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“–like I said, he has a large penis…very large, if you want the truth. We actually measured it, a bit ago: nine and three quarters! And thick, with it. In proportion, I suppose you’d say–big balls…oversize genitals altogether. Have you ever tried to get a two inch thick penis in your mouth?–almost dislocates your jaw. Your teeth dig in! Like trying to suck off some kind of animal, you know? Very veiny shaft, and…brutal looking. I’ve never seen anything like it…” She blinked, and looked up, her therapist studying her as she spoke. “Should I be telling you this?”
Dr. Alison Bridgford sat back, and smiled faintly. “Why shouldn’t you be telling me this?” she countered. “This is sex therapy–I’m a Sex Therapist: says it on the door…”
“Hum,” Stephanie conceded, looking slightly embarrassed, now. “Thought I’d…overstepped the mark, as it were.”
“Not at all.” She smiled, she hoped reassuringly. “You were saying, ah, he was having anal sex with you…in the park?”
Stephanie nodded, resumed. “Yes,” she said. “I told him no, don’t, you know, when he was trying to shove it in–told him a dozen times. He loves the old token protests. At least, that’s what he regards them as–sometimes they are!–He snorts when you object. Just does what he wants. You can’t stop him, really…strong. Just pins your arms–skirt up, no knickers: he doesn’t let you wear any, doesn’t matter how short the skirt is…he’s bought a see-thru mini-skirt for me, you know? Still knickers verboten! See my pubes a mile off.” She flicked her blonde fringe out of her eyes. “Anyway, like I said, skirt up, and he’s up there–all the way up, mind—he doesn’t mess about…”
Alison looked up from her notes. “Surely it must hurt? I mean, doesn’t it hurt? With his being…large?”
“Sometimes–saying so never does any good, though. He shoves it in anyway. Most of the time he does lubricate me though, with his, you know–“
“Yes–‘glycerin’, he calls it. That, with a finger. I have to say he doesn’t just ram his…nob up me–not usually, anyway. He takes a minute or two to get it all in, I’m only normal sized.” She paused. “Don’t know how long for, though…doesn’t it, you know, stretch your ringpiece? I worry about crapping myself one day…well, it’s occurred to me.”
Dr. Bridgford smiled. “Don’t think you need to worry about that–the anus–you probably know–has a remarkable elasticity, capacity to shrink back: that’s its job, obviously…unless you’re overdoing it–that is actually possible, of course. How often do you have it, like that?”
Stephanie’s eyes blazed. “How often does he do it to me, you mean?” She looked a little outraged.
Her therapist coloured a little. “Yes, I’m sorry…how often does he do it, to you?” She saw she’d wounded her. “Are you angry with me, saying that?” She gazed at her voluptuous client intently, who seemed not a little uncomfortable in the leather chair, her pink, round thighs making squeaks as she shifted in it.
The blonde’s expression softened. “It’s alright. I suppose it’s not all his fault, is it–not all his…”
“Responsibility,” Alison agreed.
“Um. Two to tango.” She crossed her legs, and looked up. “He…we…it happens quite a lot, to be honest…”
“Too much, would you say?”
“I don’t know. Five times a day, maybe…” She looked quizzical.
Alison’s eyebrows lifted. “Five times–that is a lot–“
“Sometimes ten,” she blurted.
“Ten? Ten times a day!?” He eyes were wide. She’d been caught a little with that, the mask had slipped slightly. “That’s…rather a lot,” she said, and stopped herself short. “Do you think it is?”
“Don’t know. It’s not that many times very often,” she qualified. “If that makes sense. I mean, usually it’s five. Fiveish…depends where we are. Indoors it’s more, as you’d expect…and some of them are only quickies–deposits. Do you think he’s obsessed?”
“What do you think?” She paused, then: “How often do you have ordinary intercourse?”
“He doesn’t want any pregnancies,” she offered. “Not yet. When we get married…he doesn’t like condoms, you see.” She blinked. “Who does…”
“You don’t have vaginal sex at all?” Alison had been surprised. And found herself…curious.
Stephanie looked at her knees. “No,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t have me that way. Just oral and…backwards.” She looked up, somewhat unexpectedly. “Is that unusual? Do you ever get, you know, people, who just do that?” She seemed sort of hopeful, wanting to not be…an oddball.
Her therapist nodded. “Sometimes. It’s rare, but not unheard of…how do you feel about it?”
