I loved working in the office alone in the morning. I could get the first pot of coffee started, drink half of it, and get ready for my clients for the day.
Today's schedule was light, with only three appointments. I seldom saw more than six clients a day, but even with three a day I could cover office expenses, payroll, including my own, and have some money left over each month. Having high profile clients with deep pockets who wanted to keep their sexual issues private had proved a lucrative business for me.
My preparation for the day went by quickly. None of them were new clients, so I simply had to review notes from our prior sessions and prepare myself to ask the right questions to gauge their progress and to be ready to listen. Each of them was also over six months into their therapy and had already made significant progress. Two of them would see Chastity, my on-staff sex surrogate, but both were simple sensual massages to help them become more in touch with their bodies.
My mind wandered to Saturday night and my wild experience at the Cherry Pie Gentleman’s Club. I didn’t feel shame for what had happened, but I felt some guilt over how far I had gone with Mr. Dark Eyes. I hadn’t been seeing him in a professional situation—unless stripping and sex in the Cherry Pit counts as professional—but I still felt as if I had crossed a line.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a prude. In my business, I deal with clients who have sexual dysfunction from a clinical standpoint, even if in reality they just have desires that society doesn’t always consider “normal”.
I’m not talking pedophilia. Some of my clients have fetishes, enjoy BDSM, open marriages, engage in polyamory, none of which are really abnormal. Even those in heterosexual relationships still have issues from childhood or a previous relationship that lead to erectile dysfunction, misogyny, jealousy, arguments, and even paranoia. Any physical ailments they might have are often simply the result of stress, lack of confidence, and, sometimes, just ignorance.
In my profession, though, there are certain ethical standards I need to stick to and I’m not sure what some of my high-profile clients would think of me if they found out I was stripping and having sex at a strip club. Or was it just me that was berating and judging myself?
Weaved in with the guilt, though, was reminiscence and flashbacks of that night. Dancing on the stage. Seeing men aroused by watching me dance, even with my bra and panties on. Taking off my top for Mr. Dark Eyes when he commanded me to do so.
It had been a command. He didn’t askpretty please.He had said, take it off, and I did.
The sensations that had caused in me seemed to be the most troubling. What had happened in the Cherry Pit had been even more disconcerting. I had acted like a woman with no control over my own actions.
After the divorce and custody battle with Ass-Hat, I had done my best to always be in control. I prided myself on not giving into my own desires. To calling the shots in my relationships. Granted, I hadn’t been in a committed relationship since my divorce.
Raoul was a rebound relationship that lasted nine months. He had been a one-night stand which turned into a friend with benefits, but we hadn’t seen each other in four years. Jerald, my hunky firefighter friend, didn’t count either. They had both been sexual relationships, which I was able to control.
Mr. Dark Eyes, though, had sure flamed my desire. I shook my head, remembering my dance for him in the back room. His touch on my body had stirred many emotions. His hand on my pussy had inflamed my desire. The way he made me moan. The memory of his cock, first in my hand and then sliding into me, aroused me again while I sat in my office.
I checked the clock. 8:13 AM. Penny, my receptionist and office manager, rolled into one, wouldn’t be in for another fifteen minutes. I had time.
I was wearing a black pencil skirt this morning and some nice, soft panties. I lifted my skirt up my thighs, spread my legs, and rubbed my pussy through the material of my panties as the feelings I felt last night returned. It was a silky material, and it felt good on my fingertips and my pussy lips. I could already feel dampness forming on the material.
I pressed my finger between my labia, pushing the fabric into my soft fold, and moved my fingers up and down. Images of Mr. Dark Eyes rubbing me in the same way and the sensations caused my body to dance in pleasure.
I leaned back in my office chair and lifted one leg up to my desk. My three-inch heels and the handle on the desk drawers gave me enough support to spread my legs wider. The image of me with my breasts in his face and the memory of his hot breath on my neck brought my nipples to a deliciously painful hardness which pressed into the soft fabric of my bra. All the memories of how he made my body feel resurfaced and traveled along synaptic pathways and brought me to the same heights of sensation I experienced on Saturday night.
I slipped my hand inside my panties and ran two fingers up and down my slit.God, I’m wet.I used the wetness on my fingers to lubricate my clitoris, which I then rubbed up and down before rapidly rubbing back and forth.
All the time I imagined his hands on me. The sensation of them caressing my sides, my breasts, and then tugging on my hips as he slammed me down on his hard cock.
“Yes,” I whispered into the silence of the office before I moaned at my touch and the vivid memories of that night.
Soon I was rubbing myself harder and faster. My breathing and heart rate quickened. My free hand clutched and grabbed my breast through my button-up blouse. I squeezed my nipples through the fabric before loosening some buttons so I could reach the soft skin of my breasts. I slipped my hand underneath the bra to better pleasure my nipple.
He had brought me to ecstasy so simply. So quickly, as far as I could remember. The newness. The taboo nature of what we had done. Perhaps that had heightened the excitement. Pushed me to orgasm quickly. An orgasm did not come as quickly now.
The pressure of being caught and pleasuring myself quickly affected my ability to climax. I knew that intellectually, but nothing I could do at that moment could hasten my release.
So I rubbed my clit harder. Up and down, then side to side. I dipped two fingers into my pussy and fucked myself. The squishy sound of my pussy being penetrated mixed with my breathing. I pinched my nipple harder and squeezed my breast more. I quickened my breathing on purpose to hasten my climax.
I imagined his cock filling me, spreading me like it did that night, as I pumped my pussy with my fingers. They were a sad substitute for his hard dick thrusting into me, but I had pleasured myself for years. Now should be no different. I neared the point of pleasurable release.
The door to my office opened, and Penny strode in, looking at the tablet in her hand. She didn’t look up at me until she had advanced into the office almost five feet.
I, of course, didn’t see her coming in as my eyes were closed and I was rubbing my clit with total abandon. When she noticed me, my eyes opened to see her suddenly gawking at me with a look of surprise and horror on her face.
She looked up at the ceiling.
I tried to compose myself. I removed my hand from my panties and flipped my skirt down. My blouse though spread wide and I couldn’t hide that fact from Penny. I did my best to button up quickly though and in a few seconds was back to my professional self. Minus a super wet pussy, that is.
I took a deep breath.
