The unspoken world of SEX #Excerpt #Sex #Blog #Swingers #Exhibitionist

The weight of the plastic framed mirror felt like stone. No doubt the weight was the burden of guilt. A fault induced by the spying on a couple engaged in intimate moments.

A tingling simmered from the tips of my fingers which wrapped around the mirrors frame. It was as though the mirror were warning me - correction, scolding me. What was I doing?

                The awareness of Maria’s eyes staring down at me brought me realization.

                I shook my head, objecting this invasion of privacy. But how private could sex be in a public bathroom? Regardless, I had no right to intrude on their moment despite how I felt about their locational choosing.

                Like a car salesmen refusing to forfeit a potential deal, again she seized my hand in hers. This time leading me outside our stall to stand in front of the occupied stall.

                She motioned at the hinged steel door seemingly bothered. She was impatient and frustrated that I didn’t share her fondness for voyeuristic pleasures.

She was unbelievable.

I stared at her gawkily. Tilting my head and eyeing her in disbelief. She stared onward with intensity, like she could see straight through the solid door, yearning to feel the pleasures they felt.

Following her gaze and the rhythmic thrust of a body against a solid surface, I diverted my attention to a folded strand of toilet tissue which hung over the door.

Public sex, I’ve heard, is one of the ultimate thrills. The anxiety of not knowing if you’ll get caught or if someone is watching heightens the sensation. For exhibitionists, it is the preferred sexual environment.

There are many unspoken languages is the world of sex. For example, many swingers meet other local swingers at grocery stores by way of what is in another’s cart. They peruse the aisles searching for cart contents which mirror their own. Specific items lined in the basket nearest the basket handle signifies, “We’re swingers, and we’re looking to meet and greet.”

Like swingers, the same is true for sexual exhibitionist. They too engage in conversations unspoken.  A strand of toilet tissue hanging loosely over a stall door implies, “You’re free to watch, but quietly.”

Watch... you know you want to. #Excerpt #Fiction #Erotica #Erotic

Curiosity lead me pass the wooden door silent and discreetly.

The restaurant ambiance carried into the narrow space. It too was dimly lit and the faint sounds of jazz streamed through the ceilings speakers.  The room appeared barren, which was not what I expected considering I saw Maria disappear around the corner leading only to two room. One exclusive to males the other females.

The rattling of tissue rotating in its dispenser, or water streaming over washing hands would have been expected, but I heard none of those. For a moment, I thought I had entered the wrong bathroom. Under the influence of a tempting desire, maybe I had mistaken the ladies room for what was actually the men’s.  I saw and heard no trace of Maria anywhere.

I crouched low enough to peer underneath the stalls, just enough to see a pair of black loafers.

I panicked.

Maybe she wasn’t baiting me at all, maybe she just wanted to ensure she wouldn’t be interrupted as she emptied her bowels. I basked in my embarrassment, until I realized those were brown loafers, not black and they were pointed towards the stall instead of away from it.

Startled I stood upright and turned.

To my surprise, there she stood with the widest grin behind me.

She knew I would be lured into her pursuit and she waited against the same wall which supported the doors frame for me to enter. “How devious,” I mused, yet I liked it.

I started to speak but I was silenced. Placing a finger over her lips she seized my hand in hers and we entered the vacant stall. I watched her retrieve a wallet from her back pocket and from its folds grab a small mirror.

I stared at her confused while she knelt, positioning the mirror at an angle right below the steel dividers separating each stall. Was this woman mad?

She was like a horny adolescent stealing private images the only way she could. I didn’t think I needed to tell her this was illegal. Repulsed I proceeded to exit the stall. When she grabbed my arm I broke free, pulling against the sensational flutter of my stomach. She seized me again, firmer this time. Pointing to the steel divider she urged me to listen. I did.

I heard nothing at first, only the whaling of a saxophone and a background cello. But the more I tuned out the jazz notes, the more I heard a separate and sensual tune. The melody of an oncoming orgasm. She placed the mirror in my hands. 

Curves That Tempt #Excerpt #Fiction #Blog #LGBT

The term civilized was created to shadow us from our animalistic instincts. Regardless of how “civilized” we become, there lies a chained beast waiting for the moment to step in to the light and take control. Aware of my public surroundings, yet craving a sensual touch, I was struggling against my civility.

