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Was it normal to still be so anxious on your 6th visit to a new therapist? You knew that a certain level of anxiety could be normal, but the bouncing of your leg and clamminess of your palms told you that your own level was far more exaggerated than most people's. It wasn’t something you could really help, though, at least not on your own. Your new therapist, Dr. Lecter, wasn’t a bad therapist so far, but he was intimidating, for lack of a better word. He was always kind and listened to everything you had to say before giving his input, but there was something about the way he stared at you that made you feel like prey. Like a gazelle, lying in the path of a lion bordering on starvation. It really didn’t help how attractive he was, either. His face looked as if it were carved from marble, and those honey-colored eyes shined in a way you’d never seen when you could catch them in the light, rare as it was.
Clearly, you’d spent a lot of your time in your sessions gawking at him more than you had been making actual progress. And you knew it was something he noticed, at least a little, but had yet to comment on. You figured maybe this time he would say something, tell you how uncomfortable you were making him, that he didn’t want you as a patient anymore. You wouldn’t and couldn’t blame him, to be fair. But as he opened the door to his office and greeted you with an easy smile, you saw no sort of malice and felt no air of negativity as you entered his office.
Taking a seat in the same chair you usually did, you sat your purse in the one next to you and crossed your legs, brushing your skirt down your bare thighs. You hadn’t realized when you left just how short your skirt was when you sat down. As his last appointment of the day, Dr. Lecter had long ago removed his suit jacket, a deep forest green the same as his pants, and had the sleeves of his grey shirt rolled up, exposing his very distracting arms. “So, how are we today, Ms. ____?” He asked, grabbing his notepad. You shrugged as you looked from him to your fingers in your lap. “I’m okay, I guess,” you replied, letting your eyes meet his again. He responded silently, with a tilt of his head as he prodded you with his stare. “Well, I was okay. I just have this- I don’t know, this dark cloud just hanging over my head the past few days. I woke up on Tuesday and just...cried. And I don’t know why I feel this way. I can’t sleep, I can’t work, I can’t eat. I don’t know.” You hadn’t expected to prattle on like that, but you don’t stand much chance against him when he looks at you that way. It’s not really just looking at you, it’s like he sees you. And as much as you hated to admit it, it turned you on every time.
Keeping your relationship professional was something you tried very hard to maintain, though it seemed Dr. Lecter was adamant on making you abandon that principle whether he knew it or not. He’d never said anything explicit, but there were unspoken things in his stares, his lingering touches when he would hand you your purse or a tissue. Just a week ago, he opted to pluck your sweater from the coat rack and hold it out right in front of him, forcing you to slip your arms into the sleeves with his assistance. His large hands found a place on your shoulders, smoothing out your sweater and guiding you to the door. He gave you a light squeeze, sending a little shock up your spine and out through your fingertips. You thought about his touch everyday since.
He looked up at you from his notes, analyzing you for a moment as you glanced around the room. “What do you normally do when you feel sadness of this intensity?” You blinked a few times, furrowing your brows as you thought for a moment. “I don’t know, I just create whatever comes to my head,” you started, uncrossing your own legs to recross them the opposite way. As your thighs spread, Dr. Lecter inhaled sharply through his nose, unnoticed by you as you unfolded further, “If my brain tells me to write, or to paint, or whatever, then that’s what I do. But nothing has been coming to my head this week.” You sighed heavily, a frown on your lips as you watched him write again. He sat his pad down and looked at you for all of two seconds before he stood, retreating to an area to the left of you. He procured two wine glasses and a bottle, placing them on the desk and opening the wine. You watched him carefully, not out of fear or worry, but pure fascination. “I have this wonderful Bordeaux blend, a 2001 vintage,” he spoke, filling each glass half full, “very full-bodied and sweet, and still very complex, I believe you’ll like it.” He picked up a glass and swirled it briefly before taking a sip, eyes on you as always, and you took that as your invitation to join him. You stood close to him as you picked up your own glass and, not having the expertise in wine that a man like him would, took to sipping straight away. He was correct, it was probably the best wine you’d ever had in your life. You knew it must've been expensive, but what you didn’t know was why this was happening. It was completely new, but not at all unwelcome.
“I think you need a distraction.” He stated as if he was telling you the sky was blue, glass still close to his lips. You looked at him, confusion evident in the tilt of your head. He continued, sitting his glass down, “Very rarely when you come into my office do you tell me about things other than your work. It’s easy to think you’re not a workaholic when you don’t work in the traditional sense, but I suspect that is the case with you. You do not relax, and you need to. I think I am going to have to make you relax.” You coughed slightly, his words burrowing into your ear all the way through your stomach and down to your clit. He moved in front of you, trapping you between the solidness of him and his equally solid desk. Your heart picked up speed as you placed your glass on the desk, shifting as best as you possibly could to meet his gaze, a strain in your neck even in your heels. “Dr. Lecter, I-“ you started to speak, but he silenced you with a slight touch of his lips to your ear.
