The Guidance Counselor - Chapter 11 (Patreon)

There are some days when you jerk off like five times in a day. You’re just so damn horny for no apparent reason other than everything turns you on. That one MILF at the music store with the “phat” ass. The hot cashier at Best Buy with long brunette hair and a sweet smile. That mature woman wearing a wine-colored sweater with black tights at the Italian restaurant.

After that last meeting with Ms. Johnson, my anxiety shot through the roof and a strange thing happened – it made me masturbate consistently. I was looking for a way to calm down, and jerking it more than once was hitting the spot. Only a few minutes after relaxing, the anxiety shot through again.

Ms. Johnson knows. Mrs. Bernot knows. What if I’m still going to get in trouble? What’s going to happen now? Oh shit, I can’t believe Ms. Johnson actually knows I draw fart art of her. Oh shit. Oh shit.

My 18th birthday came and went. I could now legally drive on my own. Weird, being that only a few months ago my mom had to drop me off at a school dance like I was 12. Growing up was such a weird time. You don’t think about how weird it was until you look back, those transitional days. When was the last time you ever played with your toys? The last time you ever fed your Tamagotchi? But because of everything going on then, I’ll never forget the last time my mom had to drive me somewhere. That damn Halloween dance.

My parents had my college plans all laid out. We had already bought a brand-spanking new sexy Toyota 4Runner. Nothing like trying to be cool in a family SUV. It could have been worse, I suppose. At least my mom was too attached to her Honda van to hand it down to me. I would have died of embarrassment by then if I had to drive to school in a soccer mom car.

On my first meeting with Ms. Johnson after my 18th birthday, everything changed. I don’t mean to sound that dramatic but everything up until that moment culminated into something so absurd and wild that to this day some of my Internet friends don’t believe me.

First off, Ms. Johnson stopped by my homeroom the day of our appointment. I was so nervous that this was the end of everything that I didn’t notice Tom or anyone else give me looks as I approached her outside into the hallway. She looked her usual self in her usual attire – nothing strikingly different. But if you knew her like I did, you would notice a certain air about herself this time around. A certain…jauntiness. Confidence, maybe? She stood relaxed with her hands behind her back.

“Hi, Jason. We’re going to do things a little different for this session. Would you be able to stay after school?”

After school? I gulped. Is this some kind of detention?

“Yes.”

“I see you’re on the list of seniors who park on the school but I wanted to make sure you could stay afterwards. Possibly for a two-hour session.”

“T-two hours?”

“Yes.” She checked her watch. “If that’s fine with you, then I’ll see you once school is dismissed. My office.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me.”

“Alright. Have a good day then.”

A two-hour session with Ms. Johnson. I had no idea what was in store for me. I feared the worst more than anything. Maybe this was some kind of intervention. Some kind of “conversion therapy” for fetishists. But then again, that wouldn’t make sense. It would have gone against everything she had told me about her “objective” nature and what “normal” meant to her.

After calculus, my last class of the day, I waited in the bathroom for a few minutes before approaching Ms. Johnson’s door. I didn’t want anyone to ask me questions as to why I was going the opposite direction. I waited for the hallway to be clear.

Ms. Johnson was late, which was very unlike her. I sat alone for maybe ten whole minutes, anxiously waiting for what this meeting would be like, if my future was fucked after everything I had told her.

At last, she came bustling through. She carried a large brown paper bag by the handles, and a spicy aroma filled the room. The bag was so large that she carefully set it on her desk with both hands. She looked a little frazzled, with a few stray strands of hair that she quickly put back into place.

“Okay, hi, sorry I’m late. First off, I need you to read and sign something.”

She whipped out a clipboard with a single typed document on it. After which, she became very serious, straightening her pantsuit. “If you don’t agree then I’m afraid we will cancel our appointment here. We will meet again next couple weeks as normal during the school day.”

Confused, I began reading. I read the first several lines and then reread them, because I didn’t actually think I read it correctly. Then I stopped…and reread the first lines yet again, making absolutely sure.

“Ms. Johnson…” I said slowly, “is this…we can do this?”

This was a disclaimer about me agreeing to take part in sexual therapy. The wording was vague at best as to what it meant, but I knew it had to do with actually discussing my fetishes and exploring them through “experimental means”. This was an open invitation to many things based on its vague wording.

Ms. Johnson smiled. “You’re an adult now, Jason. You can sign your own papers.” She sighed. “I believe we can explore your fetishes, get really deep down into them. This is something no researcher has done before and I hope to uncover something in the sexual development of young adults. You’ve made me realize something, Jason. There’s still so much out there about sexual arousal that we don’t know. The only things we do know deal with conventional heteronormative values. Emerging studies on homosexuality has helped shift things, but the field is still very much narrow and biased.”

“What would we be doing?”

“Measuring your sexual arousal to fetishes.”

