Lust

by Leddy Harper

  She nodded, but I waited until she said, “Yes, Cade, I understand.”

  “Were you ever sexually abused? And to make things very clear, I mean at any time in your life. From the moment you were born until the moment I picked you up for dinner, were you ever sexually abused by anyone?” I spoke slow and clear words, making sure she understood each and every one of them.

  “No, Cade. I’ve already told you, I was never molested. Ever.”

  “Then why are you so scared right now?”

  “It’s not what you’re doing… it’s you. You’re scaring me right now.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. I may have been coming on strong and intense, but in no way was it meant to frighten her. I was frozen for a moment, battling with myself on what to do. I should have moved away, released her from my hold, but I couldn’t bring myself to break contact with her.

  “Tell me why?”

  “Because you make me want things I can’t have,” she whispered in the space between our faces.

  My hands dropped from her face to her shoulders, and then traveled down her arms until they were resting on her waist again. “What things?” My voice mimicked hers, quiet and airy.

  “Things.” She placed one hand on my chest and flattened her palm, as if she were going to push me away but instead stilled, feeling my heart pound behind my sternum. “Things I want but can’t have. Things that would make the voices louder. I don’t want to hear the voices anymore. I want them to go away, but you make them so loud I can’t hear anything else.”

  For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was speechless. I didn’t know where to begin. It felt as if the professional part of my brain shut down and all I was left with was the rawness of who I was beneath it all.

  “What voices do you hear?”

  She didn’t answer or move from where she was.

  “Ivy, I need to know about the voices. Tell me.”

  “I can’t with you this close to me.” She sounded desperate and pleading.

  I forced myself to back away from her. I backed away until I was leaning against a wall, and then slowly slid down to the floor. My feet wouldn’t hold me up any longer as I anticipated what she had to say. I had predicted it from the very first moment I met her—she was more like me than I wanted to admit. But I was about to be forced to admit it once she answered me.

  “I told you that my mom used to sit in the bathroom with me while I took baths to make sure I wasn’t touching myself. But it wasn’t only in the bathroom.” Ivy slipped down to the floor as well, sitting in front of me with about ten feet separating our bodies. “She used to have boyfriends, but they never lasted long because she would accuse them of looking at me, or touching me.”

  “Did they?” I couldn’t help myself from asking.

  Her eyes narrowed on me. “No. Cade, I’ve already told you that I was never molested. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “Trust me, I want more than anything to believe you, but I can’t seem to understand why you would be so timid and scared when I’m so close to you. Why you would have such a hard time with sex if something that horrible didn’t happen to you. I’m trying to understand, but you don’t open up to me.”

  She stared at me in disbelief before sitting up on her knees and pointing a finger at me. “Don’t you dare say that something horrible didn’t happen to me!” She raised her voice in anger. “My mother always told me that touching myself in any way was bad. I couldn’t wipe. I couldn’t clean myself. I wasn’t even allowed to look there. She fought with her boyfriends about it, when they never did anything wrong. They never touched me. They never looked at me, but that didn’t stop her from accusing them of it. She fought with all of them, as soon as I became comfortable having them around, she fought with them and they’d leave.” Her voice calmed, turning into a sad and desperate tone. “When I was seven, I took a shower for the first time. One of her boyfriends, his name was Steve, told me to take a shower so I could wash my hair. I never wanted to get out of the shower. The water falling around me, hitting the tub basin, drowned out the noises and the arguing. I found peace in there without my mom watching me. It was six months before I was able to take another shower. And the only reason I was able to was because the drain for the tub was broken and I couldn’t take a bath.”

  “The rain…” I said, remembering her mention of it drowning out the noises after I caught her sitting in it. “That’s why you like the rain.”

  She nodded and I noticed a tear running down her cheek. I moved forward, closing the gap between our bodies and wiped it from her face with my thumb. Her eyes closed as I touched her warm skin, and I saw a vulnerability I hadn’t yet noticed before.

  “You just have to reteach yourself that there is nothing wrong with touching,” I said quietly to her, and then watched as she opened her eyes to look at me. They looked like a storm coming over the horizon during a sunrise. The stormy grey looked desperate and uncontrollable, while the red screamed vengeful and angry. “I can help you, Ivy. But I need you to trust me. Please, trust me.”

  “She told me I was disfigured. That I don’t look like everyone else.”

  I tried to understand what she was saying. What did she mean disfigured? My heart began to pound in my chest as thoughts of her mother’s abuse surpassed what I had already learned of. I grew angry at the thought of her inflicting physical harm on Ivy on top of the emotion and mental harm she caused.

  “Everyone looks different, Ivy. No two vaginas are alike. Much like guys, we all come in different shapes and sizes,” I tried explaining in a clinical sense, hoping it would ease her worry.

  “How many women have you been with?” she asked.

  “A lot,” I answered, not wanting to give her a number.

  “How many patients have you been with?”

  “Not many. Maybe two or three a year, and never at the same time.”

