..Raw, Part 1 (An Excerpt)

I live my life behind veneer expressions. Masking my surprise, hurts, fears and many times my arousal, but tonight something sinful pulled back the curtains on my self-control. The pulsation below my waist trembled like a massive thunder shock. I arose, enchanted by the mere thought of her. The desire led me out of my bed.

Answering to the pleas for touch and stimulation, I abandoned the satin sheets, allowing my feet to carry me forward to my living room. The television still beamed, but that irritation didn't steer or derail me from my objective. I sought release.

Sleeping peacefully on the couch and unaware of my needs, I stood over Mark. A needy flame burned within me as I stroked his handle in the warmth of my palms. 

Surprised, he called to me confused, but I said nothing as I stroked up and down his stem.

Once erect I mounted him, one of my thighs between his and the other nearer his hip. A sideways position I enjoyed. He moaned as I slid up and down him steadily, until his moans intensified. Driven by the desire to control and give pleasure I elevated him to new heights as I wrapped my vaginal walls around him. They seized each thrust, clasping to hold him inside me. He soon came, but the fury of my arousal was only minimally quenched, I wanted more.

Verbalizing my hidden thoughts I said, “Fuck me.”

The voice was mine, but even I was unsure. He starred at me absently. He’d never heard me speak in such vulgarity and it momentarily dazed him. When he came to, he adjusted and hovered over me.

 “No,” I corrected. “Not with that.” I said pointing to his man tool. “Fuck me with your tongue.”
The rawness didn’t repulse, nor startle him. He was turned-on by the frankness of my demand. Submitting to the floor on his hands and knees, he pulled me to the edge of the couch and threw my legs over his shoulder as he dove between my legs like he was savoring his last meal. He sucked and licked, while images of Maria infiltrated every sensual thought.

   My moans carried through every baseboard and ceiling of my apartment. I rubbed my nipples, clamping my breast in my palms.

   He flipped me, parting my ass and licking unexplored territories before returning deep into the land of seeping nectar. The demanding voices to, ‘fuck me harder and deeper’ sounded like my own, but I was so consumed, I couldn’t be sure.

   As I yelled for him to slap my ass, a feeling brewed within me. A deadly heat made me feel like my body would explode.  Though logically I knew it was impossible, it felt as though all the blood within my body diverted, leaving all its warmth between my thighs. All the nerve senses in my body perished except one. My heart had stopped beating and the only beat worth pounding was the pulsing of my clit. A feeling arose that everything within me centered on one area home to one small object.  I was going to erupt.

I pleaded, “Please don’t stop. Please!”

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.