A Different Kind of Therapy Ch. 08

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[Thank you to all the people who’ve given comments or votes or written me. I enjoy hearing from you. Thank you also to estragon for copyediting -Tricia]

Session VIII: A New Week

The Therapy App left me alone on Saturday, which I was partly happy about because I had to deal with the normal family stuff. But it also frustrated me because I was already needing another spanking and my encounter with Reverend Rusk had left me horny and craving another session like my one with Dr. Gupta. I was still feeling frustrated when I got up on Sunday morning and then got Alison, Jeff, and Sarah up for church. There was no way that Bob would be going.

It was a cold, drizzly day, but I wore a dress anyway. Somehow I felt like I had to dress up for the Reverend. The kids, like they always do, dressed casually. I didn’t feel like arguing.

To say I was distracted when we got there was a serious understatement. As Cheryl led the service, I couldn’t help but think about my therapy session on Friday. I vividly remembered the embarrassment I’d felt as I’d told her about my dream and my shame as I had lowered my pants at her command. I kept replaying the feeling of laying across her lap and the strength of her hands as the spanked me. And God help me, as I knelt, all I could think of was to imagine kneeling in front of Cheryl as she spread her legs for me.

My panties were soaked by the end of Mass, I’m sure my pantyhose were too. I had hoped to just quickly sneak out at the end, but the final song was one of Sarah’s favorites and I couldn’t make her miss it. And so we wound up in the line heading out the door, waiting our turn to say “good morning” to the priest. I kept looking around for an excuse to leave the line at the same time as I was trying to keep my kids corralled. Alison was reasonable, thankfully. But Jeff and Sarah had the fidgets. And after the way I’d fidgeted through the service, I couldn’t really criticize them.

When we reached the front of the line, Cheryl talked to each of my kids first, asking them each something that showed that she paid attention to her parish and what happened to its members. Then she held out her hand toward me, “And Pamela, its good to see you back. Sorry you’ve been away for a while.” Her hand held mine after we shook. It was warm and strong and I couldn’t help but think of where it had last touched me.

“Well, you know, life gets crazy sometimes, but I’m trying to get it back on track.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s sometimes hard to correct oneself. You need help. That’s why we’re here.”

“Um, true. Your sermon was good today by the way.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I wrote it Friday afternoon after a counseling session that went very well. I think I was inspired.”

I blushed. “Er, that’s good. I guess we’re all the beneficiaries.”

“Yes, definitely, Pamela. But you didn’t think I was too strict in places?”

“No,” I laughed nervously. “Not if that’s what you think we need.”

“So how have you been, Pamela. Are you following your dreams?”

I felt my knees go weak. For a moment I imagined that everyone around would know what we were talking about, that she was announcing that I dreamt about going down on another woman. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that no one really knew. The conversation was completely innocent on the outside. “No, I don’t think so,” I managed to say, “too many things get in the way.”

“Well, you know my number, Pam. Call me if you need help stripping those things away.”

“Um, I’ve got to get going, Reverend. The kids are going to start misbehaving.”

She laughed. “Okay, see you soon, Pamela.”

“Have a good day, Cheryl.”

I let Alison drive. I was too nervous. I didn’t breathe easily again until we’d pulled out of the church parking lot in the car.

On the way home my phone buzzed. It was a text message from “Therapy” and read only, “Make sure they *all* go. You stay.” I had no idea what that meant until I got home. When we got into the house Bob greeted us all with a big smile.

“Hey. Anyone want to go to the movies? I got four free tickets.”

“Cool!” Jeff said, unusually excited. He mentioned the latest thriller that he wanted to see.

“Yeah, I want to see that too,” Bob said.

“I can’t go,” Alison said. “I need to go to Deb’s house to work on a project. Can I borrow your car, mom?”

“I think so, Ali,” I said, my head spinning a bit. “Wait a minute: Where’d you win these passes, Bob?”

“The cinema called, then sent tickets right to my phone. I thought it was junk at first but they said they were testing a new system for ticket sales.”

“Oh,” I said a little stunned. The message on my phone made sense now.

“I want to go too,” Sarah chimed in.

“What about you, honey?” Bob asked.

“I don’t think so. I’ve got laundry to deal with.”

“Can I use your car, Mom?” Ali asked again.

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Bob asked me.

“No, I can’t.”

“Okay, Sarah and Jeff canlı bahis şirketleri said, just the three of us. We’ll leave in 15.”

They all disappeared in different directions.

