For the psychiatrist, no subject is too bizarre. As a professional in the field which explores the depths of the human mind, no story is too shocking, and believe me, I have heard them all.
Some of the accounts in these pages may seem a bit unreal. But I present these case histories because I feel that there should be no shame about these feelings that young girls and women have, although often, their lives are filled with such fears, shames and terrors.
In some cases, therapy was successful. In others, the girls were so deeply involved in their fetishes, that therapy must continue for some time to come, before they will be able to adjust to the normal world.
In still other cases, there was really nothing so unusual about the particular desires of these girls and women. There is a reason for everything, and they simply must learn to understand and to cope.
Yes, the subject is fetishes. These are things which girls become strangely fixated on. Although something like a rubber glove, or a patent leather shoe might have no significance for someone such as you or I, these girls come to crave these objects.
Stuffing a rubber glove up her vagina, or sleeping with a shiny, patent leather spiked heel shoe in her mouth, may become a way of life for girls with fetishes.
It is our job to understand why.
CASE HISTORY ONE
SUBJECT: Elissa A. AGE: Sixteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Elissa A. was brought to my office by her mother who was quite concerned about some behavior which she found quite "unnatural." When I questioned Mrs. A. as to the nature of this "unnatural" behavior, she was unable to go into any detail about it. She merely said that she was sure that her sixteen-year-old daughter was "sick" and that she couldn't understand why she would engage in the kind of activity she engaged in when she was such an attractive girl who could have any boy she wanted.
Although I would have preferred a fuller report from the mother on the telephone before taking over the case, I could tell that the mother was quite disturbed, and I believed that this was reason enough to investigate the situation.
If a parent is so terribly disturbed over the actions of a teenaged offspring, then trouble will usually result, even if it stems from the parent's concern.
I agreed to see the girl and her mother that same day.
When they arrived at my office, the girl stayed off by herself away from her mother who flipped nervously through the pages of the magazines in the waiting room.
Elissa was very attractive and I noticed that she was wearing a very short skirt which revealed most of her legs, right up to her thighs. She was obviously not wearing a bra, either, because I could see her nipples pressing forward at the front of her clinging sweater.
Such attire gave me an immediate clue regarding her personality, for it takes a certain type of girl to wear such revealing clothes for her first session at the psychiatrist's office.
The following is a transcript of the girl's story. I asked her how she felt about herself, and since she was wise enough to understand that this was a psychiatrist's office, I asked her if there was anything which she felt was a problem with her.
I could tell by the expression on her face that she was totally bored, and was not about to hide it in any way.
She seemed to have a very superior attitude.
Doctor, I think I'm perfectly normal. I think my mother is the one with the problem.
First of all, I know that I'm a pretty girl. I could probably have most of the boys at school, if I wanted them. They are always asking me out and I know that some of them would like me to be their steady girlfriend.
But I don't have time for that. I mean, I'm really interested in my schoolwork, which may sound queer for a girl as pretty as me. I mean, doesn't society tell you that you should be popular and be going out socializing all the time, especially when you're a pretty young teenager, as I am?
My mother thinks that I should be going out all the time. I know that. She's always wanting me to improve myself, asking me every night if I'll be seeing some gentlemen callers or something like that.
How sick!
I have no interest in the boys at school. They're immature. I know that all they want from a girl like me is some sex, and even then, it wouldn't be anything that would satisfy a girl.
I mean, they don't want to have intercourse or anything like that because they're afraid of what would happen. Certainly they're not ready for kids, and neither am I, but my stupid mother doesn't even think of anything like that.
I've been out on a few dates. There was one very nice boy named Ricky who I dated. Well, I thought he was nice until he showed his true colors.
When he asked to take me out to lunch, I was flattered. I thought it would be very nice, , and since I usually do stay to myself, I figured that it would be a chance to finally meet boys and find out a little bit more about members of the opposite sex.
So we went to some little outdoor restaurant, and it was really very nice.
We had some wine, and the waitress didn't even question our ages. Ricky is eighteen, and I guess that was good enough for her, so she didn't know that I was sixteen and under-age. I loved the idea of having something to drink.
It did make me relax, and so I didn't really feel nervous with Ricky at all. He was easy to be with, and we had school to talk about. He was leaving for college at the end of the year, and I was still in the high school, of course, but we had shared some of the same teachers during our years at the school, so it was giving us a topic for conversation.
I was really surprised to learn that he had tied one of the teachers up in the closet on the day that pranks were permitted on the last day of school.
That was really a gas to find out. I learned that he had a sense of humor.
He had ordered a small bottle of wine for us, and that meant that I had nearly three full drinks of it. After the second drink, I was already feeling a bit high, since I don't usually touch anything like that.
I guess that Ricky was, too, because he started to ask me questions about sex.
He asked me if I was still a virgin and what I liked to do.
I said, "Do you mean, what do I do if I'm still a virgin?" meaning that I wondered if he was questioning whether I got felt up or had my tits played with or something like that. It was a strange question and I had never, ever been asked such a thing by a boy before in my life.
Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just because I liked Ricky that I told him the truth. I told him that I had been out with only one or two boys in the past, and that nothing had happened. I also explained that I liked it that way.
I told him that being a virgin was something that was very important to me. I know that other girls might not agree with me, but I certainly feel that way.
Why ruin your whole life for just a few minutes of pleasure?
He told me that the pleasure was really intense, and that it could be worth it, and besides, a girl didn't have to get pregnant any more. There were ways to avoid it.
I told him that I just didn't want to get into any of that. I was involved in my school work, and I didn't need to indulge in anything more than that.
But I did admit that there was something I did like. I told him that if I really liked a boy, although I wouldn't have sex with him, I would like some souvenir which reminded me of him in some physical way.
He thought this was odd, and he asked me to elaborate.
Well, I probably wouldn't have told anybody else under other circumstances, but with him, I felt that it would be alright. Or maybe it was just the wine getting to me, freeing me up to expose my true secrets.
I told him about my first date, with a boy named Jeff. We had gone to the beach together the summer before. We had undressed on the beach, with our Bathing suits on underneath our clothes, of course.
Now, I love sunning myself on the beach, but I don't really care to go in the water, too much, as he knows. I told him this, and he didn't seem to mind. He told me that there was plenty that we could do on the blanket.
I thought that he was talking about conversation or something like that, but he palled me close to him and started kissing me. I could feel his body on top of mine, and I'm sure that his cock, may I say cock, doctor, was pressing against my pussy through the material of my bathing suit.
I pushed him off of me, even though other couples were "making out" all over the place on other blankets which dotted the beach.
I told him that I liked him very much but that I wasn't ready for any of that close physical contact. He asked me if I found him attractive or not, and I told him that I did. I told him that I liked him very much, and that I found him attractive, but that I didn't want to have sex with him, and I didn't even want to kiss him or lie down on the beach with him. At least, not with him on top of me. He asked me if I was afraid of physical contact with a boy, and I didn't answer him. I just closed my eyes and pretended that I was falling asleep.
That ended the topic of conversation.
But I was wondering about that. I knew that I didn't like to be touched by other people, especially by boys who I knew were after me in a sexual manner.
With my eyes closed, I breathed in the fresh air which blew up from the shore. It smelled good.
I changed positions on the blanket a little bit, and breathed in again. I smelled something different, something new, and immediately, I felt my nipples become taut. I felt them grow firm and my cunny experienced a strange feeling, too. I was wet.
I opened my eyes to discover that Jeff, the boy who had been with me on the blanket, was gone. He had gone down to the water to go swimming, leaving me alone to rest in the sun.
But of course, he had left his clothing behind, including his sneakers and his white sweat socks.
When we first arrived at the beach, we had used our shoes to hold the four corners of the beach blanket down. It was a breezy day; we didn't want the blanket to blow up or away.
My shoes were down on the two lower comers of the blanket, where my feet now were.
Jeff's sneakers and socks were up on the two upper corners, meaning that they were where my head was lying.
When the breeze came by, the scent of Jeff's sweat socks traveled with it, and it filled my nostrils. That was what caused the funny feeling in my pussy.
I had never experienced anything like that before. I had never smelled a boy's feet. But certainly, those socks smelled like his feet!
It seemed so personal to me. I was actually able to be with Jeff without really being with him, if you know what I mean, doctor, I mean, I could feel his presence right there with me. I could smell his own unique scent from a private place which was usually covered and hidden from the view and the noses of others.
I looked down at the beachfront to make sure that he was still swimming. I saw him running into the ocean and swimming into the waves, then cresting back on them.
I took one of the socks which had been stuffed inside his sneaker.
I touched it. The material was soft, and the outline of where his foot had been could be seen in the lifeless sock, even after his foot was out of it.
I ran the material in my hands. There was a slight dampness to it.
And there was certainly a dampness in my pussy which had never been there before. I recalled so clearly the way my body had felt when Jeff placed himself on top of me. My muscles had stiffened and I had felt tense. I didn't want to do anything.
My legs had locked together, sort of as a protection of my cunt, I think, and my nipples were soft. I felt no stimulation in them, and I know that a girl's breasts are supposed to be very sensitive when she's aroused.
But I didn't think that there was anything wrong with me. I just felt that Jeff was not the boy to turn me on, just as most of the other immature kids from my classes at school were not able to excite me in that way, either.
However, now something was different.
I took the sweaty sock and rubbed it gently over my body. I traced a path with it up and down my inner thighs. I felt the soft material of it caressing me, even in front of other people on the beach who might have been watching.
But I knew that they couldn't have suspected what I was going through. This was much more arousing than having a heavy body pressing into me so that I couldn't breathe.
I felt that a personal part of Jeff was near my very private part.
I placed the white sweat sock with the green stripe around the top of it directly on my cunny which was, of course, covered by the nylon material of my bathing suit.
Although the sock was not very heavy in weight, I could feel it on my pussy as if it was really pressing into me. It was like Jeff doing it to me, but it was so much safer. I couldn't get pregnant, I owed him nothing in return, I wouldn't be talked about, even as I did it right in the open, on a public beach.
Nobody suspected a thing!
It was amazing, and as I sniffed in the male foot odor and felt the white sock on top of my pussy, I felt the first quivers inside my pussy.
I looked down and saw the white sock resting on my cuntal mound. It looked like a large, limp penis resting over the curve of my vagina. In fact, it sort conformed to the shape of my pussy, from the outside.
I know it may sound strange, doctor, but I started to orgasm.
I dug my fingers into the sand on either side of the blanket, trying to steady myself so that nobody would know what was happening with me. I felt like I was having a seizure. Of course, it was a climax!
I looked down and saw the white sock moving at bit on my pussy, since my inner cunt was undulating like mad. I was afraid that my cuntal juices would wet his sock!
I was really sweating, and then I knew that I had reached the peak of my climax.
It was funny, because I had been with boys before. One boy had even taken me in an alley one day and placed his hand on my pussy. I felt no tingle of excitement. I thought that my pussy was dead. But I realized that he just wasn't the one.
Now, I wanted this object to arouse me. It did! It was a wild sensation.
I was afraid that Jeff would be coming back from the water, so I took the sock and stuffed it into my carrying case. I wanted to take it home with me.
Looking back down at my pussy, I saw that it was very damp where my juices had flowed during my very first orgasm. I got up and ran down to the water.
I jumped into the ocean, knowing that the water would hide the big spot of arousal which had formed at my cunny. Jeff saw me swimming near him in the water. He grabbed me and pulled me close to him. But I could only think of his sock.
That was enough to make my nipples firm, but I finally pulled away from him. It just seemed so much easier, so much less complicated to have his sock and get off on it. When it was time to go home, I saw Jeff looking for his sock. At first he didn't say anything, and after a few minutes, he asked me if I had seen it.
I told him that I hadn't. I wasn't able to let him know that I wanted it for my own. I guess he might have been pleased to think that I could get off sexually on his sock, but since I had refused physical contact with him, I didn't want to lead him on.
He cursed when he thought that he'd lost it. He even thought that some kid on the beach had come by and stolen it. I told him that it had probably fallen out and was buried in the sand.
He said that it really didn't make a lot of difference, since the sock was old, and because he had worn it three days in a row at basketball practice and it was so sweaty, it would probably never be able to be cleaned properly.
He didn't realize that my pussy started to quiver when he told me this.
He dropped me off at my house and my mother was at the window watching us. I know that she expected me to invite him in. She had even bought special cookies and soda so that we could all party together, since being popular was very important, as far as she was concerned. She had been the most popular girl in her class when she was my age. I just was not as popular as she had been, and I really didn't care to be, either.
Jeff left me at the door, and I refused even to kiss him. I allowed him to give me a little peck on the cheek.
Mother tried to bawl me out when I returned to the house, telling me that if it had been her, she would have invited him in and everything.
I didn't want to hear any of it. I locked myself in the bathroom with my carrying case. I opened it up and smelled the inside of it. It was ripe with the scent of Jeff's sweat sock.
I stripped off my clothes and my bathing suit. I was nude.
I climbed up on top of the sink so that I could see the full length of my body in the mirror which was positioned on the wall over the sink.
I watched myself as I crouched down and placed the sock near my pussy.
I rubbed the sock gently back and forth over my private place, seeing the wetness from my cunt lips touch the sock and stick to it.
I was imagining that the sock was a boy's penis. It was a lot more arousing to me than the real thing, which I was sure was dangerous, dirty, and unappealing.
I took the sock and stuffed it into my pussy. Inch by inch, it filled me.
It did not hurt at all, the way I had heard a stiff prick does. All I felt was a feeling which filled me up. And I knew that this sock was the personal property of Jeff. Having stolen it from him without his knowledge made this all the more wild and arousing for me.
Part of the white sock was hanging out of my pussy. The rest of it was stuffed up inside. I watched myself in the mirror. I had never felt this way before.
Now I knew what sex was like. It was wonderful.
I had my second orgasm with the sock. It was the second orgasm of my life, and this time it lasted even longer. I held on to the shelf above the sink, afraid that my cuntal convulsions might otherwise knock me off the sink entirely.
I was moaning although I had to keep my voice down.
There was a knocking at the door. A loud knocking. It was Mother.
"What's going on in there?" she yelled out. "I have to get in there."
I had to cut my pleasure short. I told her I'd be right out. I pulled the sock out from my pussy. It was damp with my pussy juices. I sucked on it, tasting my own girlhood, as well as the salty sweat which Jeff's foot had soaked into it.
Later, I wondered if I'd enjoy sucking Jeff's foot. I didn't think I would. I only wanted his sock.
I asked Ricky, the boy who was having wine with me, if he found this story bizarre. He smiled, and said that it was a bit different, but it aroused him.
I told him not to get any ideas. fc
He said that he could be trusted. He asked me if I had experienced anything else like this. I told him that I had, and that one time it happened with a girlfriend of mine. Well, not a girlfriend, really. It was more like the underpants of a girlfriend.
It happened in the school gym. We were all undressing, or maybe it was dressing, after gym class. There had been a lot of exercising, and it seems that my best friend Carla had damaged her pussy.
She was a virgin and she had that thin layer of flesh which defined her as a virgin. But to her horror, blood started dripping into her underpants as she dressed, and she started screaming.
One of the other girls rushed over and asked her if she was having a period. She said no, it was impossible for that to be it at this time.
She said that when she was climbing the rope in gym class, she felt that she had pulled a muscle or something inside her pussy. She said that she felt something snap inside her cunt, and the girl told her that it must have been her hymen.
She reached her finger inside her young pussy and felt inside as she had often done while masturbating. She screamed again and started to cry.
I asked her what was the matter. She said that it was true. She had lost her hymen. It had ripped open.
Everyone told her that it wasn't dangerous at all. Many girls break that thin layer which is so tightly stretched inside the pussy. It doesn't mean anything.
She said that she wanted to be a virgin when she married, and I could certainly identify and agree with that. But I told she was still a virgin. Just because she had strained herself on a rope didn't mean that she wasn't pure.
She said that no man would believe her, and she was quite upset.
The front of her white cotton underpants was wet with blood and with the natural juices which flow from a girl's young pussy during a time like this.
She was nervous, upset, and the entire incident started her hormones juicing.
Also, although it was not really a sexual act, the sensation to her sensitive vagina made her feel that it was, and thus, her juices flowed.
She pulled off her panties and tossed them into the large plastic garbage can in the locker room. She wrapped a towel around herself. Some of the girls volunteered to take her to the nurse's office for an examination, just to make sure that everything was alright.
I would have gone along too, but something was consuming me. There was something that I wanted very badly. I wanted those soiled panties.
It wasn't the blood that aroused me so much. It was just that I knew she had been wearing those white cotton panties all day. They had been clinging to her, outlining every cleft and curve in her ass and pussy.
I made sure that all the girls had left. I reached into the garbage can and pulled out the panties. I placed them to my nose and breathed in the scent where her little ass-hole had been. The material had rubbed inside her ass
INTERVIEW TWO
I was really glad that we were able to talk further. She seemed to be quite sure of herself regarding her sexuality. Few sixteen-year-old girls who come to me exhibit that degree of self-awareness.
In the second interview, she explained how she grew more deeply involved in her need for fetish gratification, and how her mother found out about it.
When our session ended last time, I was telling you about the panties I had taken from my girlfriend. Well, they had remained freshly damp in my bag, and when I brought them home, I went immediately to my room, closed the door, and stretched out on my back on my bed.
I took the panties and placed them over my face. It was like a mask.
But I kept my eyes closed. I just used my other senses, especially my sense of smell, to tell which part of the white cotton panties were directly on my face.
I breathed in. It was that familiar smell I told you about last time. It was the smell of the material which had rubbed up into her ass crack.
She was a clean girl, of course, but still, she had only wiped herself back there before putting the panties on, and she had been sweating all day, too.
I turned the panties around on my face without opening up my eyes. I felt the dampness of her cuntal blood, and I was afraid that it was on my face.
I breathed it in, and it distinctly smelled of the special juices that are found only in a pussy. It smelled a little like my own, but somehow, I could never get aroused over the smell of my own under things. It had to belong to somebody else for me to get my gratification.
I stripped my clothes and used the soiled panties all over my body. I rubbed my naked flesh with the soft material. It felt so good to know that my girlfriend was with me in such an intimate way, and yet, she never knew about it.
Of course, I would never even dare do anything sexual with her directly. That would be a lesbian act, and I'm not a lesbian. I have no desire to feel another girl's body against my own. But to feel her clothes, well, that's another story.
I caressed my breasts with the damp panties. I then rubbed my belly with them, right down to my cunny which I fingered through the material of the panties. It felt so good. It really did. My own cuntal fluids were soaking into the panties.
I stuck my fingers down deep inside my pussy and pulled them out. I placed the soft material of the panties over the little love button of my clitty, and I rubbed that with the panties. I came right away.
A short time later, the telephone rang and I answered it. It was Patty, my girlfriend whose panties I had masturbated with. She was calling to tell me that she was feeling much better. The nurse had told her that the breaking of a hymen was not an uncommon thing.
I took the underpants and I placed them on my cheek. I rubbed the still damp material, which was now also soaked with my own cunt juices, against me as I asked her to tell me more about what had happened.
She explained that she had been straddling the rope and pulling herself up on it with her arms when she felt her pussy snap.
I knew that she had been wearing these very underpants, the ones I had next to my face, so I could imagine her young pussy very clearly. I had seen her naked pussy in gym class, too, so I knew that she had a soft little fringe of fur around it and I could picture it so very clearly as I smelled it now, and felt it rubbing against me. I asked her to describe the sensation of the snapping hymen, and she did. As she spoke about it, I took that part of the panties the crotch and placed it in my mouth. I sucked on it, tasting the cunt juices from her pussy.
