Chapter 1
Let's set the record straight about doctors. We're just as human and horny as everyone else. Christ. When I was in medical school our professor used a live girl, with large luscious tits, to demonstrate the various warning signs of cancer. As he held one of her soft tits in his hand, you could hear loud panting in the back of the classroom. Everyone in the back row was jerking off. And if you checked the professor carefully, you could clearly see he was just as humanly responsive. You wonder why medical students are so willing to work their asses off eighteen to twenty hours a day, for years? When we get our license to practice, we get our license to touch. You don't treat those prospects lightly when you're twenty, horny and frustrated. If it weren't for the sex drive... there wouldn't be many doctors in this country.
So don't assume, just because my name is Dr. Morris Freid, that blood doesn't rush to my cock just as fast as the next fellow. The fact is, all the doctors who keep their hands to themselves -- all the doctors who are true-blue to the so-called ethics of our profession-have one thing in common. They're all over seventy. And even some of them, from force of habit, will thrust an unnecessary, ungloved hand up a cunt to check for the first signs of a cold.
What differentiates us doctors from everyone else is that we're not "allowed" to have any sexual feelings. You take your normal, everyday construction worker. A chick swishes by, with her skirt so high that her cunt greets you with a "hello," and he's going to say something. "Hey baby. I'd love to shove, it in you." That's okay. Healthy and hearty. But if you're a doctor, and you're giving Racquel Welch a physical, different rules apply. You've got to be cool. You've got to keep your eyes from bulging out. You've got to keep the perspiration from happening. You've got to keep the bulge in your pants from showing. Why do you suppose doctors wear long shirts that cover their crotch? We doctors are no different from anyone else. We just don't have the freedom to show how similar we are. The word is "cool." No expression. Even professional tone. Hide all your heated symptoms. With that facade, it's amazing what we doctors get away with.
Take your annual tit examination. If Miss Flat chested is getting a check-up, her tits get about ten seconds flat. But let's say Racquel walks in your office. "Is there any tenderness when I squeeze your breasts like this? Are your nipples tender? How about when I touch them like this? What's this little mark here (every woman has some mark on her breasts, somewhere)? Here's how you give yourself a test for cancer... no... not like that... like this." Every female that's well endowed has heard these lines from her doctor. It's simply standard operating procedure. And everybody knows it. The whole thing is, the doctor's got to keep his cool. Got to keep the hardening of the glands to himself. The minute he blows it, the minute his probing fingers become a little too excited -- assuming the gal he's feeling up isn't a perfect dope -- he's had it. Zap. A suit. And he's out of business.
When I was a General Practitioner, I gave thousands of physicals. Some of them to the softest, most luscious creatures that walk this earth. And yes, I've squeezed every symptom out of their tits. Twiddled every potential disease out of their cuts. But always with that cool. Always with that professional air. But never... never ... had I ever seduced a patient. And I was proud of that, because I was a member of a dying breed of doctor. But I figured it this way. I spent too many exhausting days and nights in medical school. Too many years of blood, sweat and tears to throw it all away for the sake of a fast fuck. That was the rational way to think about it. And that was the way I had thought about it until that Tuesday morning. That was when the irrational part of me started to take over.
I don't know why I was so damned horny that Tuesday morning. All I know is, I was sitting back in my recliner waiting for my first patient. I was looking over the notes from my last session with her. At' the end of the last hour, Jeannette had been talking about how upset she was when Freddie maliciously knocked over her block house in kindergarten. I lay back and closed my eyes, thinking about the implications of that childhood trauma. In the darkness of my mind, Jeannette was moving toward me, stark naked, with her big tits slowly swinging back and forth.
"Do me, Doctor. Do me," Jeannette said. It was not the kind of behavior I'd expect from Jeannette. She was much too shy for that. But in my mind, she kept pleading, "do me, do me."
"You immoral thing, you," I said to myself, and I tried to flush the image from my mind. But it persisted. Jeannette now took both of her yummy tits in her hands and offered them to me.
"Do you want them, - Doctor? They're for you to play with."
I checked my watch. About five mining before Jeannette was due at the office.
"Do me in the cunt," Jeannette was saying, holding her slit open with two fingers, "Do it to me now, Doctor."
Then I opened my eyes. This was really quite peculiar, I thought. I couldn't-for the life of me -- figure why I was just so damned horny that morning.
Why, just the night before, Alice and I had had a string of orgasms on the floor of the broom closet. Our orgasms always happened in peculiar places, or with peculiar objects, or in peculiar positions. We liked to have variety.
Until that morning, I had felt that my wife was about all I could handle sexually. She was constantly horny, always ready to do it. Even if a cartoon was on television, she'd find something to be horny about.
"Oh, look Morris. It's Mighty Mouse. I wonder how big his dong is. C'mon, honey, let's fuck."
Remember that Alka Seltzer commercial where the wife tells her nauseated husband that they'll have marshmallowed meatballs for supper? That turned Alice on.
"Marshmallowed meatballs. That's not disgusting. That's absolutely sensuous. Morris, do you know that's what your balls taste like? C'mere, sweetness. I'd like to make sure."
