The Sex Therapist’s Daughter
by Pan
My Mom is a sex therapist.
She used to hide it from me. Like, I knew she was a hypnotherapist, but I had no idea what her specialty was. And then one day I saw her business card, and it was just printed there in black and white.
Sex Therapist.
I remember being so mad. It’s almost weird, looking back at it now. Why did it bother me so much? It’s a noble pursuit, really.
My mother helps people get better. My mother helps people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face.
My mother’s job is important.
She was very calm, considering the fact that I was all but spitting in her face. I, meanwhile, wasn’t having any of it. I just kept ranting and raving about how much she’d embarrassed me, about how selfish she was. How she wasn’t my mother any more.
When I was done, she just shook her head at me. I dunno what I’d expected; I guess for her to lose her temper back, or ground me. But her psychology degree is apparently good for more than just making a living, because that slight shake…god, it made me feel so small.
She didn’t need to send me to my room. Instead, I slinked up and sat on the bed.
I wish I could say that I immediately saw the light, but…well, I was a dumb teenager. (I mean, I’m still a teenager, but I can confidently say I’m much, much less dumb.) So instead of thinking and reflecting and realizing that she was right, I got myself more and more worked up.
And over the next eighteen months or so, I…rebelled.
Hopefully I don’t need to spell it out for you. How does one rebel when their Mom is a sex therapist?
Yeah.
It wasn’t hard to find boys to help me ‘work out my mommy issues’, so to speak. Basically the moment I hit puberty, nature blessed me with a pair of tits to rival a female superhero drawn by a horny man. It was impossible for me to walk down the street without attracting male attention…
Finding guys to rebel with wasn’t hard.
Sometimes Mom would catch me. Most of the time it was deliberate; I’d bring a guy home when I knew she was on her way home, or we’d do it in her bed…one time I snuck a guy into my room at midnight, and got louder and louder until Mom was all-but-forced to storm in and berate me.
At times, it was completely accidental. My rebellion wasn’t completely to show up my Mom; I just really, really liked sex.
I still do. That’s why I’m so happy to—…well, no, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Occasionally, I’d just be completely lost in the moment, in the feeling of fullness, in the tastes and the smells and the textures unique to sex. I’d be about to crest when the guy would tense up (not in a good way) and I’d open my eyes and I’d see Mom there.
It sounds pathetic, laying it all out like this, but honestly: I loved it so much when she was mad. Her eyes would narrow and her lips would get real thin and I could tell that it was working, that I was getting under her skin. It was fucking addictive, y’know? That feeling of victory. That I’d won. That I’d made my Mom feel how she’d made me feel, when she’d started working as the only sex therapist in town.
And the worst was when she was disappointed. She’d just stare at me, defiantly gyrating, my huge tits loose, trying to milk as much pleasure as possible from the guy of the moment’s wilting cock before he pulled free.
Mom would shake her head, and I’d suddenly feel so stupid. So aware of the inanity of what I was doing.
It was the absolute worst feeling in the world, period.
But I’d use it to stoke my anger and fuel my fury, and the next day I’d be under another guy, once more using my body to get back at Mom.
The phase eventually passed, as these things do. Honestly, I’m lucky I didn’t end up with a bun in the oven, or an STI. As it was, the only lasting effect of my eighteen-month fuckfest was my reputation.
I’d been so worried about being known as ’the sex therapist’s daughter’, I’d poured myself into establishing my own identity. One that was—as I’m sure you’ve inferred—much less flattering.
After that, things between my parents and I were…strained, as you can imagine.
I haven’t really talked about my Dad much so far, just because…well, there’s not much to talk about. Don’t get me wrong, I love my father (otherwise what ended up happening would have been impossible) but he’s a weak man. Mom has always been the strong one; he’s mostly just happy to sit one the sidelines and let her call the shots.
I could tell he was uncomfortable with my year-and-a-half of sluttitude, but he didn’t say anything. He’d just shoot me baleful looks from time to time; I didn’t love the feeling they gave me, but they were nothing in comparison to Mom’s small shakes.
It was around my eighteenth birthday that everything changed. In our county, eighteen is the earliest you can get your license, and…I dunno, something about it just made me realize:
I needed to grow up.
