Therapy

Derek walked out of Paradise Men's Club and the sun was starting to rise in the sky. He'd checked into his room at 9 pm the day before and only planned to stay a few hours. At least eight different men had their cum swirling around his stomach, ready to mix with his morning coffee.

It was a Thursday. Work started in an hour. It was his third time here this week. 

It was time for help. 

* * *

"Did you make a visit to the...sauna this week?" Dr. Lioni asked, grasping for the right word to describe Derek's now almost daily escapes to the bathhouse. This was their fifth session together and, if anything, Derek's condition was getting worse.

Derek shifted in the plush, oversized chair in Dr. Lioni's office. How could to describe that his sore, raw ass was only an hour removed from the foot long cock mounted on a five foot tall man who -- although he wouldn't share his name -- had "Big Andy Kane" tattooed above his treasure trail? According to Google, Andy spent his nights loading shipping containers in the warehouse district after he dropped off his load at Paradise.

More importantly, how could he explain that Andy wasn't the first or the tenth or the twentieth this week. Derek was filling his whole bingo card with cock. He slipped away between meetings and gave his mouth over to the sweaty, musky construction workers building 100 units of condos for the rich assholes on Lake Avenue. They texted when the foreman was away and installed him in a container freshly empty of drywall or a corner of the vast lot, hidden by the cherry picker. 

Today, though, they build was busy. They stowed him away in the well-used port-a-potty and it was a free for all. Eric, a 20-something with ginger hair and too-thin arms was the first one in. He unzipped his dusty Dickies before he'd even closed the door and revealed six inches that must have been hard the entire day and swollen balls at their limit. Saying nothing, he grabbed Derek by the hair and boosted himself up onto the shitter platform, shoving all six inches down Derek's throat at the same time. He whined as he thrust, needy and insistent, and held Derek's head firmly in place, his forehead firmly adhered to Eric's sweaty lower abs. 

"Are you still there, Derek?" the therapist probed. How long had it been? This couldn't last. His obsession was killing him.

Dr. Lioni's voice was a faint whisper in Derek's mind as he remembered how it ended in the port-a-potty, thirty minutes later as he emerged, covered in mud and sweat and millions of little swimmers. His hair was still crispy from the last guy, a crane operator, who shot high, laughed and rubbed it in.

* * *

The toll road was the only way to get out here, unless you wanted to get lost and visit the cows on the two-lane highway. He made it with two minutes to spare and parked under the tall sign, next to the blue Lexus he recognized from his weekly visits. There was a chill in the air that felt more intense as he approached the main doors. Derek's fingers grazed the metal strap around his waist and the slim chain around his neck.

Dr. Lioni explained the rules again. The sensors in the chain would perk up if he wrapped his greedy lips around a cock. The strap around his waist would do the same for his fat, slutty ass. And the chastity cage would make sure he wasn't even tempted to play with himself. For the next year, he would only experience sexual pleasure in the room he sat in now and only with the pleasure and presence of Dr. Lioni.

Derek knew he could quit at any time. He could go back to his old life. But he was desperate and something needed to change.

He gave a thumbs up and watched the light on his new belt turn green. It was time to begin.