My Therapist Convinced Me to Cheat on My Boyfriend

Mariana and Damián entered the therapist’s office with that mix of nerves and urgency that had already become routine. Only a few weeks had passed since the first time, and since then they had been seeing each other almost every day. Mariana kept inventing more and more elaborate excuses for Adrián, her fiancé: a classmate she had to study with, a group project that would keep her busy all afternoon. And every time she came home with trembling legs and a smile she tried to hide.

Néstor received them with his usual calm, his hands clasped on the desk. But there was something in his gaze, an acuity that Mariana was beginning to fear and need at the same time.

“Tell me,” he said, leaning slightly toward them. “How are the advances going?”

Mariana bit her lip and fixed her eyes on the floor. It was Damián, more composed, who spoke first.

“Néstor… we think we’ve already done everything two people can do,” he said, in a calm tone that didn’t quite hide his anxiety. “Affection, trust… and we’ve also explored other things.”

Mariana turned red to her ears. She lowered her head so far that her hair covered her face. Her skin burned with embarrassment that he would say it like that, out loud, in front of the therapist.

Néstor arched an eyebrow, but his expression was pure professional enthusiasm.

“Everything?” he asked. “That’s impressive. Have you really gone that far?”

“Mariana has been very brave,” Damián replied. “We’ve tried things we’d never even imagined. I think there isn’t much left to practice.”

Mariana wanted the earth to swallow her. She covered her face with her hands and murmured something no one understood. Néstor, on the other hand, stood up from his chair as if they had just announced a prize.

“This is extraordinary,” he exclaimed, giving a soft clap. “Really, you two, I’m thrilled. Mariana, look at me.”

She lifted her gaze shyly, her eyes shining.

“When you started, you were full of doubts, afraid you wouldn’t know enough for your marriage. Damián had insecurities that wouldn’t even let him get close to a woman. And now you’re telling me you’ve reached this level of intimacy. That’s enormous progress.”

Mariana swallowed. The word made her remember the pain at the beginning and the overwhelming pleasure of that first time with Damián, just a few days earlier. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

“Precisely because you’ve advanced so much, we can’t stop now,” he continued, his voice growing warmer. “What’s missing is consolidating that progress. Repeating what scared you the most, what takes you furthest out of your comfort zone. Marriage isn’t just the pretty part. It’s also knowing you can face the unknown together, without fear.”

Mariana’s eyes went wide.

“The most extreme…?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Exactly. What you’ve done so far is wonderful, but real growth comes when you dare to go beyond. When you explore areas that at first seem forbidden and discover they can be a source of immense pleasure. Imagine getting to the altar knowing there are no secrets or hidden doubts in your intimacy. That’s what you’re building. It’s brave. It’s a gift you give yourself… and Adrián.”

Mariana’s eyes misted over. Not from shame this time, but from something else. Néstor’s words fell like balm: guilt, fear, pleasure—suddenly it all seemed to have meaning, a purpose.

“He’s right,” she murmured as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I want to get there knowing. I want to be a good wife.”

Néstor smiled with a tenderness that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Then keep going. Practice the most intense thing you’ve done. Don’t be afraid. I’m here to guide you.”

Damián squeezed her hand. Mariana looked at him and, for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel only guilt. She also felt a kind of pride, a new determination.

“See?” he whispered in her ear as they were leaving the hallway, his arm around her waist. “All of this makes sense. It’s for your future.”

She nodded slowly and rested her head on his shoulder. For my marriage, she repeated to herself. But as they went down the stairs, a clearer and clearer little voice whispered that it wasn’t just for that anymore, that in truth she felt powerful. And for the first time Mariana didn’t silence it. She just smiled.

***

Inside the office, Néstor stayed behind, straightening papers with a satisfied smile. The silence lasted only a moment. From the back room, where files were kept, a creak was heard and the door opened slowly.

A man came out. Impeccable dark suit, cold expression. He was not a patient. He approached the therapist with his hands in his pockets.

“You sounded very convincing,” he said in a low voice, like someone evaluating an investment. “I almost believed it myself.”

Néstor gave a short laugh and crossed his arms.

“It isn’t hard with her. She’s naive, she’ll swallow anything if you wrap it in pretty phrases about growth and her future marriage. And the guy is so anxious he’d even believe he really fell in love.”

The man frowned and adjusted his tie.

“Don’t underestimate her. She’s not stupid, just naive. She believes because she wants to believe, because she needs an excuse for what she’s doing. It’s different.”

“Whatever you say,” Néstor laughed, leaning against the desk. “What matters is that she bites the hook every time.”

The man stepped forward, hardening his expression.

“I’m not paying you to mock her. Stick to the plan. Keep her hooked, keep her exploring the ‘extreme,’ as you told her. I need her to reach the point of no return before the wedding. The guy, in love or not, is being useful without even knowing it.”

Néstor raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, though he didn’t quite lose the smile.

“Relax. Everything’s under control. She’ll keep believing it’s for her own good. And Damián just wants to be with her. The plan is going perfectly.”

