A Psychological Turn of Mind

Looking her straight in the eye I spoke tentatively.

"Look, if that's your price, I'll pay it. I guess you should try and experience everything once before you settle down."

I gave what I hoped was a disarming smile and continued.

"Let's leave early, get ourselves a hotel room, and take it from there. Then, after today, we need never speak of it again."

She did not respond immediately and I dared to hope. The truth was that the incongruity of the situation was stirring something inside of me. Her office exuded intellectual gravitas and she herself, in her starched blouse and expensive silk scarf, was half tuned to the sober atmosphere but I could not pull my eyes away from her long, bare, legs.

After an interminable pause she deigned to reply.

"Don't get me wrong. You're a beautiful young woman but, frankly, I'm your boss and I will not be compromising my position of authority. You, on the other hand, need to make an impression. Now, my fiancé is very good with his mouth, I make sure he gets lots of practice, but I expect you to do even better,"

With that she slowly opened her legs.

She was always impeccably turned out, her hair always just so and her make up painstakingly applied, and so it was a shock when she revealed her sex. A single faint line of dark hair ran from her navel like sand from an hour glass and it piled up into an unruly triangle of black curls which overflowed the delta and extended to her inner thighs.

The first, incongruous, thought that entered my head was that she must eschew bikinis. The fact was that, on any other woman, it would have seemed unsightly but, somehow, she carried it off.

There was something almost pagan about it, something forbidding, and I could feel my adrenalin pumping priming me to flee, but at the same time, for reasons I did not understand, I felt drawn to it.

It was reminiscent of my encounter with Liana and that too should have been a warning but now, real or imagined, I could smell her and my tongue moved in my mouth.

I cannot remember crossing the room. At one moment I was standing, frozen in indecision, the next I was on my knees between her legs. The room was so quiet that I could tell that she was holding her breath and I was convinced, at that moment, that she had not believed that I could be brought to do it.

It no longer mattered. I was wreathed in a now familiar stillness, hemmed in by her thighs, and centred on the magnificence of her sex. Almost reverentially I moved closer and I began to ruffle her with my nose delighting in the softness of her curls. They were faintly scented with a honey based soap but as I burrowed deeper they released a familiar musky odour.

I closed my eyes and breathed it in; then I could wait no longer. I put out my tongue and began to explore the undergrowth. I expected her sex to be brazen but it was deeply hidden, a reward for finding the way through to the grotto.

At first touch it was a little dry but now that she knew that there was no turning back the tension eased and the wetness of my saliva was soon tinged by an earthy tang. I licked slowly, teasing her labia into life, and I could feel them swelling under my tongue.

"Yes!...do it slowly."

I knew what she wanted. Men do it quickly, using their tongue to provide a quasi fuck before racing on to the main event. I was on a voyage of discovery. I spent time surveying the contours of the fleshy uplands and was pleased when her body stiffened with initial waves of pleasure. I then ventured onto the lower slopes moving carefully over this more sensitive range.

"Oh God!...Don't stop!"

It became hotter between her legs as her excitement grew and I knew where to quench my thirst, but not just yet. I skimmed over her inner labia, threatening to withdraw my tongue altogether, only to swoop once more.

I felt a mischievous, but guilty sense of pride in taking her to places she had never been before. I sensed that she could orgasm from this stimulation alone but she was desperately holding back knowing that, if only she could hold on, the best was yet to come.

"Oh you sweet little bitch..."

For long minutes I teased her lips, which were exuding dew like leaves in spring, and my evident delight as I swallowed it down only served to string her tighter.

Her sex was now as open as it could be without further aid and I began the final descent to where a creamy line marked the valley floor.

I scooped it up in one greedy lick and she shivered with excitement but now I had to have more. With a murmur of pleasure I speared my tongue inside her and began to swab the walls of the tight tunnel.

She could take no more. She placed her hands on her inner thighs pulling herself wider and encouraging me to go deep,

We remained there, fused together, and finally it was my panted breath alone which took her over the edge. She literally cried tears of joy as the pleasure exploded inside her and then rushed to every extremity causing her to stretch her limbs ecstatically.