  “What kind of sex is it? Like… how do you do it?”

  I knew she was holding back what she really wanted to ask me. I couldn’t pacify her and answer her cryptic question even if I knew what she meant by it. I needed to hear her ask me exactly what it was she meant. “You need to be more specific, Ivy.”

  “Do you make love?”

  “No. I have never made love before.”

  “So you fuck them?” She stumbled a bit on the word fuck, and it made me dick twitch.

  “No. I lead them. I instruct them. I walk them through it. Yes, it’s sex, but it’s emotionless. And it’s the last step in treatment. I get them to a place where they can consent to the act, to a place where they are comfortable having sex. And then, if I feel it is necessary, we have sex. But it’s nothing like what you read in your books. They’re not sweet or dirty words that are spoken. The words I give are instructions and words of encouragement. They tell me how they are feeling; nothing like what you read. They let me know if they are scared or uncomfortable. It’s very clinical.”

  She nodded and looked down at the carpet between us. I wanted to ask her what she wanted from me. I needed to know if she was looking for me to fuck her like the scenes she’s read about in books, but the words wouldn’t form.

  “Is that how it will be with me… if you have sex with me?”

  I wanted to tell her no. The things I wanted to do to her were nothing like what I had done with other clients. Just the thought of fucking her made a drop of precome exit my body. But I couldn’t fuck her like that for so many reasons. “Yes. It has to be. It is unethical for a therapist to have a relationship beyond treatment with a patient. And for that reason, it must be clinical. It must be done for the purpose of treatment, and not for any other reason. If we were to engage in that aspect and it were anything beyond clinical, it would mean a breach of my authority over your wellbeing.” I recited the words that I knew verbatim, but I didn’t want to follow them any longer. I wanted to stick my aching dick that was dripping with precome inside of her.

  “Then how will I know if I am capable o
f having that kind of sex. The kind that I read about? What if you say I’m ready and I go for it, but something happens?” She sounded genuinely scared as she asked me that question. Her voice held no confidence, and I wanted to change that.

  “You’ll be fine. I don’t have to fuck you in order to know when you’re ready. But one thing that you do need to work on is growing comfortable with being touched. And that starts with yourself. You need to explore your body—touch it, feel it, become comfortable with it.”

  “I don’t… don’t know if I can.”

  I grabbed her hand and placed it on her thigh, holding it there with mine. Her breathing grew heavy as she stared at our hands as if they were repulsive, mine on top of hers, unmoving on her leg. “Look at me, Ivy,” I instructed her. I waited for what seemed like long minutes before her eyes met mine; uncertainty swirled within them. “Just focus on me. Take deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, just like you had me do yesterday. You’re okay. You’re in control, no one else.” I began to move her hand farther up her thigh, refusing to let her remove her eyes from mine.

  “Cade,” she whispered.

  I hadn’t realized it, but my face had grown even closer to hers. It wasn’t until I felt her warm breath on my lips before I noticed how close we actually were. I should have backed away, but I didn’t want to. I could feel her give in to me and didn’t want to stop what I excused as progress.

  “All you need to do is feel it, Ivy. Feel your hand; it’s only your hand.” I pulled my hand away, showing her that I was no longer touching her. “You’re doing great; keep moving it higher.” I flicked my eyes to her leg, watching her hand move closer and closer to her cunt.

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  Holy fucking shit, why did she have to go and ask me that?

  “Only hold your hand there for now. Right now, all you need to do is realize that it’s okay to touch yourself. Find comfort in that. Once you can do this without my help and without fearing it, try it without the jeans. Baby steps, Ivy. And then after you’re comfortable with that, try it without the underwear. All you need to do is simply place your hand there; you don’t need to do anything else, unless you want to.” I backed away when I found the urge to touch her too strong to ignore any longer. “We’ll discuss more then.”

  I had a raging hard-on the entire ride home from Ivy’s apartment.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the only number I knew that could alleviate my pain. I wasn’t sure if she’d answer my call, but she told me earlier that she would so I had to try. It rang twice before I heard her voice, and hope set in as my dick throbbed painfully.

  “That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon,” she said as a way of answering the phone.

  “I know. I wasn’t planning on it either, but I need you. Do you think you could come by in about thirty minutes?” I knew I was asking a lot of her, especially after what went down the last time she was there. I couldn’t help it, though. I needed her. Well, I needed Ivy, and that’s exactly why I needed Alyssa.

  “To talk?”

  “No. To fuck.”

  She exhaled over the line. “Cade, I don’t know. After the other night—”

  “That was a mistake; I told you that. I’ve never done that before and I’m not angry tonight. I swear it. My mind isn’t somewhere else and the only mood I’m in is horny. Please come by. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise. I’ll make up for what happened last time. You won’t even remember it by time I get done with you.”

  I had expected her to hesitate but she didn’t. She sighed as she agreed to be over within the hour. I knew it would only be half that time, but I guess she felt better making up her own time. I allowed that and didn’t argue. The important thing was that I wouldn’t be going to bed with blue balls.