I was an adult now. I could do anything. But all I had to show for my last three years was a strained relationship with my parents and a reputation as the town slut.
Of all things, it was an episode of Dr. Phil that got me back on track. Like, I don’t even like that show…but I was watching an episode and he was talking about how we can’t move forward if we’re shackled to our broken path.
Corny as hell, hokey as fuck, and for some reason it absolutely hit me where I lived.
Just like the crying girl on-screen, I realized that I had to get over myself and ”start a dialogue” (as he put it) with the person causing me all this pain: my Mom. So that night when she got home, I poked my head around the bedroom door, and asked if she had a moment.
Mom is far from a perfect person, but considering all the shit I’d just dedicated my time to putting her through (like, she must have seen my bare ass more in the last two years than in all the time she’d changed my diaper as a baby) she really impressed me by how quickly she invited me in and sat me down on her bed to talk.
She was a little standoffish at first—defensive, I guess—which makes sense. But I’d thought about it, and I knew exactly how I was going to extend an olive branch:
I asked about her work.
After a few minutes of hesitant responses, she stopped side-eyeing me and started to really talk about it.
You’ve got to remember: basically since I learned what she did, Mom’s work had been my greatest nemesis. I was more mad at her job than I ever was at her, which doesn’t even make any sense. It’s not a person, it’s a noble pursuit. My mother helps people get better. My mother helps people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face.
My mother’s job is important.
But at the time I didn’t know any of that; Mom’s job was just this embarrassing thing that I hated, and so it had honestly never even occurred to me that she could…love it, I guess.
As Mom kept talking, it became more and more clear how passionate she was about her work. She spoke about how she helped people get better, how she helped people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face.
She spoke about how important her job was.
And as she spoke, it made me feel smaller and smaller. This was Mom’s life pursuit; she hadn’t taken it up to embarrass me. Mom had found exactly what I was nervous I wouldn’t; a career that mattered to her, that she was good at. Something that made a difference in the world.
I felt so dumb for making it all about me, me, me.
Maybe that’s why I said yes. A year ago, I would’ve thought she was a psychopath for even asking. I would’ve tried to get back at her by fucking the mailman or trying to seduce our pastor at church or something.
But I was so embarrassed and I felt so stupid…when Mom asked if I was interested in being hypnotized, I said yes.
She did it right then and there. I mean, I don’t know what I’d expected—it wasn’t like her office was the only place in the world where you could hypnotize someone.
One minute we were sitting on the bed chatting about the important work she did…the next, I’d agreed to being put under.
It was faster than I expected, too. I mean, I guess Mom’s been doing it for longer than I’ve been alive, but still. One minute she was moving her fingers around, softly challenging me to follow them with my eyes, to keep my heavy eyelids open, to pay attention to the droning of her voice…and the next moment, I was out.
According to the clock I was out for almost an hour, but it felt like it was just a few minutes. And I couldn’t remember a single thing she told me…but I wasn’t worried. I trusted my mother. Mother only wants what’s best for me.
I would let my mother hypnotize me any time she wanted to.
Everything changed after that night. I started letting Mom put me under once or twice a week; it was really helpful, honestly. My sleep troubles completely vanished, and I even started eating better (which I assume was Mom’s doing).
Part of me wondered if I should be worried about what she was saying when I was under, but I trusted my mother. Mother only wants what’s best for me.
I was still a little stressed about what to do for a career, but then Mom came up with the best idea: I could come and work for her!
At first, it was just administrative stuff. Like, I’d see people on TV spending all their time filing, but never really understood they were doing.
Well, after those first three months, I had a pretty thorough idea. I guess you could call it relaxing—I’d get in and there would be mountains of filing for me to take care of. After a while I’d just go into a like, trance state, alphabetizing files, moving them from drawer to drawer, listening to the music pumping through the speakers in the ceiling.
I honestly don’t even know how Mom’s practice managed to generate so much paperwork. Seriously; she’d never have more than four or five clients a day, but every single morning when I got in, there was just an absolute pile of paperwork to sort.
I didn’t question it, though. My mother’s job is important. It’s a noble pursuit. My mother helps people get better.
My mother helps people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face.
That kind of work is bound to generate a bunch of paperwork, you know?
But more than relaxing, more than important, more than anything, doing all that filing was one thing:
Boring.
