Lothario

Author's note: The characters in this story continue from Gigolo, and you might like to read it before this. https://literotica.com/s/gigolo-1. However, if you read it a while ago, or you don't have time now, here is a brief synopsis.

Cyr (short for Cyril, a name he hates) Lagarde, a 26 year-old, 6' 4" total stud, is the premier operative for IFAW, the Institute for Abused Women. When the Institute locates a woman so dominated that she is incapable of freeing herself from her abusive relationship, Cyr is assigned the mission of connecting with her. By seducing her. This results in the woman making the psychological transference of dependence on her abuser to Cyr. At that point he extracts her from the relationship and brings her to IFAW for the in-depth counseling she needs.

In the beginning of Gigolo, while at The Mediterranean nightclub, Cyr uses Monica and her 2 friends as decoys to successfully seduce Amy, who he correctly perceives is in an abusive relationship. However, he is seriously attracted to Monica. When they finally get together they have amazing sex. This story picks up with them meeting for lunch the next day.

***

The Uptown Restaurant

God! She is so gorgeous! Cyr's breath is taken away when he first glimpses Monica entering the restaurant, face aglow, eyes scanning. He stands and waves. Her smile melts him.

Their kiss is everything a lovers' kiss should be: warm then hot, pure then lascivious, hello then HELLO! Cyr is unaware when his erection begins, but by mid-kiss it is throbbing. Monica's dulcet moan reveals that she knows, that she feels it during their embrace. And is pleased by her instantaneous effect on him.

She sits on the curved bench and, when Cyr sits next to her, she slides closer. Very close. "Do you know what's good here, Cyr? I haven't been to this restaurant before."

"Um, I had a... a chef salad here once and... and... it was... it was good." Monica's devilish caresses on his cock under the tablecloth are addling his brain and Cyr cannot help but stammer.

"Hmm. The soup special looks good. I've always been partial to Vichyssoise. Maybe it and a small salad. Have you had the house vinaigrette, Cyr?"

"Um, well, I think I had... um... had bleu cheese that time... that time I had..."

"Are you all right, Cyr? You seem preoccupied." Monica's batting eyes betray just how much she is enjoying herself. Enjoying teasing this man she suddenly adores.

"Well, yeah... It's just that you... You look so beautiful, Monica. It's hard..."

"Why yes! It certainly is!" Monica's whispered interjection is as wicked as the way fingertips play over the tip of Cyr's throbbing penis.

His composure returns when her hand leaves him, though he is puzzled at how she squirms on the bench. He manages, "I mean that it's hard for me to concentrate."

"Oh, and why is that, Cyr?"

"I think you know..."

"Oh? Are you distracted? Give me your hand." He holds it out and she purposely rubs the inside of the sticky crotch of her balled-up panties against his palm as she presses them into his hand.

Cyr's ability to concentrate is not improved. Not in the least. Neither by the warm, damp cloth in his hand, nor by the heavenly scent he remembers so well from last night, and certainly not when her fingers return to his penis under the table.

When he is unable to speak Monica continues. "Did you not sleep well last night? I slept like a log. Speaking of which..."

Cyr winces as her fingers find a particularly good spot. "Monica, I think I want you to stop that. No, actually I don't, but it's so hard..."

Monica's delighted giggle cuts him off. She intensifies her fondling as she says, "So, what do you want to eat? I think I've decided."

Cyr can't think. Images from last night flood his brain and drive out everything else. How avidly she had ridden him their first time, how hard she'd come when he'd screwed her doggie, how relentlessly she had sucked him off, and how loving and meaningful their last coupling had been. When in extremis, grasp for the familiar as a lifeline. "I guess I'll have another chef salad. Yeah, that's it."

"Good. I'll have the Vichyssoise and a small house salad with the house dressing. Cyr, please order for us. I need to visit the Ladies Room."

Though simultaneously both relieved and dismayed at no longer being so irresistibly enticed, Cyr's cock twitches and drools as he watches Monica's bare buttocks undulate under the stylish powder-blue sundress as she sashays to the rear of the restaurant. Fortunately, he is able to rally enough to order when the waitress appears.

As the waitress walks away, Cyr finds himself astonished by how differently Monica is behaving. Wonderfully coquettish, not at all like the woman who had insisted everything be equal last night. His pondering - perhaps it's because they've achieved a deeper, much more intimate connection? - is interrupted by his phone buzzing.