When would I submit to my desires, to the longing which tugged at my inner folds. When would I let its wetness seep down my thighs. When would I allow myself freedom.

Maria waited for my response. Though I’m sure the lapse in time was more than it had appeared to me, she conveyed patience. I must have been a dismal sight, clearly engaging in an internal battle, but her gaze over me was judgment free.

Pitifully I bowed my head stating, “I actually have sanitizer.”

As proof, I reached for my bag and began sifting through its contents. Locating my small travel bottle, I flipped the top open and poured the cleansing serum into my palms.

Maria shrugged as though the decline were my loss and sought off to find the restrooms hidden in the rear of the restaurant.

My eyes trailed her retreat.

Surveying her every motion from her head to the soles of her shoes, but mostly I centered on the area below her waist. She had an ideal form, arguably the curves of a goddess herself. Womanly bends and bows tightened around her waist and expanded along her vertical frame like an hourglass. She had hips that tempted hands to touch, grab, and lift. Hips that accentuated with each step, a rhythmic step which allowed one hip to roll into the other.  Her hips had form and definition like its neighbor, a round and buoyant ass.

                While salivating over her lusciousness, she disappeared behind a corner and I was pulled from my curve obsession.

The observance of her retreat summoned erotic thoughts. A lewd beast bellowed me to action. It snarled low and impatient, then roaring commandingly. Ordering me out my seat and towards the darkened hallway in the rear of the restaurant. I turned the corner, lead merely by the bestial desires that pulled at me. I entered the woman’s restroom.

That ass is mine #excerpt #fiction

Yikes! She was a simmering pot of frustration, but there had to be some mistake. I couldn’t be the fuel to her irritation. I couldn’t understand why I would be an outlet for her hostility. The tone didn’t bother me as much as the wording.

Regardless of how much she said and its emphasis, all I heard was “challenge.” I replied defensively, “excuse me?”

                “I’m not trying to offend,” Maria defended. Trying to smooth over the rough conversation she added, “It is my hope to one day by like you, equally skilled and dedicated. I’m simply trying to understand what it is that led you here.”

                Bullshit. She was just gunning for me. Now she’s an admirer?

                None the less, I responded, “I worked hard. I sacrificed. That’s what got me here.” The matter-of-fact declaration was laced with self-assurance. Unlike most, I worked very hard to achieve my success. There were no handouts. 

                “What did you have to sacrifice?”

                “Everything.” I stated crisply.

                “Could you unfold that?”

I sighed, “Relationships, family, social life…”

                “Sex?” She questioned.

                “At times,” I admitted.

Despite my candid reply, my forwardness surprised me. I was glad for the moment to organize my thoughts while she reflected on her subsequent question.

                “What is the most challenging obstacle for you?”

                Again she was prying, each question becoming more invasive than its predecessor. My conscious rebuked her, we weren’t old friends drinking wine and indulging in outspoken conversations! How did I allow her to violate my thoughts? Was she my weakness?

I could still feel the impression she left on my ass, yet again I replied with candidness, “The more I fix the problems of my client’s, the less I’m able to repair my own.”

                “Why do you think that is?”

I laughed. She was really sounding like a psychiatrist. My humor didn’t weaken her expression, she was peculiarly concentrated. I readjusted my expression to reflect hers, “I’m not sure. Being stretched too thin maybe?”

                “Maybe you should take a vacation.” Her lip lifted at the seam and she added, “A nice beach with white sand and crabs that bite you on the ass.”

The ass comment pulled a smile from my taut expression, “Maybe one day.”

                She reclined, replacing her intensity with a casual and relaxed disposition. She stretched, extending her arms in the air, then clasped her hands behind her head while simultaneously framing her legs outside of mine.  “When was your last vacation?”

                Her legs grazed the outside of mine as she continued to stretch.

I replied unperturbed, “I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”

She hissed, “Ms. Kelly we have got to get you out of this city.”

Her immediate exit from the booth left me deliberating whether she meant leaving promptly or if she was simply excusing herself. She stood as I stared dumbfounded.

