Urban Ballerina

As I inserted the key into the large wooden door of the Victorian townhouse, I suddenly became aware I was doing that thing that I do. My therapeutic supervisor had taught me to press my thumb and index finger together, to serve as a reminder that I was not to entertain thoughts of imposter syndrome. As the key spiralled in the lock, I reached down with my left hand and rubbed the ‘tigers eye’ stone in my jacket pocket. Now worn smooth, the stone was a gift from my late Mother. A parting gift to her Princess that she could no longer keep safe.

As I climbed the stairs to my allotted therapy room, my confidence grew with each step. To Hell with it! I deserved this. Three years of training, 100 hours of supervised patient time and passing the exam with a distinction. If it hadn’t been for that bloody client accusing me of contacting him outside of therapy and suggesting more than a client-therapist embrace, I would have graduated much sooner. I’d learnt a lot from that episode. Of course I wasn’t guilty. In his dreams I say. When you present a safe and secure place to someone, you have to be wary of any form of attachment they may start to foster.

He was in his early 40’s with a history of failed relationships. Our dialogue also revealed that he was very much a passive sub. No wonder he confused the hand that I reached out as being a leading rather than comforting one. He accused me of smiling inappropriately and shaking my tousled dark hair, in a suggestive manner. Really! Get a grip.

Note to self: less smiling, less waving of the hair and drop the hemline on my skirt to below my knee. Case dismissed!

Once upon the top landing I paused to catch my breath. I’m only in my late 20’s and from appearances I suppose it may look like I take care of myself. I’m paying the price though for years of substance abuse, late nights and 'early mornings'. The repeated walk of shame up the high street, heels in hand, hardly qualified as exercise.

The place was deathly quiet. All the therapy rooms were rented out by other practitioners. I’d only got to know a couple during brief encounters in the communal kitchen facility. As I rounded the door Margaret came into view. I was always pleased to see her and bathe in a natural warmth and reassuring welcome. I was surprised to see her though? Margaret's normally schedules back-to-back clients. Her years of experience and huge client waiting list means she rarely surfaces until a self-imposed lunch break around noon.

“Oh hello stranger,” said Margaret. She cocked her head slightly whilst continuing to stir her steaming tea.

“Less of the stranger talk please. I’ll have you know that my client list is filling up nicely thank you.” I gave her one of my smiles revealing my pearly whites. My teeth, one part of my body that seemingly come out unscathed from years of substance abuse. Margaret returned with a smile that made me glow inside.

“Well, that’s great news. I take it the business card drop is starting to payoff then?” she questioned. This forced me to wonder exactly where my latest marketing efforts had returned the most benefit.

“Yes, and thanks again for that advice. Bizarrely, I’ve got a new client today that recovered one of my cards from the pedestal near the front door here. Strange that don’t you think? It’s not like we get casual passers-by.” I remarked.

“Great news I’m pleased for you. It’ll all come good, you just wait and see young lady. What time are you on?”Questioned Margaret as she gestured towards the kitchen door. My eyes shifted to my watch.

“Yikes!! In five minutes” I replied. This was the signal for us to both say our goodbyes.

Hell! I’ve got to get better at this timekeeping. I felt my cheeks warm as I suddenly remembered why I was running behind today. I don’t know why I suddenly felt all embarrassed. A girl has urges that need attending to occasionally. After all, the last thing I needed were inappropriate thoughts entering my head which in therapeutic hold.

I had woken this morning feeling so horny. I’d not had sex for over a month. I always knew when it had been a while because more and more my dreams were filled with past sexual endeavours. Something had to be done about it.

I recall reaching the bathroom, letting my silk nightie slide down from my naked shoulders. I'd caught myself staring at my reflection. There I was smiling at me from the mirror, encouraging myself to let my eyes wander across all of my body. I'd felt a distinct twinge in my perfectly shaven pussy.

I turned on the bathwater, gushing out of the tap with such a thunder the sound enveloped the room and making me feel sufficiently safe and secluded. I put my hands on my sides and let them walk upward, noticing how my skin bristled. I watched in the mirror as my nipples hardened as my fingers approached them, shuddering as their tips made contact. I had always been critical of my B-cup breasts but one thing I couldn’t fault was how pert and responsive my nipples were. I let the my fingers travel at will, only stopping when the glass in front of me fogged almost completely.

