Cupid's Valentine Therapist

"Come on, Ronald, do it! Drop the robe. It's not like I haven't seen one before -- I'm in the medical field, and a hard-on is something that does show up in my practice every other day -- almost," she mused, as she patted the table with her right hand. "Trust me; it will go down as I work out the kinks. Boners always do. Just let it flatten out toward your belly button, and it will be fine."

"Fine," I replied, shucking the robe, then hurried to the table to hide the tented snake that was squirming and trying to wiggle free. She didn't make it easy as she kept her eyes on my tent all the way to the table. "And, my name is Donald with a 'D', not Ronald." I corrected her once more. First, it was my last name she had wrong on her client list, and now my first. I added, "It's Donald Mallord, not Ronald Ballord."

"Sorry about that again, Mr. Mallord. I'll be sure to tell the office to correct the typos. Got to get those right for the insurance forms," she intoned, as her hand glided up the center and down my spine again. It was a measured movement. The tingly sensations ran from the raised hairs on the nape of my neck to the curly ones out of sight down below, matted down along with that pesky flattened, and ridged snake for the moment.

"Yes, L-5 is the culprit. Feel my finger?" she asked.

"Ah, yeah."

"This vertebra is where the L-5 spinal nerve lives. It provides sensation to the outer side of your lower leg, the upper part of your foot, and the space between your first and second toes. Got any tingling in that space between those toes or shooting back pain?"

"Yes ... It's like ... an electrical current tickling that space ... poking me. When I move, stand up or try and sit down, it's like I've been plugged into a wall socket."

"Thought so," she answered as her hand continued inching its way upward to rest between my shoulder blades. "What's it like here?" she asked as her inquisitive fingers probed each bone.

"Burning sensations ... a dull, fist-like, grinding feeling," I moaned, as she pressed lightly with the palm of her hand, then relaxed as her powerful fingers probed the area.

"Here?" she asked, as she pressed down again, moving upward.

"Gaaah," I groaned. "Yes, that's the very spot. You found it!" I grunted.

"Exhale, all the way out!" she commanded, as she crossed her palms over the pain point and crushed me, expelling all the air in my lungs, it seemed, and releasing her hand pressure just as quickly. The bones sounded like Crackerjacks crunching. I sucked in the air and groaned again. She was right ... my cock lost all interest in being at attention. But then came a sense of relief between the should blades. Her hands worked their magic as she kneaded the tension out of the muscles until it felt like a mass of cooked Italian noodles.

"Damn, that feels good," I huffed, as her hand roamed downward, following my spinal column until she rested at that pesky L-5 troublesome spot again.

"Breathe out ... all the way out this time."

I knew what was coming, but it was hard to follow through. She let me work into it, breathing deeply and then exhaling. "Okay, on the fourth exhale, I'm going to realign it."

"Okay," I prepared myself, one exhale, two, "... Ahhhrrgah!"

She lied!

She had crossed her palms on the two-count and applied a sharp jolt on three as I breathed out, not four. The sound of the bones crunching seemed as though she had broken my back. Yet after a giant grunt and inhale, the tingling began to fade. It felt ... much better. I lay like a happy puppy expressing joy over the relief of four days of aggravation and excruciating pain. Had I been a puppy, I'd have peed all over the floor by then. My cock had deflated over the intensity of her forceful hands and fingers racking my bones. Valerie Jane was humming some self-satisfactory tune, basking pleasantly at her performance, as I babbled on like an imbecile about how good I felt.

"Don't get too happy, Donald. I'm not through, just yet," she smiled, as I looked up at her from the donut hole in the table. Her angelic face had taken on an almost-sadistic look. I was thinking, although I didn't have long to contemplate that.

She rolled me onto my side and ... in some wrestling-like move, wrapped one of my arms around her neck, my fingers barely touching her breast, and her other hand on my hip, before saying, "Relax." Instantly, as I tried, she pushed my hip in the opposite direction of my shoulder and stretched me taut -- like a rubber band.

Hell, I did my best to relax. I got the impression that if I didn't, I would get pulled apart like a chicken's thigh and leg bones at a drunken Roman banquet. It didn't take more than a moment to realize that anyone messing with her would have themselves flat on their asses before they had a chance to molest her. She alternated arms and made a 'rinse-and-repeat' move and rolled me over onto my back like a terrier with a rag doll. When she grasped my ankle and lifted my left leg into the air, Val didn't have to say 'relax' any longer. Instead, like a puppy, she tossed me a bone saying, "Good boy, you're getting the hang of it, Donald."

