Chapter 1

Ten am, and I was already in a foul mood. So far, my morning had been devoted to kicking various and sundry butts for incompetence, inefficiency, and wasting my time. Finally, punching the intercom, I snarled at Jolene, my executive assistant, to get me a coffee.

I was the Executive Vice President of a large advertising agency located in New York. My world consisted of stress, deadlines, and irate clients. I lived on Zantac to ease my ulcers. At forty-five years old, I was one of the few women to attain this level in a male-oriented environment. My husband and I had been married since we graduated from university. He was the president of an investment-banking house. We had no children due to the demands of my career. We had all the benefits, a penthouse suite on Fifth Ave, a summer house in the Hamptons, luxury cars, etc. The rub was that we had no time to enjoy them.

Many considered me very good looking for my age and maybe beautiful. In this milieu, you never know; flattery is rampant from the sycophants that surround you. Blessed with a good figure, I had never seen the need to diet or do the gym routine. I stood five foot seven barefoot, had long curly blond hair, long legs, full tits, a slim waist, a taut belly, and a nice rounded ass. I had no complaints. However, nothing was perfect in life.

I found that my relationship with my husband had gone downhill. He was a very handsome man who I loved. Over the past years, however, our sex life had been very dull. We still indulged in the weekend fuck; however, it was more of a ritual than lust. The sex, play, and fun we used to enjoy were gone. This left me very frustrated. Coupled with work frustrations, I had become a Grade A bitch.

Jolene, my executive assistant, walked in with my coffee.

“Bad day, boss?” she asked. Handing me my coffee and another pile of reports to read.

“Jolene, you wouldn’t believe how bad it is. Hand me my ulcer medication, please.”

“Why are you so stressed? I can see that it is making you sick and bitchy.”

“Well, dear, between my home life being the pits and the shit going on here, I am going crazy.”

“Marge, I am surprised. Your husband Bob is a handsome man. What’s wrong?”

“Well, let us just say the sparks are gone. All that is left is a dull fizzle.”

“That’s so sad. Have you considered getting some professional advice?”

“I would not even know where to go.”

“Well, when my sex life hit rock bottom, I consulted with Dr. Roberts. He is a sex therapist. With his help, I regained my sexual sanity and freedom. Marge, I beg you to consult with him. I respect and admire you. I appreciate how you have mentored me, but you are getting worse. You snap at me, which never used to happen. Twice this week, you brought me to tears.”

“Oh, Jolene, I am so sorry. You are my only safety net here. Your work is faultless, and your cheerful attitude and smile keep me going most days. Do you think this Dr. Roberts could help?”

“Well, what could you lose? It will either help or won’t. Of course, I can make an appointment for you if you wish. But even in the worst case, should he not be able to help, you will at least get to see one of the most charming and sexiest men I’ve ever met,” she said with a smile.”

“Go ahead and make an appointment. As you said, what have I got to lose?”

An hour later, she came back to tell me that the appointment was set for tomorrow at noon and that she had cleared my schedule for the rest of tomorrow afternoon.

That night at supper, I debated telling Bob that I was going to consult the next day but finally decided to see what tomorrow would bring.

The following morning, my turmoil of thoughts about the step I was taking made me distracted and distant during breakfast. Finally, Bob asked me, “Are you OK?”

I mumbled, “Yes,” and left the table to get dressed. Since I was not going to the office this morning, I opted for something other than my regular power clothes. A simple blouse, skirt and a pair of sandals. I looked at myself in the mirror and liked what I saw. However, I wondered if my skirt was too short. It reached about four inches above my knees; however, the weather had been hot, and I also decided not to wear stockings. I finally decided that I looked fine. After all, this was not a date or a business meeting.

I watched the minutes ticking by slowly. I was apprehensive about the step I had taken.

‘Can this Dr., this so-called therapist help me? Is the lackluster sex life my fault, or is it Bob’s?’

Question after question raced through my mind, unresolved painful ones that tormented me. The change from the carefree, joyful girl I was in my youth was apparent. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. But, thank God, Bob had gone to work. I would not want him to see me like this. I loved Bob. Why couldn’t he see that I needed passion? Where had my passion gone?

Finally, the time came when I had to go to meet this doctor. More questions kept popping up.

’What was he like? Why did Jolene call him sexy?’

When I got to the address, I was surprised that his offices were in a very elegant building off Fifth Avenue. The elevator carried me to the sixth and top floor. A small brass plaque on the wall read ‘Dr. J Roberts MD. PsyD.’

As I entered an elegant waiting room, a young woman stood up and walked up to me. “Good day, you must be Marge?” she said, extending her hand. “My name is Kali. I am Dr. Roberts’ assistant. Why don’t you take a seat, and I will have you fill in some paperwork to start. Once that is done, the doctor will receive you.”

She handed me a clipboard with several forms attached. I scanned the forms, which were the usual forms most doctors used. Health conditions, medications, past medical history, and career history were vanilla until the final form. This one was entitled Sexual History. It was prefaced by a statement saying that all answers would be confidential as per doctor-patient privilege. As I went through the questions, I felt myself blush. When did I lose my virginity, did I masturbate, and how often was I attracted to women? What are my preferred sexual positions ranked in order of preference? After answering the first dozen, I got up to see Kali.

“Kali, are all these questions necessary?”

