Amy

He nodded once and squirmed in his seat, trying not to be obvious, trying to get comfortable.

“Good. We are beginning to get somewhere. Now, when you are looking at the pictures of these girls masturbating, who are you thinking of? Is it just the picture on the screen, or do you fantasize, with a particular girl in mind?”

“Varies… If the girl is… you know… hot. Sometimes it’s girls I know.”

“Do you have a girlfriend, Tim?”

“Yes.”

“Is she nice. Sexy?”

“She’s ok.”

“Ah… I take it from your less than enthusiastic response that she doesn’t let you do anything. Is that it? Girls can be really awkward just at the age when you long to plunge headlong into discovery. Girls need to be wooed, they need you to be confident, and responsible, and above all else, they need you to be loyal and trustworthy. They are not going let you into their knickers if they think you’ll be straight down the pub to boast about it.

“So, I imagine you get frustrated because she won’t let you touch her, and you turn to the Internet for a bit of relief? That’s perfectly normal for your generation. My generation had to rely upon magazines, with all the problems of where to hide them so parents wouldn’t discover them. Is it your girlfriend that you visualise when you look at pictures of girls masturbating?”

“Be difficult. I’ve only ever seen her with her clothes on.”

Amy regarded him in silence for an uncomfortably long time, watching him fidget, and imagining the conflicts and desires stirring his emotions.

“You are at that wonderful curiosity stage of imagining what a real pussy looks like and the screen images don’t quite get you there; an abundance of curiosity and no way to release it. Tell me, Tim, was that why you were sneaking a peak at your Mum? Were you simply curious, or do you actually think about your Mum when you’re wanking?”

“Amy… come on, that’s not fair.”

“Well… do you think about me? I’m only five years younger than Susan… but I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say I look at least ten or twelve years younger.”

Tim cast his eyes round the room looking for some place to hide. “I’m not saying anything else. Do you have a toilet?”

Amy observed him for a moment, professionally, but with a deep smouldering gaze from Tim’s point of view, which seemed focused around the level of his waist.

“Yes. Through there,” she finally answered, pointing to a door.

Amy watched Tim shuffle to the treatment room, smiling, wondering quite what he would make of it. She looked at her watch, and thought she’d give Tim ten minutes, moving to her desk and pressing the intercom button.

“Mary, Tim’s on channel 2 if you’re bored.”

Amy called up the treatment room video camera on her computer screen, noting Mary had wasted no time in logging on. Amy pooled her skirt onto her lap, and settled to watch Tim while her index finger drew figures of eight across the tight stretched fabric of her panties, using the end of her nail to focus the sensations.

It took Tim less than a minute to work out that the second light switch turned on a projector. Amy used the images for sexual therapy treatment — most were erotic rather than pornographic, although there were a few cum shots, vaginas and mouths — nothing Tim wouldn’t have seen on the Internet. Tim, like a kid in a candy shop, didn’t know quite what to look at first. The images, two and three times life size, were great, but so was the range of dildos on the shelf by a treatment couch. He’d not seen those before; well, only pictures. He picked one up, a pink one, and sniffed it.

“Did you see that, Amy?”

“Yes, quite funny.”

“If I’d known, I’d have left my panties for him. Ooh, he’s unzipping.”

Amy quickly leaned forward, pulled up a sub-menu and loading images of herself, just her pussy and breasts, for Tim to enjoy.

“That’s not fair. Put some of me up.”

“Which ones, Mary?”

“The ones where I’m using that same pink dildo. Ooh… he’s into it.”

“Leave the line open Mary, I always enjoy listening to you.”

Amy stretched back in her reclining desk chair, pushing her bottom into the seat and pulling the fabric tighter across her labia as she snuck her hand in from the side of her panties, enjoying the tight pull of the thong fabric across her anus rocking herself in the chair for effect. With two fingers, she worked herself off watching Tim spray with looping spurts onto the tiled floor and listening to Mary’s gasped mewing through the intercom.

Amy cleaned her fingers on a citrus scented wipe (it masked any sexual odour that pervaded the office) and dropped it in the waste bin. Tidied herself, shut down the video and the intercom, blowing a kiss to Mary as she did so, and looked at her watch — eight minutes. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ she thought.