Seriously. It was the most tedious job you could imagine. So after an entire summer of exceptionally uninteresting work, when Mom asked if I wanted to do something else, get involved in another way, I leapt at the chance.
Not just because it would get me away from the paperwork. I just…I guess I wanted to be part of helping people get better. Helping people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face.
I wanted to assist in her noble pursuit. I wanted my work to be important.
And so I agreed, almost before I heard what she wanted me to do.
Honestly…I was more than a little weirded out at first. Like, surely…surely that wasn’t a normal part of sex therapy, right? Right??
For a moment…god, I can’t believe I’m admitting this—for a moment, I was almost suspicious of Mom. Crazy, right?? Mother only wants what’s best for me. I trusted mother.
I would let my mother hypnotize me any time she wanted to.
That’s what made me realize that my suspicions were completely unfounded, honestly. See, as part of my ‘I hate my Mom’ years, I’d done a bunch of reading about hypnotherapy, hoping to…I dunno, discredit her or something.
Like, if I could find a paper saying that the whole thing was baloney, at least I could feel more justified in how much I hated Mom’s work.
But it turns out it’s pretty legit. So I’d gone the other way, trying to find evidence that Mom was manipulating people, turning them into zombies or slaves or whatever.
That one was a little more promising, but not really. It was theoretically possible, but you’d need like, months of subliminal messages to really transform someone like that. I’m talking like, hours a day, and probably a month or two of priming them before then. If you had years of priming you could make some pretty big changes in a week, but other than that: you really couldn’t make anyone do something they didn’t want to do.
That’s why I wasn’t afraid when Mom asked to hypnotize me. As long as we limited it to a few times a week, I knew she couldn’t psychologically lobotomize me or whatever.
I don’t know why I was so afraid. Mother only wants what’s best for me. I trusted my mother.
And once I knew it was safe, that she wasn’t up to anything nefarious, I would let my mother hypnotize me any time she wanted to.
The next day I was filing and running it all through my head and trying to work out what I was so worried about when yeah, all of that sort of clicked, and I suddenly knew for sure that Mom’s offer was legit.
So I accepted the position. I mean, of course I did. My mother helps people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face. My mother helps people get better.
My mother’s job is important. It’s a noble pursuit.
And now, I was going to be part of it.
See, people go to sex therapists for all kinds of reasons. Intimacy problems, erectile disfunction, difficulty with arousal. My mother helps people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face.
But because she’s a woman, she’s always kind of struggled to keep male clients. Women? No problem. They’ll come to her in droves, and she’s great at helping them out.
Men? Yeah…I think maybe they feel weird about discussing erectile dysfunction with a female doctor. Or, even worse, they assume that she’s going to have sex with them.
Nuts, right?
Well…
Mom is a professional sex therapist; she’d never do anything like that. It’s a noble pursuit.
But it had occurred to her that it wasn’t actually the worst idea in the world, having someone there to help them with whatever their dysfunctions are. Like, if she were a sports doctor, she’d probably have a basketball hoop in her office so she could see exactly what their problem was.
This was the same thing.
Like, if someone was having trouble getting it up, it’s about more than just a physical reaction. It’s about getting hard in the moment, maintaining the erection during sex. Y’know?
Even if Mom had a stack of porn and fleshlights, it still wouldn’t exactly recreate the problematic environment.
And that’s where I came in.
It made total sense, really, once Mom explained it. I was more than experienced enough (did I mention the eighteen months where I slept around half the city? Just checking.) and it wasn’t like I had a reputation to maintain.
Or, to put it another way, I did have a reputation. And this would certainly help me maintain it.
As well as that, I really wanted to make it up to her. I’d spent so much time being such a horrible daughter; I’d do anything to make it up to her. Without hesitation.
So I did.
It was a super easy gig, if I’m being honest. All I had to do was sit beside my Mom whenever she had a male client, and wait for her instructions.
Watching her hypnotize people was so interesting. The first time alway took the longest, of course. Mom would get them to close their eyes, breathe slowly, and then talk them into a trance. It was so relaxing, I’d sometimes find myself drifting off when she did it. Her voice was just completely mesmerizing.