I know that I would never want to put my mouth near a real pussy. Oh, that would be just the worst thing I could imagine. But to suck on the juices from a piece of cotton which she had been wearing all day, well, that aroused me.
In fact, it aroused me so much, I started to cum again.
It was amazing, since I had spent so long without ever knowing the joy of sexual release, and now I was able to cum without even touching myself.
Just her voice, and the underpants, were enough to do it for me.
It seemed so much easier than having to go out with boys and spend a whole evening with them just for this. There were no complications, and I could have my fun whenever I felt like it. All I would have to do would be to take out my special items, like Jeff's sock and Patty's panties.
I had heard that boys will fuck you and leave you, without even giving you your own release of orgasm. I didn't have that problem. I was in charge of everything this way.
And I loved it.
It seemed so much better to me than anything else.
I came again over the phone.
Soon, my desire was to find more special pieces of personal clothing which I could get off on. I started going to the local laundromat where people would bring their dirty laundry. It seemed like a perfect place for me to find things.
I would go down there with a few items and pretend that I had washing to do there. Of course, I didn't. I just wanted to see if I could snatch something special to fill my desires. It was important that I get something before it was washed. As much as I disliked physical contact with a person, I liked to feel as much of that person's realness through their clothes.
Slips were my new favorite. I saw an attractive one, a pink half slip. I could see the silky material moving gracefully as she threw it into the washer with all her other things. I knew that it had been resting up against her cunt when she'd worn it, and if she was washing it now, there was no telling how many times she'd worn it.
So I wanted it. In fact, I had a strange fantasy over it. I wanted to take a ripe cucumber from the family refrigerator and cover it with the material of this silky pink slip. Then the cucumber would be all slippery and soft, and I wanted to insert it inside my pussy.
I would be in complete control of it. I would have the combined feelings of a man's organ with the softness of a woman's under things over it. But I would not be the cunt slave of a thoughtless man who was out to get his own rocks off.
Since I would be in control of the movements, I would know exactly what felt best on my pussy, and I would move the dildo-like thing to suit my own needs.
The job now was to get that slip out without being caught. Luckily, the woman left the laundomat for a minute, to buy a magazine so that she'd have something to read while her laundry was being done.
She had already closed the door to the washer, and the things were already wet, but there was still time for me to reach in, grab the slip, ball it up and stick it inside the front of my jeans so that I could get out with it.
I knew that she'd be looking for it later, thinking that somebody had run off with it. She'd probably blame the people at the laundromat. I felt a bit badly about that, but I couldn't help it. I really needed that slip in particular.
Of course, a new slip, freshly bought, would never do. It had to be a worn one.
I could feel the wetness of it dripping down my legs, since I had stuffed it into my jeans when it was still soaked from the washer.
But I was feeling my pussy quivering also, because I knew that I would soon have it home where I could play with it. And even though it had been placed in the water, it hadn't had a chance to get cleaned. It still had her wetness on it.
When I arrived back at home, I found my mother sitting in the living room with a very strange expression on her face.
"Where have you been?" she asked me, sternly.
"Oh, I've just been out," I said, knowing that water was dripping down the leg of my jeans from the balled up slip which was inside my pants.
"I understand that you were at the laundromat," she said.
I was stunned. I was absolutely shocked. How did she know?
It came out that there was a damn spy at the laundromat. Some woman my mother had known for years recognized me in the laundromat. She had been there doing her own wash, and she knew who I was, even though I had long ago forgotten her.
It seems that she saw me steal the slip from the washer and she telephoned my mother to report it, that bitch!
"I understand that you were stealing clothes," Mother said. "Is that true?"
I didn't know how to answer her. She would never understand. I guessed that she thought I was stealing because I wanted new things. That wasn't it at all.
She told me that she was shocked that I would do such a thing. And she saw the bulge at the front of my jeans. She asked me to pull out what was in there.
I really had no choice but to obey her. I pulled out this wet half slip.
"I would have bought one for you if you wanted it so badly. You are to go back to the place you stole it from, and you're to apologize for your unlawful act. Then you'll return to your room and stay there until further notice, young lady."
I slinked out of the door, but behind the house, I rubbed the soft material all over my body. Even through my clothes, I could feel my cuntal juices oozing. I could feel the blazing of my clit.
I wished that I could take that cucumber and place the silky material over it, sort of lubricating it with its softness for my delicate pussy.
And then I even thought about showing my mother how it would feel, although I wouldn't simply place the cucumber in her pussy. I would shove it in and ram her with it until she screamed.
And then her pussy juices would be soaking into the cloth, and I'd make her lick it off and suck it up, swallowing every last bit of her own cunt fluid.
I started toward the laundromat, but I couldn't bring myself to returning the slip. It wasn't even that the woman who owned it had found it missing. It was just that some snoopy bitch friend of my mother's had taken it upon herself not to mind her own business. I guess she had nothing better to do.
I hid the slip in a doorway, covering it with newspapers and things. There was a chance that it would all be gone by the time I returned to find it again later, but it was better than returning it.
When I got back home, I went right up to my room, as my mother had demanded.
But it wasn't going to be a punishment for me. I took the underpants which had belonged to Patty, and the sock which had belonged to Jeff, and I took them both to bed with me. With them next to me, I was able to sleep.
Of course, as I explained to you, doctor, I told all of this to Ricky, the boy who had taken me to lunch. After lunch was finished, he suggested that I go back to his house for a while. He said that his parents were out of town, and that we'd have time to listen to records and things by ourselves.
I told him that I really didn't have time. Of course, the real reason was that I didn't want to get involved with him. Already, I had told him more about myself than I'd cared to. Maybe I had gone too far.
"No, I'd like to, but I really have a lot of homework to catch up on," I told him. "I'm quite devoted to my school studies. Maybe some other time."
But then he got me.
He told me that he had some special pajamas. He wore them every single night to sleep, and he hadn't washed them in months. He said that they were a part of him, but if I'd get off on them, he'd give them to me to borrow for that purpose.
I was aroused. My little pussy was juicing and very hot.
That was what I wanted, and I wanted it badly.
I told him that I would come to his house, but only for his pajamas.
Everything seemed alright at first. We walked to his place. Indeed, his parents were away for the week, and the house was private for us.
I sat on the couch and he sat next to me. We talked for a while, and he played some of his favorite records. Finally, I asked him about the pajamas.
"Why don't I make sure you like them?" he said.
Then he suggested that I go in the other room, and take off my clothes. He said that he would hand the pajamas in to me and that I could experiment with them. I trusted him.
I went in the other room and stripped off my blouse. I pulled off my bra, and my upturned globes bounced free. The nipples were already firm, just from my thinking about the pajamas.
Of course, I would have preferred to have these pajamas all to myself, without him being near by. But it was his house, and his pajamas, and I was sure that he would let me take them home if I really wanted to.
I pulled off my shoes, and my skirt. Then I peeled my underpants off. I was totally nude, ready to take the pajamas and sort of make love to them.
That was my goal. That was my desire, my lust, my longing, my need.
I heard him knocking on the door. I opened up and reached my hand out, expecting him to hand the pajamas to me. But there were no pajamas at all!
He pushed the door open and pounced on me!
I was stunned! He knocked me backwards onto the floor and pressed his own naked body into me. I felt his stiff cock at my pussy and I screamed. I wanted no part of it. In fact, the feeling of a naked male on top of me was enough to make me feel sick. I scratched and kicked, but I couldn't get away.
"I thought you told me you'd give me your pajamas!" I yelled at him.
He just laughed.
"You sucker. When I heard what a sickie you were, I knew I'd have my way with you, and you knew it, too."
"No, I did not!" I insisted. "I certainly did not!"
"Cut the bullshit," he told me. "You wouldn't have given me all that shit about damp panties, and sweaty socks which you stuffed up your virgin cunt if you weren't trying to turn me on. Well, it worked, sister. When I thought of you stealing a woman's slip and rubbing the silky thing against your firming nipples, my dick got hard as a rock. And now I'm gonna plow you with it."
I fought him off as best I could. I had confided everything to him, and he was using it against me. I had told him the truth the truth that nobody else knew, and he took it all to be some lurid sex joke designed to turn him on.
Men! No wonder I hate them!
They're just hairy beasts with grabbing hands and they want one thing from a girl. They want her pussy!
I bit him in the face. Yes, doctor, that's exactly what I did. When he put his ugly puss near my face, I snapped right into it with my teeth and I started to grind.
That bastard! I would have done anything to get him off of me. I didn't want him on top of me. I wanted to be free. I kicked him away. I warned him to leave me alone. I wanted no part of him. I told him to fuck off.
He was fighting with me and he was much stronger than I am, but he couldn't get near my pussy. There was no way that he could have it and I was glad.
After I slapped him real hard, his hard-on went soft and limp.
I guess he finally realized that I hadn't been cockteasing him, as he had accused me. Finally he realized that it was true, I did prefer the masculinity and femininity of clothing. It was more arousing, and much better than human contact.
And you can't catch germs from it, either!'
He called me a fetish bitch. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew that it was a mean thing, said to taunt me. I knew that he was pissed off because I wouldn't give in to him, and frankly, I didn't care. I would rather be a fetish bitch than a whore to his cock.
I left the house and stormed down the street to my house.
When I returned home, my mother was waiting for me. She had the soiled, bloody panties of Patty, and the sweat sock of Jeff. By this time, the sweat sock had also become ripe from the smell of my pussy. I had stuffed it up my vagina many nights and kept it inside of me while I slept.
Eight hours with a warm sock up inside of me was much better than even one minute with a nasty, hurting prick in me, and that was what I told my mother when she questioned me about it.
She, too, used the word "fetish" and I knew where she got it from. In fact, she admitted that Ricky had telephoned her with the whole story.
That was how she came to look through my drawers and find the hidden objects. They were my personal things and I was pissed as hell that she'd go looking through my things for them. I told her that it was none of her business, but she said that she was my mother, and anything I did was her business. She reminded me that I'm still only sixteen, and I told her that sixteen is old enough to know what a girl wants.
But she wanted other things for me. She actually would have preferred that I have more of a relationship with that bastard Ricky who had lied to me and tried to rape me.
When I told her that he had betrayed my confidence and told her the full story simply because his own ego was crushed when I refused to have sex with him, my mother said that she was glad he had told her, because she felt I needed professional help.
I haven't really spoken to her since. There's been a silence between us.
But I promised that I would come to you and talk to you about it, doctor. Maybe now that you've heard my side, you can understand where I'm coming from.
I think that my mother is a bitch, and as for men and boys, I'd rather stay away from them. Give me a pair of panties or a sweat sock any day.
CONCLUSION:
Based on the two hour-long interview sessions with Elissa, I recommend that she begin therapy with me. It's not that I believe there is anything unnatural about an attachment to any particular article of clothing, especially to undergarments.
The attraction of panties or underpants has always been known, especially since these articles of clothing come in such close contact with the external genitalia.
The fact that Elissa was attracted to the feeling of these articles against her skin is normal. The fact that she was attracted to the scent which remained in these articles of clothing is also very easy to understand and appreciate.
However, there are several reasons why I conclude that some form of guidance is required for her in order that reach her maximum potential as a young woman.
First of all, there is an extreme which she has reached. It is one thing to playfully steal a boyfriend's sock and use it as a reminder of him. It is quite another thing to deliberately go to a local laundromat and steal a stranger's slip for the purpose of masturbatory fantasy.
The fact that she is more comfortable with inanimate objects of clothing is obviously due to her discomfort in relating to actual people.
Her experiences with boys has not been able to do anything but reinforce these natural teenaged fears. She trusted Ricky enough to confide in him, telling him her innermost secrets (under the influence of alcohol.)
Not only did he lie to her totally about his pajamas, something he used to lure her sexually, but he then reported her intimate secrets to her mother.
He was using her as an object for his own lusts and ego, as much as young Elissa used any article of clothing. So, while we tend to think of an extreme attraction to certain articles of clothing as a fetish, actually, some people use other people in much the same way, reducing them to objects for sexual gratification.
Furthermore, Elissa's relationship with her mother is one which involves many difficulties. Her mother's high expectations for the girl are probably at the root of her distrust of human contact.
The fact that she is attracted to the scent and the feeling of clothing worn by others, indicates that she is not completely turned off to human contact. However, it must be introduced to her in a fashion which will not threaten her.
With therapy, on a once a week basis, I hope to discuss these matters with Elissa. When she no longer feels pressured to conform to the sexual expectations which her mother and school friends have for her, she will be more ready to let go of her fetish and relate to people as well.
Until she reaches this stage of development, I would encourage her to indulge in her fetish activity, although I must strongly advise her that stealing such items of clothing is not only dangerous because it is against the law, but is a sign that the fetish is of utmost importance, and this is something that it is not.
It is merely a fetish, and if she enjoys it, that's alright. When she is able to relate to human beings on a deeper level, she will then be free to continue to indulge in her fetish, or to leave it behind.
With work, I'm sure she will learn to relate.
CASE HISTORY TWO
SUBJECT: Dorothy P. AGE: fourteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Dorothy came to my office through a routine check which was done in her school. It was one of those routine psychological examinations run from time to time to determine the particular workings of the girls' minds as they apply to sex.
Dorothy had been under watch by her teacher at school, because she seemed to have an unnatural attachment to a stuffed animal.
This was a tiny, stuffed puppy, with a man-made material on it which seemed very much like real fur to the touch.
Dorothy would keep this object of fantasy with her, but she would hide it in her school bag, possibly because she knew that other students would make fun of a girl her age playing with such a thing.
Nothing was particularly noted about this until after the results of the psychological exam came in. It seems that Dorothy's responses indicated a strong attachment to fur. In fact, her responses were so strong in her desire to be near fur; to touch and stroke and wear it, that it amounted to a fetish.
When the school nurse informed Mrs. P. about her daughter's fondness for fur, the woman admitted that this had been a trait which had been going on for years. The little stuffed animal was one of many "pets" which Dorothy kept, all of them bearing fur. The cover on her bed was made of fur, her slippers were furry, and in fact, much of the wardrobe of her choosing involved some degree of animal fur.
Although her mother had never before considered this to be a problem, it now seemed to be the right time to consult me about the condition.
We decided that a session would be in order.
Dorothy arrived at the session by herself. It was a cool day, and she was wearing a cloth coat with puffy fur sleeves and a rim of fur trimming around the bottom of it.
She also carried a white fur muff, and her hands rested inside of it. She removed her coat once inside the office, but insisted upon keeping her hands inside the furry muff.
After some initial conversation about school and the weather, we got into a more serious discussion about her interest in fur.
The following is an exact transcript of her reply:
I really didn't think there was anything abnormal about it, doctor.
I always liked animals. It seemed that animals were so much easier to talk with than people. In fact, I used to stammer when I spoke with people, but when I spoke with animals, I had no problem relating at all.
I noticed that older people would like animals in much the same way. They were always cooing at their cats or dogs, stroking the soft, sleek fur, and allowing the little animals to roll up in a ball on their laps.
I wished that it was me, but then, by the same token, I have to admit that I didn't really relate to people either, not nearly as much as I did with animals.
What I liked best about the animals was the fur, of course. It's softer than human hair. I think I'd rather lie down on a pillow of fur than on a pillow of feathers. Wouldn't that be nice? I think it would. I'd love it.
I started to find out that ladies wore fur coats. Oh, I wanted one so.
Of course, girls my age weren't usually allowed to wear fur coats, and so I didn't have the chance of feeling that soft fur against me.
But I started dreaming about fur at night. I had a fantasy dream which came to me time and time again. I would dream that I was naked, with only a long fur coat around me. I don't know, it just made me feel so sexy.
I could feel the furry material rubbing into my private places. When the softness moved across my little nipples, they would get stiff. When it moved across my cunny, I could feel it enter the cleft, and it would get wet.
Oh, I liked it all so much. Even if it was only a fantasy.
I never told anybody about my dream fantasies, until now, doctor. I guess that was ashamed because I'd never heard of anybody having such an attraction to fur in a sexual way. I'd seen all those beautiful ads of fabulous women in fabulous fur coats, and it aroused me, but this was something different.
The first time I was out on a serious date, it was with a boy named Michael, and we double-dated with another couple. Everybody had a good time, but then it came time to park the car and make out.
It was pretty dark, and I remember standing near a tree, hugging Michael. He started to kiss me, and I could feel his tongue pressing gently into .my mouth. I could feel his warm breath against me, and of course, it was arousing.
But when he reached under my skirt and started feeling my pussy, I pushed him away. I didn't know how to react.
I guess he thought that I was trying to tell him tha he was going too fast, and so he started on my breasts. He started squeezing the full flesh of them, but still I couldn't respond. I felt my body go stiff.
I wished that I could respond, but I just couldn't. I knew that he must have been thinking strange things about me. I just knew it, but what could I do?
Well, I suddenly got an idea. I started to think about fur!
I ran my fingers through Michael's hair. His hair was soft and smooth and clean. It was not nearly as soft or as smooth as rabbit fur, but that was what I started imagining it to be. I ruffled it back, imagining that I was petting the rump of a little white rabbit.
Suddenly, something happened. I started to loosen up. I started to feel free!
"Oh, yeah, baby," Michael moaned. "Now you're getting into it."
He drew me closer to him. I liked the way that felt, but only because in my fantasy, he was a great big bunny rabbit.
He humped his body up against mine, rubbing his bumping crotch into my pussy mound. Suddenly he gasped, and then stayed still. He went limp in my arms, breathing hard and sweating profusely.
I guessed that he had cum.
I was glad that it was over. We soon went home. I was alone, and I climbed into bed with Teddy, my little stuffed bunny rabbit.
I cuddled him close to me. I knew that he was just a stuffed animal, and that maybe he couldn't love me back, but it didn't matter. I held him between my breasts and kept him there. I nuzzled his little nose up between my breasts and it felt so good to sleep with him. He didn't even bite!
So I placed him between my legs and kept him there all night. It was interesting because I thanked him for at least allowing me to save face. If it hadn't been for my fantasy about the rabbit, I would have surely gotten a reputation as a cold girl who was unable to respond in a sexual situation.
As it happened, quite the opposite took place. It seems that Michael went bragging about how exciting I was as a sex partner.
When the news of that got back to me, I was flattered, but I knew that I owed it all to my fantasies about the rabbit fur.
That week, an older boy asked me out. He was several grades above Michael in school, and I knew that he was quite a sophisticated young man.
We went out for drinks, although I had a Shirley Temple, which as you know, is a drink without any real liquor in it. I didn't feel very giddy after that drink. It was mild. But I did find this boy attractive.
All evening I had been looking into his eyes. I had been watching his lips and thinking that they were very attractive and they made me want to kiss them.
It was strange, I know.
Still, as much as I found him exciting, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to perform with him when it came down to sex. And I knew that was what he wanted. Everything had been leading to that, and it was something I could not avoid, despite my fears.
We went back to his apartment and my hands were just dripping with sweat. My feet were cold as ice. I am sure that I was stammering again, the way I usually do when I'm confronted with a situation which makes me uneasy.
But when he opened the door to his apartment, I gasped. My breath was absolutely taken away. There was a huge fur rug stretched out across the entire length of the living room floor.
