Saskia whimpered, her wet cheek pressing into the cushion of the therapy chaise. It was wine red, she noted; it looked like a glass had spilled into it and never been scrubbed out. Wine was one of the things she was familiar with, but she’d learned, over the course of marriage counselling with Ms. Moran, that there were many things she wasn’t familiar with—about her marriage, yes, and about herself. What had started out as joint sessions between herself and her husband, Jesse, had since turned into one-on-one sessions, and that had been where the real progress was made.

Dead bedroom, lack of communication; as it turned out, all of it could be explained quite simply—she wasn’t attracted to men.

To begin with, she’d been quite resistant to the idea, but Ms. Moran had explained that it was normal to have such a powerful reaction to the news. She’d brewed Saskia a mug of special herbal tea to help calm her, and explained various concepts such as sunk cost fallacy whilst Saskia melted into the chaise and let the woman’s words soak in. When Ms. Moran had offered a physical demonstration to help illuminate Saskia’s repressed lesbianism, what was she to have done but nod and slur an appreciative thanks?

Ms. Moran’s hips snapped against the back of Saskia’s thighs. Saskia’s pupils were blown wide, her mind rendered just as fuckable as her body. Her eyes kept trailing over the room, over the wedding ring on her finger that caught the afternoon light, over the blazer discarded on the floor, and inevitably, always back to the Ms. Moran herself; her silk blouse clung to her as she worked her cock in and out of Saskia’s cunt, angling deep and hard, which Saskia absently considered may have been necessary to excavate the lesbianism inside of her that was so repressed—so deeply hidden—that she hadn’t even realised it was there for the better part of fifteen years.

“You’ve been labouring under the false impression,” Ms. Moran said, gritting her teeth as she ground the head of her cock into where she’d discovered Saskia’s g-spot was during their first session together, “that you’re straight, Saskia… but you’ve grown distant from Jesse, haven’t you? He doesn’t give you pleasure like this. He can’t. He never did, even during the good times… it’s a square peg and a round hole.”

Each and every thrust was a shattering of the foundations of her psyche, over and over, and yes, it felt amazing, and she was right, of course. Jesse had never held that sort of power. 

Ms. Moran’s hands, so paradoxically soft… They explored, and they caressed, but they also took from her body whatever sensation they wished to find, and left in its wake the stirring of an arousal so hot and so, so deep; an arousal that no man had ever been able to give her. Every time she orgasmed on Ms. Moran’s cock, the hue of her soul shifted just a little more, flushed with attraction and raw to the touch of the emerging truth.

“Yes, Ms. Moran,” she moaned her name deeply, hoarsely, willing to agree to whatever she said, “sex with men has never—ah!—felt as good as thisss!”

It was true, too. Jesse didn’t fuck her mind. Jesse didn’t make her soul blush. Jesse didn’t make her orgasm at all. She had to perform arousal to avoid hurting his feelings. Ms. Moran, on the other hand, drowned Saskia in arousal until it was everywhere, and it was all she could breathe, filling every spare inch of her and then making room for more.

And Ms. Moran was a woman.

“That’s right, Saskia, go on—hmph—let out all your feelings.”

“I always thought,” she panted, grinding her ass back into the therapist’s pelvis, “thought that it was just normal, to feel unfulfilled, that… that all wives felt that way.”

“Normal? Well, yes, it is normal… for a lesbian performing heterosexuality, that is,” Ms. Moran clarified. “It’s called compulsory heterosexuality, Saskia. Many women suffer from it. It’s a great tragedy, in my personal and, ah—mmh—professional opinion. That’s the truth of it, Saskia, you’ve always been a lesbian, but society has demanded you be straight, so you have tricked yourself into believing it, denying your true desires and suppressing your attraction to women.”

Her brain absorbed the words as complete and utter truth, any filter that might once have protected her will from being imposed upon by another completely dissolved by the chemical marinade of whatever wonderful poison she’d been blessed to consume. There were still some minor snags, though. Thankfully, she knew a woman who seemed to have all the answers.

