Addicted Patient Fucks His Milf Therapist

Dr. Vanessa Reed’s office smelled of leather, sandalwood, and the faint trace of her expensive perfume. Sunlight slanted through half-closed blinds, striping the Persian rug and the long, curvaceous body of the 42-year-old therapist herself. She sat in her high-backed chair, legs crossed, black pencil skirt stretched tight over thick thighs. Her cream silk blouse strained against a heavy pair of breasts that threatened the buttons every time she breathed. At the other end of the couch, nineteen-year-old Ethan sprawled like he owned the place—broad shoulders, messy dark hair, the cocky athlete’s smirk that usually got him whatever he wanted. Today the smirk was tighter, almost brittle.

This was their third session. The first two had been polite warfare. Today the war was about to be lost.

“You’re staring at my tits again, Ethan,” Vanessa said, voice low and velvet-rough. She tapped her pen against her notepad. “We talked about impulse control.”

“Can’t help it, Doc.” His gaze didn’t waver. “They’re fucking perfect. Every time you lean forward I keep imagining my cock sliding between them until I paint that pretty throat.”

The pen stopped moving. A flush crept up Vanessa’s neck, visible even beneath her flawless makeup. She uncrossed her legs, then slowly crossed them again, the soft whisper of nylon loud in the quiet room.

“Graphic language is not progress,” she said, but her voice had dropped half an octave.

Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You want progress? Fine. I jerked off in the parking lot before I came in today. Third time this week I’ve done it thinking about you. I picture you on your knees in that tight skirt, those huge mommy tits spilling out while you beg me to fuck your face. Then I cum so hard I almost black out. That’s the fantasy, Dr. Reed. Every single night.”

Vanessa’s breathing had changed. Her nipples were visibly hard against the silk. She tried one last time. “Ethan, this is inappropriate. I’m your therapist. There are boundaries—”

“I’m hard right now,” he cut in, palming the thick ridge in his jeans. “Been hard since you opened the door. You’re wet too, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You’ve been soaked for me since session one.”