I felt so excited, my cunt started to drip. He had total control now.
He led me to the couch and he put some music on the stereo.
I know that the music he was playing was designed to turn me on. It was soft, romantic mood music but that wasn't what was getting me excited.
No, there was something else that was getting my pussy wetter and wetter. I was staring directly at the fur rug. It was exciting me beyond belief.
It really was exciting me so much that I could feel my nipples pressing against my blouse, and I could hardly contain myself. I was so aroused by the sight of it.
He asked me if I wanted a drink.
My throat was really dry by this time. I could hardly swallow. It was the fur rug that was doing it to me. My voice was hoarse, I know it was, and I'm sure that he must have thought I was really a hot little girl because of the way I was acting.
He touched my hand as if to tell me that it was alright. He wanted to let me know that there was nothing to be nervous about. I'm sure that he felt all the wetness on my palms. I was really very nervous. It was an awkward moment.
He brought me a drink and sat down next to me on the couch. He was sitting very close, and although I tried to make conversation, I was only aware of the way he was looking into my eyes.
He was focusing his attention on me, licking his lips, and I knew what he wanted. I guess that because I was so aroused over the sight of the fur rug, I picked up on his emotion and was aware of his feelings.
He didn't take long to make his move.
He pressed his body close to mine and he started kissing me. I responded, but only because my attention was directed toward the rug.
He pushed me back on the couch and started feeling me up. His hand was up my skirt and he was reaching his fingers beneath the rim of my panties, trying to feel the dampness of my pussy lips.
Oh, I was so hot by this time, I could hardly stand it.
But of course, it was the fur that was getting me excited, and I guess that I had been looking down at the rug so much, he finally got the idea.
"Do you want to move down to the rug?" he asked.
I gasped. I really gasped, doctor. I was so hot, I hugged him.
"Well, I guess you do," he said. "There is more room down on the floor and we can roll all around down there. Also, since the floor is hard, there's a kind of pressure against two bodies pressing into each other and into the floor. It feels really good, which is why I like the floor so much myself."
"That rug looks real soft," I said.
"Oh, yeah. Just take a feel of it."
I was gasping again. I was really short of breath. I had downed my first drink, and so I asked him if I could have another. He smiled, thinking, I guess, that he would get me drunk with these rum and cokes. And I'm too young for that!
But it wasn't the liquor which was making me hot.
I was glad when he left the room because it gave me a chance to be alone with the fur. I started to stroke it. I ran my hands across it, and it was so soft, I could hardly believe it. I was cumming already.
I knew that he was after sex, and since I didn't think I'd be able to respond unless I was fully into this furry rug, I stripped off my clothes while he was in the other room finding me a drink.
I guess that he thought that I was really a hot bitch when he came back and found me in only my bra and panties.
But the thrill for me was the fact that while he was gone I stretched out on the fur with my naked flesh against it. I felt the entire length of my girlish body against the fur. I started to rub my nearly naked body back and forth against it. I felt the fur tickling my naked inner thighs.
Before he returned to catch me in that state, I really got into that fur rug. I had never been covered by so much fur in my life. I actually grabbed the edge of it and wrapped it around me. I rolled around in it, licking it, as if I were a cat licking its own fur, or maybe the fur of a kitten, or of another cat.
The fur became slicked where my tongue caressed it.
I rubbed my cunt up and back on the fur most of all. Oh, doctor, do you mind if I use that language?
(I assured Dorothy that it was perfectly alright for her to speak in whatever way was most natural for her. I told her that I was not here to judge her. I just wanted her to communicate the full details of her story so that we could understand her better, and therefore I encouraged her to speak in as raw a tongue as she desired.)
Well, I rubbed my cunt up and back against the fur like a cat in heat. Did you ever see a cat rubbing that part of her up and back against an object when she has a sex itch? Well, I had a sex itch, and only the fur could scratch it.
By the time this guy got back into the room with the drinks, he heard me moaning and groaning.
"You really are a hot girl," he told me. "I never would have figured you for that. You've already taken off your clothes and everything! Wow!"
He put the drinks on the table. It was obvious from my arousal that I wanted sex and drinking was not important now. I was rubbing back and forth, even rubbing my face against the soft fur.
Maybe it made me feel like an animal, and when I feel like an animal, I feel that it's alright to have sex. When I feel like an animal, I feel that it's alright to do anything. Nothing is dirty then. It's all alright.
I mean, when you see two animals fucking, what do you think of it?
Maybe it arouses you, maybe not, but you know that it's a natural thing. Maybe that's why I had difficulty thinking about sexual performance unless the fur was there to remind me of my animalistic instincts. I mean, I may be a girl, but I am an animal.
Sometimes I think that my mind just gets in the way too much. All this thinking; all this wondering what's wrong and what's right.
Well, he was on top of me in a minute. He was kissing me again, but this time his tongue was down my throat. I didn't hesitate to tongue kiss him right back. It felt right because I was on my back now, and each time he pressed his body and his tongue into me, I could feel the fur rubbing against my naked back and my ass, through my panties.
He seemed to enjoy the battle we had inside his mouth when I started to fight his tongue with my own. He was moaning as much as I was. , As he kissed me, I felt his hands reaching down inside the waistband of my panties. I knew that he was pulling my panties down to expose my nakedness, and I didn't mind; I didn't stop him.
Why?
Because as he worked the underpants off of me, I felt the fur tickling my behind. I had to raise my body a bit in order for him to get the panties off of me, but I deliberately made it difficult for him because the thrill for me was in feeling that fur rubbing into the crack of my ass.
I felt the fur tickling the curves of my back and my behind, and I was moaning so much, I had to wrap my legs around him to keep from jumping up and I had to bite his ear lobe so that I wouldn't start screaming.
It was fabulous. I never knew that sex could be so beautiful.
I felt that fur creeping up inside the crack of my ass and I wiggled in order to get the fur inside the hole of my ass, too. I could feel that softness in the puckered opening.
Of course, these bodily movements on my part were interpreted by this guy as movements of sexual arousal, which they certainly were, although not really directed toward him. For a moment I wondered if I was cheating him, but then I guessed not. The idea is to have fun, right, doctor? I know that I was enjoying it tremendously, and I'm very certain that he was too.
He just didn't know that I could have been having sex with an ape. In fact, if he had been a furry ape, I probably would have liked it even more.
(At this point Dorothy told me that she was only joking about that last remark. She was taking this seriously, and I noticed that she was sweating as she told the story. She was moving about in her chair, wiggling her posterior from side to side as if she were reliving some of the sensations.)
By this time he had my panties off and he started on my bra. For this, he had to turn me over. Suddenly, I was lying on my stomach. My breasts were pressing into the furry rug and this was a real thrill.
I closed my eyes, and pretended that I was making love with a bear. Yes, a huge, powerful, furry bear. When my new boyfriend, if you want to call him that, started licking my back, I imagined that I was hugging the bear's fur and getting licked by his thick, tremendous tongue.
This guy used his mouth to unsnap my bra.
He didn't have an easy time of it, but I didn't care. I was rubbing my nipples into the fur, and my cunny, too. Oh, it felt so good, I was in heaven.
He didn't seem to mind, either, because he obviously enjoyed working his mouth on my back, running his tongue up and down the shapely curve of it.
Each time he found my bra snaps, he would hook his teeth over them and try to pull them apart. If it didn't work; if he didn't succeed, he would try again after using his tongue all over me once again.
He ran the full length of his tongue up and down from the back of my neck to the curve of my ass. He licked my ass cheeks one by one, and then even parted my perfectly formed little ass globes and ran his wet tongue muscle inside there!
I was shocked. I never imagined that a man would do that to a girl. I mean, this was my ass-hole! Of course, my ass-hole crack is very smooth, no hair at all, and clean and everything, but it was just such a new experience for me.
More than anything, that experience amazed me, bat I'm sure that it would have frightened me if I didn't have the fur to arouse me.
As it was, I was concentrating on the fur and that was enough to make me so hot, I thought I would cum all night.
When he finished tonguing me, he got back to the bra. This time, the snap popped open and I felt it come loose. My breasts were free.
He turned me over and started to run his tongue over the soft globes of my budding young breasts. As he licked his tongue over the nipples, I felt them growing even harder than they were. And they had been stiff since I first saw that gorgeous piece of fur stretched out across his floor!
I realized that although the fur rug would have been enough in and of itself to get me hot and keep me hot, I enjoyed the additional attention of his tongue against my body. He knew how to work it. I was no longer afraid of being unable to perform. In fact, at this point I was so hot, I was losing reason.
"I want to fuck you," he told me.
I wrapped my legs around him again and pulled his body into mine.
"Yes, yes, please fuck me," I begged him.
"Are you prepared?" he asked me.
"Yes, I want you! I'm ready. My pussy is dripping wet."
"No, I mean do you have something there to keep you from getting pregnant? I mean, I don't have any rubbers and it's too late to go out and buy any, but if you're on the pill or something, well, then it would be alright."
What could I have been thinking of? That fur rug had gotten me so excited, I had lost all reason. I was willing to let him fuck me then and there and I hadn't even given a second thought to the consequences.
Thank heavens he was gentleman enough to warn me of the danger.
I told him that I hadn't thought about any of that. I thanked him.
He thanked me for being honest. He didn't want any problems, later, he said, and he certainly didn't want to be a father.
But he told me that I could give him a blow job. He told me that I could suck on his cock, and he explained that if I did a good enough job of suctioning up his penis, he would shoot a load of hot, sticky cum down my throat.
He also told me that it would perfectly safe. He said I wouldn't have a baby from taking sperm down the throat. He had been honest enough already, so I believed him.
He pulled off his clothes and I saw him naked. What I liked best was the black hair around his cock and balls because it reminded me of fur!
He sat on the rug with his legs spread apart. His cock was sticking straight up in the air and he must have been moving some muscle of it or something, because it was bobbing back and forth on its own accord, sort of beckoning my mouth to it.
The head was flared and the base of it was veiny, and it scared me.
It was very, very big, and not only didn't I want to take it in my mouth, but I was afraid that it would be too big.
And it was so long, wouldn't it just choke me?
But then I looked at the fur between his legs; the fur that was sticking up all around him and between his legs, too, since he was sitting oh that beautiful rug. I reached out and started to stroke the fur of the rug between his legs.
It was a start.
He continued to make that stiff cock of his wiggle, for my benefit, I'm sure, and I knew that he wanted me to suck it. There was only way that I'd be able to do it. I started to concentrate on the fur.
I kept my eyes open, looking directly at the fur as I opened my mouth real wide. Yes, I had to open my mouth as wide as it would possibly go in order to take that big, stiff dick, but I did it, all the time imagining that if I went down far enough, my lips would eventually be against the fur rug!
That was my goal!
I could feel his fat cock filling my mouth and going down my throat as I progressed, open-mouthedly, further and further down on the shaft.
Finally I came to a point where the cock was actually so far down my throat, I could feel it against the very deepest part of me.
Not only was I afraid that I would choke on it, but if he shot that load of steaming spunk that he'd spoken about, I was sure that I would gag on it.
I mean, after all, it would be already down my throat and I wouldn't be able to swallow. It would just fill me up down the throat and then, who knows?
So the thought of the fur which I wanted in my mouth so badly wasn't enough to make me suck him off. I had to pull off of the cock.
He was still hard.
"Oh, I know what the problem is," he said. "You want to go in the bedroom."
I was too embarrassed now to say anything.
"A lot of girls are like that. They feel it's cheap to do it on the floor. Come on," he said, taking me by the hand. "Let's go to bed." .
I followed his lead.
He brought me into a darkened room and placed me down on the bed. That was when I went completely stiff and cold.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Did I do something to turn you off?"
I couldn't even answer him.
He straddled me and placed his cock at my face. He had lit one dim, red-tinted light bulb, and I could see the bulbous head of his cock with the slit oozing this sticky stuff.
"Lick it off," he told me, but I turned my head away.
At this point, it became too much for Dorothy to continue. Apparently, her attachment to fur was something she couldn't come out and talk about to this boy, and thinking back on the incident was difficult for her even now.
She did say that after leaving the room with the fur rug in it, she was completely unable to have sex, or even to respond to the boy. And their date ended there.
I suggested to Dorothy that she return to my office at the same time the following week so that we could further discuss her attraction to fur.
INTERVIEW TWO
Dorothy was in high spirits when she returned to my office the following week. It was a marked contrast to the manner in which she had departed my office the week before.
When I asked her if there was a reason for her being in such a good mood, upon seeing her in the waiting room, she told me that we had better talk about that during the formal session in the therapy room.
I was pleased that she seemed so eager to begin another session, and the following is what transpired in her own words.
I guess that talking to you last week about my special interest in fur was a big help. I hadn't really talked to anybody about it before, and just getting it off my chest, so to speak, really did make me feel better.
I had always told people that I wanted fur gloves, or a little fur stole, or something like that when they asked me what I wanted for my birthdays, and everything, but they never really knew the extent of my turn-on about it.
If they had known that I had taken a pair of fur gloves and stuffed them up my pussy, sleeping with them like that, I'm sure they would have been shocked.
I guess that was part of what I was always afraid of. I thought that it would be considered very weird by other people to know that I liked fur so much.
I mean, they saw me at the zoo, petting the animals in the children's zoo section, and they just assumed that I was having a good time, like everybody else. They never knew the extent to which my desire was going.
When I told people that I wanted someday to work with animals, they didn't know what was really going on inside of my head, because I was ashamed to tell them.
And I realized after talking about it with you last time, doctor, that the whole problem with that guy I was with was due to the fact that I didn't tell him that I liked fur. I mean, when we were making out on the fur rug, everything was fine. When he took me into the bedroom, I should have told him that I would rather stay outside on the fur rug.
I mean, I could have even told him how much I enjoyed the feeling of the soft fur against me, and maybe he would have picked up on that and done something special with fur to turn me on even more.
If he had taken a piece of fur and gently traced a path with it, over my naked pussy, I probably would have screamed with joy.
Well, anyway, after talking with you last week, I hadn't yet made this realization, so after our session, I went walking. I walked by the thrift shop. You know, the place where rich people donate items so that others can buy them. You can get great bargains, and you never know what you might find.
It wasn't that I set out to buy anything, but I thought that just to spend some time, I would walk around inside this thrift shop and see what was there.
The items were marked with tags indicating which days they had been brought in. I guess if something had been marked from several weeks before, other people would go by the general opinion and not tend to buy it, but as far as I was concerned, I was sure that I could judge for myself and make up my own mind as to whether or not something was suitable for me in terms of what it was and the price being asked for it.
I was browsing around. They don't have fur coats there, so it wasn't a problem. I must admit that there are times when I see fur coats hanging on a rack and it excites so much, I have to go home and masturbate, but luckily, this wasn't the case for me now.
But then, as I was just walking around the store, I saw this funny hat. It was sort of a cap, and it had a raccoon tail attached to it!
I had never seen anything like this before in my life. The fur part, the raccoon tail, was not really soft when I rubbed my hand over it, stroking it. It had a sort of prickly quality to it, and the hairs responded to my touch.
It was very, very beautiful, with stripes on it, actually in the formation of the different colors of the fur.
Oh, it was really stunning.
I guess that I was looking at it so hard and so long, stroking it and everything, that a young salesman came over to me and started talking.
"That's a 'coon tail cap," he told me. "It's a real one, and an original one."
I asked him what he meant by that, and he explained that some years ago, when television was still fairly new, there was a television show with a character who wore one of these caps. He said the name of the character was Davy Crocket, King of the Wild Frontier.
Well, I thought that was quite amusing that a man would wear a hat like that. The young salesman encouraged me to put the hat on and try it out. I did. I stroked the tail as I wore it.
There was a price tag on it. It was selling for eight dollars.
To have that raccoon in my possession, I would have gladly paid eight dollars, because I know that it must be worth it. The salesman again said that it was an original, and that the price was high because it was a collector's item.
Well, I wanted it. I wanted it very much, but I realized that I was spending money on these therapy sessions and that my problem was my attachment to fur. It was something I was working to get over and there was no point in spending more money on fur now.
So I started to put the hat down, even though I fully intended to spend more time looking at the lovely fur, stroking, and even smelling it, if I could without the salesman knowing about it.
That, I knew, he would think to be a bit odd. But the fact of the matter is, fur has a wonderful smell, just as it has a wonderful taste.
Anyway, this salesman wouldn't go away. He kept looking at me. At first I thought that he was watching me real closely because he was afraid I was going to steal the hat. I had my purse with me and I guess he thought that I might try to put the hat inside the purse, which I wouldn't do, no matter how much I would think about the fur piece later, while fingering myself.
But then I realized that he was staring at my breasts. I looked down to see if everything was alright. Nothing was sticking out, at least, no more than normal.
When I looked up at him again, he was smiling.
Now I knew that he was interested in me. I guess I have a pretty good figure and a very nice face, so I've never had a problem getting boys or even men. I just never thought too much about it because that was not my goal, especially since I had this terrible fear of not being able to perform with them.
Finally, he told me that I was cute.
I took it as a compliment.
"Look," he said. "You really seem to like that hat. I'll tell you what. If you go out with me, I'll buy the hat for you."
Of course, I wanted that hat very much, but I couldn't just go out with him like that. I told him some excuse or another, something about the fact that as much as I loved the hat, I couldn't let him pay for it for me.
He insisted that he had a very good discount at the store, and that he really would appreciate it if I allowed him to buy it for me as a gift.
Well, he made it sound as if he really would appreciate it and as if it would make him happy to give it to me. I certainly wanted it, and so I agreed.
He smiled. He seemed to like that very much.
I put the hat on and felt very beautiful wearing it. Then we left the store and he suggested that we go back to his apartment which was just around the corner.
I told him that it was certainly convenient for him to work just around the corner from the place where he lived, but knowing that he probably wanted to get me into bed, I told him that I'd rather not.
That was when he looked into my eyes and told me that there was something about the way I had run my fingers through that fur piece which turned him on.
"Really?" I said, wide-eyed.
"Yes, the way you touched that raccoon tail was the way you'd touch a penis. I bet you'd be just as loving and gentle and appreciative of a beautiful dick as you were of that beautiful raccoon tail. And I happen to have a beautiful dick."
Doctor, I should have guessed that sex was at the bottom of it. I mean, I'm just a very young girl, but older men are always attracted to me.
Well, I told him that I was sure his penis was nice. I was going to tell him to fuck off, too, but there was something about the way he had noticed my attraction to the raccoon tail that made me bite my tongue on that one.
Besides, he had bought me the lovely hat, and I was very happy with it. I felt that I did owe him something.
Then it hit me. What I owed him for being so nice and buying me the 'coon tail hat, was the truth! I just blurted it out to him.
"Look," I said to him, "I'm really turned on to this piece of long fur dangling from the end of this cap. That's my attraction. I want to go home and play with this piece of fur."
"Are you going to put it between your legs?" he asked me.
I was shocked. No man had ever asked anything like that of me before. I didn't even imagine that it would come up. I didn't think a man would realize that I could be so attracted to something like that.
It encouraged me, I guess.
Suddenly I wasn't so afraid.
"Yes," I told him bluntly. "I want to put it between my legs."
"So it's like a dick to you," he said. "It's a furry dick."
I was stunned again. I hadn't even thought of it in that way. I knew that I liked fur. The shape had never been that important to me before.
But now that he had been the one to mention it, yes, it was like a dick!
I thought back to the incident I had told you about earlier during that day. While I had some difficulty sucking a cock, I would gladly suck that fur.
