Sara & Laura Ch. 01

Hi all! This is my first submission to LitErotica, and a fairly unpolished piece. I just wanted to test the waters and see if anyone was interested in this, or wanted to see more. Not a lot of explicit content, but if interest serves, there will be more later. Comments appreciated, and thanks for reading!

________________

Sara sat totally, perfectly still in the leather wingback chair positioned in the corner of the waiting room. The silence of the waiting room was absolute, save for the occasional click-clack of a keyboard from behind the tall reception desk, and even that only served to accentuate how heavy the quiet sat upon her. Sara stared intensely at the sealed manilla envelope on her lap. Inside was a small stack of papers, mostly insurance and medical forms, but which also included a couple two pages with some rather probing, personal questions. The former she had filled out the day her doctor had handed them to her. She was very efficient that way. The latter, however, she had put off until right before going to bed the night before. She didn't really want to answer those questions, and in fact she had been told that she didn't have to, but they were the reason she was here in the first place. So instead, she had allowed them to torment her for the past two weeks, ever since her doctor had made an appointment for her. The business card she had been handed sat heavily in the breast pocket of her jacket since then as well.

Doctor Laura Stringer, MD, PHD

Then below that;

Sex therapist - Individuals, couples, and group therapy;

and then the address and phone number below that. Sara was endlessly grateful, if a bit taken back initially, that her doctor was kind and thoughtful enough to set up this optional appointment for her. Even more grateful that it was covered by her insurance. Doctor Stringer was an old friend, she told Sara, and she'd seen more than a few patients see great improvement with her help. So she had screwed up her courage, and managed to drag herself downtown to this rather comfortable, cheery office building.

"Ms. Colwitt?" The silence was broken by the receptionist, a pretty, if somewhat plain redhead. "Laura is ready to see you, if you're ready."

Sara took a steadying breath and gave a small thank-you, before getting out of the comfortable chair. So it was Laura, not Dr. Stringer. That aside, she still wasn't sure she was ready. She steeled herself and slowly crossed the waiting room on unsteady feet. The door to the office was dark and heavy, balanced by the bright, shining brass knob. She knocked twice, so softly she thought she might not be heard.

"Come in, please," came a gentle voice from behind the door. It was a woman's voice, warm and soothing, but deep, almost motherly. Sara pushed the door open on recently oiled hinges. The office beyond was large and surprisingly inviting, well-aged leather furniture, well-loved books on expansive shelves, and light just a shade dimmer and more yellow than the waiting room. Dr. Stringer, or Laura, Sara mentally corrected, sat behind a large ornate wooden desk. She stood as Sara closed the door behind herself with a quiet click.

Sara's first thought was that Laura was beautiful, almost take-your-breath-away beautiful, if she had swung that way. Her next thought was that she was indeed beautiful, but not in a way that felt intimidating. Laura was tall, clearing six feet by Sara's guess, and sublimely proportioned, a pronounced hourglass figure with wide child-bearing hips, a slim waist, and broad, strong shoulders. She was dressed smartly, a slim-fitting grey blazer with a white shirt underneath, and a black skirt cut a hand's-breadth above the knee, with long, well-muscled and toned creamy white legs. She smiled, and Sara returned a small, shy smile she didn't think she had in her.

"Hi Sara, it's so nice to meet you," she said, her voice exuding a sincere warmth and wisdom. Laura crossed the room and approached with her hand outstretched. Up close, Laura seemed even taller than Sara had expected, at least six-two. She was also older than Sara had expected, perhaps 40, or a young 50. Her face was mostly smooth, with some crinkling of the skin at the outside of her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines, her mother had called them, and said they were a sign of joy and a good personality. Her blonde hair was streaked with strands of grey, though by Sara's view they added dignity and maturity, rather than just age. She reached out and clasped Laura's hand.

"It's nice to meet you too, Doctor Stringer," she said quietly, trying not to stammer. Her heart was racing. She was really here. To talk about sex. With a stranger.

"Or Laura," she responded, "whatever you like. Can I take this off your hands?" she asked, gesturing to the manilla folder Sara clasped tightly. Sara handed it to her stiffly and without response. Laura smiled, and Sara saw those creases deepen. Perhaps her mother was right. "Why don't you take a seat?"

