[F25] I fucked my therapist… and he let me call him “daddy” the whole time.

This isn’t one of those fantasies you say out loud and expect to actually happen. But it did. And it completely fucked up my life… and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

I started therapy last year after a bad breakup. The kind that leaves you spiraling, questioning everything, crying after sex even when it feels good. I needed help and I found him—Dr. L. Late 30s, beard, tall, calm voice. Wore button-downs with rolled sleeves and expensive-looking watches. He had this energy. Like he’d seen everything and nothing could rattle him. I told myself he wasn’t my type but my pussy would literally throb during sessions. I started wearing makeup to appointments. Then shorter skirts. I’d “forget” to cross my legs.

I knew it was wrong. But I also knew he noticed.

One session, we were talking about why I kept chasing emotionally unavailable men. He said something like, “It sounds like you never really had someone who made you feel safe and desired at the same time.” I laughed nervously and said, “Yeah, maybe I need someone who makes me call them ‘Daddy’ and then tells me everything’s gonna be okay.”

I swear to god, the air in the room changed.

He didn’t say anything for a second, then slowly looked up from his notepad and said, “That’s a very specific fantasy.”

I said, “I think about it a lot.”

The silence stretched. I felt my heart racing, but I didn’t stop. I added, “Do you ever wonder what your clients think about after they leave here?”

He finally smiled—a real smile—and said, “Only when they want me to know.”

I knew I had him. I stood up and walked over to his chair, sat on the armrest. He didn’t move away.

I whispered, “I touch myself after almost every session. Want to know what I imagine?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at me, like he was weighing the consequences in real time. And then he said, “Lock the door.”

That first time was fucking feral. Like years of restraint poured into 30 minutes of messy, desperate sex. I dropped to my knees and sucked his cock like I was starved for it. Deep in my throat, choking, spitting, gagging just so he could see how badly I wanted it. He pulled me up, bent me over his desk, and fucked me without a condom. I came twice before he did, and when he finished inside me, he pulled me into his lap and just held me there.

I whispered, “Thank you, Daddy.”
And he whispered back, “You’re safe. You’re such a good girl.”

After that, we pretended it didn’t happen. For a few weeks.

Until the next time I walked in, closed the door… and locked it again.

We’ve fucked on the couch, on the floor, against the bookcase. One time I wore nothing under my coat and dropped it as soon as I walked in. He didn’t even say a word—just pushed me against the wall and made me beg for it.

I know it’s unethical. I know it would ruin his career.
But I’ve never felt more wanted. More seen. More used in the exact way I crave.

And yeah… I still go to therapy every Thursday. On my knees.