The Lessons by Elizabeth Brown

mulled over the question as she stilled, the breathing finally doing its job to calm her. She’d been so worked up earlier, it reminded me of a young bull at a rodeo. I knew it was just nerves. It happened to a lot of clients, but with her, it was cute—endearing almost.
    “How are you feeling now?” I asked quietly, my own heart feeling like it was going to explode in my chest.
    “Mm. Good.” She purred, without a trace of anxiety or anger. Mission accomplished. Her face was calm, and with her eyes closed she wasn’t noticing my staring.
    “Good,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Do you feel my hand?”
    “Yes,” she breathed.
    “Good. I’m going to take it back now and touch different parts of your body with it, and all I want you to do is tell me good or bad.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it’s important we know what areas of your body might be harboring tension or anxiety.”
    “Okay,” she said, releasing her grip on me. I hadn’t even realized she’s been holding my hand as much as I’d been holding hers. I took a deep breath. She smelled like fucking candy.
    “I’m going to start with your head.”
    “Okay.” Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed.
    I took my hands and gently caressed the crown of her head before and lightly moving down. Her chestnut hair was shiny and very, very soft— real girl hair. I fucking love girl hair.
    “Good or bad?”
    “Good.”
    I smiled inwardly and moved to her face, brushing her cheek with the back of my hand. Her eyes remained closed but she turned toward me, and her lips parted slightly. I took one finger and ran it over her lower lip. She breathed in sharply.
    “Good or bad?” I asked quietly.
    “Good,” she whispered.
    I entertained the thought of pushing my fingers into her mouth, wanting to see her lips wrap around them, but thankfully my better judgement won that one. Instead, I trailed my hand down her neck, to her collar bone. She shuddered.
    “Bad?”
    “No.”
    I nodded, although I don’t know who I was nodding to— she still had her eyes closed. Maybe I was nodding at myself. But it’s not that I needed encouragement, so much as…permission.
    I trailed my fingers down to her chest. It was an uncharacteristically warm June day, and she was wearing a thin white gossamer blouse and cream linen trousers. I was close enough that I could see the outline of her gray bra through her top. I paused, letting my fingers circle deliciously around the plumpness of her tits.
    “May I unbutton your top?” I asked. Okay, a little off script. Technically, this wasn’t supposed to happen until next session. But maybe she’d let me. I had to try.
    You know, in the name of science. Or therapy. Or something.
    She nodded gently and I saw her swallow. She was clearly still nervous and it reminded me of when I was flirting with her last week in the library. I proceeded slowly, taking my time, my cock stiffening all the while.
    Undoing the little pearl buttons was a bit of a challenge. They were tiny and delicate—and I have big thick fingers. I worked methodically, from the top all the way to the bottom, and eventually got my reward as I brushed the shirt off to the sides, exposing her. I observed that her heart rate had picked up, but then again, so had mine.
    “Don’t forget to breathe,” I reminded her. She returned to her controlled breaths.
    Her breasts were fantastic. Spectacular, in fact—and as she inhaled they pushed the limits of her bra cups. I imagined grabbing them, squeezing them, pulling them out over the cups, and taking them in my mouth. As I circled the plump fullness with my hands, I found myself wondering what kind of nipples she has. Were they short dark knobs, or are they pale and rose colored?
    “Good,” she said without prompting. Then I had a momentary lapse of control, and squeezed the breasts gently. I looked up at her face, horrified with myself.
    She just smiled. She liked it. Thank God.
    Seeing her like this, so completely