The Sessions

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

A Breakthrough

A week later at the same time, Kat once again sat in the armchair opposite Dr. Ulbrecht. “Last time, you said that your methods were controversial—I mean ‘unorthodox.’”

“That’s right,” he responded. The inquiry did not seem to bother him in the least. He remained placid, his hands folded in his lap.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” she asked.

“It’s true on a number of levels, I suppose. I use many therapeutic techniques that are, shall we say, outside the box. Mainly what I meant, however, is that I blend regular therapy with s****l surrogacy.”

“You employ s*x surrogates?”

“Sometimes,” he said, ‘but I often prefer to do that work myself.” Kat’s face flushed. “Does that shock you, Ms. Van Tuyl?”

“Yes, I suppose it does. Why?”

“It allows me more control over the treatment.” He paused and smiled. “Besides, it saves money.”

“Do you sleep with all you patients?”

“Sleep?” He chuckled at the use of the euphemism. “No, and I prefer to call them ‘clients.’ I just do it when it is called for and appropriate. Beyond that I won’t say anymore.” He knew that what she really wanted to know was whether he had s*x with Meg or anyone else she knew. Or maybe she didn’t care and was just asking if he was going to have s*x with her.

“Appropriate?” she thought to herself. “What an odd word to choose for a doctor having s*x with his patients—clients.”

“Are you on birth control?”

“I’m on the pill, but I don’t really know why, given the state of my love life,” she said a bit despairingly.

“Maybe they keep your skin clear,” he said smiling.

“My skin is just fine, thank you.”

“At any rate, stay on the pill for the duration of our sessions,” he said flatly.

While Kat had never been in therapy, the next several sessions struck her as being what she’d imagined. They discussed her parents, her relationship with men, her past s****l experiences, what she fantasized about when she m*********d, and so forth. As the weeks progressed, she became more comfortable discussing the most intimate details of her life.

Session seven, however, was different. It began just as the others had, except that Dr. Ulbrecht was not wearing a jacket. As usual, he came in after she was already seated. Taking his seat, he asked, “Kat,” he began. He had ceased calling her Ms. Van Tuyl during session three. He had done so calculatedly without asking her to see how she would take the change in the level of intimacy. Much to his satisfaction, she smiled demurely. It seemed to please her. “Kat, how do you think your therapy is going?”

“Do you think I’m making any progress? I mean I like talking to you—even about intimate matters—but it seems awfully slow,” she said.

“Therapy can move at a glacial pace sometimes. But we can ratchet it up today, if you want. But only if you trust me completely and do exactly as I say. Do you trust me, Kat?”

“I do,” she said, and she meant it. Those weeks of talking casually about s*x had done at least that much.

“And you’ll do as I tell you?”

“Whatever you say. You’re the doctor,” she said laughing. She would not be laughing in a moment.

“Kat, you are sexually repressed. That is not, however, news to you, is it?”

“No,” she said, suddenly ashamed. She stared at her hands in her lap.

“Look at me, Kat,” he said sternly. She looked up. “We need to free you up, Kat. Stand up, and step over there,” he said, indicating the middle of the room. She rose and took a few steps to the designated spot. “Take off your blouse.”

She hesitated. “Do it, Kat! Do as I say.” She had agreed to do as she was told. Kat pulled the shirt out from her skirt, unbuttoned it, and opened it. “Remove it and put it on your chair,” he instructed. She slipped it off and laid it over the back of her chair.

“That bra will never do,” Paul said. “We need to free your breasts. Remove it.” She unsnapped her brassiere and slid it off, putting it, too, on the chair. Paul stood and moved toward her. She was about 5’8”. Her breasts were large but firm and perky. He judged her to be a 37C. He took her breasts in his hands and fondled them. “There, isn’t that better?” he asked. He pinched her hardening n*****s between his thumbs and forefingers. He twisted hard. It hurt, but it also excited her.

Paul stepped back. “Now the skirt,” he ordered.

Kat no longer hesitated. She had no resistance in her. She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, depositing with her other clothes. She was now naked except for her panties and her heels.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “Take off your panties. You must free your genitals.” She took them off and tossed them on the chair. Paul again stepped forward. He slid his hand through her wispy pubic hair, down to between her legs. He cupped her mound and fingered her. “You’re getting wet,” he said. “That’s good. How do you feel, Kat?”

“Exposed. Vulnerable.” She searched for more words.

Paul short-circuited the process. “Very good,” he said. “You should feel vulnerable. You are completely exposed.” He walked around her. He was inspecting her. She could feel his breath on her skin. “You are vulnerable to my gaze. To my touch.” He ran his hand lightly down her back. She shivered. He stepped back in front of her. “My taste.” He bent and took her left n****e in his teeth and pulled ever so slightly. She moaned quietly. “And my sex.” His hand went back between her legs. “Now you’re very wet,” he cooed. “Go sit on the couch,” he ordered.

