composure.

Thomas looked at her. He wasn’t sure what to do. His heart was legitimately racing now. His left hand settled on the inside of his thigh, covering his hardened shaft. Slowly he stroked it through his pants. “It feels fucking good to be telling you this.”

“I’m sure it does,” Lydia said, “you don’t tell Christine things like this, do you?”

Thomas shook his head and ran his hand along the bulge with a bit more urgency. “No, but then again, I’ve given up on fucking her. You, on the other hand, I think I’d desperately want to.”

The admission sent a jolt through Lydia, but also through Thomas. His hand moved up his thigh, he sucked his stomach in slightly and then slid his hand into his trousers and under his boxers, cupping his manhood. Lydia watched him with great interest as he did.

“You want to fuck me?” She asked, almost playfully, but still making an effort to have it come across as a professional curiosity.

Thomas nodded. “I do. That’s what I thought about last Friday.” Thomas closed his eyes a bit and tilted his head upwards, biting his lip as he gripped the base of his shaft. He pulled his hand out of his trousers and undid his belt. “May I?” He asked, looking at Lydia.

She acquiesced without saying anything, pursing her lips and shrugging, as if to say, sure, why not. When she did speak, she had a question for him. “Have you only masturbated that one time to me?” She wasn’t really thinking as Thomas’ therapist anymore, but her questions could be interpreted as being therapeutic in nature and it was no accident.

Unzipping his trousers, Thomas stood up to lower them around his knees. He pulled his boxers — tight, blue with small polka dots on them — down, too, freeing his shaft. Lydia tried to not look, but she couldn’t help herself. Thomas looked even better than she had imagined when he stood in nothing but his boxers. She could see his bulge clearly defined in his boxers. She took note of his muscular thighs, too. As he revealed his erect shaft, her mind was racing, she wondered what it would feel like in her hands — it looked like she would be able to use both hands to wrap around it from the base of the shaft to the tip — a perfect size, bigger than average, but still a manageable, comfortable length and girth. She watched as he sat back down, licking his hand before wrapping it around his shaft again. For some reason this act, his tongue pressed against palm, and the transfer of his spit from mouth to palm to shaft, drove Lydia crazy. She crossed her legs tightly and she could feel how wet she was now. She wanted to tell him, but she resisted the urge.

Thomas slowly stroked his hard manhood, barely touching it. The fact that he was being watched — by the woman that he was fantasizing over — was unexpectedly hot. It was intoxicating, actually. And he was afraid that if he didn’t restrain himself slightly, he would succumb to a quick orgasm. He had no clue how long was left in their session — not that this was a normal session anyways.

His voice was low and deep as he spoke slowly. “Only that once,” he said, biting his lip, “I had thought about you before, wondered what you’d look like naked and last Friday I couldn’t help myself.” He let out a small sigh as he slowed his stroke. “I felt disgusted with myself after, though, like really ashamed.” He looked up at Lydia. “But now, I’m wondering what it would be like to fuck you right here, on this couch and it doesn’t feel wrong.” He gripped his cock more firmly, then released it. He gave it a little slap, even.

Lydia bit her lip — there was no more hiding it.

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed.” She spread her legs. “I masturbated after our session last week, too.”

​

There was no going back, now. She had crossed the threshold — there was no way to salvage this, at least on the front of professional ethics. She saw that Thomas was intrigued. She also noticed that the tip of his cock was glistening in the sunlight, coated with a mixture of his saliva and what she assumed was precum. “When I came, I was picturing your fingers inside me.”

Thomas stroked his shaft with more vigour, now. “Well, why don’t we try that?”

Lydia wanted to cave in, but for some reason, she was clinging to the idea of keeping this professional — despite the fact that was no longer possible. “I don’t think that would be appropriate,” she said, “I could lose my license.”

Thomas stood up, he felt emboldened, despite the words that had just come from Lydia’s lips. He proceeded to unbutton his shirt and remove it. He could feel Lydia’s eyes wandering, first to his muscular thighs, then to his erect shaft, up to his toned stomach. “But having me masturbate in front of you is okay?”

Lydia smiled. “There’s nothing in the professional code of ethics about masturbating,” she said, “only romance and sex.”

Thomas stayed standing. Given the sloping ceiling and his height, Lydia had the impression that he was truly towering over her — despite the fact that she was taller than average for a woman.

