tagNonConsent/ReluctanceMarriage Counselor

Marriage Counselor


It was raining out and raining hard, the rain beating against her office windows and falling illuminated in the lights of the empty parking lot below. Rain wasn't unusual this time of year, but this was a downpour, and Dr. Lacey Evans worried that it might affect her plans for the evening if it didn't stop soon, and that would be too bad. She'd planned on wearing her new shoes, and rainy streets were no place for four-inch heels.

Across the desk from her, Mr. Shattuck was starting to rant, and Lacey reluctantly pulled her attention back to what he was saying. Jack Shattuck was a difficult client, older and more experienced than Lacey preferred, and he was in a terrible mood, still furious that after five weeks of Lacey's therapy, his wife had walked out on him and moved back in with her parents where she was reassessing their relationship and discovering her true needs, and supposedly finding herself.

As the couple's marriage counselor, Lacey had of course been present at the break-up and had worked hard to facilitate and provide support and mediation for both parties. It was unfortunate that the crisis had to occur five weeks into therapy, but as a trained professional she hardly felt responsible for it. The crisis was already there before she started treating them and the dissolution perhaps inevitable. In any case, it was her job to help people grow and discover their true potential, and such work often involved these kinds of radical changes. Since the break-up four weeks ago, she'd been seeing the Shattucks separately

Unfortunately, Mr. Shattuck didn't see the break-up as a necessary phase in his and Jeannie's growth as fully empowered individuals as Lacey suggested. He blamed Dr. Evans and her methods and advice for turning his wife against him, and now Lacey was doing her best to help him deal with these changes see things rationally, but it wasn't going well. That was too bad, because behind that anger lay a certain mature, animal charm that had always appealed to her, and in a very unprofessional way.

But tonight he seemed especially angry and argumentative and wasn't co-operating at all. Though Lacey had come highly recommended and was one of the top professionals in her field, he no longer seemed to be impressed by the diplomas and awards and certificates on the wall behind her, and she found his sudden contempt for her expertise quite irritating. She gave no sign, of course, but she was anxious for this session to be over. She was eager to get on with her preparations for the evening.

"I hear what you say, doctor, but I think you're wrong. I think you're dead wrong on this. You can't reason and talk your way into a better sex life. A woman—any woman--wants more than discussions and lists and contracts when it comes to sex. She wants passion. She wants desire."

The Doctor tapped her pencil against her teeth thoughtfully, as if she were listening. They'd been over this time and again. Lacey wanted Jack to talk to his wife about their sexual needs, his and hers, in an open and honest way. It was the textbook treatment in cases like this, but she had to admit that with the Shattucks there had been problems. Mr. Shattuck's desires went a bit beyond the usual, and their sexual problems seemed to be symptomatic of deeper flaws in their marriage. The break-up had been inevitable.

"Well of course, Jack. The passion and spontaneity come with time, once trust and respect are established. It's really a very straightforward process..."

He looked at her sharply. "So that's your advice? That's always your advice. That I discuss things with her like we're making some sort of financial decision or where to spend our vacation. I don't work like that Dr. Evans."

"Well, you make it sound silly, but yes, that's what I'm suggesting. Sex has to be approached rationally and logically. That's how we get what we want, through sharing and negotiation and discussion like mature, rational people, Jack."

A flash of lightning and an immediate peal of thunder made her jump. It was February, and while rain wasn't unusual this time of year, thunder and lightning were. They flustered her

Shattuck sat back in his chair with an ironic smile. "The gods are angry, Doctor. They hate bullshit."

With that he suddenly stood up and reached for his coat.

"We still have ten minutes, Jack."

"No. We don't. With all due respect, Dr. Evans, I don't think you know what you're talking about, or that you ever did. You're young, and all your learning comes from books, and it was your advice that gave Jeannie the idea to move out, and your advice that--what's the expression?--estranged her affections in the first place. Your advice has been nothing but trouble for me, so I'm done sitting and talking and trying to be reasonable. I'm done with your approach and your therapy. I'm done with all of this. Find some other lives to ruin, These visits are over!"

Before she could react, he opened the door and was gone.

She sat calmly and listened as the outer door opened and closed, trying to keep herself from getting upset. These dramatic exits were common in therapy, as were the threats to leave. It was all part of the process and she wasn't going to worry about it.