Tim emerged shyly from the treatment room and took a couple of steps into the office, turning his head back to the door, disbelieving where he’d been.

“Where were we?” Amy asked, with complete nonchalance, once again in her armchair as if she’d never left it. “Yes. I asked you when you masturbate; when you cum, do you imagine it is me you’re unloading yourself into. Do you imagine it’s my pussy, or do you imagine it’s your Mum’s?”

“I… What’s that room for?”

“It’s a treatment room for clients with serious sexual problems. Some people have to be stimulated to express themselves sexually. We can, if we think it will help them, show them pictures, teach them to masturbate, by themselves, or with a partner; and sometimes we teach them how to fuck. I don’t think your problems are really all that serious, Tim.” Amy struggled to keep her face impassive. “So I’m afraid you won’t be getting to see our private porn collection. Are you going to answer my question?”

“And all those dildos — why so many?”

“Don’t play naïve. You know full well what dildos are for. You’ve seen them in porn shots. Different girls and women like different things. Different colours for example. The dark ones excite some pale-skinned women and some dark-skinned women are the opposite. Some women can’t get by without the bunny ears to stimulate their clitoris — you know what the clitoris is?”

“I’ve heard, seen pictures.”

“Well, maybe we can ask Mary to demonstrate.”

Tim turned so swiftly in the direction of the door to reception that he almost fell over.

Amy smiled. “Don’t look so shocked. Come and sit down, before you fall over. Our primary function is to educate, so that our clients, such as you, know what they are doing and don’t go fumbling around causing grief to everyone they touch. If we think our client will be best served by a personal demonstration, then that is what we do. You would be surprised how few men actually know where the clitoris is and how to give it the attention it deserves.”

Tim sat, his mouth wide open, wondering what depth of ineptitude he’d have to display to get a ‘personal demonstration’.

God, I love working with young men, Amy thought. They are so deliciously transparent. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Good heavens, Tim, concentrate! When you are cumming, whom do you imagine you are pumping yourself into? We appear to have narrowed the choice down to me… or your Mum, unless of course you now want to add Mary into the equation?”

Tim’s eyes moved of their own volition back toward the reception room door and he tried to imagine Mary, what she might look like. He could only really remember her from the party four years ago when she was wearing shorts and a top and she seemed chubbier then she was now. She had spied him ogling her. She’d been drinking and sidled up to him, teasing, begging for a birthday kiss, tonguing his ear and whispering, ‘Come and see me when you’re old enough. I might have a surprise for you.’

“Hello, I’m over here. Are you going to answer me?”

Tim shook his head, trying to remember what Amy had asked him, and let his mouth run away with his thoughts.

“It was too dark to see anything really in Mum’s room, and how could I imagine your… thingy…”

“It’s called a vagina, pussy, fanny, or cunt… but it is not a thingy.” Amy said, with just the right tinge of mock irritation.

“Well, I couldn’t anyway.”

“Yes, you could. You are not really trying. Each of us is an expert in imagining, and we can project our deepest and sometimes our crudest desires onto the images we need to see.”

Amy reclined in her seat and crossed her legs, turning his way, knowing he would just be able to see the pale skin of her upper thigh above the lacy elastic tops of her stockings.

“For example, if I close my eyes,” which she did. “I can easily imagine you wanking. I can see you standing naked, a young muscled frame, your hand clutching your shaft, working it up and down, and I can imagine creamy ropes of cum spurting — you shoot lots because you’re young — that changes as you grow older.”

Amy opened her eyes, catching Tim, mouth agog, and eyes transfixed on her now slightly parted legs.

“Close you eyes Tim, and imagine me. You know what I look like, my face, my body shape, shouldn’t be too much trouble there. I am sure you can easily imagine my breasts, even though there pretty much hidden by my blouse and jacket. They are small, and even now, despite my age, almost like pyramids, little volcano peaks on my chest, crowned by tiny little button nipples that need to be stimulated to show properly and set in a pink areola about half an inch across. Can you imagine them, can you make them appear in you head?”