the one and only
Apr
02
2020
The Therapist (Part One)

Summary: A young woman's insatiable sexual appetite lands her in a very precarious situation (fiction)

This is my third story that has been published by Literotica: https://literotica.com/s/the-therapist-pt-01-1

Part One:

I’ve been masturbating non-stop lately. Well, I shouldn’t say that exactly because I haven’t only been masturbating lately. I’ve been getting myself off frequently in-between fucking a lot of men. Something has awakened in my depths and I feel myself spiraling into a dizzying state of constant arousal. It’s gotten to the point where the need for the sweet relief of orgasm has me ducking into public bathrooms at restaurants and bars, or really anywhere that I can find to hide away and play with my pussy. The men help, but they cum and go all too quickly, leaving me alone again with my incessant urges. At first, I was proud of my sexual appetite, figuring it a healthy thing to enjoy sex and orgasms. The science says that sex lowers stress levels and increases relaxation. And who was I to argue with science? But when I skipped out on my long-time friends birthday celebration last week to see how far I could shove a cucumber up my ass while fingering my other fuck-hole, I realized I may have a problem. Well, I realized that after I got myself off several times and then dipped into a mildly depressive state once the erotic waves of pleasure stopped traveling through the length of my body. 

 

I got out of bed at 3 PM for the first time that day, although I’d been awake since 10 AM. I took a deep sigh, walked my naked ass to my desk and sat down at my computer to search for something I never thought I’d have to; a therapist who specializes in sexual impulse control. I wasn’t even sure such a thing existed, but I knew that was my best bet since I didn’t want to risk being the first person to tell a general therapist about the twisted sexual fantasies that swirled through my mind daily, nor the voraciousness of my sexual appetite for strange men. No, better I speak with someone who hears these things all day every day and is therefore suitably desensitized to it all. Only then would I feel comfortable unleashing my deepest secrets. 

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Not wanting to be distracted during my first therapy session, I coax four orgasms from my greedy, aching pussy before leaving for my appointment. When I arrive, I’m mildly concerned at the state of the establishment, which is seedy looking at best. I reason with myself that you’re the only sexual impulse control therapist in the area, and I am desperately in need of some guidance. I pause outside on the street to take a few deep breaths before buzzing ‘Suite 2' and awaiting entry access. 

Once inside, I see a female receptionist sitting at a desk, which causes me to relax slightly for some reason which I don’t bother to determine. I announce my name at the desk then wait in a small seating area with two armchairs and a coffee table until you call me into your private office.

About five minutes pass, and I’m starting to get fidgety in my seat. I can feel the moisture in my undies, a residual effect of my vigorous self-stimulation earlier. Or am I getting turned on again? I push the thought from my mind. I need to focus on getting the most out of this session, which set me back $300. Frankly, the current state of my bank account will not sustain many more visits here. 

You open your office door to call my name, inviting me in. I enter and take a seat on a navy blue microsuede couch, and you sit across from me in the matching armchair.

“Dylan, what brings you here today?”

I pause for a few moments, then remember that I’m on the clock and have no time for shyness at $300 an hour. “Well, Doc…I think I may be a sex addict, and it’s disrupting my livelihood at this point. I think about sex every minute of every day, and I don’t want to do much else with my time but have orgasms.” 

The lack of change in your expression helps me relax. Clearly, my case is not unique or so severe that you’re surprised or appalled.

“Hmmm, I see,” you say. “Well, in order for me to diagnose you as such, to assess the best possible guidance and treatment for your condition, I’m going to have you answer a series of questions, alright? And please, do not hide anything from me because it will only delay your own progress.”

I nod eagerly. 

Now that I’m here, I feel empowered for the first time in a long time. I’m taking control back, rather than being a slave to my basest urges. 

“Dylan, how many lovers do you have in a given month?”

Damn, he went straight for the jugular. 

I blush, then stammer, “Uhh….ummm…maybe 6 or 7? No, um…10? Probably 15 or so.” 

You slowly nod a few times, then make some notes on a pad in your lap.

“And do you like having all of your holes penetrated?” 

“How is that relevant?” I blurt out, followed by a rush of shame that reddens my cheeks even more.

You pause for a moment, then reply “Well, Dylan, when a woman enjoys having her mouth and ass penetrated as well as her pussy, that can signify a disordered appetite for sex. As I’m sure you’re aware, most women with average sexual appetites do not much enjoy giving oral or receiving anal sex.” 

Did this Doc just say ‘pussy’? Seriously? …FOCUS, Dylan. Big picture. I shake off my inner dialogue and reply. “Oh, yes…I guess that makes sense. Thank you for the clarification.” 

“Right. Well, let me just say that we won’t get very far…rather, you won’t get very far in this office if you don’t trust me.” Your tone is stern, but not overly so. “So, can we both agree that the Doc knows best, and you will be open and willing to partake in the treatment process as I see fit?” you ask while looking at me intently.

