Therapy Pt. 04

Evan's POV:

Agatha's Diary

8. Teasing me in public....dirty texts, naughty whispers, finger fucking me under the table

"We're going out to lunch," I announced when Agatha entered for her next appointment. She looked startled. "There's a lovely Italian place across the street. My friend, Kevin, works there," Agatha looked suspicious. As she should. There is no such thing as a free meal. She looked adorable in a tight pink dress that emphasized those delicious curves. Oh why wouldn't she wear my diapers?

As soon as we took our seats in the front window of Mario's, her phone buzzed with a text.

"You can look at it. It might be your mom," I said when she hesitated to pick up her phone. So polite. She peeked at it and her face turned crimson.

"Whose it from?"

"It's from an unknown number. But they know what I'm wearing," she said.

"Really?" I said, trying to look bored. Honestly, this girl was so gullible. "What did they say?" She was looking kind of scared which made me feel bad. I didn't want her thinking she had a stalker.

"It says "Nice dress. Your breasts look like two blimps in a dead heat race," she looked mortified. She was so sensitive about her curves. "How do they know?" she whispered to me as though the table was bugged. Then she saw I was trying not to laugh.

"Evan," she scolded.

"Straight from your diary. Don't tell me you aren't a little wet?"

"And are we ready to order?" interrupted Kevin. He had to have overheard the last part of the conversation. "Cute dress, Agatha," he said, winking at her. She stammered her order. I leaned forward so only she could hear me....and maybe the people at the next table, "Have your breasts grown since the last time I saw you? What kind of bra are you wearing today?" Agatha ripped off a piece of bread and stared out the window. The two men at the table next to us studied her chest, intrigued.

"You know how I feel when you don't answer my questions," I said with a hint of a warning in my voice.

"I don't think they grew but...I'm...I'm about to start my period,"

"Do your breasts usually swell on your period?" I asked, at what probably seemed like an unearthly decibel. One man laughed. Kevin arrived just then with our drinks and appetizers. I murmured appreciatively. "Do they hurt?" I asked trying to sound sympathetic.

"Does what hurt?" Kevin asked jovially.

"Her breasts! She's about to start her period," one of the men at the next table called out. His partner muttered under his breath, "Hell, I'd still have sex with her," Instead of blushing all the color drained from Agatha's face. I kicked her gently.

"Say thank you," I hissed and then to them I said, "I'm sorry but she's very sheltered. Not sure what to do with the attention," They nodded and returned to their meal, still grinning.

"Do you get PMS? Cramps? Bloating?" Agatha looked embarrassed.

"It's not appropriate to talk about over lunch," she said primly.

"You can tell me anything, Agatha," I said, seriously. "Not matter where we are," Agatha continued to look uncomfortable so I dropped the issue. I didn't want to push her too far. Kevin arrived with our main courses and I began to snake my foot up Agatha's leg. Agatha jumped. The men stared. She meekly began to eat her spaghetti while I continued to make my way up her legs until I was at her panties.

Even I was surprised at how wet she was. She was soaked. I'm sure her gusset would be intoxicating. I began to rub. Agatha put her mouth around the straw and bit down to prevent a moan from escaping. Her face was beginning to get flushed. Kevin returned to check on us.

"Agatha, can I get you another Diet Coke?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

"No-no thanks," Just then I placed my hand on her thigh. It was warm, like her pussy was radiating heat.

"How about a dessert menu?" asked Kevin, still focusing all his attention on Agatha. I inched my hands closer to her center (the tables were extremely small. The tablecloth obscured us from view). Finally, once Kevin had left, I nudged aside her panties and slipped my hand insider her. She was sopping. It actually made me wish we were alone. She probably needed a diaper at this point for God's sakes.

I fingered faster more furiously now. The guys were openly staring. One of them had their phone out. I prayed it was a video. Agatha was getting more verbal. She tried to take a bite of her ice cream but missed. It slid down her mouth, looking incredibly sexy. But our fun had to end when the session did. Kevin delivered the check with a knowing nod. When we got up I was not surprised to see a wet spot on her chair. It would be something I would have to address next week.

9. An awesome cum shot onto my tits

When Agatha arrived next therapy session, I guided her to the towel on the floor.

"Pants and panties off, bum in the air," I instructed.

"Not this again," groaned Agatha.

