The circumstances of this Saturday morning consultation were decidedly irregular, but not without precedent.
First, of course, was the day of the week, for Dr. Cohen did not, as a general rule, accept appointments on Saturdays, preferring to preserve weekends for his own mental health regimen-- that is to say, his enjoyment of the variety of teenaged females available to him through the Daughter Share Program.
However, in Leo Cohen’s view, seeing to one’s clinical duties need not always require deferring one’s pleasure, and this session was to be a demonstration of that point. He looked down between his spread thighs, into the adorably freckled face of Prudence Parker, a lovely ginger-haired moppet who continued to believe that her defloration, several weeks earlier, at the hands of her randy maternal Uncle Randy, had come of her own volition and by way of her own seductive efforts. In reality, this notion had been planted, its scheming had then been fostered, and its execution had been assured through her course of treatment under the good doctor’s Track B biofeedback conditioning protocol, all sponsored and financed by the very same uncle the youngster had been moved to “seduce.” During the interval since she had first “maneuvered” her “innocent” uncle into sexual intimacy, the darling soon-to-be-a-seventh-grader had already accommodated miles of uncle cock, six inches at a stroke.
Prudence was currently being groomed under Track D biofeedback conditioning, for entry into the Daughter Share Program (technically “niece share” in this case), and so she had by now also become quite accustomed to pleasing Dr. Cohen’s own experienced penis. At this moment she was demonstrating her comfort with this state of affairs by easily accepting said organ fully within her throat, her lips resting against its trimmed, graying pubic patch, her eyes, watering only slightly, patiently gazing up into those of her caregiver. She was a natural, having hardly gagged even at the beginning of her training in this Track. Dr. Cohen was confident she would become a very popular — and hence very busy —member of the lending pool.
“Now, Prudence, you know this exercise, the ‘Surreptitious Sucktress’. You’ve enjoyed it many times. In a moment, another patient will enter this room, sit in front of this desk, and begin a consultation with me. She will not be able to see you under there, nor, I assure you, will I betray your presence or activities. But you are to diligently service my genitalia, keeping me on edge, until such a time as I place my hand on the back of your head; at that signal you are to take me deep, just as you are doing now, and receive my spend. We’ve been conditioning you to this for some time now — you have been successfully climaxing in response to this combination of stimuli about 60 percent of the time, as measured over your ten most recent trials. Hmmm, yes, a “fail” is about to roll off. So if you properly orgasm in response to my ejaculating down your throat this morning, you’ll be at 70%. If you recall, at 80%, you’ll be “certified” at this required skill.
“Now, I know you know the drill, and I thought your efforts Tuesday afternoon were exemplary. However, there is an added element of difficulty this morning. The patient will be accompanied by her mother -- a mother completely in the dark about the nature of the courses of treatment provided in this practice — she knows nothing of protocols such as those you have enjoyed and are this morning again enjoying. It is very unusual for any parent, even fully-aware sponsors, to join us in the consultation room, but today it cannot be helped. The patient needs my assistance in mollifying her mother, as you will learn if you choose to eavesdrop. My point is, while remaining undetected is always part of this exercise, you understand that it is absolutely essential to my practice, your continued treatment, and the treatment of scores of other young ladies now and in the future, that this unsuspecting mother have no inkling that as I am reassuring her at length, the length of my penis is all the while ensconced within the throat of a highly accomplished and energetic thirteen-year-old fellatrix. Do you understand?”
A nod, a long, succulent, but silent withdrawal of her pursed lips along his shaft until only his fat knob remained enveloped, a cute wink, and a voracious re-attack all the way down to his root wordlessly demonstrated Prudence Parker’s unambiguous enrollment in the plan.
A layman might consider his taking of the upcoming meeting under such conditions to be an outrageous risk, but then again, Dr. Cohen’s entire professional (and private) life would, to said layman, seem unbelievably foolhardy in the first place. Dr. Cohen was no fool, he knew how to manage risk, and he knew that if properly managed, nearly non-stop hebephilically-enhanced rewards were the pay-off.
“Good then.” A knock, right on time, an electronic lock silently released. “Come in.”
