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Warning: Transference (11,900 words) contains parking lot pick me ups, doctor-patient privileges, and a not-so-cunning linguist.
I was ready to give in to my deepest desires, even though I knew they were wrong. Destructive. Morally bankrupt.
Simon's fingers slowly walked up my leg, making me tingle with every slow, determined step, until they reached their final destination on my crotch. He cradled my pussy in his hand, and even though it was covered up by jeans and panties, it was like he could still feel the heat bubbling up between my legs.
"We shouldn't be doing this," I said, watching him rub me through my clothes, setting my clit absolutely on fire with every second of his touch. "This is really not a good idea."
Simon continued massaging my mound through my jeans with one hand, and with his other hand, he unbuttoned his pants, setting a rock hard erection free. "Are you sure about that? Because it sure feels like a good idea to me."
"I'm sure this isn't a good idea," I said, but that didn't stop me from reaching out and tightly wrapping my palm around his meat, getting a good feel of his inappropriate desires.
"Like I said, we're just having fun."
I abandoned what little sense of right and wrong and loyalty I had left, and maneuvered my way on top of his cock, feeling it poke me against my jeans. He reached down to unbutton my pants, slightly lifting me up and exposing my red panties. His eyes got wide. He looked like he could devour me right then.
"You look so sexy in red," he said, practically drooling.
"Just shut up and let's do this," I snarled, disgusted with the both of us. I jumped up to take off my jeans, and maneuvered my way back on top of him. I moved my panties to the side, and slid my pelvis toward his, as if not stripping down naked tempered the amount of betrayal going on.
"Oh, baby, you should take it all off."
"And you should shut up and fuck me."
Warning: Countertransference (15,900 words) contains patient petting, self-love in a stall, and sick days gone wild.
"It's just that before I started talking to you about my problems, I thought I was failing. I thought I was failing as a man, at least that's what Stacey—"
I quickly interrupted him. I didn't want to talk about her; I didn't want to think about her. It was bad enough that I had to face her in their next joint session. This was my time with Patrick, and I didn't want her in it.
"Patrick, you're not failing at anything. You're perfect just the way you are. Don't let anyone tell you any different."
As if I had awakened a sleeping beast inside of him, Patrick quickly pushed me down on the couch by my shoulders and climbed on top of me, hungrily kissing me and grinding his crotch into my leg. He forced his tongue into my mouth and moaned as our tongues danced and our bodies swayed from side to side. I spread my legs open, anxious to receive him in every possible way. He separated his mouth from mine and looked at me with longing and desire as he slowly unbuttoned my blouse, exposing the bra that he quickly pulled up above my tits. He began devouring one of my nipples hungrily while forcefully gripping the other in his tight, sweaty fist.
I held onto his head, taking a handful of his hair and pulling it a little as a natural response to his amazing assault on my nipples. When he sucked the first one sore, he moved on to the next. He wrapped his mouth around it, softly at first and then with forceful precision, sometimes letting his teeth drag on my protruding, circular skin. I arched my back and in response, he took even more of my breast in his mouth, inhaling me more and more by the second.
I watched my chest quickly rise and fall underneath his sweet face, admiring the care he took in pleasuring every inch of my tantalized tits. He was masterful, a maestro with his mouth, indulging me with his undivided attention, as if he lived for nothing else other than to please me, to make me come underneath him.
Where does good sex begin?
Between the ears, of course!
That's why I work hard to write erotica that stimulates the largest sex organ we have--the mind--because when we're titillated upstairs, the nether region is sure to follow.
Want to get hot and horny upstairs and downstairs? Check out my erotic stories.
Kiki Wellington. Literary Flesh Peddler. Intelligent Freak.
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