She stated, “Excuse me; I just need to visit the restroom.”

Turning towards the back of the restaurant she searched for the restroom sign, but before she paced away from me she questioned, “Do you not need to wash your hands?”

The question wasn’t an aim at cleanly awareness, she was baiting me. 

Pushed to excellence #excerpt #fiction

The decision to accept Janice's offer was a long and weighted endeavor. Returned to the confines of my office, I paced the room deliberating if I should open the folder lying flat on my desk. 

I could return it to her, explain my doubts, I mused. I have never questioned my incompetence before. The incertitude forced me to question my skill and expertise. Janice was one of the best in the field. My experience paled in comparison to her decades of sexual dysfunctional treatment. I was out of my league. 

I refuted the last thought. Janice wouldn't entrust me with the task if she deemed me incompetent. Throughout all her colleagues I was the one she had chosen. I was most qualified. 

I braced myself and opened the file.

The first page contained a list of names, only one I recognized - a politician – whom I utterly disliked due to his irrevocable dissent towards women’s health and equality. A passionate conservative, I wouldn’t have ever assumed he would be associated with Dr. Cuppins in the least.

The following pages contained each client’s chart including assessments, therapy sessions, medical history, and mundane information such as spouse and personal data. The last page of each client’s file contained an updated contract agreement which transfers treatment to Ms. Noah Kelly.

 I shrieked with surprise. She knew I would accept the offer all along.

Alerted by the sound of heels I questioned, “How did you know I would accept?”

                She paused outside my office door and smiled, “Darling, of course you would. You’re a smart woman.”

                She entered and lightly closed the door. Separated from our conversation landing on unintended ears she said, “I like that Maria.”

I exhaled in exhaustion, “Janice.” She just wouldn’t let it go. I was beginning to regret even mentioning Maria and her haunting my conscious.

She waved away my irritation, continuing without a thought, “You should allow her to help you on this. I am a great judge of character and she should definitely work with you on at least one of your clients.”

                “I’ll consider it.”

Rich or Poor, we all enjoy a little kink #excerpt #blog

Her lips curled around her words, yet I could hear nothing other than her declaration. She’s selling her practice.

The restaurant fell silent as I absorbed the news. My first reaction was pessimism. I wondered what event caused her to abandon the principal representation of her. An embodiment of everything she believed, everything she expressed. Her practice.

My auditory returned and she continued, “I have many uncharted experiences I wish to explore. I’ve worked long enough; it’s time for me to live darling. Are you not happy for me?”

My surprise overpowered me, I couldn’t speak. My eyes trailed the length of the wooden table, left to right. Finally I said, “Of course I’m happy for you. But are you sure?”

                “I’ve thought about it for a while now, don’t be so morose.”

She curled a strand of her dark brown locks behind her ear adding, “And the best part is you’ll be receiving my most exclusive clients.”

                My eyes snapped to her sharply, “You’re giving away your clients. Only five dear. It was one of my most irrefutable contingencies.”

                I threw up my hands, “Wait, you’ve already signed a practice transfer agreement?” I was on edge, struggling to keep up and make sense of this unexpected news.

                “Relax!” She demanded. “Nothing is finalized as of yet. But I have these clients whom are exceptionally near and dear to me and I wouldn’t trust them in the hands of anyone other than you.”

                “Did I work with them when I interned with you?”

                “Never. I would never allow an intern close to my premium clientele. They require ultimate discretion. Although the potential owner is exceptional, I do not trust her with these clients. I trust you.”

She sipped her wine, eyeing me suspiciously. She was wondering why I didn’t reverence her and scream with appreciation of her good deed.

                I said, “That’s very, very kind of you.”

                “Don’t bore me with courtesies, Noah. This will be very good for your business, trust me.”

I reached for my wine, swallowing a hefty gulp like it was water. She was right. This would be an excellent opportunity for me to expand my brand and reach an affluent market.

                Still I wasn’t sure. I said, “I really do appreciate the offer, but I’m really stretched too thin already, I can’t imagine five additional clients without hurting my existing clientele.”