“Oh, good morning Bethany, and you must be Mrs. Weathers. Please take these seats. I apologize for not getting up, I have been feeling a little stiff in my lower extremities and it is better if I remain seated.” He felt Prudence’s teeth gently squeezed him, mid-shaft, teasing him in their shared secret.
“Oh that’s quite alright, Doctor, I’m just so happy you were willing to see us. Don -- my husband, Bethany’s stepfather -- said you don’t normally accept Saturday appointments.”
“That’s true, but I understand you are very concerned about Bethany’s well-being, and I want to help if I can.” Kristie Weathers was a striking woman, beautiful and in excellent physical shape for a thirty-five year old mother of the fourteen-year old girl beside her. The mythical layman already in attendance might wonder why a man like Don Weathers would ever need anything else, sexually, if he had such a enticing wife to hand. But Dr. Cohen is, as we’ve established, no layman, neither clinically as a sexual psychologist, nor as an insatiable satyr in his own right.
Indeed, the irresistible challenge to Don Weather’s monogamy sat to her mother’s right, that is to say the left in Leo Cohen’s field of view. Bethany Michaels: Kristie Weathers’ daughter by a man who, according to her husband, had never even learned he had a child. Bethany Michaels: that husband’s stepdaughter, sexual plaything, and now co-conspirator in his campaign of ravishing her schoolmates, up to a half dozen so far, and counting. And Bethany Michaels: Leo’s own patient, and more significantly, the object of his most frustrating case of sexual envy. Her lovely face bore a calm and demure aspect, and her conditioning under Track E protocols had much to do with the complete lack of any blush or apparent embarrassment on her part to be in this seemingly delicate conference. Her tight top, tucked into Daisy Duke jean shorts, hinted at breasts beginning to swell, but as of yet her tummy remained flat and, to the doctor’s id, taunting.
“In that case, Doctor, I need help getting comfortable with Bethany’s decision. Are you sure that she will be all right -- you know, psychologically -- having a baby at this young age? That termination wouldn’t be better for her?”
“Ah, yes, a very understandable concern. If my comprehension of the situation is correct, then yes, you have nothing to concern yourself about on that front. In fact, given the particulars of this case, you and your husband’s plan -- to allow Bethany to carry the child to term, and then for the two of you to adopt and raise the child as your own -- is the very best thing we can do for Bethany’s current and future mental health. Sorry to talk about you in the third person, my dear.”
He allowed himself a gentle smile in Bethany’s direction, just as Prudence, sensing an uptick in his arousal, applied a powerful suction to the last two inches of his prick’s length. He immensely enjoyed the combination of Bethany’s visual and Prudence’s tactile contributions to his pleasure. Bethany, having never undertaken Track D conditioning, of course knew nothing about the enthusiastic helpmate between his spread thighs, while Prudence experienced a conditioned-in spike in her arousal, in sympathy with his own, clearly indicated on the biofeedback readout on the screen out of his visitors’ view.
“Now to review the particulars -- does Bethany still insist she does not know the identity of the father?”
“Yes, that’s what she says -- tell him, Bethany.”
“Yes, Doctor, it’s just like I told you in my last session. It was at camp -- some other girls and I snuck out, took a canoe across the lake and met up with some boys at another camp. Don’t even remember his name -- and don’t really want to. I just want to keep my baby and leave him out of it.”
Leo had to suppress a smile. Camp Chastity was a brilliant innovation, where he and his colleagues encouraged sponsors to send their girls immediately before or after their planned impregnation under Track E. Since the girls attending came from -- and returned to – homes spread all over the country, the same alibi and misdirection could be used repeatedly by patients and their sponsors in any number of the practices in the network.
“I see, that is good to hear — for your tranquility, I mean. Now, I am still a bit concerned about the unfortunate acting out that brought you to treatment in the first place, Bethany. You will recall there was a time you made very destructive and harmful accusations against your stepfather. Is there any possibility your story will later change, and you’ll bring more turmoil to your family, should your parents allow you to continue in this pregnancy?” Of course, this line of questioning was all a show for the anxious mother: both the therapist and his patient needed no assurance, at this point, as to the youngster’s permanent addiction to stepfatherly incest.
“Oh no, Doctor. I’m still so sorry for causing all that trouble. You’ve helped me see how bad that was, and I truly understand that now. I try to make it up to Don -- my stepdad -- every day now, if I can. I’d never try to cause trouble like that again.”
