True Sex Stories: Mindfuck

Playing doctor never felt so sexy.

I showed up in my new plaid skirt.  It was pleated and slutty even though it went down to my knees.  I had on a black 3/4 sleeve button down that was buttoned low enough to show the tank top beneath that did nothing at all.  I pushed the button with his name on it, and saw the light go on.  Then I sat in the waiting room.

He looked just like his pictures on the internet.  I stood as he opened the door and shook his hand.  "I'm Dr. Something Or Other"- and I he guided me back to his office at the end of the hall.

So what brings you here?

And so I started talking, talking about my husband, my kids, work, school, Coyote.  All the things that were stressing me out- how much I wanted to run away from it all.  How much I wanted to chuck all my responsibilities to the side because nobody was going to tell me I couldn't.

"So you have issues with control?" he said, as I took off my top leaving me only in my very tight, low cut camisole tank that was stretched tightly over my breasts.  It was warm in there, and the window didn't open.  I didn't feel like sweating.

"Control?  Maybe.  Maybe it's the lack of control in my life, no matter how hard I try to control things they just go haywire.  Maybe that's why I just feel like going the other way, just to prove I have some control in my life."  I sat sideways on the couch, certain that my skirt was falling open and showing too much thigh… I ignored it though.  He noticed, of course he noticed, he didn't try not to notice, and I didn't try not to hide anything.  He knew why I was there, what kind of issues I was having.  At his rates, well, it shouldn't matter.

"So what happens when you rebel against all the responsibilities?" he shifted in his seat as I let my hand fall lazily between my legs.  One leg dropped to the floor and the other stayed on the couch.  I wondered from his vantage point if he could see that I wasn't wearing panties.  I wasn't sure.

"It all goes to hell!" I laughed.  He laughed too.  His voice was rich and his laughter was sincere.  He reminded me of someone, but I wasn't sure who.  Handsome, European, it seemed.  Dark expressive eyes that looked intently at me.  "I don't to well in control or out of it lately.  I just need… I don't know, direction.  Someone to tell me which way to go now- I guess that's why I'm here."

He stood and poured himself some water, first handing me a glass.  "So you need discipline?"

I shrugged, wondering if perhaps there was some sort of spanking therapy I could engage in.

"Well perhaps there's something we can do.  A different type of therapy that might help you."

"Oookay."  I said, listening.

He explained some of the alternative therapies he's done in the past, unorthodox, but effective to those who are open to it.  I told him that while I want to move forward in my life.  Part of me holds back. When asked why, I explained that I feel like it doesn't matter.  Nobody is listening.  Nobody hears me screaming anyway, so now I just hide.  I fake being ok, I lie to people.  I put on the face that people want me to put on, it makes other people more comfortable.

"So what I'm hearing is that you hold back.  You only show half of yourself to people?"

I laughed, "Sure sort of like how I only show my tits and ass on the internet, but nothing else."

"Why do you do that?" he asked, "Why just parts of you?  Why not your face?  Are you afraid of being seen?"

"Somewhat- and for obvious reason, but mostly because I think people will think, ‘oh I thought she'd be different'.  That I fear I won't be accepted as I am"

He talked some more.  About therapy options.  That it seemed that I am wanting to break out from behind my anonymity.  That I want to be seen.  Exposed.  That sometimes it's good to have a physical manifestation to represent mental issues.  That literally being naked might help me to want to show who I really am.

I paused, a bit stunned, "Doctor are you suggesting that I get naked?"

It was all a bit Penthouse Forum to me, but what he was saying was making sense.  He agreed that yes, it's unorthodox, but I show myself to lots of people, I'm safe here.  He was trying to help me.  And maybe this would help.

So I took of my clothes.  Slowly, the whole time we kept talking.  He seemed unaffected by a woman undressing in his office.  Once nude, I stood in front of him, "Now what?"

I stood up, and put his hands on my shoulders.  He was warm.  His whole body gave off a heat that made me want to lean into him.  His eyes were even darker up close and his lips were a rosy shade of pink that made me want to lean in to touch him.

"Lie back down," he said, "lets begin."

-

I was naked now, on the good doctors couch.  Blind folded, so I could focus.  Hands bound, so I could not struggle.

"Now," he said, "Picture a full room of people.  All of them looking at you."  He kept one hand on my shoulder, and let the other one run over my chest.  "They are all looking, wondering who you are.  What do you want to do?"

I answered quickly, "Hide."

"Wrong answer," he said, and his hand went to my breast.  He pinched my nipple until I winced out in pain.  He slapped it, then he stroked it, "Stop hiding. You're stronger than that."

"I can't."  I wanted to cry.  The thought of being seen terrified me, or maybe it was the thought that people weren't looking.  I'm not sure what scared me more, "I just can't."

"You're not letting go," he said.  His voice was firm.  He sounded angry.  "You have to let go, you have to trust me."

I repeated my sentiments almost in a whisper, "I can't."

He pulled me up by my hair so I was sitting up, facing outwards.  I heard his belt.  I thought for a moment he might hit me with it.  "Open your mouth, slut," he said, his voice barely recognizable from the kind doctor voice he had a while before.  The change in his tone, the reminder of submission I had not given to anyone.  Sex I had not given to anyone in months.

As his cock pushed between my lips, my shoulders dropped.  My mind eased.  I felt comfortable again.  In my skin, not just on his couch.  "Is that better?"

I nodded, then lowered my chin to push him deeper into my throat.  He groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair, "Good girl," he said, "This is what makes it better for you.  This is what gives you comfort.  This is what you need."

He was right.  It had been some time since I had felt this.  Used, forced.  I was starving for it.  His hands in my hair, thrusting into my throat.  Slowly, then faster.  He let me continue, he didn't stop me.  I was ravenous for it.  He pulled me so I was no longer on the couch, but on my knees on his floor.  He insulted me, he slapped me, he comforted me.  He didn't stop me.  I sucked his cock until he thrust harder and faster until he unloaded down my throat.

I gasped for air after swallowing his cum when he grabbed me, turned me, and threw me over the couch, "Now about the discipline you need."

His hand ran over my ass,  the spankings were steady and hard, thrusting me into the couch.  Don't move, he instructed me, his fingers penetrated my wet cunt and he fucked me while telling me that this is where should be.  This is where I feel my skin.  This is what I'm good for.

When his cock pushed into my dripping cunt, he pulled my head back and I groaned out with such pleasure that I hadn't felt in a long time.  Sex, release, pleasure, pain.  The things that somehow settle in my skin.  Even here, in this unfamiliar and unsuspected place.  That even made it better. With this man I barely knew, a trusted authority figure, throwing my life off balance.  Even better.  I found balance in the unbalance and surrender in the force.  He fucked me hard, his hands grabbing my hips, gripping hard and pulling me back towards him.  Pushing my face down into the couch, calling me a slut- and dirty little girl who wore slutty clothes to seduce the doctor.

Perhaps I had.

He held my face down in the couch while I came, screaming into the pillow. Pushing my cunt back against his cock, until he was slamming inside me so hard that my thighs would be bruised the next day, my hips would have bruises where his fingers dug into them, my scalp would feel sore from how hard he pulled my hair.  It would not matter what happened after this- this is what I needed and he was giving it to me and I was grateful.

After, I crawled over to him, sitting back in his chair.  I rested my head on his leg.  Spent, exhausted, satisfied.

"So?" he said, stroking my hair, "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know, Doctor," I smiled, "I really am going to need more sessions."

Republished with permission from Bad Bad Girl. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by John B. Root.