In fact, I would strip naked and rub the fur up and down the space between my breasts. I would move the fur from my cunny to my mouth, sucking it in as if I were milking it for that thick sperm stuff the other guy had mentioned.
But at the moment, I could only wait for this young man, who had not even told me his name, to speak.
"I can dig it," he said. "I can get off on fur. I'd love to have you tickle my ass-hole with a piece of fur."
When he said this, my knees went weak.
"Alright," I gasped. "Let's go to your place."
Believe me, doctor, I was glad that he lived right around the corner. I don't think I could have waited any longer than it took to get there.
When we entered the apartment, the first thing I noticed was that he had a cat. The cat rubbed her body up against my leg.
"You see," the guy told me, "I even sleep with a furry little pussy."
But he didn't want this cat in on the scene with me.
"Maybe another time we can let this little pussy in on our fun. She is very furry. But for now, I want your pussy alone," he said as he placed the cat in the bathroom and closed the door.
He stood opposite me and started to undress. It happened very fast, and I decided to do the same thing. It almost seemed to be expected of me.
I unbuttoned my blouse. I removed my clothes, except for the cap.
He stretched out on the bed, holding his cock in his hand.
"Tickle the head of my dick with that fur," he begged me.
I knew how excited he must have been. Certainly, I could understand the full extent of his feeling as I took the pointed tail of fur and moved it lightly over the surface of the head of his cock.
The head of his dick was shaped like a large mushroom, and that gave me a lot of area to work. I knew enough to move the pointed tip of fur very, very lightly. Although he could hardly feel it, he started to squirm madly as I teased him with the fur piece.
I was so hot, I could feel my clitoris just burning and tingling.
The feeling was filling my cunt and coursing through my body. I could feel it all over. I was even more aroused now than I had been on the fur rug the other time because this time somebody was sharing my special arousal.
He was turned on by fur, too.
He didn't even have to tell me what to do. I knew that when the juices started oozing from the head of his cock, that meant that he was aroused. I pressed my finger over the fur piece and used that to smooth the droplets over the surface of the cock head so that he could feel his own ooze, my finger and the fur all at once.
Once the fur piece was damp with his semen, I traced a wet path from the head of his cock down the shaft, and when I got down to his balls, he really started to scream. He was wriggling around like crazy.
"Oh, yeah, baby," he groaned. "That's it. You do it so good."
I felt glad. And I was so turned on.
I tossed the hat on him, covering his cock with it. Then I hopped into the bed with him, smothering his mouth with kisses and pressing my naked charms into him. I could feel the softness of my breasts against his chest. Only my nipples remained hard pressing into him.
What I wanted to feel most right then and there was that fur between our bodies. I could feel his cock, but I could feel the fur on top of it.
And of course, he could feel my pussy.
Since the raccoon fur was prickly, as I told you earlier, it really did a number on my pussy. Some of the little hairs of it were sticking into my slit. Although sometimes, when I bounced my body on his, the fur hairs actually pricked me, most of the time it was the best feeling I could ever imagine.
I loved it.
I started moving in a way I would call undulating. Yes, I was undulating against his stiff prick with the fur between us.
"Oh, that feels so fucking, damn good," he groaned, turning me on even more. "I love a hot, fur bitch."
He called me a fur bitch!
I think I nearly came then and there!
Certainly, the words "fur bitch" started my juices flowing, and the raccoon piece was soaked with my cuntal lather.
We continued to create a friction with the raccoon tail between us. We were both screaming with passionate joy by the time the raccoon had made my pussy red.
I was so turned on, and to think, we weren't even really fucking.
Of course, as far as I'm concerned, this was much better than fucking!
Just before we both reached a point of no return, he stopped us.
Yes, I was nearly ready to reach a thunderous climax, and he made me stop.
"Not so fast," he told me. "I want this to last for a long time."
He went to the closet and took out a long beaver coat. It was a man's winter coat. He made me lie down on the floor, completely naked, and then, wrapped in this full length fur coat, he mounted me.
"Oh, God, I'm going to cum just from the feel of you on top of me," I groaned.
"Not yet," he said.
But he felt like some giant, furry animal on top of me, and I was afraid I couldn't hold back. I held him close, feeling the fur rubbing softly against me.
I ran my fingers all over him.
He got up for a minute, leaving me panting and begging for more. I was actually screaming, and later he told me I was yelling so loudly, he was afraid the neighbors would hear me.
"Come back to me, you great big furry animal," I called to him.
I really wanted him.
He had gone to the drawer to take out a condom. Unlike the other man, this one was prepared. Of course, I didn't even know his name! Other girls would have called me a slut, a whore, and every other trampy name in the book if they knew that I was having sex with a man who had merely bought me an eight dollar hat in order to have me. I mean, I didn't know him. I didn't even know his name.
But it didn't matter at all. All that mattered was the joy of this sex.
He slipped the rubber on. I could see that his cock was very stiff now. It was sticking out of the front of the fur coat. He was just a mass of fur, this dark, rich brown fur, with a cock sticking out the center.
I imagined some furry animal and the way the erect penis would come out from the furry sheath which protected it. This is what it was like for me, and I parted my legs wide. I reached down to my lathered pussy lips.
My fingers started stroking the inner walls. More juice dripped.
I opened my pussy wide.
"Fuck me, you animal!" I screamed. "Fuck me!"
He was like a giant King Kong, a furry beast with a stiff dick. And when he entered me, I knew what it felt like to have an orgasm the moment a man gets inside.
Once my climax started, it didn't stop. It just kept going and going, like a never-ending series of climaxes, and he plowed his cock into me.
I just kept screaming that he was an animal attacking me, and he grunted and made animal noises as I grabbed at his fur and pulled at it.
When he exploded inside of me, I felt the spunk just gushing in, and it practically burned my pussy, it was so hot and so plentiful.
After it was over, we stayed in each other's arms. He continued to stroke my soft skin, and I continued to stroke his "fur."
Then, so aroused was I, I started to rotate my hot little cunny again, and soon he was stiff again, and fucking me like a wild boar.
This happened four times during the several hours we were together.
There was no doubt in my mind that the fur turned him on as much as it turned me on. But at this point, having grown so pleased with the feeling of his big cock filling me up, I thought that I might even be able to have sex with him without the fur.
But there was no need to try it. That would probably happen with others. At the moment, I wanted nobody other than him, though.
Well, I asked him if he was always turned on to fur, or if he was doing it just for my benefit. I mean, I looked at myself in th mirror, and even with my soft flesh reddened by the fur, I was a very pretty little girl, and I could imagine a man going to great lengths to have a chance with me.
Any man could have a fur coat in his closet, and once he had been perceptive enough to realize that fur was my thing, he could have followed through, just to get me. He might have gone along with anything.
But he told me that he was crazy about fur, and promised me that our "fur fun" was not over, lie told me that he was going out of town for a week to visit a relative. It was a plan that had been made long in advance of our meeting. But he told me that he would bring me back some surprise, and that I could bet it would be something furry.
Then he opened one of the drawers of his bureau and brought out something I had never seen before. It was a pair of brief bikini panties, and they were made out of fur!
"Oh my God," I groaned. "I don't believe it!"
"Don't you just love them?" he asked me. "Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes of course!"
I was naked and he helped me put them on. They felt so soft against my pussy.
"Wear these and think of me," he told me. "You'll feel them rubbing softly against your privates when you walk, and you'll be constantly reminded of me."
I told him that I'd wear them every day.
"Good," he answered. "That way, the natural juices of your pussy will get into the fur, and I'll be able to sniff it all in."
He was certainly right about that because whenever I wear them, which had been every day since then, I can feel my juices just oozing out more than ever because I'm in a constant state of arousal.
It's like having a furry little animal at my pussy at all times, and every time I move, I can feel that wonderful feeling in my privates.
Would you like to see my fur panties, doctor?
CONCLUSION
Although there is a chance that Dorothy's good spirits were fleeting ones, I had to recommend that she not continue with therapy. Although I found it oddly exhibitionist that she would offer to show me her fur panties, I also realize that it might just be due to her joy at having found someone who shared her particular "fetish."
There is certainly no harm in the mutual enjoyment of a fur fetish, and in fact, it might represent only a heightened sense of the tactile modality which all of us have experienced.
Some of Dorothy's pleasure was also involved with particular images which she held in mind; the sexual fantasy of being ravaged by a furry beast. But since she herself volunteered the idea that she might be able to function sexually without the presence of the fur, I must take that as a positive sign.
Once a person knows what turns him or her on, as long as it does not harm others, it seems reasonable to indulge. I advised her to contact me if she had any further difficulty in this area, but she has not gotten back to me.
I can only assume that she worked out her situation on her own, as she had started to, even in the brief period between our two interview sessions.
CASE HISTORY THREE
SUBJECT: Betty W. AGE: twenty-one
INTERVIEW ONE
When Betty W. came to my office, she had been employed at a large shoe store in the local shopping center. It was interesting that she had sought employment in a place where the accent was totally on footwear, since her particular "fetish" involved shoes.
A tall, well built, redhead, she seemed perfectly poised and at ease. She was well dressed, wearing a fashionable two piece woman's suit, and high black patent leather boots with pointed toes and squared off heels.
The boots were actually the most striking part of her ensemble.
She told me that she was having difficulty in her work, despite the fact that she had been attracted to the job because it would put her in constant contact with shoes.
She explained that her attraction for shoes had begun at a very early age. The following is a transcript of our first session.
When my mother used to take me shopping, I know that I always hated it. I didn't like trying on dresses or shorts or coats, or anything like that.
In fact, I really didn't like to have people fussing with me at all, for as long as I can remember. When I had to have my hair cut at the beauty parlor or even by mother before that, it was always an ordeal for me.
There was only one kind of fussing and shopping which I liked, and that was involving shoes. When it came time to take a trip to the shoe store, I was wild with enthusiasm.
I can smell the scent of those stores even now. The one I went to was a rather imagine store which specialized in children's shoes. My mother always thought that shoes were very important and she believed in having a good pair of shoes for me, no matter what the price of them might be.
After all, they were my feet and I would have to walk on them all the time. An ill-fitting pair of shoes would hurt me, and could cause damage to my feet, she told me. I've always agreed.
First I would look at the shoes in the window. They would be on display and I can remember being attracted to the bright red shoes.
Then we would go inside and the scent of all that fresh leather got to me. It would filter into my nostrils and I would breathe it in. I even told my mother how much I loved the smell inside the shoe store, and she would laugh.
There was usually a wait until a salesman was ready to deal with us, and I didn't mind because I was willing to spend a lot of time in such a store, and in fact, if I could have had my way, I would have stayed there all day.
I'd watch the other kids walking around in their new shoes, trying them out, seeing how they felt, and looking at them in those little mirrors which stood on the floor at an angle which allows you to see how your foot looks.
My mother always made sure that I was wearing clean socks without any holes in them when I went to the shoe store, and I guess that's how I got from the beginning the importance of the shoe store and the importance of making a good impression on the people who waited on you in such a store.
I remember this one man with a nice smooth face, a broad smile, slicked back black hair and a strong, tall body. I always wanted him to put my shoes on me, but my mother trusted another man who had been in the store for many years.
This other man was older, and if the young man would come over to us to serve us, my mother would tell him that she was waiting for Harry.
Well, Harry was certainly very nice too, and he would always have such warm hands when he helped me. He'd ask me and my mother what we wanted and we'd mention something that we'd seen in the window.
Then he would take one of my feet, and I guess that my feet were small enough to fit exactly in the palm of his hand. He'd hold my foot for a minute with one hand as he unlaced my laces and pulled off my shoe.
When my foot was bared in only a sock, he would give it a little squeeze.
He had a silver slide rule kind of thing which he would use to measure my feet. He did this on both feet, telling me that one of my feet was a little bit larger and wider than the other, but that this was natural.
He said most people were like that.
My feet were small, but wide.
I'd wiggle my toes, stretching them a bit because I knew that if my foot was bigger, I would qualify for some of the larger shoes with the pretty straps across the front. These were the shoes the older girls were wearing.
It was really something because Mother was a bit out of it sometimes. One day, I know that she had taken a Valium or something, doctor, and she just simply was not paying attention to me at all.
Daddy had warned her, however, that I needed new shoes and that if she didn't get her ass in gear and get me a pair, he'd beat her.
Anyway, at the time, Mother was just resting, sort of dozing off, looking off into the other direction as Harry took my little foot in his hand. I felt him squeezing my foot gently, and I knew that it meant something nice.
He liked me.
His hand was wet on the palm as he held my little foot with the white sock on it. I was wiggling my toes through the thin material of the sock.
When I looked up at Mother to see if she was paying attention, I saw that she was not.
She was out of it. She was a million miles away.
When I looked back down at Harry crouching on the floor between my legs, I caught him looking up my dress!
I was wearing a very short skirt that day, and from the position that he was in below me, I know that he was able to stare right up into my little cunny! I was shocked, but it did feel good to be looked at like that by a grown man.
I mean, after all, he was a fully grown man and I was just a little girl!
So I squeezed my little cunt lips together with the inner muscles of my young pussy, and the thin white cotton material of my panties covering the curve and the cleft of my little snatch were visible to him up my skirt.
I figured that if it was alright for him to look up my skirt, I could look between his legs, too.
Since he was crouching down, it was easy for me to see. And what I saw certainly startled me. You see, I had been aware of looking down between that man's legs before, but all I ever caught sight of was the way his baggy brown pants fell over each other, all bunching Up and showing nothing.
But this time, as he squeezed my little feet with his strong hands, I looked down between his legs and saw something that looked like a sausage between his legs. The folds of the baggy material just didn't hide the sausage underneath. It was bouncing around, straining at the front of the material.
Suddenly, I felt all funny inside.
I knew somehow that me and my feet had done this to him. Even though I knew nothing about the workings of the mind and body, that much I could tell. I guess it was some kind of instinct.
He brought me a pair of shoes and since Mother was still gazing off like a zombie, he took his time. He used every moment to play with my feet.
He even tickled the bottom of my foot, and I started to giggle.
It felt so good to be touched by a man like this.
He slid a shoe on my foot. It was a shiny patent leather Mary Jane, just as I had always wanted. At last, my foot was big enough!
I felt like Cinderella, getting that glass slipper placed on her foot. I felt all hot all over and I guess that Harry the shoe salesman did also.
It seems that Mother finally came to, however, and we were soon finished with the purchase. Once she came back onto the scene, it wasn't quite the same.
But Harry gave me a special wink as we left the store some time later. I'll never forget it.
I wanted to go back to the store the next day, by myself, just to see Harry and give him my feet to play with. I fantasized about having him lie back and feel my naked feet on his face.
In bed that night, I bent over and held my foot up to my own face. I licked the bottom of my foot to feel how it would be to have a tongue sliding across the smooth, uncalloused surface of pink.
I didn't mind it at all. My saliva felt warm as it traced a path.
I wiggled my tongue between my toes. It felt real good to imagine that Harry's tongue might do that. I wondered if he'd like it if I walked across his face gently, of course.
I would take my foot and place it between his legs. I'd let him feel it, warm and wet, inside between his thighs.
It suddenly became clear to me that my feet were very attractive. It was my feet which had turned on a grown man, and I began to think that my feet were exceptional.
I also started to think about the feet of other people. I remember how much I loved going to the beach because at the beach I could see all the various feet that people had feet that were usually pent up in tight shoes, and it aroused me.
As I grew into my early teen years, I became more and fascinated with feet. My own feet, and the feet of others.
But it was not that easy finding people who understood, or who shared my interest. I started wearing high boots, since that was the fashion among older women at that time, a few years ago. I thought that showcasing that part of my body would lead attention there.
Indeed, I was correct about that. I did notice many men looking at my feet in those boots. I would paint red circles at the fronts of the boots, or buy boots which were especially flashy, all to draw attention there.
Most of the boys I dated were just too green to understand about delighting all of a girl's body. Their hands were immediately at my breasts, or working their way down to my pussy.
They just didn't catch on, even when I bared my feet, (and that was usually the first thing I'd do when we got someplace where it was possible.)
The closest I came to satisfaction during that period of my life was with a boy named Bob. I don't know, there was something about Bob which I found exciting, and I figured from the beginning that he was a creative boy, as far as sex was concerned.
We met at school and he asked me out to the movies. We went to a double feature. I had been wearing penny loafers and stockings. As soon as the lights went down, I kicked off my shoes.
I guess my feet had been sweating slightly. Or maybe I was just more aware of them than others were. I could smell the unique scent of a woman's feet in nylon stockings.
It aroused me, even though it was my own!
I took my foot and moved it up his leg. I used it to feel his leg beneath his pants. I know he liked it. He was responding, and he took my hand and placed it in his lap.
I felt his cock. It was growing, and after a while, he unzipped himself and placed it in my hand. I was very aroused, not because I was holding a warm, naked prick in my hand for the first time, but because I was stimulating him with my feet at the same time.
I imagined taking my leg, raising it, and placing my foot on his dick. I imagined using my control to sort of squeeze his cock with my foot!
And that was when I started to feel all wet at my cunt, and something happened inside of me. I couldn't help moaning, and I was afraid that others would hear me.
It was quite something. I was having an orgasm.
It seemed to go on and on. Then, when it was over, I was breathing very hard.
Later we went back to his place. His parents had gone to a party, so the place was free. I was sitting on the couch with him. He kicked off his shoes and was sitting there in sweat socks.
I was feeling those feelings in my pussy again. I bent down and gently took his left foot in my hands. I know that I was trembling.
I caressed his foot with loving adoration and placed the side of my face against it. With my tongue, I licked his foot through his sweaty sock. With my teeth, I found the top of the sock and began to pull it down.
I wanted to expose his naked toes. I was ready to take his foot and stuff it in my mouth. I wanted to suck on it like a dick!
He was aroused. I know he was. I heard him groaning slightly, and he told me that already I was the hottest girl he had ever been with.
I pulled the sock off with my teeth. For a moment, I let him watch me with his sock hanging out of my mouth. I guess I was like his little love puppy at that moment.
I started on his toe his big toe. At first I just stared at it. I was in awe. Never had I seen anything like this in my life. I mean, not up close. Not actually holding it in my trembling hand.
He was so hairy, he had hair on the front of his big toe. This made me moan.
I placed my lips to it and started to suck on it.
No, I didn't imagine that it was a penis. If I had been sucking his penis, I might have imagined that it was a toe. It was his feet that I wanted more than anything.
I started to cum right then and there, sucking on his toe.
Once this second orgasm of the evening was over, my panties were soaked. He knew that I was having something inside of me, because I was bouncing around, holding my pussy, moaning and so on as I sucked on his toe.
But I'm not sure that he realized that I had orgasmed.
However, as soon as the convulsions stopped, I was turned off. I didn't want to do any more. I tried to get up and I told him that I'd have to go. This made him mad.
"You suck on my toe and then you tell me you're leaving, you cock teasing little bitch? You turn me on and then you let me down?"
He really didn't understand. I was satisfied. For him, it was just a form of foreplay.
"You're not getting out of here until I've shot my load, bitch," he snarled.
It frightened me. I didn't know what it would be like, but I did know that suddenly he wasn't very nice. He was mean and he came after me, holding me down as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick again.
He started to rub his penis on my face. The scent of his cock and balls was sticking to my skin. I tried to get away, but he slapped me and warned me that he'd really beat me up for being such a cock tease, if I didn't cooperate.