“I can smell you, beloved,” he whispered, “I can smell your arousal. You leave the air of my office heavy and thick, sticky sweet with the scent of you. But,” he breathed, hot and daunting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine, “something smells different this time.” Your breath hitched at his words, and you knew that he knew. Your period had started the day before, and with Dr. Lecter’s seemingly hyper-aware sense of smell, that familiar stench of blood would be obvious. “Cat got your tongue, hm?” He asked, his lips pressing the skin just below your ear.
“Tell me to stop if that’s what you want.”
It felt like all the air had left the room and you were suffocating, under the heat of his words and the darkness in his gaze. He had you enamored from the moment you met him and now you were pressed against his body in a way that you’d longed for but were only able to dream of until now. Soon you were finally able to muster enough breath to speak, “Please don’t stop, Doctor.” His hands found your hips, pulling you ever closer to him, your eyes falling closed as he sucked at your pulse point. You were surprised as he drew a moan from you, one hand on your hip moving to your thigh and hiking your skirt up. “I’m going to taste you, rabbit. And you’re going to be a good girl and cum all over my tongue, isn’t that right?” The determination of his words would have soaked your underwear if they weren’t already. He wasn’t asking you. He was demanding you.
“Yes, sir,” you sighed, and he fell to his knees in front of you. Deft fingers looped into the waistband of your panties and he slid them, slow as he could, down your legs. You stepped out of them and watched in awe as he brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply with a low groan before slipping them into his pocket. As turned on as you were, watching the most beautiful man you’d ever seen kneeling between your legs, you’d began to grow nervous. You had never been eaten out while on your period before. You knew that even though he’d made the first move, you still couldn’t quite be sure if this was something he really wanted to do.
“Doctor, I- as much as I would like for you to continue, I d-don’t know if that’s a good idea with my... situation and all..” You spoke nervously, but this was little deterrent for him. His lips turned up only slightly, his hands smoothing up the expanse of your thighs, urging you to spread them apart further, and you did. “I told you I wanted to taste you, sweet girl.” He spoke so low, you had to strain to hear it, but his words rang through clear. He wanted to taste your blood. He lifted one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, leaning in closer to kiss a trail up your inner thigh. His fingers found the little string coming out of you, pulling the blood-soaked tampon from you gently. He placed it in the trash beside the desk and moved in closer, inhaling deeply, eyes locking with yours as his pink tongue poked out to lick its way up your slick cunt, your jaw falling open in a silent moan. The hands on your thighs moved up to your hips, pulling you further down onto his tongue, the slick organ sliding between your lips and up to your clit, flicking and slurping on the already sensitive nub. Gasps and light moans filled the room, the only other sound being the wet noises of him ravaging your pussy like he'd never eaten before.
"Oh, my G-god," you whined, fingers tangling in his hair as you rocked your hips on his face. That clever tongue wormed its way inside of you, fucking your hole as deep as it possibly could. The man between your legs moaned softly into you, savoring the sweet yet metallic taste of you. You knew by the end of this that his lips would be wet with your blood and cum, and that spurred you on even more. Dr. Lecter knew how to make you fall apart so quickly, it almost scared you, but you had little time to think about it. His tongue left your center and his lips circled your clit, sucking hard, bringing his own large hand up to slide his middle finger into your tightness. All you could do was moan wantonly in response to his ministrations, your face and chest burning as though they'd been kissed by flames. His finger pushed that spot inside you, that one spot that sent a spasm through you, your hand in his hair gripping so tight it drew a groan from the man beneath you. "Fuck! Right there, Doctor, p-please.." You begged, and who was he to say no to someone asking so nicely? Another thick digit entered you and immediately began their assault on your g-spot, dragging you closer and closer to your impending climax. The torture on your cunt too much for you now, you collapsed back onto the desk, your elbow holding you up only slightly as you tried to remember how to breath.
Dr. Lecter watched you with those hooded, whiskey-toned eyes as you brought your hand up to your chest, sliding your top up to bare your breasts. Your fingers toyed and tugged at your nipples, hips still grinding onto the doctor's face. That familiar feeling began to build up inside you, that wave swelling up, and it wouldn't be long until that wave crashed. "I-I'm gonna c-cum, oh sh-shit," you stuttered, body jerking at every brush of his fingers against your g-spot, every swipe of his tongue over your clit. He drilled his fingers into you harder, faster, adding a third to the bunch. His teeth lightly pinched your clit and you came with a cry, clamping down on the fingers inside of you as your walls spasmed. Dr. Lecter had yet to stop, drawing your orgasm out longer still, your hips bucking wildly against his face. After a moment, he finally withdrew from you and you fought to catch your breath. He stood from his position between your legs and, with his eyes on yours, brought his sticky-wet fingers, slightly stained with blood, up to his lips and licked them clean.
"Same time next week?" He asked, and all you could do, still in your post-orgasm stupor, was nod.