The text perplexes his already befuddled brain: "Watson, come here. I want you." When the realization dawns that it is a paraphrase of Alexander Graham Bell's famous first telephone call summoning his assistant, and it is from Monica, Cyr almost overturns the table in his haste to stand.

He tells the waitress that he'll just be a moment and makes for the back. The restaurant's two restrooms are both unisex, and Cyr stops, bewildered. Until the door to one opens. Just a crack. The beckoning finger may as well be attached to a leash around Cyr's neck, as it jerks him immediately inside.

Monica closes and locks the door on her way to her knees. Cyr's eager cock springs free as she deftly releases it, and he moans in delight as the back of her throat surrounds its head. He only has time for a brief flash of how she had been so skillful with her tongue and lips last night before he is surprised to feel the cool air on his wet, throbbing dick.

Monica's voice is low, edgy, and ardent. "That's just for lube, babe. Fuck me, hard and fast. Come as soon as you can, Cyr. Just use me to get off. Understand?"

He understands, even before she throws the hem of her sundress up around her shoulders, plants her bare butt on the sink, and spreads her legs. Cyr's eyes lock on her wide open vulva, its wet lips glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grabs his cock and starts to slide the tip up and down her slit, but stops at her urgent command. "Just stick it in, Cyr! Fuck me!"

He does.

She gasps as he takes her in one swift thrust, and then again and again as he begins to madly pump her. She has already teased the seething semen inside him to boiling, and it pulses and pounds, swelling his urethral bulb to overflowing. As it begins to quiver and spasm, Cyr short circuits his habitual response of calming it and pumps Monica harder.

She wants him to come. Hard and fast. He wants to come. Hard and fast. For her.

As the cum surges up his tube Cyr feels her hands on his cheeks. Her loving and tender caresses form the perfect counterpoint to his mad, frenzied thrusting, pounding into her ever harder and faster. When one hand covers his mouth, Cyr tries to suppress his gasps and snorts. His mind blanks as he lurches and heaves uncontrollably, convulsing into her, over and over as the torrents of scalding semen jet out of him, gushing into his lover.

Cyr's mind returns when Monica takes her hand from his mouth and kisses him lightly on the lips. "That's a good boy. Hard and fast, just like I wanted. Now, let's eat. You leave first. I need to, er, tidy up." As she begins blotting up the flood of semen streaming out of her vulva and running down her thighs, he stuffs his penis back in his pants. Monica's parting kiss is so sweet it melts Cyr's heart anew. She giggles, turns him, pats his ass and pushes him out the door.

The cagey look in the waitress's eyes as she delivers their lunch reveals that their tryst has not gone unnoticed. Cyr smiles and resolves to give her an extra big tip.

He feels wonderful! All clouds have parted and his future lays revealed before him. It is all sunshine, rapture, and love.

Last night was the best of his life. He'd let Monica have it her way first, then fucked her doggie to the most intense orgasm he'd ever seen. She'd totally lost control, and it had again sparked her competitive streak. Her revenge fellatio was beyond amazing. She had sucked his cock and spanked his balls relentlessly, well after the torturous ecstasy had crossed the border into ecstatic torture.

He'd had to beg for mercy, and once she'd relented, everything had transformed. Having made each other lose control completely, inducing orgasms that were impossibly intense, they'd made love. Sweetly, softly, meaningfully. He'd felt an aura emerge from him and meld with a similar essence from her. And now, the way Monica had engineered getting him off, had serviced him, was the finest sexual gift he'd ever received. Cyr knows he is beyond enraptured.

He is in love.

When she returns to the table, it's clear that Monica is, also. Her eyes say it all. He stands when she arrives. It is an old fashioned, courtly gesture, and he has no idea why he does it. It just seems right. She kisses him lightly, and they sit, luxuriating in the peaceful rosy glow enfolding them.

"Well, Cyr, you seem more, well, relaxed now." Monica's low chuckle accomplishes the impossible. Cyr loves her even more.

"Yes, I can't even begin to tell you how much..."

She kisses him quickly to stop whatever inanity is about to follow. Attempts to describe the ineffable inevitably come out lame. When their lips eventually part, she says, "Last night I think I talked about myself way too much. I'm a little abashed. I hope I didn't seem self-involved and..."

