I hear the faint click of the gate, and I know he’s here again. The sound makes my pulse quicken, that tiny rush of excitement I live for. Sex Therapy Porn isn’t just my little secret… it’s our escape, a delicious escape from the lives they pretend to live. My visitors, my wealthy men, sneak into my home under the guise of night, leaving behind their boring routines and predictable wives.
I greet him in the living room, my silk robe slipping just a little from my shoulder, revealing more than he’s supposed to see. He swallows hard, his eyes dark with longing, and I smirk, knowing exactly what he’s craving. The hum of the city outside fades away as I guide him closer, my hands brushing over his chest, teasing, testing, letting him know this is a place where he can truly lose control.
“Relax,” I say smoothly, my lips just above his ear, letting the warmth of my breath stir him. “You’re safe here. Just let go.” He nods, trembling, and I feel that familiar thrill… the one that comes from being in control, yet knowing we’re both burning for the same thing. My house is full of little hints, soft candlelight, silk sheets, the scent of jasmine floating in the air, all designed to make him forget the world outside.
I move slowly, deliberately, letting him feel every inch of me. My fingers trace lines down his arms, lingering over his chest, teasing, as I whisper about what he’s been denied elsewhere. The way his hands clutch at my hips, the way he shivers when I press my lips against his neck… it’s intoxicating. I guide him to the couch, letting him sink into the plush cushions as I straddle him, my robe parting to reveal curves that I know will make him weak.
“Just for tonight,” I whisper, “you’re mine.” And he surrenders, giving himself over to the warmth of my pretty pink pussy, the filthy temptation, the illicit thrill that only my house, my touch, can provide. My lips, my hands, my voice… they heal something inside him, something he didn’t even realize was aching.
Minutes stretch into hours, the outside world forgotten, until finally he’s spent, and I hold him close, letting the steady rhythm of our breaths fill the room. There’s a soft smile on his lips, a gleam in his eye, and I know he’ll leave lighter, freer, craving this escape again. I watch him go, feeling the familiar pull of anticipation for the next visit. In this rich, quiet neighborhood, my home is the therapy they can’t get anywhere else, and I am the cure they can’t resist.



















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