Revenge is the Best Therapy

"I guess I am one and done then," he said. "No need for a follow-up appointment.

I looked at him in mock confusion.

"No offence or anything," he said urgently, not wanting to hurt my feelings. "It's just that I think you've fixed my basketball hoo-doo."

"But Trent," I said, as though I was telling him a secret he should already know. "You were worried about something else weren't you?"

He looked puzzled.

"The basketball thing was just an excuse to come here, but really..." I explained. "You were worried about your relationship. With Belle."

"Belle?" He repeated, and as he did so his eyes flew to my chest. He swallowed dryly.

"I... I'm not sure.." he began saying.

"You were worried about your sexual performance, isn't that right, Trent?" I said, testing the control phrase.

His eyes lost some of their focus momentarily as his brain tried to reconcile this new memory.

"Yes," he said absently.

"You were worried that you were starting to dislike having sex with your wife because you didn't find her attractive anymore." I said.

A look of fear flashed across his face.

"Isn't that right, Trent?" I added.

The look disappeared. "Yes, that's right," he said in defeat. "I can't believe I told you that?" He continued. "I've never told anyone that before."

With his brain desperately playing catch-up, he now completely accepted my implanted suggestion as the truth and his mind was busy filling in the gaps.

"Does she know?" I asked.

"What? Belle?" he asked, his eyes fixed to my chest again.

"No, she couldn't." He asserted.

"How did you two meet in the first place?" I asked.

"It was at a bar. She was watching a band, though most of the guys in the place were watching her." He explained.

"Were you?" I asked.

"Sure," he said. "She was knockout. Platinum blonde, slim waist, full ass." He looked at me and apologised.

"No need," I told him. "She's your wife, you can talk about her however you want."

He smiled warmly at that.

"Things started to get a little heated," he said, continuing the story of how he'd met his wife. "Some black guy had offered to buy her a drink. Some white guy had told him to back off; he was buying her a drink.

"You know what it's like. Dogs in heat, having to prove which is the alpha." he said.

I didn't know what it was like but I nodded.

"Anyway, I saw the white guy pull a knife, so I jumped in, punched him plum on the chin and he went down. The other guy thanked me but made a quick exit, looking to get out while the going was good. And I ended up buying her a drink. I guess I was the alpha!" He said with a laugh.

"Do you think she resents you for it now though, Trent?" I asked.

The question completely blindsided him and without any helpful prompts from me, he floundered, making a hoarse croaking noise as he thought.

"Aren't you worried," I said in a conspiratorial whisper. "That she blames you for chasing off the black guy?"

Trent's face was twisted in confusion.

"You're convinced that she wanted to experience black cock that night, isn't that right, Trent?" I practically shouted the words in his face.

Realisation washed over him and his eyes began to tear up.

"You've never admitted it to yourself, but you've always known that she was a black cock whore, isn't that right, Trent?" I insisted.

Tears were rolling down his cheeks now as he nodded meekly.

"And that's why you've struggled to have sex with her isn't it?" I asked. "Because she only wants thick, dark meat?"

"Yes!" He screamed. "It's true! My wife craves black cock. She's a whore for it."

He broke down in a violent series of sobs as this horrific truth coalesced itself in his mind.

As he sank his head into his hands on the desk, I reached down below the table edge and stealthily began stroking my aching pussy through my skirt. I moaned out loud at the initial touch but covered it with a soft clearing of my throat. Trent hadn't noticed.

Years of perceived 'closure' of my college trauma disintegrated in an instant. All those emotions I thought I'd conquered came flooding back. My heart burned with a hatred that I could taste, like battery acid in my throat.

I became aware of Trent's sobs again and my whole body tingled with pent up lust. I was going to punish them all for what they did to me. The sense of power was intoxicating.

First, I'd ruin Belle's marriage. She didn't deserve to be happy. Then I'd ruin her, and I knew exactly how. The malevolence in my mind transformed itself into pure, sexual energy as it coursed through my veigns.

"Now we're getting somewhere," I said to Trent while frantically rubbing my clitoris.

"But there's another truth we have to confront isn't there?" I asked.

He raised his head sheepishly. Seeing his tear-streaked face looking up at me, I felt nothing but contempt for him.

He nodded, before confessing. "It's true. I've been having inappropriate thoughts about you."

"No, not that," I said, stifling a laugh. "It's about this thing with your wife."

"With Belle?" Again, his eyes locked to my chest.

"Up here Trent," I commanded and he apologised profusely.

"I can only help if you're completely honest," I said. "And the truth is, thinking about Belle with a big black cock in her cunt really turns you on. Isn't that right, Trent?"

This new truth hit him like a brick. His body followed his mind's lead and a huge erection sprouted in his suit trousers.

"You're picturing her now aren't you Trent?" I said. He nodded.

"She's at a bar full of black men."

Trent rubbed his crotch and moaned loudly.

"They're all over her. Touching her, groping her." I was painting quite the picture. Trent was rubbing at his dick furiously, his eyes closed so he could picture the scene.

"The biggest one is bending her over. He's got the largest cock you've ever seen. He's asking your permission to put it inside your wife," I explained.

"He needs to hear you say it. That you want him to. But she's begging you to stop him, Trent. She's so frightened that he's too big for her. That her pussy is too small to be dominated by that God of cock." The words dripped from my mouth.

"But you want him to, isn't that right, Trent?"

He moaned appreciatively.

