Sexual Immersion Therapy
Chapter Ten
While working with clients the next day, I sometimes imagined how Rosita might be lying in her bed, squeezing her nipples or gliding a dildo in and out as she pictured the two of us intertwined in my office.
In retrospect, I had gone much further with her than I had intended. The moral sewer aspect was obvious, but beyond that I had implanted triggering mechanisms and behavioral instructions that might be beyond my ability to shape. The implantation of a nipple frisson when she entered the inner office was a question-mark—in my training, there had been some debate as to how far such triggers could be pushed. An good example: could a client in need of weight loss be shaped towards having feelings of revulsion when staring at a tub of ice cream in their freezer? People often understand their own issues intellectually, but knowledge does not always translate into power. However, if that same client’s body could be made to deeply feel how excess calories were like an enemy, and their body ed in with liking what was healthy and disliking what was not healthy…
In Rosita’s case, I was confident that she would manifest some degree of revulsion now at the thought of going out with men like Bernardo, but what if I took things even farther? For instance, would it be possible to make her feel as though her clitoris was beginning to shrivel like a raisin every time she heard Bernardo’s voice?
By nature, I was not drawn to negative reinforcement like that. So much better to lean towards the positivity of pleasure, and outright thrills, like what I’d put into her about her nipples going crazy when she came into my inner office. Some part of me had difficulty believing I could manufacture such a reaction in advance; then again, she had been right on script in the way she had dressed for me, far too revealing for public consumption under that raincoat. The same with her insistence on scheduling an appointment for the very next night, twice. I could affect her behavior, definitely; it was just a question of how far and for how long.
And what about trigger words, or phrases? In my training, there had been some debate about how far that could go. People could be triggered by a single word in completely ordinary circumstances— like what if I yelled out a sudden “Stop!” in a public setting? Chances are that more than a few people’s momentum would come to an instinctual halt, even if they didn’t know me, nor what the problem might be. You could trigger a fistfight or practically a war by uttering certain words in certain circumstances, or imagine making love to someone, and they begin to laugh in a derisive tone. It’s nothing but a sound, with not a lick of hypnotism in play.
So what if Rosita’s nipples did flare with extra-sensitivity just when she entered my office tonight? That would be the triggering of a sexual response, caused by location and circumstance—just think of all the future possibilities. And if/when she tit-fucked me, and then came like she never had before precisely when she tasted my semen…
I sighed. At this point, who knew what the chances were. I did not doubt that I had created carnal pressures inside the woman, already rising like a tide—there had been preexisting attraction, so it was like pouring jet fuel onto what was already there.
That was what made her the perfect training ground for everything I might accomplish with Mira. Mira might even be more susceptible to sexual stoking, since we had already gone that all-important extra step, my tongue and fingers bringing her to orgasm.
None of my clients had any clue that thoughts like these swirled within me all day. I was hopeful and nervous and turned-on, all that the same time. It seemed to me that events could unfold in any number of ways that evening, and I was given reasons to have even greater hope when Grace called in the late afternoon, finally reporting on how she and Lucinda were getting along.
“Happy day after your birthday,” I said.
“I saw your birthday wish on Facebook. I know there’s a reminder; even so it’s great when people .”
“Did you do anything special?”
“We had the best tacos north of the border at a new Mexican fusion place.”
“And how was my birthday present? Did you open her —I mean it—up?”
“Michael, you opened her. Whatever or however you did what you did… You should have been here at least once to witness the results of your new hypno-dealie magic. She’s been going at my toes, and even letting me suck hers. She’s got those dancer’s arches, and she’s a little ticklish there…”
“Um, privacy?”
“Fuck privacy. I’m here to tell you that my real birthday present was my girlfriend using a feather on my nipples yesterday, and vrooom! She’s obsessed with my boobs—for good reason, mind you—and she gets me going and I get her going, and now she just about bursts my eardrums when she loses it. What on earth did you say to her to make that happen?”
