IMPORTANT NOTE TO ALL READERS
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organisations, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, organisations, or events is entirely coincidental.
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Finally, thank you once again to my editor, Jim.
A bit of a departure from my recent writing folks, a bit on the dark side, this one. A new genre for me, Adult/Authoritarian. You have been warned.
The Therapist
Why do I do this? I am a Power Bottom; You try getting a decent shag in Cumbria. So, I am a relationship therapist. I have to chuckle, some people who have met me, probably about half if I am honest, would say I need to see a psychiatrist.
I suppose I should be up front with you all; I am gay and my speciality is gay couples. Yes, for the last 10 years I have been meeting gay couples who are having 'relationship' problems; see, I know all the buzzwords and I know which one of the couple will fall for all that shit on my webpage every time. 'Inner self' 'Lived experience' 'Belonging' 'My truth'. I am sure if I put on the site and the moon is made of green cheese, some of those sad idiots would nod hopefully.
Sorry, it's hard not to laugh out loud when I think of the guys I have met. Of course, I invite the couples to fill in online 'Clinical Expression' forms; I mean, for Christ's sake, what does that even mean?. They tell me everything I need to know about them and the state of their relationship. Then it's vetting and decision time. Which ones do I fancy using for the weekend? That's not quite right though, they all attend willingly. There is no coercion, or any other form of manipulation, well not by me.
I invite the chosen ones to my cottage for a weekend retreat, in the desolate splendour of the Cumbrian mountains. A 'Mindful' and 'Wellbeing' weekend to 'Analyse and Breakdown' their issues. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I could tell them before they even arrive. I bet some of you have already worked out where I am going with this... So, sit back and enjoy the ride, I do.
Some of you, I know, will believe me and know exactly what I mean. The couples that arrive always look the same, the sad, dumpy, insecure one, desperately chasing rainbows, and the other, usually better looking and fitter, who doesn't really think any of this 'shit' is necessary, but has finally agreed to attend, just to shut up the constant whining. Ladies and Gents, The individuals' names are unimportant, I give you 'The bottom and the Top' 'The sub and the Alpha' call them what you will.
All I know is one is going to be going home sad, usually alone and the other with a reprieve from a lifetime sentence of pathetic whimpering.
**
The postman had just been. He was nice enough. I watched as he drove the nearly mile long track from the main road to my cottage. I am not sure he really appreciated the long drive to my cottage on the single-track road; but then he had no choice. I didn't make him very welcome. I don't want him turning up for coffee when I have guests staying, now do I?.
Where do I live? The easy answer is in the middle of nowhere. My cottage retreat had been an old hill farm off the main A66 until I converted it. Just turn left at Troutbeck and head towards the hills on the A5019. My place is off one of the side tracks, just at the foot of the hills. I had been lucky in business and made a reasonable amount of money in the City of London, way more than I needed. At twenty-eight, I took early retirement. I found the old farm online and put in an offer which was accepted. I then pulled the place down and rebuilt it just how I wanted. With no near neighbours, it was just perfect.
A huge master bedroom with ensuite; containing its only spa bath and walk in six feet square shower and steam cubicle. The only other bedroom in the place is much smaller, a box room, really serving as a second bedroom, right next door to the master. I use this as the guest accommodation, well, for one of them. Both of these bedrooms have doors opening in to a large open plan seating, dining, kitchen area. I rather grandly refer to as the 'Meditation and Recreation Area' on the website. The focal point of this 'Meditation and Recreation Area' is a large inglenook fireplace. I find you can't beat sex on a large fur rug in front of a roaring fire. There are only two other doors leading from this space, one into the small entrance hall and one to a small shower and toilet area. My private office is off of the entrance hall.
I perhaps should mention that along one side of the 'Meditation and Recreation Area' is a huge glass wall that runs the full height and length of the room. It looks out onto an expanse of hardwood decking and the countryside beyond. The decking area holds a small wooden Scandinavian sauna cabin and a large sunken jacuzzi spa pool, and seating area and BBQ. The décor, well, it has previously been called spartan and monastic. The walls are all white, the floors oak planking and the furniture all heavy oak, except for the loving seat to the side of the inglenook. Personally, I like the ambience of the place.