She spun herself around in her big executive chair so she could see her shelves, crowded with books and journals on psychology, development, marriage and relationship counseling. On the fourth shelf up, just a bit above eye level, stood her very first psychology text, and next to it the thick tome she and Dr. Annemarie Ross-Vandenberg had authored: Principles and Practices of Modern Relationship Counseling. It always comforted her to look at that book, so thick, solid, and substantial. She had a reputation in her field, and it was largely due to that book.

The bolt of lightning seemed to have been the rain's grand finale, and she was gratified to see that the deluge had become no more than a mist, acceptable weather for her new shoes.

She waited till she knew Shattuck had truly gone, then went to the window and closed the blinds. She went to the green filing cabinet and unlocked it with a key from her bag, and slid the top drawer open wide. She stood there, examining the collection of wigs, each on its own Styrofoam stand: blonde, brunette, russet, red: short and long, wavy and straight. Black for tonight, she thought. The short black shag. It was the total opposite of her own honeyed locks, and she was ready for some radical change tonight.

She took it out and closed the drawer, then opened the second drawer down and took out a storage bin marked "Nikki". The black wig was Nikki, and when Dr. Evans wore it, that's who she was. Each of her wigs had a different name and personality to go with it, an entirely different character, and Lacey loved making up their backstories and buying them clothes and make-up. Keeping her alter egos in a drawer helped her feel separate and apart from the game.

Because it was a game. The things her girls did weren't real, weren't her. She reminded herself of this as she gathered up Nikki's things and went into her private bathroom and pinned up her hair and put the wig on. A Game. Nothing serious, nothing real. Just a very compelling and fascinating game. Some people liked to jump out of planes, or ski down a slope at 70 miles an hour. Dr. Lacey Evans liked dressing up and posing as a prostitute, picking up men and going to bed with them and being the best damned fuck they'd ever had. She enjoyed dressing afterwards and leaving them speechless, taking their money and then going home, undressing and masturbating as she thought of the way they wanted her and how easily she'd used them. She called it a game but it was more than that. It was her sex life.

If there was a disconnect between what she told her patients and what she did in her private time, it never bothered her. She'd always been comfortable with compartmentalizing her different personae. She couldn't quite remember when, undergoing her own psychoanalysis in grad school, she'd come to the realization that psychology simply couldn't explain her behavior in useful terms and couldn't cure her. Nor was she at all sure she wanted to be cured. She'd looked into the abyss of her own personality and shrugged. So be it. The things she told her patients were classical, textbook answers to their classical, textbook questions. The questions that Nikki answered were not so clear-cut.

She turned to her make-up—the purplish blue eye shadow the bright red lipstick that contrasted so dramatically with Nikki's raven hair—and considered where she should go tonight. She hadn't been to the Madison in a while, at least not as Nikki. The Madison was far from the best hotel in town, but it attracted a lot of lonely salesman and had a good cheap bar where no one bothered you. It also was close by, which was a deciding factor on a night like this.

She looked at herself in the big mirror on the bathroom door. Brilliant. Her Nikki was just the right mix of professional woman and slut on the make--skirt a bit too short and jacket a bit too tight,; starched white blouse still sheer enough to show the suggestive shadows of her nipples. The stockings were maybe a bit too much, but she didn't expect any complaints, and she needed them to dilute the blatantly erotic straps on her shoes. She was a study in black and white, save for those glossy red lips.

Satisfied, even excited by the way she looked, she closed up the office and snuck cautiously into the hall. At 9:30 PM she didn't expect to meet anyone, but you never knew. Once she was in the elevator she relaxed. No one would recognize her now. She left the building and walked to her car. The rain was only a memory.

The bar at the Madison was pleasantly crowded: not too many people, but enough, and a definite dearth of females. A lot of single men drinking alone, scattered along the bar stools like birds on a wire. She removed her coat and took a seat at a table and ordered a bloody Mary, then sat back to check out the prospects.

Hardly five minutes had passed before the waitress brought her another drink. "Gentleman at the bar sent this over," she said. "Guy in the blue with the glasses."

"Oh. Thank you."

He was already walking toward her. He wasn't much, but he seemed eager, and that's all she needed.

"Thank you for the drink," she smiled. "Would you like to sit?"

