Asher

My dick has taken one hell of a beating this week. If I’m not stroking the hell out of it with thoughts of Doc spread before me flashing through my mind, it’s throbbing behind my zipper, aching to be inside of her. She’s wearing a skirt today. She’s worn a skirt the last three sessions, and I’m starting to think it’s on purpose. She has to know what it does to me.

What it would do to any man.

There’s no tapping today but there’s a lot of lip licking. I swear to Christ, if she licks those full lips one more time I’m going to come in my fucking uniform pants. It’s a wonder I haven’t already. I’ve been hard as a rock since I walked through the goddamn door.

“What made you want to go into law enforcement? Was it because of your family or a choice you made on your own?” she asks, tucking a lock of curly hair behind her ear, revealing a small pearl earring. She’s worn it curly every session since Saturday night, when I complimented her on it, and the small act sends satisfaction through my blood.

We’ve had several more sessions and I haven’t had the desire to fuck another woman. Not that I haven’t had the urge. But not just any woman will do. The only pair of legs I want to get between are the smooth, sexy ones that belong to my therapist sitting across from me.

I think she’s ruined me for all other women.

Or cured me.

I can’t decide which one.

I even went to the bar again last night, searching for someone who would garner the interest of my cock, even just a little bit, but I did not have a single urge.

I don’t know what she’s done to me or why it’s her that I feel this strong connection to but I do. Maybe it’s because she already knows how fucked I am and is somewhat accepting of that, even if it is in the medical sense. Or maybe it’s the challenge she presents.

Or maybe it’s something else entirely.

“Mr. Cunningham?” she prompts, bringing me back to the here and now.

I clear my throat, shifting to alleviate the tightness in my pants. “Early on, I remember wanting to be a teacher. I was accepted into Harvard, Columbia, and Brown, but after what happened, becoming a cop was the only option. I needed the control and authority that came with it.”

“Have you ever abused that power or authority?”

“Never. I’ve always prided myself on that, but recently, I came close to crossing that line and it scared the shit out of me.”

“Tell me what happened?”

“There’s this female officer who’s been eye-fucking me since I hired her on and well, temptation is hard to resist for a man with my needs. Being that I’m her superior, it’s my responsibility to make sure we never cross that line but I found myself slowly losing control around her. I began to make comments and suggestions. Then one day, we kissed.”

“You kissed?”

I nod, regret knotting in my gut.

“Then what happened?” she asks, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“I told her it was a mistake and it could never happen again.”

“You didn’t have sex with her?” Her voice shakes with a mix of shock and relief.

“No.”

“So you were able to determine in that moment a line had been crossed?”

I contemplate her question before answering. “Yes.”

More writing.

Then her eyes meet mine. “And why do you think that is?”

“Because I value my job more than pussy?”

She smirks. “Perhaps.” Then her expression turns more serious. “Or maybe you’re not a sex addict after all. I do think you have a strong sexual appetite. But sex addicts typically lack any self-control. A true sex addict would not have been able to determine the consequences of their actions in such a heated moment. However, you were able to stop the situation from escalating, which indicates that you do indeed possess self-control.”

“Outside of your sexual experiences, have you been in a relationship with anyone?” she asks.

“Yeah, I was married once.”

Her eyes widen with the admission. “You were?”

“Yep.”

She opens her mouth to ask another question when that damn buzzer goes off, signaling the end of our session.

I give her a wink then stand to leave. “Until next time, Doc.”