I didn't know exactly what he meant by cooperated, but I soon found out. He started jerking on his prick, pulling the thick, long thing back and forth, back and forth.
Suddenly, his face contorted into an expression of gritting teeth and closed eyes. It seemed that every muscle in his body tensed, and I looked at that veiny monster of a prick which was right up against my face, and I swear, the purple head of it started to pulsate and get even bigger, and the veins were just jutting out.
He held it at the base, called me a nasty name, and started to shoot a stream of thick white goo. I didn't even realize what was happening at first. I just saw something fly out of the hole at the head of his cock.
I reared back, trying to get away, but he held me in place.
The stuff was hot as it splashed on my face.
I would have still been aroused to see his feet, but by this time, I only wanted to get out of there. He relaxed after he had spewed his cream.
I used the chance to get out.
From that experience, I knew that I hated cocks. What I wanted was feet. I was always looking at feet, in shoes, or out. I started wearing open-toed things, and I caught many men looking down at my bare feet through the shoes, but how was I to know what their real interests and intentions were?
After all, look what had happened with Bob.
One day I happened to find a store with dirty books and magazines and newspapers in it. I knew what drew me inside that store.
Of course, I was torn about going inside at first. I was ashamed to be seen inside such a porno shop. I was not yet twenty, doctor, so it was quite a problem for me to go in there.
But I was praying that there might be some kind of swingers' paper like I'd heard about, and that it would not be as ashamed as I to introduce me to others who shared my fetish.
Once I had mentioned it to a boy, and he said I was sick. Others just didn't respond or said they understood, but couldn't be part of my foot fantasy. So of course, I was hoping for the best this time.
Timidly, I went into the store. I felt as if all eyes were staring through me. It was humiliating, but then I found a magazine called "High Steppers."
On the cover was a foot in a stiletto heel. A man's tongue was beneath the sharp point of the heel which seemed to be digging in.
I felt so aroused. I was excited and felt pussy juice dripping down from my cunt, down my naked legs. I was weak and thought I would pass out. I was on the verge of orgasm as I opened the magazine.
Inside, there were pictures of shoes, and feet, and articles on toenails and toenail polish, and the wearing of silver rings on the toes, and so much that I had never dreamed of seeing inside a magazine.
I guess that was the moment that I realized that there was no turning back. I remembered Harry, the shoe salesman from my childhood days, and I wondered if his attention to my feet had been the cause of this, or if I would have needed this kind of stimulation anyway.
It didn't really matter, now, I suppose, but the emotion was welling up inside of. In fact, I feel so strange about it now, doctor.
I feel like I'm just going to pass out. I've broken out in a cold sweat, and my stomach is, oh, oh, ah, doctor.
I'm cumming.
INTERVIEW TWO
At the end of our previous interview session was indication enough that she was deeply immersed in her need for sex using her particular fetish desires, and that she also had much guilt about what she considered to be unusual desires.
She began the second interview by apologizing for her orgasm previously, and she offered to pay for the chair she felt she had ruined with the juices which dripped from her cunt vagina.
I explained to her that she should not feel guilty about what had happened, and assured that the chair, or couch, as it actually was, was not damaged and that she was paying enough already.
This seemed to calm her down, mostly because my attitude was casual. I was not going to make her feel that she was wrong for reaching orgasm.
My, how many of my patients come to me for the opposite situation! They cannot achieve orgasm and wish so desperately to do so!
Of course, in Betty W.'s case, the problem was in the fact that she could only achieve orgasm through her foot fetish, or so I had thought, up until this point. At this session she went further with her story, and new information started to come to the surface.
The following is a transcript of that interview.
Where was I?
Oh, yes, I was telling you about the magazine I found.
Well, I got out of that store real quickly, and since I didn't want the man behind the desk to know that I was buying that foot fetish magazine, I also grabbed a few other magazines, so that I could pay for them all at once.
That way, he wouldn't know that I was interested in feet. He would think that a pretty, young girl such as myself was doing some sort of research or something like that.
At least, he wouldn't single me out as a foot freak.
The other two items I bought were just as bizarre, of course. One was a book on spanking, and the other was a book about women with animals!
Funny, I didn't mind him thinking that I liked to get spanked, or even that I sucked off dog dicks! It was only my real fetish which I wanted to hide, and that told me something about my attitude toward myself and my sex life, doctor. I mean, I'm no fool. I knew that I was ashamed of it.
Maybe it was because Bob had made fun of me for it and had shot scum in my face. Maybe it was just because I had never met anybody else with the same interest, other than Harry, the shoe salesman.
Now I knew why Harry had taken that job. But I was afraid to go into shoe stores to find men who also gravitated toward that profession for similar reasons. I don't know why, doctor. I just was afraid.
But at last I had found the answer. It was in this fetish magazine.
I could hardly contain myself. I took the bus home, and sat on the back seat. I peeked inside my brown paper bag and tried to take a better look at the delights contained inside the magazine.
But soon another woman sat down beside me, and so I didn't dare take the magazine out, for fear that she would see it.
When I arrived home, I took the bag and stuffed it up the back of my blouse. I could feel it pressing against my back, and I put my sweater on over it.
You see, I didn't want my mother to see me with a package, because she's very nosy, and I was afraid that she'd ask to see what was in it.
Luckily, she was busy cooking in the kitchen when I got home, and so I managed to get into my room and lock the door behind me without her seeing me, or hearing the rustling of the brown paper bag in my back.
I was on my bed, looking through the pages, and getting hot. My fingers drifted down to my hot little cunny. I started fingering the moistening slit. I pressed my fingers in deep.
Oh, it felt so good. It was one of the best feelings I ever had.
I looked through the pages. So much turned me on. But I hadn't found the exact ad of my desire, until suddenly, it popped up from the page.
There was a photograph of two feet. One foot was a man's foot, and it was naked except for strips of rawhide which wound in and out between his toes. Beside that foot was a woman's foot, gracefully arched in a glass shoe with a heel that was over six inches tall!
Beneath the photographic image was the word FEET.
The ad said that this person loved feet. He was the one with the leather strips going in and out of his toes "because it feels so good to feel the binding of my toes. Tickle my feet with feathers and I cum."
I was practically cumming myself!
My damp pussy was really juicing.
The ad went on to say, "I love to see smooth women's feet in my specially designed glass slippers. Totter across my bedroom floor and let me suck on the smooth glass heel. You're beautiful feet deserve to be loved."
Then there was his telephone number.
I was just so hot, I thought I would faint. I looked at the picture and started masturbating for real. I mean, I was really digging into my pussy, fingering myself like mad as I looked at the picture and imagined myself in those weird glass heels.
At last, a man who admired feet.
I didn't know what his face looked like, or what his body was like. He might be young, he might be old. He might have a mean temper, or no temper at all. He might be Republican or Democrat, or smart or dumb, or rich or poor.
It didn't matter.
He had beautiful feet, and he had the same appreciation of feet that I did. I wanted him. I needed him. I called him.
I could feel myself get weak as I waited for him to answer the phone. It rang and rang. I wondered if a woman might pick it up. It just kept ringing.
He wasn't home!
I dialed the number again, just to make sure. Maybe I had made a mistake the first time and dialed the wrong number. I practically had that number memorized already.
It rang and rang.
Again, there was no response.
Suddenly, I heard something at the door to my room. The doorknob was turning back and forth, but since the door was locked, it was no use.
"Betty, are you in there?"
It was my mother's voice.
"Yes, Mother," I said, quickly jumping up and hiding the magazine, along with the others, between my mattress and the box spring of the bed.
"Why is this door locked?" Mother insisted.
"I want some privacy," I yelled back.
"Well open it up this instant, young lady! There are to be no locked doors in this house."
Damn her. Her feet were ugly! I opened the door.
"That's better," she said. "I didn't even know you were in the house. You scared me half to death when I saw the door locked like that. I didn't know if "there was a burglar in the house or what. You might have said hello or something when you came in."
"Mother, I have other things on my mind!" I snapped.
"We all do, but that's no excuse..."
I really wasn't listening to her any longer. I just saw her ranting and raving, but I had sort of turned off the volume. It was as if no sounds were coming from her.
Finally, there was a break for dinner. Before I went to the dining room, I tried the number one more time. By this time I had it memorized.
Still, there was no answer.
Throughout dinner, my thoughts were on this man who shared my special interest. It was all I could do to swallow my food. Really.
After dinner, I ran to the phone again. I called, and this time he answered!
I can remember his voice very well. It was deep and had a sort of resonant quality to it. I couldn't place an identity to it, but I was thinking of those feet.
In a way, I wanted to use him now, and masturbate my pussy over the phone. I had my fingers in my snatch again.
I was dripping profusely that golden nectar.
"Hi, my name is Betty. I saw you're ad in 'High Steppers' magazine."
I paused and he responded.
"Oh, yes," he said. He sounded pleased.
I was nervous. I felt the sweat breaking out at my forehead and under my arms. I felt my voice quavering. I was hoping that Mother would not pick up the extension to make a call. As it was, I was whispering, with the door closed.
And my feet! They were tingling!
"Well, I was interested in getting together with you," I said.
"And tying my feet with binding strips of rawhide?"
"Yes," I rasped.
"And wearing my special glass slippers so that you totter around like a tall angel for my pleasure while I make love to your feet?"
"Yes, yes," I rasped again.
"Will you let me manicure your toenails, and paint them exotic colors, so that I'll ejaculate all over them, mixing my white sperm with your beautiful foot flesh."
"Oh, ooooohhh, yessssss."
"And will you sleep with my foot in your mouth?"
"Yes."
"And up your ass."
"Yessssss."
"And between the lips of your cunt?"
"Oh, God, yes! You know I will!"
"And will you let me tweak your tit nipples with my talented toes?"
"Oh, yes," I moaned.
And then I started to cum!
I started to cum and he must have known it, even over the telephone. I was panting and still, he poured it on, almost taunting me into the most violent orgasm of my young life.
"Will you let me tie up your feet with the leather strips, too, so that you will feel the constriction until I let them free."
"Ahhhhhhhhhh."
"And will you let me whip the soles of your feet with the leather strips, until the whiteness becomes red?"
"Ahhhhhhhhhh," I groaned.
"And will you..."
But I hung up the phone in exhaustion.
It was terrible for me, doctor. I mean, I had gotten so close. I had finally found the man I needed. I had finally found the man who could give me fulfillment.
So long, I had been unsatisfied. So long I had been yearning for what I needed. I mean, I had been unable to perform, unable to reach orgasm, unable even to have interest in a man unless I was thinking about feet:
Now, finally, I had found what I needed and longed for, and I hung up on him because I got so excited.
I was afraid that if I called him back, he wouldn't believe that I was for real in my interest. I had already told him my name.
Why had I created it for myself this way?
Was I ashamed?
I didn't know.
But it stayed in my head for a long time. I looked through the magazine. His was the only ad which really turned me on. I wanted him and him alone, and. so I decided that I would have to call him again.
I wasn't sure whether I would explain what had happened or if I would disguise my voice and come on as another person, following through this time. I think that I wanted to be truthful with him, though, because this was the possible start of something very big.
But when I called, I received a terrible shock.
"The number you have reached has been disconnected."
It was a recorded message. It sounded like some operator talking up her ass. I slammed the phone down. Maybe it was a mistake.
I dialed again. Again, I received the same recording and no number replacing it. I think I cried.
I know I felt empty. I called the number again, several days later, hoping upon hope that maybe the number would be back again, but finally, after a month, a woman came on the other end, and she said it was a new number for her. The person who had the number before had probably moved to another state.
That was a year and a half ago!
In the whole time, I have never been fulfilled. I have never found what I need, even though I'm now at the point of taking shoes and sticking them up my pussy and sleeping like that all night.
I've actually stretched my pussy to a size seven, D-width!
Can you believe it, doctor?
I just can't stand it. I need somebody who understands and shared this fetish, or else I need to stop it all together. I don't know which, but if I don't get help, I'm going to just die of grief.
At this point I stopped the tape recorder and took time to assure the patient that nobody need die of grief over a shoe up the vagina.
Although I could not pretend that such is a common act for a woman to perform on herself, I did insist that help was with her.
In later sessions, we examined her attachment to the shoe fetish. It was something that had aroused her, for good reason, many years earlier, when she was a child in that shoe store.
It had served her well back then to escape into her foot fantasies with an older man who shared them, and encouraged her in them, while her own father, and her mother as well, showed no interest in this desire.
But what was good for her back then had become a pattern. Established to suit her needs as a child, the pattern had stayed on long after it was useful to her.
In another session she explained that she regretted relating to a person's feet alone. What about his heart? What about his mind?
She admitted that she responded to the feet of a man she had never seen. Only his foot was in the ad, and he was her secret lover for a year after that. No wonder it was unfulfilling to her. Although there is nothing wrong in appreciating feet, there must be something more for satisfaction.
We are still in therapy, and it may take some time before Betty comes to grips with her real needs and desires. I believe that she has been afraid of relating to men because of some control which she feels her mother is placing on her. Remember, her mother was present when she first felt the urge back at the children's shoe store. She was playing with the salesman only when her mother was not looking at her.
However, I will not present this theory to her until she comes up with it herself. I will merely suggest that perhaps she chose her desire for feet as an alternative to growing up and relating to the whole person.
It will be up to Betty to decide whether or not this is true for her, and then, she will be free to indulge in it or not.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
SUBJECT: Marilyn M. AGE: Twenty
INTERVIEW ONE
I must admit that I was stunned by Marilyn M.'s physical appearance when she was brought to me by her guidance counselor at high school. She was twenty years old, and still in high school, having been left back several times, not because of lack of intellect, but because of emotional problems.
She could not concentrate on her schoolwork.
What stunned me about her, I imagine, was that she was the ultimate classic case of a Lolita-nymphomaniac. This means, a young girl who makes herself look and act even younger, combining this infantile appearance and manner with an insatiable need for sexual contact and activity.
She was wearing a pink pinafore, although her fully grown breasts were virtually busting out the front of the dress. It was cut like a mini skirt in front, exposing the most perfect pair of legs I have ever seen.
She was clearly beautiful enough to be a model or a movie star, and because of her particular complex, her began rubbing her leg up and down my own leg, right from the start.
Her long blonde hair fell loose from its pony tail, waving suggestively over one eye. She was pouting and licking her lips, and she whispered in my ear in a girlish coo, "Oh, Daddy, fuck me."
Those were her first words to me!
The guidance counselor, an older woman with severe black clothes and hair tightly pulled back into a bun, offered her apology, but said that there was nothing she could do. The girl had been behaving like this with every male she came in contact with, and with some women, as well.
She said that the school which Marilyn was attending lost their psychologist in a cutback of funds. Besides, nobody could handle Marilyn. Then she took back that statement. She said that everybody handled her in the hallways, and I finally was able to pull Marilyn off of me, but order to keep her from exposing herself, I had to tie her to a chair.
It was an unusual treatment, but it was required in order to get her story from her. Everything she said in this first interview session was designed as a come-on by her.
This was one case which required my full effort to assure that it remain as professional a matter as possible.
The following is a transcript of the session.
Oh, doctor, those ropes feel so good against my breasts, you know? They're just digging into me, and it's making my nipples real firm.
You say you want to know why I'm like this? Well, honey, I just can't help myself. It's like I have this itch inside my hot little twatty which just needs to be scratched by a big cock.
Any cock will do!
Come on, give me yours, doctor. I want it. When my hot little cunt lips close around it, you'll be in heaven.
You'll cum in a minute, filling my box with all that man-spunk of yours. Oh, baby, please give it to me. Let me free of these ropes so I can wrap my legs around you. Or just pull up my dress and fuck me when I'm tied. I don't care. I'm not wearing panties. Take a look.
(It was essentially impossible to get any answers from her at this session. She was writhing about seductively, and it was obvious that she needed some special treatment in order to respond more appropriately. I am licensed to administer medication when needed, and I gave her several drops of a sedative in serum form. She licked it off the spoon, sucking on the spoon for as long as she could. This particular drug allows a classic nymphomaniac to calm down. It dulls the cuntal membranes while allowing the brain to function with alertness. After the drug took effect, we continued the interview, and she was willing to talk.)
Oh, doctor, I feel like I have a fat dildo up my pussy. Oh, thank you. I feel so much better. You know, sometimes, to help myself fall asleep, I stuff a ten inch dildo up my pussy. I sleep with it inside me all night. I can't fall asleep without that. I'm sure you know how it is. You must get that way, too, sometimes.
You know, I didn't always feel this way. When I was a real little girl, I was a pretty thing. Everybody was always commenting about my rosy cheeks, my twinkling blue eyes, my blonde curls, and so on.
But of course, I hadn't reached the stage of sexual excitement, so bouncing my pussy on a man's knee was just a game to me.
Letting the boy next door lick my flat titties until the nipples swelled up a little bit in his sucking mouth was just fun for me. Nothing more.
Well, this kind of thing went on for years. I was always experimenting with sex, but it was harmless, and not really sexual. When I let a neighbor boy pee inside my pussy, I really think it was a natural thing.
It's lonely to be alone, and so I told myself then and there that I would always have boyfriends like this, and I would be a good girl for them, showing them a real good time. I'd be their pal and play with them.
The other girls my age didn't particularly like me. It was because I enjoyed playing with real live boys more than with dolls. In fact, I had no girlfriends. All my friends were boys, although I was not a tom-boy. I was a real live girl, and the boys knew that.
They loved to take me in their parents' garages and look at my body. They liked my hairless pussy, and I had no shame about showing it to them.
After all, it had won me many friends.
I always thought that I was the prettiest girl in the school. When I looked into the mirror, I liked what I saw, but I think I based my feeling more on what other people told me.
They said I was sexy, especially at that period when other girls are awkward that period when a girl becomes a woman.
I saw the way my little breasts were blossoming. I liked it. I wanted to speed up the process, and so I took the little buds and fastened rubber bands around the nipple. Other bands were tied around the breasts themselves.
I thought that this would make my titties bigger, faster.
And to this day, I believe that. They blossomed into real beauties, and my pussy became crowned with a golden fleece.
I was really in demand now, and I didn't hold back.
A girl-likes to be appreciated, if you know what I mean. Every time a boy fucked me, I took it as his way of saying he loved me.
Other girls were so damn moral about that kind of thing. They told me that I was a whore and called me white trash. They said I was lucky for not getting pregnant, but I never gave it a thought.
I was happy and I was popular. I was loved!
They were not. They weren't getting any.
They called me kinky. They didn't know that I was loved.
But I started needing more love, and more love.
One man was not enough for me. After I allowed his cock to come out of my pussy, still dripping, I would need it again, ten minutes later.
One day I had a date with a boy. I guess I was fourteen years old at that time. I let him take his prick and stick it between my breasts, which were a size thirty-six by my thirteenth birthday.
He came from the friction of my tits against his cock. I licked it up and begged him to fuck me, but he had lost his erection, and I had to leave, still yearning for more.
I left his apartment and walked down the street. I didn't wear a bra, and I know that my nipples were poking through the front of my tight-fitting t-shirt. My jeans were so snug on me, you could see the crack of my well-rounded ass, and you could see the actual shape of my hot pussy.
Men looked at me, and it wasn't long before one came up to me when I looked him up and down and then paused in front of the candy store.
"You want something to suck on?" he asked me, looking at the lollipops in the candy store window. He meant that he was going to buy me a sucker.