“Yes, sorry about that.” I offer a sheepish smile, feigning agreeableness although I want to run and hide from embarrassment. 

“I do enjoy having all of my holes penetrated, quite a lot actually. Sometimes….ummm…sometimes all at once.” 

You make more notes on your paper pad, and proceed to ask the next question without looking up at me. 

“How well do you know the men who you have sex with?” 

Hmmm…I usually know their names at least. 

“I often just pick-up random guys when I’m out and about. It feels easier to be really wild with someone who doesn’t know much about me. The anonymity heightens my arousal.” 

More scribbles on your pad. Then you pause and look up at me, “And are you getting off with anyone or anything else but men and your hand?” 

Pretty much any phallic-shaped item I can get my hands on these days. My mind wanders to the recent cucumber incident that resulted in my arriving in your office today.

“Um, I have used…um…a few times I have used other objects — but mostly when I don’t have access to the real thing. The warmth and pulse of a hard cock is by far the best sensation.” 

“I see,” is all you reply.

I once again notice the moisture in my panties, but this time I know it’s not residual. I’m getting wet from talking about my depraved sexual desires. Fuck, I really am twisted. This office is the perfect place for someone like me. 

“Dylan, I want you to tell me in great detail of the most sordid thing you’ve ever done to get yourself off. Knowing this will aid In determining where you are on the scale of sexual addiction.”

I pause for some time to sift through the various chapters in the book of my sexual exploration and shudder when I realize which page deserves the earmark for most sordid. 

“I seduced my friend's father!” I blurt out, before recoiling in humiliation.

“…and his friends.” I murmur as I hang my head, partly hoping you only heard the first part. 

“Go on…” you offer, with gentle encouragement. 

Your lack of judgment in response to the most shameful thing I’ve ever admitted out loud is comforting enough to allow me to proceed.

“I went to say hello to a childhood friend who was back in town for a visit. I popped over to her parent’s place to surprise her, but she wasn’t there. Her father answered the door and invited me in for lemonade because it was really hot outside that day. He was entertaining a few of his friends, playing poker or some other card game, I dunno. Anyway, it just kinda happened.” 

“I’m going to need a lot more detail than that Dylan. I need to get inside your mind and learn the psychological aspect of your sexuality.” 

“You wouldn’t wanna be in my head, Doc. It’s a lot to deal with.” I mumble, hanging my head again.

Not locking eyes with you makes it easier to unload my darkest truth, so I stare down at my lap as I continue. “Well, basically I saw all these mature men there and I just got turned on. But Sarah’s dad is such a gentleman (usually) and his friends were too, and I knew they weren’t going to just offer to fuck me, so I had to take control of the situation a bit to get what I wanted.” 

You nod, then continue writing. 

I continue; “So I went to the bathroom to make myself look a bit more slutty and, you know…open for business. I hiked my little skirt up so my ass cheeks were showing at the bottom, put some lip gloss on, tousled my hair a bit then tweaked my nipples so they were hard and showing through my top. Then I fingered myself a bit to release the scent of my pussy juices, and went back to the living room where they were playing cards and drinking whiskey and I just started flirting with them.”

“And were they receptive to your advances right away?” you inquire.

“Sarah’s dad looked really flustered at first but his friends were pretty quick to start pawing at me. But I wanted Sarah’s dad the most because he was playin’ hard to get and I love a challenge.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere Dylan!” 

You seem genuinely happy to hear that I enjoyed coercing my friend’s dad into gang banging me, which freaks me out some…until you continue; “This is what we Docs like to call a ‘breakthrough’ moment. We’re digging down to find the root of your urges. In this case, it seems like your quest for control is often tied to your sexual impulses.”

Your encouragement is welcomed and inspires me to share in more detail. Clearly, this Doc is legit after all, despite having zero online reviews.

“I basically had to totally throw myself at him for him to finally cave. I leaned over him and put my tits in his face and stroked his cock through his slacks until I could feel it getting hard. He was just kinda frozen there in shock of what was going on. I didn’t stop stroking until he was hard as a rock. Once they get to that point, I know there’s no escape for them until after they fill me with cum.” 

I pause for more encouragement but you just stare blankly at me, so I go on; “Anyway, after Sarah’s dad got a hard-on I went around the table and unzipped the pants of the eager friends and had them jerk themselves off while I danced and stripped for them. I remember feeling so powerful watching their eyes light up with desire and hearing their moans as they stroked themselves and watched my sexy body on display. After a few minutes, my pussy was aching for cock so I walked over to the couch, got on my knees on it and told them to line up. They jumped up immediately, still jerking their cocks, and came to fuck me, one by one. Once they had all blown a load in my pussy, I let them triple penetrate me for round two.” I realize I’ve been carrying on for some time, so I pause to see if I’ve satisfied your request.

