Christy, the Sex Therapist Pt. 16

Marcus reached out to touch Miss Christy's pussy. He found her clit with his fingers, and as she looked down at her boi, she threw her head back and exploded. As her cunt muscles contracted around Marcus's dick, he groaned and he came hard inside her. He moaned as he felt fragments of his soul leaving his body, flooding into hers.

She pushed her sweaty hair back from her face. She squeezed her boi's penis out of her vagina and lay down next to him. "Good thing I'm on birth control, hey? Otherwise I think you would've just knocked me up pretty bad. That was a lot of cum, boi. Must've been because of your dream."

Marcus could barely speak. He was deliriously happy.

They hugged and went back to sleep. Christy lay on her side and felt her boi's semen slowly seep out of her as she snatched a few more hours of sleep before her morning alarm went off.

*

75

Monday morning meant back to work. Christy had been floundering recently. She knew her profession required deep engagement with her clients and a genuine commitment to help them, but it hadn't been easy for her to do this lately while her own life was imbued with such turmoil and uncertainty. The clarity she received from yesterday's meeting with Alex was like a rejuvenating tonic: all of her passion and enthusiasm for her professional calling returned; she was glad to be alive, and thrilled to be doing her job.

Meanwhile, in a building not too far away, Marcus was bored out of his mind fixing simple IT problems.

After work that night, they sat on the couch watching the news. Everything about the world was terrible. "Hey, boi, how was work today?" asked Miss Christy.

Marcus sighed, and the post-work floodgates opened. "Fucking hell. I had some cunt call me today to say he'd dialled into a virtual meeting, but there was a problem because he couldn't hear anything through his headphones. We went through a range of possible solutions, none of which worked, until I asked him if his headphones were actually plugged into his computer. There was an embarrassed silence. He plugged his headphones in and he told me his problem was solved. No 'thank you', no apology, no 'I'm sorry for wasting your time', no 'I'm sorry, I'm a total fuckwit', absolutely nothing. I don't think I've ever felt so furious at work before. If I see that insufferable cunt in the coffee shop this week, I swear I'll punch him in the throat. I literally had to close my computer and go for a walk around the block to calm down." He sighed again. "Is this going to be the rest of my life? Dealing with ignorant assholes like this? I feel like an electronic janitor. I don't think I can handle this much longer, Miss Christy."

"You're such a creative person, boi. Surely you know that."

"I'd like to think I am, but I'm not so sure. I've got some ideas about plots and characters for a novel or a play, but I've got no space or time to blow them up and let them breathe, and even if I did, I don't know anyone I could talk to about them."

Miss Christy thought about that for a while. The news broadcast on the television had rolled onto the sports report. "What would you need to find the time and space to build something up?"

"I don't really know, but it'd be easiest if I had as much time as I could get. That'd mean quitting my job, but I know I can't do that," he replied.

"Why not, boi?" she asked.

Marcus was about to say 'because I need to pay the rent', but he remembered that he'd given up his apartment long ago. Where was his income going right now? Weed, but not much else. His savings were growing. He didn't need to spend very much, because everything he needed -- food, housing, internet -- was being taken care of by Miss Christy. He looked at her. "Are you seriously suggesting I quit my job?" he asked.

They were up to talking about tomorrow's weather on the TV.

She nodded. "Yeah, I am. I mean, it's pretty obvious how much you fucking hate it, and it's not like you need to pay rent right now. You've got some money saved up, and so have I, so it's not like we're gonna starve or anything. So here's what I think. I'm not gonna say 'follow your dreams' and draw a rainbow in the air, because vomitous fake-positive Disney motivation sucks. So instead of putting a rocket up your ass and launching you into the stratosphere with a load of insane bullshit, let's keep our feet on the ground and stay real. For the time being, you and I are living in this big house that has a spare bedroom. We can turn it into an office for you. What do you need to write a draft outline for your first novel or a play? A computer, a desk, a printer, a notepad, a lamp, and some fresh air. That's about it, wouldn't you say? I've got a friend or two in publishing, and while I can't promise anything, I can at least put in a good word for you once you've produced something. And you can scout around online for an editor or a collaborator so that your words and ideas have the right polish."

