Take Me To Bed: Bedtime Quickies

by Alex Grayson

  “Thank you, Maryann.”

  “If there’s nothing else you need from me today, I’m going to head out.” She looks down at her watch. “Bonny’s plane should be landing in about thirty minutes.”

  “That will be all. Tell Bonny I said hello.”

  “Will do. See you tomorrow.”

  After she closes the door, I take my first look in a week at the silent woman before me. Just like every time I see her, she takes my breath away. Straight midnight-black hair, natural tan, almond-shaped light-blue eyes, and a body any man would fall to his knees to worship. Today she’s wearing a deep-blue long-sleeved silk shirt, tucked into a black knee-length skirt, and black heels.

  “Good afternoon, Charlotte.” I gesture to the chair across from me. “Please take a seat.”

  “How are you today, Dr. Erikson?” she asks, dropping her purse on the table before gracefully sitting down. Her skirt rides up her legs when she crosses them, showing the side of her thigh. It takes iron will to not look at that tempting sliver of skin.

  “I’m fine.” I click my pen open and set it down on the notepad. “How has your week been going?”

  She shrugs. “The same as usual.”

  Her usual is not the same as most people’s. It’s the reason she’s been coming here every week for the past six months.

  “I assume the exercises we spoke about last week didn’t work?”

  “No. I tried, but the impulse was just too strong.” She traces an imaginary line on the arm of the chair. “I’m afraid I may not want to curb them. I think I enjoy what I do too much.”

  I tilt my head and regard her. “If that’s the case, then why are you here? These sessions are meant to help you learn to overcome these cravings.”

  When her eyes connect with mine, she gives me the look she’s given me on several occasions, one that always has my heart hammering in my chest and my dick growing hard. It’s a look that suggests she wants something. Wants something from me.

  She uncrosses her legs, and the second before she recrosses them, I think I catch a hint of black in the shadow up her skirt. I quickly dart my eyes away, gritting my teeth at the forbidden sight. I pick up my pen and pretend to write something down on the notepad.

  Get your shit together, Bryan.

  Instead of answering my question, she asks one of her own. “What about you, Doctor? Do you have any dark, secret cravings?”

  Her question catches me off guard. I do have a dark craving. A secret I’ve had for the past couple of months. One she can never know about, because I could lose my medical license. Not to mention, it could end with a big fat restraining order against me.

  I look back at Charlotte, and my mouth goes dry. Her skirt has ridden up way too damn much, showing the black strap to her garter belt. Did she lift it higher on purpose, or does she not realize she’s damn near flashing me?

  I nearly laugh at the irony of that thought.

  Fuck my life.

  I clear my throat and meet her eyes. “We all have secret desires.”

  She lifts a brow. “Have you ever acted on them?”

  I incline my head. “Yes.” Too many times to count, I silently add in my head.

  “Hmm… interesting.” She props her elbow on the arm of the chair, one of her slender fingers rubbing along her bottom lip. “Care to tell me what those desires are?”

  One side of my mouth tips up. “Have we reversed roles here, Charlotte? Are you now the doctor and I the patient?”

  Charlotte looks gorgeous no matter what expression she wears, but when she flashes me a smile, I swear to Christ the world around us ceases to exist. All I see is the curve of her luscious lips.

  “Maybe I’m just trying to get to know you better. Find out what makes you tick.” She drops her hand to her thigh, and my question from a moment ago is answered when her eyes stay locked on mine as she not so subtly slides her skirt up an inch. I try to keep my eyes away, I really fucking do, but it’s no use. “You know so much about me, but I hardly know anything about you.” She licks her bottom lip, teasing my control. “I’m curious what secrets you hold. What your desires are. What tempts you.”

  She’s all of those things. She’s my dirty little secret, my naughtiest temptation, and my desire for her grows every fucking week she walks into my office.

  I move my notepad to the center of my lap, hiding my growing erection. From the smirk tipping up her lips, I have no doubt she knows the state she’s putting me in.