A familiar pulsing sensation is joining the feeling of wetness between my legs. Ignore it, Dylan.

“Alright Dylan, thank you for your honesty. It’s very helpful. My main takeaways from everything you shared are this; you feel like you can never get enough sex, no matter how many times you have it….and that you may also be addicted to the thrill of the chase, and gaining control and empowerment through your sexual dalliances. Is this a fair assessment?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I have been able to diagnose through our session that you are indeed a sex addict. Now, let’s discuss the best possible treatment plan so you can overcome this and have a normal life, okay?”

“Okay.” Shit, I hope I can afford it. 

“You can begin the weekly visit program at my usual rate of $300/Hr, which will take approximately 20-26 weeks to complete…depending on your level of commitment.” 

Fuck! I will never be able to come up with seven thousand dollars for therapy! My head hangs and I feel tears brimming in my eyes.

“Or….” You continue.

My head shoots back up and I lock eyes with you eagerly. 

“Or….We have a new experimental in-house intensive option that may be of interest to you. I think you’d be a good candidate for it, and that you’d beat your addiction in just one month. That is if you fully commit to the treatment exactly as the program dictates.” Your eyes stay locked on mine.

“This sounds great! I’d like to take this option, depending on the cost?” 

“This program is still in its development stage, and we’re gathering case studies at this point. So far we’ve had three patients undertake the intensive program, all with very positive outcomes. If you’re open to being our fourth case study, the program will be free.” 

I smile genuinely for the first time since I arrived at your office. “I’ll do it!” I say, with excitement. 

“That’s great news. Congratulations on taking the first step on the road to recovery. I just have some paperwork for you to sign.”

You stand up and walk over to your desk to fetch some documents and a pen, then return to hand them to me.

The first page is a non-disclosure agreement. 

“Um, what’s this for? Does this mean I can’t discuss my treatment with anyone, ever?” I ask.

“Yes, since this is an innovative new program designed by my office and still in development…my company needs to prevent the details from leaking to competitors. It’s just a formality really, nothing to worry about.” 

Who am I gonna want to share with about sex addict treatment with anyway? Just sign it. I add my signature to the page and flip to the next one.

The page in front of me is a formal agreement about entering the treatment. The language is quite vague throughout, but a mention of physical therapy catches my eye.

“Physical therapy? Like, exercise and stuff? You think that’s going to help cure me?” I ask. You agreed to trust the Doc’s process, Dylan, stop questioning him. 

“Actually, never mind,” I continue, before you’ve responded. “I’m sure I’m in good hands.” I smile, relaxing a bit.

I add my signature to the remaining pages quickly, eager to take the next step forward in my treatment. The Doc has already taught me so much about myself in this one session, I can only imagine how beneficial the intensive program will be. And all for free! I’d be totally crazy to turn it down.

Upon finalizing the agreements, I pass the pages back to you, then look to you for further instruction. 

“Thank you, Dylan. Please wait here a moment while I say goodbye to my receptionist before she heads home for the day. I will be right back to introduce you to the intensive treatment area of my office.” 

A few minutes later you re-enter your private office and ask me to stand up and follow you.

You open a door that leads down a hallway to another door, which has a big padlock on it. You unlock the padlock with a set of keys that you pull from your pocket. Then you slowly twist the knob, and say “After you,” while motioning for me to enter the room.

It’s pitch black inside, so I wait just inside the door which is lit from the hallway ceiling’s fluorescent bulbs, eager for you to come in and turn the light on. 

A moment later, the door closes, with you on the outside of it.

With the borrowed light from the hallway gone, I’m in the pitch black, and panic starts rising.

“Wait! Doc? What’s going on?” 

I hear some clanking and realize you’re refastening the padlock on the outside of the door. 

“Doc! Please! Let me out! It’s pitch black in here!” I cry out to you.

 Through the door, you reply calmly; “Dylan, you just put in writing that you would fully commit to the intensive treatment program. Now please, keep an open mind and you’ll be cured when you leave this room in a month.” 

I’m going to be trapped in this room for a month!? My heart is beating so fast in my chest it feels like I’m going to faint. What the fuck did I just get myself into! I’m going to die here!

As if reading my mind, you reply again; “You’re going to be just fine. Locate the light-switch next to the door and make yourself comfortable here. I will return with my associates first thing in the morning to begin your physical therapy.”

I fumble in the dark to find the doorframe then run my hands along the wall, eager to find the light-switch, certain that getting out of the pitch black will alleviate at least some of my fear.

When I flick the lights in the room on, I realize just how wrong I was a moment before. A quick glance around the room makes my fear rise to heights I’ve never known.

I bang on the door and plead for you to open it, but I’m met with silence. 

You’re already gone, and I’m alone...with nothing to do but wait to find out what the morning will bring.

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Part 2 and 3 Coming Soon.