Marriage is usually considered to be a state of blissful togetherness.
However, different people define happiness in different ways, and this case book is a study of perverted sexual practices in marriage, particularly those sexual practices which involve bondage and discipline.
We are dealing in these case histories with male domination, and female submissiveness.
Mary T. was an idealistic virgin when she was married. She discovered, on her wedding night, that her husband's idea of making love was to bind her to the bed, and virtually rape her into submission.
Ellen S. was treated by her husband to a second honeymoon after ten years of an apparently normal, happy life.
Her second honeymoon turned into an orgiastic round of bondage sessions and other role-playing games, which turned the two tamely married people into wild, lustful vagabonds, who indulged to the hilt every sexual impulse they had.
Maria D. was a young bride who tried out a new recipe on her husband.
Her husband didn't like it, and decided to try a new recipe on his wife-a perverted sexual recipe which almost drove Maria mad, and made her seek my services because her sense of normalcy was tremendously disturbed.
Celia J. had what she thought was a terrible secret. That secret involved some of the perverse practices in which she indulged with her husband.
Celia felt great guilt about her secret pleasures-a guilt which was exacerbated when her mother discovered her in a bizarre situation which had unusual repercussions.
Nancy P. was a health neurotic. Her husband, upon whom she inflicted her psychosomatic ailments turned the tables on her one night, almost literally, and taught her a few sexual exercises which might have done Nancy some good, had she been willing to learn!
Norma L. was a stunning teenaged bride who left the cruel poverty of her father's household, only to learn that her husband was even more cruel.
The first, and perhaps the gentlest thing he did, on their wedding night, was to teach her the pleasures of being bound with hempen ropes, helpless and a slave to her husband's perverted lusts.
Leda W. was an irrepressible teenager, who ran away to get married, and came home to a life of unmitigated wildness.
Bondage and discipline became her favorite pastimes, thanks to her husband's tutelage
Wendy S. came to me almost in a state of hysteria. She had caught her husband cheating on her.
In revenge, she cheated on her husband, in such a way that he discovered her, in flagrante delicti.
What her husband did to her, after binding her, spread-eagled on her bed of sin, in full view of her bound lover, will be revealed in her case history.
CASE HISTORY ONE
Subject: Mary T. Age: Eighteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Mary was a beautiful strawberry blonde. She had that fresh-scrubbed, innocent look that teenagers have.
Her body was full and ripe.
When she came into my office, she was weeping copiously, dabbing at her green eyes with a white handkerchief.
It took considerable skill to calm her down sufficiently for her to tell me why she had made the appointment.
She certainly didn't look or behave like the typical neurotic who walks into my office.
I just can't believe this has happened to me, Doctor.
I grew up in a very happy, normal home. I thought I was happy and normal. I got through high school with good marks, and I got an excellent job right out of high school, working with a prestigious law firm.
It just doesn't seem possible that I'm living in this nightmare.
I mean, up to now, my life has just seemed like sunshine and happiness.
I'm sorry for crying again, Doctor. I guess I'm still in shock.
Well, let mc tell you how it all happened.
When I was in high school, I met this fabulous guy. His name is Don. He's tall, and very good-looking.
And he was also a perfect gentleman, in every way. We met when we were sophomores, at a school dance, and even though, for a while, we dated others, we pretty much knew that it was the real thing.
At least, I thought it was!
I had always promised myself that I would never give my cherry away before I was married.
When I told Don this, he was perfectly understanding. Oh, we indulged in some pretty heavy petting sessions, when we were seniors, but by then we were engaged to be married.
Don enrolled in this work-study plan at the state university. He works twelve weeks, and goes to school twelve weeks, so he has money, since he always gets very good jobs.
He's very good at everything he does.
We planned to get married a year after we graduated, to give both of us time to save some money, and prepare.
And we did it all according to schedule.
The wedding was positively beautiful, and I was so proud to walk down the aisle in white, and know that it was for real.
He stood at the altar, waiting for me, looking so handsome in his formal morning suit.
I was beside myself with happiness as I looked up into his proudly smiling face, as my father gave me away.
After the wedding and the reception, we drove to the mountains, about three hours away.
I loved the trip. I spent the time fingering my wedding ring, watching the simple gold band gleam in the fading sunlight, as we approached the resort where we were going to spend our honeymoon. Two joyous weeks together.
When we got to the honeymoon suite, Don opened the door, and picked me up in his arms, and then carried me over the threshold.
I was so happy, so trusting.
We got inside the door. The big, luxurious king-sized bed was the most prominent thing in the room.
He kicked the door shut with his feet. I thought he would put me down, but he didn't.
He carried me over to the bed, and threw me on it. I landed in a sprawled position, which embarrassed me.
I couldn't believe he had done that! Don, my Don! Always so gentle and sweet and considerate and courteous!
"D-Don!" I exclaimed, trying to pull down the skirt of my going-away suit, which had ridden up around my very shapely thighs.
Oh, yes, I'll confess it! I'm proud of my body. I always have been.
Don threw himself on top of me, pressing my body into the soft mattress.
I was shocked, and a little scared. I pressed my hands against his shoulders, trying to get him off me.
"Don, please, you're hurting me!"
"What's the matter, baby?" he asked, his voice husky, as he grasped my wrists, and pulled my hands away from his shoulders.
"Too much for you?" he asked, leering at me.
I felt my heart grow cold in my breast. This was not the man I married!
"Don, you're so rough!" I exclaimed.
Dorr sat up, and pulled nie to a sitting position. Then he wrenched the jacket of my going-away suit off my body.
"Don!" I exclaimed, almost speechless with his roughness.
I had fantasized that it would be gentle and sweet, as he always had been with me.
That he would be so violent had never entered my mind.
"I know what my name is, babe." he said, as he pressed my trembling, frightened body back into the mattress.
I struggled violently against his body as he writhed all over me. His hands reached out and grasped my twin orbs, kneading the soft spongy flesh of my tits violently, braising the tender flesh.
I cried out as I felt his hands mauling my tit-flesh.
Again he sat up, and with one violent wrench, he ripped my lovely white blouse off my body.
"Listen, damn it!" he snarled. "You're my wife, and I got rights!"
"Don, you can have your rights, but please, don't be so hard."
Don grabbed my wrists and pulled them above my head, pressing them into the mattress. Then he .took the shredded blouse, and tied my wrists together, tying the rest of the torn fabric to the headboard of our nuptial bed.
I was really scared now. My hands became sweaty and cold, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.
I started to cry, as Don reached down, and wrenched my bra from my body. The violence of the ripping motion left red welts on my soft flesh.
Grunting, he reached down, and pulled my skirt off. Then he ripped it in two.
He grabbed one of my ankles, and tied it to one post of the bed, and then he grasped the other ankle, spread-eagling me, and tied the other ankle to the opposite post.
He reached down again, and ripped my panties from off my body.
I was mortified, embarrassed and humiliated.
I thought I had lost my mind.
My passion-swollen, wet and ready pussy lips were fully exposed to the leering gaze he threw at me.
He stood at the foot of the bed, while I was weeping, and started to shuck his own clothes, throwing them on the floor.
His breathing was harsh and rasping in his throat.
"Don," I cried, "why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not doing anything to you. Why don't you shut up?" he snarled.
I cried even harder, bewildered, frightened, and feeling terribly alone. I struggled vainly against the bonds with which he had pinioned me to the bed.
He had taken off all his clothes now, except his jockey shorts. I could see the massive bulge in his pants, and I got doubly scared.
I was a virgin, and I had married a man who intended to rape me on my wedding night!
This was a stranger, a caveman, not the man I had chosen to spend my life with, who had provided me with so many sweet and tender memories.
He reached down, and hooked his hands into the elastic waist band of his jockey shorts, and pulled them down over his thighs.
I gasped as I saw the size of his pecker. I couldn't believe it!
I had touched his cock through his trousers, but I had never seen it.
I was afraid he would kill me with that monstrous piece of man meat.
Don threw himself on top of me again.
I could feel his cock throbbing on my belly, as he reached for one of my nipples with his mouth.
He groaned as he took the nipple into his mouth and began sucking on it. I felt it pucker under his hot, lashing tongue, and then he bit on it, hard.
I screamed and my body grew taut as I again struggled with the bonds that kept me helpless. But it was no use.
He had tied my up so I could never escape, unless he wanted me to.
"Please leave me alone," I cried, as his hot mouth sought my other nipple and he began sucking on it.
"Leave you alone!" he exclaimed, raising his head from my tit flesh. "I'm your husband, and I'm the boss. You do as I say!"
"I can't stand it, Don. You're too rough!"
"Stop being such a cry-baby. You're getting everything you deserve, and more. A lot of women would give their eye teeth to have me for a husband. So just relax, enjoy it, and be grateful!"
I moaned, as his mouth again sought the cherry-red bud of my nipple and I screamed again as his straight, white teeth bit into it.
I thought he was going to take the nipple off, he bit into it so hard.
Then I felt him lift himself up off my body slightly. His hand grasped that monstrously large, throbbing rod.
He placed his bulbous, drooling cock head at the entrance to my twat, and shoved.
I gasped as I felt cock meat stretching wide the walls of my womanhood for the first time in my life.
I knew he was going to show me no mercy.
I groaned, as he started to push his fat, long cock into me, forcing apart the tight little tunnel that was so virginal.
I had saved my cherry for him, and he was wresting it from me violently.
His cock plowed inexorably forward, and hit the delicate fleshy wall that signaled my virginity.
With a feral grunt he shoved through it, ripping the tender membrane to pieces. I felt it being rent asunder, and I groaned, my whole body going taut with the harsh pain that almost took my breath away.
My blood welled up and flowed around his invading cock, as he thrust again, planting the whole of his fleshy stalk, to its hairy roots, deep in my cunt.
The pain was agonizing. How could this be love, I thought, as I felt his thick and hairy balls pressing into my quivering ass cheeks.
I moaned again.
"The trouble with you women is, you're stupid! You never learn, do you? All the smiles and sweetness before we're married, and now you're going to tell me what to do!" my brand-new husband snarled.
He pulled his massive cock out of my wounded cunt, and then pushed it home again-hard! Again I moaned, as I felt his huge cock, tightly wedged in my virginal cunt, abrading the soft, tender flesh of my cunt.
"Stop moaning and groaning!" Don commanded. "You'll get used to it. I'll toughen you up good!"
And with that, he began to piston in and out of me furiously.
I thought I was going to die with humiliation, as he took me violently, raped me on my wedding night.
My tears flowed freely down my face, as I felt the insane pounding of his cock, as he dipped his wick into me with a frenzy that I could never have believed possible of him.
He grunted and writhed, and bucked into me like a raging lion.
And then a very bizarre thing happened. As his thick cock plowed in and out of me, the friction of our flesh rubbing together created a feverish heat in my cunt.
I felt my pussy juices, which had dried up with fear, start to flow again. I felt the blood pounding in my rapidly swelling pussy lips.
The flow of my cuntal syrup eased the passage of his cock as it furrowed in and out of my cunt.
I felt it leaving a hot wake of sensual pleasure behind, as it thrust in and out of me.
His powerful, well-built body pressed into me. I felt his heat rising as his passion rose, felt his cock throbbing powerfully against the walls of my cunt.
Oh, he was stronger than me. I never had any doubts about that!
But to be so cruel.
And yet, even as he pistoned in and out of me, treating me like the worst whore, I felt the pleasure rising, felt my juices flooding out of me, trickling down my ass crack, and pooling on the sheets beneath us.
His body pounded into me rhythmically, the tempo and strength of his thrusting increasing as his lust grew.
His cock lurched wildly in my cunt. It seemed to swell to even greater dimensions, as he plowed through me, each thrust piercing deeper and deeper into my quivering cunt.
I felt a hot geyser of scum pouring into my virginal twat, as he started to shoot his wad.
"Ahhh!" he groaned, as he slammed with bruising strokes into my swollen pussy lips, over and over.
As his hot juices spewed into me, I felt the muscles of my twat start to contract rhythmically.
They clutched greedily at his cock as it slithered demandingly in and out of my cunt. The strength and speed of the contractions intensified, and suddenly I was squealing and squirming in my bonds, my hips bucking up into his hard-driving loins as he slammed into me, prying into the most secret depths of my womanhood.
I thought I was going to drown in come.
I felt his gism mixing with my come cream. It poured copiously out of my cunt, matting our pubic hairs, and staining the bed thickly.
I felt my orgasm peak, as I writhed under his powerful body, and then it started to fade softly, leaving me warm and trembling, and weak.
Don grunted and then bit me hard on the neck, bruising my tender flesh.
"Owww!" I cried, protesting his rough treatment of me.
"What a bitch you are!" he said. "A minute ago, you were writhing and squealing under me like a mad woman, and now you're acting like an aggrieved virgin!"
"But I was a virgin, Don. And you treated me like a whore!"
"All women are whores," Don said, sneering at me.
I started to cry again.
Don pulled out of me abruptly, his cock making a wet, plopping noise as it unplugged my vagina.
"You can cry all you want, but it won't get you anywhere with me," he said. He went into the bathroom, leaving me tied to the bed.
