Speaker 1: The session should have ended at three point fifteen. I
watched the second hand on my desk clock sweep past
the twelve, watched it march forward to the sixteen, the seventeen.
Cassidy sat across from me in the butter soft leather armchair,
one leg tucked under her, a threadbare van sneaker dangling.
Her fingers picked at a loose thread on the cushion.
She'd been talking about her mother for twenty minutes, voice
trembling on the edge of something tears maybe, or confession.
But I'd stopped listening at three fourteen. At three fifteen,
she noticed, doctor Vance is our time. I think we
need to try something different today, Cassidy. My voice came
out smooth, practiced twenty three years in practice had taught
me how to deliver a line, so it landed like
a suggestion rather than a command. She looked up, big
brown eyes, the kind of dough eyed innocence that couldn't
be faked, the kind that came from actually believing the
world hadn't yet shown its teeth. Her blonde hair was
pulled back in a loose ponytail, strands escaping at her temples.
Nineteen years old, and still carrying baby fat in her cheeks.
My thighs pressed together beneath my desk, different how she asked.
I stood. My pencil skirt had ridden up slightly, and
I didn't tug it down. Let her see the curve
of my calf, the way my stockings caught the lamplight.
I'd worn the sheer black pear today, the ones with
the seam up the back. You've been coming here for
three months, I said, moving around the desk. Each click
of my heel on the hardwood floor punctuated the silence,
talking about your anxiety, your mother, your inability to connect.
Cassidy's throat bobbed as she swallowed. I think your problem
isn't that you can't connect. I stopped directly in front
of her chair, close enough that her knees nearly brushed
my shins. I think you're afraid of what happens when
you do. Her breath caught a tiny hitch in her
chest that she couldn't hide. Stand up, I said, not
a question, not a suggestion. She uncurled her leg stood,
the top of her head reached my chin, and I
watched her realize how close we were standing. Watched her
pure upils, dilate, doctor vance. I do you trust me, Cassidy.
My hand lifted fingertips, brushed a strand of hair from
her temple, tucking it behind her ear. Her skin was warm, feverish.
After all these months of sessions, all those hours of
me listening to you, do you trust that I know
what you need? Her lips parted, closed, opened again. Yes.
The word came out as a whisper, a surrender. Before
i'd even begun. I smiled. Not my professional smile, not
the one I gave the department head at faculty meetings,
or the one I offered worried parents during consultations. This
smile was slow, hungry, good girl. The shift in her
expression surprise flickering into something hotter, something that made her
cheeks flush pink, was better than any glass of wine
I'd ever. After a long day, my hands found her hips.
The fabric of her sundress was thin, cheap cotton, the
kind you buy at Target with your first real paycheck.
Underneath it, I felt the elastic band of her underwear practical, boring.
We'd fix that eventually. You talk endlessly in this room,
I murmured, walking her backward, her shoulders hit the wall
beside my bookshelf. You fill every session with words because
you're terrified of silence, of stillness, of what your body
might do if you stopped thinking for five seconds. Cassidy's
chest rose and fell rapid shallow. Let's see if we
can't quiet that busy little mind. I kissed her, not gently,
not tentatively. I pressed my mouth to hers, with the
authority of a woman who'd earned two doctorates and public
three books on human sexuality before Cassidy had graduated middle school.
My tongue pushed past her lips and found the taste
of spearmint, gum, and something sweeter underneath, youth, maybe vulnerability.
She made a sound, a muffled whimper that vibrated against
my mouth. Her hands fluttered up, unsure where to land,
and I grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head
against the wall. No touching, I said, pulling back just
far enough to speak. Not until I say. Her eyes
were glassy already gone. You've never been with a woman before,
have you? A shake of her head barely perceptible. I
released one wrist, but kept the other pinned. My free
hand traced down her arm, her shoulder, the line of
her collar bone, the way you look at me during sessions,
the way your thighs pressed together when I lean forward
to hand you a tissue. You thought I didn't notice
the strap of her sun dress slipped easily off her shoulder.
I notice everything, sweetheart. My fingers hooked the neck line
of her dress pulled downward. The fabric gave way, revealing
a pale, pink brawl also target, also practical, and the
swell of breasts that hadn't quite finished settling into their
final shape. She shivered. Goose bumps rose along her arms
despite the warmth of the office. Please, she breathed, Please
what My thumb found her nipple through the thin padding,
circled once, twice. Use your words, Cassidy. We've been working
on that. Her hips jerked forward, involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking anything.
Please touch me. I pinched hard. Cassidy gasped, head thudding
back against the wall, and I watched her fight the
instinct to squeeze her legs together. Good. She was learning,
that's not what you really want, I said, rolling the
stiff peak between my fingers while she squirmed. You don't
want me to touch you. You want me to use you,
to take whatever I need and leave you a mess
on my office floor. Isn't that right? Her eyes squeezed shut.
Look at me when I'm speaking, they flew open. Isn't
that right? Yes? The word cracked down the middle. Yes,
doctor Vance, that's my girl. I stepped back, let her
sag against the wall, chest heaving, dress bunched around her waist.
My body hummed with want, but I'd learned patience. You
don't rush a meal. You've been waiting three months to taste.
Move to the desk. She walked like a fawn, unsteady
new lie back. My desk was an antique mahogany, heavy
enough to hold a body without complaint, and I'd tested
that theory more than once over the years. Cassidy hoisted
herself onto it, the wood groaning beneath her, and lay
back among the scattered papers and my leather bound appointment book.
I opened the top drawer, pulled out a pair of scissors,
the silver ones I usually used for cutting articles from
psychology journals. What are you? The blades sliced through the
strap of her sun dress, then the other. The fabric
pooled around her rib cage, and I tugged it down
past her hips, past her thighs, until she lay before
me in mismatched underwear and one dangling sneaker. There, I said,
setting the scissors aside, much better. My hands spread her knees,
Her thighs trembled under my palms, soft and pale and unblemished.
The patch of dampness darkening the cotton between her legs
told me more than any of her session notes ever had.
You're soaked, Cassidy, absolutely drenched for your therapist. I dragged
one finger over the wet cotton, pressing just hard enough
to make her hips buck. What would your mother say?
A sob laugh choked out of her Fuck you, oh, sweetheart.
I hooked my fingers under the waistband of her underwear,
pulled them down, and let them dangle from my index
finger before dropping them to the floor. She was bare underneath,
pink and glistening and swollen. I parted her with my thumbs,
bearing her clit to the cool office air, and Cassidy's
whole body seized. Stay still, I ordered, You'll take what
I give you. My thumb found her clit in slow circles,
pressure light enough to be torture. Tell me what you are. Yours,
she gasped, I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm that's right. I
leaned over her body, my mouth hovering above her ear,
and slid two fingers inside her. Her heat clenched around me, desperate.
You're my new project, my pretty little plaything who's going
to learn exactly how to please a woman, starting right
now now. If you want to hear the rest of
this sexy story, come back tomorrow for part two. Trust me,
it's going to get a lot filthier. I hoped you
enjoyed today's sexy story. If you love this podcast, leave
an Apple review, Share what sexy fantasies you want to hear.
Maybe we can make your dirty dreams come true. See
you soon,