Sex therapy

The lift doors opened with a quiet swoosh but prior to stepping out Freya checked her hair and make-up one last time in the mirror. It was an entirely unconscious action, looks were so important in her job that confirming her personal perfection was a habit even more ingrained in her than malboro lights.

The expertly cut, black silk skirt swung with the rythym of her hips and brushed the large, leather bag she carried but her high heels made no noise against the wool carpet as she strutted towards the room she'd become familiar with over the past few months. This was a regular engagement and, though she knew she was both on time and expected, still she knocked softly before pushing the door open.

She heard him before she saw him, he was talking on the phone and agitated by the call judging by his harsh tone and clipped, sharp words. Without greeting he placed a hand on the small of her back and somewhat clumsily shoved her toward the bathroom. His touch fell away as she stumbled under the sudden force and in reply to her look of bewilderment he merely held his index finger in the air toward her and mouthed 'two minutes' before returning to his pacing, not missing a beat in his third party conversation.

Closing the door behind her she immediately began removing her outer clothing, carefully folding the expensive top after slipping it from her chiseled shoulders and laying the silk skirt delicately over it on the chair. Once again she checked her reflection in the mirror, this time consciously checking off a head to toe list that went from her expertly cut and coloured hair to her long but somewhat thin feet, encased still in Jimmy Choo's very latest.

She had porcelain skin and wore just the right amount of make-up to accentuate her deep brown, almond shaped eyes; the lashes that framed them thick, lustrous and all her own. Cheekbones so sharply defined you could use them to set up perfectly straight lines of charlie on a sheepskin rug pointed like arrows to her mouth, her lips darkly pink and so very full you'd be forgiven for thinking of Angelina Jolie on first sight.

Her long, elegant neck had no need of adornment; the jutting collarbones alone framed the small breasts that sat high and proud within a subtly padded bra with the most exquisite lace outer layer and a short string of delicate black beads at the centre that led the eye down, down, over a stomach that told of a million weighted sit-ups and then further south toward the suspender belt and tiny thong - a black combination that matched the bra even whilst revealing it's own private beauty around the recently waxed boundaries that it didn't quite reach. Even further down, her thin, tightly muscled legs were sheathed in the sheerest of black stockings and seemed to go on forever before they met the ribboned shoe straps that spiralled her calves, continuing on to delicate ankles before disappearing into the sharply pointed toe of her footwear.

She heard him finish his call and throw his handset into a corner, knew that this was the moment to present herself to him. Freya opened the door and oh - so - slowly stepped just one, long, stocking-clad leg outside the frame in her most teasing fashion then paused to hear either the language or worldless sighs of acknowledgement and appreciation for her beauty that she'd grown to expect.

What she actually heard was a hard voice that told her "Behave! And move yer sticks over here". Here being the bed he was now lying across, fingers interlaced behind the head that carried a face showing boredom, maybe even a little contempt?

She, to her credit, didn't falter. Exiting the bathroom she sashayed over to the bed and stood proudly before him, confident to the extreme that he would like what he saw.

"You lost weight", he remarked

"Yeah, I - "

"You look like shit"

"But what abo..." He cut her utterance off, cruelly sharp;

"Shut up for fucks sake! I don't wanna listen to your boring crap! Get over here and put that gob to good use for a change"

At those words Freya immediately slipped off her £500 a foot shoes and, with her hands behind her back, dropped to her knees at the side of the extra king-sized bed, dipping her head to his semi-hard cock as demanded. Her position that of worship, most women at this point would go to town with all their knowledge of sexual power but not her, she simply kneeled and opened her mouth, waiting paitently for the next instruction.

She didn't have to wait long before his gruff, harsh voice fast was assailing her ears with an order to "make it want you, ugly cunt!" but even then, she held back the mix of tongue and hand on cock that she knew made other men weak and simply held her mouth open as a vessel for him to fuck as fast, slow, deep or shallow as he chose until her victory came in the form of his full, hard erection. She smiled in quiet victory when she felt him filling her mouth but he was, as always, one step ahead of her...

"On your hands and knees. Spread, bitch"

There was, as usual with this appointment, big money at stake so she did as she was ordered, not even flinching at the mini-bar temperature lube that hit her at the very top of the crack of her arse then followed gravity down to her perineum before dripping uselessly onto the expensive sheets below her. She could feel him positioning himself behind and between her painfully stretched thighs, sense him leaning back on his knees and holding his erection in place even before she felt it following the same route as the astroglide that had been there just seconds before... and then he was in her, hard, his balls ricocheting off her clit with the force of his entry. He had known she was ready for him without artificial aids and he took full advantage of it, hands gripping her hips enough to bruise while he threw himself into her.