We never did much more than that the first time. She’d just put them under and ask about their problems, why they were there. They’d answer completely honestly, more honestly than they would if they were awake, and then she’d slowly talk them out of the trance and set up another appointment.
That was where things got interesting. Because it was a path they’d already been down, so to speak, Mom was able to put them under in just a few minutes, and then she’d explain what we were going to do.
If the patients were uncomfortable with it, she’d accept that and let me go back to the front desk…but honestly, it was rare for any of them to refuse.
Not trying to be immodest, but I’m smoking hot. Another reason I was so perfect for the job.
See, Mom would let the patients use me for…well, whatever they were having trouble with.
If they were having trouble maintaining an erection, I’d strip off (again, sorry if this sounds kind of braggy, but guys don’t really struggle to keep an erection when I’m naked in front of them) and we’d recreate whatever scenarios they were having trouble with.
If they got soft while getting head, I’d go down on them, taking their cock into my mouth. I know it was a job, but I loved it so much. I’ve always loved giving blowjobs; now, I was going down on someone to help them. Therapeutic head!
If their struggle related to being jerked off, I’d sit next to them on the couch (yeah, Mom’s office has a couch. Cliché much?) and jerk them off. Mom would talk them through the whole process, encouraging them to grab my tits, or kiss me when they felt themselves getting too far into their own thoughts.
I’d just sit there, letting myself be groped or kissed, jerking them off or sucking their cock. Best job ever, right? Two of my favorite things: cocks + helping people get better.
But my favorites (you’re probably not meant to choose favorites, but whatever) were the guys who struggled during intercourse. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a new cock sliding inside you. Mom made them wear condoms (boooo…but yeah, probably sensible) but it still felt great. It probably helped that I’m so orgasmic; I feel like as well as helping them with their dysfunctions, I was probably helping with their self-esteems too, y’know?
I sometimes wondered if the married men that we treated would go home and compare me to their wives. Unless they were with, like, Scarlett Johanson lookalikes, I was almost certainly going to be the bustiest woman they’d ever fucked. Again, maybe it makes me a bad therapist (not that I was really a like, therapist. More like a therapist’s assistant) but that thought kind of turned me on as well.
Look, pretty much everything turns me on. Sometimes I wonder if I’d just used my anger at Mom as an excuse to go out and do what I wanted to do anyway. Sounds like the kind of question you’d ask your therapist, if your therapist wasn’t also your Mom.
So yeah, there were all kinds of problems we were able to help with. Erectile dysfunction was the easiest; there’s nothing like the feeling of triumph when you feel a guy who normally struggles with that problem cum. I suddenly saw why Mom liked her job so much; we were really helping people!
Intimacy issues were a bit harder. I’d spend a lot less time naked for those guys; it was a lot more kissing and touching over the clothes. Sometimes they’d freak out and Mom would have to talk them down, but I’m proud to say that we pretty much always managed to help them. By the fourth or fifth appointment, they would be fucking me just as hard as the erectile dysfunction guys.
One guy had issues so serious, I ended up going back to his house overnight a few times to help him get over it. Mom was particularly happy with that; she got to charge her full rate for every hour I was at his place.
By the end of it, he’d cum in every one of my holes, and Mom declared him cured. Another success story!
As news of Mom’s effectiveness started to spread, her practice was completely swamped. She ended up doubling her rate, and then doubling them again. Except for a few regulars, she moved completely away from the female patients which had been the majority of her business before me, and started focusing entirely on what had put her in such demand: hands-on sex therapy. (And mouth-on sex therapy. Pussy-on. Ass-on. And for one guy, feet-on.)
After a while, we even worked out a specialty: virgins. I had no idea that guys had so many hangups around losing their virginity, but it was a whole thing. Mom often wouldn’t even bother hypnotizing them, she’d just soothingly talk them through their entire first time as I gently rode them, letting them feel my tits as I bit my lip and came around their dicks.
Pretty perfect, right? Helping people, bonding with my mother, and helping her make a killing along the way.
Well, there was one fly in the ointment: Dad.
Like I said, he’s always been a fairly soft-spoken type; he barely said a word during my entire rebellious period. But after he found out about what Mom and I were doing (it took me a while to work out how he found out; I hadn’t recognized Dad’s boss during the appointment, when I was sucking his cock while Mom talked him through his childhood traumas or whatever. And obviously Mom couldn’t have told Dad that his boss was one of her patients. Confidentiality!) he totally blew his lid.