Sara moved towards the large leather couch next to the door and sat to one side, nestling herself in the corner between the armrest and the back. Laura grabbed her wheeling desk chair and rolled it in front of her desk directly across from Sara and sat, manilla folder in hand. She crossed one long, strong leg over the other.

"So, Sara, would you like to tell me why you've come here today?"

Not really, was Sara's gut-response, but she force her nerves down, a little. "Well my doctor called to set up the appointment, she should have told you-"

Laura cut her off with a gently raised hand. "I talked to your doctor, but I'd like to hear about it from your perspective." She opened the manilla folder and thumbed through the tops of the pages, questing. She pulled out half of one and glanced over it. Sara recognized the page, the mandatory STI check her doctor had performed before making the appointment. She tested negative, of course. She felt herself blush, though Laura seemed unphased.

"Well you've got my questionnaire there, if you look at that-"

Again, Laura cut her off with a raised hand, partnered with a gentle smile. "I'll look at most of this later," she said, replacing the STI test results, "I want to hear from you, Sara. I know this is very uncomfortable right now, but I can only try to help you if you communicate with me directly, okay?"

Sara thought about this and swallowed hard. "Yeah. Okay." she said, feeling somewhat chastened. "I'm here... because sex is- um, it scares me. I've never had a really good experience, I'm scared to be naked in front of people, and there's so much pressure." She let it pour out in a surprisingly cathartic stream.

"Sounds like an anxiety issue. Your doctor has prescribed you medication in the past, yes?"

Anxiety, yeah, no kidding, Sara thought, but held her tongue on that. "Yeah, five different brands, different dosages... they never did me any good. It's not like it bothers me in other parts of my life, just this one..." She felt a little defensive, as though Laura didn't believe her.

Almost on cue, Laura smiled and responded, "I believe you, Sara, I just don't have all my notes in front of me right now. Just humour me for a moment and say it is an anxiety disorder." Sara tried to agree with her for the moment. "Anxiety manifests in all kinds of ways. If it causes distress in one particular area, it's called fixation. I know you've heard this before, I'm just thinking out loud here. If traditional psychiatry and psychopharmacology haven't treated the root cause of the issue, then I think it's time we look at learning how to cope."

"Just cope?" Sara said, sounding a little more disappointed than she had intended.

"Sometimes it's just enough to get over the hump of the anxiety itself, and sometimes it's all you can do. If it is all you can do, then at least it should help you achieve some peace in the affected area. Does that make sense?"

Sara supposed it did. She nodded a little.

Laura unfolded, planting both strong, toned legs firmly on the ground. She opened the top of the manilla folder and pulled out a yellow form. Sara knew what that one was too. The one she was most scared of sharing. The carbon copy of her medical information her doctor had provided. Laura nodded to herself, then replaced the sheet. Sara braced herself for a question she was certain was coming.

Except, it didn't. "Sara, did your doctor explain to you what makes me different from a regular psychiatrist?"

Sara nodded. "She said you were a sex therapist, and a regular psychiatrist, and uh..." Laura raised one finely-manicured eyebrow ever so slightly, urging her to continue, "and you're allowed to, um... have... contact. With you patients."

"That's right. I'm part of a specially-qualified program researching sexual dysfunction and sex therapy." She paused, then continued, "I am allowed to have sexual contact with my patients." Sara felt herself go red in the face, but didn't respond. Laura continued anyways, "If I think it's necessary. But in the same way that a good psychiatrist won't prescribe medication unless they think it's very necessary, I tend to use that as another tool in my belt, and only if I think it's the best way to help a patient progress."

"Okay." Sara said dumbly. She didn't know what else to say. Laura continued to explain a little more about the program, mostly information her doctor had already given her, but Sara was far away. It was so surreal, being so near to someone who saw sex as a real possibility between the two of them, and for her to be returning the thoughts, however nervous it made her.

Laura ended the legal and scientific jargon, following up with a question, "I'm going to ask you a personal question, if you're ready." Sara nodded. "How often do you masturbate?"