“Most of the time I’m OK with it–sometimes he actually makes me come, doing that to me, when I’m sort of in the mood, you know. Some other times though, he makes me feel like…”
“Like a bit of fuckbag, to be honest. S’why I’ve come here–sorry for canlı bahis the language. Like his personal fuckbag…” She stopped, remembering. “The time I was telling you about, when he was having it with me in the park?”
“Yes–in your bottom with those people about? Could get a tad embarrassing…”
“Slightly!” She set herself, inhaled deeply, her heavy breasts filling out the green blouse. Her nipples were projecting. No bra. “We were on our sides, spoons, near the trees,” she resumed, “in the shade. There were some people with kids, dogs and that, we could hear them yelling and laughing, some way away…He was doing me in full view, but at a distance. Hundred yards, I suppose…” She pursed her lips, looked at her therapist. “He did it to me for…an hour. He had my skirt–ridiculous skirt, like a cloth belt, really–up my back, his jeans pulled down just far enough, and…his cock–penis–“
“Cock’s OK, if you’d prefer,” Alison said, crossing her own legs, carefully.
“His cock right up my bum, I mean all of it. Up there…he was going at it, gently but firmly, you know, rythmically, for a few minutes, when…” She looked straight into her. “A group of girls came wandering along–along the tree line. Four. Teenagers, cans of lager. They saw us. I mean, they could see. He didn’t stop–no cover up, nothing. I tried to move, I couldn’t, he had my arms pinned–as usual! He said, in my ear–” She gazed again at her confidante.
“He said, stop fidgeting. Jesus, I was crimson, I must have been–I thought I was going to pass out. I felt his free hand–he was holding my left wrist–reach round and release my breast from my blouse, then the other. They just spilled out. I was exposed! My other hand was pinned to the grass by his thigh–I was immobilised–I couldn’t cover myself up! Oh fucking hell, those girls’ eyes were boring into my bare breasts, while they jiggled–you know?–to that bastard, steadily working my behind…
“As they drew closer I heard one of them say Nice tits. They were having to walk around us by now–they could see everything–everything. They must’ve been able to see his–his cock, thrusting in and out between my cheeks, as we all stared each other out. In silence. A second later one of them muttered Is he up her arse? Long stares. He is, look–dirty bitch! Then the blonde one said, Us next please, Mister. Hurry up. And a giggle.
“Apart from those comments, they just walked past–dawdled past!–in silence, looking at us, with him doing that to me, not missing a stroke, the–” she gritted her teeth, “fucking bastard.” She stopped for a breath. “When they’d gone–seemed like an hour–he didn’t seem…affected by it–he just carried on, like a machine almost. He did me for another three quarters of an hour, like that…” she looked up, hot faced.
“Did you come, in all that time?” Alison suspected that she just may have left that part out.
Stephanie cast her eyes down, toyed with her skirt hem. “Yes,” she said simply.
“More than once?” She eyed her.
“So, notwithstanding the coercion, and embarrassment and humiliation–and anger, you, ah, quite liked it.” It was an observation.
Alison nodded. “Well done. And him? It seems a long…session. Did he come?” Was he able? she thought.
“Yes–inside me. That time, anyway…”
Alison wasn’t going to miss that. “What does that mean, that time?”
Stephanie eyed her. “Sometimes…a lot of the time actually, he finishes over my face.” She hesitated, then: “When we’re in public, he does that, sometimes.” She stared at the therapist, almost daring her to object about it.
Which Alison was not about to do. “He finishes–ejaculates, over your face?” No expression. Doctor.
“Mm–is that bad? In my mouth, too, a lot. If I don’t open it quickly enough he pulls my hair until I do–doesn’t care who sees us. There’s a lot of it, too. Sometimes takes–I don’t know–half a minute? to finish spurting; goes everywhere, fucking everywhere. You can get drenched in it.” She blinked quickly, as if back there. “He makes me walk down the street like that sometimes, covered in it. Have you ever been grocery shopping, covered in a bloke’s jizz?” she asked suddenly.
Alison was taken aback momentarily. “Can’t say I have,” she said, not altogether telling the truth. It had been for shoes…
“Anyway, that’s one of his favourites. Nearly always I get to look an inveterate slut–he likes it. Power, you see. S’why I end up feeling like a fuckbag, sometimes. He…he does use me, as a vessel and a fucktoy, but…” She was getting upset a little. “But here’s the problem!– I can’t get enough of him, d’you understand? I venerate that…cunt! I–I’m sorry for the language–” Tears started to roll down her cheeks, she couldn’t hold it in, suddenly.