"Fucksake, it's like screwing a little boy!"

Insulted, Freya quickly swung one long leg over his head and the other round his hip to re-position herself on her back without losing contact with his cock inside her, a move she was sure couldn't fail to impress. Again though, he beat her with his words...

"Don't you dare expect me to fuck you while I'm looking at them little girl tits!"

Her shock at his words was quickly overtaken by his actions as he pulled one of her hands across her small but pert breasts and pushed the other down between her legs before pushing himself hard into her pussy once again.

As soon as she touched herself she felt her orgasm building, for all her professionalism there was an uncontrollable physical sensation that felt like a red aura all around her. He was fucking her deep and hard with his cock, she was rolling her right nipple between her fingers as she hid her breasts from his gaze and her other hand had found a home furiously rubbing at her clit, it was simply too much for her to hold back from and yet she couldn't quite reach that point of letting go until...

"Come, bitch"

"wha..?"

"You wanna come all over my cock? Course you do, look at ya, you fucking love it! Go on then, ya skinny bitch... I'll just close my eyes and pretend I'm fucking a real woman while you take it all and beg for more"

Freya held her gasp deep in her lungs, so close to what her body wanted but her mind so confused at the same time, her beauty was her living after all, and a very good one so far...

"Well?"

"Please. Don't. Stop. Fucking. Meeeee!"

It had only taken the first word for him to know her deepest carnal wish. By the second word they had both come to the point of no return... the third and fourth words were barely heard amongst the heady rush of orgasmic delight that overcame them both...

He quickly disentangled himself from her embrace and entered the shower before she'd even come around properly from her euphoria. When she finally roused enough to realise she was late for her next appointment and jumped under the hot water she could hear him gathering the last of his belongings together even as she washed the scent of him from her most intimate places. A voice finds its way over the sound of running water...

"Your money's by the sink!"

"I know! I found it just now, I do love my regulars and their little routines!"

Freya laughed as the water poured over her body. The body that was paid a lot of money to model clothes, the tiny, starved body that was adored and worshipped by designers that had never once loved a real woman.

Simon laughed back at her as he picked up the £500 in cash, damp now from the steam of the shower, pulled back the curtain with one hand and slapped her tiny buttock with the other.

"Ouch!"

"Same time same place next month, ugly bitch?"

Freya smiled...

"Yes please babe, with legs this long I need someone to keep my feet on the ground, don't I...?"

Forget

Forget that you are mesmerised by the way my mind multi tasks on minimal sleep.

Forget that my affectionate embraces warm your soul.

Forget the future we plan; your office adjacent to my studio, a bespoke building attached to our detached residence in the country.

Forget, even, that you respect me as a fellow human.

Forget all that and fuck me.

Forget that you're a nice person and fuck me like a two-bob whore. Order me into the position you want, screw me hard and relish my squealing.

Forget which pages of the kama sutra you've covered and do it all again, from scratch.

Forget everything you've read about women needing romance, use me as a sex object and know that I won't object.

Forget everything except our first night together, the night you took me to bed with nothing to lose and fucked me like there was nothing else to win.

Forget that I'm outwardly precious and fussy, force me to face you whilst I admit my filthiest fantasies before you fulfill them.

Forget everything
that has been before,
force me to bed,
please,
make me your whore.

You and I, Now

I
need you to phone me. Of course,

I
understand it may be inconvenient but it's not about

You
this time.

I
want to be on the receiving end of a call. A different kind of call. A call that

I
don't have to verbalise in order to enjoy.

I
don't want to talk.

I
just want to feel. Well, ok. In truth...

I
want you to make me feel.

I
want this to be only verbally sexual and thus somewhat disconnected because

I
know that

You
are braver that way.

You,
who knows neither what they're worth nor what they miss, unless

I
am naked before you in my admiration or awe or lust or all of the above, which

I
usually combine in that one, longing look that

You
know and appreciate so much

I
want

You
to phone me and do to my mind that which

I
do to your mind, as

We
do our bodies

Now.

Until next time.

Bollocks

And not the good kind.

One of the reasons I like designing my own blog templates is that it gives me control.It's hard work doing it all though and when I was setting up Fuction I was madly busy and stupidly fell in love with Colibri and installed it, denying all the inner voices telling that it would never last.

It's stopped lasting. Colibri has left me. I know this cos, even though I have all sorts of adblock software, I'm still seeing a banner that informs me of an exceeded bandwidth rather than my beautiful background.png file.