The question was a punch in the face, knocking her out of the mental logic loops she was doing around her presence in a sex therapist's office, and her sex therapist being so darn pretty. She felt her face flush again, but Laura gave no reaction. "Uhh, not a lot."

"Once a week?"

"No."

"Two weeks?"

"No."

"Once a month?"

That didn't sound quite right to Sara either, and in fact she couldn't recall the last time she had masturbated. She wanted to end the line of questioning though, and felt a little pathetic in Laura's eyes for taking this long to pin it down. "Yeah, about," she replied.

Laura nodded thoughtfully, then stood up from her chair. The thought ran through Sara's head that she was about to get jumped by this tall, strong woman, but instead she circled around behind her desk. "We're almost out of time today, so I've got something for you to take home. Homework, you could call it," she added with a wink, then bent over to reach something behind her desk, up against the wall. Only then did Sara notice Laura's rather large, round ass, now stretching out her skirt quite neatly, and how the hem would rise slowly, inch by inch, revealing milky white thighs that were as thick and strong as the rest of her body, widening up beautifully towards-

Sara shook her head, scattering the thoughts to the ether, and turned, red-faced, to the opposite wall. Laura's degrees hung next to a beautiful watercolor print of lilies. They were numerous, taking up ten square feet of wallspace. She couldn't make them out from where she sat, but from what she could see, Laura had been schooled at prestigious universities all over the country. From the corner of her eye, she saw Laura had finally stood back up, turning to face her. She held a small box, wrapped in plain white paper. Walking back around the desk, she handed it to Sara. It was heavier than she had expected.

"I'd like you to do your best to make use of this. If you'll come back next week, we can discuss it, and proceed as we see fit. If you don't use it, or if you don't want to come back, then you can mail it back to my office, or dispose of it."

Sara took this as a cue to exit, and stood, opening her mouth to thank Laura for seeing her, but couldn't quite find the words, instead flapping her mouth open and closed like a goldfish. Laura took Sara's limp free hand from her side and clasped it in both of hers. Her hands were soft and warm. "It was very nice to meet you," she said with a sincerity that surprised Sara, "I really hope you'll come back next week. You can go out the way you came, or there's a private exit back in the corner. The door on the right."

Sara looked around, only now realizing that there were two other doors in the office, camouflaged by their being painted the same colour as the walls. She nodded dumbly and murmured a thank-you, then headed for the private exit, catching the delicate scent of Laura's perfume, spring flowers or something equally bright and cheerful. She opened the door and found herself in a hospital-white hallway of concrete, a staircase at one end leading down. She followed it, footsteps echoing loudly, to a door with a push bar. Once opened, she was assaulted by the noise of the street outside. She had emerged on the street behind the office building she had entered. Relieve at the option of an easy exit, she hurried down the street, the box she had been given nestled in her arms, to find her car and head home.

________________

Sara left the box sitting on the kitchen counter for three days before she even looked at it again. Even then, she only moved it out of the way of some spilled coffee, and replaced it on the nightstand next to her bed. She didn't want to open the box. She didn't even really want to think about what she thought was probably in the box. As she lay in bed that night, she stared at its unassuming, plain white paper wrapping, and resolved to open it 'sometime soon'. She didn't want Laura to think she wasn't taking this seriously. Her last thoughts before falling asleep that night were of Laura, bent over in her tight skirt.

She opened her eyes. She felt sick, and the world felt wrong. She sat up in bed and her room spun before her eyes, causing her stomach to spin with it. Sara heard a thump and a muffled voice from beyond her close bedroom door. Panicked, she tried to leap out of bed, to run out of her bedroom and past whoever had invaded her home, and across the hall to a neighbour's home, or down the street to the police station. But her limbs wouldn't respond, wouldn't follow her commands no matter how much she mentally screamed at herself to do something, anything. Had she been drugged? She couldn't remember anything unusual about her evening routine. The door swung open silently. Terrified, she could only stare into the blackness beyond.

Out of the darkness, though, stepped Laura. The fear subsided a little and was replaced with confusion, though fear still ran river-like beneath. She tried to speak, to question her sex therapist's presence at her house in the middle of the night, but her tongue tangled itself up in her mouth. Slowly, Laura walked over to the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, Sara," she said in the same soft, mothering tone she had presented at their appointment, "I didn't mean to scare you." She sat down on the bed next to Sara and began to rub her thigh with one delicate, graceful hand. Sara could only watch, unable to act. Laura leaned in towards her, and she caught the scent of her perfume.