"He is the God of cock and you want to see him split your petite bride wide open. Isn't that right, Trent?"

"Fuck yes!" he screamed. "That little whore knows what she wants. Give her your almighty cock."

Listening to him admit these words, I squeezed my left nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Tingles of pain and pleasure did laps around my nerve endings.

"He's doing it Trent. He's fucking your wife. Everyone is watching. The whole bar can see her being taken by this God. And she's starting to enjoy it. She's his now, Trent. She's surrendering fully to him. No other cock will ever live up to this." I pulled my panties down and slipped two fingers inside myself.

"You want to stop him, Trent. But you can't," I said. "He's too big, too powerful. With a cock like that, you know he deserves to fuck anyone he wants."

Trent nodded, squeezing the tip of his own cock through his trousers.

"You want him to stop. The whole place is looking at you now, expecting you to take your wife back. To stop this assault on her tiny body."

His eyes were still closed, imagining the scene before him. He was a picture of uncertainty.

"They're asking why you don't rescue her. How you can bear to watch this bull breed her, openly." I continued.

"You know why, don't you Trent?"

His breathing faltered, awaiting the truth.

"It's because you've never been so turned on in your life. You want her to be bred. You want her to be sore from fucking a thousand big, black cocks." Still plunging my own fingers in and out of my sopping hole I continued.

"You can't stop him because you need to cum... just like she's doing. ISN'T THAT RIGHT, TRENT?"

The noise he made was almost unnatural. A deep, guttural, throaty yell that reverberated around the room. Freeing his cock from his trousers, he'd barely touched it before it erupted up his chest, splashing his thick seed all over his shirt and spraying parts of his neck and chin.

My own orgasm had washed through me at the same moment. I tensed my pelvic muscles, feeling an aching pressure against the middle finger that was lodged deep inside me. I gently rubbed the outer folds of my labia as my orgasm receded. I could feel a light pool of moisture on the seat of my chair, running backwards between my legs.

We both sat for a couple of seconds in the haze of our taboo pleasure.

Pulling the hem of my skirt down and recovering my equilibrium, I heard Trent gently sobbing again.

"Trent go bye-bye". I said. His eyes glazed over immediately and he sat in docile silence, his cum-covered cock still exposed.

"When I count to three you will recover your senses. You'll dress yourself fully, ignoring any of your own cum wherever it may be.

"You'll remember how you fantasised about your wife taking big, black cocks. You'll remember touching yourself as you gave permission for a black bull to take her, even though she begged you 'no'. You'll remember how you came at the same time she did; both of you enjoying that God of cock in your own ways." I commanded. He remained motionless.

"You'll know that this is shameful and you'll want to hide it. You'll know that I know, but it's covered by the confidentiality agreement that you're glad I had you sign. You'll want to keep your feelings hidden from your wife. If she found out, she could use it against you.

So, although you don't like having sex with her, you will if she instigates it. But you'll know that secretly, she's wishing you had a black cock to fuck her with. And you'll only be able to get hard by imagining her fucking black men."

I looked for any sign of recognition on his face.

"Nod if you understand." I said.

He nodded, mesmerised.

"Finally, whenever you're out together, just the two of you, you'll try and set her up with black men. You won't let her know and you'll do it in secret. But you'll let them know that she's available for fucking and that she has a fantasy of being taken forcefully. If they fuck her, you'll masturbate as you watch, making sure that she can't see you."

"If she ever complains to you about it, you'll tell her she was drunk. As far as you're concerned, it never happened. You'll shower her and clean her forensically, even if she doesn't want you to. You'll know that you need to wash her shameful fantasies away. And once she's clean, you'll fuck her and cum inside her while you think about what it would be like for her to be taken by a black man against her will."

"Three, two, one."

He came out of the trance.

"Oh God, I'm so embarrassed," he said, pushing his semi-erect penis back inside his underwear. I watched him get dressed, all the time mumbling incoherently and looking at me for any sign of disapproval.

"I think we made some real progress today," I offered. He looked incredulous.

"You've confronted some demons," I confirmed. "And you've accepted the truth about your performance issues."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Now don't forget, you wanted to book an appointment for this time next week, isn't that right, Trent?"

He nodded approvingly.

"You were also going to take your wife out on Saturday night, weren't you?" I asked.

He looked at me in confusion.

"Yes, you remember, don't you?" I reminded him. "Just the two of you. You wanted to take her to that bar up in the hills right? You said it was where all the kids went to smoke weed."

He stared at me utterly confounded.

"Apparently, there's a rap battle this weekend and you thought Belle might really enjoy herself amongst the hip-hop crowd, isn't that right, Trent?"

His face lit up as he remembered.

"Hip-hop. Rap battle." He repeated. "I'm glad you reminded me. Belle wouldn't want to miss that."

At the mention of his wife's name, he took another practised glance at my tits, imagining my cleavage spilling out over the top of my bra.

"Something tells me you won't want to miss it either," I told him. "And do let your wife know she's welcome in my office any time. You know, if anything should be bothering her."

He spun on his heels, heading to the reception desk to book next week's session.

Stacy looked up at me trying to put the pieces of an invisible puzzle together. After a moment, she recognised the telltale stains on his shirt; the crusty remains on his neck and face. Blushing slightly, she simply winked at me and handed a fresh appointment card to Trent Carmichael.

"See you next week," Stacy said huskily. But he didn't hear her. He was busy booking tickets for the upcoming rap battle.