The man nodded once, curtly, and turned toward the door.

“You’d better. I don’t want complications.”

He disappeared, and Néstor was left alone again. He lit a cigarette he shouldn’t have been smoking there and exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling with a low laugh, unaware that the most unpredictable piece on his board had already started moving on its own.

***

The following days were a whirlwind of messages. Damián, normally reserved, had become insistent. On Friday morning he texted her: he wanted to spend the whole weekend together, practice everything Néstor had said, be perfect for the next session.

Mariana read the message several times, her heart beating hard. She knew it meant lying to Adrián again, but she justified it quickly. She sent him a voice note in a sweet, slightly guilty voice: a difficult assignment that would keep her busy from Saturday to Sunday, a make-up treat the following week. His reply came immediately, understanding, encouraging her. Mariana felt a stab of guilt and crushed it by thinking about how professional she was being.

On Friday afternoon, with the sun already low, she arrived at Damián’s house. He opened the door barefoot, in an old T-shirt and sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to hide his arousal.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” he said, and as soon as he closed the door he pressed her gently against the hallway wall and kissed her hungrily.

She responded, though she noticed he was more keyed up than usual.

“Let’s start now,” he murmured against her mouth. “But first I want you to get me really hard. I need to last a long time tonight.”

Mariana felt heat rise up her neck. She nodded, strangely eager.

Damián sank onto the sofa, pulled his pants down to his ankles, and spread his legs. He was already completely erect. She knelt between his thighs, rested her hands on his knees, and began with long licks from base to tip, catching every drop with her tongue. He let out a deep moan and stroked her hair.

“More saliva,” he asked. “I want it dripping.”

She obeyed. She spat on the shaft and watched it slide down the sides; then she opened her mouth and took him deep. She had improved a lot: she hardly had to fight the gag reflex anymore. She moved up and down with a steady rhythm, pressing her lips tight, letting saliva gather and spill from the corners of her mouth.

Damián held her head with both hands, not to force her, but to keep the rhythm.

“Like that… so good…,” he panted. “I’m going to come… swallow it all.”

The first burst hit her palate. Mariana closed her eyes and swallowed quickly, feeling the hot liquid slide down her throat while he emptied himself in long pulses. When he was done, she stayed there a few seconds longer, cleaning up the last traces with her tongue.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, his eyes blazing.

He helped her up and led her to the dining table. He laid her on her back, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the edge of the wood digging into her ass. He spread her thighs and stroked her sex with two fingers, slowly, until she began to get wet.

“Slowly,” Mariana whispered, her voice still trembling. “Don’t be rough, okay?”

He spat into his palm, smeared it on, and pushed. The head forced through the resistance with a wet sound.

“Ah… Damián…,” she moaned, her nails scratching his arms.

“Breathe… half of it’s already in…,” he murmured, holding himself back, going in centimeter by centimeter.

Mariana let out the air through clenched teeth. Her body wanted to close around him and open to him at the same time. When he was all the way inside, she let out a long, rough moan.

“There… now it’s going in better… move…”

Damián began with short thrusts, letting her walls get used to him. Every time he pulled out, her sex made a small wet smack; every time he pushed in, a sharp little cry escaped her. The rhythm grew faster. The table creaked beneath them. The sound of skin against skin mixed with their broken breathing.

“I’m going to fuck you until you come again,” he growled, digging his fingers into her hips. “You hear me?”

“Yes… harder…,” she begged, surprised by her own words.

He obeyed. The thrusts became deep, reaching all the way in each time. Mariana felt the immense pressure filling her belly. She slid one hand between her legs, found her swollen clit, and rubbed it desperately.

“I’m going to come… don’t stop…,” she panted, her body tensing.

The contractions came almost at once. She clamped down around him like a vice, legs trembling, and if he hadn’t held her by the hips she would have slipped off the table. The orgasm shot through her like a current; she moaned long and rough, eyes squeezed shut.

Damián couldn’t hold back any longer. With a grunt he emptied himself inside her in hot spurts. He pushed until he squeezed out the last drop, then withdrew slowly. Mariana felt the warmth spilling slowly along the inner sides of her thighs.

They lay there, panting, bodies slick with sweat. He brushed the hair away from her face with trembling fingers.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, still breathing hard.

“That was incredible…,” she murmured. “It hurts a little, but I liked it. A lot.”

“It’s still Friday night,” he smiled, satisfied. “We’ve got the whole weekend to practice.”

Mariana let out a weak, exhausted laugh.

“You’re insatiable.”

“And you,” he bit her earlobe softly, “are learning to enjoy it.”

She didn’t answer. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his body pressed against hers and a dull, pleasurable throbbing that still hadn’t faded. She knew she wasn’t going to sleep much that weekend. And deep down, she didn’t really want to.

What she didn’t know, as she let herself be carried along by that excuse she had repeated to herself so many times, was that somewhere in an office a man in a dark suit was counting the days until her wedding, convinced that everything was going according to a plan that wasn’t his. But that, for now, was another story.