"Let me make it better..." the beautiful doctor said, pursing her lips.

Sara opened her eyes again. Sunlight filtered in through the privacy shade on the windows. The air was a hair too warm, and she felt like she hadn't slept at all.

"A dream..." she said with vocal cords that croaked, "what the fuck."

She looked over at the clock across the room. 7:26am. Her day off. She preferred to sleep in on days like this. Sighing, she rolled over, intending to fall asleep for at least another hour. Instead, she almost rolled into her nightstand, coming face to face with the box she had been given. She stared at it for a long moment, contemplating her session with Laura, contemplating how she had made no real plans to open the box yet. Contemplating her dream about her sex therapist. It was rare that she had dreams she could remember at all. Rare still if she could make any sense of them. But this was the rarest dream of all for Sara. An arousing dream. She realized that the air in the room really wasn't all that warm once she kicked the covers back a little. She was radiating heat, and feeling a little flush.

Slowly, she reached out for the box, felt its smooth-yet-textured surface under her fingers, and pulled it towards her. She sat up in bed, the box held between her knees and her chest. Finding a seam in the wrapping, she pulled it apart, trying not to make too much of a mess with the wrapping paper. Beneath the paper was a smooth, black, matte-finish container. She found a seam on one side and stuck a fingernail into it. She paused, considering whether she wanted to get into this now, ultimately deciding she had come too far not to at least see the contents. Before she could, however, a slip of paper slid from the back of the box onto the bed next to her. She picked up the note, catching the tiniest whiff of Laura's perfume. A hand-written note read;

Dear Sara,

I'm glad you've opened this. It may not seem like much, but from everything your doctor has told me, getting this far on your own is a step in the right direction. There's a small assortment of products in here, use whatever you feel most comfortable with, though I would recommend pushing a little bit outside of your comfort zone. I hope to see you again soon.

Laura

Sara dropped the note back on the bed where it had first fallen. She felt somehow more driven to actually open the box after reading the note.

Don't want to disappoint Laura, she thought, slipping her nail back into the seam and prying the box opened. Sara felt the blood rush to her face. Inside the box was a foam insert, the kind assassins in movies always had their guns stored in, to display all the individual parts. Instead of a pistol, magazine, and silencer however, Sara found on one side of the box a slim tube with a button on the side that she took to be a vibrator, and something that looked a little like the wine stopper she had in her kitchen utensil drawer, only larger and pink. On the other side of the interior was a string of beads with a loop at one end, and next to it...

A fleshlight.

She only knew what it was because she had found one just like it in her older cousin's sock drawer when she was little. She remembered how embarrassed and angry he was when she presented it, and how embarrassed she was when she looked it up on the internet later. Only now did she appreciate that her parents were too technologically inept back then to be able to check her browser history.

Sara pulled out the vibrator. It was silicone, and smooth to the touch. Simple and minimalistic, but functional, she figured. The wine stopper and the beads she left in their inserts. If she was going to do this, she didn't want to get too crazy right off the bat. Besides, she had to figure out exactly what they were for, first. She spun the vibrator in her hand, surprised at herself for actually thinking about how best to use it, when she felt the heat from down below. She move the box from her lap to the bed beside her, and looked down. There, beneath the thin sheet of her bed, was a bulge she had never really gotten used to seeing. She pulled the sheet down, exposing her whole body down to her knees to the cool bedroom air. There it was, stuffed into her cute pink and blue panties, the ever-present guest that she blamed for holding back her romantic life for years. Sara's penis was growing stiff at the thought of using the toys Laura had given her.

She had had morning wood before, plenty of times. She had been a teenager at one point, after all, but never before had it been felt quite so insistent. Her early-morning riser had always been manageable before. It was normally still mostly soft, and would disappear within about 30 seconds of waking up, before it would even properly register. This morning, though, it was decidedly firm, and growing harder by the minute. She could feel it shifting and growing under the smooth fabric of her panties, like a snake uncoiling after winter's hibernation.