My phone buzzed again; it was the Therapy App this time. “Click here when they are gone,” the screen showed. Underneath was the text, “Don’t change your clothes. You look good.” I blushed and then started wondering about how it knew what I looked like.

A second later Ali reappeared in torn jeans and a tight t-shirt. I was suddenly aware of just how big my little girl was getting. She just grabbed my keys, grabbed her coat, but didn’t put it on, called out a quick, “see ya,” and was out the door.

I did actually have laundry to do, so I collected it out of the hampers and took it all down to the laundry in the basement, sorting the whites into the washer and the colors for the next wash. I was still there when Bob stuck his head in the doorway and said, “we’re out of here, honey. See you after the movie.”

“Okay. Have a good time!” I called back. I started the washer and then went upstairs to get my phone. I pulled it out and pushed the button. It immediately responded with “Put on a cup of coffee then sit and wait.” What could I do? I put on the coffee.

Ten or so minutes later the front door opened. Startled, I got up front the kitchen table and went into the living room. Jennifer Edelman was standing inside the door, taking off her big winter coat. A backpack lay casually on the floor next to her. She wasn’t at all dressed for the weather either: she was wearing a mid-thigh length, pleated plaid skirt and a tight white blouse. Knee-high socks were her only leg coverings. Her lips were bright red, her makeup playful and slutty. Her hair pleated into two braids. She looked like a private-school girl in a porn movie.

And God help me, she looked hot to me.

“Hi, Mrs. B. The house looks good. I haven’t been here in ages. Take my coat, will you Mrs. B.” She held it out and I mutely took it. “Just a second,” she said as I moved to hang it up. She squatted down and pulled her tablet computer out of her knapsack. She stood up and handed me the bag. “Don’t hang them in the closet, Mrs. B. Put them on your bed. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Like I was in a dream, I trotted up the stairs and deposited the coat and bag on my bed as I’d been told. Then I came back downstairs to find Jennifer seated at the kitchen table. She smiled sweetly and said, “Coffee, please. Black with sugar.”

I poured a mug full of coffee and put in on the table in front of her with the sugar bowl and a spoon. She took a moment to fix it right and take a sip and then she looked back at me standing there. “Back up a step, Mrs. B, let me look at you.” I backed up. “Turn around, slowly. You do look nice, Mrs. B. But you look tense. Are you worried about something?”

“I don’t know why you’re here.”

“You need a session, Mrs. B. You know, you do look good in that dress, but I think it’ll have to come off.”

“Here?” I squeaked.

“Yes. Here. Now.”

As she sipped her coffee, I went through the awkward contortions to unzip the back of my dress and slide it off. Jennifer indicated a chair and said, “Put that there.” I folded my dress over the back of it. “I think you need a better class of bras, Mrs. B. Where do you buy them?

“JC Penny. Marshalls. Like that.”

“No Frederick’s? No Victoria’s Secret?”

“I have one.”

“You should get more. But take that one off now.”

I reached behind me again to unhook my bra. My traitorous nipples were hard.

“Have you ever tried front closing?”

“I’ve had a couple. I can’t get used to them.”

“Really? They’re so easy to get off. Let me show you.” Jennifer stood up and quickly unbuttoned her blouse and then unhooked a white lace bra in front. She tossed the shirt and bra casually on top of my dress. “See?” All I could see where how firm and tight her breasts were. They were grapefruit sized, and her nipples were also hard. I gulped as I noticed. She smiled sweetly and sat back down, not bothering to sweep her skirt back underneath her. “You can put your bra down now, Mrs. B.”

I mutely complied.

“Do you like my tits, Mrs. B? You’re staring at them.”

“What? Oh, they’re very nice. Mine were like that once.”

“Yours are great for a forty-something woman.”

“Thank you, Jennifer.”

“You’re welcome. Take off the rest of it now, Mrs. B. Show me all of your glory like you did on Wednesday.”

“Can I sit down?”

“Until you get them off.” I pushed my panties and pantyhose down and sat in the chair to kick off my heels and take the rest of my underwear off. “Put your heels back on,” she said, “and stand up.” I stood in front of her wearing just my heels, a three-strand necklace of mixed-colored beads, my rings and earrings. I’ve never felt more naked in my life.

“Get yourself some coffee, Mrs. B. and sit down.” I reached up in the cupboard to get another mug then poured some coffee, opened the fridge to get canlı kaçak iddaa the cream, feeling the blast of cold air on my naked skin. I was about to sit down again when Jennifer asked, “Do you have some cookies, Mrs. B? You used to keep some really good cookies down in the lazy susan.”