When he came out, he was washed up, and dressed in casual slacks and a shirt.
"I'll be back," he said.
"Don, where are you going?"
"It's none of your business! How many times do I have to tell you, I wear the pants in this family, not you!
"When I want to tell you where I am, I will. If I don't want to tell you, don't ask!"
Don slammed the door behind him, and I was left, bound to the bed, in our honeymoon suite, alone.
INTERVIEW TWO
Unfortunately, Mary's time had run out at the point where I stopped her:
Following is the transcript of our second interview, which took place the following week.
She appeared to be just as overwrought as she had been the first time. I patiently prodded her to finish her story.
She wept for awhile, before she continued.
Well, I can't tell you how long I lay tied to that bed.
I'm sure that the aloneness, and the shock made the time seem longer than it was.
When Don came back, he was slightly drunk. He took his clothes off and again attacked me, driving his cock deep into my still stinging cunt.
He really hurt me.
The whole experience was thoroughly traumatic.
I felt as if I were living in a nightmare, as his cock snaked in and out of my wounded cunt, brutally.
His hands grabbed brutally at my tit flesh. He pinched my nipples until I was crying with the pain.
As I looked down, I could see the bruises forming on the tender flesh as he kneaded and pinched my breasts.
I looked up at him, and decided I hated him.
This rutting monster was not the man I married.
His cock smashed into me furiously. His hairy groin bruised my swollen pussy lips as he slammed into my muff with a violence that appalled me.
I groaned, as his mouth sought mine.
He bit into my lower lip hard. I tasted my own blood as his teeth broke the soft skin of my mouth.
His cock was skewering me violently. And again, I felt the perverse pleasure rise in me.
As I moaned in pain, even, the pleasure started to override the pain, filling me with hot, sexual feelings.
I writhed under his body like an abandoned woman, as his cock pried into me, and slithered out to the tip, only to slam deeply into my womanhood again.
My arms and legs hurt terribly from being in bondage so long, but I didn't care as the hot waves of orgasm rode through me, causing my soft, lovely body to break out in a copious sweat.
His body was also sweating. The hot sex liquid virtually glued us together, as he drove his cock in and out of me with increasing fury.
I pressed my head back into the pillow, and my face twisted into a mask of unbridled lust, as I felt my fiery cunt go wild with the hard fucking it was getting.
I forgot the pain in the sweet pleasure of orgasm.
My cuntal muscles sucked on the massive peter, drawing the juices out of it. His balls slammed with an increasingly frenzied rhythm against my soaking wet ass cheeks, as his balls churned up their load of come juice.
He groaned and shot his load into my quaking cunt.
It was like an earthquake deep in my belly. His hot, thick juice triggered my own orgasm, sending it spiraling ever-upward until I was delirious with the hot pleasure which rolled through me.
My hot, inflamed little love button tingled with excitement. My juices rolled like a waterfall, cascading out of my cunt, covering his hard-driving dork, and making it gleam luridly as he buried it deep in my woman cave, pulled it out, and then burrowed deep into my fuck tunnel again and again.
His rippling buttocks rose and fell, the muscles taut and strong, his ass flesh gleaming with his sex sweat.
My whole body felt strung out. I felt as if I were a thinly spun steel wire, the E string on a violin.
I gritted my teeth together, and moaned as the searing hot pleasure took possession of my body and made it convulse with the hot delirium.
Don shot wad after wad of his hot scum deep into my cunt. His cock was like a corkscrew, swiveling furiously, piercingly into me, as he emptied his balls of their hot, frothing juices.
When he was finished, he collapsed across my hot body, panting heavily.
I felt his cock shriveling slowly in my cunt, as his breathing became quieter, and his body cooled.
"Please, Don," I said softly, not wanting to antagonize him, "would you untie me so I could go to the bathroom?"
"Sure," he said, releasing my chafed wrists and ankles.
Without a word, afraid he would reneg, I got out of the bed, and went to the bathroom.
There I relieved myself. I had had to pee since he left the room the first time.
When I came back from the bathroom, Don was already asleep, snoring.
I couldn't remain there, couldn't suffer another night like this one.
I had, of course, not unpacked. I opened a suitcase, and took out some clothes, and put them on, repairing what damage I could.
Then I took off the wedding ring, and left it on the dresser.
I did not leave a note or anything like that.
At dawn, I was in the lobby, waiting for a bus to take me back to the city.
I went to my parents' house. They were, of course, shocked to see me.
I have refused to tell them anything about what happened, except to say I made a big mistake.
That very afternoon, I went to the family lawyer and started divorce proceedings. Don called me several times, but I have refused to talk to him, telling my parents that he can communicate with me through my lawyer.
Of course, I feel bad-embarrassed that I made such an awful mistake. He raped me on my wedding night! He tied me to the bed, and left me there, alone!
But I'd like to know what's wrong with me!
I mean, he and I went steady for two years before we were married, and nothing ever occurred to make me believe that he was so violent, and brutal.
And then, there is the fact that I did have an orgasm both times he fucked me. I think that's perverted!
To have an orgasm when someone is humiliating you, inflicting pain on you, treating you like the lowest animal!
That's why I came to see you.
I think I may need help.
Oh, I don't think the trauma was so bad that I won't get over it.
It's just that I was so dense about Don's character, and so perverted in taking pleasure from his rape.
What do you suggest I do, Doctor? I cannot live thinking that maybe something is defective about my personality.
And I really feel so bad about the whole thing. I thought I loved him so much, thought I knew him.
How wrong I was!
CONCLUSION
This case has several interesting components.
First of all, it must be very obvious, even to those readers most ignorant of psychology and its principles, that Mary has a severe sexual neurosis.
It will take intensive therapy to dissolve the shackles of sexual ignorance which have bound the girl to her fantasies of what sex should be, rather than what it really is.
Secondly, there is the question of bondage. A recent sexual study has indicated that fully forty per cent of the married population in the United States practice some form of bondage and discipline.
That in itself should indicate the naturalness of the acts involved. Mary's objections to the act indicate her severe neurosis.
With regard to her husband, Don, I can find no fault with him with the exception of a minor pardonable tendency to exuberance.
Given the whining that Mary indicated she did on her wedding night, I can fully sympathize with his irritable reactions to his young bride.
It is unusual for a bride to achieve orgasm on her wedding night. Mary achieved two climaxes, so I cannot fault Don for his sexual prowess, although Mary, at this stage of therapy objects heartily to it.
I have recommended separation for the couple, rather than divorce, while Mary undergoes an intensive course of therapy.
Although the subject is stubborn, she is making progress, and has indicated a willingness to pursue the relationship with her husband.
The prognosis is good.
CASE HISTORY TWO
Subject: Ellen S. Age: Twenty-six
INTERVIEW ONE
Ellen was an attractive housewife who had been married for ten years. I am used to seeing people who have been married between seven and ten years, as this is a crucial point in any relationship.
But I was not prepared for the revelations which Ellen unfolded during our sessions.
Although her body language indicated some mild distress, the woman was easy-going, indeed, even radiant, and I wondered what the precipitating crisis was, which had caused her to seek the advice of a psychiatrist.
She told me, readily enough.
I think I'm sick.
No, I don't feel sick, and I'm very happy, and I adore my husband, Harry. But still, there have been developments in our marriage, that make me wonder if I'm not going off the deep end-if, perhaps both of us are going off the deep end.
It all started this past summer.
My husband and I have been married for ten years.
We have two adorable children, Karen who is eight and a half, and Eric, who is six.
Harry is an excellent provider, an attentive and loving father, and a tender, thoughtful husband.
He decided that the children were old enough to be sent away to camp for a few weeks in the summer, if they wanted to go.
Well, they did! They were absolutely thrilled with the idea-After the children had been put to bed, and we were discussing it, my loving husband looked at me across the kitchen table where we had had our little caucus with the children.
"And we, my darling, can have a second honeymoon, just the two of us, like it used to be when we were first married, before the children came."
I blushed like a silly little school girl.
It's wonderful to feel desirable to your husband, even after ten years of marriage.
I mean, I'm no school girl!
Our sex life is good, too. Well, it wasn't sensational, but it was good. We love each other, and we communicate our needs well to each other, so we've never had a problem in that area.
But I will admit that it was a bit boring, sort of matter-of-fact, no matter how tender and loving the act was.
I had taken to reading some of the new sex manuals that came out. Some of the positions really excited me.
But I was really embarrassed at some of my desires, and I hesitated to tell my husband about them, because I thought he might think me perverted.
As the time drew near for the kids to depart for camp, however, I took some of the sex manuals out of their hiding places, and casually mentioned them to my husband, showing him some of the better ones-the illustrated ones.
He didn't seem too upset at my having the manuals. As a matter-of-fact, he expressed a certain interest, and began to read them.
We hid them in our bedroom, so the children wouldn't find them.
The children left for camp, for four weeks, on a Saturday. The timing was ideal.
Of course my husband had to work. He usually got his vacation around Christmas time, since that's a big family time for us. Both his parents and mine come from out of state, and that's the time they usually visit us.
But we had two whole days, all alone, to do anything we wanted in, without having to think of the children.
We saw the children off to camp, and then returned home. By that time, it was about lunch time.
"Are you hungry?" I asked him, as we went into the house.
"Sure am!" Harry said, hugging me.
"I'll make lunch, then," I said.
I had it all prepared. I had bought some good steaks, and some asparagus. I had got a lovely burgundy, which was cooling nicely in the refrigerator.
While Harry got out the gardening tools, to take care of the roses he grew, I started lunch.
I was happy and expectant.
I set the dining room table with a white linen tablecloth, and even put flowers and candles on the table.
I went upstairs, and changed into a very risque halter and shorts set which I had bought for the occasion.
It wasn't anything that I would ever think of wearing under ordinary circumstances, but this was our second honeymoon, and as far as
I was concerned, anything went! I was going to take advantage of every sweet day we had alone.
When luncheon was ready, I called Harry, who came in and washed up.
"Well, what's this?" he asked, beaming as he saw the table. His eyes flicked from the table to my burgeoning cleavage, which, I must admit is still magnificent, and which was very obvious in the halter top I was wearing.
We ate dinner, Harry's eyes hotly devouring my exposed skin.
The whole thing was incredibly exciting to me, and I felt my pussy starting to cream.
I had realized that, although I had kept my figure with determined dieting, it had been a long time since I had tried to seduce my husband.
The effects of my simple preparations were astounding.
When I got up to clear the dishes, and bring the dessert, Harry grabbed me, and pulling me down onto his lap, he began to kiss me, passionately.
At first, I surrendered to his kiss, pressing my partially exposed boobs into his chest.
I could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the hard-on pressing up into my ass cheeks, as he snaked his tongue into my very willing mouth.
But lunch wasn't over yet.
Giggling like a bride, I pushed him away.
"Harry, we still have dessert!"
"I have my dessert," he husked, one of his hot ardent palms cupping my beautiful tits.
I moaned, feeling the nipple puckering beneath his massaging hand.
Then I pushed away. Flushed and laughing, I got up from his lap.
"Dessert comirig up!"
Harry lunged for me, and threw me to the floor. At first, the violence of what he did startled me.
He leaned down, and with one violent wrenching motion, he pulled off the halter top, exposing my melon-shaped tits.
The effect of having my breasts exposed to his ardent gaze, the very roughness of his handling, was creating erotic sensations of an intensity that was totally new to me.
I looked up at him, awed, and decided to play it to the hilt. Taking advantage of the slight fear that was merely the result of not knowing what was to happen next, rather than any apprehension of my husband's harming me, I started to back away.
Harry grunted. His face was now a mask of unbridled lust, as he reached for the waist band of the short shorts I was wearing.
These, too, he wrenched from my body.
Aside from sandals, I was wearing nothing else. My blonde pussy lay exposed and gleaming to his lewd and lustful gaze.
I cannot begin to describe the erotic sensations which lit a fire in my pussy such as I have never felt.
Harry fell on top of me, his hands running wild over my nude body. Harry was wearing cut-offs, and a T-shirt. like me, he has never developed a paunch nor got overweight.
He has a magnificent body, which he keeps trim by attending a gym three times a week.
The very contrast between my utter nudity, and his being clothed made me wild.
"Harry, stop it, please!" I gasped, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.
"No!" he barked.
He got up on his haunches, and grabbed at my wildly flailing arms, as I struggled to release myself from his hot embrace.
My heart was beating wildly in my breast. My nipples were puckered and tingling with a hot pleasure which rippled through my surprised body.
He picked up the halter, and bound it around my wrists, and tied it. Then he brought my kicking feet up, and bound my ankles to my already pinioned wrists.
I gasped, wide-eyed, at the wild man my husband had become before my very eyes.
But even with the slight anxiety I was feeling at the unaccustomed "rough treatment I was getting, my pussy was creaming heavily.
In the position in which Harry bound me, my swollen pussy lips were fully exposed to his hot gaze.
Grunting, he ripped off his T-shirt, and then pulled down his cut-offs.
I had never seen his cock so big and demanding-looking. It was red and throbbing powerfully, fully distended, longer and thicker than I had ever remembered it.
