Oblivion.

It's what she seeks as he pistons into her, her ample juices smoothing the way.

In her real life, her daytime life, she's in control. Always. No exceptions.

Here, she can let go.

Stop worrying about the next project, the next paycheck.

Stop making decisions.

Stop thinking.

Here, she can let someone else take control.

And he's so good at taking control.

***

When she arrived that evening--clad in nothing but heels, stockings, and a garter belt under a long trench, as instructed--he yanked her through the doorway and pushed her up against the wall, his hand on her throat.

"You're going to do exactly as I say," he said, his lips close to her ear. She nodded, already whimpering, already wet and trembling with need.

His other hand worked the knotted belt at her waist, and the trench fell open. None of the buttons were fastened--just as he had instructed.

He held her to the wall by her throat, his other hand groping her all over as he pushed the coat from her shoulders. His hand slipped between her legs and suddenly his fingers were inside her, pumping in and out.

He chuckled softly in her ear. "Look how wet you already are. Look how much you want this."

She could do nothing but whimper, her legs about to buckle.

His lips still close to her ear, he hissed, "On your knees. Now."

He pulled his hand away from her throat and she dropped to her knees in front of him. A moment later he was pushing past her lips, his cock already hard, thrusting into her throat.

"Look at me."

With an effort, she looked up, and his eyes blazed down at her as he fucked her mouth. He held her head steady as he slid further and further into her throat, her eyes beginning to tear. He wiped one tear away and then another, smearing her mascara as he choked her with his shaft. He drove her back against the wall, pushing into her throat until he could go no further. Then he held her there.

She felt a brief moment of panic as her air was cut off, and then conscious thought began to fade as her vision swam at the edges. She fought desperately to keep her eyes on his, but could feel them slipping gradually out of focus as she floated at the edge of consciousness. Just as the blackness closed in, he pulled away from her, freeing her throat.

She swayed and began to fall forward, but he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her, gasping, into the living room, where he bent her over the couch. His first thrust into her shut off the thinking part of her brain, and she became nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

He fucked her until she came, shaking and dripping; then he propped one of her legs up on the sofa and fucked her some more. She was wet all the way to mid-thigh now, soaking the lace tops of her stockings, and still he thrust into her. She came again, moaning, and he withdrew.

He scooped her limp body into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He removed her shoes, then chained her ankles to the footboard and her wrists to the headboard. He looked at her for a moment as she lay there, dazed. Then he began to undress.

***

Now, he kneels between her spread thighs, pushing them apart as he thrusts into her.

Her mind is blank, blissfully blank. The only thing that matters is the pleasure between her legs.

Hands move from her thighs to her waist to her breasts, stroking, caressing, pinching. She cries out and arches into him.

His breath at her ear. She can't understand what he's saying. It doesn't matter.

His hands move back down to her waist and he lifts her hips toward him. The new angle is exquisite, pushing her over the edge again.

She comes for a third time, and still he thrusts into her, relentless.

He whispers to her again, but the words are gibberish. Her mind can't process anything beyond her own pleasure.

He pulls her toward him, resting her thighs on his, making light circles over her clit with his thumb.

She can't think; she can only feel. And this feels like it might drown her.

He's still thrusting, bottoming out inside her over and over, forcing an involuntary grunt from her with each impact of his hips on hers.

She's immobilized with ecstasy, able to do nothing but wait for the wave to crash over her.

When it does, she loses what little control she had left. The orgasm bursts from her, fluids gushing from between her legs to soak the sheets.

Her eyes roll back as she thrashes, too far gone to even scream.

And then she collapses, insensible, drifting in a semi-conscious haze.

She lolls like a ragdoll, her body limp and slack, as he continues thrusting.

As if from far away, she hears him grunt as he spurts inside her.

***

Half an hour later, he helps her back into her trench coat and leads her to the door.

"Same time next week?" he asks.

"You bet," she says, a tremor in her voice. "Thank you, Dr. Harper."

They shake hands and she departs, her legs trembling slightly as her therapist's come drips down her thighs.