Page 23 of Doctor Stuff

I got what I wanted this week.

Grabbing my dress, I hastily tug it over my head and pull it down over my curves. My thighs are slippery as I tilt my chin up and stalk out the door.

I can feel the plug in my ass with every step.

But I promise myself this is my last session. I’ll ask for a new therapist. I don’t need Dr. John anymore. I got what I wanted out of him.

Chapter 6

Why am I back in Dr. John’s waiting room again this week, with a butt plug filling my ass? That is the question.

I don’t have a good answer, even for myself. That’ll probably take a lot more therapy.

I’m terrified and turned on. I masturbated a lot this past week. Both with and without the plug. Sometimes I even fucked my own ass with it. So why not use it all the time?

Part of me is hoping that means he’ll put off fucking my ass as ‘punishment’, the way he did with my pussy. Part of me is hoping he won’t. I’m so mixed up, I don’t know what I want at this point.

But I’m here.

As always, he’s behind his desk when I walk in. I close the door behind me. I can feel the plug shifting inside me with every step. Reminding me of his intention. What I’m risking just by being here.

Excitement rises and falls in my core, along with my uncertainty.

“Stay right there, Traci,” he says, not looking up, and I freeze in place, closer to the armchair he normally sits in during my appointments than to the couch where I usually sit. My butt clenches around the plug, making my pussy throb.

After a moment, he lifts his gaze away from the computer monitor to look at me instead. There’s banked heat in his dark eyes and it sets my heart racing. I feel my mouth go dry as my pussy gets even wetter.

“Did you masturbate without the plug this week?”

I lift my chin up defiantly.

“Sometimes.”

See what he makes of that. What’s he going to do, not fuck my ass? Oh no.

But my butt clenches around the plug again as my heart rate picks up. I’m testing him and I know it.

He nods once slowly, like it’s what he expected.

“How many times?” he asks.

“What?” I wasn’t really expecting follow-up questions, and I also need a moment to think because it’s not like I kept count.

“How many times did you masturbate without the plug in your ass?”

The calm way he says such filthy things sets off all sorts of reactions in my body. I swear I can feel my nipples hardening as I squirm in front of him, pressing my thighs together so my slick pussy libs rub against each other.

“Um… ten?” I’m totally guessing, but that seems about right. I definitely got myself off multiple times a day, sometimes with the plug and sometimes without it. Sometimes one right after the other. “Ish?”

He nods again, his gaze somehow both cool and hot at the same time. “Take off your clothes and put your hands on the coffee table. Keep your feet together when you do so.”

I start stripping, but he’s not even watching. The tapping of the keys on his keyboard is the accompaniment to me peeling off my dress. Which just makes me hotter, even as my face burns with shame. I turn to the coffee table and bend over, keeping my legs together as he ordered, which means my ass is high in the air while I’m bent forward at an angle.

My tits hang underneath me, my nipples hard and pointy, and not just because of the AC. I can feel how wet my pussy is, and it’s a relief that I can still put pressure on my clit by squeezing my thighs together.

The seconds pass and all I want to do is squirm. I know this is part of my punishment. The question is whether or not he’s going to fuck my ass at the end of it or if I’ve escaped that part of this session. I truly don’t know which way it’s going to go and that’s fucking with both my head and my arousal at the same time.

He stops typing and my heart skips a little beat. I can hear the sound of his chair rolling over carpet as he pushes away from the desk. Every nerve in my body feels like it perks up in anticipation and my ass automatically clenches around the plug, feeling every centimeter of the toy invading me.