Grr. And sorry if the site looks like crap. As soon as I get five minutes I'll sort it out proper.

By which I mean do it myself, obviously...

Update - Fixed, probably before anyone but me noticed. God, I'm good!


Meantime, hope you enjoy your stopgap story, ML. Love ya, baby xx

I want...

...to feel your hands on me again. This time though, I want it to be somewhere that I can see and feel your desire without considering who may be watching. The pub garden won't cut it for what I want.

I want your lips on mine again, kissing me hard, your tongue pushing, intruding into my mouth. I want to feel your hands, pulling me onto you, making me desperate, crying out to drop to my knees and offer you the vision of my worshipping you at the same time you feel every stroke of my tongue and every trace of my fingertips on you.

I want to feel you inside me, brace myself against a solid wall so you can push as deep, as hard as I want you to and I want to feel your hands on me. I want not to have to worry about the hand and foot marks I may make on the condensation filled windows of my car as we take each other, rape each other albeit with full consent, I just want to feel your hands on me.

I want you to watch as I take you inside me and, at the same time, put my hands between my legs till you feel my climax all over and all around your beautiful cock. I want to feel your hands on me as you tip over the edge when that sensation hits, lose all thought of being careful, of not hurting me with your need, of not being polite or proper.

I want you to use me, make me your female counterpart, your cum recipient, your woman, on all the most basic human levels. I want...

to feel your hands on me.

The last time

I see you...

As soon as I approach the top of the escalator; you're leaning slightly against the wall and hidden by the late edition financial pages. I grin, knowing that you of all people have little need of the information you spend your workday creating, that it's merely a way to pass the time waiting for me, a mere ruse to ensure nobody will look beyond the impeccably cut suit, the bespoke shirt or the expensively trendy spectacles and discover your true plans for the evening.

You can't help but glance up as I intrude on your personal space to greet you with a kiss - outwardly polite, of course - the public throng around us being far too busy to notice my tongue quickly snaking into your mouth before I pull away, smiling with my eyes as well as the lips that now taste of you.

London is buzzing with indigenous office drones dancing paths around the slow moving tourists in order to reach their usual watering hole or train station as quickly as they can, a thousand and ten internal sat-navs constantly recalculating for each fresh interruption to the pre-planned route. We float between them all, encased as we are in the private bubble that protects our acute awareness of the other; lost in that most base, subconscious acknowledgment of the pheromones that leave us powerless to resist one another once sharing airspace.

Reaching the somewhat crowded bar you direct me into a corner table and go to get drinks. I hear you order a pint even though I know you prefer wine, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed as I smile to myself at your recall of what the taste of beer on a man does to my senses. We drink for a while, accidentally on purpose touching arms and knees as we pull closer toward each other like magnets, talking and catching up on lives in general, apologetically replying to calls and texts on mobiles that we can't quite switch off at this point - not just for personal, lie-confirming reasons - but also because every public minute that passes in each others company adds to the already electric anticipation of the moment we'll finally be alone, together, unable to let anything get in the way of our desperation for each others nakedness. It's like a competition...

I win gold by virtue of you very suddenly draining your glass and mentioning that the hotel you've chosen is close by then turning your mobile off, all the while not lifting your gaze from my cleavage. Smiling yet again, I push my unfinished drink to one side and collect up my bag in a move that says my victory dance is not something for public consumption but a consolation prize that will make it well worth your conceding this battle...

Walking close together we continue to chat and laugh, stopping to kiss every now and then when lust overwhelms us. You divert into an off licence and I wait outside taking deep breaths to collect my senses as I watch you asking a man that doesn't speak any english other then '20 Benson' for good champagne, giggle as you search the offerings and grimace at the best bottle they have and lose myself in laughter as you quickly hand over a far larger note than needed and rush out without waiting for change.

I feel your thoughts, know you're wishing you'd planned it better, that the DP was sitting on ice waiting for us. I love watching you kick yourself in the mind, not because you're kicking yourself but because these details bother you enough to do so and tell me plainly, without words, just how much you wanted to make this something even more special. Every kick you give yourself is a touch to my deepest parts but I can't tell you this, not yet...

Having purchased a bottle of something alcoholic that at least has some bubbles then dealt with the hotel receptionist that appears to have no knowledge of drinking vessels outside of toothbrush tumblers, we eventually stop sniggering like teenagers on their first taste of cider and reach the room. I can't help but fondle as you fumble with inserting the key, my hands roaming over your thighs as you bend to push the plastic card into the correct place.