  “You’re not paying me to know my secrets,” I tell her, the rough edge to my voice just another clue giving away my state of arousal. Charlotte’s always been a bit of a flirt during our sessions, but she’s upped her game today. “Why don’t you tell me about your most recent experience?”

  I should be shot in the goddamn head for asking that.

  What in the hell are you doing? Apparently, I really like to torture myself.

  “Would you—” She’s cut off when her phone pings. Leaning forward, she grabs it from her purse. After checking the screen, she lifts her beautiful eyes to me. “I’m afraid I have to cut this session short. There’s something I need to take care of.”

  Disappointment settles in my gut, but I mask it behind a smile. “I hope everything’s okay.”

  She grabs her purse, slinging it over her shoulder, and stands. I get to my feet. “Nothing serious. Just work stuff.”

  She walks toward me, not stopping until she’s only a foot away. Her delicious citrusy scent engulfs my senses, playing havoc with my body.

  Her eyes slide down my body, lingering at my groin for a moment, before rising back up to meet mine. “I’ll see you next Thursday, Dr. Erikson.” Her voice is smooth like silk, but I notice a hint of huskiness.

  “Until next week.”

  She looks at me for a moment longer, her stare holding untold wants and desires, before she turns on her heel and walks out the door.

  I blow out a breath and rub the back of my neck, massaging the tense muscles.

  Tipping my head back, I give thanks Charlotte is my last patient of the day and that my office comes with its own bathroom.

  Just like every Thursday, I’ll be spending the next fifteen minutes relieving the perpetual ache she always causes.

  2

  Charlotte

  Sliding my big designer sunglasses over my eyes, I take a seat on a bench underneath a big tree in the park. Several people mill about, walking their dogs, talking on their phones, or gabbing with friends.

  It’s not those people I’m interested in. It’s the guy thirty feet away, sitting on another bench across from me. His head is bent, reading a book. He looks to be in his early-to-mid thirties, with sandy blond hair and a nice build. His clothes suggest he’s middle class. None of that matters though. Not for what I have in mind. Anyone will do actually, so long as they are of age and not old enough to be my grandfather.

  I set my purse down on the bench beside me and check my surroundings, making sure no one is around who shouldn’t witness my actions. Satisfied, I unbutton my blazer and slide it down my arms, setting it on my purse. The blouse beneath is sheer white and feels splendid against my bare breasts. The way it rubs my nipples almost has a moan slipping past my lips. I specifically chose this shirt because without a bra or cami, you can easily see the outline of my breasts, especially the darker color of my hardened nipples.

  My sunglasses hide my eyes, so I can easily watch the man across from me without anyone noticing. His focus is still on his book, but I’m not worried. I know he’ll look up soon. They always glance up every so often to look around. And they always find what I want them to.

  I uncross my legs and let my knees part a couple of inches. The breeze blows up my skirt, cooling the fevered, naked flesh between my legs. I let out a sigh, enjoying the feeling. It’s almost like a feather-soft caress.

  Inconspicuously, I glance back at the man, and just as predicted, he’s looking directly at me. If I wasn’t so turned on, it would be comical t
o watch his eyes dart back and forth between my boobs and up my skirt, fighting with himself on which he wants to see more.

  I tuck my feet under the bench and cross my ankles. The action causes my legs to fall open another inch. The man makes his choice and settles his eyes on my legs.

  I grab my blazer and lay it across my lap so I can get my phone from my purse. When I pick the blazer up to put it back on my purse, I purposely slide the material over my legs, dragging my skirt higher up my thighs. The hem is only a few inches away from completely exposing me.

  Pretending to look down at my phone, I tilt my head up just high enough so I can keep the guy in view. A ripple of excitement forms in my stomach at the blatant lust on his face. He licks his lips, like he’s imagining running his tongue over my slit.