When it was over there was an awkward silence but then she slid her chair under her desk and became very businesslike.

"You had better go. We'll talk about this later."

I wanted to talk about it immediately but I did not trust myself not to say something untoward. Instead, I gathered myself as best I could and left the room.

It was only as I opened that door that I spared a thought for Nadine's secretary. None of the other lecturers on campus retained secretaries but Nadine obviously felt that it added to her authority. Michelle, was a brash, eighteen year old, blonde that she had picked cheaply via a government job placement scheme.

I guessed that I looked a complete mess. My hair was damp with perspiration and my make up must have been shot to hell. I had not even bothered to rearrange my clothing. Thinking quickly, I put my face in my hands and pretended to sob as I dashed down the short corridor that doubled as her office. She could make of it what she would.

I went back to my office and fixed myself up as best I could then, for the first time in my career, I skipped a lecture. I phoned the administration office and pleaded a migraine before grabbing my jacket and dashing out into the park.

I went to my favourite bench at the end of the lake and for a few moments I wept quietly. After I while I pulled myself together and began to try to make sense of what was happening to me.

My life had seemed so ordinary, so well planned, but now, in the space of a few weeks, I had gone down on two straight women, one of whom I almost despised, and I had been involved in a bizarre lesbian orgy.

It was clear that Liana formed a link between the first two incidents and it was possible that the third was just coincidental but I sensed a more sinister influence. Amongst all of the praise that my article had garnered there had been some correspondence which had vilified my conclusions and I wondered if there was a connection but those who had been the most vitriolic had not given addresses.

The problem was that no amount of speculation could disguise the fact that, to some degree, I had made myself a willing participant and that was the most frightening thing of all.

We all feel that we know ourselves so well, and I could bring to my own observation my perspective as a psychologist, but it seemed I hardly knew myself at all.

The following morning I decided to confront Nadine. My paper, and the well publicized award, had imbued the faculty with a lot of kudos and, now that I had had time to reflect on it, I was willing to bet that she would not want to rock the boat. She might be envious but she was also basking in reflected glory.

I walked passed Michelle, refusing to catch her eye, and bid her a cursory good morning as I walked into the office.

There was something different and it took a second or two to register what it was.

The armchairs had been pushed back against the wall and now, beneath the window, there stood a classic psychiatrists couch. I knew that she had studied psychiatry before finally majoring in psychology but it still seemed to be something of an affectation.

She followed my gaze and walked across to the couch where she lovingly stroked the antique leather.

"Do you like it? It cost me a small fortune."

"I'm sure it's very nice but I did not come here to discuss furniture."

She remained unfazed by my curt tone as she gracefully took up a reclining position on the couch with her back raised.

"That's a great pity because I bought it with you in mind"

She was wearing a black bolero jacket over a matching calf length skirt with buttons right down the front. Holding my eye she slowly drew up her legs and she began to undo them.

"Nadine, we need to have a serious talk."

She had more than half the buttons undone before she replied.

"Do you like stockings?"

Under the circumstances the question was entirely inappropriate but I could not formulate a reply. The skirt had fallen open to form a drape around the couch and I was left staring at a vision of darkness. In addition to her jacket and skirt she was wearing a midnight blue blouse and, as I could now see, black stockings with matching suspenders.

She kept herself in impressive shape. I knew that she used the gym every day and watched her diet carefully and, at that moment, I could have been looking at the body of a twenty-five year old.

The problem was that she knew that as well as I. Not only did she maintain her body she knew how to flaunt it. She had supreme self confidence and she exuded it

When in comes to art I count myself almost an aesthete and for the space of a few seconds I just stood and admired her. Almost inevitably my eyes were drawn to the tops of her thighs the creamy splendour of which was exaggerated by the dark background of the canvas.

She could see exactly where my eyes were fixed and, with a knowing smile, she cast her web.