                Her frustration mounted, again I was being ungrateful. “You’re a business owner, of course you’re stretched thin! Learn to delegate more tasks. No one expects you to be superwoman, but you.”

Intrigued by a thought she grinned, “If that new employee of yours is as good as you say then you’ll need her.”

She flipped the clasp on her very large double-handle leather Prada tote and retrieved a large confidential envelope. She eased it across the table, “This could be the beginning of the rest of your life, all you have to do is open the envelope. I will be here to guide you. By placing these files in your care, you are accepting this responsibility Noah. Seize your life.”

Old Friends.. New Interests (An Excerpt)

I heard the hoarse tone before I saw her. She was loud by nature and the additional raspy inflections carried from the lobby and into the walls of my office. Her preference for nicotine produced an unattractive coarseness. She said, “It’s fine darling, she knows who I am. I’m always welcome.”

               The clinging of her heels echoed her office bound pursuit. Pausing for a pose underneath my door frame she exclaimed, “Noah, darling!”

I stood, edging around the corners of my desk to embrace her. “Janice.”

               “How are you my love?” She asked still sealed in our embrace.

               “Good,” I replied.

She stood back to survey me. “You look good,” She affirmed.

The compliment raised a light smile. It was weak and my anxiety was ill-disguised. Intuitive Janice caught the flaw. She pried. Her incisiveness breached the bounds of a friendly analysis and took the form of a concerned therapist.

I brushed away the intrusion, I didn’t need a shrink. The invasion caused me to retract my hands from her hold.

I said, "Read your article in this month’s Sexual Expression."

She respectfully followed my lead to divert the subject, eyeing me as I returned to my desk. "And what did you think?"

"It was exceptional, of course."

I didn't need to note the broad smile to know she was pleased with my review. I still was unable to look at her for fear she would continue her investigation. Her satisfaction carried in her tone, "Thank you. You know I hate those damned things. They're inclined to center on the less complimentary topics of the interview, meanwhile, discounting any intended points."

She huffed unpleased she even dealt with the tedium of magazine article interviews.

"Well," I said sitting comfortably in my chair, "If those weren't your key points then they did you a favor."

She smiled in advance of a disappointed frown. She questioned, "What are you doing, Noah?"

Her friendliness had evaporated. She was now perturbed and disappointed. I offended her.

Apologetically I said, "You're right." I tossed aside the paperwork in my hands. I was working while in the company of a very dear friend. I was being rude. It only now occurred to me that she was still standing, I motioned, "A seat?"

She scoffed, "No ma’am, I came to kidnap you." She gleamed, "Lunch?"

Though presented in the form of a question, the invitation was unavoidable and irrefutable. I grabbed my phone and purse. This would be interesting.

..Raw, Part 2 (An Excerpt)

He didn’t stop, he wouldn’t stop. He was determined to bring me release.

Bent over the sofa, with my ass lifted and his face submerged into it, we were one. We moved with a rhythm, a synchronized sex beat.

My cries sent a bolt of energy throughout his body and he thrust his tongue forward harder. The request for him not to stop electrified him. I could hear the wetness as it spread about his tongue. It was better than hearing the refreshing sound of rain because this was the sound of sex.

This beauty is Rihanna - if you didn't know.

I felt the bubble. It starts small, the size of a pea until a sensation brings forth an arousal and expands its diameter. As it grows everything intensifies. Nipples become tender, breathing speeds, moans become louder, toes curl, and every worry, every frustration disappears.

Ones only concern is to release this growing ball of pleasure intensifying inside of you – The Orgasm.

My dull nails scratched against the sofas microfiber and my face burrowed between the seat pillows. I felt the bubble of orgasm rise within me and I began to return my hips to him harder. Hoping his tongue would be pressed deeper within me. To fill me.

Longing to feel, to touch, to stimulate, I again massaged my breast and pulled at my nipples crushed between the weight of me and the couch. I grabbed my ass and spread my cheeks.

Each brush of his tongue against my erected treasure impelled involuntary convulsions. I was getting closer and I ached for release. But just as quickly as he stirred me, the intensity soon deflated. Once situated on a cloud ready for orgasmic launch, I slowly descended from the orgasmic heavens.