“Trade secret. But I’m glad it’s going well.”
“I call her The Tongueinator now.”
“Oh stop.”
“Ha! You love it. Nobody else talks dirty to you.”
“Sadly,” I said, thinking I could probably get Rosita Bello to talk dirty to me all day long. Hell, Lucinda, too, if I pushed way far into the dark side.
“Anyway, a great big kiss from me and Lucinda. I swear, the ferocity of the woman’s orgasms… Grrrrr! You’ve given me the best birthday present ever, and that includes my Malibu Barbie when I was a kid. ”
“Like I said, I’m glad it worked.”
Grace told me that I should convert my entire practice into being about sex therapy, and we both laughed about that. Then she said that if I was ever on trial and needed a character witness, I should enlist Lucinda because she thought I must be one of the nicest people in the entire world.
“I’ll try to shatter those illusions, if I can ever get her to stop attacking my tits, or whenever I can stop going at her thighs,” Grace added, and then she rang off.
As I leaned back in my chair, it felt like a fireworks display was going off in my mind. Right there in that phone call was everything I needed to be certain that what I was doing to Rosita, unprofessional and unconscionable as it was, was the right thing. She was the experimental appetizer before the main course of Mira, a necessary step. I’d mitigate the evilness of it by doing right by my client in the aftermath—I had no specific plan yet for rewarding Rosita for her participation in my sexual immersion crash-course, but I’d think of something.
Carlotta left at six that evening, and I drove home half an hour later, to freshen up for what I expected to be a momentous night. I was back in the office at seven-forty, all showered and freshly shaved. My heart was beating fast and I calmed the anticipation through busy-work, writing up part of a report, then cleaning up my desk. I even decided to turn off the overhead lights and switch on a floor lamp, giving my office a slightly more romantic feel.
My phone rang at three minutes to eight, and I liked that Rosita felt too excited to wait the last few minutes. I let her in, locking the outer door behind while absorbing how she had dolled herself up.
I had not directed her to dress in any particular way this time, and she had chosen a turquoise skirt that didn’t quite come down to mid-thigh, and taller heels. An elegant turquoise necklace dipped down to tease at the point where her cleavage began, the neckline of her form-hugging silk blouse taking a wide curving journey to reveal a remarkable amount of flawless creamy flesh. In one way it was less of a boob-show than yesterday, but it was very cleavage-centric, like she really wanted me to focus on the chasm between her tits tonight, and what might fit so wonderfully in there.
The effect was exactly right, embodying the promise of whoredom without looking whorish. She was a voluptuous hardbodied bridge straddling two shores—on the one, the desire to appear nice and stylish for a potential lover, while on the opposite shore stood a woman who looked desperate to harden my cock at any cost.
She stopped walking just a couple of steps into the inner office, her mouth opening and her face going red. The words, “Are you okay?” were on the tip of my tongue, but then I ed how she’d been primed for her nipples to flare with excitement when she crossed that threshold. It was happening! It was happening as regular as clockwork!
“It’s, like, really chilly in here?” she tried to recover, nipples jutting.
I was instantly hard just like her nipples. Hurrying to seat myself behind the concealment of the desk, I said, “You look absolutely amazing today,” and watched as she settled into the client chair opposite me.
She crossed her legs, and it was very craftily done but she adjusted her rear in the chair in a way that drew her skirt another inch or more up her thighs. Almost immediately she began to wiggle her raised foot, the muscle at the back of her calf moving.
These would be the most well-turned legs in my life right now, if I hadn’t met Mira. I absorbed Rosita’s inspiring leg show for a few seconds, but then returned my focus to the exposed flesh at her breasts. There could be no doubt that my gaze affected her—her mouth opened and the shapes of her nipples seemed to rise even more, her posture changing in a way that made her breasts strain against her blouse and bra. She was definitely on a different planet than a woman who believed her therapist should not be enthralled by the exceptional dimensions of her curves.
“Tell me how you’re doing,” I opened.
