My job kept me too busy for the games that came with dating. If I needed release, I knew where I could go. The Scene. It belonged to a buddy from college; I stopped by when the urges became too much to ignore. No boring date, no smooshing, no cuddling. In and out, needs met for both parties and then we went our separate ways. It was simple, it was clean, and it was exactly how I liked it.
When I wasn’t working, I was indulging in my addiction. My job and my addiction were contradictions to each other — I’d lose the former if anyone found out about the latter.
My job. Sex therapist. I’d been told I was a pervert or disgusting. If I wasn’t being insulted, I was questioned — how could I stand to watch other people have sex? What made me want to do such a gross job? Did I get off from watching and instructing other people? When all was said and done, most people simply didn’t understand what I did and didn’t give me two seconds to explain it. Sure, I watched people I knew little about do the most intimate things, but I also saved marriages from complete disaster when it was embarrassment or touchy topics that were being avoided. Most of the time it wasn’t hard to help find the spice and heat that faded in relationships. Love is driven by lust. All it takes is a little lust to spark love…and as long as that love was still somewhere within, it wasn’t hard to find that lust again. If you knew where to look that is.
Did I personally believe in love? No. Not at all. It’s just the crap I told my clients and they always ate it up. All I needed was control. Being in control of an intimate situation was more powerful and satisfying than if I’d been in the middle of the actual act. I didn’t need intimacy to be satisfied — just control.
Not only needed, but craved —thrived on— having it. I did nothing without thinking of how to make sure that I would be in control, that I would be the one making the choices.
A wink and a nod at Jennifer, to let her down nicely, as I gave a short wave with the key card she’d just placed in front of me. I could feel the eyes on me.
I knew exactly who it was that was watching me. She watched me every time I walked into the hotel. Little did she know that I watched her back. I followed her. I craved to one day get my hands on her. The timing had to be just right though.
Turning away from Jennifer, I took a few steps toward the elevator. My ability to stay in the shadows and watch from afar was wearing thin. I needed to get closer. I needed her to see me, want me. Pausing to press the elevator button, I turned to watch my beauty. She might catch me, but I didn’t care. It would be hours before I’d be able to see her again.
To my surprise, she wore an expression of complete and utter pleasure. I knew that look. Maybe not from her, but I most certainly knew it from women I’d slept with in the past. She was in the middle of an orgasm and, damn, she wore it well. My dick was instantly hard, throbbing for her — to be the cause of that face.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her even as her orgasm face left and her eyes burned into mine. I wanted her to be the one to look away. It had to be she who broke the moment.
She didn’t.
She held my gaze until her eyes dropped to follow the path my tongue took as I moistened my lips.
When the elevator dinged alerting me to its arrival, I groaned and turned away from her. Thankfully no one else was waiting for the elevator and no one exited when the doors slid open. Stepping inside, I faced her again.
She was still watching me.
I wanted to see just how bold she was so I adjusted my cock, drawing her attention to it — letting her know it had enjoyed her little show. I’d have enjoyed it much more if the damn wall and desk hadn’t blocked most of her from my sight.
Her eyes were on my cock for a long moment before they jumped up to meet mine again.
The smirk that crept onto my face couldn’t be held back. It was the exact reaction I’d wanted. The message had been received loud and clear.
The doors slid shut before she recovered, but that was okay. I had other matters that I needed to focus on. The little interlude in the lobby had been unexpected, yet I would remember it for a long time.
Leaning against the side of the elevator, I closed my eyes and let it take me to the top floor. My apartment. It hadn’t been cheap to get the hotel to allow it, but it was necessary with the type of business I had. I made good money from my clients and was able to afford it. It was convenient to have my place only floors above where my clients normally met me, and the building my office was in was just next door. Sometimes I met clients at their own places, so I had my car in the hotel’s underground garage.
Once the elevator opened on my floor, I used my key to unlock the door. From the outside there was nothing to distinguish it from the other rooms in the hotel. Inside, however, it was completely different. I had renovated it to have a master suite, a small kitchen, tiny living room, good sized office, and a spare room with extra bathroom. It wasn’t huge, it wasn’t all that impressive when it came to decorations. It was simple, it was conveniently located right in the middle of my world, so it worked. No one ever came to my place. Not friends, not women. It was my space.
The majority of my time was spent working. When I wasn’t with clients, I still had plenty of work to take care of, not to mention I worked a few nights a week as an online therapist. It helped fill the hours. Downtime wasn’t something I enjoyed. Being busy, being successful, that was what I enjoyed.
Making the short walk through the apartment, I tossed my suit coat on the bed before entering the large walk-in closet. The one thing I’d made a requirement in my living quarters. I had a lot of clothing and I spent a lot of money on it, so naturally having space to keep it was a top priority. Looking anything but my best wasn’t an option. No one wanted to accept advice from someone who looked sloppy, especially advice in the bedroom department.
I slipped off my dress shoes and put them back where they belonged before stripping down to my briefs. All of my clothing was laundered by the hotel. It was pricey, but again, it was easier than dealing with it myself or taking it elsewhere. My slacks were tossed onto the small mound of clothing that hadn’t been picked up yet. The white dress shirt followed.
Knowing the clients I was meeting with next, I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. I had a few minutes before my appointment, so I powered up my laptop to check my emails and review the client files, although I knew the couple quite well. As I figured, there wasn’t anything surprising that I’d forgotten since the last time I’d met with them.
Bridgette was a trophy wife who wasn’t afraid to step outside of their marriage to find what was missing in the bedroom. Even after being turned down numerous times, she still hit on me every time she could without her husband seeing. Mike, on the other hand, was a smart-looking older man. He knew what his much-younger wife was up to, but he put up with it as long as she gave him what he wanted, when he wanted it. After months of meeting with them, I wasn’t entirely sure why they insisted on continuing to meet with me. They were quite possibly the most tame couple on my client list, with fairly normal request and desires. Part of me, though, knew they liked the feeling of voyeurism that came with having someone outside of your marriage watch as you acted out intimate desires.