Stories of Id
If you ask Sigmund Freud, the id is the connection we have to our deepest, darkest desires. And these ladies not only connect with their id, they revel in its carnal pleasures no matter what the rest of their mind has to say about it.
This collection contains the following erotic stories:
After years of suffering the consequences of a sexual dalliance that she can’t seem to live down, Natalie begins therapy to better understand her behavior. But when she develops erotic feelings for her therapist, will she enter into yet another inappropriate relationship?
Warning: Transference (11,900 words) contains parking lot pick me ups, doctor-patient privileges, and a not-so-cunning linguist.
I was ready to give in to my deepest desires, even though I knew they were wrong. Destructive. Morally bankrupt.
Simon’s fingers slowly walked up my leg, making me tingle with every slow, determined step, until they reached their final destination on my crotch. He cradled my pussy in his hand, and even though it was covered up by jeans and panties, it was like he could still feel the heat bubbling up between my legs.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I said, watching him rub me through my clothes, setting my clit absolutely on fire with every second of his touch. “This is really not a good idea.”
Simon continued massaging my mound through my jeans with one hand, and with his other hand, he unbuttoned his pants, setting a rock hard erection free. “Are you sure about that? Because it sure feels like a good idea to me.”
“I’m sure this isn’t a good idea,” I said, but that didn’t stop me from reaching out and tightly wrapping my palm around his meat, getting a good feel of his inappropriate desires.
“Like I said, we’re just having fun.”
I abandoned what little sense of right and wrong and loyalty I had left, and maneuvered my way on top of his cock, feeling it poke me against my jeans. He reached down to unbutton my pants, slightly lifting me up and exposing my red panties. His eyes got wide. He looked like he could devour me right then.
“You look so sexy in red,” he said, practically drooling.
“Just shut up and let’s do this,” I snarled, disgusted with the both of us. I jumped up to take off my jeans, and maneuvered my way back on top of him. I moved my panties to the side, and slid my pelvis toward his, as if not stripping down naked tempered the amount of betrayal going on.
“Oh, baby, you should take it all off.”
“And you should shut up and fuck me.”
Abby is thrilled to learn she’s been chosen for the opportunity of a lifetime—being the lead researcher on a revolutionary sex study. It’s perfect: She can advance in her career while getting serviced by several half-naked men. What could possibly go wrong?
Warning: The Debriefing (4,500 words) contains anal action, deep throat oral, blood pressure monitoring, and scientific discovery gone wild.
You wouldn’t think that psychological studies would be sexy, but I got so aroused when I read through what was in those binders. I couldn’t believe Diana actually picked me for the study. Aside from the fact that it was going to be so important for the research center, it was also going to be incredibly fun for me. I mean, how many people get to legally have sex as part of their job? I tried to ignore how excited I was becoming, but every time a man from the lab spoke to me, or even walked by my desk, I felt as though I could jump him right then and there and start acting out the conditions of the study. I’m sure some of my coworkers would have been game, but I knew I had to focus and stay fresh for the research. I was going to be having a lot of sex the next day, and I didn’t know how I was going to handle it all.
But I couldn’t wait to try. Despite the fact that I promised myself I would keep it fresh downstairs, by the time I got home from work, I couldn’t stand it anymore—my horniness was just too distracting, too much to take. The minute I walked through the door, I stripped off my clothes, leaving a trail from the front door to my bedroom, and went straight for my sex drawer—the bottom drawer of my dresser where I kept my toys, lube, condoms, you name it. I grabbed my favorite nine-inch dildo, laid down on the bed, spread my legs wide, and went to town on my come box. The blinds in my bedroom were wide open, and I hoped that the hot guy next door would peek through his window and watch me fucking myself so hard. I shoved the dildo in and out of my dripping wet pussy, feeling the juices ooze through my fingers. It didn’t take long for me to come—the heat started building up between my legs the minute Diana told me about the study. It was all so delicious—all that research, all those men, all that sex. I shivered and came a second time as I wondered who would be participating in my study, and what all those hard cocks would look like together in one room. The idea was so hot—a room full of rock hard guys who were there just for me. When I got into the shower, I thought about what I should wear to get their attention.
I spent the rest of the evening reading through the study information, taking notes, and preparing what I would say and how I would behave. This was one of those times that I got the opportunity to really ooze sex from every pore of my body.
“Sex and science,” I thought. “This really is the best job ever.”
There was something about Patrick that ignited a fire in me. I knew it was wrong…unprofessional. You’re not supposed to fall in lust with a patient—especially when you’re doing marriage counseling. But I couldn’t resist him and when I found out he felt the same way about me…well, the rest, shall we say, was ecstasy.
Warning: Countertransference (15,900 words) contains patient petting, self-love in a stall, and sick days gone wild.
“It’s just that before I started talking to you about my problems, I thought I was failing. I thought I was failing as a man, at least that’s what Stacey—”
I quickly interrupted him. I didn’t want to talk about her; I didn’t want to think about her. It was bad enough that I had to face her in their next joint session. This was my time with Patrick, and I didn’t want her in it.
“Patrick, you’re not failing at anything. You’re perfect just the way you are. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”
As if I had awakened a sleeping beast inside of him, Patrick quickly pushed me down on the couch by my shoulders and climbed on top of me, hungrily kissing me and grinding his crotch into my leg. He forced his tongue into my mouth and moaned as our tongues danced and our bodies swayed from side to side. I spread my legs open, anxious to receive him in every possible way. He separated his mouth from mine and looked at me with longing and desire as he slowly unbuttoned my blouse, exposing the bra that he quickly pulled up above my tits. He began devouring one of my nipples hungrily while forcefully gripping the other in his tight, sweaty fist.
I held onto his head, taking a handful of his hair and pulling it a little as a natural response to his amazing assault on my nipples. When he sucked the first one sore, he moved on to the next. He wrapped his mouth around it, softly at first and then with forceful precision, sometimes letting his teeth drag on my protruding, circular skin. I arched my back and in response, he took even more of my breast in his mouth, inhaling me more and more by the second.
I watched my chest quickly rise and fall underneath his sweet face, admiring the care he took in pleasuring every inch of my tantalized tits. He was masterful, a maestro with his mouth, indulging me with his undivided attention, as if he lived for nothing else other than to please me, to make me come underneath him.