  Being an exhibitionist is something I discovered I enjoy a couple of years ago. The first time was by pure accident. I was taking the bus to work one morning when I caught a guy seated a few spots down from where I was staring at me. It’s not uncommon for guys to hit on me. I’m not being vain when I say I know I’m beautiful. It’s a simple fact, born from the many, many desirous looks I’ve gotten from men over the years.

  The look on the guy’s face on the bus was different. More intense. Deeper. He was turned on just by looking at me, and I have no doubt had my hand wandered to his groin, he would have been rock-hard.

  I liked that look. I liked knowing I put it there. That just looking at me caused his mind and body to react so strongly.

  It wasn’t until he stepped off the bus that I realized in my mad rush getting dressed that morning because I was running late, I missed a couple of buttons on my blouse. I wasn’t flashing partial cleavage; I was damn near showcasing everything I had in that department. And because I dropped my pen, I’d bent over, giving the guy even more to look at. I’m pretty sure he could have told anyone the color of my nipples.

  Most women would have been mortified by the experience. It did the exact opposite for me. I wanted the guy to come back so I could show him more.

  That started my fetish. In the beginning, the bus and a few restaurants were where I gave little flashes of myself, but I’ve since moved on to the park. I like the smell of nature and the breeze on my flesh.

  As I watch the guy across from me practically salivating, I can’t help but wish he were someone else. Someone with rich brown hair, melted-chocolate eyes, a deep gravelly voice, and a body I know I could spend hours worshiping.

  I may get my kicks from showing my body to random strangers, but at night, when I slide my fingers between my legs and find my release, it’s to thoughts of Dr. Erikson.

  I first sought out a psychologist at the urging of my friend, Layla, when I nearly got caught by the police in the park across town. Fortunately for me, just as I was handing the cop my license so he could write me a ticket for indecent exposure, he got a call on his radio and had to rush off. The experience scared the shit out of me, but not enough to keep me from finding another park the next week.

  I didn’t know the psychologist I would be seeing would darn near knock me on my ass the first time I walked into his office. Sitting across from him every week for the past six months has been delicious torture. Never has the need to lift my skirt and show off what’s underneath been so strong as during my sessions. There’s been so many times I almost parted my legs, just enough to give him a glimpse and have him wanting more.

  And I know I’m not the only one who feels the intense chemistry between us. If his eyes didn’t tell me he wanted me just as much as I want him, the hard bulge between his legs he always tries to hide would.

  The only reason I haven’t given in to the need is fear of rejection. Dr. Erikson can want me all he wants. That doesn’t mean he’ll act on his desires. I’m not sure I could take him turning me away. Not to mention the chance of him stopping our appointments. I’m not ready to give up seeing him yet. Not because the sessions are helping, but because I genuinely enjoy being in his company.

  I partially gave in to my need at my appointment last week, lifting my skirt just high enough to show my garter belt and the creamy skin of my upper thigh…. I was so wet when I left his office, I’m surprised I didn’t leave a spot on his chair. I had an emergency at work I had to take care of, but before I went to the office, I had to go home and relieve some of the built-up pressure.

  My next appointment is tomorrow, and the anticipation of seeing Dr. Erikson again has my legs clamping shut as I rub them together. The guy on the bench is forgotten as I close my eyes and mentally wonder what my psychologist’s hands, tongue, and dick would feel like. Would he be a rough lover, or gentle? Would he be selfless and demand my own pleasure before seeking his? Would he fuck me from behind, pulling my hair as he slams into me? Or would he make sweet love to me as he gazes down into my eyes?

  I open my eyes and realize my hand is only inches from my pussy. My gaze darts to the man on the bench. His mouth is open as he pants, and he looks seconds away from whipping out his dick and jacking off right here for everyone to see.

  I gather my things and, after slipping on my blazer, I stand from the bench, pushing my skirt back down. The guy looks ready to approach me, but before he can do so, I briskly walk away.