"Yeah, I want something to suck on," I told him. "Your cock!"
Well, he was absolutely shocked. I saw him turn pale. He asked me if I was a hooker. I told him that I didn't know what a hooker was. He said that a hooker is a girl who does it for money. I laughed at that.
"No, I just need it, Daddy," I cooed. "I need it all the time."
And it was true. My little cunny was really hot and I needed him to fuck me. He told me that he lived around the corner, and that his wife wouldn't be home for several hours.
I told him that I wanted to come with him, but that he would have to fuck me very hard in order to make me feel good.
"I need it that way," I told him.
"Come with me, little girl. I'll give it to you, hard!"
He took me back to his little apartment and undressed me. I looked around the place. It was a mess. There was clothing in the bathtub, and on chairs in the house. I figured his wife was a real slob for not cleaning it up.
I let him undress me and go down on me. He parted my tender pussy lips and started working his tongue inside of me. It felt so good. I needed it so badly and I begged him to thrust his dick inside real hard.
He did it hard and long.
I undulated my inner pussy to give his tongue a treat, but after a while, I begged him to screw me.
"Just throw me on the ground and fuck me, Daddy," I moaned. "Do it hard enough to show me how much you love me."
He grinned, and I saw a lustful glint in his eye.
He pulled me down and whipped out his pecker. It was big and hard, and I felt him part my juicy cunt lips with the head of it.
"No, don't be so gentle," I told him. "Don't go in slowly. Really ram it home."
He looked hesitant at first, probably because I'm a rather delicate girl, or at least, I was then, except for my big tits. So he was afraid that he would hurt me, or maybe that I was out to get him in trouble for ripping my pussy apart.
But I promised him that I could take it. I told him that it would be an expression of love, and so he did it, real hard.
It hurt, but he smothered my crying lips with kisses. It was his rape fantasy, too. He rammed me constantly for about five minutes, and then he just couldn't hold back any longer, so already, I had learned how to work my tight little pussy until I milked him.
I could actually feel the stuff pumping out of his dick into my pussy. I really could. I was really something. It was burning my pussy because his ramming had ripped it, and now he was pumping cream, hot cream, into me.
I begged him to fill me with it.
I begged him to make my pussy feel pregnant with his white goo.
I was a very, little girl, doctor, and in fact, I still am.
His wife came in during the middle of out act. I thought she would have killed him. She raced into him and started slapping him about the head.
Then she starts telling him, "I told you to clean this house during the day. I expected it to be neat and clean when I got home, and it looks like a pig's pen. I'm going to punish you for that!"
Well, I thought that at first she had been angry with her husband for bringing me home, but that wasn't it at all.
She was a real, what do you call it, doctor? A domin, domin, dominatrix.
Yeah, she was a dominatrix and she started ripping off his clothes with her fingernails. She actually ripped through the shirt and the flesh of his back with her digging fingers.
She was really giving him a treatment and she told him to lay down and take his whipping like a man at my cunt!
It was the first time she had mentioned me. It was really a shock because I thought she hadn't even seen me there.
Women never seem to see me, doctor. Only the men.
Anyway, that was what I had thought until this day. I had always believed that ladies didn't like me, because I was too pretty, because I was competition for their men, because, because, I don't know.
But now I discovered that a woman was as aroused for me as a man could be. See, all this time, because the little girls were jealous of my beauty, I had gone hot for men.
And it had left me only half filled.
Now, doctor, I was going to feel filled all the way!
Ooooh, it just makes me break out in goose bumps all over thinking about it. Oh, I just have a chill that's going up and down from my tailbone to...
But doctor, am I being too fresh for you?
Do you think I'm a naughty little girl for talking this way in front of you? Huh, Daddy?
I bet you think you've heard it all, but that won't stop your prick from getting hard over me, now will it?
I'll bet your hot dick is dripping over me already, isn't it, big man? Don't you just want to know what happened between me and the lady?
I'll bet you do. I'll bet your big dick is wet right now, just thinking about it. I'll bet you're wondering how it felt for me to have his head on my pussy while his wife beat him, aren't you?
Sure you are, big Daddy. Sure.
But first tell your sweet little girl how you're gonna fuck her. You gonna fuck me hard or slow? You gonna give it to me in deep, long thrusts, or are you gonna tease me with it, making me use my pussy to beg for it?
You tell me, big man, what is it? How you gonna fill me with that prick of yours. Is it a big one? Is it? Tell you're little girl, because I can make my cunny real tight no matter how big your dick is.
Yeah, if it's small I'll make love to it with the walls of my pussy. I coat it with my sweet cuntal nectars and I'll just slide up and down on it until the sweet cream from your thing just starts filling me.
And you'll feel real big in my tight pussy, because no matter how big a dick I take, I can still close those muscles up on your prick, baby.
Give me a try. Take a chance. I'm tied up and the counselor is out in the other room. I won't scream. You can gag me with your dick, if you want to, just as long as you plug me with it up the pussy, too.
(At this point the patient started really writhing against the restraints. Her breasts were really pushing forward. She was obviously getting over the effect of the calming drug. It was certainly seductive language which she used, and her obvious desire was to tease and to stimulate. It was a manipulative behavior, but I didn't suppress it in her. I believed that if I let her continue, she would reveal more of the reasons for her outrageous behavior. Dr. H.)
Are you dripping, doctor? Is the head of your prick sticking to the front of your underpants because of the goo oozing out?
I'll let you, my cunny is sure wet. If I was wearing undies, they'd be soaked. That's how I got raped in the schoolyard one day, by half a dozen guys. Yeah, that's right, six big guys.
It's no lie, doctor. It really happened. They were six guys, of all colors, of all races. Every dick was different, too, and every fuck style was different, but I took them one after the other, adapting my sweet pussy to every one of them.
Do you think I talk real dirty, doctor? Do you, huh?
I'll bet you think I should be turned over your knee. I bet you'd like to toss up my dress and feel the globes of my hot little ass cheeks in the palms of your hands. You'd really give me a squeezing, wouldn't you?
Or would you really think that I deserve to have my little bottom tanned with your hand until it's red hot?
Maybe you just want to wash my mouth out with soap.
Or...
(I could see that this could go no further. Marilyn was indeed a classic case of Lolita-nympho, and as yet, this is a problem which is difficult to treat. I really wasn't sure if I should even see this girl again. But some professional ethic told me that it was my duty to, and so I untied her and handed her back over to the counselor from her school who took her back there. She was instructed to return to my office one week from that date, at the same hour, without her guidance counselor.)
INTERVIEW TWO
Doctor, I've been feeling much better. I don't know, something came over me. I suddenly didn't need to feel the way I used to.
I don't know, it's hard to explain it. I guess maybe I am growing up, and at some point you realize that you can't stay a girl forever.
I mean, it begins to feel good to grow up. It's like, I heard people call me a woman many times, but I never really believed it until this week.
When I left your office, I was returned to the school. I have in and out rights, which means that I can stay out, as long as I'm back at curfew. As you can imagine, I've often missed curfew and in fact, twice they had to send authorities after me. But I've always gone back because it's my home now.
My parents gave up on me. They said I was just too much trouble. I know that they still love me. I mean, I can feel it, and I'm sure that they can feel it, too. But I guess I am a bit difficult at times, just because I'm always horny.
But that's what's so wonderful. I went out after I was returned to the school. I went walking by myself through the campus. The leaves were falling and the air was cool and I guess that I just recognized the seasons changing.
So I let the breeze caress my body like a new lover and I walked in the falling leaves.
Then, outside the campus gates, I relaxed beneath a tree and thought about things. I thought about love and what it means to love a boy, just one special boy. One boy to have coke with. One boy to love.
It was so different for me. I mean, I guess I have been a whore, and I don't regret it. Whore is such an ugly word. It's one of the nasty names the other girls called me. They didn't know that I just needed to be loved.
I don't think that there was anything wrong about what I was doing. And you know, for a long, long time, I never got pregnant. I never got sick. You know, I never got anything like crabs or those other sicknesses.
But suddenly, I had to have an abortion, and still I continued to get fucked. I had to rest because of getting fucked too much, but I couldn't.
Nothing could stop this restless need.
I guess that's why they finally brought me to you. I don't even remember all the things I might have told you last time we met. All I know is that I remember saying some of those ugly words, to you.
Oh, well, I get off the subject. I was telling you about this boy I met. His name is Scott and he is just an absolute doll. He lives a few doors down from the campus, just where the trees turn orange in the light, over there. And his hair is nearly orange, but more subdued.
He has the cutest smile. I love his teeth. And he has this little dimple at one side of his smile. Oh, I love him so. I'll just let him lift me up and carry me away.
The thing of it is, doctor, when we met, we didn't make out. We didn't have sex. It was unusual for me.
I don't know if he really wanted to, but the thing of it was, I didn't come on to him. I didn't give him that big turn-on thing.
Suddenly I made a realization. It would be too vulgar a gesture for a boy like him. A boy like him deserves sweetness.
I actually talked with him. He told me his dreams. Well, some of them. But the thing about it is, I know that hell be able to make his dreams.
Why not? He's such a charmer. He charmed me right away.
And after a while, we kissed and I left.
I was thinking about him all the way back to the campus. My head was spinning. I'll never forget it. And I got in just as the bell was ringing to signal the time that all girls had to be inside for curfew.
I was thinking about him all the next day. For once I didn't hide inside the boy's bathroom, waiting for boys. They knew I'd be there. They knew which one I usually came and hid inside, and they'd be there with their dicks out.
It was so easy. All that they'd have to do was go in there at break time, and stick out their things. Then I'd be hiding where they soon all found me, and I'd suck them.
One day I took six loads, one after the other, in a single break between classes. It was great and I really felt it in my belly, but you can believe that I was hot again a few hours later.
Anyway, nobody ever told on me because I'd suck them all, and it worked out perfectly for my needs. It was like the sugar I had to suck on in order to calm me. It was my valium. I needed it to calm my quivering quim!
But on this day, I wasn't hot at all. I didn't feel my cunny rubbing hotly against the front of my satin panties. I didn't feel the jelly of my pussy getting wetter and wetter.
All I felt was good.
I was thinking about that boy Scott, and after school was over, I walked to his house, hoping to get even a look at him. That would be enough for me.
But since it was the same hour as the day before, that is, I was there the same hour as I'd been before, he'd come out, half-looking for me, he said.
He was hoping I'd be there, too. He was thinking of me just as I'd been thinking of him. It felt so nice. It made me feel like something more than a cheap whore. This time I let myself go more. I came on to him, tweaking my nipples, but only when he wasn't looking. This was just to make my nipples stand up like firm little suckable nobs.
I didn't have to grease up my pussy lips with the wetness of my hole in order to turn him on. He looked into my face. He looked into my eyes and I could tell that he really cared for me.
It's not that I regret any of the past. I had to go through all of that to get to where I am now, you know what I mean, doctor?
And it's not that I can condemn the other girls who do it, the way I was condemned, because I understand it from having been there.
You know what I'm saying, doctor?
But now I feel that I want to try it with this one boy. I feel that I want to settle down and maybe stop being a nympho. I mean, I know that I've been called that before. That was what the school nurse said about me, too, after hearing my story and seeing my behavior.
She called me a Lolita-nympho.
And I saw that expression written on your notepad, so I know that you thought the same thing about me. But it's not true any longer.
There's been a change and I like it better.
I used to think that I needed that love from a lot of people. Now this boy has taught me that I could probably love anyone.
He may not be able to give me everything, but there's sure a lot that he can give me.
We did have sex together this time, and in fact, we've been doing it every day since then. Every day, we meet at the same time at his little place, and for once, I'm doing it in a bed, instead of in the bathroom, or on the floor, or in a hallway.
It feels nice, doctor, and as you can see, he's helped me see the light. I mean, sex doesn't have to be as easy as a handshake.
It doesn't have to be as casual as going for a hamburger.
I mean, I like it better this way, and as you can see by the tone of my voice and by the quality of the things I'm saying to you, you can see that I've matured in just a week's time. I'm not doing it constantly any longer, doctor, so I'm not a nympho.
And I'm not acting like a little girl, sucking on a pacifier, whining, cooing, wearing bows in her cunt hair. No, I'm a woman now, so you can cross off the Lolita part. I'm a full grown woman, and I know it.
So as you can see, doctor, I've diagnosed myself. I'm not a Lolita-nympho any longer. So I'm alright. You can discharge me. You can let me go.
(There was a long pause on my part, and during my stunned silence, Marilyn sat there on my couch with her legs crossed elegantly in front of her. She was still the most attractive patient I had ever had in my office, but she was indeed a lady this time, and I was amazed at the change.
Still, she might have had some kind of dual personality. I had to see her again. It seemed too simple. She wanted to get out of therapy, and so she was manipulating me to a further degree, fooling me with her wits, as well as with her acting ability.)
Well, doctor, what do you say?
Conclusion:
At this point, as explained, it was too early to draw any conclusions. I had to simply describe her behavior and use the tape which you have just seen as evidence to support my observations.
I needed more time to see her and evaluate her. I had a series of tests which I felt would be important in determining her condition.
I eagerly awaited the following appointment because Marilyn M. was truly one of the most unusual, if not the unusual, patients I had ever seen.
But she didn't report for therapy.
After several hours of waiting, I telephoned the school. They said that she had disappeared. They said that she had left a note in which she'd told them that she was running off with the boy of her dreams.
She said that she had found her mate, and that they should forget about her.
I knew that the boy she had met lived just outside the campus gate. That is what she told me, and as you can refer back, that information appears in the transcribed tape.
I wanted to see if I could find them at home.
But when I approached the gate, I saw that there was no house there. I looked on both sides, back and front. I walked all around the school, but there was no such place to fit the description Marilyn had given me.
Naturally, it was impossible for me to know if any of what she had told me had been true. Some of it had seemed extreme even then, but then, I never know until I have a true feeling of the patient.
I didn't have that with Marilyn.
She never came back. I never saw her again, or even heard of her again, although I often think of her. I wonder if she really settled down with somebody, or if she was ever really a tramp, for that matter.
I wonder if I'll ever know.
I don't think I ever will, but for her sake I hope she really did find the boy of her dreams.
If not, she will never be happy.
CASE HISTORY FIVE
SUBJECT: Lana L. AGE: Thirty-five
INTERVIEW ONE
Lana L. is an attractive, well tailored woman who at thirty-five, looks like a magnificent woman. She is voluptuous, but keeps her manner so polished and demure, that you know that she is truly a lady.
And yet, there is an air of sophistication about her which gives one that come hither sign of availability. It is definitely overshadowed by her sense of manners, however.
I was glad she came to me with her problem. She crossed her shapely legs and went right to the details.
I hardly know where to begin. I never thought that I would need a psychiatrist. I've always considered myself to be a very healthy woman, of sound mind and sound body.
I mean that in the most wholesome sense, of course.
I've been married since I was fifteen years old to the same man. In today's day and age, that's saying something, isn't it, doctor?
I thought it was. And I thought that it was saying something to be proud of. But suddenly I wonder if staying pure and remaining faithful only to my husband is such a wise idea. I feel that I'm missing something.
I have a daughter, Jessica, who is fifteen years of age. I had her when I was twenty and it's quite a shock to suddenly see her growing up to the point where her breasts are forming, and I remember how I was at that age.
But the children today are really so much more advanced than ever before, and I'm afraid that my daughter has gone farther at the age of fifteen than I did. And certainly, I never engaged in any kind of sexual act, not petting or anything, until after my marriage to Bill.
In those days we respected being virgins on our wedding night.
I asked my daughter, under the proper circumstances, of course, if she was still a virgin. She started to fly into a rage and told me that it was none of my business. I'm her mother! And she's telling me it's none of my concern.
Well, I was certainly upset over this, but I wasn't going to fly off the handle and make matters worse. So I waited. I thought that waiting would be best and that there would be a better time for the talk.
I also asked my husband Bill what he felt was best. I told him what had happened with out "Little talk" and asked his advice that very night.
He just continued to read his newspaper.
He was in his bed, I was in mine, the television was going, and he was reading the newspaper.
"Bill," I said. "You're not listening to me."
He told me he was, but he was nodding in such a way that I believed he was simply pampering me to get me off his back, so to speak.
I was hardly on his back. We had separated our marital bed some years before. We transcended the sexual part of our relationship. We didn't need it any longer, and I prefer to stop. So we were mature about it. We did what was best for both of us.
I think it was a mature statement about ourselves. We've engaged in sex many times over the years, doctor, to be sure. We just don't sleep together.
At any rate, I was beginning to see that Bill wasn't listening to me. I began to wonder if he also failed to pick up the full extent of my relations with him in other ways.
It was a time of trial for me.
The other day, I returned home from work early. I'm an accounts executive at a major publishing house in the city. It's a well-respected position with authority and challenge for me. And my husband approves.
His salary and mine are about equal, although I feel that he works more passionately, that is to say, he has to put his entire concentration in his job, while I can coast by at times, and still manage to get the work done in an efficient manner.
But I digress.
I was telling you that I arrived home from work early one day last week. I had decided that I owed it to myself to give myself a little treat and take off in the middle of the day.
To my surprise, as I approached the house, I saw they didn't even bother to draw the drapes of the picture window.
That was quite a picture, I assure you!
Her head was between his legs and he was standing on my bed with his hands on his hips. I could see the back of her head bobbing up and down on him.
I was frozen to the spot.
I have to admit, I didn't know how to react, and so I just stood there with my jaw slacked open and my eyes practically staring holes through the window.
The strange part about it all was that while I was not certain if I was feeling anger, resentment, sadness or shock, I was certain about one thing. I was definitely sexually aroused.
In fact, I was feeling something in my body that I had not felt since I was on my honeymoon. That was when the thin membrane which defined me as a virgin was taken from me, and it tingled.
I felt like a woman for the very first time.
Now, having grown up into really being a sophisticated woman of the world, I find that I had forgotten about what it really felt like to be excited about sex. All those years with the same man had dulled my senses, I think.
And yet, I have considerations wondering if it's fair to my husband. Wondering if I'm just getting older and feel the need to compete with my own daughter. Or maybe, oh, I don't know.
It's just that, I felt aroused.
I felt that I wanted to engage in a sexual practice with my own daughter and her young boyfriend.
Why, he couldn't have been any older than she was. Maybe he was sixteen, sixteen-and-a-half at most. I watched his smooth body as she gave him pleasure with her mouth.
Apparently, he was really enjoying it. His head was rolling back and he was moaning so loudly, I could hear him from the outside of the house.
At times he would contort his handsome face into an expression of ultimate ecstasy. Obviously, Jessica's young mouth was working him right.
I wanted to see how large his organ was.
I wanted to taste it, just the way my daughter was tasting it.
And when I saw her smooth, hairless form from behind, it made my vagina want to be virginal again. I wanted to join them, experiencing them both, drinking up their youth with the wisdom and beauty of my voluptuous body.
But my goodness! I had never engaged in sexual affairs; I had never experienced any man but Bill in that way. And now I wanted to experience it with my own teenaged daughter and her young boyfriend.
It seemed so odd to me. I'm so confused. I just don't know what to do. I haven't told her that I saw her with the boy. Before I was caught peeping on them, I ran away and cried.
Yes, I really broke down and sobbed. It felt good to let it all out. It had obviously been bottled up for so long.
Once I had finished my good cry, I felt much lighter, although I knew that there must be tons of garbage still hidden beneath the surface of my mind.