"Are you sure, Miss Christy? I mean, I wouldn't have an income. Financially, you'd have to support me. I don't know how comfortable I'd be with that."

"I'm OK with it. I'm sure about this if you are, boi. We'll find a way."

God, he was so happy. "What have I done to deserve you?"

Miss Christy shrugged. "Hey, don't ask me. I don't know what I've done to deserve you either."

They sat on the couch, gazing into each other's eyes.

Miss Christy broke the silence. "What are you waiting for? Get writing, boi. Go write a fucking story."

"I've got so many ideas jotted down in notebooks already, it isn't gonna take me long to get something going. So I don't need to. Not right now. Besides, give me a minute or two to deal with the fact I can finally quit my shitty fucking job!" He paused. "But before I get too excited, I probably need to give notice at work. They're probably gonna want me to work for another few weeks until they can replace me."

"Yeah, that's probably true," said Miss Christy. "So tell them tomorrow."

Marcus found it hard to believe where this conversation had landed. "Are you really sure about this, Miss Christy? Are you really sure I should quit tomorrow and try to write something?"

"I believe in you, boi. I always have."

*

76

Marcus awoke this fine Tuesday morning. Before dressing for work, he double-checked with his Miss Christy that she was still happy with him quitting the IT help desk so that he could focus fulltime on writing. He still couldn't believe it, but this could be a once in a lifetime opportunity. He revelled in the unconditional support and love his Miss Christy gave him.

Unlike yesterday morning, he did not dread his journey to the office today. He felt like a king in control of his realm. He logged on and contacted Human Resources, momentarily ignoring the queue of tasks in his inbox as he requested an urgent meeting.

The meeting with HR was scheduled an hour from now, so he went to the office kitchen to make a coffee and eat a croissant, then he slowly yet professionally began working through his queue of tasks.

The meeting time rolled around. Marcus took his laptop to a quiet room, plugged his headset in, and dialled the number.

"Hello, Marcus," said someone from HR.

"Hey," Marcus responded.

"What's on your mind?" asked HR.

'Wow, straight down to business', thought Marcus to himself. "I'm quitting," he stated. "How much notice do I need to give?"

"Really? You want to quit? But you're one of our best IT helpdesk staff. We've all seen your metrics. You're in the top quintile. You could have a lengthy career here. Aren't you enjoying the role?"

Marcus suppressed a demonic cackle and an urge to punch the screen. He remained calm and professional. "Not really."

"That's very disappointing for us, Marcus," replied HR. "But we understand if a better opportunity has come along for you. We pride ourselves on being a passionate, cutting-edge employer of choice with a meritocratic culture that offers engaging, exciting and dynamic career development opportunities with competitive remuneration, but that doesn't necessarily mean we can cover all bases for everyone. If you know what we mean, that is."

Marcus shrugged. "No, I don't. I don't know what you mean. I got no idea what you just said. But whatever." He didn't care, either. Mentally, he'd already left the building. "You know, after all this time working here, I still don't know what we actually make."

HR was confused by Marcus's language. "What we ... make?"

"Yeah. What do we make here?"

"We're not one of those old-school manufacturing firms," HR scoffed. "No, we're far too sophisticated for that. We don't 'make' things that people might find useful in their homes, but instead, we offer tailored, integrated, market-based, client-focused solutions to help build the future of tomorrow. Our experienced, mature consultancy service is geared to providing the very best in terms of commercial acumen in order to encourage business growth and innovation. We believe our people deserve the best possible space to thrive in a competitive corporate environment, and our future success depends upon people like yourself."

Marcus squinted cynically. 'Am I talking to people right now, or robots?' he asked himself.