Christ. She'd practically come when the alarm went off. So I wasn't wanting. And my wife wasn't really the cause of it. Maybe it was the seven year itch. That's how long I had been a practicing psychiatrist. But I wasn't going to worry about it. I was going to enjoy it. After all, I may have been a doctor. But I was only human.
Then Jeannette walked in. I lifted my notebook and pencil, crossed my legs and smiled.
"How do you feel about that?" I said. Real cool.
She walked over to the edge of couch and sat down. "About what?" She started chewing on her nails. She always did that. "I didn't say anything, yet."
"About Freddie. Knocking your blocks over. Remember... last session? I'll bet you thought I wasn't listening. But I fooled you. I was."
"Oh, that," she said. She blushed a little. Blushing and nail biting were the symptoms of her neurosis.
I studied her carefully, during the long silence. With Jeannette, there were always long silences. She wasn't a big talker. Tits. Definitely. Even under her loose knit sweater the breasts puffed out. Nice, round squeezeable ass. It bobbled when she walked. Short black hair. Just enough to yank, when my sweet juices flew. An adorable mouth. With a circumference simply guaranteed to fit my stiff prick perfectly.
I smiled again at her, and started taking notes with my pencil.
take it easy, doc. cool, doc. not yet. be subtle, you horny fuck, you.
I had to clear my throat before I spoke. And wipe my brow. I kept the notebook down on my crotch to keep the hard evidence hidden.
"Well, Jeannette, I've been doing a lot of thinking about your condition. You've been seeing me for about six months now and your progress has been... well, let's just say it hasn't been terrific. You still bite your nails. You still blush. You still have that $65 a week secretarial job, same one that you had three years ago. That's an awfully long time to go without getting a raise. Or even asking for one."
More nail biting. The blush held.
I went on. "At least, if you went out once in a while, you might meet yourself a husband who would care for you. But you're too shy. You just stay around the house. Don't you feel guilty making your father pay for all these sessions . . when you've made such little progress?"
"I suppose so," she said.
"Well, I can understand that," I said. "So I thought we might try something a little different this session. After much consideration, I've decided that perhaps we just spend too much time talking. Maybe another method might be more helpful."
"Another method?"
My prick pushed painfully against my trousers. At the age of thirty-nine, Doctor Morris Freid was definitely coming back to life.
"Yes. A method suggested by Dr. Sigmund Freud. You know who he was, don't you?"
"Was he... a musician?" Answers like that partially explained her financial earning problems.
"No ..."
"A politician?"
"You're not close at all, Jeannette."
"Wait," she said, putting both hands to her lovely head, "don't tell me." She concentrated hard. I remained hard. "Was he a doctor?"
"Yes. Good, Jeannette. A very famous doctor. A psychiatrist who actually invented modern day psychiatry. He is the father of analysis."
"Yes," she agreed, continuing her nail biting.
"Well, I'll bet you can't tell me what his method was, can you?" Questions are a wonderful way to involve the patient in reality.
"Well... I don't know."
"Most people don't, Jeannette. So don't feel bad. But I've studied Freud carefully. He suggests that his difficult patients take all their clothes off. Their sweaters. And slacks. Their bras. Their undies. Every last stitch."
She looked at me quizzically, blushing practically purple.
"And he suggested this method... so his patients could feel free... " I raised both arms in a gesture of complete liberation. "He says that when a patient removes their clothing, they have no more neurotic defenses. All that is left is freedom and happiness. It forces the patient to open up. Even the American Medical Association recommends this method."
Jeannette started fidgeting with her hair. She was obviously having a little trouble with the suggestion. With Freud and the A.M.A. on my side, I couldn't lose.
"What?" she said, finally.
Neurotics like to pull that one. When they don't like what they've heard, they simply make believe they didn't hear it. But I knew she heard me. Her nail biting had now increased, and she blushed deeper. She wouldn't even look at me.
"I said, Dr. Freud suggests you take all your clothes off."
"Oh, dear. Must I?" she inquired meekly.
"Not if you don't want to, Jeannette. Here, in this office, you do only what you want to do. And if taking all your clothes off, like the famous, successful, highly respected Dr. Freud suggests, is too difficult, then keep them on. Of course, your blushing and nail biting will probably stay with you for the rest of your life like a nightmare. And you may be stuck at $65 a week for a long time. But of course, it's entirely up to you."
"You mean, I'll be cured if I take my clothes off?"
I knew if she took them off, I at least would be cured.
"Let's just say it's a start in the right direction. But I do understand why you're having such trouble with the suggestion."
"You do?" Her legs separated ever so slightly. Her black slacks were tight against the thighs.
"Of course. You're uncomfortable because I'm a man. You'll be embarrassed. Quite a normal reaction for a neurotic. But you see, as a doctor, I've seen, touched and examined so many female bodies that it's no more interesting than... turning on a faucet."
"I don't know," she said with a little shrug of her soft shoulders, "I guess I'd just feel silly."
"And that is a perfectly normal reaction. Freud discussed that reaction in one of his books. Freud said, let me quote if my memory serves me, 'the feeling of silliness is natural and to be expected. But once the patient removes all their clothing, these feelings are swept away with new feelings of joy and freedom.' " My entire body was feverish and horny. "Joy and freedom. That phrase has such a wonderful ring to it. Don't you think, Jeannette?"