At the tip of his cock head, his piss slit was drooling little opaque drops of pre-come. I licked my lips, feeling an insane urge to suck on him, to taste his thick gism, to feel it pouring hotly down my throat.
But that was not what Harry had in mind.
He knelt down and caressed the under part of my thighs, and teased my cunt with his finger, spreading my cleft wide, and pressing his finger tip into the inflamed love button, which had popped out of its fleshy sheath.
I gasped, as I felt him rubbing his finger up and down the swollen petals of my pink pussy.
My hips started to writhe, almost out of my control, as the hot pleasure mounted.
I struggled violently, bound as I was in my own halter, wanting to be freed of the bonds, wanting to put my arms around him, wanting to get his cock into my mouth.
But Harry was having none of it.
He continued to tease me, mercilessly.
He pried open my round firm ass cheeks, and teased the puckered brown hole of my rectum, until I thought I was going to go crazy with the sexual heat which coursed through my body.
"Harry, please, let me go. I want you!"
"Mmmmm!" Harry said, bending down, to bury his face in my fragrant snatch.
I gasped, and my hips bucked up into his mouth as I felt his tongue twirling around and around on my swollen clitoris.
"Ahhhh!" I cried, feeling the heat built to pre-orgasmic intensity, the-likes of which I had seldom experienced.
"Mmmmmm!" Harry moaned, as he flattened out his tongue and ran it down my turgid muff, spreading wide open, the flower-like folds of my woman meat.
"Harry, please let me go. I want to fuck you. I'm going to come!" I squealed, writhing and twisting with the effects of his gorgeous mouth.
"Mmmmm!" Harry moaned again, his tongue prying into my dripping fuck hole, sucking out the juices which were flooding down my love tunnel.
"Harry, please!" I begged, my desperate voice taking on a whining tone. "I'll suck you off, honey, please, please let me go."
I moaned, feeling the sweat pouring from my feverish flesh, as Harry ignored my begging and pleading, and continued to tease me to a riotous lustful pleasure that started to trigger my orgasm.
"Please, Harry, I'm coming!" I squealed, wanting to feel his big fat, loveable cock stuck in my mouth or my cunt. I really didn't care which.
But Harry kept teasing me, mouthing my swollen muff, sucking up my juices, moaning as his hands wandered all over my hot-to-trot body.
"Arrgghhh!" I screamed, feeling the orgasm open up my cunt, which convulsed wildly in the most wonderful climax I had ever achieved.
Harry seemingly ignored the wild thrusting and thrashing of my body as I came wildly. The orgasm was incredibly prolonged, rushing through me, making my body taut.
My hands and feet were like claws, so contracted were they, bound in front of me together.
My body quivered and quaked, the heat rolling through me, fading, and then building again, as if I were in the middle of a storm in a warm sea.
I screamed and writhed wildly, and strangely, even though the orgasm was incredible, fantastic, the desire for my husband's cock grew to such a pitch as to be absolutely painful.
The pain of my desire lodged in my cunt along with the fabulous orgasmic pleasure which started there, and expanded in waves through my whole body.
I started to cry, partially with a sweet frustration, and partially for joy at the wonderful things I was experiencing.
I felt as if my whole body were expanding, felt as if, for the first time in my life, I really felt my body, felt the organs quivering warmly, contracting and expanding rhythmically in time to the climactic convulsions which were creating such a delicious delirium.
The orgasm started to fade slowly, each plateau in its descent another weltering stream of different pleasure sensations.
As I started to relax, started to come back to the reality of lying bound on the dining room floor, deprived of my husband's cock, which I wanted with a passion I had never known, not even when we were first married, Harry rose up slightly off his haunches, and plugged my still convulsing soaking wet hole with his cock.
Then he thrust inward. My cuntal walls spread wide open, as his cock ripped through my still convulsing pussy, the massive strength of it wading deep, deep into my womb.
I screamed, as the orgasm which had just faded into a pleasant relaxed glow, rose sharply upward again.
My husband grunted, as he started to ram his peter into me, his humping motions as furious as a pile-drivers. He thrust more deeply into me than I had ever felt, probably because of the position in which he had me bound.
His cock pumped in and out of me with a delicious fury that caused my orgasm to peak, and then peak again, until I was thrusting back at him as much as I could in my bound state, my actions those of a lust-mad woman.
I couldn't get enough of him.
"Oooh, Harry, fuck me, fuck my cunt, spill your spunk deep into my hot pussy!" I screamed obscenely, wanting to voice the intense feelings that had taken possession of my hot body.
"I'm fucking your cunt. Fucking your hot, wet, sucking snatch. Feel my cock plowing through you, Ellen. Feel my big prick stuck in your hot little snatch!"
I cannot tell you how those dirty words inflamed me.
My husband and I had never used such language to each other, and here we were, rutting like the most wanton couple who ever lived, instead of a respectable couple who had been married and lived together faithfully for ten years.
"Ohhh, I love your prick, Harry. You have a wonderful, fabulous peter. Keep fucking me, Harry. I love it, love it, love it!" I screamed.
"I'll fuck you blind. I'll stick my thick joy stick into you until you scream for mercy ... unnhhh!"
I felt Harry's cock lurching hotly in my cunt. His heavy, hairy balls slapped into my exposed ass cheeks, which were quivering with the incredible joy which had heated my body.
Snarling and squealing, and grunting obscenely, the two of us writhed lasciviously in the throes of our orgasms.
I felt Harry's thick, heavy load of scum pouring into my twat, and my orgasm reached-no, stretched-to an even greater height.
My ears were ringing with the wild frenzy which had taken hold of my mind and body, and turned me into a raving, obscenely talking wild woman.
I was a whore, felt like a whore, and abandoned myself to the lascivious sensations, writhing on my husband's heavily spewing schlong until the two of us, God Knows how much later, came down, slowly.
I groaned, feeling the post-orgasmic bliss ripple through my body. I think I fainted for a moment. I could feel my eyes rolling back in my head.
When I awakened, I was unbound, and nestled in Harry's burly, warm and comforting arms.
His face was flushed, his eyes still lust bright, and his cock was still semi-erect, as he reached down to plant a deep warm kiss on my quivering, moist mouth.
Well, that kiss was fatal!
As soon as I felt his warm, generous mouth on mine, felt his tongue tip meeting mine and teasing it wetly, all the passion I had felt built up in me again, until my cunt was a raging inferno, and I grabbed his prick greedily, and started to pump it.
His cock lurched lustfully and hotly in my sweaty, lustful hand.
I knew as surely as I had my hand on his prick, that our first night alone together, had just begun.
I had to stop Ellen at this point, since our time was up, and I had another patient waiting.
I made another appointment for her for the end of the week.
INTERVIEW TWO
When Ellen came back for her second visit, she was just as radiant as ever, and still exuded that slight sense of discomfort.
By now, I was fairly familiar with the cause of the discomfort, but I feel it is highly therapeutic to allow a patient to finish verbalizing his story, in order for the cathartic effect to have full results.
So I leaned back in my chair, and encouraged her to continue.
Well, doctor, as I said, that first night alone together in almost nine years was the start of something big-bigger, even, than I care to contemplate.
It was as if a dam had burst.
We couldn't keep our hands off each other, our mouths off each other's genitals, couldn't refrain from fucking in any imaginable position, and a few that to me seemed inconceivable.
Harry had obviously read the sex manuals I had given him, and he had mastered them, and was practicing them with an enthusiasm and a wild, feral passion that I had never seen in him.
We did nothing but fuck and suck, and play bondage games for two solid weeks.
I used to go crazy when Harry, after waking up early to fuck me, would have to go to work, leaving me alone.
But our sexual relationship altered somewhat, too. Harry was not the only aggressor.
I was just as insatiable.
One night, when he came home, I was upstairs, waiting for-him.
"Ellen?" he called, as he swung the front door open. "I'm home."
"Harry come upstairs!" I called.
The smile on his face changed to a leer, when he saw me. I was lying totally nude on the bed, my legs splayed wide open. I was fingering my pussy.
"Come fuck me, honey!" I gasped, feeling my horny body bring goose flesh to my soft white skin.
Harry ripped off his clothes, and literally I threw himself on my body, his cock fully erect, and plunged into me.
He rode me like a rutting bull rides a cow in heat. He was furious and marvelous, and we both came wildly, several times.
We fell asleep in each others' arms. I awoke, considerably refreshed and ready for more fucking. Only Harry wasn't there.
I got out of the bed, and walked naked to the head of the stairs.
"Harry?" I called from the head of the stairs.
"I'm in the kitchen, Ellen," he said.
I walked down the stairs, feeling the wet, sticky effluence of my overheated twat dribbling down the soft inner flesh of my thighs.
I walked into the kitchen, and gasped.
Harry was nude, his massive cock angry-looking and throbbing. He had a set of ropes in his hand.
"Come here!" he husked.
Fascinated, enthralled with the power and the unleashed fury of his voice, I walked toward him silently.
I started to put my arms around his neck, to kiss him.
He grasped my wrists, and backed me into the kitchen table, and pushed me onto it.
I felt the edge of the table cutting into my full, round ass cheeks, as he tied my arms to the legs of the table, and then, spread-eagling my legs, tied my ankles to the opposite pair of legs.
Then he stood between my wide-spread legs.
He took his raging cock in his hands, and began to rub the drooling head up and down my swollen, gleaming-wet cunt lips.
"You're a whore," he said, leering at me.
"You're my slave, my sex slave. You will do anything I say."
"I'm a slut!" I echoed, my hips undulating against his cock head, rubbing up and down my raging twat. "I'll do anything you say. Fuck me, suck me, make me go down on you-anything, anything! I'll do anything you want."
Harry's cock was still rubbing steadily up and down my dripping pussy lips.
His flesh against the soft pink meat of my twat was soft and hot-feeling. He rubbed his dripping, slimy cock head against my clitoris.
"Yaaaiiieee!" I squealed, feeling myself surrender to the hot, fleshy pleasure which his cock was giving me. "Fuck me, fuck me, Harry. Fuck me, you dirty, big prick. Stick your beautiful cock into my dripping twat!"
Harry's well-developed chest was heaving with his hot and heavy breathing. I felt his cock head pressing at the entrance to my fuck cave.
"Ahhhh!" I groaned, as I bucked my hips up, impaling my body on the hot, hard, fleshy nail of his manhood.
My body started to quiver with the hot pleasure which was roaring through me right away.
I had the feeling that I was going insane. That no one could endure this kind of exquisite, intense pleasure, that I was going sex-mad.
And I didn't care. I loved it, loved it, wanted more of it!
Harry's fantastic ramrod plunged into me hotly.
My body tightened in its bonds, as I felt him parting my cuntal walls with his thick, hot prod.
His big hands came down and mashed into my breasts. My nipples puckered tightly under his hot sweaty palms, as he roughly kneaded my tits.
He was palming them so ardently, that he was hurting me, and I didn't care. It felt good. It felt perverse, tied to the kitchen table, my twat spread wide-open, with this hot and demanding man, plunging in and out of me.
My juices welled up in me, and rolled thickly down my cunt hole, spewing like honey out of my convulsing twat thickly, trickling down my ass, and dribbling off the edge of the table.
The kitchen became heavy with the smell of sex, as Harry plunged into my lubricated cunt.
The sounds of his fucking were like an aphrodisiac, and drove me crazy. His cock made sucking and wet plopping noises, as he thrust into me, almost swimming in the heavy syrup which was rolling continuously in hot waves down my fuck channel.
"Ahhh! Hurt me, fuck me, use me, do anything you want to me."
"I'm fucking you, Ellen," my husband said, his voice husky with his passion. "I'm dipping my wick into your oily cunt. I'm pumping into you. I'm going to fill you till you burst with my thick scum."
He grunted heavily, sounding like a rutting pig, as his muscular buttocks slammed inward, and then arched outward, and then contracted and slammed inward again, propelling his hot cock into me, driving it deep, deep into my helpless cunt.
His cock felt bigger and harder than ever!
"Fuck me, Harry. Plant your big peter deep in my wet twat. I want all of you. Stuff your beautiful balls in my twat, Harry. My cunt wants to suck you all up."
I felt his balls slamming into my sticky, dripping quivering ass cheeks, as he rammed into me harder and harder, until I thought he really was trying to stuff his balls into me.
And I really wanted him to!
His hairy groin slammed wantonly into my swollen, wide-open pussy lips. Each time he rammed into me, his wiry, thick pubic hairs tickled my clitoris, and stimulated my already hot muff until I thought I would pass out from the heavy pleasurable sensations which inflamed my wild and lascivious body.
Even bound, I found I had considerable latitude in the motions of my hips. I ground my swollen muff heavily into the hairy base of his cock. I swiveled my hips lasciviously upward, in a cork-screwing motion which caused his cock to twist and lurch in my tight, convulsing cunt.
My hips slapped up and down on the table, which was soaking wet beneath my hard-humping ass cheeks, from the thick syrup which rolled out of my hot twat.
I grunted, and gnashed my teeth as I felt my orgasm rising. My wrists and ankles throbbed wildly, providing anoter poulse-point of pleasure. The tight bonds with which my husband had tied me to the table cut off the circulation in my hands and feet, and I didn't care.
It hurt but it felt good.
