I can hear him fumbling with his keys in the hallway, that familiar, frantic energy radiating through the door of my mansion. You’d think a man with a house that large and a wife that beautiful wouldn’t be so desperate to escape, but my Sex Therapy Porn sessions are the only thing that actually keep him sane. I’ve been waiting for this knock all afternoon, lounging on my velvet sofa in a robe that I have no intention of keeping closed.
He’s my favorite neighbor… the one with the heavy bank account and the even heavier burden of a marriage that’s gone cold and silent. The moment I let him in, the air in the room shifts, thick with the scent of aged bourbon and expensive Cuban cigars that always clings to his tailored suits. He doesn’t want a conversation; he wants a release that he can’t find in his pristine suburban life.
I lead him toward the bedroom, my hips swaying just enough to make his breath hitch, watching him struggle to maintain that “respectable businessman” facade while he’s looking at me like I’m his last meal. I’m the therapist who doesn’t take notes; I’m the one who takes everything else instead. I push him back onto the bed, letting my robe slide off my shoulders to reveal exactly what he’s been dreaming about during his long board meetings.
His eyes are dark with a mix of worship and filth, and I can tell he’s been thinking about cheating on her since the moment he woke up next to her. I start slowly, tracing the line of his jaw before moving down to his chest then to his penis, reminding him that in this room, the only rules that matter are mine. He’s shaking, his hands reaching for me with a hunger that only a man who is starving for true intimacy can possess.
When he finally loses control and shoves me down, the session turns truly intense. He’s driving into me with a desperate, filthy rhythm, trying to bury his secrets deep inside my body. Every thrust is a middle finger to the life he’s built outside these walls, a raw explosion of the tension he carries every single day. I’m arching my back, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I let out a low, smooth laugh because I know I’ve completely broken him.
He’s not thinking about his wife or his mortgage or his reputation anymore; he’s just a man obsessed with the way I feel around him. He’s whispering how he should have left years ago, his voice rasping against my neck as he loses himself in the heat. By the time we’re done, he’ll be a new man, ready to go back to his hollow life with a smile on his face from releasing all that cum… at least until he needs his next appointment with me.
Mila
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