HR continued. "Marcus, we'd like to take this opportunity to remind you that we offer a wide range of roles and experiences that cater to your particular skills and abilities, and we would encourage you to converse with your supervisor about exploring some of these opportunities before choosing to leave our corporate family."

"It's strange that this is the first I'm hearing of these 'roles and experiences'." He made the sarcastic air-quotes sign. "I thought you were happy for me to work on your shitty fucking helpdesk until I died."

HR coughed nervously in recognition of Marcus's forceful and unprofessional language, but they had no idea he was just warming up.

HR was about to respond, but Marcus was ready for round two.

"With all due respect, which in actual fact is no respect at all, shut the fuck up," he continued. "You don't even know what my 'skills and abilities' are anyway. All you care about is that I keep the pipes of your IT environment unclogged and that I've got good 'metrics', whatever the hell they are. You don't care about me as a person, and you never have. I think I'm completely fucking done here, to be honest. Even though I like many of my colleagues and I'll miss some of them after I'm gone, my supervisor is just a little bit of a bit of a cunt, and even if I asked him for some career advice, I know I wouldn't get it. He's completely fucking clueless, he doesn't know what he's doing, and you've got no idea how much harder he makes everyone else's job. But you don't see this at all, do you? I could probably do my supervisor's job with my eyes closed, so as far as I'm concerned, your 'meritocracy' concept can die in a garbage fire. This place is shit. It's always been shit, and it's probably going to be shit forever. I do the same things every fucking day, nothing ever changes, and I'm bored to fucking death. So I was doing a good job, was I? You liked my 'metrics'? Well, thanks for not fucking telling me beforehand, it might've made a difference if I knew I was appreciated. I'm out of here. I was only ever here to pay the rent, and I couldn't give half a wet shit about your mission statement, your stock price, or anything else. You cunts can shove your 'roles and experiences' up your ass. You said 'people deserve the best possible space to thrive', but you provide the exact opposite, so shove that idea up your ass too. You're a sick joke. I listened to your description of what we 'make', and it sounds like all we 'make' here is hot air and bullshit. Why does it take a resignation for you idiots to realise people get very bored very fast when they're expected to do the same repetitive, monotonous things day after day after fucking day? How much longer do you need me to stick around in this fucking place before you pay me out and let me go? Like, seriously, fuck this shit. An opportunity came up just last night, and I'm gonna take it."

HR was stunned. Nearly speechless. "OK then, Marcus. I think we in Human Resources have a clear understanding of your perspective. You need to give us a week. You can finish up next Tuesday."

Marcus was happy with this. "C U Next Tuesday, then." He went back to his desk and acted with utmost professionalism for the remainder of the day.

That evening, he and Miss Christy went out for dinner. She asked how his resignation went.

"It was somewhat more fiery than I expected, if I can be honest, Miss Christy," he answered. "I ... don't think there's any chance of me getting a positive reference from them after that. But I don't ever want to work in a place like that ever again, so it probably doesn't matter."

"What happened?" asked Miss Christy.

"When I said I wanted to leave, they pretended that I had the possibility of a career with them, when all they've ever asked me to do is to sit at my computer and solve other people's IT problems all day. There's never been any suggestion of developing my skills or showing the slightest sign of interest in the many other things I'm more than capable of doing. They just expected me to be a human machine for eight hours a day. And their unintelligible corporate-speak nearly made me want to throw up. I *know* what services they produce, but when I pretended ignorance and asked them to tell me, all I got was a blizzard of buzzwords and corporate bullshittery. And when they used the phrase 'corporate family', I literally wanted to punch a hole in the wall. So I ended up calling them a bunch of cunts. I think they were a little shocked."

"They've treated you like a doormat for too long," agreed Miss Christy. "You've got every right to be pissed at them. I've always found it ironic how so many businesses pretend to treat people as 'our most important resource' while simultaneously treating people as the most expendable thing at their disposal."

"Yep," agreed Marcus. "I'm just glad it's nearly over."

Miss Christy paid the bill and they made their way back home.