Harry's cock felt good too, but it also hurt, as he drove it into me again and again, each thrust inward driving me crazier with the lust that poured through me.
Harry's hands pressed into my gorgeous breasts, flattening them out on my chest. They were swollen to almost twice their normal size with the passion which had bloated my whole body.
I ground my muff up into my husband's hard-driving dork, feeling my whole body quiver with pre-orgasmic fury.
I screamed as I felt the orgasm rise in me, clutching at my body with feral hands, driving me crazy.
My head was pressed hard into the wooden surface of the table. I tossed from side to side, straining on the ropes that held me to the hard surface, as I felt my cuntal muscles let loose, and clutch rhythmically, spastically, and with enormous greed, at the thick shaft which was driving such pleasure through me.
His thick cock distended to even greater size. I felt it stuffing my cunt with an even greater pressure which only intensified the strength of the orgasmic convulsions which were ripping through me.
His cock was thickly covered with my pussy cream, as he plunged into me again and again, each thrust raising the heat in my cunt to a raging fever.
My cunt became almost like a vacuum, sucking the spunk out of his heavy balls, which were slamming with a more frenzied rhythm into my wildly humping ass cheeks.
Then I felt the first spewing of his gism into my sucking, hungry woman-maw. My cuntal muscles worked frantically, drawing in all the spunk from his violently spewing cock.
I felt my pussy walls clutching greedily at his pistoning prick. Each time my sucking snatch grabbed at the prod swiveling into me, the sweet waves of orgasmic ecstasy ripped through me, each wave more powerful than the last.
I became a wild woman under the man fucking me. My body gleamed with the sex sweat which was pouring out of my flesh.
My husband's sex sweat poured all over me.
Each inward thrust deposited more and more of his man juice into my thirsty cunt.
I groaned, and my whole body arched upward, straining my shoulders and hip joints, which were tightly bound, as my orgasm peaked furiously, and started to slowly fade.
Harry shot the last of his hot, steaming wad into my aching cunt, and then collapsed on top of my body.
I lay there, tied to the table, loving the feeling of his still erect cock throbbing in my drooling cunt, the feel of his heavy body pinning me helpless to the table.
The warmth of his body flowed through me, adding to my post-orgasmic pleasure. Our sex sweat glued our bodies together.
He finally pulled out of me, and untied me.
I have never felt so wonderful, so sexual, in my life.
But those weeks we spent together like that, rutting almost constantly, has created problems in our home life.
What we started could not be turned off as easily as it seemed to be turned on.
The air is now rife with sexual tension.
One day when my husband came home, and kissed me in the kitchen, where I was preparing a meal, he leaned me over the work counter, cupping my rounded ass buns in his hands, pressing my creaming muff into his hot and throbbing cock, I heard a giggle.
We both turned, and there was our little daughter, smiling.
"That's nice, Mommy and Daddy. Do it again," she said.
I was embarrassed. Another time, our son, Jimmy caught us necking, my husband's hand in my blouse, fondling my lust-swollen tit.
I don't know what this rampant sexuality is going to do to our kids, frankly, which is why I've come to see you.
We continue the bondage games, which I positively adore. My husband is so masterful, and he makes me feel so weak, so wanton, that I'm creaming in my pants just talking to you about it.
But what are we going to tell our kids, if they ever catch us at our perverse pleasures?
I'm really worried about it, Doctor, and I would appreciate your advice on the matter.
CONCLUSION
There was no advice I could give her except to continue as she had been doing.
There are several classic examples here of the developments that occur in a viable relationship.
When people marry, they are usually young, and still imbued with their parents' prejudices and fears with regard to sexuality.
Of course, as they have children, they settle into a pattern, or routine, if you will, that frequently shuts them off from sexual experimentation.
This is where most marriages fall on the rocks.
The marriage of Ellen and Harry, however, is so good as to be almost ideal. They have fearlessly explored their sexual natures without damage to their perspective.
Their children, far from being hurt at seeing the sexual demonstrations of affection, are going to learn from them, and learn in the best atmosphere, which in this case is one of love and trust.
That of course is the best context for sexuality, as any normal healthy individual knows.
The bondage games, like role playing, are valuable experiments in human communication. There is a bit of the slave in most of us, as well as much of the master or mistress
The only advice I could give to Ellen on their bondage games, was that she occasionally take the lead, and taste her own sense of mastery over her husband. This would enrich an already rich relationship even further.
There was no therapy indicated by the case history I have just presented. I have used it in this compilation as an example of a healthy, flourishing relationship.
CASE HISTORY THREE
Subject: Maria D. Age: Nineteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Maria was a stunning brunette with deep, warm brown eyes.
When she had called for an appointment, she had seemed most upset. Now, as she sat in front of me, nervously picking at her fingernails, her head down, I became aware, as I often do, as the patients come and go, how resourceful the body is in telling the story of the mind.
She bit her lip, and almost flinched when I asked her to tell me what brought her to my office.
After some hesitation, and several false starts, she told her story.
Well, I suppose I ought to start by telling you I'm nineteen. I'm an orphan.
I lived with two aunts, while I was growing up and going to school.
I graduated with honors, and went on to find an excellent job with an electronics firm, as their office manager.
I really liked the work, and the men I worked with.
It was there that I met my husband.
His name is Lou. He's very tall, and well-built, and he just exuded an aura of sexiness, the first time he walked into the office, on my first day.
He smiled at me, his teeth showing white in his tanned face.
"Hello! I'm Lou Denning," he said. "Welcome to the company."
I couldn't help smiling back. He was the handsomest man I have ever met.
We didn't get really friendly, until I had been there maybe six or eight months. Then there was an office party.
We spent most of the time talking in a corner. I realized that many of our tastes and interests were the same.
He took me home, and left, and that was all there was to it, that first time.
But about a week later, he asked me if I would like to go out to dinner. I said yes. That night, when he took me home, he kissed me goodnight at the door.
On our next date, we went to a motel, and I let him cop my cherry. Oh, yes, I was a virgin at the time, but I wanted him so badly, that he could have done almost anything to me.
He was very gentle and tender, and it was a long, hot, passionate night. It turned into a long, hot, passionate romance.
We were married about a year ago.
I should tell you, I suppose that he's twenty years older than I, but he's very young for his age, well-built, as I have said, and handsome.
He has always been a good lover.
I'm here because I'm very upset with a change in our relationship, and I don't know quite how to handle it.
It all happened several months ago.
Lou is very fussy about how the house is kept, how the meals are prepared and served, and how I look.
On night, he came home from work, and I was cooking the supper.
"What's that?" he asked.
"It's a new recipe I got out of a magazine," I said, smiling at him.
"I don't like the way it smells."
"But, Lou, how do you know if it's good or not, until you taste it?"
Lou looked at me and frowned. Then he went to change his clothes for dinner. He didn't say anything else.
I tasted the casserole, and it seemed to be delicious to me, but I was nervous.
I called Lou for dinner, and served the casserole.
He sniffed it again, and then made a wry face.
He was such a good husband, that I really didn't want to displease him, or do anything to hurt him, but I didn't know what to do about the casserole.
Then he tasted it.
"How is it?" I asked, toying with the food on my plate. I couldn't eat. I was really anxious and upset now.
He didn't answer me.
He ate in silence, finishing the whole plate. Usually, when I did something Very well, he would be highly laudatory, but his silence made me fidget.
After dinner, he left the table, and I cleaned up the dishes, and went into the living room.
"Well, didn't you like it?" I asked, getting more and more distressed with his silence.
He was reading his newspaper. He had one leg crossed over the other, and his foot was bouncing up and down.
"Lou, please answer me! What's the matter?"
Lou didn't answer, and I got angry.
Well, that was our first quarrel. I really let him have it, and then I stormed out of the living room, and went to bed.
When Lou reached for me that night, I just rolled over, with my back to him. Lou didn't press the issue.
But the next night when he came home, I didn't have any supper for him.
He hadn't said goodbye to me in the morning when he left, nor did he call me at all during the day which he was wont to do.
"Where's my supper?" he demanded, his voice surly.
I had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. I didn't answer him.
I was reading a magazine in the living room, and I kept right on reading.
I heard Lou go out of the room, and out the back door. I wondered what he intended to do, and assumed that he was going to go to the local coffee shop for something to eat.
But I didn't hear the car start up, and it was too far to walk.
"Maria, come here!" he hollered, coming into the kitchen again.
I stayed right where I was. I was very nervous, but I also felt hurt and angry with his treatment of me.
"Maria! Come here!" he yelled again. There was a harsh edge of anger to his voice this time.
Again I got nervous, but I couldn't conceive of Lou doing anything violent, so I ignored him.
I heard him come into the living room, and suddenly, I was jerked out of the chair in which I was sitting, violently.
"Lou!" I screamed, wincing in pain at the vise-like grip in which he had my upper arm.
He dragged me out to the kitchen.
I kicked and screamed all the way.
He threw me on the floor, and stood over me. I looked up at him, terribly frightened at the way he looked.
He had an angry, harsh expression on his face, and his usually full, sensual mouth was drawn in a tight line of displeasure.
He glared down at me.
"I think it's time we got something straight," he said. "I'm the boss in this house. If I feel like doing something, it gets done.
"When I come home, I want my supper on the table. It's the least I can expect for providing you with a home, and your meals."
I could feel my rage and my fear mounting.
"How dare you talk to me like that! You treated me like shit yesterday, and wouldn't talk to me today, and now you're making demands as if I weren't worth the time of day."
Lou reached down, and pulled me up to my knees.
With a violent motion, he wrenched my blouse off. I gasped, and started to struggle with him again.
But he was stronger than I. Before I knew it, I was nude, as Lou ripped off all my clothing.
I felt shocked, afraid, and humiliated as he grabbed some rope from the table, and tied my hands behind my back.
"Stop it!" I screamed. "What are you doing to me?"
"I'm giving you exactly what you deserve!" he said, as he ran the long length of rope with which he had tied my hands behind my back around and around my body.
He looped the rough rope tightly around my breasts, causing the soft round tits to be dented with the pressure.
My nipples puckered with the pain that filled them, as he ran the rope around and around my boobs, and then twisted the rope downward, until he tied it tightly around my waist.
I could feel the rope digging into my soft flesh. And I felt a great fear fill me.
I looked up at the irate man who had just degraded me like this, tears in my eyes.
"Now think about it for awhile!" he said, harshly.
He went into the living room. I could hear the rustle of his newspaper as he opened it.
I was left, nude and tied up in the kitchen. Pretty soon, the hard floor of the kitchen started to make my knees ache.
The ropes twisted around and around my body cut into my flesh. The tightness of the loops cut off the circulation to my hands. I could feel them swelling and throbbing painfully.
My breasts ached fiercely as the rough rope dug into them.
"Lou!" I screamed. "Untie me!" There was no answer.
I struggled and only managed to abrade my flesh, causing red welts where my movements caused the ropes to dig even more harshly into my exposed flesh.
Finally, I had exhausted myself with my vain struggles.
I started to cry.
All sorts of things went through my mind as I suffered the humiliation of my helpless nakedness, and the apparent indifference of my husband to my troubles.
I thought at first that I would divorce him. But I really do love him, dearly! I couldn't think of living without him.
Furthermore, I had refused his sexual advances the night before, and I was very horny today.
I realized how much I enjoyed our intimacies. My husband, as I have said, is a magnificent lover.
Granted, he's the only man I've known, but I don't think that's important. I think it's more important that I love him, and that I think he loves me.
Well, this night, I wasn't sure of anything. I felt as if my whole world had been turned upside down.
I had never been so humiliated in my life, or so bewildered.
"Lou. Lou, please untie me. Please come talk to me!" I called.
I was answered with the by now usual silence.
I rolled over, landing heavily on the floor, by now exhausted, heart-broken, my knees inflamed with the pain of kneeling on the floor.
He had not tied my legs together. I tried to find a comfortable position, but when you are bound as heavily as I was, there is no such thing as comfort.
The ropes really dug into my flesh, and my body throbbed where the heavy bonds cut into my circulatory system.
My breasts were screaming with pain, as the ropes dug into the tender flesh.
I lay there, bound like that for several hours. Finally I heard the rustle of the newspaper, indicating that Lou had folded it up and finished with it.
I heard him get out of the chair in which he was sitting, and come out to the kitchen.
"Who's the boss in this house?" he asked.
"I don't understand what you're talking about, or why you have done this to me!" I exclaimed, crying.
"Who's the boss in this house?" he asked again.
I started to cry. To me it was a humiliating question that made for a final answer.
I guess I just wasn't willing to concede it.
He walked over to me, and pulled me up to a kneeling position again.
I cried out as my battered knees shot ripples of pain through my whole body. I was trembling now.
"I want a divorce!" I suddenly spat at him, furious with the rough treatment he was giving me.
In response, Lou's hand went down to my breast. He tweaked my nipple, and then kneaded it with his thumb and forefinger.
As I said, I had denied him his connubial rights the night before because I was angry with him.
But I spent the day paying for it, since I had been horny all day. My pants had remained soggy with my pussy cream.