"Yes. I suppose it does:"' "Good, Jeannette. I'm glad you're able to see it my... uh, Freud's way." I stroked my goatee and tried to smile casually. "You can start now."
"Start?"
"Yes. Removing the clothes. Oh, Dr. Freud would be so pleased with you."
"But... I can't."
"Oh, sure you can. Tell you what. Go over to my window and look out. Tell me everything you see, and how you feel about it."
"What will that do?" she asked.
"You'll see," I said. "Now go to the window, and don't turn around till I say ready."
Jeannette again shrugged her shoulders and got up. She moved her wonderful body to the window. Her round asscheeks seemed to beg for action, but I held on.
"I see Central Park."
"Good. Keep telling me," I said. I removed my tie. "There's a balloon man sitting by a tree. He looks so peaceful."
"That's nice." My jacket and shirt were off in a second.
"There's a lake up there. A couple of people are rowing in boats."
"How splendid. How does that make you feel?" My shoes and trousers were next.
"It feels... relaxing."
"Anything else?" The underpants, with some difficulty since I was hard as a rock, came off next.
"The sun is shining."
Now I was stark naked, my huge cock poking out in front of me. I took my notebook and pencil and held them professionally in front of me, after leaning back in my recliner.
"You can turn around, now Jeannette."
Jeannette turned her head, saw me, and immediately turned it back to look out the window."
"Dr. Freid! You're naked!" Both hands went up to her mouth for more nail biting.
"Of course, I'm naked. Just showing you how easy it is. One, two, three. Now, turn around."
Slowly, she pivoted, then gazed intently at me. Particularly at my stiff prick.
"See? Freud feels if the doctor accompanies the patient -- in the removal of the clothing -- that the patient will feel even more relaxed." My cock was anything but relaxed.
"But... "
"No buts."
"But... you're all hard, like you're excited."
"Come, child. A perfectly normal reaction to the draft in the room. Same thing happens to a woman's nipples when they're cold. Now. Shall we get started?" Jeannette started by removing her sweater. She lifted it carefully over her head. Her lacy, white bra was stuffed to overflowing. My cock throbbed. She looked at me for encouragement. I nodded.
"That's good. Please go on." My heart was beating furiously.
Jeannette's small hands found the clasp on her brassiere and she unhooked it. Her enormous tits flopped out. Carefully she placed her bra on my windowsill.
"Joy and freedom," I said encouragingly. Her tits were white as snow, each topped with a hard cherry. The draft had got to her, too. I rhythmically pushed my notebook against my hard cock.
Jeannette just stood there, nude from the waist, her arms hanging helplessly at her sides. One finger went into her mouth. She bit the nail off entirely. My balls tingled with excitement. Then, embarrassed, she turned away from me, so her lovely, perfect back was to me.
"Now, now Jeannette. Mustn't feel uncomfortable." My voice was crusty and my whole body was trembling with excitement. "You mustn't feel it's necessary to turn away from me. What do you think I am... some kind of half-crazed horny doctor trying to take advantage of you? Look at my diplomas on the wall. Do you know how many hard years of sweat went into them? Do you think I'd fling them out the door so casually? No, Jeannette. This is serious business, analysis. You must remove all your clothes. The whole idea is to feel free. Why, do you know that in the Fiji Islands, they've never even heard of clothes, Jeannette? And let me tell you. The women walk around there proud and free and happy. So let yourself go, Jeannette. Don't hold yourself back. Let yourself go." Seeing that divine half-naked creature there... my juices almost let themselves go. But I controlled myself. A doctor has to have some self-control.
Slowly, Jeannette turned toward me again. And again, I saw those huge butter soft balloons with the cherries. I had to clench my fists from squirting all over.
"Breasts, Jeannette. What are breasts? Do you know how many millions of breasts there are in this world? I've seen so many breasts as a doctor that they leave me cold." I could feel the heat surging in my prick. "Let's get on with it, Jeannette. Don't disappoint Freud now."
Jeannette's hands moved to her belt, and she began to unbuckle it. I've seen lots of stripteases in my day. Some good ones in the Orient. In Europe. But the best in San Francisco. But nothing like this. The difference was -- Jeannette didn't know she was doing a striptease. She was too innocent, too dumbfounded by the whole thing. And that excited me. In my mind, I heard bump and grind music, and it added nicely to the show.
She removed her belt, undid the top button of her pants and slid the zipper down.
"Fine, Jeannette, just fine," I coaxed.
She lowered her pants after slipping her shoes off. She stepped out of her slacks, and let them fall in a crumpled heap on the carpet. Jeannette straightened her back, forcing her tits to stand out and up, firmly. She looked at me blankly. She needed more encouragement.
I was wild with excitement. I couldn't keep my eyes from her crotch. A few dark, straggly pussy hairs peeped around the tiny band of nylon that bordered her white undies. Through the sheer material, I could make out the full dark shadow of her bush. My cock pulsed hard.
"Joy and freedom," I repeated.
After a few moments of blushing, Jeannette lowered her panties and stepped out of them.