“You love him,” Alison said. “No matter what.” She passed her a tissue from the box on the table.
“Yes–” bahis siteleri Her mascara was coming off into the tissue. “I do love him.”
“And regardless of his brute act…he does make you come.”
“He allows me to come–but when, and where, he feels like it. That’s what’s so…exciting about it, do you understand? Oh, I think I’ll just have to face it–he can do what the fuck he likes to me, no matter how perverted or dangerous.” Pause. “He made me suck him in the library a month ago, you know. I mean the Municipal Library, in town. While he pretended to read a book. Then he…” her bottom lip began to quiver, and another tear formed at her eye. “He made me wander around, looking at the bookshelves and that, with his spunk all over me.” She blinked in Alison’s direction.
“It was in my hair and eyebrows…dripping off my chin.” A dry choke issued from her throat. “There were great gobs of it down my blouse–my black satin blouse, the one he’d told me to wear. There was so much of it! You could smell it–you understand? You should see the looks I get! Hear some of the comments…” She shook her head, wincing. “What do I look like–what does he make me look like: high heels, skirt up to my arse no pants, and a thin blouse, absolutely splattered with his spunk–what must I look like! A mixture of tears, mascara and spunk running down my face…” She stopped, thought for a second.
“I did–I do look and feel such a whore, but…” She sniffled into the tissue.
“I can’t lie about it–I’d do it again!” She swallowed, bracing herself, almost. “Even though at the time it seems so…filthy, the things he does to me, or makes me do, I seem to keep going back for more. I–” She stopped, seeming to wait for some assurance, or permission.
“Go on,” Alison urged, her face impassive.
“I masturbate sometimes, reliving what he puts me through–and I have such tumultuous orgasms, d’you understand? I’ve never had such sexual feelings–never. He makes me want to commit violence to my cunt, you understand? He makes me want to commit violence to it, with a huge, cruel, knobby dildo–and in public. He makes me want people to see me being depraved, and perverted. I imagine–I imagine being ritually sodomised by schoolboys, do you believe that? I’ve never thought things like that before–what’s he doing to my brain, Doctor?–I imagine them queuing up to toss off into my hungry slut mouth, and viciously wank myself, as they watch me swallow every drop of their boyspunk…”
She gazed around the room a second, back to Alison. “Bet you’ve never had anybody like me in here before…have I disgusted you? It’s OK to say–I won’t mind.” She was red.
The therapist studied her a moment, formulating an important reply. “Do you think you’re one of a kind, Stephanie?” She held her steady gaze. “Do you think you’re abnormal, or twisted? Do you think that to do, enjoy, talk about such stuff is so far removed from making babies that it must be warped, or wrong, somehow? Why have you been equipped with the requisite apparatus, then? The imagination, the nerve-endings…” She paused, plucking something up inside of her. “I feel I want to reassure you…There’s a spectrum, and you are on it.” She regrouped her thoughts a second, then: “For example, the public semen soakings–have you considered the possibility that it’s to do with belonging? The showing you off, covered in his sperm, I mean?” There, she’d said it.
Stephanie stared blankly. “Not sure what you mean.”
“Well,” she took a deep breath, “perhaps his wanting to show you off like that means he likes to let people, the observer, know that you belong to him. Sexually, I mean. To be with him, in public places, where strangers are, covered–or anointed, if you like–with his…spunk! In this context it is spunk–tells the strangers that you belong to him. A kind of scent marking…does that make sense?” She felt hot…
Stephanie mulled that a second. “I’ve never thought of it like that…never heard of it.” She looked inward a second, then her eyes widened: “It rhymes!”
“I must be his–I’m covered in his jizz!”
Alison guffawed, slapping her knee. “So it does,” she grinned. “It’s, ah,” she continued, “it’s just a little theory of mine. Not very original, though. How would that be, if he was making you, publicly, his sexual property?”
“I’m not sure,” Stephanie returned. “Have to think about that one. Can I take it, then, that you don’t necessarily think he’s a disgusting degenerate pervert?”
Alison snorted. “In my professional opinion, I think you’re a lucky bitch. How’s that reply?”
“I like it,” Stephanie beamed. “I like it a lot.” Her teeth were showing, for the first time in the session.
Alison put down her pad. “Does he…ever turn it off–the brute act, I mean, when you’re with him?”
“Now and again–when he’s not in the mood for his…games. bahis şirketleri The odd time, he comes across as almost…normal–“
Alison laughed again, then Stephanie with her. “Sometimes,” she continued, “I even get to direct things–in a very tiny way. Except outdoors, of course–“
“Outdoors he’s the boss.”
