THE SECRET JOURNAL OF DR SUZANNE MAUVAIS
Story Codes: MF, Consensual, Exhibitionist,



THE SECRET JOURNAL OF DR SUZANNE MAUVAIS
by Jax



Monday 30th June

I’d always wanted to be a psychiatrist, even as a child, but I’m bored - I’ve been in this
clinic since I qualified. Five years! I’ve had my fill of schizophrenics, pyromaniacs, gays
with misplaced guilt complexes, kleptomaniacs, manic depressives etc.  Miss Whiplashes
and nymphomaniacs are all too rare - I suppose that they are quite content, and don’t
need someone like me to analyse their sex-lives.  I have begun to fantasise about various
patients.  Of course, I’ll never actually sleep with any of them, something that taboo is
quite out of the question.         

For months I’ve been respectable, and it’s driving me mad.  On the train this morning I
was on heat - at least none of the passengers were patients of mine.  I saw a few
surprised looks as I looked straight down at guys’ laps. I slowly licked my top lip as I sat
opposite a cute-looking businessman.  He nearly dropped his briefcase and I noticed he
placed it over his lap afterwards, to hide his hard-on.  He would do nicely.  I wasn’t
wearing any knickers and I slowly lifted my skirt to show him.  His eyes nearly popped out
of his head.  I was so wet already.  I opened my legs wider and he

eagerly looked, his top lip sweating. He loosened his tie as he watched me rub my clit. I
pushed my finger into myself, watching his expression all the time as I fingered myself.  
He reached under his briefcase and I could tell by his face that he was stroking himself.  I
rubbed my clit to a frenzy.

    We alighted at the next platform and I half dragged him into the Ladies’ loo at my
practice (thank God it’s only a five minute walk away from the station!)  The thought that
someone could be in there - and would probably scream the place down at the sight of
him - turned me on even more.   One of the cubicles was engaged: all the better, I
thought. We fell into the cramped little toilet and I lifted my skirt, revealing myself from
behind. He squeezed my breasts and in less than a second I felt him push inside of me.  I
could hear the woman in the cubicle next to us ripping off paper. I was unbelievably hot
as he thrust so hard and fast.  I tried to be quiet and my suppressed pants turned us both
on even more.  I heard the woman pull the flush and I risked a groan as I rubbed my clit
faster, building up to the finish.

    ‘Are you all right in there?’the woman asked.

    Shit. She’d heard us - I recognised her voice, it was Thelma. I was so turned on by the
fact she’d heard me having an orgasm. We both fully came together and I just let myself
go, my breathless pants echoing around the entire wash-room.  I then cried out in a
shaky voice, ‘Yes, thanks, Thelma, I had a dodgy curry yesterday.’

    ‘Oh, OK, as long as you’re all right, Suzanne.’

    I leaned against the cubicle wall, dying to laugh.  Somehow, I managed to wait until the
sound of the hand drier had died and I heard her close the main door behind

her.

    I kissed him. ‘I’ll tell you when it’s safe.’

    I walked slowly out into the corridor again, smiling at the old woman who was just
entering the Ladies’ room.

   ‘Are you feeling better now, Suzanne? Mrs W has telephoned to cancel her
appointment,’ Thelma said as I passed Reception. ‘I’ll make you a coffee.’

  Oh, yes, I’m feeling much better, I thought.

    I realised when I was seeing my second patient for the day that I’d quite forgotten the
guy in the toilet.  After the depressed housewife had thanked me and left, I rushed to the
toilet - I don’t know when he had left, but he wasn’t there, I realised with relief.       

Friday 11th July

I buried myself in my work for weeks, but then I met a sexy Gynaecologist at Max’s party.   
He literally knew a vagina inside and out - and Geez, he could make me orgasm by
stimulating parts of me I only vaguely knew I had!

    I’d gone to the party rather reluctantly, having finally run out of excuses; I knew from
experience how boring these affairs can be.  (I vividly remember that just after I’d joined
the clinic I was invited to a do and I went along, seriously ready to party but they all sat
around in heavy debate.  I tried initiating the conga and they all stared at me like I was
one of the most severe cases of mental illness they’d ever come across. ‘Get lives. We’re
not in work now,’ I’d said).

    I turned up as late as I could get away with, already half-drunk, thoroughly dreading
the ordeal.  He was sat, looking as bored as Hell; I caught his eye and made an elaborate
yawn.  He smiled and I knew I’d found an ally for the next few hours at least.  His smile
totally transformed his face and I decided he wasn’t bad at all.  I suppose, with his glasses
and moustache, distinguished-looking describes him better than handsome or hunky.