**
I closed the door on the postman and entered my little office with the post; three identical buff A4 envelopes and two white ones, all addressed to the retreat. I tossed the two white ones into the bin, unopened. You see, it even started with that. I discounted or, is a better word, ignored, any couples where one of them could not follow simple instructions. The site clearly said, 'print and send your completed 'Clinical Expression' forms and recent clear full face, colour, A4 passport style photographs in a 'buff A4 envelope'. Not a white one, and most definitely not folded in to an A5 blue one.
I smiled to myself at the arguments I had already instigated between the couples. I could hear the 'Alphas' "Just send it, What does it fucking matter what colour the envelope is?!"
Then the whining, "Yes, but is says. We don't want to upset him... We want to create a good impression..."
I could see the Alpha glancing skywards... "Okay, well, you deal with it then!" Anything for a quiet life.
What difference did the style of envelope make to me ultimately? None, none at all, I just needed to know that at least one of the pair knew how to follow instructions. Surmising that the one who wanted this retreat and would follow my instructions to the letter was the sad, insecure dumpy one.
I lay the 'buff' envelopes on my desk and booted up my laptop and waited for it to connect to the Wi-Fi; yes, we have the internet in Cumbria. I quickly logged into my webpage. Even I am impressed by the picture on the site of the little white cottage nestling at the foot of a mountain; okay, a large hill. Buzz words drift almost unnoticed across the serene image. I have found subliminal messages are best.
I flicked through the pictures on the site and check all the links work. I paused on my favourite image, the one I love most, the image of the Jacuzzi; where all my work begins and usually ends. It sits romantically, but clearly visible, snuggled into a corner of the extensive covered decking, with views out on to nature's surrounding wonders... Yes, I said, covered decking! It rains a lot in Cumbria, as some of us can vouch.
**
I checked the activity logs for my webpage and read a couple of the messages I had been sent, expressing interest in visiting. It was usually in these first few lines, this initial contact that I knew whether they were potential candidates for my depraved mind or not. I knew if they started out hesitant, almost pleading for help, they were for me. My response to the initial contact was always friendly-ish. I directed them to the forms that needed to be completed, stressing that they should follow all the instructions to the letter, adding that then and only then I would happily respond further when I received them. I wasn't going to get into a discussion with these people. Fuck, if they thought they needed a therapist, let them contact me the correct way.
Having sent my replies, and added in another couple of glowing, but fake reviews, I pushed the laptop to the side and reached out for the three buff envelopes the postman had delivered.
Opening each of them, I removed the white A4 folders and lay them out in front of me. I was faced with three name labels, each with two sets of names. I picked up the first one, Chris and Andrew. Their surnames were different, so...
I opened their folder and took out the two A4 sized, full face colour photographs. Each had a name written in biro across the bottom. One just as the site stated, a copper plate, 'Andrew'. The other, well, I hoped he had written it himself, it had a large bold 'C'; I liked that, the Alpha, 'Chris!'.
I smiled to myself. I knew immediately, I had to have him. I grinned as I picked up his 'Clinical Assessment' form, containing all of his personal details. 'Christopher Rory McPhee', with the word Chris in brackets after that and underlined twice and an exclamation mark, could this get any better? I filed that away in my head.
Twenty-eight. Six feet tall, hmmm, taller than me, not that a taller guy ever bothered me, we were all the same height lying down. He had a narrowish face, no; I am being too harsh. He had a gorgeous face, and his eyes. They seemed to fix mine from the paper. I squinted at the photograph as I held it into the light from the window. Were they blue or a pale green? Each of the irises had dark limbal rings framing them. Real, come to bed eyes. What had I read about limbal rings? I grinned as it came back to me, a sign of health and attractiveness, well you could say that again. Whoever wrote that knew his stuff!
His hair was the colour of ripened grain, a thick yellowish flax. It was slightly scruffy, windswept, even. Cut shorter, very short on the sides, longer on the top, but with a much longer floppy fringe which fell forward, it seemed to float, seductively, just above his eyes. He had facial hair too, a relatively short-trimmed beard, not designer stubble mind. It followed his jaw from his sideburns to his chin, then petered out somewhat, leading up to his perfect bottom lip. There it formed two columns leading up to either side of his lips; those perfect lips, coming to an end with a full moustache covering his top lip. Subconsciously, I licked my lips. This guy was gorgeous, more I could tell from the cocky look he was giving me, he knows he is too.