Kat walked to the couch, keenly aware that he was watching her the entire time. She turned and sat. The leather was cold against her bare flesh, causing her to wiggle. She reflexively crossed her legs and folded her arms. She wanted to cover herself. Paul stepped over to her and lightly slapped the inside of the knee of her top leg. “Spread your legs,” he ordered flatly. Kat was slightly irritated, but she complied. Then he slapped her exposed hand. “And uncross your arms.” Her annoyance grew, but again she did as she was told. Paul returned to his chair, turning it so he was facing the sofa. Placing his hands together and pointing up, he studied Kat intently. After what seemed to Kat an eternity but what was in reality only a couple of minutes, he spoke, “Crossing your legs is body language saying that you are unavailable. Arms folded across your chest say the same thing. I want you to feel vulnerable. When you are naked, you are always available to me. Do you understand?”

“I think I do,” she said.

“Good. Now, I want you to masturbate.” There was no real inflection in his voice. He might as well have been telling her that he wanted her to do the most mundane of tasks, to, say, pick up an orange out of a bowl of fruit and hand it to him.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Her face flushed bright red, and she felt the warmth of her blush.

“I want you to masturbate. I want to see how you play with yourself,” he responded. Again, his voice was calm and unemotional.

Kat kicked her shoes off and raised her feet, placing them flat on their soles on the couch. She spread her legs and placed the fingers of one hand on her p***y. She began to rub her c******s, looking at Paul. As she got close to coming, she focused on herself. She closed her eyes.

“Stop right now,” he commanded. She did as he said. The feeling between her legs faded. “You’re doing well. Start again.”

Kat began to c**t off again. This time she was less aware of Paul watching her. She concentrated on the sensation in her crotch. Again she got close to an orgasm. She fantasized about s*x with Paul. Was that where this was headed? She was pulled back into the office by his instruction, “Stop!” Again the feeling dissipated. Once more he told her to start again, and again he stopped her near the top—oh, so near.

After the fifth repetition, and her kept at the edge every time, Paul asked, “How do you feel right now, Kat?”

“Frustrated,” Kat answered angrily.

“Perfect,” Paul answered. “Start again.”

Kat was frustrated by the whole stunt, being compelled to masturbate in front of a guy and then being prevented from reaching climax in the only way she knew how. Nonetheless, she began massaging her c******s once more. She closed her eyes and focused once more on the job at hand, thinking about Paul. “OK, stop!”

“For the love of God, Paul, pleeeeze let me come!” It was the first time she had called him Paul.

“Get down on the floor on your hands and knees.” Kat did as Paul directed. She wasn’t really thinking clearly—or thinking at all, but she assumed he was putting her in some other position to continue m**********g.

Paul got up quickly out of his chair and moved behind her. Kat heard a faint rustling. Then suddenly he had his hands on her hips, and he plunged himself into her v****a. It surprised her so much that she almost came—but only almost. He was big, she could tell. She had never felt so full. He began moving rhythmically in her, punctuating his smooth rogering, about every sixth push, with a sharp, hard thrust deep inside her.

“You’re a slut, aren’t you, Kat?” he said.

“No,” she protested.

“Who else but a slut would be f*****g on an office floor with an almost total stranger?”

She had to admit to the logic of that. “Yes,” she murmured.

“Say it!” he said sharply.

“Say what?” she breathed.

“Admit that you’re a slut.”

“I’m a slut,” she mumbled.

“Louder,” he barked.

“I’m a slut.”

“Louder!”

“I’m a filthy slut,” she said improvising and almost shouting. It occurred to her only later as to what the receptionist must think. Then, again, she reasoned, this was probably just another day on the job in the office of a s*x therapist.

“That’s better,” he said.

Almost at that moment, Kat had an orgasm—not a very big one but unmistakably an orgasm nonetheless. Paul reached up, twisted his fist in her hair, and pulled her head back and to the side. He kissed her, never letting up on his rhythm. A minute or so later, he came. She could feel his warm semen shooting inside her. He stayed inside her for a moment and then withdrew, standing up.

“Get on your knees in front of me, facing me,” he instructed. She did as she was told. “Clean me up,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” she said.

“You’ve performed oral s*x on a man before,” he replied. “Clean me up with your mouth.”

Kat first licked the shaft and then the glans. She could taste her own juices mixed with his salty-sweet c*m. It tasted good. She opened her mouth and took him in. His shaft began to stiffen again as she pumped her head back and forth. Paul placed his hands on the sides of her head and controlled the rhythm. Then he let go and stepped back, pulling his p***s out of her mouth.

She remained on her knees, looking up at him. He pointed to a door. “There’s a bathroom in there. There’s a clean washcloth. Go, clean yourself up.” It didn’t sound as if he was dismissing her. He simply knew that she would want to take care of herself.