Later that night, they lay next to each other in bed. "You could have such a malevolent last week in the office if you wanted to, boi," teased Miss Christy.

"I thought about that," replied Marcus. "I thought about that scene where Homer Simpson drives across the wooden bridge and then sets fire to it. I thought about upending everything, but on balance, I think I just want to leave the place quietly, without so much as a ripple. After tearing HR a new asshole this morning, I think I'm gonna surprise them by being a model employee for the next week. I know today's conversation wasn't recorded, but even so, they'll probably be watching me like a hawk for the next week, and I'm determined not to give them anything that they can throw back at me. Besides, if I'm going to try something new, I'd like to start with as little angst and as much positivity as possible."

Miss Christy nodded. "Boi, I totally get it."

"I've said my piece, Miss Christy. It's off my chest, it's done now."

"Yeah," she nodded.

Marcus turned out the bedroom light. "Imma fuck you now."

"Fuck yeah, boi."

They kissed, and she reached down to cup his warm, full balls in the palm of her hand. She felt his testicles respond to her touch, and she noticed the bedsheet move as the blood rushed into his penis. He exhaled, stroking himself once or twice to make sure he was hard enough. He mounted her missionary style and entered her. She moaned as her boi penetrated her, and as she touched herself, she came. She felt his long, brown hair tickling her neck and breasts as he looked down upon her, and as they locked eyes, she climaxed again. His dick was hitting her just right. Fuck, she loved her boi so fucking much.

Marcus pounded Miss Christy's sopping cunt into the mattress without changing position for what felt like an aeon. She'd lost count of how many orgasms she'd had, but the bed was wet. Marcus's arms and chest felt no pain as he pistoned into her like a jackhammer.

Miss Christy looked up at her boi with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "You're killing me, boi." She came again.

"Is it good, Miss Christy?"

"This is amazing, boi."

He'd been pounding the shit out of her for so long he'd lost track of time. His cock was rigid, but there was a problem.

"Miss Christy?"

"Yeah, boi?" she sighed as her eyes rolled back in her head again.

"I don't think I can cum," he said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I don't know ... I need to cum ... maybe I'm worried about getting you pregnant, even though you told me not to worry about it ... I know it's all in my head ... so frustrating ... you feel so good ... but I just can't let it go ..."

"Boi, let me," she said as she squeezed his dick out of her beautiful pussy. "Lie down."

His breathing became stilted and irregular as Miss Christy sucked and jerked his dick so hard he saw stars. He moaned and writhed as his first shot of cum cannoned into the back of Miss Christy's throat so hard she gagged. She took his cock out of her mouth, and his cum traced a gloriously fountainous arc across the bed, splattering everywhere, landing like rain. He thrashed as she put him back into her mouth, feeling her tongue tracing loops around the tip of his cock, draining the last few drops of his enormous load onto her tongue.

"Mmmmm," said Miss Christy. "Was that good?" she purred seductively.

Marcus nodded in reply. He could barely breathe, let alone speak. "I'm dead, Miss Christy."

She embraced Marcus and lovingly stroked his chest until his breathing returned to something resembling normality. She put her face close to his. "Now listen to me, boi. I meant what I said the other night. You've got nothing to worry about. Wear condoms if you want to. But given the amount of weed you go through, you've probably got a low sperm count anyway. Fuck, you might even be shooting blanks. So let's talk about it tomorrow, or whenever you feel comfortable."

"Yes, Miss Christy," he breathed.

"Love you, boi."

"Love you too."

The mattress was soaked with her juice as well as his load.

An image of April drifted into Marcus's consciousness.

"April's fucking hot, isn't she?" suggested Marcus.

"Fuck yeah, she is," agreed Miss Christy.

"Imagine a universe in which she didn't suck me off in a public toilet just for something to do, and where I didn't fall off my board and land in hospital."

"And imagine a universe where you hadn't had that terrible breakup which put you on a path to come see me professionally. Things happen for a reason, boi."

Miss Christy drifted off to sleep with the taste of her boi's load in her mouth.