Rosita inhaled a couple of times before speaking. “Good, mostly. I felt, like, inspired after our session yesterday. I guess I danced better, or sexier, at the club last night. I made so much money! It’s like I just had more vroom in my body, and when I danced, or especially when I gave lap-dances… I made three times as much as I ever have on any other weeknight.”
I smiled and told her I was happy for her.
“Michael, I really want to thank you for seeing me again so soon. You’re incredibly kind.”
I shrugged like it was nothing. “So you had a great night last night,” I said, picturing her masturbating like crazy once she’d gotten home. “But we all have difficulties that arise, even in our high moments. Tell me where your difficulties are, Rosita.”
That was one of the standard ways of opening a session, and she responded by lowering her head, one of her signals that she would be confessing a worrisome truth. “I’ve been having these intense cravings.”
“For cocaine?”
“Oh no, I really am past all that.”
“So you’re talking about a craving for men.”
“Yes, men. Or really… It’s just one man. I keep seeing myself with this one man, like I just… I want him! I’ve never felt like this before in my life and like… I keep fantasizing about it and I can’t stop!”
As perfect a progress report as I ever could have hoped for. “Rosita, it’s hard to imagine that anyone would ever turn you down if… But back to your current state. You can’t stop fantasizing about a romantic life with this man? Or is it more about thoughts of a one-time hook-up?”
“I have no idea about the long term, and I don’t even care in that way. My thoughts are more immediate, like I just want to go all animal on him, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I want to fuck his brains out with my boobs!”
“I see.”
“No you don’t! I feel like…” She gulped in air, and continued. “I picture doing that and I get all… It’s been so intense, like something deep inside is waking up, or even being born. I don’t know why I never… But there’s no denying it.”
“No denying what?”
“That I feel a dozen times sexier than I’ve ever felt before! It’s so… I’ve had to go at myself. Hard.”
“Masturbation.”
“Everyone does it, right? Only it’s never felt this good.”
She shivered noticeably. It was almost like a sexual dog-shake, that made the visible flesh of her boobs quake.
I cleared my throat, my cock on fire. “You’re only twenty-one, Rosita. It’s perfectly natural that you’ll discover things about yourself, feelings or drives that—”
“What I’m discovering changes everything! It’s an intensity, an entirely different gear. Like, I’m burning up with this!”
It did look like she was about to launch herself out of a chair that had caught fire. “I think it’s called being horny?” I said, as though what she was experiencing was what dozens of clients had told me about over the years. “You did say recently that it’s been some time since you had a lover, so—”
“You don’t get it!” Taking deep breaths, her boobs heaving, she continued: “I know what it is to be horny. We all do. But this is like… I was in the bathroom after a shower, just standing there. I had these thoughts, felt this need… I was dripping onto the floor, and not from the shower!”
Oh fuck that was hot, and even hotter to picture Mira that same way. I cleared my throat, and she went on
“I know how extreme my body is; I get tons of whistles every damn day, and when I work there are some guys who come in their pants just from imagining a go at me. But if I really poured it on… And that’s what feels so different now, like there’s so much more to pour! It’s like a hundred times more sexuality is bubbling inside me and I need… Or like it needs…”
Her description of the immersion effects within her had me feeling like if she kept talking, I might just up and blow a load right here behind the desk. I took a very deep breath before saying. “It sounds to me like you’re coming to with just how alive you are sexually, and how beautiful you are. You tease men for a living, absorbing their lust for hours at a time, and that’s bound to have a cumulative effect.”
She re-crossed her legs, the repositioning doing nothing to keep the newly raised foot from moving with restless energy.
“True, only… I really only care if this one man finds me sexy. It’s like I want him to want me… No, more than that. I want him to find me fucking irresistible, to be as hot for me as…”
I stared straight at Rosita’s breasts and the staring had its intended effect—she closed her eyes and visibly shivered again, as if a potential orgasm had just been fitted into the proper slot, ready to detonate if given even a breath of a chance. She smelled like she might really be dripping onto the seat of that chair.