Boom chicka boom chicka boom. The music grew louder in my head. I could hear the frenzied crowds yelling and applauding. This girl was remarkable. Jeannette shyly turned her eyes away from me. But my eyes were glued to her soft, creamy skin. Her face was small, almost precious. Pixie-like. But her innocence was interrupted by the huge tits that maturely hung there, waiting to be milked and sucked. Her white stomach protruded just slightly, then curved down to her big, triangular bush. Somewhere in that dark forest, a deep, burning cunt was waiting. From her bush, two long legs curved gracefully down. Boom chicka boom chicka boom. The music grew louder. My heart pounded harder. My prick had reached its hard limit.
"Okay?" she said, barely audibly. She got the courage to look up at me. I tried to hide my pulsing cock behind my notebook, but the purple head jutted in the open.
I was practically swimming in my own juices. My fires were raging. But I had to control my heavy breathing. I began taking notes. It was a good ploy. It made her feel what was standing in front of me was of no importance at all to me. Only my cock told, but of course, the draft was responsible for that. I jotted down.
you horny fuck, you. aren't you ashamed of yourself, doc? ashamed? Jesus. this is the high point of my career. I never knew analysis could be such fun. god, what a bush.
"What are you writing down?" Jeannette asked.
"Impressions. Feelings I'm having. Here, I'll read to you what I've just written... 'Jeannette has removed her clothes and already she feels much freer. Her body is so much more relaxed. Making wonderful progress today.' "
"More relaxed?" she asked, inserting a nailless finger in her mouth, "I'm really feeling tensed up."
"Nonsense," I said. I crossed my legs in an attempt to hide my bone, but it still showed. Oh, who gives a shit, if she sees it, I said to myself. She'll get it sooner or later, anyway... why don't I drop the whole pretense and take her now? But I desisted. I had to be cool, careful. After all, those certificates don't come a dime a dozen at Woolworth's. I couldn't blow it now.
"But I'm just not feeling relaxed. Or free."
"Of course you feel freer. Don't feel ashamed to admit it. Come over here and Dr. Freid will show you exactly what he means."
It wasn't a question. It was practically an order. She walked her soft, warm body towards me. Her luscious tits swayed slightly as she moved.
"Here. A little closer," I said. She moved closer.
I leaned forward on my seat and placed one hand on one of her dainty shoulders.
"Here. Now, see what I mean? Why, your shoulders are so completely relaxed, that there isn't a sign of tightness anywhere."
I moved my hand to the other shoulder. Just inches from the hot action, but I kept my cool. "And this shoulder, too. Not a tightened muscle in it." My touch had caused a quick shudder to run through her body.
"Did Dr. Freud recommend touching, too?"
"Oh, yes. Oh, yes. You really must read him sometime," I said casually, taking my hand to the back of her neck.
"Now, here's where tension tells the tale, Jeannette." My hand caressed the back of her head, the small softness of her neck. "Why, these muscles are perfectly relaxed. Oh, you do feel freer, Jeannette. So much freer." My hand gently massaged her neck. Her shudders were coming more regularly. Good. Shudders of excitement, not fear, I hoped.
Jeannette kept her eyes away from me. The perfume of her warm body was driving me and my prick mad, but I managed to keep my professional cool. Nostalgically, I recalled some of my better examinations as a General Practitioner. My temples throbbed.
"And the breasts, Jeannette. Do you know what hap. pens to them when you are feeling relaxed and free?" She quickly shook her head back and forth. The blush was back.
My hand trailed down from her neck to one juicy tit. God, it was delicious. I squeezed the flesh of it a few times. A little too hard, perhaps.
"What... happens to the breasts?" she asked, still turned away from me. On contact, her nipple popped up harder than it had been.
"When you're relaxed, the breasts swell up. It's because your body is free enough to let them swell. And yours are really swell. I mean... swollen. Here, Jeannette... " I placed my hand underneath her breast, letting the weight of it lie magnificently in my hand. "Can you feel how much fuller they are? It's because your body is feeling free." My hard cock was feeling pretty free, too. It stood up straight, and practically begged for someone to let the hot juices out.
"But... my breasts are always like that. They're always big." She spoke almost in a whisper.
"Always?" I said, in mock disbelief. "I seriously doubt it. Here, just look at your nipples." I took a hard nipple between my thumb and forefinger and turned it back and forth. "Now, tell me what that feels like."
"It's... sensitive." Her gaze went down to my hairy hand as I turned and twiddled the hard rubber cherry.
"There... what did I tell you?" I said, increasing the speed on her nipple, "Freud said it himself. He said the nipples harden and become sensitive only when the body is free enough to let them do so."
I reached my other hand up, letting the pencil and pad fall into my hot lap. Now, both of my hands worked on both of her swollen nipples. There seemed to be no end to how hard and large they became.
"Then... I'm really relaxed?"
"Oh, so very relaxed," I said.
Neurotic or not, Jeannette was reacting like a healthy female. Her breasts were swollen. Her nipples were bursting with excitement in my fingers. Her belly started to quiver, and her lovely legs began to tremble slightly. Her arms remained helplessly at her sides as I pulled and kneaded her nipples. Her mouth was open slightly, And she still blushed.