"Agatha," I said in my well-practiced, cut the bullshit voice, "You know Kevin had to wipe your chair after we left lunch the other day? Yeah, apparently, you liked my finger maneuvers so much you soaked the chair," I said sternly. Agatha looked mortified. "Although he does agree that your pussy smells good," I added as kind of an afterthought. Agatha looked around. The blinds were drawn. She began to inch out of her leggings and panties slowly.

"I'm waiting," I said, and she sped up. Once her lower hair was naked, she got down on the floor. She reluctantly raised her legs above her ass. I took my time, inspecting every inch, every hair, every smell. Every imperfection just made me harder. She was born to be in diapers. Why couldn't she see it.

Once the bulky object was between her legs, I offered her the pillow again. She looked nervous but I didn't give her the handcuffs. I wanted her to use her hands this time. I wanted to make this a more pleasurable experience for her.

"One more thing. Top and bra off,"

"But..." I can tell she didn't want to be naked in front of me except for her diaper. I fixed her with a look. She quailed under my gaze. Jesus, I'll never get tired of seeing those breasts. They were freakin huge yet defied gravity. How did God do it? She began to perform oral sex on me using all the techniques and tricks she had learned throughout our sessions. She could take me pretty deep now. And she knew how to use her own spit to make it easier. She clearly watched porn. My dirty girl.

I felt my climax building and quickly yanked my cock from her mouth. She looked hurt and confused for a minute- like a child deprived of their toy- but then suddenly understood as I came all over her amazing tits. Like painting a magnificent canvas, I thought. She seemed frozen with shock as my cum dripped down onto her stomach. Her nipples looked like they were covered in glaze. With a smile she began to lick my cum off of her own breasts (they were so big she could fit them in her mouth). I smirked. I had taught her well.

10. Sexual tension so intense my panties are soaked just from a casual conservation

Our last session I immediately repeated our actions from the last meeting. Then I insisted she get dressed and sit on the couch while I got out my notebook like a legit therapist. Her leggings barely fit around her diaper and made her ass look even bigger. One of the wonders of the world. She sat there, crinkling whenever she moved, cringing, then trying not to move.

"Do you have a better understanding of your sexual fantasies than when you first started therapy?" I asked her. I read out several more questions then noticed she seemed distracted. She was squirming and looking uncomfortable. Wondering if it was possible she still had cramps I asked her about it.

"May I go to the bathroom? I have to pee," she muttered. My cock hardened instantly. This- this moment- was what I had been waiting for, for all ten sessions. This was it.

"No," I said coldly, returning to the business at hand as though I were a professional.

"Evan, I really have to pee," she said a few minutes later.

"Too bad," I knew I was being mean but I had to see this thing through. And I did. A few minutes later, she burst into tears and I hungrily watched the diaper become yellow and expand to accommodate what was like a gallon of urine. She had her head in her hands in shame. It was delicious.

I got on the floor and patted the towel. She crawled over. The diaper hung low between her legs, laden with liquid. It squished when she lay down. She wouldn't look at me. Her face was blotchy but she was sexier than ever. A toddler who regressed and had an accident. A slip up in potty training. Excellent.

I undid the strips of her diaper and wiped her clean. I could smell piss strongly but it had never bothered me and it didn't now. When she was all clean and out of her dirty diaper I picked her up and carried her to the couch. She glanced up, surprised. I didn't look at her until I had torn off my own pants and boxers and fumbled successfully with the condom.

"Are you ready?" And then she seemed to understand. And she nodded. And for all her crying and protesting, she really was wet. Not with piss, with arousal. I could smell it. She could smell it. She loved it, she craved humiliation. She was seeing the right therapist. I slipped it with some resistance. She was a virgin after all. She cried out but I kissed her neck and she began to moan instead. Perfect.

I began to thrust. I could tell it hurt her at first but she bore it well and soon she was writhing under me.

"Are you my diaper baby?" I whispered in her ear.

"Yes, Daddy, yes!" she said, then flushed deeply. I was impressed. But then again she did watch a lot of porn. However, her words were too much for me. I shot my load at the same time she raked her nails (somewhat painfully) down my back and let out a primal yell. We lay there, exhausted and panting for a good five minutes.

"I don't want this to end," she whispered. It had been ten sessions. I kissed her and replied

"It doesn't have to,". And that's the story of how I met my wife.