"Tell me, Sean, would you like to fuck your mother?"
"What?"
With that, Dr. Olivia Walker had the full attention of her young client for the first time since he'd walked into her office half an hour before. Until now, he'd reclined on her saddle leather couch, staring sullenly at the ceiling and replying in monosyllables to her questions about basic matters like his schoolwork, sleep patterns, and overall state of mind.
Now, eighteen-year-old Sean Martin sat bolt upright. He swung his legs onto the floor to directly face his new therapist for the first time.
"I'm sorry," Olivia said earnestly. Inwardly, she was pleased with her success in piercing Sean's indifferent shell. "I phrased that poorly. What I meant to ask is if you have sexual fantasies about your mother."
Sean didn't answer immediately. He stared at her as if she was his teacher and he was trying to guess the right answer to a question in front of the whole class.
"Is that what Mom said?" he stalled. "That I, uh, have fantasies about her? Like, how would she even know that?"
Olivia peered at him over the red plastic rims of her eyeglasses. "Whatever is said in this office is confidential, Sean. You're an adult; nothing that you tell me in this session will be shared with your mother. By the same token, I can't tell you specifically what your mother has said to me. But you already know how concerned she is about your recent behavior, don't you? Isn't that why you agreed to her request that you come in to talk with me?"
"Sure." Sean waved dismissively and withdrew into silence again. He was still watching her closely, though, rather than lying back down on the couch or staring off at the framed pastel seascapes that adorned her office walls along with her diplomas and the photos of her own college-age sons. That much was good.
"Very well. This is your appointment, Sean. We can use it to work on your issues, or we can sit in silence for the rest of the hour. It's up to you."
Olivia turned her attention to the black leather notebook in her lap and jotted down a few words, pretending to ignore Sean. In truth, she had no intention of letting this good-looking young stud get out of her office without a thorough interview and examination. And she knew exactly how to hold a man's attention.
Watching him from the corner of her eye, she slowly uncrossed and recrossed her legs so that her short navy skirt rode up to within a few inches shy of her crotch. His gaze traced the curve of her supple thighs up to the shadow between her legs. Her pussy moistened at the sight of the thick bulge growing beneath the denim of his tight jeans.
Promising. Very promising.
Olivia knew that no psychological association would condone her use of sexual allure to forge a therapist-patient rapport. She simply didn't care. She had her own ideas about how to best benefit her clients, ideas tested by extensive personal experimentation.
She believed that the best therapy for most of the virile young men she counseled was vigorous sexual activity. Sex was a natural and holistic path to peak mental and physical health. She aimed to nurture her male clients in positive expressions of their masculinity.
The best way to do this, she believed, was by fucking them. Olivia Walker was a multifaceted woman: a successful psychologist, an affectionate mother, and an unabashedly promiscuous slut.
Her small, exclusive practice provided her with steady access to potential partners. She preferred them young. Most guys she saw were no more than eighteen or nineteen years old. Teens were the most open-minded and teachable in sexual matters, quickly learning to enjoy almost anything that got their rocks off. They got hard quicker, recovered faster, and invariably produced more of the delicious jism that she loved than did men her own age.
Clients often entered Olivia's office for the first time confused and anxious about their sexual urges and appetites. She listened, and she employed talking therapy when she thought it would help, but her greatest success came from opening her legs to them. Rarely did a young client fail to respond to her treatment. She sent them on their way with new confidence, a thorough sexual education, and drained balls.
Nature had gifted her with the tools for success in her unorthodox approach to counseling. Olivia was a tall, raven-haired beauty with arresting green eyes and a sensuous, full-lipped mouth. She favored closely-tailored professional suits which emphasized rather than disguised her lithe figure. She might have been mistaken for a ballerina except for one thing: her huge, perfectly sculpted breasts. At thirty-eight years old she still worked out for hours almost every day, strengthening her muscles so that she could walk gracefully erect with a pair of tits proportionate to a woman twice her size.
Olivia had looked forward with horny anticipation to this morning's meeting ever since first speaking with Sean's mother in Zoom chat. Still, she maintained her mask of professional detachment and continued to feign interest in her case notes.
"Sean Martin, age nineteen years,"
she read for the dozenth time.
"Freshman undergraduate at State University. Currently living at home with parents Teresa and Ralph Martin. Voluntarily enrolled for counseling at mother's request."
"There ain't really nothing to talk about," Sean said, seeking her attention now. Secretly pleased, Olivia looked up at him as if surprised to find him still sitting in her office.
"I don't know what Mom told you, but I'll bet it wasn't the whole story. She's the one who really oughta be on the couch."
"Interesting choice of words." Olivia tapped her pen against her upper teeth thoughtfully. She closed her glossy red lips gently around the barrel and sucked gently, almost imperceptibly at it. "You think your mother should talk to a therapist, because...?" She flicked her tongue across the pen's tip. Sean's eyes widened. His cock jerked visibly in his jeans.
"Because she's the one who's so fucking wound up about sex these days!" he blurted out. "Sorry," he added, embarrassed at his own rough language.
"You can say 'fucking' in here," she reassured him, pronouncing the word with special emphasis. "It's important that you feel free to speak your mind. There are no forbidden words in this office. Nor forbidden desires. I'm not a priest confessor. I'm here to help."
He exhaled slowly. "See, Mom and Dad have lots of problems. He's not home much. And when he does come home, a lot of the time he's drunk. Real drunk. He's...I'm not sure how to say it?"
"Is your father abusive to you or your mother in any way?"
"No! But he just, uh, ignores her."
"Your father neglects your mother."
"They...he sleeps in the den most nights. I'm pretty sure they're not, uh, doin' it. At all." Now the words tumbled out in a rush. "Mom's not even forty. She's nice, and pretty--she's beautiful! And she's miserable. I know she wants to-to--"
"Your mother wants to fuck." Olivia completed the thought for him. "Of course she does. It's hard to accept, sometimes, that parents are fully human beings, with all of the drives that you and I have. Fucking is healthy. I like to fuck, Sean. Don't you?"
Sean's mouth fell open. "Sure I do. I mean...I would."
"You're a virgin?"
"Technically, yeah." He blushed. Heat bloomed in Olivia's loins. This was going to be even better than she'd hoped.
"That's not unusual at your age, and nothing to be embarrassed by," she reassured him. "It probably seems to you like all your friends and everyone you know is