I felt water splash against my leg and I turned the tap off quickly. The bathtub had filled more than I had intended, it was too late to let the rushing water mix to make a bubbly froth, but it didn’t matter; I had an expensive bath oil I saved for special occasions. Mixing gently with my hand, my mind began to wander to the ‘for old times sake’ fuck, I’d had with my ex boyfriend last month. I slowly eased my body into the tub, letting my skin get used to the hot temperature.

All thoughts of things I had to do in the day ahead, people I had to call and see – I was leaving all these thoughts outside the bathtub so I could concentrate on enjoying this moment. Letting my hands rest on my thighs, I was surprised by the softness of my skin and I stroked them, little by little, trying to discover if the rest of my body had that velvety feel made even smoother by the luxurious oil.

I shuddered slightly as my fingers found themselves caressing by inner thighs. The bruising had completely disappeared after being forcefully prized apart by my ex during our drink fuelled sex.

Conscious of the clock striking in the lounge, I devoted myself to exploring me completely. Despite the water, I realized there was now a wetness that was entirely my own. It had been a few weeks since anyone, including myself, had felt that – not for lack of desire but of time. However, now I had the perfect opportunity to remedy that.

The other hand joined her partner and caressed my warmth slowly. An epic battle was going on in my mind between the desire to orgasm and the desire to extend this pleasure as much as possible. My index and index fingers then came together to form rhythmic, circular movements. My eyes were now closed, and my body was slipping in the bathtub, the water almost brushing the hair I had neatly arranged in a bun on my head.

However, my body wasn’t quite ready to relax; it needed more. I was dying to feed a desire deep inside, and without trying I knew that my fingers would not be enough this time. I reached to the cabinet to release my favourite toy. A waterproof rabbit. I didn’t hesitate to pull it into the warm water with me.

No matter how many times I’d been intimate with my toy, its length always excited me. Seven inches of thick vibrating latex was enough to fill me up completely, leaving just enough room for me to finger the control.

Closing my eyes, I could almost imagine myself no longer alone in the tub. I imagined the spraying of the water from the shower I’d had with my ex. He had turned me round and shafted me forcibly against the side of the shower, face pressed up against the glass. I was dying inside for the sum of these feelings; the slight self-consciousness for my impulses, the excitement that made me not care, and the singular desire to give my body the orgasm it craved.

I submerged it again and brought its tip to my opening, teasing for just a second before pushing its full length within me. I moaned as I reached its handle, and moved my hips and I took in every inch of its surface, out and then in.

But I needed more.

Flicking on the lightest vibrations made me gasp, and then groan as I found my favourite setting; not a steady hum or a pulse, but an undulating pattern that seemed like it grew deeper with each wave.

The vibrations, now on nearly full power, started to fuel my fantasies beyond that of my ex. The barista at my favourite coffeeshop, my neighbour across the road and then finally Margaret. It was no longer a toy, but her expert fingers curled inside me in search of that point that would make me moan louder. It was not the vibrator to which my hands grasped, but her head. It was no longer the short end of the rabbit vibrating against my clit, but her tongue, and her moans and joyous groans reverberating against my body. It was no longer the water that surrounded me, but the soft, Egyptian Cotton sheets of her bed.

It was at that point that I couldn’t stop, even if I’d tried. I thought once more about her straightened shoulder length black hair, the pertness of her breasts, hinting in those tight white blouses, the legs that seemed to stretch endlessly under my gaze.

I exploded with a force that spread throughout my body, and in an instant the vibrations became too much for my sensitive pussy. I pulled it away and let it vibrate underwater, closing my eyes to the faint pop as the bubbles hit the surface.

Minutes later, when I was able to open my eyes, I could see my toes curled involuntary and the spasms in my legs as my orgasm began to subside.

The alarm on my phone brought me back into the room with a start. No wonder I had involuntary blushed and bumbled my way through my conversation with Margaret earlier. I quickly traversed the landing and entered my therapy room. I set out my selection of fruit teas and crystals, all part of the ambiance especially when trying to ensure a lasting impression with a new client.