Her breathing had increased, too. At this moment, Jeannette and I were both horny as hounds. I couldn't admit it, of course, since I had my reputation to think about. She couldn't admit it, because she probably didn't even know what those hot, strange, wonderful sensations were all about inside her body. But I kept my hands busy on her fantastic tits. Kneading, massaging, pinching, stroking. Christ, I thought. If Alice had a pair of sponges like this, I'd never go to work. "Is the session over yet, doctor?" Jeannette asked nervously.
"Just beginning. We've a long way to go."
"Oh."
"Why do you ask? Is it difficult for y o u to feel... free like this? Don't forget. Blushing. Nail biting. $65 a week. These are things you want to change, don't you? All this will help you considerably."
"I suppose so," she said.
"You suppose so?"
"Yes."
"Good. Of course you want to change. That's why you're here."
I really couldn't continue dillydallying with her much longer. Her big, black bush was swaying just in front of me. Some of her pubic hairs were already glistening. Those pink lips, hidden somewhere deep inside there, were swollen for sure. Her juices were flowing. In spite of what she said, she was charged up for sure.
With a quick gesture, I thrust my finger into her hot box.
"Ooooooh," she said.
My whole hand practically slid in after, because she was so hot and full of liquid. Since there was so much extra space in her fiery cavern}, I removed my finger and then slid four fingers in as deep as they would go. My fingers became alive in her hot, gooey heaven, and they began to prod and probe deep inside her.
"Oh, splendid. Really marvelous, Jeannette. Such free responses. Why, your wetness is such a healthy sign. That's it. Just let your legs relax. Now, you tell me. Could you produce all this wetness if you weren't completely relaxed? We're making such wonderful progress."
While my left hand wiggled and wriggled inside her slit, my other hand yanked and pulled at her swollen nipple. I had a great rhythm going. Boom chicka boom chicka boom.
"Dr. Freid. I feel so... peculiar. I mean, I never let anyone touch that area like you're doing. Except Jack. The fellow I told you about last summer. But it was love."
"Oh, but I love doing this to you, Jeannette. Because I love to see my patients happy."
"But... "
"Now. No more buts. Why, your pussy lips are pulsing and throbbing. Your goo is just pouring out of you. Your whole body is begging for more. Mustn't protest with me, Jeannette. Your body tells me you like it."
"But ..: "Why, you haven't bitten your nails in five minutes. A good sign. The neurotic symptoms are already vanishing."
Both my hands worked furiously. My left hand slid in and out of her cunt faster and faster. It made a gushing sound that was sheer music to my ears. My other hand was yanking so hard at her nipple, I thought I might yank it right off its soft nest. My cock, bursting, was waiting patiently.
"But... I'm still blushing."
"Let's not go after miracles. One thing at a time," I said. My fingers now toyed and tickled with her erect clit. Her legs parted farther, and her breathing got even heavier.
"Just let your feelings happen, Jeannette. Let all your feelings out. It's so good for you." And me, I mused.
Removing my hand from her cunt, I placed both hands behind her soft, trembling asscheeks. They felt like satin; I squeezed them hard. I drew her hot, young body toward me so that her gigantic tits were crushed up against my face. My mouth was like a child's. Hungrily, my lips licked and sucked. I found a nipple, and took it like a meal. My mouth slopped over the hard projection, and I sucked fiercely, like I couldn't get my fill of milk. Her huge breasts bobbed and bobbled deliciously against my face. I sucked and slurped and salivated all over her tits. Heaven should be so good.
"I have to go to the bathroom," Jeannette said finally. A desperate tactic.
I placed my hand on her soft stomach, my mouth still sucking away at her tits bouncing against my face.
"Oh, come on, Jeannette. I can feel your kidneys with my hand. I'm a doctor. I can tell you don't have to go."
"Number two," she persisted.
"Well, I don't have a bathroom here. You'll just have to hold it in," I said, not looking up at her. My eyes were too busy feasting on her wet tits.
"Well, I have to go."
She was worse than a twelve-year-old teenager trying to keep a fellow's hands off her. But she was worth the challenge.
"Do you know what happens if you move your bowels when your body is excited?"
"No."
"It disrupts the normal balance of your body. Strange diseases can happen. Anyway, Freud says that the desire to go to the bathroom is natural under these circumstances." Still slurping on her wonderful tits. "But it's only psychosomatic. So don't worry about it."
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I really don't have to go. It's just that all this is making me... a little uncomfortable."
"Normal reaction. But I know just the thing to take those awful feelings of discomfort away. Just put each of your hands on your swollen pussy lips -- yes, like this -- and spread them apart as wide as possible. Come on now. That's it. It will really help you feel more comfortable."
"Why is that?" she asked, doing as I instructed.
"You'll see," I said.
It was the first real look I got of her cunt. I moved my head in close to ogle the merchandise. Priceless. Her glistening lips were fat and pink and formed almost a perfect circle as she spread them. Inside, there were soft layers of tissue, and a deep, dark area where I would shortly put my throbbing cock to rest. Her cunt was sopping wet. A thin membrane of white goo stretched from one side of her open cunt to the other.
"Wider," I said, and she managed to get them even wider.
"Now see if this doesn't make you feel better," I said.
I was sitting on the edge of my seat, with her body between my legs. Holding each of her small wrists to make sure she kept her hole open wide, I moved in.