"Thank you, yes. I believe I will." He held out his hand. "Andy Gertz. Gertz for shirts. I'm in the menswear business." he smiled. His glasses seemed fogged, and his proffered hand was disconcertingly soft. .Lacey liked them controllable and even a bit intimidated, but she liked them with passion too. Already she was having doubts.

"Are you from around here?" He leaned his elbows on the table as he talked. "A lot of the guys here are just passing through, in town for just the night."

"Yes. I live here. It's really a nice town, when it isn't raining."

He chuckled. "Oh, I know, I know! Quite the downpour! We don't get rain lie this down in LA.. Well, maybe up north sometimes, but--"

His words were cut off by a hulking presence that seemed to emerge from nowhere, standing behind Andy's chair:

"Well! So it is you! I thought I recognized your voice! But that wig..!."

Lacey looked up and felt a surge of pure horror. It was Jack Shattuck! His hair was wet, and the shoulders of his overcoat were dark with rain. He seemed much larger here than in her office. He fairly loomed over the table, his eyes glittering with amusement.

There was no use pretending. She was caught.

"Why Jack! What a funny coincidence!"

Andy Gertz twisted around in his seat trying to catch a glimpse of this newcomer, but he didn't need to see much to know he was in the middle of something.

"Jack, this is Andy Gertz. We were just having a drink."

"Glad to meet you." Gertz extended the hand uncertainly. Shattuck didn't even see it.

"I'm speechless," Shattuck said. "What are you doing in a place like this?" He was about to comment on her hair when he stopped. He looked at Gertz, then back at her with her two drinks in front of her.

"I was just buying the lady a drink! She came in alone and I—"

Shattuck ignored him and pulled out a chair next to Lacey and sat down, his eyes never leaving her.

"You can leave," he said to Gertz. "The lady's with me. She's spoken for."

"Of course, of course. Just being friendly... Didn't mean anything..." Gertz slunk away to the far end of the bar as Jack settled in.

"Well," he said. "I guess even shrinks need to unwind, huh? But why the wig?"

"Oh, I just like to kind of disguise myself when i go out. In case I should run into patients or something..."

Shattuck sat back so he could see her legs under the table. The short skirt had ridden up almost to her stocking tops, and Lacey blushed.

"Yeah, well it doesn't work so good," he said. "As soon as I heard your voice I knew it was you."

"And what are you doing here, Jack? You don't live around here.".

"Sometimes you need a drink before you go back to an empty house. Wouldn't you agree?""

He stared at her but she said nothing.

"So Doc, you're just out having a few cocktails alone? You really look different Lacey. I've never seen you made up like this. Or those clothes! Someone might say that they were downright suggestive!"

"Oh! do you think so?" She pretended to fret. "It was all I had that was clean..."

"Uh huh. Aside from what you had on in your office an hour ago. Yeah, I can see how you'd have to change after a rough day of sitting around and telling people how to run their lives." He gave her a wicked smile.

"Now Jack..."

"You know, it's funny you should pick this bar for your cocktail hour. This bar has a reputation, you know. Or maybe you don't. You know what this bar has a reputation for? Do you, Doc?"

Lacey shook her head and reached for her drink.

"Hookers," Shattuck said. "Whores. Prostitutes. Weekend warriors mostly, amateurs, part-timers. The pro's work mostly downtown. These are girls who do it for thrills and to supplement hubby's milk money. Housewives, career girls, professional women."

"Is that right? Oh my! I never knew..!"

"No. I bet you didn't! And I bet that if I looked through your bag there, I wouldn't find any ID's, would I? Because if anyone found out who you were and what you were down here, if anyone found out one of our top marriage counselors was out hooking on the side, you could be in a bit of trouble, Doctor."

"Jack, please. It's not what you think!"

"No?" He leaned forward and flicked the lapel of her jacket open. Her nipples were hard, and clearly visible through her white blouse.

"Cold in here, isn't it, Doctor? And you're wearing stockings. Not panty hose. With garters. I saw them under the table. Or maybe you're meeting someone down here?"

Lacey couldn't think. Her worst fear had come to pass: that she'd be found out. But found out by a patient, and a patent who had reason to hate her...

"Then maybe you're doing research? Field work? How do you charge, Dr.? By the hour or by the deed?"

