by Queen, Roxy
My hands recreate the pattern Graham has traveled for the past month with his hands, up and down my arms and legs, gliding between my thighs. I close my eyes and summon images of wet showers, choreographed sex, and a movie star’s back. These images come, they’re quickly replaced with intent blue eyes, and a jaw covered in a thin layer of stubble. That deadly smile. Hands that know every exposed inch of my body better than I know it myself. I find myself stopping at the barriers used in our sessions; but the idea of the rocket excites me and with a quick shimmy, I slip my shorts and panties off, feeling the cool sheets on my skin.
I lick my lips and wonder what Graham’s mouth would feel like touching mine. The scratchy feel of his beard. Are his lips soft? Is his tongue warm? I pretend it’s exactly how I want it and flip the tiny switch at the base of the rocket.
My hips jump at the sound, anticipating contact. Fear? Not much. I know I won’t do anything I’m not comfortable with. Shame? A little. A man should be pleasuring me, not a vibrating plastic tube. I push the shame away and use my fingers to spread myself wide. The first touch of the rocket to my clit sends shocks of electric waves across my lower body. It’s been a long time since my pussy has seen any action.
The contact proves to be too much, so I guide it to the edges, warming my body up. It takes time but soon my hips move, seeking contact. I adjust the rocket, grazing it over my clit. A surge of pleasure ripples through my body. Oh, I think, pressing my head into the pillow.
I explore my body and realize not everything feels great, but not everything feels bad either. A lot feels wonderful. It’s not as scary without the pressure of more hanging over my head. I’m in control of the pointy object; and once I realize what feels nice, I do it repeatedly until the room turns fuzzy around the edges, and my body takes on a life of its own. The tiny nub between my legs swells under the vibrating rocket as I glide it over the aggravated flesh. Just when I think there’s nothing more, I hit the sweet spot and my legs clench around the plastic shaft, squeezing tightly, and I fall to a lovely place between pleasure and pain. I’m startled by the sound of my breathing, deep and ragged; and I rock to my side, riding out the waves cresting over my body.
Calm and spent, I roll to the side and shut off the rocket; the soft noise comes to an abrupt end. Staring up at my ceiling, I feel the smile creep across my face. Another step forward.
Chapter 14
(Graham)
“How much longer do you think your school obligation will last?” Margaret asks. Against my better judgment, I agreed to come over to help her with a leak in the bathroom. A for real leak. When I got to the house, water and sopping wet towels covered the bathroom floor. Their house is old, over a hundred years. The metal pipe has finally rusted through. Margaret knows better than to fake something to get my attention; but all the same, I’m here and I’m giving her the attention she craves anyway.
“I’m not sure, at least until the end of the semester.” I’m lying on my back, under the cabinet putting in the new pipe. I crane my neck looking for the wrench. Margaret picks it up and hands it to me. Her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder and ample cleavage spills from her shirt. Tight yoga pants define her legs and she’s painted her toes a sparkly purple. I’d be a liar if I said I’m not attracted to her. “Thanks.”
“You think you’ll be free by June 15th?”
I shift to my side, seeking leverage for the wrench. I twist it several times, tightening the pipe into place. “Probably. What for?”
“I need a date.”
I scoot out and lift an eyebrow. “For what?”
“Just tell me if you can go.”
“Maybe,” I say, wiping my hands on a cloth. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to trick me into something?”
She shrugs and holds out her hand, helping me off the ground. I lean against the bathroom sink. She’s standing close enough for me to smell her perfume. “Not a trick, I’m just holding my cards until you give me a solid answer.”
“Fair enough.”
She closes the remaining gap. “I’ve missed you.”
Normally, I’d tell her I’d missed her too; but I haven’t, not other than the sex. My time has been filled with this experiment and Audrey; and it’s been nice to have a different focus. Instead of lying, I ask, “How have things been?”
“At home?”
“Yes.”
“Lonely,” she confesses. Her fingers fidget with the buttons on my shirt. “Too many empty nights; more so now that you’re busy.”
I almost tell her I’m sorry, but I don’t. I can’t be everything to Margaret. She’s not my responsibility. Her hands move downward, to the button on my jeans and she works so quick my cock is free before I realize it. She licks her lips and my dick lurches upward.
I close my hand around hers. “I can’t.”
“Let me suck you off,” she pouts; her lips fleshy and full.
“I can’t,” I say again; I hope with more conviction but probably not. I move away and redress, tucking my painfully hard dick down my shorts. “Margaret, you need to find something that makes you happy.”
“You make me happy.”
“No,” I correct. “I give you amazing orgasms.”
She purrs deep in her throat. “Same thing.”
“It’s not.” I extract myself from her grasp and move out of the bathroom. “I can’t tell you what it is that you need, but other people can’t fill the void. Not me, not your husband.”
She pouts, too lazy to deal with the hard parts of her life. “June 15th?” she says, as I walk to the door.
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, baby,” she says, kissing me on the cheek. “For everything.” She tucks folded cash in my pants pocket, grazing close to my dick. It twitches in reply. Dammit.