"Not in the least! If you recall, I kept asking questions, whose answers I truly wanted to hear."

"You're sweet. But I really would like to hear more about you. You covered some things, but please tell me more about your job. It's intriguing. What's the name of your organization again?"

The red warning flag races up the pole as soon as Cyr hears her question. He forces his mind to pierce the haze of new love, and remembers how he'd discussed just this possibility earlier that morning.

At his 10 AM meeting with his boss at IFAW, CEO Allan Roth had given Cyr an update on Amy. She was living at the Institute, was fine physically, and the firm's lawyer had filed a restraining order against Joe. She was meeting daily with a psychologist who was overseeing her rehabilitation. Case closed. And good work all around.

After Allan shut Amy's file, Cyr had brought up Monica, said that he seriously liked her and wanted to become more involved with her. That he had pursued her out of real attraction, not as a potential client.

Allan nodded and murmured, "I see." Then he proceeded not to tell Cyr the truth.

Which was that he already knew about Monica. That, after Allan had listened to Cyr's phone conversation with her - it was a business line, and for security reasons all calls were monitored - he assigned another IFAW agent to follow and observe Cyr. When he saw the operative's text that Cyr left Monica's place at 3:30 AM, Allan had checked her out.

Worried that his worst fear might finally be becoming reality.

The CEO discussed the situation with Rebecca Ceala, Cyr's dancing instructor and sex coach, first thing the next morning. He reported that Monica was okay, not psychotic or dangerous, then confessed his concern. "If Cyr falls for this woman, I'm afraid it will affect his work, that he'll be either too distracted or too in love to be as effective at breaking exploited women out of their abusive relationships."

Rebecca, who'd been guiding Cyr's development for several years and had had sex with him hundreds of times, was very fond of her protégée. "But Allan, doesn't Cyr deserve the chance to be happy? To find a life mate?"

"Well, yes, but there are real complications. What if he decides that he needs to be monogamous? That would destroy his effectiveness."

"Okay, but maybe our whole modus operandi is flawed. Is Cyr seducing women to break them away from abusive relationships really justifiable? Morally correct?"

"But many of the women we treat are so dominated by their abusers that it is impossible for them to seek help by themselves. Cyr can break through that resistance. Using sex, yes, but it's extremely effective. Once the women have come to rely on him - made the psychological transference of their dependence on their abuser to him - he can bring them to us for the in-depth therapy, often medical treatment, they require. Just as he did with Amy last week."

"Yes, but still, it's a very unorthodox approach."

"Which is why I'm not writing it up for the medical journals." After they quit chuckling, Allan had become serious again. "Even if Cyr does not choose to become monogamous, can you imagine Monica's reaction to learning what he actually does? Basically seducing and fucking other women? For their own good, of course."

"Hah! Yes, that could be an issue. But, if Cyr tells her - and a prerequisite for true intimacy is honesty, after all - and it drives her away, doesn't that solve the problem?"

"Perhaps, but what if she breaks his heart? One of the requirements for successful seduction is self-confidence, savoir-faire, élan, whatever, which Cyr has in abundance. But being hurt, feeling injured and vulnerable, could ruin it all."

In the end Rebecca and Allan had agreed that all they could do was hope for the best. So, when Cyr broached the topic with his boss about what to say to Monica about his profession, Allan suggested that Cyr tell some of the truth: he was a psychologist for IFAW and helped abused women recover and find their way in life. Then end the conversation without giving specifics. Especially that it was standard procedure for him to seduce those same women as an intervention, a way of freeing them from their relationships.

Cyr realizes that his daydreaming about his earlier meeting with Allan has piqued Monica's interest when she pointedly asks, "Is there something unusual about your job? Tell me about the Institute."

"Well, the Institute for Abused Women is just what the name implies. Our entire focus is helping women in abusive relationships get free of them."

"That's wonderful! What a great thing to do! So, how does it work?"

"Well, we have a helpline, and a lot of women call in. Others are referred to us by clergy, friends or family. Then we help them. Say, there's a really good concert this weekend. Would you like to go?"

Monica quickly swats aside Cyr's attempt to change the subject. "Sure, but I want to hear more about you. I know you're a psychologist. What's your specialty?"

"Well, mostly cognitive and rehabilitative psychology." Cyr omits his specialty in human sexuality and his mind races, searching for a way to redirect the conversation.