    He came up to me. ‘Dr Mauvais, the Psychiatrist, I presume.’

    I felt a little more interest, especially when he told me that he was a Gynaecologist.  
‘Interesting,’ I said, ‘I mean, how can a guy probe vaginas all day long and not get
aroused? Does he go home and get an erection looking at his wife’s vagina?’

    He looked stunned. ‘I always wondered if Shrinks mind-raped for fun.’

    I finished my drink in one gulp. ‘Touché. I apologise for my sense of humour, Dr.’

    ‘Mr, actually.’ He smiled. ’Well, at least it broke the ice.’

    After we’d finished a bottle of whisky between us I suggested going outside for a
breath of fresh air.  I kissed him and placed my hand between his legs.  He was as ready
as I was.  We were in full view of the house but neither of us gave a damn as I unzipped
his trousers and began to lick and suck, and he placed his hands on my head.  The
thought that someone from that party could be watching made me so hot.  I took my dress
off and I pulled my (wet) knickers down.  I felt filthy and daring as I rubbed them in his
face to let him know how horny I was, and I guided him into my hungry vagina.  He hit the
right spot with the very first thrust and his expert fingers did utterly amazing things.   He
came and then he licked me until I just couldn’t take anymore of his tongue or fingers.  He’
d spent a lifetime studying vaginas and Hell, it showed.

    We returned to the others and it secretly thrilled me to see the embarrassed look of
some old judge, carefully averting his eyes.  He’d seen us and I suspected that he hadn’t
immediately looked away. Ha ha.

    I smirked and raised my glass to him. ‘Great party.’

    He looked away, with a tight-lipped attempt at smiling. Hypocrite.

    I told the Gynaecologist about the dire party that had nearly put me off going to that
one, and he confided that it was the first one he’d ever found pleasurable. I bet. I got up
on the spur of the moment and began dancing the conga again, as I’d done several
years earlier. There was the same (expected) silence as the last time, and then my new
lover joined me.  I could see they didn’t know what to do as the pair of us kicked our legs
out to the side and sang, ‘La-la-la-la-la-la.’ Some looked embarrassed, some smirked
haughtily to one another and others just tried to pretend they hadn’t even noticed.
Birthday Boy Max joined us and they felt obliged, by polite etiquette, to join in.  I think they
actually ended up very nearly enjoying themselves. Boring old farts.

    We left together and decided to walk as it was such a beautiful night.  We walked
down a country lane and I just couldn’t wait until we reached his house for seconds.  I
leaned him against a hedge and went to work on him.  It didn’t take long,

even after the alcohol he’d sank, and he took me from behind, his fingers fiddling with my
clit, as the hedge rocked to and fro with us. By the time he came I was bloody exhausted.

    We arrived at his house, as impressive as everything else about him, and he fixed us
some more drinks.  I instantly felt at home and I was delighted to see he had a pool table.
‘I don’t play,’ he explained, a little sheepishly, ’I’ve just never been able to get the hang of
even holding the cue.’

    ‘I’ll teach you, it’s a piece of cake.’  I guided his hand and discovered that it really was
impossible.  So what!

     I kissed him again and placed my hand on his crotch.

    I used to play pool a lot in my University days and I’ve always fantasised about having
sex on the table.  I fully undressed and lay on it. The feel of the baize against my skin felt
as good as I always imagined it would.  I placed each foot in a pocket and I inserted the
cue slowly into myself.  I worked it deeper, nice and slowly.  He undressed and stood
watching me - he had a good body, and his penis, in his hand, was as rigid as the
wooden cue.   He licked my breasts and his fingers expertly replaced the cue.  I’ve never
felt such ecstasy from just being fingered before.  He licked and fingered so deep, just
spot-on, and seemed to stimulate every part of me all at once.  By the time he entered
me I’d lost count of how many times I’d come. I couldn’t take any more; he was so good.

    ‘Will you stay the night?’

    The randy sod; he still wanted more. ‘As long as you promise I won’t sleep a

wink,’ said I.

    I took a hot bath and heard him taking a shower in the bedroom.  I imagined him
soaping his penis and found myself getting turned-on again.  I couldn’t get enough of the
guy. I rubbed my clit with the soap, remembering the old joke about the two nuns in the
bath, as I breathlessly came. You know, as corny as it is, ‘Where’s the soap?’ always
makes me smile.