She rotated the right leg in its socket and gently stretched it, as she did with the left leg. "Pull your knees up; feet on the table," she said, and I felt her hand reach beneath my butt and probe until I jerked and hissed out, "Fuck me!"

She hit some major nerve or pressure point. I wasn't sure what she found, but I'd never felt that much pain ever from a poke in the butt.

"Take it; that's where it hurts most?" she inquired, and held her fingers on that spot.

"Shit, yeah. That hurts," I piped up. "Ah, and I'm sorry about ... that other remark!"

Valerie's watershed moment answered in response to my apology. "In this business, I've had many requests for that seamy kind of service. Some were better than others, given my clients' physical limitations at the time of their requests."

I reflected on that for a moment, and compared it to my previous lecture about lacking experience in love -- it seems, on the physical level, I might have been wrong.

"Okay, Donald, lie still and fold your left knee outward. This is your sciatic nerve, and I will apply a little pressure just like this," she said evenly, as she thrust and then held the tips of her fingers against the sciatic nerve for a few minutes ... until it relaxed as though it had gone to sleep.

"How's that feel?" she questioned, as she felt the nerve succumb to the exerted pressure of her expertly-trained fingertips.

"Fuck'n better," I blurted out. She looked at me in mocked shock, and I looked back at her with a mischievous grin. Simultaneously, we laughed out loud, like kids caught kissing by a teacher around a darkened corner in a school hallway. Because it truly did feel better, Valerie laughed ... I think because she was genuinely pleased with providing that relief.

I lay on my back, basking in the joy of feeling whole again as she made notes. I glanced over them, as she set the papers beside me on the fold-up table. My face turned into a frown.

"Why the face, Donald? The pain isn't back already?"

"No, this is all crazy. Valerie, I'm surprised you found me at all. My name is wrong, similar but still wrong -- this says Ronald Ballord, not Donald Mallord ... and my address is wrong, as well."

She took the papers from my hands and studied them for a moment. "No, it's got to be the correct address. You were expecting a physical therapist. And the director told me the address is 96 Hannah street. That's where I drove up to, your address."

She smiled and put the tablet down, turning away from me again, she seemed to mumble something.

'And Donald, that is all going according to plan.'

But that didn't sound logical. Going according to what plan and who's plan was this following? Again, it must have been the pills talking, I suppose.

That was my first inkling that not all was right in Valerie Jane's world. Something was amiss.

"Val, my home isn't 96 Hannah Street ... it's 69 Hannah Street, you know, like 'that' sex position? And I just called the doctor a few hours ago to get an appointment. He said it took two weeks to book, but you came the same day."

"Oh, ... fuck me," she groaned. "So, I'm guessing there really is a Ronald Ballord waiting impatiently for me at 96 Hannah Street, further down the way?" Her eyes teared; she looked so bewildered -- that puppy look was breaking my heart.

"Shit,Shit, SHIT-FUCK!" Valerie cried out at realizing she had come to the wrong location. Exasperated, she looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes.

'Really boss, wasn't that line from your script a bit overly dramatic? I know, I'm just the arrow and not the bow handler -- you are, but really, Cupid?'

"My life has always been hampered by reading and math, and today, I get screwed again because of it," she huffed as she looked sad-eyed in my direction again.

As a former teacher, I knew the signs. "Are you dyslexic or dyscalculic?" I asked quietly, trying not to seem pejorative.

"Both," she responded, with a sigh. "Guess it shows, huh?"

I think I heard her mumble something else, and it seemed to be directed to Mary Elizabeth's portrait -- at least she was looking at her when I heard something under her breath being said.

'Please, say yes, Donald. You have to, or this teaching moment won't go as well as Cupid planned.'

"Kind of, Valerie, there are ways to overcome some of those difficulties. For instance, instead of looking at both numbers, 69 or 96, and the address confusion, take a paper and cover the second and remaining digits so you see only the first one. Spell it out, move to the next digit, and do the same for the next digit. It helps reduce the brain's transposition of numbers. I gave her another helping way to distinguish between a six and a nine by using her hands as references for the number six. In a couple of minutes of practice, she could read the numbers and arrange them to distinguish the addresses in deciphering the locations. It was a simple solution to the transposition she experiences between numbers.