“O-oh.” Words were failing to leave me. “A-and uhhhh, how will…we…do that?”

She pulled a cart from behind her desk. I didn’t know it was there until she reached for it. On the cart were multiple scientific instruments that I was unfamiliar with. She picked up a lasso-like device and I didn’t need her to tell me where that needed to go.

“A circumferential transducer. This is the most popular method of measuring sexual arousal in men. I’ll give you a few minutes alone to put it on, and I’ll come right back in.”

“And then…?”

“And then I shall conduct the experiment to test specific levels of arousal.” She reached into the large brown paper bag and I couldn’t believe the array of Chinese food she was setting down on the table. Two boxes of rice, two dinner-sized portions of General Tso’s Chicken, two boxes of lo mein, and a 1.5-liter bottle of Coke. “I have been fasting intermittently,” she said, “to prepare for our experiments.”

“So…you…are going to—”

“Indulge your fetishes, yes. We’ll dedicate these after-school sessions to these experiments to allow more time for…digestion. I think this is an important thing to do before you enter college. Hopefully we have time to cram this in before your graduation. Now, read the terms and conditions and if they sound good then sign and we can begin.’

I couldn’t believe this was fucking happening. I stared at the signature line for a good five minutes before finally writing my name and the date.

“Good. Now, as any experiment is wont to do, we have to collect ‘blank’ data.”

“Blank data?”

“Yes. Put this on, and when you are ready turn on the switch there in this machine. I’ll leave the room and wait for fifteen minutes. We need to collect data where there are no stimuli in the room.”

“Ah, okay.”

Ms. Johnson handed me the circumferential transducer. She also set up a small divider between me and her desk with a special blanket pitched like a tent made to “blind” her from my crotch.

After she left the room, I undid my pants with the most unsteady pair of hands. I stared down at my half-limp dick as if it were the most alien artifact in the world. I had hated my body so much, with so much shame, that the very notion of acknowledging its existence in private felt strange.

Those fifteen minutes were the most humbling. I sat in silence hearing her desk clock tick away. I wondered how she would account for any stray intrusive thoughts. What if I thought about her now and got a boner? I’m sure she had some counter-measures up her sleeve.

When the fifteen minutes were up, she strode in. I had never seen her this jaunty before. Whereas in all our sessions before she came off as a gentle and sweet customer service representative, she now appeared alive with purpose. She read the data off the machine from her laptop. I didn’t realize the two things were connected, but it made sense. She hummed to herself and said, “Good.”

Then…she started eating.

She popped open the container of General Tso’s Chicken, poured in some rice, and ate with a pair of chopsticks. Of course she would. Ms. Johnson is smart and worldly. She would never eat Chinese food with Western utensils.

The machine measuring the blood flow through my penis didn’t make much noise aside from a low hum that could have easily been mistaken for the air conditioning. I watched her gorge on entire pieces at a time and munching on them. Each bite added to the anticipation. I grew a boner I seconds – and she hadn’t even let out a single burp or indicated that she was full in any way.

Ms. Johnson noticed this on her monitor. She stopped eating for a second to acknowledge this. “Hm. Interesting.”

I like to think Ms. Johnson really invented the concept of the “mukbang” – just watching her eat in a way that would put other well-mannered women to shame was enough to get me going.

When she finished the first serving of General Tso’s Chicken, she needed a moment to breathe. She sat back and undid the button on her blazer, revealing her pink undershirt. That pink undershirt was starting to ride up on her belly too, and I caught a glimpse of how tight her waistline was.

I shifted in my seat. Ms. Johnson said, “Don’t try to stifle it. Remember I can’t see it. You have your own private area there. Just relax and let it come to your naturally.”

To think that the only two things standing in the way of her seeing my raging boner was that divider and a blanket. I wonder what she would have thought of my raging boner. Was it impressive? Not enough? I never once thought about my penis size and if it were impressive or average or below average.

At long last, after having her first Coke bottle, Ms. Johnson let out a solitary belch. Most of why it aroused me was because of how casual it was. Here we were, completely okay with what was going on, nothing held back. I was observing her as if she were alone in her most private moments – burping and farting to herself with nobody around. And she was so comfortable too, burping out loud not even looking at me and eating like I didn’t exist. The sheer violence of her belches told me how comfortable she felt doing this. I wondered if I was doing her a favor in a way, getting her to experience the joy of letting loose at work in front of a student.

Ms. Johnson’s belches were as crude and uncouth as any exaggerated cartoon eructation. My dick rose to its highest. I had never been so hard in my life before. I needed to get down and dry hump right away.

The money shot happened after she ate half of her second serving. She had to undo her pants, freeing her belly. The sound of her zipper was so satisfying to both of us. She sighed after unzipping, and I cringed in my seat somehow believing that my boner would be visible.