Walking to my Jeep, I can feel the warmth of her lips and the lingering scent of her perfume. I almost turn back. I almost cave because fucking Margaret is something I enjoy. Something I need.
I crank the car and peel out of the driveway faster than I should. I have to get away from here, away from her. As much as I hate to admit it, Margaret fills a void for me, too.
Chapter 15
(Audrey)
Pretty bra, not suggestive, but not unattractive either? Check.
Semi-flat stomach? I take a deep breath, holding my shirt up; I twist and turn in the mirror. It’s flat enough if I suck it in, which I plan to do.
Wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights, expression? Triple Check.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror gathering my courage to begin our first session shirtless while Graham waits outside. On the way over, I felt confident. I’d spent the weekend doing homework. Lots of it. I figured I’d immerse myself fully in the concept of exposure therapy. It couldn’t hurt, right? Dr. Markson hadn’t given me a limit. With each orgasm, I broke down a tiny bit of the wall I’d built around myself. I know I’m not afraid of an orgasm, but I am of what it can and should lead to. What happens when my partner wants and needs reciprocation? It had been easier just to push them off as long as possible.
Even so, I never got past stimulating my clitoris. Once or twice, I hovered near my opening and the same sense of panic enveloped me each time. As frustrating as that was I also emerged with a sense of control and pride that I’d challenged myself.
I drop the shirt hem and smooth it over my hips before exiting the bathroom. Graham’s sitting on a chair next to the couch reading over the instructions for today. “Hey,” I say, moving to stand next to him. He looks up.
“Hi. You ready?”
“Yep,” I say, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. He lifts an eyebrow so I guess I’m not very good at covering it up. “How do we want to do this?”
“I had an idea,” he says, lowering the lights and preparing the room. When he’s finishes, he straddles the bench. “I can sit like this and you can sit in front of me. Or lie down with your head in my lap. Whatever makes you most comfortable.
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I like this idea and agree, moving to sit in front of him. My outer thighs straddle the bench, pressing against the warm insides of his legs. Quickly, before I lose my nerve, I lift my shirt over my head. Glancing backward, I see he’s keeping his word and is removing his shirt as well. I get an eyeful of a well-defined chest, muscular and naturally tan, the opposite of my pale, white-as-a-ghost complexion. Whatever he’s thinking, he hides it behind a mask of professionalism. I turn back around, and without a word, Graham begins his ministrations, gently caressing my skin. His movements and touch have been softer as the weeks progress. They have been less of a massage and more titillating. His hands ghost over my arms and around my stomach. Butterflies burst into action and tingling sensations flow across my nerve endings as he inches toward my breasts.
He barely touches them for several excruciating minutes; instead circling my bra covered breasts slowly, moving closer and closer to my nipples with each pass. They’ve peaked at the center, hard and erect. It’s impossible not to be aroused. Isn’t that the point of exposing myself to sex so that I not only can handle penetration, but enjoy it as well? The thought overwhelms me mentally and physically; my whole body tenses in reaction.
“Take a deep breath,” he says, whispering quietly in my ear. “Everything you’re feeling is natural. And every phase is one step closer to your goal.”
He coaxes me back and I lean into his warm, solid body with my back against his chest. “Is this okay?”
“Perfect.”
Graham takes advantage of his new position, his hands gently exploring my chest. I close my eyes and continue to inhale and exhale slowly. My breasts rise and fall with each pass. He squeezes them together, cupping from underneath and then surprising me by grazing across my hardened nipples with the tips of his fingers.
Oh.
Ohh.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Ignore the feeling between my legs. Ignore the fire lit in my belly. I chant these directions over and over because it’s not time and it’s not what I really want. Not yet. Not now.
The music ends. Thank God. No really, I was close to embarrassing myself. Close to freaking out or maybe jumping him. I’m a bundle of nerves; and there’s no way Graham’s not aware of my warring emotions.
Lightning fast, I pull my shirt over my head, covering my breasts and stomach. My nipples are still hard, pressing against the fabric. Graham’s sitting behind me, putting on his own shirt. Finally, without looking at him, I say, “Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my neck.
“I’m feeling a little awkward and stupid after that, so would it be okay if I just changed and left. No handshakes or small talk?”
“If that’s what makes you feel more comfortable, then yes.”
My shoulders relax. “Thank you.”
I’m fast in the bathroom. Changing, fixing my hair, calming my tits down. Whatever he’s doing on the other side of the door, he’s silent. Graham’s become a ghost and I feel somewhat stupid for making such a big deal. I guess it’s easier now that my shirt is on and his hands are off my body.
I leave the bathroom and look for him to say goodbye. The room is empty, but I spot his keys on the table by the door. He hasn’t left. He’s just following my wishes. That makes me feel better than anything else does.
Chapter 16
(Graham)
The door closes with a click and I release a long, pent-up breath from my hiding spot in the closet. Yes, I hid in the closet. Why? Because she asked for some space. Oh, and because my dick is harder than a steel pipe and more obvious than the Washington Monument.