Pulled so close, I felt I was right there, right on the edges. But I suffered through my own sexual abnormality, my inability to orgasm. 

Desirous (An Excerpt)

That woman had the most unpropitious timing, or maybe her timing was calculated. She was unbelievably smart, no doubt.  Incredibly persuasive and I would be remised if I didn’t add manipulative. I couldn’t help but wonder if her unfavorable timing was measured.  

As I entered my home, the glow of the television unnerved me. I wasn’t one for watching television and I definitely wouldn’t leave it on in my absence. The volume was muted, but it was the luminescence which spilled from the screen and decorated the nearby wall which had warned me.

I drop my bags on the floor and removed my shoes before stepping outside the foyer. I followed the lighting and turned the corner as I was greeted with a routine, “Hey hun.”

My uncertainty dissolved as I replied absently, “Hey.”

Sensing my displeasure he inquired, “Long day?”

One of the absolute longest, I mused, but I replied with a nonchalant, “Same as always.”

Neglecting our usual greeting which was complimented by a kiss on the cheek, I walked past him and the television stating, “I’m going to call it a night.”

The declaration paused him and it wasn’t until I was halfway to our bedroom when he replied, “Okay. Goodnight.”

Entering the bedroom I began unfastening my blouse, exposing my breast and the black bra which supported them.

 I felt stained and unclean, comparable to person who had just committed a heinous act. Like a cop who engaged in their first act of defiance. Or a once polished woman who exploited her body. My challenge was not that I had aroused the interest of a coworker, but that the feeling was reciprocal.

My crime was minimal, yet the weight of it compelled me to cleanse my sins.

I turned the chrome knob and water cascaded through the shower head sprout.

I continued to strip my clothing, until I was bare and I tiptoed across the cold tiled floor and through the thick glass shower enclosure.

The hot water scolded me, still I turned the temperature higher. The scorching heat reassured me that I would be thoroughly sanitized.  Most importantly the scolding water would discourage my hands from seeking pleasure. It still throbbed, enticing me to ride the thrill of ecstasy, but I resisted because I was in control.

Stepping out of the shower I slipped on my satin kimono. I loved the feel of the fabric on my warm skin. I laid in bed nearly an hour, chasing the cool areas of my satin sheets with my feet. A few times I rolled over to Mark’s side of the bed since he hadn’t yet retired for the night. The heat radiating from my body had become uncomfortable. It made me restless, but mostly it made me desire Maria.

Hidden Intentions (An Excerpt)

To say that I was slightly discomforted as I parked my drop top convertible would have been severely understated. Vexed by my erotic exhibition the day before, I attempted to regain composure with a healthy dose of meditation. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. I inhaled tranquil thoughts, while exhaling my shame.
The recollection was surreal, yet I was confident Maria witnessed my sensual display yesterday.
Looking in my rearview mirror, I noted the bright Honda. She was prompt, just as she had been the entire week.
When I entered my establishment I was immediately greeted by both Alisa and Maria. The fact that I had never once seen them take an interest in each other caught my attention. Alisa occupied her space behind the desk, while Maria leaned casually against it. They both regarded me as I entered.
                “Good Morning,” they harmonized.
                “Morning,” I replied.

To two looked like teenage girls hiding a secret from their mom. The constant glances to the other spoiled their underground intentions.

My expression was one of urgency when Maria took the lead and spoke.
                “The two of us were going to go to the new restaurant on Stevens Creek Boulevard, would you care to join?” The alacrity of her tone was obscure. For reasons I couldn’t identify, despite the directness of the invitation, the tone and uneven smile which permeated at the seam was mischievous.
I replied dubiously, “Maybe. Let me check my schedule.”

Her skeptic grin didn’t waver as she responded, “Well, that’s kind of what we were discussing. Making sure everyone’s schedule coalesced. We were sure to pick a time complimentary to all of our schedules.”

                “Oh?” I deliberated. “Well then, I don’t see why not.”

Clearly pleased with my response she buoyantly ambled to her office three doors down the narrow hallway.

My puzzlement spilled with more judgment than intended when I asked Alisa, “What’s she so happy about?”

                She shrugged identically compressed by her energy, “I have no idea.”

