The P.A.

Chapter 57: Sexual Healing

Heath couldn't breathe.

He was having some kind of fantastic sex dream. In it, he was being smothered by huge breasts.

They were the best kind, gigantic, soft, perfectly, symmetrically round, with just the right sized areolae and nipples that were the exact right hard-soft texture, like gumdrops.

Like MJ's.

Whenever he could manage to take a breath, he could smell the fantastic smell of sex. A woman's sex, to be exact, the salty, tangy, secret smell she carried deep between her legs, or maybe on a damp spot on her underwear if she were making out with someone. Heath loved putting his hand between a woman's legs, if she'd let him, and getting a finger or two up into that private place, hopefully feeling that wonderful slickness that meant that she was just as into it as he was, getting a whiff of what was on his fingers, and, if he was lucky, a taste. The air in his dream was filled with that fabulous, briny, scent.

Like MJ's.

In his dream, Heath had a huge, no, a huge, erection, the likes of which he hadn't had since his early teens, when he'd have wet dreams three or four nights running about his sexy Latin teacher. It felt like he had a steel rod between his legs.

It was getting hard to breathe, so Heath reached up and tried to claw his way to some air, filling his hands with the supple, warm skin of his sex dream goddess. She had a pliant body, and long curly hair. Her torso dipped to a curvy waist, from which it flared to nice, round hips, with those cute as fuck twin dimples at the base of her spine.

Like MJ.

It finally filled Heath's sleep-addled brain that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a dream. He slid his hands down to grab twin handfuls of a rich and round bottom as he groaned and opened his eyes. What he saw nearly made him go blind.

Above him, MJ, sans yellow nightie, was beautifully, completely, nude, body with a lovely, pearly sheen of effort in the afternoon light. Her glorious breasts were indeed right above his face, swinging and swaying in the most alluring way, every once in a while pressing into his nose and mouth and cutting off all air.

MJ had somehow lowered his pajama bottoms without waking him, and was rubbing herself on him, focusing all of that delicious wetness and heat and pressure directly on his erection, which was by now so hard it was starting to throb and actually feel painful.

MJ looked down at him, smiled like an angel, making her dimple pop, and said, "Good morning, Heath, my lover, my love."

Heath blinked up at her, smiled, and said, "Good morning to you, too, tiger." He tightened his grip on the twin globes of her bottom, moving them up and down as he groaned pleasurably and asked, "What the fuck is going on here?"

"Well, I kind of hoped you'd know," MJ responded between breaths. "I guess I'm not as good at this as I'd hoped."

Heath pushed up with his hips, causing such a burst of pleasure that he let out a gasp as MJ rose slightly into the air. "Oh, no, believe me, darling, you're very, very, good at this." He nodded for emphasis, closing his eyes at how amazing she felt. "Oh, fuck, MJ, this feels almost as good as when I'm inside you, Jesus Christ," he moaned.

"This is therapy," MJ informed him.

"For you or for me?" Heath gasped.

"For me, of course," MJ replied with a smile. "After an assault, the survivor needs to have as many positive sexual experiences as she can, as soon as she feels she can. Sometimes that can be years after the assault." She dimpled at him, squeezing with her hips, eliciting another gasp. "Sometimes it doesn't take that long."