I walk across the room, only pausing long enough to lock the door before entering the bathroom. My pants are already halfway down by the time I secure that door, too. I lean back on the counter and avoid my eyes in the mirror. I know what my horny face looks like. No need to see it again, especially since I’m pretty sure there’s a little guilt there too. Audrey’s not one of my client’s. Not a plaything, but those thoughts are quickly pushed aside as I free my cock, grimacing as it bobs painfully against my stomach.
This is not professional.
At all.
With one hand back for support on the counter, I stroke the head, cum already oozing from the top and reach lower to fondle my balls. Something happened in there, something that flipped the switch. It may have been when her nipples rose like pebbles before I touched them. Or it may have been when I felt them harden under my hands. Or maybe the quick breaths she took to focus because she was turned on, too.
I grip the shaft and tug, stroking up and down, lingering over the head, and then dipping back down to my balls. I roll them in my hand once—twice—and start the process over, letting my dick bounce free once or twice in anticipation. I repeat this motion over and over again. The vision in my mind stuck on pale skin beneath a blue bra and scenes from my imagination of that pink rocket she purchased the other day. I think about what’s under the bra and beneath the thin, gray shorts she wears each session. I grunt and bite my lip, in anticipation of the rush coming from my balls to the tip. My dick is excruciatingly hard. My eyes pop open, one second before I explode, realizing I have nothing to come into. “Shit,” I mutter, spinning around, jerking into the sink as thick white cum squirts across the porcelain.
I finally look at myself, at my red spent cock, at the sweat forming across my forehead, and my bright pink cheeks. I shake my head in relieved annoyance.
Fuck.
Chapter 17
(Audrey)
Dylan’s leaning against my front door when I bound up the stairs to my apartment after my appointment. I’m listening to music, pleased with the results from this afternoon’s session. Seeing him stops me cold and I soak in his Dylan-ness from the top of the steps. He’s wearing heavy, black boots, dark jeans topped by a red and white plaid flannel jacket. When he sees me, he flashes a tight smile. He looks good and a pang hits me in the center of my chest. Another one stabs even harder when I spot the cardboard box resting by his feet. I pull my ear buds out one at a time and the music fades away. I say, “Hi.”
“I’m sorry about dropping by like this; but I have your stuff, and you wouldn’t answer the phone.”
I look down and see various Audrey-type things in the box. A sweatshirt and a couple books are visible, also, a stuffed bear from our trip to the beach last summer. “Sorry about that. I needed some space.” I skirt past him and open the door. “Want to come in?”
He picks up the box before I can and walks into the apartment. I take it from him and slide it on the kitchen table. We look at one another and I tilt my head. “Did you get new glasses?”
He touches the thinner frames. “Yeah, last week.”
“They look good.”
“Thanks.” He taps his fingers on top of the cardboard and looks around the room. Nothing’s changed since he was here last. Except me. “Can we talk?”
“Sure. I’m really glad you came by.”
I lead him to the couch and I try my damnedest not to think about the last time he was here. The fiasco. I can’t help it though because he looks right on my couch. I’m the one that’s wrong.
“Audrey—“
“You know, why don’t you let me start?” I cut him off. “I should apologize to you for not calling back. It was rude and you deserve better than that. Obviously, I have a problem—“
He frowns. “Aud, no.”
“Wait, hear me out. I have a problem, but I’m working on it. That night may have been my rock bottom, which you know what happens from there. You can only go up. I’m really working on the up part and I’m making some serious strides. Small ones but still, I’m improving.” I say all of this to my hands that are clenched in my lap.
“That’s great.” He squeezes my knee. “I’m happy for you.”
I explain parts of the therapy to him. Not the Graham parts becau
se I don’t think that will go over well; but I tell him about Dr. Markson and her ideas. “Part of my therapy is that I remain out of a relationship until the program is complete.”
“I guess that makes sense, even if I don’t like it.”
I’m afraid to see his face, but I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He looks hopeful and I know that he still loves me. He gave up everything to be with me once before. I have no doubt he’d do it again. “You don’t have to wait for me, Dylan.”
“No, I guess not, but I what if I want to?”
I can’t deny that his words thrill me a little. That Dylan’s willing to wait for me despite my flaws. Isn’t that what true love is about? Accepting people unconditionally? I know it’s why I looked past the shaky ground our relationship started on. “You’d do that for me?” I ask.
“Ultimately, I want you to get healthy and happy, which I don’t think you really have been for a while.”
“No, I don’t think so. The anxiety was getting bad; and it was definitely invading other parts of my life.”
“How is it now?
“It comes and goes, but I think that’s normal for the therapy. I’m really pushing myself mentally and physically.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight. The familiar twinge of anxiety isn’t there because sex is off the table. “You’re so strong. That’s what I love the most about you.”
Love. Not loved. I’m not sure how I feel about that; but who doesn’t want someone to love them? “And I love your patience and acceptance of me. It’s time though; it’s time I fix this for good.”
“Eh, what’s a couple of months?”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
-
Something flickers in his eye, something I can’t grasp, probably the fear that I’ll crack again. He covers it with a smile and says, “For you? I’ll always be here.”