"Come and lick them."

I was pulled towards her in much the same way that I was upon seeing my first Henry Moore sculpture and, as then, I began to run my hand over the perfect contours.

"Use your tongue."

I moved around her slowly and leant in between the deep vee of her legs to place a delicate kiss on her inner thigh just above the band of her stocking. Her legs were perfectly depilated and felt almost unnaturally smooth. They were also deliciously warm and I began to lick slowly towards the slight declivity at the top of her leg.

I paused for a moment, licking in a lazy circle, and she gave a loud hum of appreciation. I was now half kneeling on the couch and I turned my attention to her other thigh tracing the same languid path from her stocking top to the border of her panties.

They were a diaphanous shade of grey but made dark by the cushioning of her abundant curls and, even as I watched, a pool of even greater darkness spread slowly outwards permeating the air with her rich scent.

I reached towards her wanting to peel the damp silky material away from her ripe sex but she gently pushed my hand away.

"No, just lick."

I knew exactly what she wanted and, in past life, I would have considered it outrageous but now, devotedly, I began to work my tongue over the crotch of her panties. Her pubis felt deliciously spongy and as the material became wet with my saliva I began to taste her juices in an erotic osmosis.

She was leaking copiously and, with a frenzied craving, I began to suck at her noisily.

"Oh you filthy little bitch."

Her taunting and laughter only increased the madness and when she finally condescended to pull the gusset of her panties to one side I fell upon her like a ravening beast.

I was conscious of her looking down at me, as I surrendered to my carnal instincts, and I felt like a curious laboratory specimen but there was no way that I could stop myself. I worked my tongue deep inside her as she relaxed into a powerful drawn out orgasm.

I was breathing heavily and I knew that my face was red with embarrassment but I suddenly felt a desperate need to get away from her. I started to rise but she quickly put her hand on my head.

"Not so fast. You're not finished yet. Take them off."

She brought her legs together so that I could remove her panties altogether and my instinct was to tell her to go to hell but when I looked into her eyes I felt completely cowed. It just seemed easier to do as she asked and, having made that decision, it was as though a weight had been lifted from me.

I eased her, now sodden, panties down her legs and let them fall to the floor and, as I did so, she opened her legs once more. She parted her labia and pointed with her middle finger.

"Nice and slowly...just here."

There, nestled deep amongst the curls, lay her clitoris already stretched free of its cloak. It was a deeper pink than the bed in which it lay and it almost seemed to pulse with expectation. After a momentary hesitation I bowed to my task.

As I grazed my tongue over the smooth bulb of flesh I felt my cheeks and nose tickled by her sleek, wet, hairs but I felt, in some way, secure as if I could use them to hide from the world.

I lost all sense of time, content simply to bring her the pleasure she demanded, but by the time she finally reached a second, more leisurely orgasm, my neck and back ached terribly.

Once more, I made to rise, but she held me in check.

"Clean me up..."

I felt an odd sense of guilt. Why had I waited to be asked? I began to like groom her pubis with my tongue not stopping until the taste was clean.

Finally, she rose dismissively from the couch and began to fasten the buttons of her skirt. I was bending to straighten my own skirt when she pushed her sopping panties down into the front of my vee necked jumper.

"A little souvenir."

She laughed as I rooted them out and dropped them to the floor in disgust but some traitorous part of me almost made me bend to retrieve them. This final confirmation of my depravity frightened me more than anything and I fled from the room not stopping until I reached the sanctuary of the washroom.

Chapter 4

In the following two weeks I began to fear for my sanity. Nadine would pick up the phone and I would come running. There was no reciprocity; she would simply lounge on the couch and I would serve. Not once in our encounters did she completely undress. She would remove her skirt and underwear to give me access and it felt as if I was not worthy enough to appreciate the rest of her body.

We were both experts in matters of the mind but I even felt intellectually undermined. What I was doing could not be considered rational behaviour and it worried me that she had somehow found her way to my inner psyche.

