by Ws Greer
When I put the flogger down, it’s to reach over and pick up the larger-sized condom I had waiting. I tear open the package and slip it on, before positioning myself on Ava’s back and leaning over to whisper in her ear.
“Are you ready for me to fuck you, Ava?”
“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”
“Are you ready to come for me?”
“Yes! Yes, sir.”
Without another word, I slide my cock into Ava’s pussy, and I’m shocked at how wet she is. It wouldn't surprise me if there was a small pond beneath her when this is over, and it’s a good thing I won't have to sleep in this spot, because I’m going to make her pussy splash all over this comforter.
Both of us gasp at how good the initial insertion feels, and because I know how ready she is for it, I don't waste time with moving slowly. I fuck Ava with a passion, and she’s no longer moaning. She screams for me at the top of her lungs, and I’m glad my house is a single unit, otherwise the sound would travel through the walls and shake the neighbors out of their sleep. I fuck Ava hard and deep, using every inch of my cock, and her body stiffens beneath me as her skin starts to turn pink, and then red.
“Oh fuck!” she shouts, and I know it’s coming.
She’s ready to come, and I’m anxious to feel it. It’s what I live for. If there’s a part of sex that I could call my favorite, it’s the orgasm. Not mine, but hers. There isn't a thing in this world that’s sexier than a woman coming. I crave it, and now it’s me who’s teeming with anticipation as I await what I know is only seconds away.
“Can I please come?” she screams, as if she still has some semblance of control, but in reality, it’s me who can tip her over the edge with another thrust of my cock. I pause for a single second, before granting her permission.
“Yes,” I growl in her ear just as I spank her ass, and start to fuck with hard, powerful strokes. “Come for me, Ava!”
“Fuck!” she bellows loud enough to knock pictures off the wall, before unleashing a guttural shriek that fills the entire room before bursting through the door and engulfing the entire house.
Ava screams with every thrust of my dick as her orgasm rocks her, and watching her come beneath me is just the jolt my body needs to send me over the edge as well. My own orgasm tears through my body like an explosion, and the two of us scream in unison as bliss overtakes us.
Once it’s all said and done, I collapse onto Ava’s back, both of us breathing as hard and fast as the sex we just had. She’s still just as beautiful as ever, even with sweat beading all over her face and a blindfold covering her eyes.
I take a moment to gather myself, before pulling out and discarding the used condom. I get up, leaving Ava bound on the bed, and wash my cock off with a towel and slip back into my robe before removing Ava’s handcuffs and blindfold. Once she’s free, Ava rolls over and closes her eyes.
“Holy fucking God, Malcolm,” she says, her voice raspy from being worn out. “You're fucking incredible. No one has ever fucked me the way you do. Not even close.”
I smile at the compliment before getting up and walking back into the bathroom.
“Hey, where are you going?” Ava asks with a frown. “You can't stay in bed? I can make us breakfast if you want.”
“I appreciate it,” I reply. “But no, I have to go. I have a session in an hour.”
Good Morning, Dr. Colson
3
~ Malcolm ~
My office is located in downtown Dover, Delaware. It’s a small town vibe, but I love it here. I’ve lived in Dover my entire life, and I wouldn't have it any other way. There’s nothing like the east coast life, and Dover is special because of its perfect location—small town at home, but centered between major cities like Philadelphia, New York, Baltimore, and Washington DC. You can be in any city in under three hours, so I often take trips out of town to get a taste of the city life, before driving back home to the small town vibe that I grew up in and love.
When I enter my office, my assistant, Keisha Gibson, is already seated at her desk in the small lobby. Keisha is a forty-year-old woman with black, twisted braids that run down her back, and dark brown skin. She’s been my assistant for all five of the years I’ve been working in this profession, and she’s been top notch from the very beginning. Even though she’s ten years older than me, she appreciates that I went to school for a long time to become a therapist, and she's a big help in keeping all of this in order. My personal life can sometimes make it hard to remain focused on my professional life. Keisha’s job isn't only to schedule my appointments and keep me on track with everything on the agenda, it’s also to make sure I don't let my professional and personal lives compound, which can be a task.
“Good morning, Dr. Colson,” Keisha says with a smile. Her braids are tied into a ponytail today, and her yellow sun dress hugs her body.
“Morning, Keisha.”
“Running late?”
“A little.”
“Better get in there then. Your first patient shouldn't be too much longer.”
I push open the brown, wooden door to my office and step inside, closing it behind me. My office is decked out in dark walnut wood furniture that gives the space an outdoor type of feel. I want my clients to be as comfortable as possible here, because the topics we discuss tend to make most people uncomfortable. The more relaxed and comfortable I can make my patients, the more likely they are to open up to me about their secrets.
The couches are brown and black fabric with plush cushions and a single pillow, just in case someone needs something to fiddle with or clutch. I made sure to stay away from leather, because I didn't want the sound of the couch to distract from the session every time a client moved. I need their full attention. This is their safe space. In here, we tear down walls and barriers and reveal the passion and pleasure behind them.