I reached for the other photograph. As expected, a little pudding face stared out at me. With piggie brown eyes, brown hair, a poor brown imitation of Chris's beard. I put it back down and picked up Andrews 'Clinical Expression' form. I scanned through it, he was Mr Average... I flipped the form over, this was the bit I wanted to read. 'Chris and I have been together for seven years.' I am sure I smirked, 'In the beginning, everything was wonderful, he couldn't do enough for me'. Barf, 'Then things changed, he won't discuss anything and we no longer have any form of intimate relationship.' Fuck, what was this guy on? 'Please, please, can you help us?'. I smiled to myself again, 'us'. Only one of you needed help...
**
I opened my laptop and checked my calendar, totally empty, just the way I liked and kept it. I went back to the availability section Andrew had filled in. Once more, it was a waffle fest, one day here, one day there, with the reasons it was unavailable to them. Like I cared if it was his mother's birthday, or he had a dentist appointment... Why is it some people confuse you with someone who actually gives a fuck?
I had one more thing to check before I responded. I pulled over my laptop and picked up Chris's 'Clinical Expression' form once more. I scanned down to his Facebook profile name. I typed it in and pulled it up on the screen. The silly boy hadn't set all his privacy settings. I went straight to the photo section and began to browse. Oh, there were the obligatory photos of him and Andrew. Christ, Andrew was gripping him like that Megan woman. Oh, what's her name? You know the one who grips on to Prince Harry for grim death while grinning like a loon. Poor Chris looked anything but happy. I flicked back to the older photographs. The further I went back, the more he was smiling in them. God, he has an amazing smile, and there's a surprise, no Andrew to be seen in the older pictures. Better still, in several he was in budgie smugglers on the beach. He had a nice muscled body, I hope he still had it. I glanced at his form again, smiling as he listed the name of his gym, oh good. There was also a nice revealing one of him in a wet suit with some friends, holding a surfboard. There was that killer smile again. I expanded the picture, at first on his face, my cock throbbed, then zoomed in on the background, trying to work out where it could have been taken, the sky was grey and overcast, must be somewhere in Britain, probably Cornwall.
I pulled up my email page and typed in their joint email addresses. 'Dear Andrew and Chris, thank you for your interest in attending one of our relationship retreats, sadly; it appeared from the availability section of your form, Andrew, that our available dates just don't match up... I went on, 'It is such a shame as I am sure I could have helped you out.' I sat, then cast my line, 'I know it's a long shot, but is there any way you could attend this coming weekend? I have just this morning received a last-minute cancellation'. I went on, 'Sadly if you can't make that, we are probably looking at next year' adding as a kind of footnote, 'I am so sure I would have been able to assist you both too. Yours sincerely, Peter.' I pressed send.
**
Ah, now you know my name. Yes, I'm Peter, Peter Wiltshire, fully qualified 'Relationship Therapist'. Initially, I just helped out friends and then, well, I began to charge, it was a nice bit of regular pin money.
I was thirty-four last year and have been qualified now for nearly ten years. Early on I had realised I didn't enjoy the banking world, well, not all of it, I liked the control and manipulation of people it afforded you; the power, if you will. I didn't want to abandon that completely, not and lose that rush.
To me, it was a relatively simple side step, transferring that control into my therapy and relationship, sideline work, then turning it into a full-time career.
I have always been a gay bottom. I learnt early on that bottoms tend to be the lowest of the low in the hierarchy of the gay world. Well, that's how lots of tops see us. When I was twenty-five, I had met an amazing alpha guy. Over our time together, he taught me to see that I was in fact the one with all the power... I had what the top wanted, gay or straight; a warm, tight, welcoming, no questions asked, always available arse. He taught me not to accept being used, but instead to use those arrogant alpha tops and pleasure myself using their bodies and dicks. Some see that as a form of aggression, riding a top and telling them exactly what you want. You would be right, however, the thrill and the power rush became a powerful drug to me. I was addicted, willing to do anything to get what I wanted, just like any other kind of addict.
**
I closed my laptop and picked it up. I moved into the main room and moved to the table by the glass wall. I sat looking out, my eyes not really focusing on anything. I knew it would be sometime, before I heard back from Andrew, but I also knew what his response would be.
I smiled. Now, I know some of you will want to know how did this lust for the chase, the power rush, transfer into my therapy relationship work?