Now, in spite of my humiliation and my anger, and the aching body which was tormenting me, my cunt started to quiver, as his hands moved over my brutally abraded tit flesh.
"How can you do this to me!" I cried, angrily, struggling, in spite of my desire, to get out of his reach.
Again I fell over backward, my legs sprawled outward.
With a grunt, Lou fell on top of me.
"That's part of what I can expect too," he snarled, as he grasped a thick hank of my hair, and pinned my head to the floor by yanking on it.
I winced, as I looked up into his angry eyes.
"I should be able to expect a neat home, a good meal, and a loving wife. What have I got the last day or so, huh?" he asked, pulling the hair a little harder.
I cried out, trying to get free of his grasp. I could feel his cock throbbing, fully erect, against my thigh, as he pressed me into the cold kitchen floor.
I moaned, but I didn't answer him.
"Answer me!" he exclaimed, angrily.
"I don't deserve this treatment," I said, feeling the tears welling in my eyes again.
"You don't!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "Do I deserve the cold shoulder from my wife, and no meal prepared for me when I get home from work?"
Lou's free hand reached down. Between our bodies, I could feel him fumbling with the zipper to his fly.
Again I started to struggle, but Lou was too strong for me.
He spread my legs apart, with one of his legs, and I felt his massive cock head pressed at the entrance to my dripping twat.
I got really angry with myself for feeling the desire rise hotly in my loins, as I felt his manly flesh making contact with my nether flesh.
Because in spite of the way he was treating me, I really wanted him, desired him.
And I think being all tied up that way had something to do with it, honestly. That response in itself I found fascinating.
Here I was, being abused by my husband, and he was going to fuck me, after tying me up and leaving me for hours, nude, in the kitchen! The whole situation struck me as being ludicrous, bizarre.
Lou grunted, and thrust into me, and I felt his cock spreading my cunt walls wide, felt the thick man-meat throbbing violently in the sticky-wet recesses of my womanhood.
Another sensation took hold of me.
I was nude, and tied up. My husband was clothed.
The erotic pleasure which coupled with the pain and discomfort of being tied up, only added to the intensity of the emotions that had taken possession of my body.
I moaned in spite of myself, feeling my cunt melt as his long, thick fuck rod, snaked its way into my love tunnel.
Then I felt his heavy balls pressing against my ass cheeks. The tickling of his pubic hairs against my soft nether flesh only caused more shivers of bliss to roll through me.
He started to move in me, his great peter rolling in and out of my hot fuck tunnel, slowly, sensually at first, and then with greater violence as the demands of his own passion built in him.
I wanted to respond to him. put my arms around him, make up with him, but I was tied, and still feeling aggrieved.
I was still angry, in spite of the hot pressure of his cock stuffing my cunt.
I felt my juices welling up and rolling hotly, like a thick hot syrup, down my cunt, coating his thick fuck rod, greasing it to more heavy activity.
My body got hot all over. I forgot that I was nude and lying on the cold kitchen floor.
All I could perceive, as his peter thrust in and out of me, was that I had a cunt, and Lou was reaming out that cunt royally, driving the anger and the pain out of my body, and filling the void with a hot ecstasy.
I moaned, as I felt his body humping into mine. The aching in my knees and my shoulders subsided as the heat of my passion rose to take its place.
And yet, at the same time, all the sensations mixed together in a lurid whole that added to the sexual pleasure which was bloating my body and causing me to sweat furiously.
I felt my husband's clothes grow damp on his body, as he pistoned his great fuck rod in and out of me, piercing my womanhood expertly, driving the juices to greater floods which rolled out of my cunt hole and dribbled down my ass cheek, to pool on the floor.
Before long, my quivering, humping hips were slapping into a thick pool of my cream. My husband fucked me furiously, his passion and violence growing with each thrust into me.
My nipples puckered as they rubbed into his shirt.
His breath puffed hotly against my neck, and I could hear his moans rising in pitch, as his body grew taut with pre-orgasmic frenzy.
His bodily heat flowed through me, melting my flesh into pools of sweat and quivering delight.
I squealed as I felt my cuntal muscles starting to ripple in the initial stages of sexual frenzy.
They clutched tightly, and rhythmically, with an increasing tempo on my husband's pistoning cock.
He lurched more violently into me. I felt his cock swelling and knew that he was about to ejaculate.
When I felt the first spewing of his hot spunky geyser into my aching and eager twat.
My quim went wild when I felt that sweet spray gently massaging the deep recesses of my woman cave, melding with my juices, and pouring down my hole.
I went wild, straining against my bonds as my body convulsed fiercely with the wild wet transports of sexual bliss.
He thrust into me violently one last time, depositing the last of his wad, and then he collapsed on top of my body, breathing heavily, while I writhed in my slowly fading ecstasy.
The kitchen was filled with the smells of our sex, and the sounds of our heavy breathing, as we recovered slowly from the delicious violence which had convulsed our bodies.
"Now," Lou growled, staring at me firmly, "who's boss?"
"You are," I whispered, grudgingly, but too pleased with the happy delirium that had shaken my consciousness.
Lou grunted, and got up, and removed the ropes that had bound me.
Where they had dug in, there were big red welts on my body.
We went to bed, and made mad, passionate love, almost all night.
I felt almost like a new woman. I certainly was more alive in my love-making than I ever recall having been before.
I adored my husband's cock.
I had to stop Maria at this point, as I had another patient waiting. I made an appointment for the following day, so that she could finish her story.
Before I could start treatment, if, indeed, treatment were needed, I had to have a complete clinical picture.
INTERVIEW TWO
Maria was punctual the next day. She sat down, and asked me what I wanted to know. I told her I wished her to continue her story, explaining to her that the precipitating incident which sent people to psychiatrists was usually a key note to what bothered them, and also indicated the nature and course of therapy.
Maria, with a little reluctance, sighed, and continued with her story.
Well, I told you about what happened that one night when he tied me up.
I really did resent what he had done. And at the same time, I had never been so sexually transported in my life.
The bliss I experienced that night was greater than anything I ever dreamed could happen to me.
But for a long time, even though I never said anything to Lou, it bothered me.
In spite of my loving him, and I certainly do, I doubted his love for me. I had never heard of anything like being tied up like that before, and I thought it was freakish.
And I had no one I could talk to. Certainly not my old maid aunts. They are very good and kind-don't get me wrong-but they are old-fashioned in the extreme.
And I really hesitated to ask any of my friends about what I considered to be a freakish incident. I didn't want them to think less of Lou, and I didn't want to expose the pleasure I had had, if it were perverted, as I suspected it was.
But Lou isn't insensitive. Frequently he would ask me if I were happy. I always answered yes, because basically I was happy.
"Well, then," he asked me one night, frowning, "what's bothering you?"
"Nothing's bothering me, Lou, nothing!" I said. I blushed when I thought how I was lying to him.
I had thought a good wife didn't lie to her husband. And here I was, deceiving him. I just never seemed to find the right time or opportunity to bring up that night, to talk about it.
Things went on like that for several weeks.
I had taken to buying sex manuals, and reading them.
The sex manuals brought to my attention how woefully ignorant I was of sex, and all its aspects.
In one book I bought, there was a whole section on bondage and discipline. I was fascinated!
I wasn't the only one something like that had happened to! Well, it made all the difference in the world in my attitude.
I hid the books behind some suitcases in the bedroom closet, not wanting my husband to know what I was doing.
One day, I went out in the afternoon, to do some shopping.
When I came home, Lou's car was parked in the driveway.
I rushed into the house, worried that he had come home sick or something.
"Lou?" I called, putting the bag of groceries on the table.
"I'm up in the bedroom, Maria," I heard his voice.
I walked up the stairs, and stood at the bedroom door.
"Are you all right, Lou?"
"Yes, why?" he responded. He was taking a suitcase out of the bedroom closet.
"You're home early, that's all."
"I'm being called out of town. There's an emergency in our plant in Downtown Trenton. I'll be back Monday afternoon," he said.
I threw my arms around his neck.
"I'll miss you," I said.
He raised his eyebrows in a sardonic expression.
"Oh, I don't think so," he said.
I was shocked. His remark was like a slap in the face.
"What do you mean!" I exclaimed, feeling very hurt.
Lou went to the closet, and pulled several of the sex manuals, many of them illustrated, out of the closet.
"What are you doing with these?"
I was flabbergasted. How could I explain.
He strode toward me, and grabbing me by the arm, threw me on the bed.
"I asked you what you were doing with this smut?" he asked again.
"Lou, I can explain!" I said.
Lou took the belt out of his trousers, and approaching the bed, grabbed my wrists, and pulled them over my head.
He tied my wrists together, and then looped the rest of the belt through the bed posts, pinioning my arms above my head.
Then he ripped off my thin summer dress.
I watched his cock, imprisoned in the fabric of his trousers, swell to turgid life, as he stared down at my magnificent breasts, my flat belly heaving with shock and anxiety, and my muff.
He leaned over, and roughly parted my legs, exposing my twat to his lewd gaze.
I couldn't speak. I was feeling humiliated again.
"So you get off on things like this," he said, picking up one of the books on bondage.
"N-no, Lou, that's not it at all!"
"Don't lie to me," he growled. He pulled off his clothes. Even tied up and abused like this, I couldn't help getting aroused at the sight of his immaculately trim body, his burgeoning peter, which throbbed with lascivious intent.
I felt my pussy lips swelling with my desire as he approached the bed with two neckties in his hand, which he had pulled off the rack in back of the bedroom closet door.
He knotted the ties around my ankles, and then spread-eagled my legs, by tying the neckties to each of the bedposts at the foot of the bed.
"Let's see how good you are at it. You've certainly done enough reading about the subject!"
"Please don't do this to me, Lou. I only wanted to find out about what you did to me the last time."
"What was there to find out?" Lou demanded. "I'm your husband, and if that's how I chose to keep you in line, that's my business!"
He fell on top of me, his naked body throbbing and hot with his passion. He pressed his chest into my boobs, flattening them out.
My nipples puckered with the pleasure of fleshy contact with his hairy flesh.
"Ohhh!" I moaned, as he placed his peter at the entrance to my cunt.
Being tied up, really did do something to me. It intensified my sexual feelings. I felt helpless and weak in the face of my husband's strength.
I felt his cock head drooling at the entrance to my dripping twat.
Then, with a grunt, he thrust inward. I gasped as I felt his thick dick stuffing my twat.
I felt my own lust growing as his cock slid all the way in to the roots, and then I felt his massive balls pressing against my ass cheeks.
He started to fuck me furiously, driving his hot thick dork in and out of my helpless cunt.
My hips bucked up into his hard-driving loins, as he slammed down into me with rapidly increasing strength and speed, as his passion built.
The leather bonds which held my wrist, and the silken bonds which spread my legs wide, and kept my twat open to the hard-thrusting prick of my husband, all seemed part and parcel of what was going on.
Lou grunted, and bracing his arms on either side of my twisting, writhing, pinioned body, he rose on his arms.
I looked down at the lewd joining of his fleshy rod with my secret pink and dripping hole. His cock appeared, wet and gleaming with my juices, and then disappeared as he thrust it deeply into my hole again.
His gorgeous buttocks rippled with the sweet effort of pistoning his cock in and out of my cunt.
His body gleamed with sweat, as he slammed into my swollen twat again and again.
His fucking motions became furious.
I was really getting off on being tied up. It was different from the last time, when I was bewildered and angry.
This time the anger was suspended as I gave myself up to the pleasurable sensation of being tied to my bed, and being fucked furiously by my husband.
He was like a rutting tiger, as his cock, like a pile-driver, slammed in and out of my pussy.
My own hips were out of control. I arched them upward, swiveling them against the hairy base of his cock as it descended, and his cock burrowed deep in the furrow of my womanhood.
My clitoris was tingling furiously, tickled deliciously by his wiry pubic hairs, which were now matted with my thick honey.
His cock dipped into my flooding fuck tunnel over and over again, and I squealed, my body thrashing on the bed, under his hard-humping body, like a spastic in the throes of a convulsion.
My cunt went wild. It started to suck furiously on his cock. I would have liked to have sucked in his very balls, so fiery was the passion that rolled through me.
I closed my eyes, as his hips undulated in and out of me, driving his cock deeper and deeper into my bound body.
I didn't care if his cock went up to my throat, and ejaculated through my mouth.
My own lips were parted. I was salivating with the excitement that made my juices well up and boil. Even my blood was hot as it coursed through my veins.
My husband groaned, and then I felt him shooting his great quantities of come into my hot and hungry twat.
I felt as if he were filling me to bursting, as his cock lunged in and out of my cunt. His man juices mixed with my honey, and dripped in great thick hot floods down my cunt.
I was beside myself with the passion that rolled through me. My body quivered and quaked as the great waves of ecstasy heated me to a great fever.
Grunting, I started to come down from the heights of ecstasy.
Lou got up off me and removed me from my bonds.
I helped him to pack, still not able to say anything.
I'm really bothered. I love my husband, but I feel as if I'm failing terribly.
I should be able to tell him how I feel, and yet I find myself getting more and more tongue-tied.
My husband doesn't really hurt me when he ties me up like that. What really hurts me is his arbitrary ways of doing things, and his silence.
But I'm not much better.
