"Sessions" Dr. Evelyn Shaw

Chapter One: Intake

She closed her eyes when he came, not out of pleasure--just the mechanical end of an act. He was behind her, thrusting with the stiff rhythm of a man who'd watched too much porn and never learned to listen. All she felt was pressure. No throb, no stretch, no heat. Just dull, functional movement.

She'd felt more during her last gynecological exam.

He collapsed beside her, panting, skin tacky with sweat, smelling of something expensive and utterly sexless.

"Did you come?" he asked.

She didn't even sigh.

"Not even close."

There was a pause--a beat of male ego bruised and scrambling to reassemble itself. She didn't wait for it.

She sat up slowly, deliberately. Reached for the drawer.

"Lie on your back."

He frowned. "Eve--"

She slapped him hard across the cheek. A sharp, clean sound.

"Shut your fucking mouth." She didn't yell. Didn't need to.

Her hand found the leather collar in the drawer. She held it up, letting it dangle between two fingers like a question she already knew the answer to.

"On. Your. Back."

He obeyed, blinking with a kind of confused arousal, half sure this was still his idea. His cock was still wet, not quite soft, and twitching with interest.

She straddled him--slow, graceful, uncaring. His body was good. Fit, sculpted, fuckable. She admired it the way she might a piece of furniture: aesthetically pleasing, practically useless.

She thought of his wife. A friend. Soft voice, garden club, Pilates. She imagined her reaction--her horror--if she walked in now. Eve smiled.

She sank down onto him, stilling as he filled her.

Now she could feel it.

Blood rising, cunt tightening--finally. That deep, low ache starting to spark. A slick warmth built between them as she rocked slowly, deliberately, letting her body lead while her mind stayed cold.

Will this break him? she wondered.

Maybe. Not her problem.

She reached down, wrapped a firm hand around his throat, and leaned in until her lips brushed his ear.

"If you want to be inside me again, you'll ask first. If you want to make me come, you'll listen. And if you want to stay, you'll earn it."

His cock twitched inside her, harder than ever. Good.

She sat up, calm as ritual, and fastened the collar around her own neck--then handed him the chain. Still grinding, slow and wet.

"Now. I'm going to give you several instructions. If you value any part of your cozy, cum-soaked fucking life, you'll follow them to the letter."

She smiled when she felt him pulse again.

"Ooh. That's better."

Her hips moved with more urgency now. Heat rising. Muscles tightening around him.

"Take the chain."

He obeyed.

"Pull it. Fuck me hard. But slow. No rushing. No failing."

Her breath hitched. "If you fuck this up, I'll be crying in your wife's arms over drinks next week."

A pause. Then, darkly:

"Now fuck me."

He moved. Obeyed.

"Harder... good..."

She moaned, louder now.

"Faster... pull that fucking chain..."

She clenched around him, nails digging into his chest.

"Fuck me like a man--come on--come on--"

She felt it rising--hot, dark, electric. Orgasm building at the base of her spine. But something inside softened, unexpectedly.

"Wait," she whispered, breath hitching.

She pulled him down, turning onto her back, her legs wrapping around his hips like vines. He looked down, stunned, almost unsure what she wanted now.

Her voice was lower, almost tender.

"Make love to me."

He thrust again, slower now, deeper.

She moaned--couldn't help it.

"Yes... oh that's so good... I'm almost--"

Another stroke.

Her breath caught.

"Yes--yes--don't stop--"

Her whole body tightened, locked around him, and then came apart.

"Oh, that was spectacular," she breathed, one palm at the base of his spine, still holding him inside her.

"Everything I needed."

She lay beneath him, flushed and breathless, holding his hips with both hands.

He started to pull away, but she stopped him--kissed him, softly. Not hungry, not commanding. Just... human.

"Thank you," she said, with startling sincerity.

He blinked, dazed. Unsure what exactly he'd just given her.

She rolled out from under him and began dressing--slowly, unbothered by his silence. Blouse buttoned halfway, she looked over her shoulder, almost offhandedly:

"What's your wife's name again?"

"Laura."

His voice cracked on it.

Eve smiled, dryly.

"Right. Laura."

She slipped a heel on.

"She's a total bitch. Arrogant. Ignorant. Plain, to some. But I'd never do something like this to her. Not in a thousand years."

She turned, gave him a long, slow look.

"Though what the fuck you see in her, I genuinely cannot guess."

He stared at her, like someone watching a car accident in slow motion.

Not anger. Not even shame. Just... confusion.

She picked up her coat, slung it over her arm, and left without another word.

She wore her hair up for court-ordered evaluations--sleek, controlled, impersonal. A neutral blouse, a long skirt. Soft makeup, matte lips. Professional armor. Further, she allowed herself a few seconds to recall that morning--just a flicker of the thrill when his cock finally felt alive, allowing her to briefly relax all the defenses she would need in spades.

Dr. Evelyn Shaw sat with a thick folder in front of her. She flipped a page and didn't look up.

"Eli Harper. Twenty-one. One count of breaking and entering. Two counts of grand theft auto. Four counts of criminal trespass. Possession of a concealed weapon--[Outcome redacted]. Possession of a restricted substance. Suspected--but not charged--with arson. Property damage, four counts. Suspected--but not charged."

Her eyes scanned over the document, pausing for a moment at the large swathes of redactions. She couldn't ignore the peculiarities--the lack of a custodial sentence, only a curfew with a tracker. Something didn't add up.

And there was no mention of the consequences of a negative report from her. She felt the familiar tickle of suspicion--it wasn't her place, but it was hard not to feel drawn into the mystery of his file.

She looked up now, meeting his gaze.

"So, Eli... Tell me about yourself."

He shifted, the casual bravado faltering, and for a moment, it was like looking at a different person--vulnerable, out of place.

He hesitated but answered. They talked, meandering between the superficial and the personal. The distance between them felt like an abyss.

But then, at the end of the session, his tone shifted again. He leaned forward, his voice a little less guarded, a little more honest.

"If you don't enjoy it, I really am sorry."

She blinked, caught off guard by the strange, earnest apology.

"Sorry, what for?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

He looked at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before his lips curled into a small, self-aware grin.

"I will, try and fuck you."

She felt the air shift around them--a weird tension hanging in the silence, the clinical distance between them suddenly feeling fragile.

Dr. Evelyn Shaw sat back in her chair, her fingers grazing the edge of the file. The moment stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable, the air heavy with unspoken understanding.

Eli's final words hung in the air like an unlit match, unsettling and strange. A part of her wanted to challenge him, to dig deeper into what that meant, but she didn't. Instead, she allowed the silence to settle.

She glanced at the clock, noting the time, before placing the folder back on her desk, her fingers carefully folding over the edges of the case file. A court-ordered evaluation. That was all this was meant to be. But the lingering mystery of Eli's file, the unusual leniency in his sentencing--something was wrong here.

Eve stood, collected her things, and began walking toward the door without looking back. But before she stepped out, she glanced at him one last time. His eyes followed her, still filled with a mixture of confusion and something else she couldn't quite place.

"We'll start tomorrow, same time" she said, her voice steady, professional. But in her mind, she could already feel the pieces of a much larger puzzle slowly starting to fall into place.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Dr. Shaw felt a strange pulse of satisfaction--fortified by the brief memory of the morning, the control she still wielded over this strange, unsettling situation.