When shit hit the fan, Mom ended up needing to cancel all her appointments, and the two of them ended up fighting for like, a week straight. I was so nervous the whole time; obviously I didn’t want my parents to get divorced, but I also really, really, really didn’t want to quit my job. It was important. I helped people get better. I helped them deal with some of the most difficult problems they’d ever face.
It was a noble pursuit.
On top of that, I suddenly went from getting laid six to ten times a day to nothing. Cold turkey. I would’ve gone out and gotten laid (I don’t know what the rules are about contacting patients, but there had been a few notable experiences that had really stuck in my memory. Would’ve loved to have booked a ‘follow-up appointment’, if you know what I mean) but being away from my parents would’ve just stressed me out too much.
So I just paced up and down the hallway as they talked it out, that weird music that Mom plays at the office blaring through the speakers in their room the whole time.
When they emerged, Dad was…I dunno, different. For a moment I had this weird, gut-wrenching feeling that Mom had done something to him, but then I remembered: I trust my mother. Mother only wants what’s best for us.
We would let mother hypnotize us any time she wanted.
Mom had this triumphant smile on her face, and once I heard her speak I understood why.
She’d managed to come up with a solution that would work for everyone.
See, I’d had no idea (like, how would I know? And why?) that Mom and Dad had been having sexual issues for years. It was basically a point of professional shame for Mom; the sex therapist who can’t fix her own bedroom life.
The main problem, and this one really surprised me, was that Mom was basically asexual. Again, not exactly something she wanted getting out, considering her job. Maybe that’s why she’d become a sex therapist in the first place; a fascination with something she couldn’t fully embrace herself.
Or perhaps that was why she was so good at it. Like, she was never going to get distracted; she could be completely detached from the whole situation.
In any case, Dad is distinctly not asexual (trust me) and their mismatched libidos had been a point of tension between my parents for years. Mom had assumed it was an unsolvable problem…
…until me.
I’d proven myself adept at helping untangle even the most complex of sexual knots, and so she’d come up with the perfect solution.
Moving forward, I could fulfill all of Dad’s sexual needs.
Now, I’m going to be honest, my first reaction to that was horror. Like, he’s my Dad. Obviously it was a completely impossible solution, one that…
Before I could freak out, Mom said that I should think about it. And so we went back to work as normal, but because we’d missed a week, there was suddenly a whole lot more paperwork to do.
So yeah, suddenly I was back in the damn filing room, alphabetizing patient files, while that dumb music blared through the speakers.
At least it gave me plenty of time to think without distraction. Like, if I’d been back to helping patients, getting my brains fucked out for like eight hours straight a day, I wouldn’t have really been able to think about Mom’s suggestion.
At the end of the week, I had a much more open mind about the whole thing.
My mother helps people get better. I trusted my mother. Mother only wants what was best for me.
Mother wanted me to help my father. To help their marriage.
It’s a noble pursuit.
Long story short—as always, Mom was completely right. After all, it wasn’t that different to what I was doing at work, right? Ultimately, I was helping couples solve their sexual issues. In fact, this was even better than what I did at work; when I was helping Mom’s patients, I only rarely got to see the women we were helping. For the most part, I only got to see the men.
With my parents, I got to see the result of my assistance. (Not to mention, I was obviously a little more invested in their relationship than any of the other patients.)
I can honestly say, Mom and Dad are happier than ever. Dad sleeps in my room now, and even after a long day of helping people (my record is twelve in a single day) I’m always happy to get him hard and let him fuck me wherever he wants.
(Can you believe Mom had never even blown Dad? Let alone let him take her in the ass! I feel so sorry for her; being asexual, she has no idea what she’s missing out on.)
Best of all, because Dad has had a vasectomy and isn’t sleeping with anyone else (not even Mom, obviously) we can have sex without condoms.
I love all my patients, of course, but I can honestly say that Dad is my favorite.
I can’t believe I was ever upset about Mom’s job. It’s a noble pursuit.
My mother helps people get better. My mother helps people deal with some of the most difficult problems they’ll ever face.
My mother’s job is important.