My Therapist Is A Futanari Novels & Stories

“Go. Shave everything. Put on the red lace set. And then fuck him. Fuck. Him. Out of your brain.” “Is fucking seriously your solution to every moral crisis?” “Bitch, sex is always the solution.” “You’re the worst therapist.” “And yet you keep calling.” She yawns again. “Listen, I’m beat. Carter fried my brain with dick. I’m coming to the penthouse tomorrow afternoon. If you don’t have a full rundown of how you got railed against a table, and maybe a lightly choking, I’m disowning you.” “You’re disgusting.” “And proud.” She blows me a kiss and hangs up.

Most of the time I stood behind the gas cooker, the frying spoon in my hands, I was easily sulked into one of my imaginations -one I was held up against the wall, her hands groped around my waist in a tight clasp. Ignoring the pleasure, I was almost put away by the fact that I was fantasizing about a woman, my therapist -my fucking therapis- "Wu" Her highly pitched voice managed to oversteer me right out of my thoughts as I looked back tot he eggs. "You burn the eggs?" She asked, her Japanese accent buried between her un-fluent english words. Turning off the knobs, I dashed a saucer to myself before turning the eggs into the plate before her.

“Oh my baby girl! I understand you feeling bad because you are married but left for me, I will tell you to continue just to feel happy but since you want to let things go, why don’t you go for therapy maybe you will be free to open up to a total stranger.” “A therapist..why didn’t I think of that.” “That’s why you have me, I know a good one, his name is Dave Whales, he is really good, we can book you an appointment but in return, tell me more about the night of sin.” “You are silly..okay fine I will tell you some.” * I decided to check up on the therapist online and damn, “He is super hot..” I remained on his page, how can a therapist be this hot?

Within a month, I lost fifteen pounds. I was like someone drowning, cold lake water slowly filling my nose and mouth, flooding into my chest and stomach. No one could save me. And I couldn’t find a way to save myself until I went to see a therapist. She said, “Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?” It was a kind of therapy that meant facing the pain, offering love willingly, until disappointment gradually wore that love away. So that day, I put on makeup, changed into new clothes, lifted a smile, and went to see Peter.

"Good day, sir. I'm your love therapist… for the day." I subconsciously lowered my voice toward the end of my sentence, my smile stiffening at the sight of the tools laid out. The client looked normal—he seemed to be in his early 30s and looked like a gentleman. The only jarring thing about this scene was the adult toys laid on the table. My anxiety level started rising. Could it be that this client had some weird fetishes? Still, I had to be professional. I sat beside him with a gentle smile.

I came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crashed through me. He crawled up my body, eyes dark with hunger, and slid into me in one smooth, deep thrust. We moved together in the lazy rhythm of new lovers with nowhere to be but each other. Slow, deep strokes. His mouth on my breasts, sucking and biting gently. My nails dragging down his back. When he finally came, buried to the hilt inside me, he kissed me through every pulse, whispering how perfect I felt. But the estate didn’t wait for us. The scheduled session in the therapy room felt electric. Vincent locked the door with a decisive click. “No more holding back,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Toda

She reached down and rubbed my clit while she thrust into me, the toy moving deep inside both of us. I came multiple times, losing track of everything except the overwhelming pleasure of being fucked by my therapist. When she finally let me rest, I was a trembling, cum-covered mess on the table. She stroked my hair gently, almost tenderly. “You’re doing so well, my sweet pet,” she murmured. “But we’re only just getting started.” I left her office on shaky legs, my mind spinning with guilt, shame, and an overwhelming need for more. I was no longer pretending it was just therapy.

“I never really… I mean, I’ve tried, but it felt… weird. I stopped.” His smirk deepened, the piercing catching the light. “That explains a lot.” I gawked at him. “You’re supposed to be a therapist. Aren’t you meant to be… professional?” “I am being professional,” he said smoothly. “You came here because your ex called you boring. My job is to find out why you think that’s true. And right now, I see a woman who’s been too afraid to even touch herself. Tell me, Alessia - how can you expect to please anyone else when you don’t even know how to please yourself?”

After therapy, I threw away all my toys… the dildos, the vibrators and even the rose that could get my toes curling. My therapist said I was turning into a nymphomaniac and it wasn’t going to help me. I agreed, but now I wish I didn’t throw all of them away. Being locked here makes me have no room to be creative or shit. I can’t think of anything else and not think of Charles’ cock. He’s responsible for this. He made me watch him fuck his sub… tied me to the chair and made sure I was wet and completely turned on and yet, he only teased my opening and left me.

He shrugged and placed his stethoscope below my breast, I felt exposed and almost squirmed at how heated Hunter’s gaze was on my body, I placed my hands on my chest to prevent him from looking at my nipple that could be traced out in the wet clothes that stuck to my body. “Can you recommend a very good therapist? I don't want her pulling this kind of stunt again, I can't afford to lose such big money without making use of it,” He stated, his statement created a pool of tears in my eyes, Jerking me and my traitorous body to the reminder that the only reason he cares about us is because of his money. “Yes, I have a friend who is a very good therapist, I will call her over. She is a therapist t