“But, doctor,” she gasped, tongue painting the chaise, “I… I’ve never even kissed a woman, and now you’re balls deep in meee—eee!”

“Right,” the doctor agreed. “But think about it, Saskia, if you’re enjoying being fucked,” she rolled her hips, pushing deep for emphasis, “by a woman, that certainly seems to imply you’re a lesbian, yes? So it follows that, even if we’ve skipped to a, let’s say, more advanced stage of lesbian attraction, you’d also desire everything that comes before this, as well. Kissing a woman, for example… in fact, let’s try that now, as a demonstration. Roll over, Saskia. Let’s switch to missionary.”

“Okay,” Saskia agreed, heart giddy with excitement at being shown more of herself by this woman who even she, now, was willing to admit was attractive; was it possible, she wondered, that a dangerous, mischievous part of her may just have been goading Ms. Moran to do more? Had there been a brat buried within Saskia all along, alongside her lesbianism, waiting for the day she could break free? Did she dare to believe that may even be her true self, perhaps?

Now on her back, her shoulders pressed into the spit-soaked fabric, Saskia felt Ms. Moran’s hands wrap around her calves and push them up and back, practically folding her in half, with her feet up by her head.

“D-Doctor, is this really, um, missionary?”

“No, that’s a fair observation, it’s actually colloquially referred to as a mating press,” Ms. Moran said as she pushed in again. When Ms. Moran’s lips crashed into Saskia’s in a ravenous, claiming kiss, all she saw were stars behind her eyelids—stars that confirmed her new, undeniable truth: yes, she really was a lesbian, and there were certain pleasures so cosmic, so beyond the reach of a man to provide, that they were simply unattainable by a silly straight girl.

“Fuck,” Saskia gasped. “I-It feels so good, I…”

“Claim that feeling, Saskia,” Ms. Moran urged. “Say it. Claim that truth as your own!”

“I-I’m, I’m a lesbian!” Saskia cried out, her smile widening, tears of joy pricking at her eyes.

“Say it again! Chant it, chant your new fucking mantra.” Ms. Moran’s pace picked up to a brutal, inelegant frenzy. “Say it! Say it!”

“I’m a lesbian I’m a lesbian I’m a lesbiannnn, I want—I need women, I was wrong, I was wrong, oh my god, I’m a fucking lesbian!”

The ecstasy mounted and she came harder than she ever had before, her pussy spasming around Ms. Moran’s cock. It was the cock so divine it had fixed her. It was the cock that had made her realise the truth: that she had never been straight at all and that she’d been labouring under a delusion, but it also promised the solution, now and forevermore.

“Very good fucking girl,” Ms. Moran panted.

In her own afterglow, Saskia felt a wet heat, deep inside of her. Ms. Moran’s cum. Amazing. That felt so, so hot; she’d never let Jesse do that, she’d never wanted him to, and now it made so much sense why. She’d been waiting. Saving herself for when it felt right. Her hand reared up in front of her face, and she saw it again—the ring. It suddenly seemed grotesque, a shackle around her soul as much as around her finger. But the man who’d given it to her… he’d done that earnestly. She knew that for certain, and despite being a lesbian, she still loved him. It wasn’t his fault that she’d not known about the truth of her own feelings.

“Don’t worry,” Ms. Moran said, eyes set hungrily on the ring as she tucked her blouse back in. “We’ll address your spouse next time. We’ll be going back to joint sessions next week, since we’ve made such fantastic progress one-on-one.”

Saskia felt warm inside. She stretched out, feeling for the first time like she was truly liberated—truly refreshed in her soul, more energised than any night’s sleep had made her feel for years. “You read my mind, Ms. Moran… Thank you so much.”

To think this had all been Jesse’s idea in the first place, and that Saskia had doubted what ended up being one of the most important decisions of her life. She was so grateful to Ms. Moran in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to express the depth of.

“No worries at all, Saskia. Same time next week, then. I’ll brew enough tea for two.”