In that moment, the full import of what was occurring all came flooding in. I had Rosita hooked almost exactly like I wanted Mira hooked, and it had not been difficult at all to accomplish. Quite visibly, it was like the force behind her sexual needs was taking up all the available space in her being, crowding out logic or morality or anything else. Even her breathing was tell-tale; it was ragged and rapid, like the air didn’t contain enough oxygen to feed the sexual fires burning inside.
It was working beyond all expectations, and now it was time to see what she was like when she physically acted-out all this enhanced sexuality. It was time to drive this immersion-filled bus right into the brick wall of my aching cock.
“Rosita, describe this man you’re so attracted to.”
She sighed, almost a low groan. “He’s a good man this time, a kind and intelligent man. It’s just… I’m not really sure what to do, but, like, I also know what I have to do.”
“I think you know by now how I would advise you to proceed.”
She had begun to twist the turquoise necklace at her throat, like she needed something simple and physical to hold onto. “You want me to my goals, and how easy it is to betray them. Go inside and try to find the center of myself. See if the voice of conscience is there, and if I can find it, listen to it.”
“Exactly.”
“You want me to do that now? Like go inside, look deep inside...” She shut her eyes for a few moments, perhaps actually trying to follow the direction I’d given since our first few sessions. She made a sound, a short huff like what she found down in her depths was no help at all. When she opened her eyes again she held her gaze on mine, and I had the sense that she was willing me to understand so she wouldn’t have to say it.
“You were able to go inside?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It’s like that place, especially that place, wants him even more than I do!”
“Then you have permission, from yourself and probably the universe. What more could you ask for?”
She nodded, quick movements of her head that looked like scattered energy. But then the corners of her mouth lifted. “I have permission? You just said that, right? I have permission.”
I nodded emphatically and her head turned, looking over at the couch.
“We’re over there next, right?”
“Right.”
She stood, then glanced back at the office door. I could almost hear the gears turning—we were completely alone and we would not be interrupted, and her need to seduce me was like a chasm that free will had fallen into.
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I’m in touch with that deep place in myself right now. I know what I have to do.”
For the first time tonight, her voice was strong, resolute. She was going to do it and she knew she was going to do it.
“That’s excellent, Rosita.”
“I was wondering… You said that clubs like where I dance, they aren’t your thing.”
“That’s right.” I stood and came around the desk, even though I was completely hard. “Let’s go over there,” I said, pointing to the couch.
She was looking at the couch and I placed the tips of my fingers at the small of her back, just the lightest, most innocent touch. Rosita turned and looked down and outright hissed, either from that brief touch or from spying the bulge in my pants.
“Oh my… You’ve never had a lap-dance, have you?” she asked, voice tight.
I tried to look embarrassed. “Actually, no.”
“They always begin with the man seated in a plush chair, and the dancer standing.”
I nodded and she grasped my hand, pulling me towards the couch.
“Rosita, what—”
“Sit!” she commanded. “You’ll never come to the club to see what I do, right? Indulge me. I’ll only show you a couple of moves.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I said, though I allowed myself to be pulled to the center of the couch. She took hold of my shoulders and eased me into a sitting position, and she didn’t exactly hide the fact that she was aware of the hard-on obscenely distorting my pants.
“Don’t worry,” she smiled. “That’s what every lap-dancer wants to see from a client. It means we’re good at what we do.”
“But you’re my client!” I mock protested. I started to rise but she pushed me back with a good stiff-arm.
“It’s harmless fun. Just pretend.”
It didn’t feel or look like pretend when she stepped out of her skirt, revealing thong-style panties that barely covered anything. She was obviously shaved bare and it took no effort to smell her, and the smell was earthy and wonderful. Her hips were marvelous, and she set them into motion like she could hear music in her head. Off came the blouse next, peeled over her head to reveal Rosita’s oversized pair bulging out of a lacy black bra, that I knew would have 34-HH on its label.