Rest. Relaxation. Self-Stimulation. (An Excerpt)

The evening neared to an exhausting close as I filed new patient correspondence. I had long abandoned my heels and stood with my weight shifted to my left hip as I organized.  I sighed observing the stacked pile of paperwork on my desk. I had delayed this process too long and now it would be a very long night.

Alisa poked her head in my office and yelled, “Goodnight Ms. Kelly.”

I turned unbalanced and echoed a goodnight as she retreated. She offered to stay later than the two hours she’d already committed, but I insisted she go home. The mess was mine to clean, by result of pure avoidance and procrastination.

I needed a minute to relax my feet, they ached from the constant walking throughout the day and prolonged standing as I organized. I stepped under my office doorframe and yelled, “Hello?”

I waited patiently for a response. Again, I questioned, “Hello.”

Still no one answered.

The coast was clear, I could rest awhile. Sitting in my burgundy leather office chair, I propped my feet atop the desk and reclined. Relaxed and rested I hummed to myself as my thoughts trailed.

Recalling the unpleasant memory of Keith, I searched for happier thoughts and I was surprised at my unconscious selection. Maria. Images of the way she bit her lips teased me. Further enticing was the way her skin felt on mine. She radiated warmth which traveled down between my thighs and caused my clit to throb. Beating like that of a heart, it pulsated aching for me to sooth the sensation.

Soon the tips of my fingers tugged against the button and zipper of my pants. They burrowed underneath my cotton laced thong. The sound of Maria’s voice saying my name made me lick my lips. The warmth between my legs excited me, but when I parted the labia shielding my inner treasure the moisture delivered me to new heights.

Extending my index finger I stroked the summit of my erection before descending deeper into the pool of liberation which saturated my inner thighs. Returning to my summit, I circle its peak. Firmly I pushed against it, stroking the sides and sliding from its top, down to the puddle below and ascending back to its top. I repeated the motion firmer and faster until my breathing paced and my moans escaped.

Heat engulfed me and is I started to orgasm a voice echoed through the hallway.

A shadow neared my office and I rushed to fasten my clothes before their arrival. Entering my office Maria said, “Ms. Kelly I-”

She paused and stared at me curiously. Sidetracked from her intended conversation she questioned, “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” I lied. “Just a little startled, I thought everyone had left for the evening.”

                “Oh?” She pondered. “Well, I’m just finishing up these documents and wanted to review them with you before I add them to our records.”

                “I’m sure they’re fine,” I replied.

                She nodded, “Sure. Okay,” and turned to exit into the narrow hallway. Sensing my uneasiness she turned to regard me once more, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

                “Absolutely,” I smiled.

She returned the expression and added, “Your hair.”

                “My hair?” I questioned.

                She pointed, “It’s sticking up.”

Sex Therapist: Case 1, Part 2

Her pleas returned unanswered as he secured a studded leather collar around her neck.

Leashed to him and under his control, he forced her to kneel before him. Her knees hit the hardwood floor painfully.

Her captor was removed from words and immune to her displeasure. The throbbing of her knees were bearable compared to the pain she would receive if she failed to please him.  

He forced his limp penis inside her mouth. 

Moderating the steadiness of her motion, he clamped the back of her head, forcing her to savor his length. She flexed her throat muscles. Exercising her extraordinary gag reflexes, she was able to squeeze and retract the muscles around his shaft. She stimulated him using the contraction of her throat muscles, her tongue and the warmth of her mouth.

Reaching the plateau of arousal, her husband was fully erect and near orgasm when she removed him from the warmth and moistness which erected him.

She took one of his testicles in her mouth simultaneously sucking and circling her tongue around delicately until he moaned with pleasure. Her hands were far from idle as they ventured around his scrotum and rubbed around the entrance of his anus.

After he came, he pulled her upright, turned her away from him and made her clamp her ankles as he entered her from behind. Filled nearly to the brinks of expansion she moaned as pleasure consumed her. A forbidden act.

Leash coiled in the fist of one hand, he used the other to pull on her thick brown mane. Forcefully, he reminded her of her place beneath him. She was a slave and pleasure was only reserved for his benefit. Her satisfaction was prohibited.