I can recall clearly the first time it occurred to me that I had the power to either help or take what I wanted. I chose to take and enjoy. I still remember the couple clearly, Ryan and Ged. They are no longer together. A previous client had recommended that they speak to me... Well, that Ryan, contact me as they were 'experiencing difficulties with their relationship'. Wallowing in self-doubt and his own insecurities, he had done so. So there we were some weeks later, seated in my London flat.
I bet you have guessed. Ryan was the insecure bottom, the relationship's junior partner. The more I sat listening to him whine on, I realised it was all in his head. I lost count of how many times his partner Ged had taken his hand and tried to assure him that he still loved him to bits.
In fact, I was getting bored hearing it. I had zoned out when I heard Ged mumbling, "But you always say it hurts you when we have sex... That's why I don't ask anymore."
I had completely missed what Ryan had said. I refocused, and sat forward on my chair, "This sounds like an area we should possibly consider in more detail... Ryan, perhaps, you would like to expand on what Ged said... Help us to understand it better."
Ryan looked at the carpet, his face visibly flushing with embarrassment. "He is just so big."
SO BIG? My mind raced and my arse twitched. I wanted to scream at Ged, "Too BIG? Why the fuck are you wasting it on this idiot who doesn't know what he wants?" At that precise moment a switch flicked in my brain, my therapy mind began its decent in to darkness. If Ryan didn't want Ged, I would take him and use him for my pleasure. My mind begun racing with the possibilities.
"It's the same size it always was! I don't remember you complaining when we met." Ged spat out the words, practically hissing. I refocused.
Ryan let out a sob. I let Ged's anger go unchallenged, in fact, I fanned it. I heard myself desperately trying not to sound condescending. "Has it grown bigger, Ryan? Is that what you think?" Time to belittle and make him feel stupid, destroy any remaining vestiges of confidence and self-worth he still had.
Ryan blushed even more and swallowed, "No, of course not..."
I glanced at Ged. He was looking skyward, his lips taut. Just the reaction I wanted from him.
"Go on Ryan, you look like you want to say something else, or am I mistaken?" I reached out and touched his knee. His face flashed up, his eyes making contact with mine, I gave a little nod. He returned it. I had him... The mug, he thought, I was on his side.
He glanced down again, his expression changed, had I given him the little boost to his confidence to really make a mess of this? God, I hoped so. He bit his lip and shook his head, his eyes glazed with tears, he took a deep breath, and with his voice breaking, "No, I do have something else I would like to say." I could have kissed him. Ged let out a harsh sigh.
I smiled comfortingly at Ryan. "Please Ryan, go ahead, this is a safe space for you both to express your true feelings." God, listen to me, I really spouted some shit sometimes, actually, all the time.
Ged grunted dismissively. It was obvious from his face he was getting more and more pissed off. "Go on then! Just what have I done this time?" he snarled at Ryan.
I glanced at Ryan, still not challenging Ged's aggressive words and tone. I leant forward expectantly, "Ryan?"
Ryan glanced at me, another little nod, a deep breath, and off he rattled. "You never used to be so rough... When we had sex, now ... You keep wanting to try out different positions... They hurt! ... You only think of yourself and getting off, never me!"
ROUGH? My hole spasmed again and my cock, which had been bored up until now, twitched into life.
"Oh, this is ridiculous," Barked Ged as he stood, "What's the fucking point! ... SHIT, surely you are as bored as ME with the sex we have!"
My cock throbbed to a full erection. I adjusted myself, Ged noticed, a smile flashed across his eyes as they locked on mine. Ryan was now sobbing into an old paper tissue. I reached out and took hold of Ged's arm, the electricity sparked between us, "Ged, please, please sit down."
Ryan sniffled, God, he was pathetic. Was it time for the coup de grâce?
I offered Ryan another tissue from the box on the table. He took it and blew his nose softly. I modulated my voice perfectly, "Perhaps this is a good time to break for today? I can see you are very upset."
Ryan nodded and blew his nose again into the ever diminishing and snotty paper tissue. He stood slowly.
"We can pick up from here at our next session."
He nodded. I saw Ged start to stand up. I reached out and gripped his knee, my casual gesture belying the power I exerted on his knee. He glanced over at me, again our eyes locked, another flash of understanding and he sat back in the chair.
With my very pores oozing concern, I joined Ryan standing, he looked round at Ged, "Aren't you coming?"
"Ryan, I would like to speak to Ged further alone." I locked my eyes on Ryans, mouthing, "Let me sort this out for you." Ryan smiled with his eyes and mouthed back, "Thank you, thank you so much..." I showed him to the door. He paused again, "Ged, darling, I will wait in the car."