“Well then what are you waiting for,” he said, looking down towards her as he brought his hand back to his shaft, stroking it from tip to base and then shaking it up and down slightly. A strand of precum flew off the tip and landed on the small coffee table between the two of them. Lydia looked down at it and then looked up at Thomas. She looked back down at the table and extended her hand, sticking her index finger out and using it to scoop up the drop of precum. Bringing her eyes back to Thomas’ she took her finger and placed it between her lips, running her tongue along it, tasting him, without touching him. It was still warm and it tasted a little tangy, albeit slightly sweet. She wanted more, desperately, but that one drop was enough to cause her to lose her own inhibitions. Before she knew it, she was unbuttoning her pants, her legs spread wide, and tugging them down until they were around her ankles. She could feel Thomas taking in the sight of her own toned thighs, even before he looked at her panties. She slid her hand under her panties and parted her lips.

“I knew I was wet,” she said to him, “but fuck, I didn’t expect this.” She withdrew her hand and, looking him in the eyes, licked it clean, the same way that he had licked his own palm only a few minutes earlier.

As much as Thomas wanted to see her entire body, there was something incredibly erotic to him about her being partially clothed while he stood there naked, standing in front of her, as if he were putting on a show for her and she, by touching herself in front of him, were approving of his behaviour, of his body, of his sexuality. This is what he needed, he thought.

Lydia’s hand slid back to her panties, but this time, she pushed them lower on her thighs, revealing her shaved, bare mound. Thomas could see how wet she was. He could hear it as she rubbed her wetness, spreading her juices across her labia, onto her thighs. The sight and the sound made him weak — he felt it in his spine and lower back as he slowly stroked his shaft. He wanted to quicken his pace, but he fought the urge, afraid that if he came, this would all come crashing to an end.

Instead, he opened his mouth, parting his lips ever so slightly and letting out a low, guttural groan followed by an almost-whispered “Fuck.” It was primal and passionate. Lydia bit her lip. They looked each other in the eyes and this time, Thomas didn’t feel uncomfortable, instead, it turned him on even more. There was an undeniable connection between the two of them as he stroked his shaft and she rubbed her index finger on her clit, making small, slow counter-clockwise circles around her swollen pink nub.

“I wondered what you’d sound like,” she said, her breathing a little bit heavier. She let out a gentle moan before tilting her head downwards and grabbing the collar of her sweater between her teeth, tugging on it and biting it. She looked tortured, as if she wanted to let herself moan and scream out in pleasure but was trying to keep it in. As if she was conflicted about what she was doing. And yet, she seemed so certain that this is exactly what she wanted to be doing — the way that she was looking at Thomas, the way that she was rubbing her clit, faster now.

​

That juxtaposition made Thomas’ cock throb with desire and he began to stroke his shaft faster, gripping it tightly. He looked down at it and spit, forcefully onto his shaft, rubbing the saliva along the length until he was coating the tip with it.

“You’re even hotter than I imagined,” he managed to say, his voice breaking slightly. He was still standing — he wasn’t sure why, but he could tell that Lydia liked it, with her legs spread on the chair just in front of him, the coffee table separating the two of them as they masturbated together.

Lydia blushed and took her hand away from her slit. Quickly, she pulled her sweater over her head. Thomas was surprised that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, but, then again, it was a loose sweater. Her breasts weren’t the biggest that he’d ever seen — in fact, Christine’s were probably bigger — but they were, in that moment, the most perfect pair of breasts he’d ever laid eyes on. They’d be just big enough for him to comfortably take in his hands and they were shapely and still perfectly perky. He would picture them bouncing to and fro ever so slightly if she were on top of him, riding him until they came together. That was what he deeply wanted — to cum with her. The thought pushed him closer to climax. He let out another primal, guttural moan as he stroked his cock faster, but gripping it less tightly.

“You’re built like a fucking goddess…” he was practically whispering, “I had no idea.”

To Lydia, these words served to turn her on even more, she spread her legs more and began to rub her lips from side to side, faster and faster, as she used the palm of her hand to tease her clit, grinding against the mound where her thumb joined the palm.

“You have no idea how much you’re turning me on,” she said to Thomas. She was getting closer.

“I think I can tell,” he said, playfully, taking a step closer towards her, but still on the other side of the table.

“Fuck, Thomas, I’m going to cum.” She was practically lying down now, her feet under the table but still planted on the ground, her back on the seat of the chair and her head at the very bottom of the back.