Of course, once inside you pay me back threefold for the intrusion on your concentration; pushing me bodily against the wall, throwing the keycard to the floor and plunging your wrist deep between my legs in a way that makes my knees buckle and my body sink down, silently begging for more of you in me, on me, over me, even as your watch scratches the stinging trace of ownership through my underwear and onto my skin that makes me wince.

You're having none of it, realising and relishing in the fact that you have my complete attention right now. You show off, working the position of power you find yourself in, strictly ordering me to wait exactly where I am while you go to the bathroom with the bottle of luke-warm fizz.

I have no choice but to remain against the wall but there's no rule that says I can't strip off my top layer and... oh, being half naked changes things and I just can't help it, standing in my lacy, pink bra and panties makes me feel assertive and brave and able to run the show as I move across the room, arranging bedclothes and pillows to their best advantage, so that...

When you return you find me stretched out to my full 5'2" across the rather strangely patterned duvet cover. With all outer clothing strewn across the floor I'm naked but for pink lace panties cut high at each side and a matching balconette bra that fights to contain my breasts whilst allowing you a peek at the top half of my aureole. My nipples are already rock hard, both they and their surroundings aroused so much that a braille reader would, even through the lacy pattern attempting modesty, immediately translate them as 'tongue here, NOW!'

I feel your weight on one side of the the bed and begin to smile but quickly gasp as the cool liquid hits my upper body. Forcing my eyes to stay closed I sink into and relish the contrasting feel of cold champagne and hot mouth, the sound of your appreciative moans as you taste the mixture of alcohol and skin, the scent of your arousal meeting my own. My hands go to the back of your head, pushing more of my tit into your mouth, ensuring the contact of your lips doesn't leave my nipple until the moment I can't take this sweet torment a moment longer.

Placing both hands on your beautiful face I draw your head upward to meet my lips and you immediately take the opportunity to snake your hands around my back, stroking, scratching and massaging as you undo the hooks and eyes attached to the cotton lace that holds my breasts constrained; pushing the pink, beribboned straps down, down over my shoulders till they fall to rest somewhere slightly above my elbows as my mouth is plundered by your tongue.

Oh, how nakedness is over-rated! This, my lover, is the perfect point of sensuality, giving you access and me restraint. Your mouth envelops so much of my rigid nipple that the breast behind it feels, for the first time in my life, quite small and I ache for you to take all of it between your lips. You don't, shifting across to pay the same homage to the opposite breast instead but I've stopped thinking of what I want you to do and begun to pray that you just don't stop what you're doing.

Ah, but you do stop - albeit just long enough to tell me that you want me naked, right now. You forcibly rip the prettiness of my panties off as I attempt to sexily divest my elbows of the matching pink lace and before anything even hits the floor you have your finger inside me and oh my God I'm pushing down on it, down, hard and forceful enough for you to turn your wrist against the pressure.

I gasp as you do so and see you smile as you realise you've found my sweetest of sweet spots. The medics and scientists can argue all they want but right now you and I both know that the G-spot exists. I'm so wet it's easy for a second finger to join the first and you watch my face as you slightly crook the tips and find a rythym that matches my hips... kissing slowly down my belly as you do so and then, finally, causing me to moan loud and long as you place the wet flatness of your tongue on my clit and move your head side to side.

I can feel the build up in me, my thighs ache to clamp around you, my hips desperately attempt to raise higher, push more of me into you, onto you. My heels press hard into the bed and you don't miss a beat, sucking my clit into your mouth and tonguing circles around it while your fingers continue the insistent rythym and that's it... my breath is held and the world has gone away till I cry out and as the sound leaves me and the breath leaves my lungs so the wave is released, my orgasm washes over me and I'm floating on a cloud of pure white relief and utter ecstasy as your fingers feel every contraction and your tongue laps up the evidence of my lust.

Before my breathing returns to normal I feel you move and smile lazily thinking you're going to kiss me back down to earth. You though, have other plans, your hands lift my knees up and apart, exposing me to your gaze before you place the head of your cock at the entrance of my still throbbing pussy. My eyes open and you hold the contact as you adjust your hips to push into me so slowly, achingly slowly, my muscles pulling you in and both of us moaning at the perfect feeling as your full length is enveloped in warm wetness for the first time. Passion overtakes you then and you call out to god as your thrusts fill me up time and time again, my breasts moving in time with the pounding that's taking both of us even higher. You release my knees and fall forward over me, still fucking hard but now feeling my breasts move against your chest, hard nipples tracing crazy lines in your hair, and my tongue snaking out to lick your lips. I can feel my heat rising again and draw my legs tight around you to feel your pubic bone rubbing my clit as your cock fills my pussy. Now it is me crying out to god, calling your name, imploring you to fuck me harder, faster, deeper, begging for more and more of your cock. I feel the change in your pace that I know signals your loss of control and that's all I need to make me come again, my orgasm more intense this time, my pussy twitching all along your length and tipping you over the edge into your own world of relief and ecstacy.