Ged smiled back from the chair, "Don't worry, you get on home. I will grab some Chinese for tea once I am finished here."
"Okay, darling."
BARF. I closed the door behind him and turned back to Ged. "You, you follow me!"
Ged stood smirking. I didn't wait for him. I headed straight down the corridor of my flat and into the bedroom. Ged stood grinning at me from the door. I took his arm and pulled him into the room. "Now strip, let me see what size this amazing weapon of mass destruction really is... and better still, what it can do."
Ged pulled off his rugby shirt, and began undoing his jeans, he toed off his shoes, his face a massive grin. "This is more like it!"
"Shut up and get on the bed... I want to feel what all the fuss is about inside me!" I barked at him.
"Fuck, yes." Naked, his cock already hard, swaying before him, he threw himself on to my bed and flipped over on to his back. Cockily he put his arms behind his head, his eyes focused on me.
I slowly began to remove my own clothes. "Wank for me. Get that cock hard and wet!"
He hesitated for a microsecond and then dropped one arm to his shaft. He gripped it and began to stroke his foreskin back and forth over his swollen, hard cockhead. His dick was a generous and thick seven inches, not the biggest I had ever had, but it was just what I needed right now.
Naked I walked over to the bed, his prefuck was dribbling over his hand, his whole cock and balls now glistening in it. He was so turned on. I picked up the lube from the bedside cabinet and tossed it to him. "Lube up, big boy!" He grinned and undid the cap, and pumped several good squirts into his palm before coating his cock with it.
I climbed onto the bed and stood over him, my legs astride his body. "Now show me what you can do with it!"
He groaned as I lowered myself, he widened his legs, "Oh fuck, yes. Come on, baby, I know you want it."
I slapped his face hard, stunned he looked at me. "Just fuck me!" I snarled at him.
Facing him, I positioned my hole over his bellend and with my eyes fixed on his. I blew him an exaggerated air kiss, and let myself drop like a stone, down to his balls.
"Oh, shit." His hands grabbed for my hips. I slapped them away. "I told you to fuck me! So, fuck me!"
He swallowed, I don't think he could quite believe it. His face tensed as he strained to lift his hips, pushing his cockhead even deeper into me. I grinned and moved my fingers to his chest, there I sought out his nipples and gripped them, twisting them brutally.
"Ouch, fuck." He squirmed, trying to avoid my fingers.
"I told you to fuck me." I grunted, "AHH, you need me to make it easier for you... and there was me thinking you were the big stud. How do you want to do this, then?"
His bravado had gone, "Can I go on top?"
"No!, the most I will agree to is doggie."
"Okay," he mumbled.
I lifted off of him and got onto all fours. For a moment, I thought he was going to make a run for it. I grinned back at him, time to stroke his ego again. "Come on stud, show me what you have got!"
A smile returned to his face, and he shuffled onto his knees and manoeuvred in behind me.
I glanced back, "Now, deep and hard is how I like it!"
He nodded. He looked like he was about to say, "Yes Sir," but he stopped himself. I groaned as his cockhead pushed into me again.
I reached my hand back under myself, reaching between his legs and gripped his big hairy balls. I gave them a gentle squeeze, "Look, I know what I want. I said, Deep and Hard." I released my grip as I felt his hips move.
He had gotten the message. He gripped my hips again and his balls began to nosily slap against my arse as he built up his speed and power.
He bitch fucked me, slamming into me hard, just the way I liked it. He lasted for precisely five minutes; I timed it.
"I'm sorry, I am going to cum, I can't keep this up... I'm sorry." He grunted.
I pushed back hard against him, "Don't be sorry, we have all night."
He grunted as his cum flooded into me. "But, but, I have to get home." He whimpered.
I had just chuckled, as I glanced round at him, "You're not going anywhere until I am satisfied."
"You have mail". Does anyone else hate that voice like I do? I had just been stroking my cock, thinking about Ryan and Ged and what I would like to do with Chris given the chance. I opened my laptop and clicked on my email account.
It was an email from Andrew, "Hi, it has taken some arranging, but we can make it for this weekend. Please send full details."
I grinned, "Oh, that would be my total pleasure."
Folks, there is nothing more rewarding than hearing from you that you are enjoying the story. Please take the time to email me to let me know. Blackscar.
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