The thing is, I rather like being tied up like that. He's so masterful and wonderful, and I feel so weak and willing and excited.
What should I do? I don't want to lose him, but I can't go on with this wall of silence.
If anything happens to our marriage, I'll blame myself. Maybe I'm just not equipped to handle a man so much older than myself.
CONCLUSION
Maria was suffering from the typical lack of self-confidence of a young bride married to an older man.
This is not unusual. What is unique is that she perceived the breakdown in communications between her and her husband, and decided to do something about it.
I recommended joint counseling for the couple, so that, with experienced guidance, they could come to some resolution of their communication problem.
It turned out that Lou was also harboring some feelings of guilt for marrying a bride so much younger than he, and feelings of inadequacy with regard to his manhood.
The couple progressed wonderfully in joint counseling, and after six months of regular sessions, the communications barrier broken down, they became quite happy and content again.
With regard to the bondage, I assured both of them that it was a perfectly normal aspect of sexuality under most circumstances, and that if they derived mutual benefit and pleasure from it, there was no reason for their not continuing it.
After all, as Maria had discovered, they are not alone in their pursuit of pleasure through B and D.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
Subject: Celia J. Age: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
Celia was sent to me by her mother.
When her mother had made the appointment, she had indicated that her daughter was severely disturbed.
I made a note of the mother's vague comments, but reserved judgment until I had met the girl herself.
I was certainly surprised when Celia walked into my office. She was fairly tall, full-bodied, with luscious curves in an alive body with an alive and intelligent face.
She also did not appear, according to the personality profile which I made of her, disturbed in the least.
She was, however, very angry. In order to get at the answer to the mystery of why her mother had sent her to me, I asked her to tell me about the incident which had caused her mother's belief that she was disturbed, informing her of her mother's opinion.
That's par for the course, Doctor.
My mother has always been a jealous, possessive woman.
Take my boyfriends, for example. None of them were ever good enough for me.
I suppose I should explain that my father died right after I was born. He was killed in a car crash.
My mother never married again. She is a chronic mourner, and loves playing the role of martyr.
I decided when I was quite young, that I would never live that way. She always assumed that I would live with her and take care of her in her old age, citing the fact that she had supported me and raised me all by herself.
I have every intention in the world of taking care of my mother, if she ever needs assistance. I doubt that she ever will, however.
My father left three whopping insurance policies behind, and one of them was double indemnity in case of accident, so my mother and I are extremely well off.
But I also decided that she wasn't going to get her claws into me. She wasn't going to ruin my life just because she let her own go down the drain.
I married young, as my mother had. I finished high school with honors, and got a job right away.
I met my husband at a country club date.
I fell in love with him immediately. Stan is such a big, burly, manly kind of guy, a little rough in his ways, but completely loving and trusting and trustworthy.
He's just the man I've always wanted to marry, and we eloped after about a month of courtship.
My mother almost hit the roof when we came back from our honeymoon. She has steadfastly refused to speak to Stan.
Stan has a very good job. In a way, I think he's like my father must have been. He has several good insurance policies, and he's an excellent provider.
So I'm very happy.
And our sex life is very, very good. The problem, as far as my mother's concerned is that it's a little bit kinky.
But I love it!
What pitched my mother off the deep end was something she walked in on.
As I said, for several months after we were married, my mother wouldn't talk to Stan.
Well, fair's fair. Stan is the man of my home, and the boss, as far as I'm concerned. Since my mother wouldn't talk to him, I wouldn't let her visit me.
We have a nice little home in the suburbs, which Stan had bought just before he asked me to marry him. That's how cock-sure he is!
I visited my mother about once a week, and listened to her rant and rave about my going to the devil. But I remained steadfast in my determination that if she were not going to talk to my husband, then there was no reason for her to be sheltered under the roof my husband worked hard to keep over my head.
Well, I suppose I ought to give you a little background leading up to my mother's calling you.
I was a virgin when I was married. And I'm glad. When you meet a special guy like Stan, you feel awfully glad you saved the goodies instead of throwing the cherry away.
On our wedding night I discovered some of Stan's special interests. We had eloped, and been married by a Justice of the Peace over the state line. Then we went to a hotel near a beach resort.
As soon as we were alone in the hotel room, I threw myself into Stan's arms, pressing my very full body into his.
He disengaged my arms, and pushed me from him. He wasn't rough or nasty or anything like that-but just a little rough.
"Hey, wait a minute," he growled, firmly. "I wear the pants in this family."
"Oh, but Stan, I love you so!"
"I know it, but I'll take the lead, this once anyway."
Again I tried to throw myself into his arms, my lips seeking his full warm mouth.
Again he pushed me away.
"What did I just say?" he said, frowning at me.
I giggled. I certainly wasn't taking him seriously.
But Stan was taking me seriously.
"Sit down!" he ordered, pointing to a chair.
"No!" I said coyly.
Stan came over to me, and swooped me up in his arms, and plunked me into the seat. I stood up.
"Stan!" I cried, again throwing my arms around his neck. "Stop teasing me!"
"Dammit! When I tell you to do something, you're going to do it!"
He pulled me roughly to the bed, and threw me on it.
My eyes opened wide. I was a little scared, but not much. I was used to his manly roughness.
Stan went to his suitcase, and opened it.
"I was afraid this would happen," he said, his rich baritone voice ringing in my ears, and traveling from my head all the way down to my cunt which was really creaming.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I said, sitting up on the bed, and watching him as he pawed through his clothes, looking for something.
"You'll find out soon enough," he said.
I gasped when he pulled out several lengths of rope, and a thick leather belt.
He walked over to the bed. I could feel my face blanche with anxiety, as he stood staring down at me, sternly.
"Now you get undressed right now, if you know what's good for you," he said.
"Stan, what are you going to do?"
"Did I tell you to take your clothes off?" he asked, his voice rising with exasperation.
"Yes, but why?"
"Because I said so. Let's get something straight. I'm the boss around here, and I'm not going to have any trouble with you, or I'll know the reason why."
"But Stan, I'm not going to give you any trouble," I said. My excitement was rising with the intensity of the quarrel.
It was almost as if something perverse in me needed to fight with him, to test his mastery over me.
I folded my arms across my gorgeous breasts, and set my mouth in a firm line.
"Well, I'm not going to take my clothes off, and that's final!"
"No, it's not," Stan said quietly.
He put the ropes he had in his hand on the bed, and reached down. Quickly he ripped off my blouse.
I gasped that he would dare to do such a thing, and I began to struggle with him, really mad now.
But my strength was certainly not equal to Stan's, and before long, I was completely nude in front of him.
I was so mad, and so involved in the quarrel, that I didn't even get embarrassed because of my nudity.
And after all, why should I have? Stan was my husband, and I loved him.
But I sure attacked him. His own shirt was ripped, as I struggled vainly against him, as he stripped me.
When he had finished taking off my clothes, I was pretty well exhausted. Stan threw me on the bed again.
I landed on the mattress like a limp pile of rags.
Stan rolled me over on my stomach, and bunched my knees up under my belly. The tip of my knees dug into my full breasts which were hanging down.
Then he took the rope and began to tie me up. By now, I had exhausted most of my energy fighting with him while he ripped my clothes off my body.
He pulled my arms down my sides, so that they were parallel with my bunched up legs.
Then he started to wrap a length of rope around one arm and leg, until I was firmly pinioned. He did the same thing with my other side, tying the arm to the leg.
There isn't too much you can do in that position, let me tell you.
I struggled in vain to get loose, once I started to catch my breath after the recent struggle.
My ankles were free, each wrist tied to an ankle, my forearms firmly bound by coil after coil of rope to my legs.
My cheek was pressed into the pillow, my ass waving prominently in the air.
Stan pulled up a chair, and began to lecture me about the duties he expected of his wife, and the future mother of his children.
His voice was quiet and firm, while I pleaded, and begged, and even turned on a few crocodile tears.
Oh, yes, they were phony. Far from being scared by the whole thing, I was excited.
The fact that my own brand-new husband had tied me up, and was now gazing at my bound nudity was like a aphrodisiac to me.
Stan persisted in giving me the same lecture, going over the same points over and over again, until I finally subsided in my pleading and listened to him.
Then he stood up, and came over to the bed. He raised his arm and brought his hand smartly down on my exposed, prominent ass cheeks.
I squealed as I felt the sharp sting of his open palm against my buttocks.
And my breasts jiggled, as I started to struggle with the bonds again.
Stan slapped me to a fare-thee-well.
At first it stung a little, not much. He certainly wasn't giving me the full benefit of his burly arm, and even though I was screaming and crying, I was well aware of that fact.
But before he was finished, my ass flesh tingled hotly, and it was thoroughly reddened by the battering he administered.
The heat from my ass cheeks seemed to flow through my whole body, and it nestled in my cunt, which had started to cream copiously.
What made it even more exciting was, that in my position, the condition of my cunt was more than obvious to Stan, exposed as it was in my tied-up position.
I moaned, feeling the heat swell in my cunt, bloating my breasts, making them swell to even larger size.
My nipples puckered tightly, and little fiery-messages of pleasure shot from the tight cherry-red buds all through my body.
As I gazed over my shoulder, my bridegroom of just a few hours, was shucking his clothing.
My cunt creamed even more as I anticipated looking at his big manly body for the first time.
Stan is a big man, well over six feet, and he's built like a bull. He removed his shirt and T-shirt, revealing a deep-barrelled chest, and broad, capable shoulders. His arms were well-shaped, and very muscular.
His broad chest tapered down to a slender, hard waist. His belly was flat and the muscles stood out, gleaming, and sexy.
When he removed his trousers, and I saw his bulging thigh muscles, I thought I would faint with desire.
I became hot and weak all over, as I watched the huge lump in his jockey shorts.
He removed those, and his cock popped out. It was just like his body. It was thick, and long, and muscular. It was like a separate muscle in itself.
It stood straight out from his body, and throbbed slightly with the blood which pulsed through it, driven to his loins by his own lust.
I became acutely aware, as he stood up, looking down at me authoritatively who big and strong he was, how masterful.
He was a man, and I was a woman. And what added to the erotic impact was that he was a free man, and I was a bound, prostrate woman, my secret virginal parts exposed to his gaze, my body a slave to his will.
He obviously intended to take advantage of the situation.
He got up on the bed, and started to fondle my beaten ass. My juices roDed furiously down my exposed cunt, coating my swollen pussy lips, which had popped pinkly out of the thick, white outer lip.
I felt his finger running up and down my pussy lips. His were the first hands and the only hands that have ever touched my cunt.
I moaned, and jumped as I felt the hot contact of my flesh with his.
I struggled with the bonds, wanting to be free, to embrace him, to feel his hot body on mine.
"Stan, let me go, huh?"
"I'll let you go, when you know who's boss around here," he husked, his finger prying into my love hole.
He grunted as his fingertip pressed against my maidenhead. I felt the barrier pull a little. It sent a little shiver of pain through me, but it wasn't bad.
I didn't care if he hurt me, I really wanted him, wanted to feel his hot prod plowing through my virginal twat.
I groaned, and wiggled my ass up at him.
Then I felt his big, bulbous head pressing against my dripping twat. I was excited and scared at the same time.
I had all the young girls' fantasies of a wonderful night of sex, but like most girls, my fantasies were fairly conventional.
This was totally different, beyond my wildest dreams.
My husband had tied me up, and was going to fuck me in a doggy position. I suddenly felt wanton, like an abandoned hussy.
I felt Stan's hands grip my haunches, and I felt his cock head become lodged in my cunt.
I was dripping cunt syrup in a steady stream, which eased the entrance of his cock head into my cunt.
But the sensation was absolutely fantastic. It didn't hurt at all. It felt as if I had been stuffed with a huge sausage. But the sausage was alive.
It throbbed against the newly-stretched walls of my pussy, wreaking sweet havoc in my cunt.
He started to push his fuck prod forward, inching into my well-buttered twat. I felt the pressure mount as more and more of his sweet schlong burrowed into my eager, hot-to-trot snatch.
My pussy was extremely tight and deep, and it took some stretching to accommodate the generous girth of his peter. He kept pushing until his drooling cock head was throbbing against that thin membrane.
And then he gripped me tighter around my haunches and thrust forward roughly.
"Eee!" I gasped, as I felt the sharp pain of my hymen as my husband's cock tore through it.
The pain lasted for barely a minute. My husband's cock snaked its way into the depths of my recently opened twat, until his cock was buried, almost balls-deep in my wet and sticky quim.
And then all the pleasure began. He pulled his cock out to the tip, and then thrust into me again.
"Ahhh!" I cried, struggling with my bonds again. I wasn't fighting the ropes because I hated them or anything like that. It was just that as the hot pleasure grew in my body, my whole body responded by convulsing deliciously.
I wanted to wrap my arms, my legs, my whole body, around Stan's hard-humping body.
His cock ripped through me like a hot firebrand, each thrust sending me skyward with ecstasy.
I could hear him grunting as I bucked my ass cheeks backward, grinding them into his hard belly.
His pendulous, hairy balls slapped into my secret, passion-swollen flesh; each time his balls slammed into my swollen, sticky-wet flesh my passion rose higher.