It had to be our last time but it will never be forgotten.

x

Domming the dj

You're dj'ing, as usual there are scores of scantily clad chavvy club birds exhibiting themselves on the dancefloor, desperate for you to notice them but, no.

Cos you're different, you're a bit special and they'll never understand that. You're clever enough to know that all they want is to be pinned to an alley wall with a fake phone number and it just doesn't up your personal volume control so you walk the line between flirting and remaining
professional - aloof, even. Glancing down at the decks you notice me sitting to one side of the booth; legs crossed at the ankle, knees drawn up so that leather boots meet at a point that
emphasises a deep, natural cleavage. I'm slowly drinking through a straw and raising one eyebrow as I look you up and down, openly appraising you, pondering whether you really could cope with my demands.

Our eyes meet and there are no words needed within the noise, you know what I'm saying... prove yourself worthy. You line up the last few tracks for the desperate and, having discovered my preference from the bar staff, send me a drink. On reciept I smile at you, just a bit, raise my fresh glass in your direction and beckon you to me with a finger, pointed, then crooked. You have no choice but to drop to your knees in order to connect, my hand reaches out to your crotch as you kiss me. Feeling potential I break our liplock and push your head down to my cleavage, silently directing you to lick, suck and worship my nipples before the closing lights come up. You're pretty good but still I push you off roughly as security clear the rooms.

I stand, positioning myself in front of you and pushing my arse back onto your cock as a
particularly familiar SIA tries to engage you in conversation. Leaning my head sideways over your shoulder I tell you to hold my hips hard as I grind and get rid of the goon, fast. You do as
you're told, he wanders off and I lead you out to the office where you order a priority cab. The journey to your place is silent. The look I'm giving you says more than words ever could and we both know it. As you put the key in the door I push you against it and check your crotch again. Still hard and no hint of a damp patch, good boy! I nod my satisfaction and follow you inside, removing the long tie that's taming my hair as I do so. As I stand, expectantly playing with the length of silk in my hands, you put some music on.

It takes a few changes before I'm happy with the sounds but once I am I beckon you toward me again so I can check whether you've sustained your erection without evidence of any fluid soaking through your jeans. Satisfied that you have I tell you I want you to remove your clothes - but! - slowly. I want to see you naked in body as well as lust, I want you to show me
every part of yourself until I can see the mind behind it, begging to be controlled till you can't bear the sweet agony any more and cry out for the release that only I can allow you... I like what I see so I turn you around, press your hard cock against the cold, tiled wall and bind your wrists with my silk hair-tie. Once your hands and fingers are discounted I order you to undress me using whatever you can employ.

I want your tongue in me and you also know I'm getting impatient so your teeth work overtime on my clothes, ripping my top to free my tits and trying to tear my panties away at the
sides. Stop. Right. There. And just watch, bound and helpless, as I remove my underwear and plunge two fingers deep into my pussy, the other hand drawing wet circles round my clit just a few inches away from your face. All you can smell is my cunt and, without your hands, it's driving you wild. If I told you to lick me from tits to toes right now I'd cum so hard but I hold back, not just because I know you want it but also because I'll cum harder when I'm fucking
your face, watching you struggle to breathe with your bound hands behind you as I'm pressing my pussy onto your tongue and feeling your nose rythmically rubbing on my clit. Or maybe turning, pushing my asshole down onto your tongue and my cunt onto your fingers as I
suck your cock with one hand squeezing, caressing your balls and the other finger fucking your arse, hard and deep while you have no choice but to take whatever I give you.

Once I've come enough to get bored I'll order you to lie on your back, verbally confirm that
you're not allowed to come till I say so then suck your cock hard and deep and enjoy watching you fight the urge to fill my mouth with your spunk, feeling my pussy drench as I see you try to be good and wait for permission to come while I give you the blow job of your life.

And if you manage to hold back through all that? I might - might - just untie your wrists, order you to sit back on your heels as I lie before you and watch you wank yourself over me until I say you can come.

Then lick it off and kiss me.


This was written for a guy I met on a dating site, a very good-looking image of laddish manliness with a massive submissive fetish.