Her face lit up. "Fuck me!" she laughed aloud, "I get it!"

The old teacher element in me was proud, as much probably as Valerie's adept skills were after cracking my bones back into working order. I felt that warm fuzzy happiness that had gotten lost after losing Mary Elizabeth. For a moment, I wasn't a grumpy old man. I shared a teachable moment, like in the old days.

Valerie's happiness spilled over as she grasped me in a warm embrace, and nearly squeezed me senseless in her enthusiastic hug. Her missed appointment time was also forgotten for a few heartfelt moments. The enthusiasm yielded, as she slowly eased up on her stranglehold squeeze. It gave way to a gentle one. I felt a warmth flowing out of her and into me, along with those sensations evoked by skin touching skin. Her softness, gentleness, and that moment brought a feeling of near-love-like emotion. The allure of her perfume filled my head while her soft embrace enveloped me. For the second time today, time stopped.

I closed my eyes and rested my head in the crook of her shoulder. It felt like being in Mary Elizabeth's arms again, as my hand reached up to stroke that long-flowing mane; I missed those touches. Another Valentine's Day had come, with thoughts of sadness of Mary Elizabeth's passing, and yet I felt her presence in this youthful therapist's arms. It seems those strong hands could work miracles on one's back and even affairs of the heart. She may be right on that account, as well. Maybe she was more experienced in love than I had thought. Perhaps, Seneca the Younger was right when he wrote, 'Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.'

'All good hugs come to an end,' I thought, considering the idea of an exuberant hug being a bit too much. After all, I had just met her ... not to mention I was at least twice Valerie Jane's age. I began to unravel my arms, hoping not to be too embarrassed again. That proximity had my pre-cum stained shorts tenting once more. I didn't want to find myself back in that predicament of being flush-faced over that rush of excitement, even if she was accustomed to it, as she said previously. I attempted to step back as I disengaged my arms from around her back.

"Not so fast, teacher," Valerie whispered, not letting me go. "You've given me more education today than years of training at school. I owe you more than a hug. With that, she arched her feet, rose on tiptoe, and drew my head gently down until her lips met mine and kissed me. Impulsively, I returned her soft reward. As I felt her hand slide between us, her lingering kiss stretched and pressed more arduously, as she found my tentmaker and gave him a gentle squeeze.

"Valerie!" I gasped, feeling my hips involuntarily thrust and squeeze her hand between us. She grunted in response, sliding her hand free, wrapping it around my back again, and pulling me closer. Her hips shuddered as her eyes opened to watch my reaction.

"Donnie, we can't fuck," she whispered, throatily. But the posture of her head

nestled in the crook of my neck seemed to be saying 'yes' we could.

"You're a virgin, then?" I asked, somewhat confused.

She laughed softly as though it were an absurd question. The warmth of her laughter tickled against my skin as she playfully stuck out her tongue and slurped up my neck from my collarbone to the lobe of my ear in one long-languid lick before replying.

"Hell no, I'm not a virgin, and I'm not a vegan, either -- if you know what I mean," she intimated, looking expectantly into my eyes ... waiting I suppose.

"Well then ...?"

"Donald, you'll wind up in the hospital with herniated disks, silly. You'll have to wait until your spine adjusts to normal. I'll give you a bigger reward then, besides I still have to find 96 Hannah Street and Ronald Ballord before nightfall. If he isn't treated before then, my boss will be really ... pissed. You see, this is his busiest day of the year and if I don't meet my quota, I'll lose my job."

As she spoke, her wandering hands traced my L-5 region. "No heavy stuff for you ... big guy," she sighed again, while exploring my shorts. "Nice package, Donald. I can see why Mary Elizabeth was so happy with your big bone."

"Guess I can wait until then. Late-night TV will have to keep me company," I groaned, and slid my hand between her thighs, tracing her mons with my fingers. Those Jeggings had easily defined the roadmap for my roaming hand. Her hands tightened, pulling my neck closer.

"Easy, Donald, I could accidentally break you, squeezed together like this. I don't want to leave you with Remote-Channel-Carpal-Tunnel Syndrome -- caused by pressure on a nerve in your wrist while flipping channels looking for some ... physical relief," she smiled, as she stepped back a bit.