I have a large desk that rests in the corner of the room, where I track appointments and transcribe notes I take during each session. I keep files there and play music from it when I’m between patients, but when I have somebody on my couch, I sit in a black armchair directly across from the patient. We can't be separated by a desk. It has to feel much more personal than that—like we’re just two people hanging out and having a deep conversation.
The walls are covered in pieces of art that aren't too distracting—basically black and white pieces , and there's a single mirror on the wall behind my desk, that I now find myself looking into. The height of the mirror is higher than most would expect because I’m six-two, so most of my clients can't see themselves in it without actually trying to. My hair is short and lined up, as is my beard, and I double check to make sure I look professional in my white button up and tan slacks that seem to make my caramel skin and green eyes stand out today. I don't look like a man who woke up at five in the morning to have sex and barely left the house in time. That's good. I look ready to meet my new patient. Image is important when meeting someone for the first time, so I’m glad I was able to tear myself away from Ava in time to put it all together.
“Dr. Colson, your seven-thirty has arrived,” Keisha’s voice calls to me over the intercom.
I give myself one last once-over before taking a deep breath, and answering my assistant.
“Thank you, Keisha.”
I walk across the office and open the door to find a innocent-looking man with pale skin seated across from Keisha in one of the two brown chairs. He’s also wearing a white button-up, but his pants are black. He looks younger than me with his clean shaven face, but the inexperience and insecurity I see wafting off of him isn't because of his age. He looks timid, even when he stands up and shakes my hand, but his grip is strong like he was thinking about it before engaging in a handshake.
He's apprehensive, but wants to portray confidence before the session starts. A lot of men think that seeking therapy makes them weak, so when they manage to drag themselves into a therapist’s office, it takes a while before they're able to let go of the unnecessary eff
ort of trying to look as though they don't need to be here. Some men would rather look like an ass than look weak or in need of help. No worries, though. We’ll break through that.
“Sean Tillman?” I ask, although it’s rhetorical.
“Yes,” my newest patient answers with a soft smile.
“Good morning. I’m Dr. Malcolm Colson.”
“Good morning, Dr. Colson. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“You as well. Come in and make yourself comfortable, Sean. Let’s get started.”
4
~ Malcolm ~
I know virtually nothing about Sean Tillman. The only thing I make sure Keisha writes down when we get new patients is their name and age. I do it this way on purpose, because when patients come in, I want to be able to ask questions that get them to open up. I want to learn everything about them from their own mouths. Over the years, I've found that asking someone a simple question and then allowing them the space to elaborate often provokes a thorough, in-depth response. In this profession, it’s not just what a patient says. It’s also how they say it.
Sean Tillman comes in and takes a seat on the couch facing away from the wall, and I take my place across from him in my black armchair with my yellow legal pad firm in hand. Sean is nervous, which is typical, but I feel only excitement when I take my seat. This is a new journey that’s about to begin, and I’m anxious to get started.
The first thing I observe about Sean is his physical features. He’s roughly five-foot-nine, maybe a hundred-sixty-five pounds. He’s a little on the skinny side, and doesn't seem overly concerned with fashion. His clothes aren't fitted properly, his hair hangs loosely over his forehead, and he's wearing plain brown New Balance tennis shoes. He dresses for comfort, not for style, which gives me the slightest insight about what might bring Sean in today. I also can't help but notice that Sean is here by himself, which affords me another clue.
I’m a relationship therapist who specializes in sex therapy, so I find myself wondering how Sean’s appearance is perceived by his significant other. However, I won't read too much into this. It’s true that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, especially in my profession. Instead of focusing on Sean’s physical attributes, I take a deep breath and exhale loud enough for him to hear. I’m hoping he’ll mirror me, which he does, letting out a whoosh of air of his own. Good. It’ll help him to relax for the start of the session.
“All right. Good morning, Sean,” I begin as I place my legal pad in my lap and leave it there, giving Sean my full attention. “Why don't you tell me what brings you here.”
Sean swallows hard, before letting out another exhale. He’s trying to help himself get over his nerves, and I smile at him to help him feel safe enough to begin.
“Well, umm,” Sean starts, which is exactly how I imagined he’d begin. “I’ve been having some relationship issues lately. Well, it’s one particular issue, and I’m hoping to get some assistance. Talk it through. Pinpoint my problem.”
Sean pauses, waiting for me to ask another question, but another question isn't needed yet, so I simply add, “I see,” before stopping to let him continue.
Sean clears his throat. “Umm, you'll have to forgive me. I’m a bit nervous about this. It’s a sensitive subject, and I’m not sure how to begin. Never thought I’d find myself in a therapist’s office, talking about this kind of stuff.”
“I understand,” I reply with a calm, confident nod. “Am I correct in assuming that you know what it is I specialize in?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so you're aware that it’s my job to talk about relationships and the issues within them. It’s also my job to talk candidly about sex. Trust me, Sean, there isn't anything you can say that would offend or surprise me. I’ve been a relationship and sex therapist for five years now, and as much as I’m against tooting my own horn, I’m good at what I do. I know it’s easier said than done, especially upon first meeting me, but you don't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed of anything that is said in this office. I’m here to help you in whatever ways I can. It’s not my job to judge one way or another.