Suddenly, I felt my cuntal muscles starting to grip at his cock. At first, the sensation alarmed me. The feelings that were rolling through me were akin to panic, but off such searing pleasure, that I thought I was going to pass out.
"Unnh!" Stan grunted, and he started to shoot his gism into me. My cunt went so mad when I felt the first gush of his hot, thick scum, that I thought it had become a ravening mouth, sucking on his fuck stick as if it were a lollipop.
I started to scream. My hips bucked backward, slamming into him furiously. Our frenzy lasted for a long, long time, my cunt muscles rippling wildly around Stan's massive mauler, as he thrust inward, spewing wad after wad of come into my quivering quim.
And then he collapsed on top of my body.
"Now who's boss?" he growled.
"You!" I said, smiling with my sexual delirium. I adored my new husband.
INTERVIEW TWO
I made an appointment with Celia for the following week, determined to track down the mystery of why her mother would brand her disturbed.
She was on time, and just as cheerful, and healthy-seeming as ever.
Well, after my wedding night, I became a very happy slave to my husband.
It wasn't as if Stan treated me badly, or ever even bruised me, or made me feel less than I was.
He's just a man's man, and I guess I'm a man's woman-Stan's woman, to be exact, and I love it.
As I said, my mother wasn't speaking to Stan, and therefore, she was not welcome in our home.
Well, one day, when I was visiting her, she ventured to suggest that if she were invited to dinner, she would be kind and courteous to Stan.
I agreed, inviting her to dinner the very next night.
Stan was agreeable, even though he didn't like her attitude. The next night was Saturday, and Stan had to work in the office for awhile.
When he came home, I had forgotten some stuff when I was shopping, so I asked him to go to the store for me.
He got mad, the way he does.
"You mean to tell me you can't be an efficient housewife? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing. I was wrong, that's all."
"Oh, yeah? Well, you're going to pay for wasting my time, after I have to put in overtime, and work six days out of the week," he said.
He made me take off my clothes. Then he made me kneel on the floor.
He bound my hands to the handle of the refrigerator door.
"Stan, fun's fun, but I have to make supper for Mother."
"And I have to go to the store to pick up what you forgot!" Stan said. "So let your mother wait!"
He tied me real tight to the handle of the refrigerator door, and then bent over and smacked me real good on the behind.
I don't think he meant to fuck me, really. But as soon as his hands made contact with my soft ass flesh, I could hear his breathing get harsh and raspy, and I knew he desired me.
He pulled me up off my knees, so that I was bent over at a right angle, my body parallel to the floor.
I heard the rasping of the zipper of his fly, as he pulled it down. Then I felt his cock plugging the entrance to my dripping fuck hole.
I certainly didn't object, having been trained early to appreciate the pleasures of being bound and subject to a man's whim.
And my man was so wonderful, so loving, so masterly, that I never failed to cream when he did tie me up, no matter how complicated the bonds were, or how tight.
I grunted as Stan lunged forward, dipping his wick deep in the flowing liquid of my pussy.
His cock was always so hot, so rigid, so demanding. He thrust in and out of me furiously.
My hands throbbed, deprived of the circulation which had been cut off because of the tight bonds at my wrists.
He fucked me to a fare-thee-well. His big hands reached under and palmed my pendulous full breasts, and then ran over my belly.
He teased my clitoris, and ran his finger up and down my swollen dripping wet twat.
I groaned, and started to buck my hips backward into him, driving his dork deeper into my honey pot.
My cuntal muscles began to squeeze his cock lovingly, virtually sucking the scum out of his teeming balls.
He started to ejaculate powerfully into my cunt, his gism flowing deeply into me, washing through me like a frothing wave, and then slowly, his juices flowed out, mixed with my cunt cream, and dribbled into a widening pool on the kitchen floor.
"Oh, Stan," I moaned.
"You can stay here and wait for me till I come back. Maybe that will teach you to have more respect for my time," he said.
He took the car keys, and went to do the errands I had requested of him, so selfishly.
My cunt tingled wildly, and I smiled as I patiently endured the bonds in which he had placed me.
It was a small price to pay for the pleasure and the love I got from him. It was also an excellent form of mild discipline, since it did teach me to improve in my personal and housekeeping habits.
Well, I waited and waited. I finally got down on my knees again, until they screamed with pain from being pressed into the hard kitchen floor.
But I wasn't thinking of my discomfort. I was worried about what was keeping Stan.
And then I heard the doorbell ring.
Well, Doctor, you know the rest of the story. At least you can suspect what it was.
I'm sure my straight-laced mother didn't tell you she found me bollicky bare-assed, and tied to the refrigerator door, and that she went from panic and grief, thinking I'd been raped, to downright outrage when she found out Stan had done it to discipline me.
Of course, when Stan finally did come home-he had become involved in a four-car crash, and escaped, thankfully with only two crunched bumpers, since he had been wedged in the middle of the deal, my mother lit into him as if he were the most loathsome monster.
She threatened to start legal proceedings, and I agreed to come to you only to thwart her.
She's the one who needs a shrink, not I. I wouldn't give up Stan or the life we have for anything in the world.
What can you do to stop my mother, Doctor?
CONCLUSION
I did manage to stop Celia's mother, by explaining that bondage and discipline is a relatively common practice among married couples, and by telling her that there was nothing really wrong with her daughter's marriage, or with her son-in-law.
I did recommend therapy for Celia, however, as well as for Stan.
Although their relationship is good, it is definitely limited because of Celia's defensive need to be excessively adoring and uncritical of her husband, and her husband's need to have that kind of hero-worship.
Even Stan agreed to go into group therapy, which I recommended for both of them, to raise their consciousness, and to advance their emotional abilities.
Stan agreed quite readily, after I pointed out to him the dangers of leaving a woman tied up alone in a house.
He was appropriately regretful of the incident, and conveyed the fear he had had, when he was detained, promising never to do it again.
The young couple do love each other, however, and there is no question that a year or so of group therapy will improve their own self images, and their relationship.
The mother is beyond therapy, unfortunately. She will continue to live, sexually repressed, taking pleasure in her role of self abnegation, and deprivation.
It says much for the basic mental health of Celia that she did not become infected with her mother's insidious, and often highly infectious neurosis.
CASE HISTORY FIVE
Subject: Nancy P. Age: Twenty-one
INTERVIEW ONE
Nancy was a perfectly lovely young girl with a slender figure and an almost flawless complexion.
I noted however, as she walked into my office, a certain petulant air about her, and a fluttering manner which indicated self-consciousness, and some vanity.
Before I had finished my initial questioning, I became aware that Nancy was wishing she were sixteen again, and acting accordingly. She was infantile, very hostile behind a sweet, passive manner, and rather selfish, although she could evince considerable verbal sympathy, which was certainly not heartfelt.
I'm here because I have had some rather traumatic experiences, Doctor, and I think I need supportive therapy while I'm going through my divorce.
I can't begin to tell you how I've suffered.
I've been sickly and rather weak all my life, although I've tried very hard not to be a burden to others. And I've lived as normal a life as I know how.
But it distresses me how inconsiderate other people are. For instance, I have asthma. I go through agonies several times a week, and I've been hospitalized because of it.
I'm heavily medicated, but people still persist in smoking in my presence.
Not only that, I have trouble at dinner parties.
In order to maintain my fragile health at a peak, I have, at some cost to myself, become a vegetarian, and yet people, even though they know this insist on serving meat in my presence.
When I mention this to them, they just smile with all the callousness in their common souls, and tell me to eat the vegetables and salad.
As you can see, I am quite sensitive. I just wish other people were.
The whole trouble began the day I got married, six months ago. I had met a really superb man, or so I thought
I mean, he was a perfect gentleman in everyway. He was somewhat common in his language, but he had an excellent reputation in his profession, and was succeeding well at his career.
He was well-read, and always interesting to talk to, which I found a blessing after years of having to listen to boors talk nonsense.
When he asked me to marry him, I agreed, quite readily, thinking I had found my mate for life.
Well, my wedding night was a horror. Charles was incredibly crude and demanding.
Of course, since I was his wife, I submitted to my connubial duties, but he could have shown a little more tenderness and consideration.
During the first week of our honeymoon, I had six asthma attacks, and a colitis attack.
The second week, I had a migraine, which I thought I had conquered.
I decided that it was merely the excitement, and the change in lifestyle which had created all the disturbances in my body.
But the real shocker came about a month after I was married.
Charles came home from work one evening, and asked what we were having for supper.
"Asparagus with hollandaise sauce, cauliflower, baked potato with sour cream, and green salad with wheat germ," I said, smiling proudly.
I had gone to a gourmet cooking school for vegetarians, and I was quite good at preparing delicious, healthy meals.
"Go get dressed," Charles said. "We're going out to dinner."
"But the meal's all prepared!" I exclaimed.
"I don't care! I am sick to death of vegetarian meals. I want a good steak!"
"You don't have any consideration at all!" I cried. "I spent the afternoon preparing gourmet delicacies for you, and you're ungrateful. You want to go out to eat."
Already I felt my throat tightening, and I was having trouble breathing.
"Are you going to get dressed?" Charles asked.
"No," I said, sitting at the kitchen table. "You go out. I'll eat right here, alone."
I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I bit my lip, and wouldn't look at him.
"Very well, then sit here and eat alone," he said. "I'm going out to have a steak."
My husband went upstairs, to wash up, leaving me crying in the kitchen. I thought I was going to die with the sense of rejection I had.
I put my head down on the table and wept.
I heard him coming down the stairs. I didn't look up when his footsteps came into the room.
He jerked me roughly up to a sitting position, with my back against the chair.
Before I knew what was happening, he was tying thick ropes around my body, very, very tightly.
"Charles, what are you doing? I can't breathe!"
"Try, darling, really try. That is, if you want to live," he said, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm.
He bound my body tightly to the chair, securing my wrists together behind the back of it.
My shoulders ached with the strain on them.
Charles finished tying my upper torso to the chair, and then tied my ankles to the legs of the chair.
Then he pushed the chair close into the table, so that the edge of it was digging into my flat belly.
As I followed his movements, Charles went and piled a plate high with the vegetables, pouring the hollandaise sauce over everything.
He placed the steaming, over filled plate in front of me, so that the steam and fragrance of the vegetables was wafting toward me.
"Enjoy your dinner, Nancy," he said, smiling slyly. I heard him leave the house, and heard his car start up and drive off.
He had left me, tied up in the kitchen, with a plate of food in front of me. I was alone.
I couldn't believe he had done this to me.
He was gone for three hours. I was positively nauseated by the time he returned. The constant odor of the vegetables in my nostrils, the steam, had weakened me.
My stomach is not strong, at best, and I was nearly prostrate as he came into the kitchen, and sat in the chair opposite to the one I was tied to.
"Why darling," he exclaimed, as he put his feet up on the table, a perfectly disgusting gesture, and highly disrespectful, I think, given my feelings on the matter, which I was careful to convey to him.
"You haven't eaten your dinner," he said, nodding at the food.
And then he did the most unforgivable thing he had yet done. He pulled a big, black cigar out of his pocket, and biting off the tip of it, he lit it.
I was nauseous anyway, and the smell of that foul cigar only made my stomach churn in my belly.
"Charles, I'm sick."
"Yes, dear, I know," he said, blowing a thick cloud of acrid smoke into my face.
I started to cry again, as he blew cloud after cloud of cigar smoke into my face.
"How do you dare smoke in front of me with my asthma!" I cried, feeling my wracked body crying for release.
"I enjoy smoking, darling."
"You said you'd give it up for me."
"At this juncture in our relationship, Nancy, it appears that I've given up everything, even my manhood for you."
"How can you be so cruel?" I exclaimed.
"It depends on which side of the coin you're looking on, what cruelty is. When I met you," my husband said, his feet still up on the table, "I thought you were the prettiest, sweetest thing I had ever seen.
"I was properly understanding, I thought, of your asthma, and those myriad ailments, which you struggled to valiantly to overcome.
"Of course I gave up smoking. I loved you and if it added to your comfort to live in a smokeless house, I was more than happy to do it."
"Smoking causes cancer!" I cried.
"So does tension, according to the latest medical reports, and you're causing tension, therefore, you cause cancer!" Charles rudely retorted.
"Once I married you, what happened?" Charles said, talking as a lecturer on history would talk as he unfolded a phase of some campaign or period.
"You became a martyr. Not once have you indicated that you take pleasure in our sexual relationship ... ! "
"You're brutal!" I exclaimed, interrupting him.
"Ahh, yes. I am brutal, crude, inconsiderate, etc. You won't wash and iron because it fatigues you, so you send everything out at great cost.
"You will not prepare meals I like, because you are a vegetarian. You cannot stand certain colors, and even had the audacity to redecorate my study and display it proudly as something you did to surprise me, when, in effect, because the chief color motif was red, and you do not like red, you did away with it, only to please yourself.
"And what have I got for giving up meat and cigars? A whiner, a complainer, a selfish, fiercely clever little bitch with an aura of sweetness that would put honey to shame, behind which is a grasping, demanding, arrogant little infantile monster!"
I was crying very heavily now, and scared, because crying always triggered my asthma attacks.