    He was waiting for me in the bed (satin sheets are very romantic but flannelette would
have been as good, I wanted him so much). He literally kissed me all over (it surprised me
how much it excited me) and by the time he got to my vagina I was begging for it.  He
used his tongue and fingers to take me way over the top as before, and then he used his
beautiful hard-on.  (He used a cock ring, which he seriously didn’t need, but I suppose he
thought it would help him to keep up with me).  He took so many times, in so many ways I
honestly can’t remember how many different positions.   Anyway, I was screaming the
place down (those ORGASMS deserve capitol letters, believe me). I got to the stage
where I thought I’d pass out.

Friday 18th July

Last week Linda invited me to her Hen Night - she’d invited Thelma and Janice too, but
they both declined.  Of course! I like Linda and knew that her Hen do would certainly be
lively.

    Tonight was the night. Linda held her Hen party at the pub where she also cleans. I
felt rather acute embarrassment when I was introduced to everyone.

    ‘This is Dr Mauvais.’ Linda beamed and hugged me. ‘I clean at the clinic where she’s a
psychiatrist.’

    ‘Just call me Suzanne or your butt will be too sore to walk up that aisle tomorrow.’

    Everyone laughed and I knew I was accepted into the group. I don’t know how many
drinks I knocked back or how many rugby songs I sang but eventually the Landlady
asked if we’d prefer to go upstairs in private (I must have been bad). We talked absolute
filth and we all got totally blotto. I knew that it was going to be the best evening out I’d had
for weeks.            

    ‘Pity there aint any blokes here,’ Linda’s mate said, ’I’d suck a guy raw right now.’

    Linda giggled, unaware that it was the cue for the entertainment. We’d all chipped-in
for the stripper and I was looking forward to seeing him as much as everyone, but when a
fat, bald guy appeared I feared the funds had been a bit on the low side; the others
enthusiastically shouted and clapped as he stripped to his vest and Y-fronts.  

    Linda’s sister saw my look of amazement and shouted in my ear. ‘We had enough for
a joke one too.’

    When he got his (soft) penis out of his Y-fronts and put it Linda’s mouth I nearly died -
even if the real stripper wasn’t up to much, it was well worth the £50 I’d contributed to
have such a laugh.

    ‘Excellent, darling.’  I stuck a £20 note down his baggy Y-fronts.

    (I really admired him.  I mean, the world is full of unattractive guys who have delusions
of being God’s gift, and it was so refreshing to see a Mr Ugly who didn’t give a damn).

    ‘The real stripper is here,’ Linda’s sister told me.

    My eyes lit up.

    ‘Yeah, we hired a real hunk.’

    Well, the guy they hired was as gorgeous and hunky as could be.  I felt my knickers
dampen as I just looked at him, imagining him without his clothes. (I think we all felt the
same).

    He slowly undid his shirt and revealed his perfect pecs to ten dirty women. I felt myself
getting wetter by the moment.  He removed his shirt and flexed his huge biceps.  Wow!  I
was on heat.  He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his tight trousers - every eye in the
room was glued to his swinging crotch.  Slowly, teasingly he pulled his trousers down.  A
gasp echoed around the room at the sight of this Adonis in nothing but a tight wet-look
thong. So maddeningly slowly he removed his thong, his gorgeous butt facing us.  Almost
unconsciously I began to stroke myself.  He turned around and treated us all have an
eyeful; he were just perfect.  I literally drooled as I looked at him.  I pulled my knickers off
and chucked the wet lacy material at him.  He caught them and sniffed them, licking the
crotch of my knickers and I furiously fingered myself to orgasm.  I crawled towards him
and licked hungrily.  The stunned silence turned to gasps as I began to suck.  I held him,
licking, stretching my mouth almost to tearing point to suck.  I needed relief.  He put his
hand up my skirt and fingered me, getting my breasts out to suck my nipples (they could
have been mistaken for organ-stops).  The thought of other women watching me with the
guy turned me on even more and made my orgasms more intense.  He knelt, and I closed
my eyes in absolute ecstasy as my vagina and anus were licked.  I vaguely noticed a few
other women with their hands up their skirts but I wasn’t interested in them.  He pulled me
onto the floor and I gasped, writhing with pleasure, as he fingered my vagina and my
anus, and then he slowly pushed into me.  I almost forgot there was anyone but the hunk
and me as I cried out with divinely sore pleasure.  By the time he had come I was
oblivious to anything but ecstasy.  It was quite a surprise when everyone clapped and
cheered.   

Friday 8th August

Shit. I’ve been found out. No idea how. I bet that nosy bitch Thelma was listening in on the
Intercom when I gobbled a patient off last week. I’ll guess I’ll be struck off now. So it’s back
to that factory assembly line for me.   




©2009 Jax



Jax had quite a number of short stories, poems and articles published, and have recently
had some success in competitions.