Every day! Damn! Another wave of envy coursed through the clinician’s frame and psyche, as he was vividly reminded that the somewhat uncouth Don Weathers could — and did — enjoy Bethany’s delicate body, often aggressively, whenever and however he chose. Daring to glance down at the young lady in question’s smooth inner thigh led, through his penile reaction, to another conditioned pleasure response for his other patient, below. Chain reaction.
“Doctor, she has promised me the same thing, and she seems earnest enough in it. And she has certainly made a hundred-eighty degree turn in her relationship with my husband. They are thick as thieves nowadays, and she jumps at the chance to spend time with him. But she is a teenaged girl — you know how changeable they can be. But on this front, the false accusation front, I think we’re OK. Don insisted -- over my objection, on principle -- Don insisted on a paternity test. He’s already given DNA to the lab, and when the baby is born it will be completely established that he is not the father. So there is no danger of her going crazy like that again.”
“Ah, yes ... we of course don’t like to describe episodes like the unfortunate one that brought Bethany into therapy here as ‘craziness’, but your point is well taken. Well, given the paternity test plan, I see no danger of trouble on that front, then.” No danger at all, being that he and his world-wide network of biofeedback conditioning psychologists also happened to collectively own the most rigorous of DNA -based paternity testing labs — rigorous, that is, in its care in NEVER testing the correct man’s sample against a forbidden love child.
“Doctor, if I may, what about later regrets? What if she later wants to seek out this boy, she says she doesn’t care now, but what if she later wants to identify her baby’s father. Might that be mentally disturbing to her?”
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Weathers, a good question, I’m glad you asked it.” He paused, as he took a moment to be glad himself, about the sensation of Prudence Parker’s tongue across his scrotum. “To that I can speak with authority, based on my treatment and great many therapy sessions with Bethany over these past several months. I can assure you, Bethany will never be troubled whatsoever about the mystery of her baby’s sire. She will enjoy complete peace whenever thoughts of her baby’s father cross her mind.” Especially, Leo thought, whenever such thoughts crossed her mind concurrently with that breeding partner actively attempting to repeat the deed.
A peaceful smile did indeed flit across the young lady’s lovely face at these words, and the Doctor noted, with pleasure, a visible pebbling of her eighth-grade nipples through the fabric of her tight top. Track E conditioning gave its patients the gift of enhanced arousal at such thoughts. In turn, beneath his specially-designed consulting desk, Prudence Parker noted, with pleasure, another distinct hardening of her therapist’s cock-knob, presently loitering at the threshold to her practiced sixth-grade-graduate esophagus.
“Well, those were my main concerns, Doctor. You, Don, and even Bethany all seem to agree — three very different perspectives on the same problem, one would think — so I guess it makes sense to follow the plan, let her have it, and raise it as ours. Would Bethany benefit from continued therapy during the pregnancy, and after?”
“That would be of the greatest benefit, I should say.” His ball sac contracted in agreement. A great benefit for all involved.
“Well, we won’t take any more of your time, Doctor. Thank you, and don’t get up — wouldn’t want you to pull anything in your condition. I appreciate your time on this Saturday morning, and I hope your stiffness subsides and you feel better very soon.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weathers, I am sure it will, and that I will feel just fine. Just fine. Goodbye for now, Bethany, I look forward to our future sessions. Helping you through all of this has been one of the high points of my professional career.”
Watching Bethany’s delightful bottom undulate in her too-short Daisy Dukes as she followed her mother out of the office was a pleasure of which this professional could never tire.
“Prudence, my dear, I’m afraid I’m going to have to adjust the termination sequence of today’s protocol. You’ll need to come out from under there, because I am suddenly taken with a desperate desire to unload myself deep within your very naughty vagina.”
On the monitor screen, the petite redhead’s arousal reading spiked.
Thus ends our intrusion into the lives of Bethany Michaels and Dr. Leo Cohen. If you are troubled by a sassy, disobedient, or just plain too fucking sexy teen, be she daughter, niece, ward, or fosterling, do not continue to suffer unnecessarily. We live in the twenty-first century -- seek out the wonders of biofeedback conditioning today!