I walked back to the house slowly, sure that I would find the answers. Looking nervously at the bedroom window, I found that they had departed that room. The covers of the bed were neatly stretched across it.
I made a lot of noise when I entered the house, jangling my keys at the door for then-benefit.
But once inside, I discovered that they weren't home. They had probably finished their activity and left together while I had gone for my cry. I had probably left the view of the window just in time.
When Jessica arrived home at the regular hour, I asked her if she had anything to tell me. She said that she didn't.
Later I asked her if anything unusual had happened during the day. She remained quite blank-faced, and shrugged her shoulders, saying that nothing unusual had happened. It had been a typical day at school.
Now my daughter was lying to my face!
I didn't say anything but the next day I called the school to get a report on my daughter's attendance record. I knew that she had been out from school several times during the semester, but the report indicated a much higher count, and so I had to assume that Jessica had been with this boy, playing hookey, as it's called, other times before.
As if this wasn't bad enough, I still had the strange desire to engage in a three-way sex session with my daughter and the boy.
More than anything else, this thought came into my fantasies.
You know, I looked over at Bill the other night and wondered if I should tell him about all that was going on with me.
But I decided not to.
I decided not to say anything to Jessica or to Bill until I straightened my own head out about the matter. I have always believed in seeking professional advice, and that is why I'm here with you today, doctor.
But I have to admit that I am so terribly confused, I just don't know what's happening to me. Sometimes I just think ... oh, what does it matter?
(At this point Lana L. broke down crying. I assured her that we would work things out. The fact that she had recognized her problem was an improvement over the situation she'd put up with for years.
Already, I suspected that she had suppressed a great deal of emotion. She was an exciting, very good looking, intelligent young woman. Something was telling her that life with her husband could offer her more, if only she could find it.
My "pep talk" seemed to help her, and she promised to return for a follow-up session. As for telling her husband and daughter about what she was going through, I advised against it. Sometimes meaningful relatives can be non-supportive at a time like this, and I really did believe that therapy was essential for Lana L. at this stage to get through the barrier, to jump the hurdle, so to speak.
However, as much as I advised her not to mention this to her husband or daughter until we had met again, I had to tell her also that she must do whatever her own truth told her to do.
By not saying anything, she would not be telling an untruth. She would merely be omitting. So it would be alright. It had to feel comfortable for her. That was the most important thing.
INTERVIEW TWO
Lana L. was very calm when she returned for her second interview. In fact, I feel that it would be safe to describe her as "glowing" although that description may be less than professional for our professional purposes here.
At any rate, I imagined that she had made some advancement on her own.
The following is a transcript of the recorded session of that day.
Doctor, I just can't begin to tell you what an improvement there's been since the last time I saw you. I guess I came upon the solution to the situation myself. Maybe you can give me some confirmation about it. Maybe you can tell me if I did the right thing.
Although, I must tell you now, that from the way I feel, I would have to say for myself that I made the wisest moves in this case.
After speaking with you last time, I returned home. Well, I had a chance to begin working out my part of the situation right then and there.
Imagine, I had hardly been away from your office for half an hour when my life presented the situation for me to work upon, right from the start.
It was really something, I must say.
I entered the house. Jessica and her boyfriend were both there, sitting together in the living room. They had their school books out in front of them on the coffee table, and Jessica introduced the boy as Tom, and said that they had been studying together.
Immediately, I felt all sorts of emotions coming up inside of me, but I just tried to release them. I thought that I would be able to let go of wanting to control the situation between my daughter and her boyfriend. And it worked.
I realized that part of my anticipation was because I wanted to control their behavior. I had to realize that kids today are mature at fifteen. She has to have some responsibility for her own life.
When I allowed her to have it, I felt much better. I didn't hang around all over them. I went up to my bedroom and allowed them to do their own thing.
Of course, once I was behind the closed door, I started to wonder what they might be doing. I really didn't hear anything, and I frankly doubted that they were studying.
I felt a tingling in my vagina, except, for one of the first times in my life, I thought of it as my pussy! I had a tingling pussy, and it felt hot!
When the moistness of it convinced me of my desires, I went downstairs. I did not catch them together, but I did glance down at Tom's pants and I noticed a large bulge at the front of them, with a wet spot where the opening of his penis would be.
As for Jessica, she had a strange look on her face.
"What are you studying?" I asked them. They both spoke at once. "Math," she said'. "Science," he said.
"Uh, science," she said, trying to match his first answer, just as he revised his answer to match hers.
I didn't feel anger this time. I realized that if they trusted me more, they would be able to be more honest with me. If they were able to say what was so without upsetting me, they would do it. I decided to take the lead.
"Listen, I was young once, too," I said.
"You still look real young, Mrs. L.(full name deleted here) In fact, you look better than every other mother I've ever seen," the boy smiled.
"Well, thank you," Tom, I smiled politely. I was quite flattered, and from the way that the boy was looking at my breasts, I realized that he was speaking of my full figure.
I knew now that I didn't feel a terrible competition with my young daughter.
After all, I'm a grown woman. I have so much to offer. I realized that I had to give her more of a guiding hand.
"Do they teach you kids sex education in school?" I asked.
They both looked rather surprised. They looked at each other, and Jessica was blushing. I had never spoken with her like this before.
Tom was the one who spoke up.
"No, Mrs. L., they don't, but I sure wish that did. There's a lot about sex that I really sure need to know. It's not that easy to talk to your parents about it, and your friends know as little as you do."
"Well, maybe I can be of some assistance," I told him.
I could hardly believe that I was saying these things. It really was not like me at all. But I just kept releasing any feelings that would hold me back from doing just as I wanted to do. I didn't worry how Jessica felt about my behavior, because I knew that at this point in my life, it was important for me to say these things.
I mean, this was the situation I needed. It was here now, and I had to go through with it.
Apparently, Tom appreciated my remarks.
He became rather bold.
"I'm concerned about technique, Mrs. L., " he said. "I mean, I want a woman to tell me if I'm doing a good job. And the girls I've been with just don't have enough experience, or they won't go that far."
"Tom!" Jessica yelled. "Really!"
"It's alright, Jessica," I told her.
Jessica then explained that she had not allowed Tom or any boy to have intercourse with her. Or as she put it, "Nobody's fucked me! My pussy is tight!"
Well, doctor, the entire situation was a strange one to handle, but I realized that I simply had to take control. Bill wasn't home from work, and in fact, he had a business dinner to attend that night and wouldn't be home for quite a while.
I was just juicing like crazy, I was so aroused.
Why, this would be only the second male I'd ever been with sexually! It had only been my husband, and now it was going to be my daughter's boyfriend!
But I didn't let on that my own experience was so limited. In actuality, doctor, I imagine that the number of people I had been to bed with was even less than he had been to bed with.
But of course, as a mature woman, I had years of experience behind me in other matters, and these were two young teenagers. One thing led to another, with me in command, following from Tom's expressed desires.
As for Jessica, she watched on, mostly with an expression of awe on her face.
I had never acted this way before, and naturally it was all quite new for her.
As I said, one thing led to another. When Tom took his cock out of his pants, I was stunned. This fifteen-year-old boy had a ten inch cock! I mean, it was much larger and thicker than my husband's erect member!
No wonder the girls wouldn't let him fuck them.
But as I undressed, and he did, too, we communicated with our entire bodies. I let him know that it was alright to experiment with me. I didn't let on that it was as much an experiment for me.
But as I explained, I knew that I was doing the most appropriate thing. I could feel that it was right, even though I was doing it in front . of my daughter, who could certainly report it back to my husband. That was not my concern.
I just wanted to experience it all. Well, let me tell you, I was in heaven! When his stiff prick entered my pussy, it was sheer delight. It was sheer delight! He pressed in slowly, and the way he looked into my face made me know that he was questioning me slightly, asking if he was going to hard or too fast. He knew, of course, that his prick was a monster.
But I opened my cunt lips and took him in.
I've never even spoken like this before, doctor. I mean, I've never used such language to express myself, but even then I started to tell him, "Stick that fat cuck pole into my juicy snatch, Tom. Fuck this woman good!"
That gave him confidence. , He started to press it all the way in, and to my own amazement, my pussy was able to take it all. Then he started jabbing with fierce strokes, but I got him to calm down and wiggle it around inside my pussy.
When he found my clit, he really started doing a number on me.
It was hot. And then, much to my surprise, Jessica joined in, sucking on my tits!
Her mouth felt so good on my nipples. I can't tell you.
Oh, it was heaven, and we plan to do it again, real soon.
The only thing is, I wonder if I'm developing fetishes. I mean, do I want incest by having sex with my daughter? Do I have a fetish for young boys with big dicks? I'm feeling so much better, doctor, but still there's some confusion.
Can all of life's problems be solved with a good fuck?
Conclusion:
I told Lana L. that she was walking on some dangerous ground in her activities with her daughter in relation to her husband, and so on. But, if she was certain that she was doing the right thing, then she was.
I feel that her behavior was a big improvement over her first visit, and I told her that while regular therapy did not seem required, I would be happy to see her from time to time to discuss her feelings about new developments in this sexual situation.
She agreed, and promised that she would keep in touch.
CASE HISTORY SIX
SUBJECT: Toby C. AGE: Eighteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Toby C. was referred to me by her school psychologist. The psychologist had a heavy caseload of serious problems, and she felt that Toby's problem was not serious enough to warrant treatment during school hours.
Indeed, I was soon to discover that Toby had a water fetish, plain and simple.
More about that in the transcript which follows, but first a description of Toby, who at eighteen, was the perfect, all-American girl next door. She was of average height, with tan skin, all clear and dewy, bright eyes, blonde, long hair, and the body of a Dallas cheerleader.
She explained that she was quite sexually active, and it was easy to see why she would get that kind of attention from men and boys, alike.
But she was concerned about her need for water as part of her scene as the following transcript indicates.
The first time I had sex, doctor, it was quite by surprise. I had been seeing this older, married guy. I was sixteen at the time. I guess he was in his twenties.
Well, I saw him often, since he was tutoring me in English and reading. I was aware of certain things he was doing, like lying on his back as we did our studies. He would be on the floor, stretched out, and it seemed seductive to me. But I just didn't make any moves, and neither did he.
But one time we were together in a social situation. We were both swimming at night in the swimming pool of a rich friend of his. His wife was with the friend in the house. Mick and I were in the pool.
All of a sudden, he swam up to me from behind. He was pulling at my bathing suit, putting his fingers up the tightly cut black material of the nylon suit which clung to my curved behind like a second skin.
But he managed to get his fingers inside, and they were getting awfully close to my ass-hole!
I was not expecting this at all, but he whispered hotly in my ear.
He told me that he wanted fuck me.
"No, I can't," I told him. "I'm a virgin. I'll get pregnant."
"No," he answered. "I want to fuck you up the ass."
He was very strong. It wasn't that he was forcing me physically, it was more that I was giving in to the delight of his powerful strength. His muscled arms were pulling my body close to his, and he had taken his stiff prick out of his bathing suit.
I told him that I was a virgin back there, too, but he wasn't listening. I could tell from his heavy breathing that he was really hot.
He had my nylon bathing suit pulled all the way up on one of my ass cheeks. This exposed both the smooth, rounded flesh of them, as well as the puckered hole of virgin ass.
His cock was rock hard as he pressed it in. With all that water pressure, it wasn't easy. Don't forget, we were still in the swimming pool!
Luckily it was dark, so his wife, had she looked out the window of the house, would not be able to see us.
He started pressing his cock inside of me. It hurt, and I tried to pull away, but he held me tight to him, and made me take it.
I felt not only his cock, but all that water entering me, too.
I felt the burning of the chlorine up my torn ass-hole. I was moaning, but he clamped his hand over my mouth and forced me to keep quiet.
"Take it," he told me. "Take that man's dick up your ass."
I think he also called me a bitch. He came very quickly.
Globs of his white cum were rising to the surface of the pool and sticking on my body. I was afraid that his wife would come down and catch us.
Frankly, doctor, I was ashamed of myself for giving in, not that I had all that much choice in the matter. He had forced his cock into me.
But later, I had to masturbate about it. I could still feel the pressure that his cock had created inside my ass. It was as if his cock were still inside, long after we had separated sexually.
I couldn't help thinking about him all the time. Every time I took a step, I was reminded of the water-fuck by the pain in my ass.
I was enjoying it, though. I wanted more. And I didn't even wash the chlorine water off of myself. I wanted to smell it at all times, as a reminder of what had happened to me.
When we met for tutoring again the following week, things were different. This time he grabbed me in his arms and kissed me right away, forcing his fat tongue muscle down my throat.
I responded. My nipples were firm and my clitty was on fire.
He undressed me and he picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. He turned on the shower. He took off his clothes, and as he did so, his cock, fully hard, bounced up out of his pants.
We both were inside the shower and I knealt down and started sucking him with the hot water beating down on me. I could taste his cock with its unique manly flavor, and yet it was very clean with the water, and all.
It was like the water made everything clean and alright.
I loved the feeling of the water spraying down on my naked body. I let him change places with me, and then he was sticking his tongue inside my pussy as I leaned back and moaned. The water was pounding down on my breasts, making the nipples even more firm and excited.
I was making love in the water.
It was very wonderful. And I was happy. But two weeks later, something terrible happened. Mick was killed in a car accident! I felt terrible.
I went into a terrible depression. Nothing seemed to help. I couldn't even tell anybody about the problem because I couldn't go into the details of the sexual acts because of Mick's wife.
However, doctor, even if I say so myself, I'm a very mature girl for my years. I managed to get over it. I understood that it was meant to be, and now that it had happened, there was no way that I could go back and change it.
Besides, at least he knew that he had thrilled me when he was alive, and that made things so much better for me to bear.
I began having sex with other men, but it didn't quite work out.
There was always something missing. It confused me. Some of the guys were much nicer, better looking, better sex and everything than Mick had been. But something was missing.
There was one guy named Charlie who I went out with a few times. It was never any good between us sexually, despite several attempts, and so we just gave up on that aspect of it and became friends without sexual involvement.
But then, one night, after we had been to the movies, we were walking home when a tremendous thunderstorm broke out. The sky just seemed to open up, and the rain hailed down with such force that it just bounced up off the pavement.
It was like the shower on my naked back that day with Mick.
Suddenly, I felt consumed with desire. I was so hot, I could hardly contain myself.
Although nothing had happened between Charlie and me before, suddenly I grabbed him by the cock and balls and drew him close to me. I kissed him on the lips and begged him to fuck me.
"Yeah, my roommate will be out tonight. Well have the place to ourselves."
"No," I rasped to him. "Fuck me here, in the open, in the rain!"
We went to a place where we would have some privacy while still being exposed to the elements. The most exciting part for me was when I spread my legs and parted my cunt lips, exposing the core of my pussy to the battering rain.
It's been that way ever since, doctor. I can only get sexual satisfaction when water is involved.
It's easy enough to get my boyfriends to fuck me in the bathtub filled with water, or to do it with water running, which is not quite as rewarding for me.
But it feels rather odd, and they wonder why I don't respond in "dry" situations, if you know what I mean.
I enjoy my rain and water fetish, but what's the solution?
(For a moment, I was tempted to tell her to honeymoon at Niagara Falls. Of course, my professional behavior would never permit such a callous remark, and so I restrained myself. Although water fetishes are not uncommon, due largely to associations one makes between water stimulation and sex, there were complications here, especially considering the fact that her first boyfriend, Mick, had been killed in an auto accident. I told Toby that a second interview was essential.)
INTERVIEW TWO
Since I saw you last, I'm afraid that I've taken my water fetish to new depths, so to speak.
I met an attractive older guy at a bar, and he came on to me. I was turned on, and so I went home with him, knowing that every house has a shower, at least.
If I couldn't enjoy it without the water, at least there was the old shower routine. I look good enough so that men don't mind my asking for the water. It's just that I feel rather funny to have to request it of them.
Anyway, when we got to his house, he expressed himself to me. It seems that he met his perfect match.
"I hope you won't think I'm crazy," he said, after we had each had a few drinks at his place to loosen us up, "but I get off on something out of the ordinary."
I was intrigued, and I was glad, too, because I figured, if it was at all bearable, I'd be able to do his thing, and then I'd have no shame about asking him to do mine in the water.
Then he told me what his thing was. He dug water sports, he said. He explained to me that it didn't mean fishing, sailing or scuba diving.
He said he was into enemas and piss!
Well, it aroused me more than I can say. I had never even thought of either of these things as part of sex, but of course, they were perfect for me.
I was ready and willing.
The enema was really exciting, especially since my very first experience in sex had been an anal one. I hadn't found too many men who wanted to fuck me up the ass since Mick. So this was really erotic for me.
He told me to lie down on my belly with my big butt sticking up. We did this on a rubber sheet which he spread out across the floor.
He rubbed some oils into my ass globes, firmly but gently, and I felt all aroused. He took his time, massaging my buttocks. Oh, it felt good.
Then I felt him fingering my ass-hole. He had some grease on his finger. Then the rubber tubing started to slide in. It moved like a snake up my tight channel.
He pressed it deep into me.
Then he turned on the water. It started to flow into me, and it was hot, filling me up. I moaned and he stopped the water. He could control just how much filled me.
All the while he was moaning and groaning, too. After a while, I told him that my ass was really full.
He stopped the valve, and withdrew the hose. Then he turned me over and started massaging my belly.
"I can't hold it in," I told him.
He picked me up and carried me to the toilet. I sat down on it.
"Empty yourself, and I'll be back," he said.
Well, doctor, it was like the weight of the world leaving my body. It poured out. It took a long time for all of the water to come out. I had thought that it was finished, and then another rush of water poured from me.
I was naked and sweating all over, After a while, he came in. I was finished, but I was exhausted, still sitting there.
He had a big hard-on, and he placed it near my mouth. It was nothing for me to reach over and turn on the shower. With the sound of the water streaming down, I sucked on his cock until his jerking movements told me that he was ready to blast a load of hot jism into my mouth, down my throat and into my belly.
"Oh, no," he said, pulling out. "Your ass-hole is clean and empty now. I want to fuck you up there," he said. "That's where you'll get my spunk."
He took me by the hand and led me back out to the rubber sheet. The taste of his cock was still in my mouth. The shower was still going. He greased up his curved dick and inserted it. I yielded to him, moaning as I took him in.
He fucked me for a long time, moving his hard cock in and out gently.
Then it became too much for him, and he started to ram his cock in and out, harder and faster. I knew that he was approaching orgasm, and my cunt started to go crazy, too.
I felt the hot sperm rushing into my ass-hole.
I clamped my buttocks tightly around his prick, squeezing every drop from him.
He was sweating and breathing hard against me. He stayed like that on top of me, from behind, for quite a long time.
And then I felt something. I didn't know what it was. But he was filling my ass-hole with something hot. Then I realized. It was piss!
He was pissing up into my fucked ass-hole!
He was filling me up with water again. And the thought of it made me orgasm again. This time I couldn't stop. It felt so good, it was such release.
I was screaming, begging him to fill me with his sizzling hot piss, begging him to give me all of it.
Now I don't know how I feel. I want to see him again, doctor, but I have no idea how far he'll take me in this world of water. I mean, it's what I guess I've always wanted and needed, but I'm afraid that it's very sick.
Nothing gets me so wet in the cunt, though.
Conclusion:
Apparently, Toby had found somebody who shares her particular fetish for water. Although she had some negative feelings about it, I explained to her that it was much more satisfying for her than non-water experiences had been, and I told her that she should look at it in a positive light.