Knowing the size was not the same as seeing cups with those dimensions. They were huge and my mouth uttered, “Oh Rosita,” momentarily forgetting to stick to my part of the script.
With practiced efficiency, off came the bra, and with surprising outward force surged the tits. “You’re fascinated by my boobs,” she smiled. “Guys who try to hide that always fail.”
“Oh my God!” I said genuinely, at the size and beauty of the breasts right there. Then, pretending again, “Wait, wait. I want this so much but I’m your ther—”
A finger appeared from nowhere to press firmly against my lips, silencing the words. I stared at her tits and saw a tremble go through her body, like a volcano showing troublesome signs of magma moving below. She tossed her head, a practiced movement that kept the upper shelf of her breasts hair-free, completely visible. “Just sit still. I’m so good at this.”
“But—”
The silencing finger again. “We’re alone and I’ll never tell a soul,” she promised, leaning towards me and placing her hands on my thighs. Her hands moved up and just grazed my erection on their way to the sofa back at either side of my shoulders. This close-up view had her cleavage-crack right in front of my nose, but I could see her legs spreading wide down below, her torso arching. More fluidly than I could have anticipated, she had her knees on the sofa to either side of me, and I could feel her heat before her pussy ever made with me.
“Oh no,” I said, meaning the opposite.
She grabbed my wrists and placed them on her ribcage, which in her case meant they were underneath a substantial amount of tit. “The client gets to touch if I like them. And if I really like them, and they’re kind and I can’t stop thinking about them, and I’ve been dying to do this for hours, maybe even weeks…”
Rosita twisted her upper body and leaned, just the right amount to flesh-tumble a lovely excited nipple to my lips.
I’d known her breasts would be miles more substantial than any I had ever experienced, and all that pillowy volume was shocking when it was so close. Her areolae were pancake-sized ovals the color of cinnamon, culminating in plump elongated nipples that felt hard as bone on the tip of my tongue.
Delectable as this was, I didn’t immediately suck on her nipple or move my hands up to fondle, as though still attempting to fight my desirous nature. Which only led to the whole breast being pushed into my face with irresistible force, good girl.
I surrendered, her nipple against my lips and surrounding flesh heating my chin and cheeks. I wiggled my tongue and she moaned. I did, too, her haunches teasing at my erection, the woman dry-humping me through my tros.
“Oh yes!” she said as I moved my hips against hers, creating firmer . “Oh Michael, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted... How much I need...”
I had my hands on her breasts now, feeling their weight and the wondrous combination of their firmness and malleability. Something bloomed inside me in response, like an inner rush of primordial fulfillment. The mass of Rosita’s tits in my hands, the tactile reality of them, the mesmerizing curvature of those twin expanses and the knowledge of what they could, must, do to my cock…
Gone was any pretense of restraint or guilt. I greedily sucked her left nipple and rolled the right one between thumb and two fingers, driven to suck harder when she hissed, the press of her pussy firmer against me, excitement taking control of our bodies.
I probably would have come far too quickly if Rosita hadn’t lifted her haunches right before the critical moment, sensing that she was exciting me too much too quickly. Her breasts left my face as she backed off.
She looked down at me with the set of her mouth expressing complete sexual confidence. She slid down my body with sinuous ease, her arms and hands trailing behind. When her knees touched the floor her hands took hold of my zipper, digging through shirttails and briefs to find me aching for her touch.
Her expression changed the moment she had her fingers firmly upon my cock. Her grip tightened with one hand, as the other helped to pull me into plain sight. Her eyes went wide, filled with something like wonder, her mouth forming a wide “O”.
“Ohhh Miii-chael!” she exclaimed, my name drawn out like the sound needed to be stretched to match my length. “You’re… Fuck!”