"And you counsel these women in your office? I bet a lot of them are blown away to have such a hunk as their shrink." Monica giggles, imagining women lying on his couch, secretly hoping he'll join them.

Not seeing the approaching slippery slope, and still basking in post-orgasmic, new-love euphoria, Cyr laughs with her. "Well, not exactly..."

"Cyr, I'd love to see your office. It would help me visualize what you do, how you help this women. Could we go today?"

Cyr wipes away the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. He does have an office, but it is just a cubicle. He doesn't see patients there. "Well, there's really not much to see..."

"I think you're being modest. C'mon, surely you can show me after lunch? I got all my papers graded this morning, so my TA duties are finished for the day."

"I'll be happy to show you the Institute. I've very proud of it and what we do, but my office is small, really just a little nook where I write my reports and..."

"So you don't see patients in your office?"

"Well, no, not as a rule." Cyr swallows hard. This is careening into dangerous territory.

"Cyr, I don't understand. Where do you see your patients?"

"Elsewhere; wherever I encounter them, I guess you could say. Hey, how about a movie tonight..."

"Cyr, I'm getting more and more confused. How do you see patients 'where you encounter them?'"

Cyr gulps and tries to tiptoe through the minefield. "Well, I see them where they happen to be, sort of in the field."

"In the field? Like in a cow pasture?" Monica giggles. She is having fun, teasing Cyr, probing into his life.

Cyr laughs, too. Though nervous at this line of conversation, he feels so wonderful, so attached to Monica that he blithely continues, "Not that kind of field. More like out-and-about, in real life situations. Now, about that movie..." He smiles, thinking that he has righted the ship. Oops.

"Out-and-about? I have no idea what that means, Cyr. At a supermarket, at Costco, maybe?"

"No, although those are intriguing ideas."

"Then what do you mean? I'm at a loss to know what 'out-and-about' means."

"It's like in places where people naturally congregate, come together."

"And you do therapy sessions there? Goodness, that seems unusual. I can't imagine it. Can you give me an example?"

Though Mensa-level smart, Cyr's mind is fogged in post-orgasmic haze. He is so taken with Monica, so distracted by her ineffable allure and the erotic memories of last night and in the restroom, that, when she asks for an example, he blurts out the first thing that comes to him. "Well, like last Wednesday night."

"What? So, you were working when you were at the Mediterranean Club last week?"

"Well, kind of..." Cyr bites his traitorous tongue. He regrets saying anything about this, and his mind races, seeking an escape route.

"Was that woman you danced with a client?"

"Well, not exactly."

"Then how were you working? I don't understand."

"She sort of became a client."

"She was in an abusive relationship? Wow! How did you know?"

"I'm a keen observer and have been trained to spot the clues. I observed all the women in the bar, looking for the signs. She had quite a few."

"And then you asked her to dance?"

"Yes, I wanted to talk to her, to help her break free of the man who, as it turned out, made a practice of beating her."

"It was a very sexy dance, Cyr, quite intimate. Is that typical of what you do?"

"Well, no, not dancing."

Monica's voice becomes nervous, edgy. "Really? What did you do later, after my friends and I left?"

"Er, well, we danced again. Her boyfriend left, and I..."

"And you what?" Monica's brow furrows as she senses the truth. "Did you fuck her, Cyr?" Her tone, which had become increasingly cool, is now hostile.

Cyr swallows hard and takes a sip of his soda, trying to buy some time to think. "Sometimes intimacy is the best way to break a woman out of an abusive relationship. You need to understand..."

"So you DID fuck her, that very night! And have you done similar things before?"

"Well, yes..."

"So what you're telling me is that doing your job means that you fuck women?"

"It has nothing to do with you and me, Monica. I certainly wasn't working with you, and..."

"And fucking this woman was the CRUCIAL BUSINESS that you had to attend to? The reason you didn't call me for 5 days? How many times did you fuck her, Cyr? How many times does it take to 'break a woman out of an abusive relationship?'"

"Monica, you must believe me. I've fallen for you, hard, and what I do professionally has nothing to do with our relationship."

"Our relationship! This is incredible! I cannot believe that you expect me to get involved with you now that you've told me that you just fucked this other woman, plus God-knows how many others, and plan to continue fucking more. For their own FUCKING good, of course!"

"Oh God! Please, Monica! You really need to understand..."