As she stood upright he debated the magnitude of her punishment.

She stood frightfully, unaware of the punishments to be delivered. Was it the painful pleasure of pinching nipple clamps, the lashing of satin lace against her skin or worse C-curved anal beads?

Sex Therapist: Case 1, part 1

My sexual counsel isn’t confined to the limits of my office space. My reach expands to my client’s homes and private bedrooms. These circumstances are rare; however, but I will exert all possibilities to help my clients overcome sexual inadequacies.

                If it requires me to observe them in their own personal settings, then that is where I will perform my therapy.

Clients are more relaxed in a home setting, which enables me to establish a stronger bond of trust and understanding.

It is an arduous process, especially for clients who have a repressed memory condition, like my client Linda.

Married ten years with a surprisingly enviable sex life, their sex life tore at the seams without forewarning during the course of a Saturday night encounter.

Under the notion they would venture into their growing bondage obsession they pulled out their bag of sexual goodies. A variety of satin blindfolds, foot long satin lace whips, fur paddles, gags and a bedroom bondage kit.

Sharing an interest for role-playing they fantasized a night of submission and domination.

Linda sneaked about the house bare, branded an escaped sex slave. Her husband, acting as her owner, pursued her.

Underneath the midnight sky, the house was as black as night. Imagination mounted as furniture took the form of bushes and walls stood as trees. She fled for her life, knowing that if she were caught, she would be punished.

In the kitchen she tiptoed around the granite island which held the form of a water well, when finally she came face to face with her tracker. Grabbing her petite frame, he holstered her on his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom. She pled with him, vowing to never run from him again if only he didn’t punish her.

Sex Therapist: Introduction

The stigma associated with self-pleasure has long been an attempt to sway our self-interest and ultimate gratification. Even before conception we are drawn to the intense stimulation of masturbation. In the womb, males and females alike are drawn to the pleasures associated with a delicate rubbing or pressing of the genitals.

The vast majority of us explore our sexual desires as teenagers, quickly learning the power of touch and sound. A moan can excites us, while a touch can bring us to near orgasm. We tell ourselves there just isn’t enough time on Earth to explore what we have uncovered. And truth be told, there isn’t.

Only recently has the topic been widely open to discussion, but still many quiet the subject or avoid it all together. Countries have united to encourage masturbation, stating it is a citizen right and it will not be shunned or denied. Even so much as rallying for teenagers to engage in masturbation daily.

We people have progressed so far ahead, becoming so intellectualized we forget our basic needs. The need to orgasm.

I am an advocate for healthy sexual expression not because it is my field of work, but because the sentiment is one I truly believe. It is what makes me the best damn sex therapist in the Los Angeles area. My clients travel near and far, seeking direction and restoration of their sexless marriages.

What the court documents won’t tell you are those “irreconcilable differences” are simply a guise for “he can’t get it up” or “she’s drier than barren wasteland”.

My clients are teetering on the brinks of insanity. That is before they pick up the phone and call my office.

There are no boundaries; there are no exceptions to my job. Excluding of course the obvious, I don’t sleep with my clients. Despite requests from both men and women, it is one of my ultimate rules.  Clients who apprehensively voiced their request were newly acquired clients who thought that by bringing an additional woman in their bedroom their sex life could be restored. They were naïve and ill-informed, poor things. That misconception would be mistake number one.

Bringing a third person in your bedroom only intermittently satisfies the desires of two lovers. It is only passable to bring a third person if the relationship is solid and the sexual desires of both are abundant and fulfilled. Open relationships which have this understanding work exceptionally, however, this is rare. Most people don’t like to share.

Personally, I don’t mind it one bit.

As I pulled up to my office I observed the brightly colored Honda sedan parked in the front lot. Maria, my customer relations associate, had already arrived. Impressive. She wasn’t required to be here for another hour.

Only recently hired last week, she had already began making her imprint on me as well as my staff. She was timely and organized, but most importantly she was charismatic. She had a way with words and she made my clients feel at ease throughout their screening. The last thing they needed was to be interrogated, but the information was needed to better determine if I could help them.

Entering the building, I greeted my receptionist Alisa and proceeded towards my office. Three doors shy of my destination, Maria nearly sent my coffee airborne as she exited the mailroom and ran straight in to me.