Ms. Johnson didn’t fuck around – she ate every single piece of her food. Every grain of rice, every morsel of chicken, every bit of vegetable, every drop of Coke. She did not leave a single undigested piece on her desk. Afterwards, she neatly arranged the empty containers back in the brown paper bag to throw away later. She picked at her teeth with a fingernail and belched in the middle of doing so. I actually caught a whiff of Chinese food blow in my direction – an intense but brief puff.

She sat back and nursed her bloated gut. Her chair creaked, as if realizing the sudden increase in weight.

I glanced at the clock. We still had well over an hour left. I didn’t think I was going to make it. I needed to explode right then and there with cum. The meter on that thingamajib must have been going through the roof.

Ms. Johnson continued acting as if I didn’t exist. She did some work on other students and their folders, writing things down and typing on her computer. All the while, her gut hung out of her pants. She casually rubbed it and scratched it, reminding me of the way any boy here at school would casually scratch his armpit or crotch. I started to make a connection, somewhere in my nerve endings, between the gorgeous feminine form of Ms. Johnson and the crass behavior of a stereotypical man. Suddenly, my arousal wasn’t just about the gas – but how that gas was let out, the crass manner in which Ms. Johnson lounged around breaking every female stereotype of a beautiful gentle waif-like creature. I never made the connection before, and it drove me wild. I wanted to see and hear more of it.

“BOOORRRRAAAAAP!” she croaked aloud like a frog, staring blankly at her computer monitor. Then, not skipping a beat later, “BEEEOOOOOOORRRRRRP!” Both belches had been grotesquely loud with intense bass. She sighed briefly, otherwise unfazed by the intensity of her own belches.

This almost felt too much for me to bear. This was something I never thought I would ever see and it felt wrong for a few seconds. This was my dream come true. Nobody’s dream EVER comes true.

The farts kicked in towards the end of our session. Natural, given that those take a lot longer to form. Like her belches, Ms. Johnson didn’t blink twice at them. She didn’t even lean to one side or indicate in anyway that she was about to rip ass. I just heard the dull rumble muffled in her seat.

BRRRRRRRTTTTT!

It ended with a squeak.

By then, I was practically keeling over my seat panting with desperation. I thought being blue-balled was a thing back then. I thought I would die from desperation. I had maintained a boner for so long that my arousal became tiresome. But whenever she farted, it reawakened me with more vigor.

She didn’t fart as much as she belched – only about three times. But they were each audible and sounded like they satisfied her based on the long dull muffle.

At around fifteen minutes before the two-hour session ended, she stretched and said, “Alright, that should be it. I’ll leave you alone to take that off.”

She heaved for a brief second when she got up. She struggled to zip up and button her pants, as her belly was still very much bloated and wanted to roam free. She winced after she got everything fastened. I so badly wanted to reach out and undo it all for her and feel the roundness of her gut.

Alone again, I started to feel differently about my own penis. I think, for the first time in my life, I started to feel less shameful about it. I wanted to hurry to be alone in my room at home and masturbate. But when Ms. Johnson returned, she asked me a list of questions about how I felt during the session.

“When did you start feeling aroused?”

“Uh. Well. It’s hard to say. Even when you were just starting to eat, I was feeling it. I was waiting for the good part. Then when it finally happened--”

“When what happened? I need you to be a specific as possible.”

My voice shook. “When you burped…that was when I really felt aroused.”

“Hmm. So would you say there’s an element of anticipation?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel like this when you are looking at similar videos online?”

“No, actually. Most of the time I’m impatient. I want to get to the good part.”

“Interesting. Now you said you masturbate by proning, correct?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t say anything further about that and continued writing in her notebook, then asked me, “Were you imagining any other scenarios in your head?”

I gawked. I certainly didn’t think it was appropriate to tell her the truth, but she gave me a look and as if reading my mind she said, “Remember, be as truthful as possible. This is a safe space. This is a serious inquiry.”

“I-uh-okay. Well.” I breathed deeply. “I was thinking about wanting to…to…uh…” I calmed down. “I was thinking about wanting to rub your belly.”

“Was that tactile desire strong?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Anything else you were thinking about?”

“I was thinking about what would…er…happen if you ate more.”

“How much more?”

“Well. Like to the point where you’re immobile. Like you know how you were able to put your pants back on? I had an urge to wonder what it would be like if you couldn’t.”

“Would you say these thoughts bordered on fantastical elements that could not realistically happen?”

I shrugged. “A little. Yeah. I mean. I know you’re not a competitive eater like Gal Sone or anything like that. She’s an outlier.”

She wrote down many things, and the silence was making me feel anxious. When she finished…that was it. She smiled ever so sweetly and said, “I’m looking forward to what we can discover doing this. We’ll do this again in two weeks. Same time works?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. See you later, Jason.”