  Waiting for Alyssa to get there was torture. She did in fact make me wait an additional thirty minutes. I didn’t think my dick could take much more. It needed something and I was dangerously close to taking care of it myself. I, of course, didn’t want that. That’s not what I craved. I wanted it to be taken care of by a warm pussy, but I could only handle so much torture.

  Alyssa walked through the door with familiarity as soon as I opened it and made her way to the couch in the family room. I followed her without saying a word. She didn’t do her typical teasing by touching me or flirting. There were no sexual innuendos or even any removal of clothes. She just walked to the couch on the backside of the kitchen bar and sat down. I was puzzled and stood there, waiting for some sort of explanation.

  “Before we do anything, I think we should talk,” she said, looking right at me.

  We need to talk is never good to hear. It never leads to anything good, and at that moment, I needed something good. My dick needed something good. Not a talk. Unless the talk involved outlining the sensual things she planned to do to me that evening, but I was sure that wasn’t what she had in mind. Fuck!

  I sighed audibly as I sat on the ottoman in front of her, facing her and waiting for her to continue.

  “After the last time—”

  “I told you already, Alyssa, that was a mistake. How many times are we going to bring this up? We’ve talked about it. I explained to you what happened. I promised I would never let that happen again,” I interrupted her.

  “Will you let me finish?” she asked with a raised voice and I nodded for her to continue. “Okay, so after the last time, I think we should set some rules. We’ve already established that we won’t engage in sex if you’re in a mood or if your mind is anywhere other than what we’re doing. But in the event your mind drifts off while we are in the act, I think we should have a safe word.”

  “A safe word?” I scoffed. “Alyssa, I know I can be intense, but I’m not into the BSMD shit.”

  She laughed and held her hand over her face. “Cade, it’s BDSM.”

  “I don’t give a shit what it’s called, I don’t do it. Why do we need a safe word? It’s not like I’m tying you up and beating the shit out of you. I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me to stop. Why make up a stupid word that would mean the same thing?”

  “What if I’m saying ‘don’t stop’? That could get confusing. That’s why it’s easier to have a word like meatloaf or something that would never be said during sex. That way there won’t be any confusion if I have to use it.”

  “Fine. Meatloaf it is. Can we also have a rule that when you come over to fuck we don’t have these chats? I don’t think I could get any softer.” I was no longer in the mood to entertain Alyssa. The hard-on I was once sporting was suddenly gone with her need to talk.

  “One more rule.”

  I let out an exaggerated breath and dropped my head to my hands.

  “I know you’re a very aggressive guy and I like that, but what if I don’t want to be so passive? I think you should let me exert some kind of aggression, too.”

  “Wait, are you trying to tell me something here with the damn safe word and now this? If you have some kind of kinky fantasy to dominate a man, you’re at the wrong house. I don’t do that shit.”

  Alyssa laughed again. “No. I’m not talking about that.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” I asked, completely thrown off by what she was trying to say.

  “As much as I love choking on your dick, sometimes I want to sit on your face.”

  And he was up. “Sit on my face? That’s it? By all means, Alyssa, sit on my fucking face.”

  I leaned forward until I had my grip around the waistband of her pants. I yanked them off in one swift motion, practically pulling her out of her chair and into my lap. I moved my body between the ottoman and the couch, scooting the ottoman away as I leaned back on the carpet, pulling her on top of me.

  She moved so that her bare feet were on my shoulders with her knees bent on the carpet above my head. It was one thing to have her cunt on my face, but then she leaned back and supported her weight with her han
ds on my chest. I could look up and see her body and I knew right then that I would have no objections to her assertion of control. I fucking loved it.

  Once she was comfortable and I began to devour her pussy, she moved it away from me.

  “No. The whole point in me sitting on your face is to give me the power. You may hold my hips, but you cannot control it. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, muffled by her thighs. I would’ve probably agreed to anything at that moment as long as she moved her pussy close so that I could tongue her again. Her taste was exquisite and I was desperate for more.

  She lowered herself again onto my lips and I had a hard time fighting off the urge to take control. It was hard not to grab her and maneuver her body the way I wanted her, but I just laid there while she rocked back and forth on my face, feeding me her pussy as she grinded erotically on my tongue. I allowed my hands to wander under her shirt and found her bare breasts, taking a handful and pinching her nipple as my other hand kneaded her ass.

  I opened my eyes once I got over my lack of control and took in what was in front of my face. A pussy. A very beautiful and needy pussy. Of all the times to think about Ivy, that should not have been one of them. As Alyssa rode my tongue, moaning her pleasure-induced sounds into the air, I couldn’t help but think about Ivy’s fear of having someone look at her the way I was looking at Alyssa. I began to wonder if I would ever get to see Ivy in that way. To please her the same way I was pleasing Alyssa. Touch her the way I was touching Alyssa. To taste her the way I was tasting Alyssa. Or hear her make the sounds Alyssa was making. I began to grow mournful over the realization that it would never happen.