I knew Rosita would approve of what she saw because I’d primed her to absolutely love it. Her head wobbled a little drunkenly and there was intensity beaming from her brown eyes, the fingertips of both hands touching my meat the way they might light upon some holy treasure. With her in-breaths she seemed to be inhaling bliss, and I had the sense that her lust was escalating within her body in some compound way.
“You’re massive! You’re perfect!” she exclaimed, before her tongue came out to swipe me from base to tip. She hand-squeezed while kissing me, each touch of her lips wetter than the one before. She kept saying, “Oh fuck yes!” before her tongue fixated upon the broad crown, going around and around, then remaining in place to tease at the super-sensitive underside. I moaned and she took that as a signal to twist around and around again, her lips opening wide for more saliva to pour out.
“Perfect, just perfect,” she said, simply staring at it for a several seconds. Then, suddenly, “It needs my tits!”
She speedily pulled my pants and underwear down and adjusted her position, using her hands to wrap her boobs around me, another long line of drool wetting the cleavage canyon she’d created. She started slowly, using her legs and abdomen to move her whole body up and down, and only once did she lift her eyes to peer into mine, a delighted smile lighting her face. The rest of the time her focus was on my cock, using her cleavage to submerge me into the depths of her flesh, and then back into the light where I was rubbed by both boobs and the insides of her fingers.
I couldn’t help letting out a satisfied groan. This was just heaven, the feel and the sight and even the sounds of those immense breasts doing their handiwork. Rosita made another adjustment, extending her arms down so it was her biceps corralling her tits around my cock, and from the way her breathing changed I knew she was touching herself down below, just as I had implanted into her.
Her eyelids fluttered and the rhythm intensified, whole body movements causing her tits to wobble up and down my length at rapid speed. They were so large that they created their own wave action and I moaned from the allover friction. Her mouth dropped open, all that tit-meat moving even faster now, no holding back, and in the moments where I could even see any of my cock, it had turned a deep crimson from being jiggle-jobbed towards release.
“Oh yes, oh yes!” she vented, right before I became a fountain. They were long ropes of cum, ri and then curling down onto her nose and forehead. Another spurt launched over and beyond her head while a shorter one found the flesh at the side of her mouth, with a tiny bit on Rosita’s upper lip.
Her tongue-tip appeared, and then the bit of semen on her lip was gone. I saw her throat move, and suddenly her eyes rolled back and she was wailing and shaking. The moving of her tits continued, but spastically now, no coherent rhythm. A strange sound came out of her throat as she suddenly arched back. Her mouth twisted and she kept quaking, the flesh of her face and neck and chest changing color, the animated lover from moments before transformed into a semi-paralyzed boiled lobster.
There was stability in the way her weight was planted on her knees, but not so much that she didn’t topple sideways. Once she made full with the floor she became a sprawled heap, jerking and gasping.
I was reeling, too; it had never occurred to me to keep track of such things, but I was certain I had never shot cum more forcefully nor more copiously in my life. My fingers tingled like I was hooked up to a giant battery, and there was a high-pitched sound in my ears. I can’t say I had an out-of-body experience because I was so in my body, buzzing everywhere and hyper-aware of the still-spasming woman on the floor, the first woman I had ever mind-fucked.
Sex had never felt like this. Heightened, intensified, more. And I couldn’t really know this, but I was pretty certain that it had been the same for Rosita.
Her extended orgasm, or multiple orgasms, had still not fully subsided. Watching her twitch with her mouth wide open, it really hit home that this was indeed mind-fucking, or body/mind-fucking. Our bodies had played their roles as bodies do, but I was witnessing how Rosita’s organic responses had been enhanced by the hypnotic suggestions I’d placed inside her. It was like a wholly new take on the term “depth-charges”—I had seeded her depths with pockets of volatile sexual dynamism, and I had the power to set them off during sex.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, followed a few seconds later by a long satisfied sigh from Rosita. If she even heard me, she probably believed I was speaking of the incredible orgasms we’d both had, which was partially true. But it was more a realization of the implications, the possibilities.
And the certainty, that Mira Cassidy was next.