‘Yes, absolutely, the doctor needs as much information as possible to help you. But, don’t worry, only he gets to see them.”

I went back, sat down, and filled in the rest of the questionnaire. I figured I had come this far; it was not the time to back off.

I suddenly saw a man standing in front of me. “Marge? I am Jim Roberts. Why don’t we step into my office?”

I followed him to the office, where he showed me to a chaise lounge and asked me to get comfortable.

“Why don’t you take off your sandals and relax. I can see that you are tense.”

Looking at him, I realized why Jolene’s description was dead on. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the look of an athlete. Blond, clean-shaven with a radiant smile and piercing blue eyes, he radiated assurance and masculinity. He brought his chair next to the chaise lounge and sat facing my legs and slightly to the side. He perused the forms with a pensive air as I blushed, knowing that I had bared many very private things in the questionnaire.

Finally, he put them to the side, looked at me, and said, “Marge, let me tell you how I proceed. First, you and I will have a long talk to tell me what you think your problem is. The one thing I ask of you is total honesty. If you are going to play games with yourself and with me, I cannot help you. I will then give you a full medical exam to see if there are any physiological problems we have to deal with. Finally, I will make a diagnosis and recommendations for dealing with your situation. Anything you say or do stays within these walls. No one will know what we discuss. Understand?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Please call me Jim. By the time we are done, I will know more about you than anybody else.”

“Now, to start off, tell me what leads you to me?”

I started to tell him my story about my feelings of anger and frustration, the stress, and the overall sense of being powerful over others and powerless over my own fate. When I looked at him as I spoke, it struck me that his concentration on what I was saying was total. His eyes were riveted on me. He surprisingly did not seem to be judgmental. Finally, I got to the end of my tale of miseries.

“Well, thank you for sharing those details. Let us go to the next step. I want you to close your eyes and relax, breathe deeply, and release any accumulated stress with each breath you take. Take your time. We’re not in any rush. Take ten to twenty breaths. Once you are relaxed, I want your mind to visualize what you would like your life to be, specifically your sexual life. You do not need to tell me, but you need to have a firm mental picture of what you want and where you want to go. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Closing my eyes, I followed his instructions. He had put on some sounds that surrounded me softly and at the limit of what I could discern. I felt myself going almost into a trance. I visualized the sexual me. Naked and spread out on a bed. Ravished by ... by who? Pictures of Bob came into my mind, followed by visions of other men. None of them defined just a succession of cocks, penetrating me after the other. Me succumbing to one orgasm after another. One of the men came into focus. In shock, I realized that it was the doctor, Jim.

Peripherally, I sense my feet and calves touched and massaged. That touch brought me back to the reality of the present. I opened my eyes, and Jim had his hand on my calf.

I looked in shock at him. “What are you doing?”

“I had to bring you back from your visualization,” he declared. “What I did was intrude on your subconscious. Do you want to talk about what just happened?”

I blushed, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, “I don’t know whether I am comfortable speaking about it.”

He smiled, “Well, that must have been a powerful experience.”

“How do you know?”

“Marge, look at your chest.”

Looking down, I noticed my nipples were standing straight out and making very well-defined bumps through my blouse. I also realized that my panties were sopping wet, and my thighs were sticky.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t worry, these things happen. You sure you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Jim, I never had these types of thoughts in my life. I have no idea where they came from. I saw myself as completely depraved. I wanted sex with multiple partners, penetrating me in different positions.”

“Well, I saw in your questionnaire that you had only indulged in very plain sex. For example, you have never done oral or anal sex or sucked a man. Is that the truth?”

“Yes, everything in there is the truth.”

“Why? Subconsciously it seems to me that you want more than that. So what’s holding you back?”

“I honestly don’t know. It might be my desire to be in control or my image of myself.”

“I think that is a problem, Marge. If you wish, I can help you overcome those blocks. But, to do that, you will have to trust me. To let me assume control for a while. Are you willing to try?”

“Jim, I have not had an orgasm like the one I had during my trance in years. So if you can get that to happen again for me, I would be the happiest of women.”

“OK first things first. You will go through that door into the examination room, and Kali will get you ready for the physical exam.”

He led me through a door, and I entered a medical examination room. As he left, Kali walked in and told me to strip down so she could prep me for the exam. I asked her whether I should keep on my bra and panties. She looked at my panties, which were sopping wet, and suggested, with a smirk, that I would be more comfortable without them. So, taking off my clothes, I hung them in the locker she indicated.

Turning, I saw her eying me from head to foot with a smile on her face. I blushed and asked her why she was smiling.

“You are such a beautiful woman. I just cannot imagine you with sexual problems.” She was almost licking her lips as she said that. I noticed for the first time that she was gorgeous. I felt my pussy getting wet again.

‘What is happening to me here? First, I imagine multiple partners fucking me. Now this young blonde has my pussy dripping.’

“OK,” Kali said, “Up into the chair.”

She motioned me to a chair like the ones found at my gynecologist’s office. I climbed up and positioned myself. I realized that I was fully exposed. My pussy and ass were on full display. I felt the heat rise in my face as I blushed and tried to cover myself with my hands. Kali came over, moved my hands to my sides, and secured them to the arms of the chair with leather cuffs.

“Why are you restricting my hands?”

“Don’t worry. It’s to ensure that you don’t get hurt. Some of the procedures are quite intensive. So relax I am sure you will feel much better shortly.”