She had found what she needed. The reasons for her fetish didn't matter now. It was time to give in to them, and go with them.
I told her to contact me if she needed further counseling, as indeed, she might at a later time. Perhaps once she lives out her fantasies about water, she will no longer need them.
But until she does, I advised her to indulge, and get into the swim, so to speak. She laughed at that, and promised to inform me of her progress.
CASE HISTORY SEVEN
SUBJECT: Suzanne R. AGE: Twenty
INTERVIEW ONE
Suzanne R. is an attractive redhead. She is tall, with a magnificent figure. Her face is quite beautiful. In fact, she is a professional model, and it would seem that a young woman such as Suzanne would have the world at her feet.
She came to me with a problem that was disturbing her. The following is an actual transcript of that.
Doctor, I've been unhappy about my sex life. As a model and everything, you'd think that I'd be satisfied, but I'm not. You see, I have what I would call a fetish, and it's a rather unusual one, I guess.
The first times I recall knowing anything about sex were back at home when I was living in New York. I was not terribly rich then, or I should say, I came from a poor family and all of us lived together in a small two-room apartment.
This didn't give us very much space. My father had run off before I was born, so I never knew him. My mother took care of us as best as she could, but it was a difficult situation for us all.
I shared a bed with my older brother (one year older than I) and my younger sister (one year younger.)
My mother had a particular boyfriend who would visit every once in a while when his ship came in. You see, he was a sailor.
I have to admit that I found him very attractive. He was young and well built, with jet black hair and a swarthy complexion. Maybe it was just the uniform which appealed to me. He wore the white uniform most of the time that I saw him, and it turned me on.
At the age of thirteen, I remember looking at the bulge at the front of his white button-downs. The bulge would come whenever he was with my mother, who was always right on top of him or next to him when I saw them together.
He caught me looking at him one day, and he told me that there were thirteen buttons on the front of his pants. He said it looked as if I had been counting them, and so he made it easier for me.
Well, he was a real friendly guy, and he was real nice to my sister, my brother, and to me. He would always bring us little toys and things he'd picked up in his world travels. My mother told us how nice it was of him to do that, since he really didn't get paid very much as a sailor anyway. But the point was, he was always thinking of us. My brother was especially fond of him.
Well, the trouble would come at night. My brother and sister were both very sound sleepers and always had been. It was amazing what sound sleepers they were. I mean, they would snore through an earthquake.
I had always known that they were sound sleepers but I really found it out when Inky (the name my mother gave to her sailor boyfriend) came over to sleep with mother.
At night, he would fuck her, but there was more to it than that. Obviously, part of their sex together involved spanking. I remember waking up in a cold sweat when I heard the noises coming from behind the closed door of my mother's room.
I'd hear him telling her to get her ass up over his knee. Then I would hear the sound of a hard hand hitting an upturned bare bottom.
I could tell that he was hitting her ass with all of his might. And he was a strong man, to be sure.
When I heard the continuous sound of a spanking, and the cries of my mother as she took it over and over again, I was scared at first.
I thought that he was killing her, or beating her because of some strange reason. I really didn't understand it at all, and my first instinct was to rush in there and try and protect her in some way, although as a thirteen year old girl, my own tits were just starting to bud, and I was still a delicate little flower of a girl.
What I would have done to help out, I don't know.
I thought about waking my brother, but I didn't. He was snoring so loudly.
I thought about calling the police, or a neighbor for help, but I didn't want to do that unless I was really sure that something was very wrong, and this I couldn't be quite sure of. You see, even then I must have realized that people get off on spanking as part of the sex act.
I listened to the smacks which went on and on. Sometimes Inky would demand that his woman turn her ass back up. I guess that she was trying to get away from him.
But he insisted that she wouldn't get his big dick until she had submitted fully to the red hot spanking which he intended her to have.
When I heard him speak those words, something snapped inside my young, virgin pussy. It started to get very wet. I guess that I imagined myself in my mother's place, getting this spanking from Inky. You see, I had never been spanked in my life. My real father, who ran away from home as I told you, never laid a hand on me.
I guess a man as big and strong as Inky was a turn on for me, and to know that he was in bed with my mother, giving her a spanking, was arousing.
After a long while, the spanking sounds would stop. They would be replaced by other sounds. I would still hear Inky's voice giving orders, such as "Get that big cunt up in the air."
"Suck on that stiff prick."
"Just tongue the head of it," and things like that.
I would also hear moaning. I could tell from the way the springs of the bed were creaking that he was fucking her, and I could tell from her moans, that he was really doing a job of it.
I remember sneaking quietly from the bed, leaving my brother and sister to their sleep as I went into the bathroom. The little bathroom was directly next to the bedroom, even more than our sleeping room was. It shared a wall with the bedroom.
Well, I went in there and pulled my little night dress up. My little cunny was hot and dripping as I listened to my mother.
"Oh, yeah, fuck me with that piece of horsemeat," she'd beg him.
No matter how much it was hurting her (and I guess it was, since she was moaning and crying as he plunged), she'd beg him for more of the same, and harder.
It was very arousing to hear all of this because I knew nothing else of sex but this. It was really my first exposure to it aD, and one which excited me to the point of having my sweet nectars dripping down my legs.
This would go on whenever Inky came to visit. When I saw my mother and Inky the next day after these sexual adventures, they would always act as if everything was fine, or to be more correct, as if everything was really great!
So I came to realize that it was a mutual thrill for them, and began to wonder what it would feel like.
I guess I used to think about it when Inky was away, too, because as a little girl I used to masturbate, and as I did so, I thought about the way it sounded to hear the spanking on my mother's upturned bottom.
I must admit that my mother had a beautiful figure, and her ass was especially magnificent. It was very full and round, and people would always look at it and say how sexy it was. She'd wiggle it as she walked down the street.
I would wiggle my own ass that way too, especially when Inky was around, but whether I was bad or good, he would never lay a hand on me. It was only my mother whom he spanked, and I came to realize that it might have been partly for discipline, but largely it was just because he wanted her ass to be red hot when he fucked her cunt.
He didn't care if she liked it or not. He just gave it to her. But apparently she came to like it. Especially since he fucked her so well after a spanking.
Well, there was one night that my brother was sleeping next to me. He rolled over in his sleep and his hand came to rest on my pubic mound. It was a hot summer night, and I had been wearing only a little undershirt.
My pussy was bare, and his hand was on the lips.
It startled me at first, but I realized that he was sound asleep.
I don't know what he was thinking. Maybe he was dreaming about pussy, because he was fingering my lips just slightly as he snored.
I started to roll away so that he wouldn't do this. It was not only an incestuous act, but I had never let anybody touch me there, no less my own brother.
But this was a night that Inky happened to be in town. He was sleeping over, of course.
Suddenly, the sounds of a spanking started ringing out from the room.
Rather than move away from my brother's hand, I allowed him to rest it there and finger my pussy as my mother got her nightly dose of a hard hand.
It was a very erotic time for me. My beautiful mother's firm, full bottom was getting red hot. I could hear Inky telling her to suck on his big dick as he spanked her, so I imagined the positions they might be in so that such an arrangement was possible.
When she cried out, she'd get a harder smack than before, and he'd tell her to keep her mouth where it belonged "on that stiff dick of mine, you bitch."
I was very aroused also by the fact that my brother was playing with my pussy. His fingers were digging deeper into the juicy core of me now, and my thoughts were with the action in the other room. It all seemed so forbidden and unnatural.
And yet, it was causing my juices to drip more profusely.
My brother's fingers were soaked with my honeyed nectars!
I was breathing hard and fast. I felt a girlish climax coming as my brother played with my pussy and my mother got spanked red hot, again and again.
And then her fucking started.
Well, by this time, I was cumming.
I know that my brother's hand was wet when I was finished, and I really didn't want him to wake up with pussy juice on his hand. So I licked the juices off.
I was afraid of getting up out of bed at this point because I never knew if Inky or mother would come out from the bedroom. By this time, the spanking and fucking had stopped in there.
Furthermore, I didn't want to rock the bed, just in case those sound sleepers of mine, my brother and sister, decided to stir this time when his hand was wet with my cunny juice.
So I bent over in bed and licked my own cunt fluid off his hand!
It was really something to taste my cunt juice, especially from my brother's hand. As I licked and sucked my own cunt cream from my brother's fingers, another spanking started to ring out in a steady rhythm from the bedroom.
By this time in my sexual progress, I had come to associate spanking with sex. I just knew that when I heard a spanking coming from the bedroom, it would be followed by the sounds of sex.
Therefore, even when I saw a man take his young daughter over his knee when picking her up from school and discovering that she had misbehaved with the teacher, I became sexually excited and my pussy would start to undulate and react beyond my control.
It was a very strange situation for me.
Doctor, this has been a problem ever since. It is something that I can bring myself to discuss with either my brother (who is now married) or my mother (who must have long ago given up on Inky, who went out to sea one day, as he always did, but didn't, this time, come back.)
Well, it's a terrible problem. I need to be spanked before getting fucked.
Look at my rear, doctor. It's just begging for a beating. The mounds of it are perfectly formed globes. In fact, I think that my ass is even bigger and more shapely than my mother's used to be.
It's really a hot-looking ass, don't you agree?
But the problem is, I can't function in sex until I've been spanked.
I've told some of my boyfriends this. Some get turned off by it. Others are turned on, but they really don't know how to administer a good spanking. One guy just goes so softly, it's of no value, no matter how much I fantasize on it.
I don't feel it, and I need to feel it good and hard and hot.
Another guy consented to beat me before sex, but that's exactly what he did. He gave me a beating which included face slapping and punches. He really knocked me around, and when I begged him to stop, he cursed me and told me that I had brought out the sadist in him and that if I didn't want this kind of treatment, I shouldn't have asked for it.
Once having asked for it, he was going to make sure I get it.
So you can see what I created for myself. I was black and blue after that. He didn't understand my need for an erotic spanking. Nobody does.
I don't want to find somebody who shares my interest, because I think it's sick.
I mean, I'm not a little girl any more. Why do I keep going back to that time so long ago? Why do I fantasize that every guy who fucks me is really Inky, and that he's spanked me before he sticks his dick in?
I just get so upset, I don't know what to do.
Please help me, doctor. There's got to be a better way.
(Time was up for the first session. I told Suzanne that we would go further into the case on the second interview. I wanted her to think, of reasons why she didn't like getting spanked, or why she felt she didn't want to. She said that she would return the following week with her reasons. We ended that day's session at that point.)
INTERVIEW TWO
Suzanne seemed a bit apprehensive on her second visit. She played with a string which was hanging from her sweater. She bit her lower lip as she spoke.
I realized that she was going through a traumatic time with me as she spoke about spanking and all that it meant to her. She was eager to speak, and to get through her problem, however. The following is what she said in the tape recorded interview.
Well, doctor, you asked me to talk about why I didn't want to get spanked.
First of all, I'm not a little girl. When I was little I could see getting spanked for being bad. Other girls in my school got spanked by their parents.
I never did.
Do you think that maybe I need it now because I didn't get it then?
I don't really know, although I guess it has more to do with the sounds I heard when I first experienced sex. That's another thing I forgot to tell you last time.
You see, in addition to liking the sensation of a spanking, it is the sound of it that really excites me. Do you know how I masturbate now?
Well, I strip off all of my clothing, including my bra and panties. It's funny, because I often feel like doing this after a full day at work as a model, and the men have been after me all day, but I wait until I get home alone because I know that I can satisfy myself better than a man who will not spank me (or one who I'd be afraid to suggest that to.)
Once I'm stripped down totally naked, I look at my body in the mirror. I see how pointy my nipples are. I sometimes see a trace of cunt cream dripping down my creamy inner thing. My cunt is glistening. My cunt hairs really shine when damp.
And I feel excited all over.
I go down on the floor and raise my ass. I watch my rounded butt in the mirror.
I begin by rubbing my opened palm gently over the rounded globes.
It gets me very hot and my cunt juice flows.
Then I start to spank myself. This is my real fetish, doctor. It's come to the point that I have to spank myself every night in order to find release.
I watch as my buttocks turn from creamy white to hot, blood red.
I don't go easy on myself. In fact, somewhere in my confused brain, I have subconsciously memorized the sound of the spanks that my mother used to get from Inky.
I copy that pattern exactly!
Yes, I know just how hard he was hitting her based on the sound. I know just how fast, or how slow to do it. I guess about where he was spanking whether it was on one cheek, the other, down the crack, or on both cheeks at once.
So I vary that for my own pleasure, and I never stop until I've really given my ass the workout that Inky would have given it.
I watch the globes swell up. Sometimes I use a brush, the back of a hairbrush, because my palms get so red and they sting so much.
Once in a while I'll use a hard ruler to beat myself. Welts will usually appear when I do this, and sometimes I just get carried away.
By the time I'm finished spanking myself, my cunt is really juicing.
I take a large cucumber or a fat, long carrot. Oiled with my own love oils from my wet pussy, the vegetable slide right in. I then fuck myself wildly.
All the time, I imagine that it is Inky fucking me after a whipping.
I watch myself in the mirror as I give myself the fucking. I raise my legs so that I can see the big carrot or cucumber going in and out. This enables me to see the red ass cheeks at the same time, and the sight really makes me moan.
After all, I was never able to see those red globes before. Now I have the sight of them, and the feel of them, as well as the sound.
Of course, I would prefer that Inky, or some other man who knew what he was doing would be the one to spank me. But since I've never had any luck in finding such a man, I have to administer the spankings myself.
And that's part of my problem, doctor.
You see, it's getting more and more severe each time.
By now, I'm not using my hand nearly as much as I used to, except as a warm-up to get the naked buns really .red hot and sorely sensitive for the real spanking.
Then I take a variety of instruments and work myself over.
I've even taken to going shopping at bizarre places in search of special tools which will give me a more powerful spanking. I found a belt-the other day with silver studs in it. I've been beating myself with it. Doctor, I'd pull up my skirt, pull down my panties and show you my bruises right now, except that it might shock you.
I mean, I wouldn't do it to turn you on, although I doubt very much that you'd be turned on by a pair of bruised buns, anyway.
The point is, I've gotten harder on myself than Inky ever got on my mother.
Last night, I was so horny, I had to beat myself until I was actually crying before my cunt was really wet enough to take the full plunging fuck of the carrot.
I used the silver-studded belt, and also did some work with the buckle. Yes, that's right. I let that silver buckle beat into my tender buttocks.
I have a feeling that I need to beat myself with a whip of some sort, too. I've been fantasizing about riding crops. I saw a photograph of a woman in a riding uniform with a crop at her side. Knowing that she beat her horse with it was enough to start me having an orgasm, right there in the bookstore in which I saw the photo.
I've also started thinking about other types of whips.
I've thought about the famous cat-o-nine-tails. You must be aware that this is a whip made of nine separate pieces of leather with knotted tips. These nine tails, as they're called, whip into a girl's flesh all at the same time.
It just sets my cunt tingling to imagine it. I'm afraid that I'll really start going too far, doctor.
I don't really want to damage myself, but already I've reached a stage where I'm not satisfied until I've made my butt black and blue to a point that I feel it the next day.
It excites me throughout the day to know that my ass is raw from a spanking and every time I move, I feel it. It reminds me.
An Italian man happened to pinch my butt the other day, and I screamed. It felt wonderful, but of course, he had no idea that he was pinching a sore behind.
It got me so excited though, I excused myself from the modeling session. I had to masturbate. Everybody was waiting for me to return to the set. I mean, the lights were all set up, the photographer was ready, everything was in place and it was costing time and money.
They were even complaining that the sun was going down, and they needed the shots quickly.
But I just played prima donna. I couldn't help it. I needed some sexual stimulation, and it was like a drug addict needing a fix of his special drug.
Nothing else matters at that moment. You just have to have it.
There was a bathroom nearby, and I went there. I turned the water on full blast to try and mask the sounds. How well I knew about the sounds of a spanking through a closed door! That was what started me on this course in the first place!
I actually climbed up on the sink and stood on it so that I could see my butt.
I pulled up my dress and bared my behind. The sight of bruises from the night before, and the night before that, aroused me.
I imagined that my mother's behind had carried similar designs.
Well, I stood up on the sink top and with the water running, I started to spank myself. I spanked and spanked, praying that nobody would come in and catch me.
Well, to my shock, another woman did come in. She was somebody working with us on the set and she had been sent in by the photographer to find out what was taking me so long.
When she saw my black and blue bottom, she gasped.
I begged her not to tell anybody. After all, although I don't do nude modeling, my career and reputation could be ruined by something like this.
She asked me what had happened.
I thought of the first thing that came into my mind. I told her that I had been raped the night before, and forced into sex by a man who had beaten me.
She looked at the bruises and said that he must have really beaten me hard. My beautiful, rounded bottom was really sore and raw. It was something.
I begged her to keep quiet about it. I told her that I didn't want anybody to know about this humiliation, and being an understanding woman, she agreed.
I told her I would be out for the photo session as soon as possible. She said that she understood, and that she would tell the photographer to just hold his horses.
I thanked her, but I felt guilty for having lied. I guess I also felt bad for having come to this point where I would actually get caught masturbating on the job over a spanking I had induced.
But this all led me to spank myself even harder!
When I returned to do the photo session, the photographer couldn't help but rave about my but I looked so damn good.
You see, doctor, I was glowing. I was positively glowing from the inside out, and I knew it. In fact, every man, and even the women on that photo set, just went ga ga over me when I sashayed out of that bathroom after my self-induced spanking.
They didn't know that my ass globes were bright red.
They didn't know that I could feel the fires back there, burning me up.
They didn't know that beneath my designer clothes, my cunt was damp, and hot, and very, very wet.
All they knew when I brushed by long red hair back was that I was gorgeous. And very, very sexy.
The photographer started snapping away. His flashbulb was popping, and somebody said that I looked like I could fuck the flashbulb with my looks.
I was hot, and it was all because of the spanking.
But by the time I returned home after the day's work, I was horny again. It's a lust a lust for a spanking. I need it and I can't get around it.
I can't live without it.
And yet, how much longer can I live with it, doctor?
CONCLUSION:
I assured Suzanne that there was certainly a way to satisfy her needs without destroying herself. I advised her to begin a program of regular treatment with me.
The goals of the program were simple, and I outlined them for her.
She had to learn to stop blaming her mother and Inky for the sexual perversity which manifested itself these years later. (I call it perversity because in Suzanne's case, it had gone to far for her own needs. It was a habit which no longer served its purpose in her life, but instead had reached the stage of being obnoxious to her.)
I told her that she should meet men more often, and that she should indulge in the sexuality which appealed to her. But that she should always consider her goal above all else. And since her goal was to break her habit of needirg a spanking, that was what I advised her to keep in mind.
She is still in therapy with me, and has never missed a session that is how devoted she is to her treatment under my care.
As a result, progress has been excellent.
General Conclusion
Girls and women with fetishes, it is a subject that I am well acquainted with.
And what do I make of it?
Well, I've seen and heard it all, in detail. The thing about it is, these poor girls and women believe that it is the end of the world for them.
They fear that they can't function sexually without their particular fetish, whatever it may be water, fur, domination, feet.
What they must learn is to give in to the desire. Once they experience it out fully, they can chose to continue with it, or avoid it.
True, many of them are sick and depraved, but they must learn to accept that while loving themselves, as I do.