My tongue quickly found her hard slit, and I sucked and nibbled on it. Jeannette's whole body started shaking. My tongue worked and wiggled, up and down her clit, into her wet hole, darting back to her clit. Medical school teaches you so much.
"I see what you mean, doctor," Jeannette moaned. "I feel better already."
"Of course you do," I blubbered from her dark, wet regions.
Round and round my tongue went, quicker and quicker. Jeannette's whole body was on fire. Her stomach pumped furiously against my head. Her legs shook and quivered. I had to hold her tight by her soft ass to keep her from falling backwards from ecstasy. The soft doorway of her cunt swelled and throbbed to my magic tongue. I got a finger into her tight asshole and wedged it in as deep as I could get it. My tongue worked like an electric vibrator, and my finger tunneled and twisted in and out of her asshole.
"Wider," I said, with a mouth full of her juices.
Jeannette rocked back and forth. Sexually, Jeannette was deliciously normal. "Shall we try the other hole?" I asked sweetly. "Why don't you just turn around, bend over, and spread your asscheeks open for me."
"Will that make me feel even more comfortable?" she asked, turning.
"Even more," I said.
If what Jeannette was displaying in front of me was the result of all those hard years I put in medical school; then they were surely paying off. I examined the opening carefully, like an art dealer inspecting a painting for forgery. This was the real thing. Circular, dark and brown. With a garden of shiny black hairs bordering it. I stuck my nose in and sniffed. Petunias, I thought. Maybe gardenias, so sweet was the smell. Forcefully, I rammed my tongue straight up, like an arrow. It almost knocked her over.
"Oh, it is good, doctor. I'm so comfortable. Thank you for this."
Her entire body was a mound of quivering flesh. Every muscle of her sweet body vibrated. I reached up and grabbed a fleshy tit. Little gurgling sounds were coming out of her throat. Her body was drenched with perspiration.
"Oh, do me now, doctor. Do me now." The words of my daydream. They had come true. Jeannette. Shy, sweet, nail biting nervous Jeannette was begging me to put it in.
"Coming, Jeannette. Coming."
I pulled my tongue from her asshole.
Practically leaping from my recliner, I placed her face down on the carpet and spread her legs apart.
"Coming, Jeannette. Oh, you're making such progress."
With a thrust that might have penetrated solid metal, I shoved my prick up into her sopping cunt.
"Isn't this a fun position?" I asked, but I thrust away any answer she might have given. Like a furious engine, I worked my prick deeper and deeper into her. As I pounded the poor luscious neurotic under me, Jeannette's asscheeks bounced and shook. Then I lifted her by the waist, so Jeannette was receiving my blasts like a dog, on all fours. I grabbed an available, free swinging tit, and clutched tightly.
"Oh, so good," Jeannette moaned.
"Isn't analysis fun," I said.
Her body convulsed as I rode her. The shy troubled beauty who spoke in whispers and blushed at her own reflection, flailed her arms and legs wildly. She was like a wild bronco, swiveling and bucking. I was fucking the neurosis out of this girl.
Jeannette tensed up every muscle in her body and clutched at the carpet with her nails.
"I'm cured. I'm cured," she shouted. Then she let out a moan from the deep bowels of her being, just as she climaxed.
"Thanks to me," I said, as I came, so she wouldn't forget the source of her orgasmic delight. With my tongue dangling out -- definitely uncool -- my hot liquid sped out, spasm by spasm. Each spurt brought me deeper into her young, sweet body. In a moment I had flooded her entire insides. I lay on her exhausted.
"Oh, look," I said, glancing at my watch, "we still have a little time left. Isn't that just grand?"
I removed my soft prick from her wet hole, and turned her over. Jeannette lay on her back, and I straddled her with my knees on either side of her small waist. Jeannette was damp from perspiring, and her fleshy boobs heaved and rocked from her exhausted breathing.
"Joy and freedom," Jeannette said. There was a small smile on the corner of her lips. No blush was present. No nail biting happened. She merely reached out one of her once shy hands and started pulling the skin of my-soft prick back and forth.
"Oh, yes. Joy and freedom. Freud would be so proud of you, Jeannette. Why, you're like a changed person. And all this... from allowing yourself to take your clothes off." My prick, of course, started to ascend again.
"He must have been a wonderful man," she said softly, sexily. Her hand stroked my cock faster so that it quickly grew to its normal hard size. As she jerked me harder, her big, soft tits seemed to tilt and float back and forth on her body.
"Yes. A wonderful man. His methods have cured millions."' I leaned down and placed my lips on one of her hard, divine nipples, sucking, nibbling, biting.
"I feel something for you, Dr. Freid. Do you suppose it could be love?" My cock was on the verge of bursting. I quickly placed my hand on hers, momentarily holding her from pumping. I wanted it to last a bit.
"Love?" I asked, only half listening to her comment. There were more pressing things at the moment. I lowered my body, still straddling her, so that my knees were just below her hot bush. I let one finger trail down her stomach till it reached her hot hole. "We mustn't be too quick to call these feelings love."
"But... I felt this way toward Jack. That feeling. In my stomach. My whole insides. You know what I mean?"
I inserted one finger into her hot hole. Her hips began swiveling and she started rocking her head from side to side.
