She put her feet on the arms of the chair and I rolled up to the desk. It was obvious that she wanted proof, and I wanted to give it to her. Badly. W...oleheartedly. She never uttered a word, but just opened her legs, leaned back on her hands and gazed at me. I slid my hands under her gorgeous ass and kissed the insides of her thighs. She smelled great. Fucking delicious. I licked the insides of her thighs and kissed my way up one side of her shaved slit and down the other. She gave no. ”What can you say? ‘I’m sorry’ is hardly adequate, is it?I sighed. “Oh, my dear...” Let me say, I’m heard many sad tales in my career. Sometimes you can tell it’s just a sob-story. At others, like Clara’s, you can tell that deep distress is involved.“Can I have a hug?”“Absolutely!” I moved round to sit next to her, wrapped an arm round and held her to me. These days, physical contact by a mental health professional with a client is fraught with danger which is sad, because a hug is a powerful. More

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