“Yes. Indoors, the odd time, he’ll lick me, for me, make me come just for me. He’s a very attentive licker, when he wants to be.” She blinked. “Still drills my arse with a regularity, obviously–I don’t think he can take a break from that, but…” She paused, musing. “When the opportunity for it crops up–not very often, he lets me play, lets me undo his trousers, and lets me suck him on my terms, sometimes when we’re sprawled watching TV. And that’s nice, I like that. My big fat lollipop.” Ske kissed the air. “Those times he doesn’t mind if I spill a bit when he comes–there is a lot, I told you. Takes some getting down without dribbling a bit, I defy you.
“I do try, and I’m getting better. Practice! And if I do lose some I make a point of retrieving it, he likes that. Not a drop must be wasted, if at all possible. He says his spunk is the most valuable substance in the world, you know–and he’s right. He’s right.” She sounded almost beatific, now. “He says I’m a good girl when I do that, lick it up I mean. I am a good girl to do that, aren’t I?”
“Yes–you’re a very good girl to do that,” her confidante intoned. “A very good girl.” She was beginning to warm to Stephanie W, as well as being distinctly warmed down below by her.
“Now then…” She dragged her memory. “Yes–did you mention earlier that you used codes, sometimes? I mean, he uses them, to…direct you, is that what you said?”
“Yep. Some of them I dream about–others I dread. Well–not strictly true: used to dread them. Got used to him, now. I accept all his moves, can’t not.”
“Can you give me an idea, of…”
“How it goes? Simple–he decides, on the spot, what he fancies, and he says the code for it. I have to give it to him–as quickly as humanly possible. Immediate compliance.”
Alison found herself at once fascinated. “Oh?”
“Yes. A Code Seven, for example…would you like to hear about that?”
Yes–I would. “Go on–what’s a Code Seven?” She hadn’t noticed she was leaning forward in her own chair.
“An impromptu, workmanlike arse fuck. When we’re at his house. No preparation, no preamble, nothing. Whatever you’re doing at the time, you’re to make your way–quickly! Run!–to the kitchen, bend over the table and lift your skirt. If there’s anything handy to lubricate yourself with, you have as long as it takes for him to amble into the kitchen. Otherwise, it’s hard luck. You’re going to get a shafting only for as long as it takes for him to empty his balls.”
It’s a transfer, see, plain and simple–from his balls to my asshole. Sometimes–” She looked abashed at Alison, “he can start unloading in thirty seconds. That’s what it is–an unloading, a delivery. Then it’s pull it out, zip up and back to the TV. Leaving you bent over, shellshocked, and…abused. It hurts, usually, as well, when he’s that rushed about it. That’s a Code Seven–a no warning spunk deposit, basically. You did ask.”
Alison was a little stunned, hid it well. “Have you ever refused? What happens if you say no?” She was intrigued, also.
“Once–won’t be doing it again.” She was staring at her, a pained look on her face.
“What happened? Did he hit you?” She asked, with concern.
“Worse. Million times worse.” She was welling up at the memory. She dabbed her eye with the crumpled tissue.
“What did he do, Stephanie?” She herself was almost at the point of tears, much to her professional alarm.
“No words, no hits,” she said. “He…he went and got a glass–a wineglass, from the kitchen…he sat me down on the settee, dropped his trousers, and…” A huge tear was about to roll down her flushed cheek.
“And?” Calmly, Doctor. What did he do?
“He was still at full mast–it stuck out like a dripping…club. Massive, it looked–never seen it so big. He–he wanked it violently in front of me, and a few seconds later he was coming into the wineglass, gout after gout after gout of it–where does he get it all from?!–he’d almost half filled it by the time that thing stopped spurting. He wiped the end on the rim, and then…” She choked down a sob–
“He made you drink it!” Alison found herself blurting out, immediately reddening. Fuck.
“No! He didn’t make me drink it–that was what I thought he was going to do. What a fool–what kind of a punishment would that have been anyway!–I swallow that much of his spunk–and more–all the time, and from a glass a few times. No! He–” Her face crumpled as the tears rolled freely down her cheeks. “He zipped himself up, and, my arm in one hand and the spunkglass in the other, he marched me to the bathroom. Then, I had to watch, as he…cere–ceremoniously, tipped it–” Her eyes were wide, like the rabbit in the headlamps. “He tipped the most valuable substance on Earth down–down–down the toilet!”
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