My Therapist Made Me Her Cuck Slut

"Yannick, I think we need to talk about why you keep avoiding this," Quinn said, leaning forward slightly in her chair, her pen poised over her notebook. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face that was both soft and sharp—full lips, high cheekbones, and piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through him.

Yannick shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his broad shoulders tense beneath his fitted shirt. He had been coming to Quinn’s office for months now, but this was the first time she’d called him out so directly. The room was warm, sunlight streaming through the blinds, casting stripes of light across the carpet. He glanced at her, then quickly away, his jaw tightening.

"Look, I’m not avoiding anything," he said, his voice low but edged with frustration. "I just don’t see the point in rehashing the same stuff over and over." Quinn tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Then why do you keep coming back, Yannick?" she asked softly. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. The silence between them stretched, heavy and charged.

The air between them felt heavy, like the room itself was holding its breath. Quinn leaned forward just enough for the fabric of her blouse to gape slightly, revealing a hint of lace bra beneath. Yannick’s eyes flicked down, then back up, his throat tightening.

"Maybe we should stop for today," she offered softly, her voice a little too husky for a professional suggestion. The suggestion hung there, and Yannick didn’t answer immediately, his jaw working as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

Quinn stood, her skirt clinging to her hips as she rounded the desk. "Or," she said, her tone shifting, "maybe we can talk about what’s really bothering you. For real this time." She was closer now, her perfume intoxicating, and Yannick’s pulse spiked. Shit. What was she doing?

Quinn’s hips settled against the edge of her desk, her skirt riding up just enough to tease the tops of her thighs. She crossed one leg over the other, the motion deliberate, and tilted her head. "Unzip," she said, her voice steady but laced with authority, like she already knew he’d obey.

Yannick froze, a flush creeping up his neck. His fists clenched briefly before he muttered, "This is so fucked up," but his fingers were already moving to his belt. The sound of the zipper sliding down was obscenely loud in the quiet office.

Quinn leaned back slightly, her smug little smirk widening as she watched him fumble. "Good," she purred, her eyes flicking down to where he was straining against his boxers. "Now, let’s talk about what’s really got you all tied up in knots."

Quinn’s hand slid slowly down her thigh, her nails dragging lightly over her skin as she watched Yannick flush deeper, his cock straining against his boxers. “You’ve got to fucking relax, Yannick,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery.

He opened his mouth to protest, but his eyes flicked back to her fingers, which were now tracing lazy circles on the inside of her knee, just below the hem of her skirt. “This isn’t—this is—” he stammered, his arguments dissolving as she shifted, letting the skirt ride higher.

“Isn’t what? Professional?” Quinn laughed softly, her fingers inching higher, her smirk widening as Yannick’s breath hitched. “You’re the one who keeps coming back for this, darling. Don’t act like you don’t want it.”

Quinn slid off the edge of the desk with a slow, deliberate grace, her skirt pooling on the floor around her ankles. She stood there, all sharp edges and soft curves in her black lace bra and matching panties, her smirk daring him to look away. “Still think this isn’t what you want?” she asked, her voice low and teasing, as she ran a fingertip along the waistband of her panties.

Yannick’s breath caught in his throat, his cock twitching uncontrollably under her gaze. “Fuck, Quinn,” he muttered hoarsely, his hands gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She took a step closer, her hips swaying with every move, and leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. “You’re so fucking hard for me, aren’t you? Bet you’ve been thinking about this since I crossed my legs in session one.” Her laugh was dark, delicious, and entirely unfair.

Quinn’s smirk deepened as she leaned over him, one foot sliding forward to hook under the waistband of his boxers. With a slow, deliberate tug, she dragged them down his hips, her fingernail tracing a line down his exposed thigh. “You smell like… stress,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Tell me, Yannick, were you imagining this while you sat through those boring-ass meetings today?”

His cock sprang free, hard and twitching, and Yannick’s jaw clenched as he tried to keep his face neutral. “This isn’t—fuck, Quinn—this isn’t therapy,” he choked out, his fingers digging into the couch cushions.

She laughed low, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, “Sweetheart, therapy is what you need. But this? This is what you want.” Her hand closed around him, and he groaned, his resolve cracking.

Quinn’s grip tightened around his cock, her thumb sweeping over the head with just enough pressure to make Yannick’s legs tremble. “Look at you,” she purred, leaning in so close her breath ghosted over his lips. “So fucking wound up you can barely think straight.”

He groaned, his head tipping back against the couch, but she stopped abruptly, pulling her hand away to trail her nails along his inner thigh. “On your knees,” she ordered, her voice sharp and commanding despite the amusement glittering in her eyes.

Yannick hesitated, his jaw tight—he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t—but Quinn arched a brow, her fingers curling around his cock again, and he slid to the floor like a puppet on a string. “Good boy,” she said, her smirk dripping with satisfaction.

Quinn stepped back slightly, her eyes raking over Yannick’s kneeling form with a predatory gleam. Reaching behind herself, she slid her fingers under the waistband of her lace panties, peeling them down her hips with agonizing slowness. She dangled them in front of his face, her smirk widening as his lips parted an inch. “Open wide, darling.”