"Not necessarily love, Jeannette. These are simply the 'joy and freedom' feelings Freud spoke of. They really shouldn't be confused with love. Because all sorts of complications can arise."
With a squoosh, I removed my finger from her cunt, and slid all the way up to her lovely face. My hard huge prick was inches from her mouth.
"Put this in your mouth," I said. "Freud advises this method."
Without waiting for a response, I thrust my hard prick into her open mouth. Jeannette practically choked.
"Take it easy," I coddled, "you'll get used to it."
I took the back of her head with my hands and worked my prick in and out of her mouth at a quick rate. Jeannette's eyes were closed. With one hand, she toyed with my balls, alternating from my left to my right, left to right. Her fingers were like tiny fires on my scrotum. Her mouth was like a hot furnace. I was very warm.
"I do think it's love, though," she said, still tickling, still sucking. Unable to contain myself any longer, I let go. The burning fluid flew out of my prick into her mouth. Desperately Jeannette tried to swallow, but there was too much to gulp. She choked and coughed and blubbered helplessly.
"There, now. It's perfectly harmless. At the worst the roof of your mouth will be a little tender for a couple of days, and you might experience a mild sore throat. But simple gargling with salt water and plenty of rest should take care of the condition," I said, resorting back to my most professional tone.
"It's running down the sides of my mouth," she said, pointing at the oozing gism with both hands.
"So it is," I said.
I disentangled myself from her and stood up. Then I brought her a Kleenex.
"Here. Wipe your mouth with this."
"Do you... love me?" she asked, holding my eyes with hers.
"In a way, Jeannette. But then, I have a certain kind of love for all my patients. Professional love, you might call it. Now why don't you clean yourself up and get dressed. I do have another patient coming in soon, you know."
Jeannette looked up at me like a troubled, helpless animal. She leaned up on both elbows and quickly wiped her mouth with the Kleenex. Her lovely breasts swung gently back and forth.
"Well, I love you," she said.
For a moment, my cock again tingled at the sight of her. But it could go nowhere. My prick was too pooped to pop again.
I started dressing. "Progress, Jeannette. You've made wonderful progress today. You were free as a bird. Probably the first time in your life. So let's not confuse your love of freedom with your feelings of love for me. But we can discuss this at length during our next session."
Jeannette brought one hand up to her mouth, and started biting on the nails.
"We're not completely cured, yet, Jeannette. But in time. In time," I said. I bent down and gave her tit an affectionate squeeze. "But why don't you get dressed now?"
Silently, Jeannette put all her clothes back on her beautiful body. When she was finished she came to the door, where I was standing.
"Thank you, Doctor Freid. Thank you," she said softly. And she put her little soft hand out for me to take.
I took it. "And thank you, Jeannette. See you next week."
It wasn't easy seeing the rest of my patients that day. Jeannette was constantly on my mind. All I could think of was the six months I had wasted with her. All those boring sessions, I thought. I could have used them much better. My God, in six months, Jeannette and I could have been through The Kama Sutra with additional variations. Well, there was always next week. And the week after. The patient immediately following Jeannette was a rapidly aging account executive who worked at a large advertising agency. He was only forty, but apparently, in the ad business, unless you're on the way to the top by forty, you're on the way out. He wasn't on the way to the top. He hadn't been promoted in years. He was on the way out.
He was scared shitless about what he'd do when the big axe finally fell. He lay on the couch and rambled on and on about how he was getting a royal screwing in the business he had devoted his life to. But I barely heard a word. I used my standard "Mmmmm hmmmm's" frequently. And every once in a while I'd throw in a "I understand," and a "How do you feel about that?"
All I could think of were Jeannette's big, soft tits pushed up against my face, and my big hard prick pushed deep into her cunt. The account exec droned on about his miseries, and I was getting horny again.
"So you think I ought to tell him off, Doc?" a far away voice said, interrupting my inflamed thoughts.
"What?"
"You think I should tell him to shove it?" he asked again.
"How do you feel about it?" I asked. My question kept him yakking on and on. I took my notebook.
another fuckin twenty minutes. christ, this guy's boring. why can't he have nice tits and a cunt? wonder if Jeannette will tell her father. Jesus. I'd be shafted if she told. But I suppose it'd be worth it. Christ. What a pair of knockers.
"Doc... aren't you listening?"
"Of course. Taking down everything you say, word for word."
"You write that fast, huh? Shorthand?"
"Gregg. The best."
"My secretary uses Gregg. Janice is her name. Nice girl. I'll miss her when they axe me. Boy, what am I going to tell my wife and kids? The business is in a slump now. You don't just get fired and then go out and make fifty G's. Know what I mean, Doc?"
"Mmmmmm hmmmmm."
And he went on and on and on. I started idly thumbing through my notebook, and discovered that tomorrow I was to see a new patient. She was a model referred to me by one of my doctor friends. A model. A bell rung. I never looked at it that way before. A gorgeous, beautiful, hunk of model. My imagination simply took off. Without ever having seen her, or knowing a thing about her, I started thinking about how I might get to seduce her. The hum of traffic below, and the droning on and on of my patient were the only interruptions from my thoughts.