“Thank you, she said.” When she came back, he had pulled up his pants and again fully-clad. She walked to the chair to retrieve her own clothes.

“You’re not getting dressed yet. We’re not done.”

“We’re not?” she said, genuinely perplexed.

“Did you think I was just going to f**k you and then send you out the door?”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” she admitted. “This is all new to me, and frankly when I came here today, I didn’t expect any of this.”

He smiled and approached her, taking her in his arms and hugging her. He looked down at her. “Well, you had a couple of breakthroughs today, didn’t you, Kat?”

“Breakthroughs?” She hoped that her constant questions after he said things didn’t annoy him or, worse, make her sound stupid.

“You admitted you were a slut,” he said.

“But I’m really not,” she replied.

Paul ignored her response. “And you experienced your first orgasm during penetration.”

“How could you tell? It wasn’t very big, and I didn’t even react, I don’t think.”

“It’s my business to know, Kat. I sense that you had come, and then I confirmed it when I kissed you.”

“How did that confirm it?” she asked. “Another question!” she thought.

“When a woman comes,” he said, “the temperature in her mouth drops, because the blood rushes to her cunt. Most men don’t know that. Most women don’t know it either, for that matter. But once you do, it’s simple. You’ll never be able to fake an orgasm with me, Kat. Nor will you be able hide one from me.”

Kat was somewhat shocked by his sudden use of the “c word,” but she ignored it. The takeaway for her was that he seemed to be indicating that they would have s*x again. She didn’t dare ask, however. The answer might be “no.”

“The two ‘breakthroughs’ I mentioned are actually related. You admitted you were a slut—even though we both know you aren’t one, and you climaxed almost immediately thereafter. By focusing on the words and thinking of yourself even briefly as a slut, you were not worried about having an orgasm. You subconsciously gave yourself permission—as a slut—to have s*x and, more importantly, enjoy sex.”

“So I’m cured, then?”

“Oh, no. This is just the beginning.” He pulled back a little from her and began to fondle her left breast. “A beautiful, young woman like you ought to be having s*x all the time, Kat. I want you to have s*x every day and multiple times on the weekend. Do you have someone to f**k you?”

She raised her eyes and looked up at him. Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. He chuckled. “Then I guess it will have to be me. I want to see you here in the office every week Tuesday through Thursday. On Friday, you will come to my home and stay until Monday morning. Can you do that?”

“I’m not sure about the finances for three therapy sessions a week. I’ll have to check with my insurance.”

“We’ll take care of all that and work it out. Don’t worry about it. Do you have the time, and do you want to continue?”

“Yes,” she said calmly, but inside she was jumping up and down at the prospect of more orgasms—and of being with him again.

“Good. We’ll make arrangements with my receptionist when you’re on your way out. I’ll see you tomorrow. Then, unfortunately, there will be a break in your sessions. I have to go out of town on business on Wednesday and won’t be back in the office until the following Tuesday. I want you to fully explore every aspect of your sexuality, Kat.”

Paul walked over to his desk and picked up the phone, dialing. He said, “This is Dr. Ulbrecht. Do you have an opening for a client of mine this afternoon?... You do?...Five thirty?” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Can you be at Broadway and 72nd Street at five thirty?”

“Uh, sure. What for?”

He ignored the question and turned back to the phone. “That will be fine. Thank you for fitting her in. Her name is Katrina Van Tuyl. V-A-N T-U-Y-L… Yes, Y-L. Thank you. Goodbye.”

“You’re in luck. I was able to get you the last appointment of the day. We’ll have to get moving here.”

“Appointment for what?” she asked, feeling that she was always behind the curve with him.

He opened a desk drawer and took out a business card, handing it to Kat. “I made you an appointment for a Brazilian wax. Here’s their card.”

“You made me an appointment for a bikini wax?”

Paul ran his hand through her pubic hair. “Yes, I want all of this gone before I see you tomorrow. Now, get dressed. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Kat’s head was spinning. She walked to the chair to get her clothes. She picked up her bra. “No,” he said. “Leave your bra and panties. I don’t want you wearing them anymore. No undergarments whatsoever. You may have to alter the way you dress slightly, but you’ll make the adjustment. She dropped the bra. She put on her blouse and skirt. Then stepped into her shoes over by the couch.

Paul opened the door to the reception area and walked out with her. “Ms. Bavinger, please make an appointment for Ms. Van Tuyl for tomorrow at two. We’ll make her other appointments then. When she comes in, please show her to the bedroom.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Turning to Kat, he said, “When you get here tomorrow, go ahead and undress. You can hang your clothes in the closet in the bedroom.”

Kat blushed a deep red at being told in front of Ms. Bavinger to undress. Then she thought, “Then again, she had almost definitely heard me scream that I was a filthy slut. I guess it’s just another day at work for her. I’d love to see her job description!”