  Every step I take sends exquisite pleasure between my legs as I leave the park behind and head toward home.

  3

  Bryan

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean my shoulder against the tree, my baseball cap and shades shielding me. My eyes zero in on the female across the sidewalk with her legs spread several inches. Her shirt is damn near see-through; enough that I can see her dark nipples. It’s a shame I don’t have a direct view of her pussy. I’m always forced to stand off to the side for fear of her seeing me, so I never get a good glimpse between her legs. Even so, I know she’s bare beneath her skirt.

  My dick twitches, and I bite the inside of my cheek as a distraction from stalking over to her, falling to my knees, flipping up her skirt, and devouring the treasure I’m sure to find.

  My gaze moves to the man she’s putting on a show for. I barely stop myself from going to him and plucking his eyeballs from his skull. The only reason I don’t is because what I’m doing is no better than what he’s doing.

  When Charlotte told me the park she always goes to when the need to expose herself arises was only a few miles from my office, I went on a hunt. It took me two weeks to find the right area. I spent hours walking the park, my eyes peeled looking for her. When she finally appeared, I was completely mesmerized as I watched her in action. I damn near came the first time just from watching her. I jacked off three times at home that night.

  Every day since then, I’ve been back. She only comes a few times a week, and I don’t know her routine, or if she even has one, but I’ll be damned if I miss an opportunity to watch her.

  Yes, the justifications of my actions are shit ones, but I don’t give a fuck.

  What I wouldn’t give to be the sole recipient of her show. For her to open her legs, beckon me with her eyes, and beg me with her words to give her body what it craves. I could spend hours devouring every inch of her delectable body.

  All too soon, Charlotte grabs her things from the bench and hurriedly walks away. My eyes follow her and notice the stiff way she’s moving. A smile curves my lips, because I know it’s from the unsatisfied desire she’s feeling. At least in this, we’re the same. Lord knows I’ll be stiff in more ways than one until I get home.

  As I make my way back to my car, I wonder what Charlotte’s next move will be. Will she go home and pretend she didn’t just leave a man with a huge case of blue balls? Or will she lie on her bed and relieve the ache I know she’s feeling? If I had to guess, I would say it’s the latter. Someone with her sexual nature would need that relief.

  I only wish I could be there to witness it. On several occasions, I’ve been tempted to follow her home and try to sneak a peek in her window, but I’ve forced myself to limit my stalking to onl
y watching her while she’s in public, where she expects someone to watch her.

  What I’m doing is wrong on every level imaginable. Having men look at her is what she wants, so I’m only giving her that….

  Crossing an ankle over my knee, I lean back in the chair. I may appear relaxed and calm, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m strung tight, and my damn cock is so hard I could pick ice with it.

  I regard the woman who’s taking up way too much space in my head lately. Today she has on a sleeveless light-gray shirt and a loose black skirt. Her black boots climb all the way to her knees. The outfit itself seems harmless enough, except for the fact that she’s not wearing a fucking bra, leaving her breasts to jiggle freely against the material every time she moves. Not to mention the skirt riding up her thighs, making me wonder if she’s wearing panties, a thong, or nothing at all. And those boots…. Those damn boots have me imagining what they would feel like digging into my back as I fuck her pussy raw.

  I mentally shake those thoughts from my head and get back to the reason she’s here.

  “Why don’t you tell me about the last time you felt the need to expose yourself?” I ask.

  Yes, I’m a bastard for asking when I already know. I’m also apparently into self-torture, because that’s exactly what it does to me when she speaks about her times in the park. Of course, it could be because she spares no details.

  Something passes through Charlotte’s eyes, but before I determine what it is, the look is gone. She licks her lips and adjusts in her chair, her tits jiggling with the movement, putting my control precariously close to the edge. She has to know what she’s doing to me.

  “It was yesterday,” she says, her voice husky, as if the reminder sends pleasure through her. It sure as fuck does me.