Yannick’s throat tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “This is—” he started, but she cut him off with a sharp laugh, her free hand wrapping around his cock again and giving him a rough stroke. “Pathetic?” she finished for him, her nails digging lightly into his thigh. “Yeah, you are.”

She shoved the panties into his mouth, muffling his protests as her fingers tightened around his shaft. “Suck,” she demanded, her voice low and dripping with disdain. He groaned around the fabric, his cock twitching in her grip as she leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. “Bet you’d come just from this, huh? You’re that desperate for me.”

Quinn yanked the panties from Yannick’s mouth with a harsh tug, the fabric damp and twisted from his reluctant bite. “Pathetic,” she sneered, tossing them aside before stepping forward, her thighs bracketing his face. “Open wide, sweetheart. Let’s see if you can make this tolerable.”

He hesitated, his jaw clenched, but Quinn’s fingers tightened around his cock, her thumb swiping a bead of pre-cum from the tip. “I said lick,” she growled, her knees bending slightly to press her wetness against his lips.

Yannick groaned, his tongue sliding against her folds as she stroked him, her other hand fisting in his hair. “God, you’re disgusting,” she hissed, her voice trembling with mockery and dark pleasure. “You’d choke on me before you even get to taste my cum, wouldn’t you?”

Quinn stepped back, her thighs releasing his face with a wet smack, and Yannick’s breath hitched as she stepped over him, her heels clicking against the floor. “Crawl,” she commanded, not even looking back as she sauntered toward the bedroom.

Yannick hesitated, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt, but the sharp snap of her fingers forced him forward on unsteady knees. "Fuck, Quinn," he growled, but she only laughed, her hips swaying as she led him, her heels grinding into the carpet with every step.

When they reached the bed, she perched on the edge, spreading her legs just enough to tease. Reaching down, she slid a finger under his chin. “Lick,” she said, lifting her heel toward his mouth, the faint shine of his pre-cum glistening on the toe. “Let’s see how eager you really are.”

Quinn tilted her head, her smirk razor-sharp as she pressed her heel harder against his lips. Yannick hesitated, his cock twitching almost painfully as he leaned in, his tongue dragging along the glossy surface. “Good boy,” she cooed, “but don’t stop until it’s spotless.”

When the heel finally gleamed, her lips curved into a cruel smile. “Now come here,” she ordered, shifting back onto the bed and locking her thighs around his head. Yannick groaned as her damp heat pressed against his mouth, his hands clutching at her thighs.

Quinn leaned back, her nails scraping his scalp as she rocked forward. “You’re nothing but a pathetic little cuck,” she hissed, grinding harder. “Bet you’ll cum just from tasting me, won’t you?” His muffled moan was her only answer as she laughed, dark and triumphant.

Quinn’s nails dug into Yannick’s scalp as she pulled him closer, her thighs squeezing mercilessly around his head. “Mmm, such a good little cuck,” she cooed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Her free hand gripped his cock, stroking roughly—just enough to keep him teetering on the edge.

“Fuck, Quinn, please—” Yannick choked out, his voice muffled against her skin. She laughed, a sharp, cruel sound, and yanked him up by the hair. “Please what?” she sneered, stroking him faster, her other hand sliding her heel back into his mouth. “You don’t get to come yet, darling.”

Yannick groaned, his tongue lapping at her heel as tears pricked his eyes. Quinn leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. “You’re so pitiful,” she whispered, grinding against his mouth. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Quinn yanked Yannick up by the hair, his head snapping back as she shoved him face-first onto the bed. Her heel dug into his spine, pinning him in place. “You’re not done yet, darling,” she purred, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants.

With a sharp tug, she exposed his ass, her nails raking down his skin. “Fuck, Quinn, no—” he started, but her laugh cut him off as she lubed her fingers with his pre-cum. “Oh, yes,” she growled, sliding two fingers into him without warning.

Yannick gasped, his hands clawing at the sheets. “God, you’re tight,” she mocked, grinding her heel into his back as she twisted her fingers deeper. “Bet you love this, you little slut.” He groaned, his hips bucking as she laughed darkly.

Quinn pulled her fingers out of Yannick with a wet pop, smirking as he shuddered against the bed. “Mmm, you love being used, don’t you?” she taunted, reaching behind her to a drawer and pulling out a sleek black strap-on. His eyes widened. “Oh, don’t get excited, darling,” she purred, sliding it between her legs to tease him. “Beg for it, and I might let you lick it clean.”

Yannick groaned, his voice shaking. “Please, Quinn—” She cut him off with a sharp laugh. “Please what?” she sneered, grinding the strap-on against his lips. “You’re not worthy yet.” She pulled it away just as he tried to lick, smirking as she slid it back into the drawer. “Back between my legs, cuck.”

He groaned, crawling back to her, his tongue lapping desperately at her wetness. Quinn sighed mockingly, running a hand through his hair. “Such a pathetic little slut,” she cooed, gripping him tighter as he moaned. “You’re lucky I let you taste me at all.”