Anal Therapy

"Anyway," Ann said. "I just wanted you to know I'm going to the mall. You'll be here alone, so if you leave, please lock up."

"No problem," I said.

Ann winked and disappeared down the hall.

I sat absolutely still, listening to Ann walk down the steps and across the kitchen to the door. She shut it hard. Moments later, a car door slammed and then the engine turned over. I heard the car back out and take off down the block.

My heart pounded as I rushed into my parents' bedroom.

Ann kept her lingerie in the third drawer from the bottom. All the bras and panties were on the top. The sleazier outfits were on the bottom. Everything was folded into neat piles of silk and lace. Ann kept it smelling fresh with a lacy bag of potpourri tied off with a pink ribbon.

All of Ann's lingerie was sexy, even her everyday bras and panties. But Dr. Dross wanted me to bring the hottest outfits Ann had, so I dug to the bottom. Finding what I wanted didn't take long. I gently pulled out a black corset, thong, stockings and a neon green bikini, while doing my best to keep the stacks of bras and panties intact. I closed the drawer and went back to my room, where I stuffed my haul into a red duffle bag.

Then I went back to my computer and tossed aside the coffee-soaked sock. I logged on to my favorite cum shot Web site and jerked off all over myself. I finished by smearing my own cum across my face.

I spent the next few days pining for Dr. Dross. I'd been wanting to cure my wretched sexual habits for years. The doctor's unorthodox therapy was my first and maybe only hope.

I arrived at her office an hour early and drove around the block for 45 minutes to kill time. By the time I parked and caught an elevator to the 17th floor, I was strolling in 10 minutes early, which I considered more courteous than desperate.

Dr. Dross emerged from the hallway to her office to greet me even before I could sit down and pick up Time magazine.

"Hello, Mr. Humphrey," she said.