I would leave her room in tears but invariably with my own panties wet with excitement. The problem was that I could not bring myself to masturbate and thus ease my frustration. I was concerned that if I even began to make the association between my deviant conduct and my own sexual relief there would be no way back.

I found myself phoning Daniel almost every evening and he realized that something was amiss but it was not an issue that I could, or would, want to discuss with him. He even volunteered to fly over but I knew that it was out of a sense of exasperation. I assured him that everything was fine and we would stick with my scheduled visit to the States the following month.

The breaking point came one morning. The ringing of the phone startled me but, as it was wont to do nowadays, it set off a Pavlovian surge of excitement. Nadine no longer bothered to keep up the pretence.

"Come along right now. I need a little relief."

When I arrived at her office she was still seated at her desk. I stood, expecting her to make her way to the couch, feeling a frisson of excitement as I waited to see if she had already removed her skirt,

"Come here. I'm a little pushed for time this morning. You can get on with it whilst I work."

I moved slowly around the desk to find that she was wearing the buttoned skirt again and it was already unfastened and peeled away from her legs. Her condescending tone had irritated me but my eyes were, by now, fixed at the juncture of her thighs.

I started to go down to my knees but she shifted a little further back from her desk and I finally understood. The suggestion was as outrageous as it was demeaning but, nevertheless, I felt a moist warmth between my own legs. No more words were needed. I sacrificed the remainder of my pride and crawled under the desk.

The modesty board and the seasoned oak made it a dark, closed, space and, as she wheeled herself back into place her skirt acted as a curtain shutting out the light. Within seconds my tiny cell was pervaded by her scent, giving the lie to her feigned indifference, and I did not have to move far to set about my appointed task.

Above me I heard the shuffling of papers and the occasional scratch of her pen but this only incited me to get her to show some reaction. It became an unspoken battle of wills but, after what felt like half an hour, I felt myself clamped by her knees as she finally went into melt down.

It was a small success but she soon put me back in my place. Almost as soon as it was over she made me start again and, notwithstanding her suggestion that time was short, she kept me there through a second and third orgasm.

I do not know how long I was confined but, by the finish, my whole body was wet with perspiration. Even the air around me felt hot and every breath that I took was impregnated with her smell. My back ached and, once or twice, I banged my head as it went into spasm.

When she finally let me go I had trouble straightening up and she laughed as I slunk from the room.

I had reached my nadir and something had to be done. I even contemplated a change of university but when Daniel finally came to settle in the UK I knew that he would not want to be based outside of London.

In the end it was simple. All I had to do was refuse. I no longer feared blackmail and Nadine had had no need to threaten me; from her point of view I had willingly become her oral whore.

The next morning I ignored the phone when it rang. A little later, when it rang again, I gave a peremptory reply saying that I was busy. After that I was fearful. If she came for me I was not sure I could trust myself.

I just needed to get through the day and then the next day was sure to be easier. I had some essays to mark and, gathering them together, I made my way to my sanctuary.

In the basement the University maintained what it chose to call a museum. In reality it was a rarely visited depository which was used to store the various bequests bestowed on the faculty. For the most part it comprised an uncatalogued trove of books and research papers but there were also oddities like a writing desk that had belonged to Hans Eysenck and a consulting couch used by Sigmund Freud.

My particular favourite was one of the pieces which had found its way from the infamous Bethlehem Lunatic Asylum or "Bedlam" as it was known to the poor souls incarcerated within its forbidding walls. It was a heavily padded chair which would not have looked out of place in a dentist's surgery. I would often come down during my lunch hour and cat nap in it for ten minutes without fear of disturbance.

I had barely made a start on the papers before I felt my eyelids drooping and I decided to rest my eyes for a few minutes. I lazed back in the chair and lulled by the gentle hum of basement machinery pumping air, heat and water through the arteries of the building I must have fallen asleep altogether.

I awoke with a start and for a second or two I could not remember where I was but then I pulled myself together.

"Hello sleepyhead."