“I’ll get some,” I said. That required me to get a small plate down, then squat in the corner to reach the bottom shelf of the lazy susan, before I could put them on the plate and bring them back to the table. All the time, Jennifer sat there, topless, watching me and sometimes typing on her tablet. It was all so weird.

I sat down opposite her, tucking my leg underneath me. It seemed somehow more demure than parking my bare bottom on the chair. I took a sip of coffee and waited.

Jennifer finished typing something and the looked back at me. “I’m so pleased with your progress, Mrs. B. The report of your session with Sathi was a sublime read.” She must have seen the confusion on my face. “Sathi Gupta. She’s wonderful, don’t you think?”

“Um, yes.”

“And you enjoyed licking her cunt?”

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you enjoyed licking Sathi’s cunt, Mrs. B. Come on, don’t be shy with me. We’ve known each other since I was in High School.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

“How long I’ve known you? Come on, I’m one of your therapists, Pamela. Tell me. Did you enjoy it?”

I looked down at the table and whispered, “Very much.”

“And you dreamed about licking Odessa Adamms’ cunt too, right?”

“Yes.”

“And what about mine? Would you like to lick my cunt too, Mrs. B.?”

Her eyes locked to mine. I fought a million different battles in my head. Lust. Propriety. How sexy she was. How young she was. The feel of her fingers in me the other day. The child who had baby sat my kids. The look of her tits. The… “Yes,” I finally said. “Very much.”

Just then the washing machine buzzed. “What’s that?” Jennifer asked, “Are you doing laundry?”

“Yes,” I answered, my eyes on her nipples, unable to tear them away.

“Oh, good. We’ll have to move the clothes to the drier later. But first, I’ve got some questions.”

We sat there for the next ten minutes as she asked me questions that drifted from the mundane, “how many eggs do you eat in a week?” to the highly personal, “when was your last period?” to the even more personal, “what were you thinking about the last time you diddled yourself?” All the answers went into her tablet. My blushes were ignored. She was completely unemotional as she asked and answered.

Finally she finished and looked up from the tablet with a bright smile. “Thank you. Your answers will help me in my thesis and will also help guide your therapy. We have a database of hundreds of profiles like yours. I wish I could give them all the personal attention I’ve been able to give you, but I really only get to thirty or forty percent.”

Jennifer closed the flap on the top of her tablet and stood up, her breasts bouncing gently from the movement. “Grab your clothes. Let’s go up to your room.” She turned and headed for the stairs.

“What for?”

“What do you think?” she looked over her shoulder and smiled with laughter in her eyes and her tongue slightly sticking out.

I grabbed all the stuff and hurried to follow her. She was far enough ahead of me that I was practically looking up her skirt when I got to the bottom of the stairs. I immediately looked down when I realized that. And then I wondered why I had.

She was faster in her heels than I was in mine. When I got to my bedroom, she was seated on the side of my bed — my husband’s and my bed — with her leg crossed over her knee. It seemed a contrast to be so demure with her breasts brazenly on view. “Be a dear, Mrs. B, and take off my shoes for me.”

I knelt in front of her and unzipped her short boots and took them off, one then the other. I glanced upwards once while doing it and didn’t see any underwear. Maybe they’re flesh colored, I told myself. Or maybe not.

She patted the bed when she was finished. “Come up on the bed, Mrs. B. Lie down on your back.”

I stood but I hesitated before I got on the bed. “My husband…”

“Oh, don’t worry about Bob, Pamela. You’ll have time to change the sheets before he’s home.” I swallowed hard, but I followed her directions. “Put your head down here,” she indicated the lower end of the bed. “Scoot up the bed. Put your feet up on the head board. That’s my girl.”

“Now, slide your legs apart. No, keep them up there. Are you wet?”

“Yes,” I said nervously.

“Touch yourself.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes you do.” She was right. I put my right hand between my thighs and slid it along my opening. I shuddered. “Good. Keep it up. Slowly now. Very slowly.”

Jennifer stood up. I realized my eyes were closed when I felt her weight get off the bed. I turned my head and opened them to look at her. She smiled slightly and reached behind her to undo her skirt, letting it drop to the floor. She hadn’t been wearing any panties canlı kaçak bahis and now she was fully on view. I remembered what she’d said about my pubic hair the other day. I remembered because she didn’t have any. She was shaved bare. I could see the outer folds of her sex clearly. Oh god, there was nothing hidden.