Lacey started to stand. "All right, Jack. If you're going to be so unreasonable...'

He reached out and grabbed her arm and his eyes turned steely and hard.

"Unreasonable? Fine. You want to be reasonable? Why don't we sit down and talk about this reasonably? Why don't you give me a nice reasonable explanation of your little hobby to me, doctor? I'm sure there's a simple, rational explanation. Isn't that what you always tell me in your office? That reason will see us through?"

She dropped back down into her chair, afraid of making a scene.

"What do you want, Jack? I understand you're upset--"

"What do I want? I want to know why you go catting around at night playing a hooker who picks up strange men in third-rate hotels. That's certainly not who you present yourself as in your office. Or is this the real Dr. Evans? Maybe you're just a hooker with a degree in psychology. Maybe whoring is your main job, and you just do a little counseling on the side. Is that right, Dr. Evans?"

His voice rose on the last two words and she cringed, certain someone would hear.

"Jack, Please!"

"You know what I want? I want to hire you, Lacey. I want to have you for an hour or two. What's that going to cost? What do you get?"

"Oh God. I don't know. Please keep your voice down! Three hundred, four hundred dollars. Sometimes more..."

"And sometimes less?" Shattuck laughed and stood up. He threw some money on the table and handed her her coat, then took her arm and practically lifted her from her chair.

"Now come along Doctor Evans.I know you don't want to make a scene with all these people around."


But he was determined. He almost carried her along to the back door as Lacey struggled to at least get her coat on, then out into the parking lot. The streets were wet, the mist had turned into fog. Water gurgled down the gutters and drains as he marched her along past the puddles, back to the far side of the lot, the dark side, next to an abandoned warehouse.

"Jack! Jack! What do you think you're doing?"

He pulled her up next to an old Nissan and spun her around to face him. His rough treatment caused the top button in her blouse to open, exposing the top of her breasts in her white shelf bra, but he wasn't looking at her tits.

"Down, Dr. Evans. On your knees."

"God, Jack! No! Are you crazy?"

"Down, Lacey. There we go."

He pressed her arm down till she had no choice but to fall to her knees on the wet pavement. Her knees got wet she wasn't thinking about her knees. She should be horrified¬—she was horrified--but wasn't this some kind of justice too? And wasn't she just a little bit excited, a little bit turned on, by his anger and strength?

His hand was at his zipper. There was a burst of laughter from the bar as some men walked in, and then the meat of his cockhead was pressed against her lips. He was already turgid and semi-aroused as he pressed against her mouth.

Lacey turned instinctively away and Shattuck grabbed her hair. The wig came off in his hands and he threw it down, then grabbed her real hair, honey-blonde and plaited tightly against her head to accommodate the wig. She was Nikki no longer but Doctor Lacey Evans, and that only seemed to excite him more.

It excited her too. She was the doctor now, the famous relationship expert, and her cover was blown, her secret was out. Doctor Evans, Nikki the whore, they were one and the same and she was down on her knees in the wet parking lot letting him smear his cock all over her face.

"Do it!" he hissed. "Right here! Just like this! Don't pretend you don't know how to suck a cock, Doctor!"

No. She would show him. She knew how to fellate a man and bring him off. She was an expert at cock-sucking. And that's what she would do. She'd suck his cock and let him cum. And then, as he leaned against the car gasping and spent, she'd just pick herself up and walk away, turn her back on him and get in her car and drive off, leaving him as she left all her conquests. If he talked, who would believe him?

Lacey opened her mouth and extended her tongue, taking him in as if she were taking communion, some holy thing on her tongue. She knew what men liked--the groan of appreciation when he entered her mouth, the hum of pleasure, the soft choking sounds as she grabbed his ass and started to force him into her throat.

Yes, she knew what he wanted. She'd bring him off nice and quick...

Shattuck groaned and fell back against the car and Lacey went after him, redoubling her efforts. She drew back and used her tongue to tickle his sensitive frenulum, swirled it around the velvety glans, then impaled herself on his prick, forcing the head into her tight epiglottis. The pressure of the thick head made her eyes water and her nose began to run, but she kept it there, knowing he could feel her throat massaging him as she forced herself to swallow on the intrusive head of his dick. He wouldn't last long now. They never did.

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