"Got any exercises for that?" I teased, watching her pursed lips ponder that thought more.

"Just one," she smirked, as she slowly slipped her hands into the waistband of my shorts while she knelt.

My underwear was around my ankles before she finished speaking -- there were no other words, just sounds of joy, as she took me into her lush lips and devoured me. I held her head for balance and widened my stance, as the pleasure built up within me. My legs trembled. I felt as though I was about to fall. She reached out, cupped me in her hands for additional support, and delivered an epic fellatio fantasy scene, devouring every spurt as I climaxed into her throat. I found the corner of the couch behind me and slid down into a melted mass of jello. Weakened from the sexual overload of getting sucked off by an expert, I needed to get off my feet; since I'd already gotten off while standing on them. That was damn good. And she was right; if I'd been hammering her body with my cock, at the pace she'd been sucking me off, that L-5 would have racked my back out of place again. EMS would be wailing on its way to 69 Hannah Street for sure by then.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Val, but I'm glad you couldn't distinguish between 69 and 96 Hannah Street. Really glad," I announced, as she used the corner of the sheet to wipe the slippery-sex slobber from her lips as I recuperated.

"One good turn deserves another, or maybe a 69," she replied. "You gave me a lifeline to hold onto my job, Donald. Giving you a 'heads up' wasn't even close to returning the favor."

"Valerie, on the contrary, if you hadn't shown up today, I would have spent the day spiraling down the drain with those pills and the bourbon. Lord knows where I would have ended up," I disclosed, as I looked up at Mary Elizabeth's portrait. "I wonder if she's mad at me, now?"

"Donald, was she happy ... with your ... expansive tool?"

I laughed thinking about it. "Yes, she was ... might say that we were like rabbits most of our days together. She was an adventurous spirit ... and, as you said, she did enjoy my tool."

"Was she the jealous type, ever?"

"No." I thought about that for a moment before I continued, "Mary Elizabeth spoke, toward the end, about things after she was gone. I wasn't comfortable discussing it ... things like finding another person, you know?"

"Then, Donald, I'm pretty sure right about now she would have the same big smile on her face as in that portrait, knowing you just got your rocks off on Valentine's Day with a voluptuous therapist." Val giggled at her wisecrack.

"Think so?"

"I'm a straight arrow, shot from a true bow, Donald. I always hit bullseyes. And that's my best shot on her thoughts."

"Do you think I'd get hurt any ... if I returned the favor then?"

"You do remember Ronald Ballord is still out there, remember him?"

"Five minutes ... a quickie," I pleaded.

The look on her face was awash with indecision until I slipped my tongue out between my lips -- snake-like. Its abilities had always impressed Mary Elizabeth, so I gave it a shot.

"God! It's almost as big as Seneca's cock, Donald. No wonder Mary Elizabeth was so damn happy with you!"

As she spoke, she began peeling down those Jeggings. I watched as she shed them and her bare mons came into view. Valerie Jane was built for sex. Beauty aside, her pelvic structure provided ample space for all-out thrusting. If you got kinky in your thinking, you might imagine her as being able to handle more than one tool just as comfortably in that luscious pink ravine.

"Where?" I huffed, feeling my cock stirring again.

"Couch," she replied, looking around, "on your knees would be best for your back." She said this as she plopped down on the cushion, scooted forward, and hastily splayed her knees.

"Five minutes," she breathed out the words, already stroking her wetness to assist.

'Five minutes, boss. Just a short break, Cupid. Didn't you see that tongue!'

I wanted to finish stripping off the rest of her clothes and have unfettered access to her breasts, but yielded and knelt before her on the carpet, leaning into her moist cavern, delving my prehensile tongue into and lapping her slit. Slowly circling her outer lips with her moisture, I flicked her protruding pearl for good measure.

She gasped, drawing in a deep breath, throwing back her head, as I worked toward amping up her sexual sensations. Her breathing grew labored. It took only a couple of minutes of orbital circling and slithering into her cunt before her hips began undulating against my slathered face. Valerie had a quick trigger and was a very vocal participant letting me know her needs. She turned into a fine conductor leading me through four symphony movements that had her body ablaze in a fiery finale. Five minutes? No, but I bet she could come half a dozen times in under thirty, given the right nudges.