“Ms. Kelly,” she stated unnerved, “I apologize. I didn’t see you.”

                “It’s fine,” I reassured.

                “After you,” she motioned.

While her left hand completed the forward gesture her other did something I didn’t expect. As I nodded and stepped forward she placed a hand on my lower back. Correction. It wasn’t my lower back at all, I was extenuating the offense. She touched my ass!

                

::Today brings healing::

I awake alone. This massive king size bed no longer conforms to the weight of two masses only one. Nor do the mattress springs moan from the doings of lovers. My bedroom is cold, devoid of the passionate heat which once radiated amidst these walls. A heat which rose from each embrace and tender kiss. A heat so intense no amount of heaters or blankets could reproduce.  A heat from two women. A heat from two lovers.

Once a retreat, now a prison. I am confined to these walls not because I am removed of the freedom to do so, but because here lies the memories I wish were alive and well. I chose to stay. I am my own captor.

Layered underneath three blankets, I jump each time the tips of my icy cold fingers make contact with my bare skin. When you were here, not once can I remember a frigid moment because your mere presence provided all the warmth I needed.

Today is the end of my lifelessness, today I can feel. Today is the end of constant tears and the start of acceptance of my misery. Despite its suggestion, misery brings with it an elusive light, representing the start of progress. I’m no longer burdened by hurt and victim to my heartbreak. I now can feel beyond the pain. As each second passes I know my heart is slowly stitching together the broken pieces you dismantled and neglected. I know I’m healing because my tears have finally emptied. I no longer cry when a stranger simply smiles and greets me. The redness from the strain of constant tears is now a blushing pink and the bags underneath my lashes have slowly deflated. My pillow for once is dry and yesterday I finally opened my curtains to view the clear day. You broke me, but now I’m moving towards healing.

The sky truly is beautiful today, yet….

I lay bare, buried underneath the covers. On my side, my attention is captivated by the beauty beyond my windowpane. Clouds as plush as cotton balls stroll by my bedroom window. Beckoning me to leave these walls of abandoned memories and let the sun envelop me. Happiness waits opposite these solid walls, but the weight of my misery won’t allow me the satisfaction of retreat.

I pull my arms nearer, hoping to retain my body heat. One arm folds in front of my breast and the other relaxes on my hip. A long sigh escapes me and I close my eyes just in case my tears seek to betray me. Today is a day of misery, but I refuse to succumb to tears. That time has passed and now I must heal. I occupy my thoughts with the sounds of birds and the visioning of the clouds I only moments ago admired, but even that delight can’t keep the thought of you at bay.

You seep into every thought and every object I see. Unwelcomingly you pierce my mind, just as you penetrated my heart only months prior. I wish you expelled, but despite my objection my body expresses an alternate request.

I enter disillusionment, thinking the arm which trails my side and rests on my hip is not my own, but yours. I allow myself to believe your leg is entwined between my own and not an inanimate object full of feathery down. I try to tell myself it’s not you who pulls my body closer to you, that I’m pushing against a body pillow. But instead I relax against your chest and nestle in your embrace. To be held by you is nearly the equivalent of your lips on mine.

I melt in your arms at the softness of your lips as they linger down my neck and kiss the curve of my shoulder. And as your hand slides down the arc of my hip, past my stomach and up the mound of my breast I exhale with anticipation. Cupping my bosom, you massage it slowly and center my nipple between your fingers. The sensation is heightening and as arousal intensifies, so does my breathing. Rolling and pinching you achieve erection, but still you continue to satisfy. Neglecting one nipple for instead the other, until both stiffen in arousal.

Expectantly I long to hear your exaggerated breathing, but I’m dismayed when I only register my own. Realization dawning, I end the sexual journey I’ve creatively conjured. Disappointed, yet proud of my desire and will to stop, I resist giving you such gratification. You will never be the source of an orgasm again. Not in life, not in memory, not in thought.

As I pull back the covers and toss my legs over the side of the bed, a smile pushes through my frown. Today I will sit under clear skies and clouds plush as cotton balls. Today is the start of misery, but today I am healing....