But the interruptions couldn't compete with the blue flick that was projected in the back of my mind. The model Blinked in, raised her dress, exposing, of course, nothing but the raw real thing and said, "Hey, doc. I'm a nymph. Got this problem down here. It always needs loving. Would you mind?" I pictured myself helping her, all right. Up the cunt. In the ass. Through the ear. Over her tits. In her mouth. We did it hanging out of the window. Standing. Bending. Sitting. I had a million orgasms and my office was a mess. She screamed, hollered, yelled for more. And I gave it to her. Again and again. Fiercely. Gently. Lovingly. I was screwing the shit. out of her.
"Doc!"
"Huh?"
"Doc. I think my session's over," I heard, vaguely, from somewhere. I checked my watch. The anonymous model had taken me into my lunch hour.
"Oh. I felt it would be helpful if you had a little extra time today," I said, crossing my legs, feeling the stiff bone there. "See you next week."
I had four more patients that afternoon, and needed, every,, ounce of energy in me to concentrate. But it was no use. Between what had just happened with Jeannette, what would happen tomorrow with the model, and what Alice had planned for me that evening -- she always had weird wonderful sexual things for us to do -- I barely heard a word. For the money I charged, that was sacrilege. But I was only human. I was entitled to have an off day just like everybody else.
I saw Fritz at one o'clock. A young sculptor -- the typical, starving kind that live in roach infested lofts and dream of one man shows. He was having trouble "getting into the feel of it," as he put it. I remembered that phrase because I jotted it down. It seemed to describe my own horniness so nicely. His sculptures weren't coming out right at all, he complained. The proportions were weird. All wrong. He was convinced he was a failure. I was convinced he was a bore. Hardly could I get an image of my model going, when he'd interrupt my thoughts with questions, questions.
"Know what it's like to be an artist? It's painful. Very painful."
"Mmmmm hmmmmm."
"You've got to work, sweat, kill yourself to get what you want."
"Mmmm hmmmmm." I'd give Jeannette three hours, next week.
"I think my stint in the army -- it was only six months -- but I think that put a curse on me. My hands just won't do what I tell them. You know what I mean?"
"Mmmm hmmmm." I was having much better control over my own hands.
"You think I'll find it again, Dr. Freid?"
"Mmmmm hmmmmmm."
Two o'clock. George Trumble. The accountant who hated numbers with a passion. Jesus, there were a lot of neurotics running around. What the hell did George ever go into accounting for? Christ. When I went to medical school I knew what I wanted. An opportunity to see naked pussy. Not just free of charge. But be paid for it. That morning, with Jeannette, I was paid in full.
"Maybe some people just don't get along with numbers. Is that possible?"
"In your case, I'd say yes," I said, vaguely.
"Do you like numbers."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Oh, Christ. This guy wouldn't even let the "Mmmmm hmmmms" ride. He had to get me involved, too.
"Tell you next session. The numbers on my watch say 2:50. That means your time is up. Goodbye."
Three o'clock. Two long, fuckin hours to go before I could get home to Alice. Mrs. Martha Gerber. Recently widowed. Had recurring hallucinations of Harry, her dead husband. He would float around the ceiling and point an accusing finger at her.
"It's so real," she would sob.
"Maybe it's not a hallucination. Maybe he never died. And maybe he flies. Maybe."
"Don't fib with me, Doctor. You're just saying that so I won't think I'm going crazy. But I tell you. I am. I know he's dead. And I see him. He talks to me. All the time. Just hangs up there on the ceiling and says things like, 'Martha, you're a bitch. You made me die.' Is that crazy, doctor? Don't soft pedal with me, tell me... is that crazy?"
"That's crazy." One hour to go.
Four o'clock. Billy. A thirty-year-old homosexual who couldn't make up his mind which way he really wanted to go.
"So go both ways," I offered. My notebook was filling up with obscenities about tomorrow's anticipated orgy with the model.
"But... I have so much conflict," Billy sang, his wrists flopping around like a couple of dead chickens, "and... doctor... you know I despise conflict. It makes me so dizzy... I could swoon. Oh, do you really think both ways is the way to go? It might be a blast. Really it might. But then, I've never had it with women. They're such... nuts, if you know what I mean. But I suppose one little touch on a tit couldn't hurt, do you doctor?"
"Mmmm hmmm."
"But intercourse. With a woman. I mean... I have a set of values. I can't just fling them away like that. My boyfriends would laugh me out of the Village. But on your say so, maybe I'll sneak a feel from a bitch sometime. But only on your say so."
"mmmmm hmmmm."
"Is that a say so?"
"Mmm hmmm."
"Oh, goody. Doctor Freid, you're the sweetest man I know. That is, not to mention Phil and Tom and Butch and Sweeny and Hector. You understand."
"Mmmmmm hmmmm."
"Of course. You're so understanding. I wish I was a psychiatrist. You really seem to have the life."
"Mmmm hmmmm." Ten minutes to go, and out of fagsville.
"You ever paint? Decorate interiors? Do women's hair? Stuff like that?"
"Mmmm hmmmm."
"Oh, really."
"Mmmmm hmmmm." Five minutes to go.
"That's a gas. Maybe secretly, you're one of us. Oh ha ha. Say... I'm throwing a little shindig this Friday. Just exclusives, you understand. You can come if you like. Everything goes."
"Well, that's all we have time for." Five o'clock. Whew.