She got up on the bed and stood over me, one foot on either side of me. I continued stroking myself as she’d commanded, but I found it hard to keep going slowly. From my position, with her legs apart, I could see the pink, wet inside of her pussy. And then she slowly lowered herself to her knees. Her pussy was just inches from my mouth. Her eyes were locked on mine. My eyes kept flicking back and forth between her eyes and the pink beautiful view of her pussy.

“Do you want me to lower my cunt onto your face, Pamela?”

“Yes, please.” I was more eager than I thought I’d be.

“What will you do if I do?”

“I’ll lick you.”

“What part of me will you lick?”

“Your pussy. I’ll lick your pussy.”

“I don’t have a pussy, Mrs. B. I have a cunt. A juicy, wet, slippery, horny cunt. Is that what you want to lick?”

“Yes, Jennifer, your cunt. I want to lick your cunt.”

“Will you make my me come when you lick my cunt, Mrs. B.?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Are you still playing with yourself?” She looked over her shoulder, “Oh yes, you are. Good girl. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I want, I want you to sit on my face so I can lick your cunt, Jennifer.” She lowered her self an inch, two, then backed up. “Please,” I found myself pleading. “Please, sit on my face.”

She lowered herself all the way. I opened my mouth to kiss her lower lips and my tongue flicked forward to taste her, to lick her, to please her.

If Dr. Gupta tasted of spice, Jennifer tasted of honey. The sweet complex honey from bees fed on wild flowers. And like a flower her pussy slowly opened up to me as I made love to her. Her clit swelled slowly and tantalizingly above my tongue and her moans as I licked it were music to my ears. I found myself fingering my own sex in echo to how I licked Jennifer. As my tongue glided over her lips, my finger traced my own. As my lips squeezed her clit, I squeezed my own clit between my forefingers. When I thrust my tongue into her cleft, I thrust my fingers into my own.

All until she reached behind herself and grabbed my hand, pulling it around and sucking my fingers into her own mouth. She started moving on top of me then, rubbing her cunt in my face taking yet more control of the situation. Her moans became deeper, more guttural and she alternated between frantic rubbing and slow hard thrusts. I had trouble breathing, her thighs held my face in place and her cunt alternately covered my mouth and nose. She was using me, fucking my face, all for her own pleasure. And I loved it.

She came in a gush of her fluids and a long slow cry of pleasure. And she collapsed over me, finally lifting her sex off my face as she supported herself by her hands above my head. From up close, I watched her pussy flinch repeatedly; each spasm eliciting a squeak of pleasure from my former babysitter.

“Oh, that was nice, baby. Very nice,” she said. “Who would have known that Pamela Burgin was such a slutty, pussy eating MILF? I had fantasies about you when I babysat, but, wow.”

“You had fantasies about me?” I said still trying to catch my breath a little.

“Never mind that,” she said, getting up off the bed, suddenly full of energy again. “Get up. Time to get up, Mrs. B.”

“Why?” I said as I slowly rolled toward the edge of the bed. My face was wet with her juices and there was a damp spot on the sheets. I was all too aware that I hadn’t come yet.

“You have laundry to do. I want you to go down stairs right now and move the laundry into the dryer. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yes, Jennifer, okay.” I reached for my robe.

“No robes. Get your naked ass down stairs.” She was reaching for her backpack.

I wasn’t used to walking through my house naked. Or, is it naked if you’re wearing your heels? I don’t know. But it was weird. I went down to the first floor and around to the cellar stairs and down to the laundry. She’d told me to move the clothes, so I shifted clothes from the washer to the dryer. And I was bent over the laundry basket lifting clothes for the dryer when Jennifer quietly descended the stairs.

“Nice view,” she said from behind me and I practically jumped out of my skin.

“You startled me,” I said, standing up and looking back at her. I gulped when I saw what she was wearing. It was a strap-on dildo, large and very pink. I’d seen pictures of them, and seen one in a dirty movie once, but never seen one in the flesh. Well, I guess not flesh, but you know what I mean.

“Finish loading, Mrs. B. I’ll wait. I like watching you anyway.”

Totally self conscious, I loaded the washer and put in some detergent. I turned around and leaned back on the washer. “Now what?

“Turn them on, of course,” Jennifer said dryly. I pulled the knobs on both machines, starting them into their cycles. “Sit up on the dryer.” I wriggled up. The vibrations rose through my bottom and spread though me. “Spread your legs,” she ordered, her hands on my knees gently pressing.

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