Page 11 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

Dr. Yancey opens her office door. Her scent is everywhere in that room. How the hell will I be able to focus on sports betting or whatever with that dick-hardening perfume?

There are two comfortable velvet blue couches, warm lighting, and a shelf with all types of large, intimidating books. I fight the urge to hit my vape in here or worse, pull out a cigarette. I sit down on the biggest couch and stick my head in my hands.

They didn’t warn me that the therapist would be hot.

“So, how are you doing today, Ethan?” Dr. Yancey asks.

I look her dead in the eye, struggling to hide my immediate arousal and attraction to my therapist’s sweet tits and ass. I want to tell her everything, which scares me. Openness rarely pays off for men. I scowl and sit back.

“My family thinks I have a problem with gambling.”

My words don’t appear to rattle or move her to react.Strange.

“I see,” she says. What the fuck does she see? Her hand wanders over to her clipboard and scribbles something on it. I pretend not to notice her doing that, but I’m burning with curiosity over what she wrote down.

“Do you have a problem?” she asks.

“No.”

“But you came here anyway, because you care about your family.”

“Yes.”

She stays quiet. So painfully quiet that I have to fill the silence.

“I almost lost… a large sum of money playing poker and I just… folks look at it differently when you win.”

I can hear myself trying to justify my behavior. A smart woman like this who did all of that education to become a doctor, and has all those letters after her name, she must think I’m an idiot. I fall silent again and lean back. She keeps staring at me, waiting for me to fill the silence.

“It’s not that I have a serious problem.”

“But you’re in a therapist’s office for your gambling addiction according to your intake form.”

“The addiction thattheysay I have.”

Her eyes meet mine again. Fuck. Is your therapist supposed to eye fuck you like that? I’ve always had this sick attachment to women in positions of authority over me. Teachers. Librarians. Hot therapists with glasses. There is something so fucking hot about taking a woman in total control over her life and unraveling that tightly wound bun pinned to the back of her head and stripping all that power away from her.

I havealwaysloved making a powerful woman cum all over my cock.

“Ethan?”

Fuck.

“Hm?”

“I asked you how it feels when you gamble.”

I lock eyes with her. This is why people hate therapists. She stares right back at me, fierce and unmovable. There is no fucking way in hell that I’m going to be discussing my feelings right now. I need to

“Look. We don’t need to discuss my feelings. I need tactical information on how to stop gambling.”

“Tactical information?”

“Yes. Strategies. Tips. Tricks.”

“I think it’s interesting that you avoided the topic of feelings.”

This woman doesn’t want to know what I’m feeling right now. Desperate to get the scores for the Red Sox game. Cooking up a parlay involving Bills quarterback Josh Allen. Tense. There are footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. I saw her turn on some noise machine, so I know this conversation is private but…

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