“Not yet,” he said, admiring her tight, toned body as he, himself was oh so close to exploding. “I want to cum with you, at the same time. I need you to know that it’s because of you.” His voice was hoarse. He started thrusting his hips as he stroked his shaft.

Lydia just nodded. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she screamed in quick succession, each louder and higher pitched than the last. “Look me in the eyes,” she said, biting her lip.

Thomas nodded and acquiesced. The sight of Lydia bucking her hips up and down as she ran her fingers over her clit, her other hand pinching her erect nipples was enough to push Thomas over the edge — or perhaps it was the fact she had told him to look her in the eyes. He parted his lips to speak.

“Do you want to cum now?”

All Lydia could do was nod her head.

A few seconds passed where neither said anything. Their breathing was loud enough and spoke volumes, interspersed with moans and grunts.

“Please, fuck.” She was screaming now — such a stark change from the quiet, dispassionate pillow talk Thomas was used to.

“Five,” Thomas managed to say, stroking his cock faster. He could feel it building in his scrotum, then spreading to his belly. Lydia started focusing exclusively on her clit, using her index and middle finger to apply more pressure, lifting her ass — that perfectly toned ass — off the chair and arching her back as she gripped the arm rest with her left hand.

“Please, fucking shit, I need to cum,” she was desperate.

So was Thomas, who let out what can only be described as a bestial sigh that said more than any words could. “Four, three,” he said in quick succession. They looked each in the eyes — they could see each other’s souls, practically. Both were nodding. Their hands were moving in lockstep. They weren’t touching, but neither had ever felt so close to another person.

“Two,” Lydia said, taking over and incapable waiting any longer, “one.” She opened her lips again to speak but Thomas cut her off.

“Now,” his breathing was ragged. So was hers. Their moans were one. Lydia’s yelp pierced the air. “Yes! YES! Fuck me, I’m cumming.” Her hips buckled and she collapsed into the chair, bringing her legs together, trapping her hand on her wetness, her fingers continuing to rub her now hyper-sensitive clit with the accuracy of a pianist. “Holy fucking shit,” she said, spittle flying from her lips and landing on her stomach,

Thomas, too, was cumming. Neither had blinked in what felt like minutes. His large hands were gripping the base of his cock, each stroke stopping just before the tip. He pushed his hips forwards and groaned, deeply. “You’re so fucking hot,” he managed to say, just as he felt the first wave of cum — unusually thick today — pulsating through his shaft and flying out the tip, landing on Lydia’s thigh. The sight of his warm, creamy cum on her toned, smooth skin sent him even further over the edge. The tip of his cock was coated in cum and he used that as lube as he continued to stroke himself. “Fucking yes,” he screamed, as he ejaculated again and again, this time landing on the table between them and again on Lydia’s knee.

Finally, Thomas collapsed onto the couch, his arms falling to each side, releasing his grip on his cock. He couldn’t talk — but he could chuckle with his heavy breaths. Lydia, was still looking at him, moaning as she removed her hand from her clit, spreading her legs a bit. “That was so fucking hot,” she said.

Thomas nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

He nodded towards her thigh, where his cum was beginning to leak down the inside of her leg.

Without saying anything, Lydia took her finger and collected it, before bringing it to her lips, tasting him again, and still without ever touching him.

Thomas laughed. “You really like that don’t you?”

Lydia nodded, her finger still in her mouth. She was sucking it sensually.

“And you’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”

Again, she nodded. Slowly, she removed her finger, before flashing a mischievous smile.

“It would’ve tasted better on your finger, though.”

Thomas looked at the cum on the little table. He leaned forward, spreading his index and middle finger in the small puddle and then extending his arm across the table, closer to Lydia. All she had to do was lean forward and open her mouth.

She had a burning desire in her eyes. She didn’t even think, it was like there was a magnet inside her that drew her forwards, the same muscles she used to do crunches at the gym activating and pushing her forwards. She parted her lips and stuck out her tongue, before wrapping them around Thomas’ fingers. She was right — it did taste better on his fingers. They were longer than she had imagined. They filled her mouth in a pleasant way. He was gentle and delicate, but she felt like she was totally consumed. Slowly he pulled them out, but she moved forwards, trying to keep them in her mouth.

“I guess someone wants more,” Thomas said, a smile on his face.

Lydia nodded.

They both wanted more.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12l60tq/mf_is_it_bad_to_tell_your_therapist_that_you_want