“I… I wasn’t feeling great, so I decided to finish early.”
Slowly, he unclips his belt buckle and slides it out of the loops before setting it on the bed beside him. He undoes the button on his pants and pulls his zipper down to free his thick cock. I lick my lips and lean in closer, the need to taste him unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
I’ve given blowjobs before. They felt safe, controlled, but there was no joy there. Nothing particularly excited me about them. But this is different; the idea of tasting his spend as he fills my mouth has me aching with need.
“Do you want to suck it?” he asks, and I nearly swallow my own tongue at how fast I nod my approval.
“Yes, please, Sir.”
“Then tell me the truth—all of it—why did you come home early today?”
My pulse thunders traitorously loud, and blood rushes in my ears. The idea of him withholding from me makes me want him all the more. He picks up the belt and runs it through two of his fingers. “Or face the consequences, which I can promise you won’t enjoy.”
“I’m a therapist,” I protest, shaking my head. “It’s something about a patient, so I can’t tell you. There are some things I’m not able to share with anyone, and I need you to respect that.”
“Don’t tell me about the patient,” he replies, one hand supporting his weight while the other runs up the length of his cock. “Tell me what happened to you. What made you feel like you had to leave work so early and come home with your thoughts spiraling? Do it without breaking confidentiality.”
Shit, he’s good. How does he know exactly what to say? How to find the loopholes and get what he wants without pushing me too far? He slowly pumps his cock, and I watch longingly as droplets of pre-cum glisten on the head. I ache to taste him.
“It’s embarrassing,” I say, whimpering as my face heats and I look at the ground. “And you won’t like it if I tell you.”
“You won’t like it if you don’t,” he practically snarls at me, his harsh tone brooking no argument.
I squeeze my legs together where I remain kneeling before him. My mind is being pulled in two different directions. I want to tell him. I want to be honest, but there’s so much Ican’ttell him. And so much hewon’ttell me.
Seconds tick by as fear grips me, insisting that he’ll be angry or even worse, disappointed in me. But in the end, my need to please wins out. My need to submit to him overrules all else.
“I have a patient who… gets in my head,” I admit, refusing to look directly at his masked face. “He’s attractive.Veryattractive. And he has made advances toward me. He has something called erotic transference. His attraction to me isn’t real. It’s part of his process. But I find myself drawn in by it. I know I shouldn’t. I know how wrong it is. But some part of me is drawn to him in the same way I am to you. I’m sorry, Sir.”
I hang my head low, my cheeks burning with humiliation, and I'm afraid to look at him.
“You want him?” he asks, and my shame intensifies. My eyes well with unshed tears as I realize what I’ve been afraid to admit is becoming undeniable. I want Ryan Rivera. Not just in the sexual way I crave my masked man. I want the future Ryan talks about. The community and the belonging. What the man in front of me could never give me while he keeps me at arm’s length.
But Ryan can’t give it to me either. Even if he wants to. He’s my patient. I could never go there.
“Yes,” I finally whisper after the silence has stretched to an unbearable level. But I’m unable to say more. Unable to admit more.
He says nothing, just sits before me languidly stroking his cock and remaining stoically silent. When I can no longer handle the warring emotions swirling inside me, I raise my gaze upward and let him see me.
He smiles.
Even under the mask, I see the glint of his teeth. It’s not a happy smile. It’s one that speaks of a predator with his cornered prey. A smile that speaks of ferocity and promises retribution.
And I want it all.
“I’m going to fuck your face now,” he promises, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
A whimper escapes me at the gesture, both the physical contact and the way he tells me what’s going to happen. Exactly as I need him to do. He’s not sacrificing his dominance; he’s asserting it while still meeting my needs.
“I’m going to paint your pretty little throat with my cum. Then you’re going to swallow every last drop. After that, I’m going to fuck your tight cunt, and you’ll think about how much you want that patient of yours every second that I’m inside you. You’ll imagine that it’s him you're begging to fuck you harder. You’ll want his face behind my mask. And the next time you see him, you’ll remember that you’re a dirty little slut who wants his cock.”
My jaw drops in shock at his words. I thought he would be jealous considering his assertion that he wouldn’t share me. I expected him to be possessive, even. But he’s not. He’s enjoying this, enjoying humiliating me with the shame of my attraction to a patient I can never have and should never want.
“Color?” he asks, and I can’t help but squirm as I decide.
This is wrong. It’s bad enough I’ve been having thoughts of Ryan; it’s so much worse to do this intentionally. But when the word ‘green’ slips out of my mouth, I can’t pretend I don’t crave it. That I’m not loving every second of it when my masked man grabs my head and forces his cock into my mouth with no further preamble. I gag when he hits the back of my throat, and tears stream down my face, but then he stills.
“Tap my leg once to slow down, twice to stop. Understand?”