“What you can expect from me, Sean, is honesty,” I go on, giving Sean the speech it seems I have to give all my new clients, especially the nervous ones. “I want to challenge you to be honest with yourself, and that requires you to be honest with me. I’ll ask you to speak in very blunt terms, and I’ll speak to you the same way, so it’s important that neither one of us takes offense with anything either of us says. We’re to be totally forthright and transparent with each other, and as long as we can do that, I think we’ll have great success in helping you break through whatever barricades are in your way. By the time we’re done, I hope you’ll be more confident in yourself and your abilities as a partner than you ever have been. I’m dedicated to helping you, Sean. You have my full attention and also my full discretion. Nothing we say here will ever leave this room. If you want to do nothing more than scream and vent for the next hour, you're welcome to do that. I’ll let you. However, if you want to solve problems, I’m ready to work with you. So, what would you like to do?”
Sean stares at me, blinking like he just learned how to do it, before swallowing hard again. He repositions himself on the couch, crosses one leg over the other, and nods his head in a silent agreement with himself.
“I want to solve a problem,” he admits, this time speaking with more poise.
“Perfect. Then let’s get to it.”
“All right.” He clears his throat, then lets it all burst out of him. “Every time I have sex with my girlfriend, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. Even when we had sex this morning, I'm pretty sure she didn't orgasm. In fact, I think she hasn't been orgasming for a while now. I can't seem to get it right, and I’m worried it’s starting to really affect how she sees me. I need to fix it. I need to learn how to do what she wants, the only problem is that I’m not sure what that is. Is that something you can help me with?”
The smile that overtakes my face is one I can't control. It’s one of assurance that comes from years of doing this job, but also from a lifetime of specializing in the nuances of the female body and finding different ways to bring it to orgasm. This is what I live for. This is what I do. This is who I am.
“Most definitely, Sean,” I answer, leaning back in my chair. “Most definitely. Tell me everything.”
5
~ Malcolm ~
“Where would you like me to begin?”
“Let’s start with the basics,” I answer. “What's your girlfriend’s name?”
“Her name is Rebecca. Rebecca Richmond, but everyone just calls her Becky.”
“Cool, and what does Becky do for a living?”
“She's a resource advisor for Bayhealth Hospital. She spends all of her time talking to doctors and nurses and hospital administrators.”
This is interesting. Sean’s girlfriend spends all her time working with people who are in positions of power and prestige, according to societal opinions. Male doctors are considered to be men of authority and are held in very high regard. Sean hasn't said it yet, but I already find myself wondering if Becky feels some type of way about positions of power in her personal and professional life.
“And how long have the two of you been dating?” I ask as I write down Becky’s info, making sure to underline the part about working with doctors regularly.
“It’s been just over a year. Fifteen months,” Sean says with a warm smile on his face. Something in his demeanor perks up at the thought of his relationship with Becky. He’s in love, no doubt about it. “We actually moved in together about two months ago. It’s been great.”
“That’s fantastic,” I reply, echoing his enthusiasm. “You seem to really care about her. I can see it in how your body responds when you think of her.”
“Yeah, I love her very much,” Sean says with an unashamed confidence. He's got that part right, which is always good to see. Some people try to act as though they don't really care
as much as they actually do, and that always causes problems with the significant other.
“We’re really good friends,” Sean goes on. “We always have been. We met at work two years ago—I’m a nurse at Bayhealth—and we just hit it off. It seemed like we just started laughing from the moment we met. We get along great, and have nearly everything in common. She's the person I tell everything to, and I’m that person for her, as well. I was a little concerned about her being a resource advisor and me just being a nurse instead of a doctor, but she has never had a problem with it.”
“Why were you concerned about it?” I ask, hoping this will lead me to some answers about how Becky and Sean view positions of power.
“Well, how could I not be?” Sean inquires with a shrug. “RAs are powerful people. They're important. They call the shots a lot of the time, and have authority over a lot of the people in the hospital because they control the money. In a sense, it’s like I work for her. It’s bad enough that she’s four years older than me, so when I think about the fact that I work for her and that she deals with people who are much more powerful than me, I figure she’d just want someone more on her level. A nurse isn't on her level.”
“You assume a powerful woman would only want to date a powerful man?”
“Well, yeah,” Sean admits. “It turned out, however, that she's the most down to earth woman I’ve ever met, and she only cares about people’s actions. She likes to laugh, and I’m able to provide that for her. I guess things being so serious all the time at our place of work makes her want to be able to decompress with laughter. At work, she’s strictly business. At home, she’s so light-hearted and humorous. She's great, really.”
“That's great to hear, Sean. You have a solid foundation of friendship, and that’s so important in any relationship that’s meant to last. Most people only have sex and try to use that as the glue to the relationship, but that rarely works. A strong friendship is absolutely essential. That's wonderful. Okay, so now let’s move onto the sex.”