My body ached from the ropes, which were abrading my soft white skin. My skin is very delicate, and bruises easily, so you can imagine the condition my flesh was in from those terrible ropes.
I started to gasp, as I fought for breath.
"Charles, my asthma!" I cried, panicking.
"Ahh, yes, your asthma," Charles said, with a tone of indifference in his voice.
He got up and came over to untie me. But he did not untie my hands, which remained bound behind my back.
"Charles, my inhalator!"
"I'll give you a better dose of medicine. You don't need a physician, Nancy, you need a shrink."
Charles shoved me to the floor. I cried out as I felt my body wracked with pain from the brutal jarring it had received.
Then he bent down, and pulling up my skirt, he pulled down my panties.
"Charles, what are you going to do?" I cried, gasping and struggling for breath.
"I'm going to fuck you, darling," Charles said, smiling at me, as he jammed his middle finger up my twat.
"A good meal always makes me horny," he said, wriggling the finger around and around in my tight twat.
"That's rape!" I screamed, trying to wriggle free of his lascivious digit.
"You would never prove it in a court of law," Charles said, still smiling. He pulled his hand out of my twat roughly.
I felt those strange, lewd feelings which his sexual attentions always caused, rising in my body.
I didn't help my asthma, let me tell you!
Charles reached down, and pulled down the zipper of his trousers. He reached in and pulled out his excessively long fuck hammer.
It was almost deformed it was so big. It stood straight out from his hairy groin. The tip of it was gleaming with pre-come.
I moaned and closed my eyes. My body felt weak, and my shoulders and wrists were positively killing me with pain.
But I knew there was no use arguing with Charles, so I submitted to his shameful lust. He lay down on top of my bound body, and placed his cock head at the entrance to my twat.
I jumped when I felt the hot contact of his prick against my tender woman flesh.
He grunted, and, holding onto my aching shoulders, his fingers gripping the strained joints, he thrust inward, impaling my still distressed body on his massive fuck hammer.
"Ohh, you hurt!" I moaned, as I felt his huge dork travel inward, plummeting to the very depths of my twat.
"You always say that," he grunted, as he thrust again, pressing his heavy balls against my quivering ass cheeks. "I could accept it the first time. I will not accept it now."
He began to move in me, arching his buttocks up in the air, and then slamming them downward as he impelled his cock into my twat.
Of course, his great rod abraded the walls of my cunt. They tingled with the sharp abrasions, and my juices began to flow furiously.
My husband was raping me on the floor of our kitchen, having tied me up first as a common rapist would tie up his victim!
I had to stop Nancy at this point, as she had become hysterical. I gave her a prescription for Valium, and made an appointment for the next day, worried about her condition, and her tenuous hold on reality.
INTERVIEW TWO
Nancy arrived the next day, late and out of breath. She was somewhat calmer, being sedated slightly with the Valium I had prescribed for her.
I had to really be firm to get her to continue the story which upset her so.
Finally, she consented to finish it, whining that I was causing her untold grief.
I reminded her, not without some irritation, that the telling of a traumatic experiences purges the feelings, and allows us to resolve the conflicts involved.
I don't know how I can continue this story, Doctor. It is so horrible, almost unspeakable.
I was talking about my husband's tying me to a chair, and leaving me alone for several hours, and then throwing me down on the floor, with my arms bound behind my back, and raping me!
Of course that was the end of the relationship, as far as I was concerned.
I had never been subjected to such course and brutal treatment. I can't stand coarse and brutal people, and I avoid them.
But I had been terribly wrong about Charles, whom I thought was a gentleman.
After he thrust his raging fuck rammer into me, he started to move up and down, pistoning his cock in and out of me.
Of course, the fierce abrasion of his cock flesh on my cunt flesh raised the temperature in my cunt to an unbearable pitch.
My juices started to flow.
I can't stand it when my pussy juices flow.
They get everything sticky and messy, and frankly, I find the smell disgusting.
My husband's thick, demanding dork rammed in and out of me furiously. If he had been brutal and coarse before, he was mastering his own performances now.
I never remembered his being so wild before.
He gripped my shoulders tightly, and then ran his hands down to my breasts, causing my nipples to pucker tightly, as he kneaded the soft tit flesh.
And all the while, he was grunting like a rutting pig, as he slammed his dork into me and pulled it out, and then thrust it in brutally again.
His hands worked their way down my body, until he managed to get his hands under my body.
Then I felt his hot, sweaty palms clutching at my ass cheeks, pushing my muff up into his hard-driving dork.
Of course the pressure on my shoulders increased as he raised up my hips, putting more weight on my badly stretched shoulders.
I cried out. I was struggling for breath, my body quivering with the brutal treatment it was receiving at the hands of my husband.
His cock slithered in and out of my flooding cunt, each thrust sending more waves of hot distress running through me.
The passion which he was driving into me with his heavy dork rose, further choking off my labored breath.
I groaned, as he ground his hairy loins against my muff, mashing his wiry pubic hairs into my rapidly swelling pussy lips, tormenting my clitoris, which became inflamed and popped out of its fleshy sheath.
I felt the heat rising in me, as my husband fucked me, felt the sweat pouring from my body which was feverish with the lust which my husband had caused to rise in me like a monster.
I felt my teeth chattering, and my hips went out of control, bucking up in his hard-thrusting loins furiously. My cuntal muscles went mad, clutching fiercely at the thick, heavy man meat which was plunging in and out of my fleshy depths with an ever-increasing speed and violence.
I was always amazed at my husband's sexual demands. It was almost as if he were a satyr, a priapic monster. He seemed never to get enough of me and my tight hot twat.
But of course, for someone like me, with so many ailments, sexuality, however pleasurable, is exhausting in its very intensity.
I became acutely aware of this now, as my buttocks slapped lewdly up and down on the kitchen floor, as I drove my husband's dork deeper and deeper into my convulsing cunt.
Much as I tried to, I could never seem to forestall that moment of searing delirium, that sent such intense waves of pleasure roaring through me, that they were akin to pain, almost.
I closed my eyes tightly, and started to scream, as the orgasm took hold of me. My husband's dork, driving into me harder and faster, drove the orgasm to a mind-jarring pitch that had me writhing under him like a mad woman.
I forgot that I had been tied up and left alone, forgot that this man had insulted me and then degraded my body.
The only reality I would acknowledge or was capable of coping with were the enormous spasms, the ponderous pleasure which wracked my body and made me scream and writhe furiously on the floor.
My orgasm peaked, just as I felt the first hot geyser of my husband's spunk pouring into my cunt.
His thick man juices melded with my own cunt cream, and poured down my quaking, heaving cunt, and poured out of my hole.
The juices trickled maddeningly down my ass crack, and pooled on the floor beneath my hard-humping buttocks.
My husband pumped wad after wad of his thick, hot steaming gism deep into my convulsing pussy. The supply of gism his balls stored seemed to be never-ending.
He ground his loins into me, gyrating around and around on my by now really thickly swollen pussy lips, further intensifying the orgasm as my clitoris responded to the rough abrasions of my husband's hairy loins.
With a guttural groan, my husband spewed the last of his gism into my quaking cunt.
He lay on top of me for a long time, his body wet, even through his clothes, with his sex sweat. His breathing was labored for a moment, while I moaned, my strength depleted from the wild orgasm which had rushed flaming through my body, devastating me.
Finally, he pulled out of me, his still thick, throbbing cock making a plopping sound as my pussy muscles closed violently after being stretched to their limits by Charles's huge peter.
From then on, things got worse.
Another night when he came home, after ordering a leg of lamb for dinner, which I had refused to make, he tied me up to the bed and fucked me, doggie style, almost all night.
I am spending more and more time in bed, since the traumas these scenes created, upset my equilibrium.
I have applied for a divorce, since the situation is now untenable. I just need time to recover, and then I'll be all right again.
I am very sorry that the marriage didn't work, but Charles has been so disagreeable, so selfish, so overbearing.
And there seemed to be no way for me to convince him of the error of his ways.
CONCLUSION
Nancy's case is by no means unusual.
There are thousands of health neurotics walking the streets today, and many of them should be institutionalized.
It stands to reason that someone who insists on taking out on others, his or her own weakness, who starts to legislate the morality and the personal habits of others, if they gain any strength as a political entity, and some of these groups seem to be doing just that, then they pose a distinct danger to the right-ordering of our society, which allows that each man is entitled to pursue his happiness according to his own light.
Of course I recommended intense therapy for Nancy, as the only solution to her health problems which were all psychosomatic, and for her personality disorders, which were excessive.
Nancy took umbrage at my suggestion that she wasn't quite the fine, wonderful, generous girl she imagined herself to be".
Psychiatrists are human. When she stormed out of my office in tears, I shrugged my shoulders. I had a heart dislike of the girl.
Several months later, a colleague and I were visiting the local psychiatric hospital, to observe what was a genuine case of split personality in a subject, and I discovered Nancy in restraints in the dangerous ward.
When I questioned the psychiatrist on duty, he told me a lurid story of her having attacked her husband with a knife, intending to castrate him.
Of course her husband had restrained her. He had kept her under lock and key, apparently, until the divorce decree became final.
The laws in our state are fairly stringent about divorce when one of the parties to the divorce is insane.
He had then let the poor girl loose.
Nancy had attempted to attack the genitals of a police officer with the knife, and of course was committed.
Her prognosis is very bad. I doubt that she will recover.
CASE HISTORY SIX
Subject: Norma L Age: Nineteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Norma L. was a stunning teenager, who looked much older than her years. She appeared to be extremely timid, which puzzled me.
Her carriage and body language indicated a young woman of some resources and considerable self confidence.
Her voice, however, was hesitant, and soft, and she frequently paused in her story to catch her breath, or to frown, apparently trying to recollect and organize her thoughts so that her story could be coherent.
I've been married for two years, Doctor. I got married right out of high school.
I confess that I don't love my husband. I married him to get out of my home.
It was like going from the frying pan into the fire, only I didn't know it at the time.
My husband is a dock worker-a real big, burly guy, with a violent temper. There are times when our income is very low, and I've begged him to let me get a job.
This always infuriates him.
"No wife of mine is ever going to work!" he yells.
Well, if you think he's bad, and you might when I finish my story, you should meet my father.
No, actually, my father never ... well, that's getting ahead of the story.
Let's put it this way: I made a mistake, and a big one. Now, I don't know what to do.
My husband will not permit a divorce, and I'm afraid to go home to my parents. I don't think they'd take me back anyway. They seemed glad enough to get rid of me.
I was married by a Justice of the Peace, because my father wouldn't put out anything for a decent wedding.
Not that it mattered. My husband said he wouldn't tolerate that kind of crap, either, and we couldn't afford it.
And there was no honeymoon. We met at
City Hall during my husband's lunch hour, and then he gave me the keys to the apartment he had in a poor section of town.
"Here. It's apartment nine-B. I get home about six, and I want my dinner on the table," he said.
A fine start to married life, I thought, taking the subway to the apartment. I had one suitcase with me, containing all the meager belongings I had.
The apartment was a mess. I spent the afternoon cleaning up the rooms, washing windows and floors, trying to make the place decent and somewhat liveable.
I had no money for food, since I didn't work. There was only some chopped meat in the refrigerator.
So I made hamburger patties out of it, and opened a can of peas.
When my husband came home, I was pleased, and thought he would be pleased with the looks of the place.
He didn't even notice it. He walked in, and put a six-pack of beer on the table.
"Here, put this in the refrigerator," he said, walking down the hall to the bathroom.
I could hear him taking a shower. When he came into the kitchen again, the table was set, and I put his dinner out for him.
"What is this crap?" he exclaimed.
"It was all that was in the refrigerator, I'm sorry," I said.
"Well, why in hell didn't you go buy something decent?"
"I'm sorry, Bill. I have no money!"
"You should have told me, dammit!" he said, digging into his food. When he had finished eating, he went to the refrigerator, got a beer, and went into the living room to watch television.
I was really feeling gloomy. My life seemed to stretch in front of me endless gray hours filling eternally long, boring bleak days.
When I had finished cleaning up the kitchen, I went into the living room and sat on the shabby, worn couch beside him, waiting for him to take some notice of me.
Finally, when he continued to drink beer and watch the television set without taking any notice of me, I went to bed, and cried myself to sleep.
He woke me up sometime in the middle of the night, and our marriage was consummated as brusquely as it had been established civilly.
The next morning, he woke me up early.
"Come on, get a move on!" he said, as he picked up his work clothes to go to the bathroom and wash up. "I have to get out of here. Make me breakfast."
"But Bill, there's nothing in the refrigerator, nothing at all!"
"Shit!" Bill said, reaching into the pocket of his clothes, and peeling off some bills.
"Here!" he exclaimed, throwing the money on the bed. "Don't let that happen again, you hear? I get a wife, I want her to make my meals and do the shopping!"
I was so discouraged that I spent the morning in my shabby old housecoat, at the kitchen table, just looking down on the shabby street teeming with shabby, poor people just like me.
The ones who really caught my interest were the ones who laughed, or seemed happy. I wondered how in hell anyone could be happy in an environment like this!
I finally stirred myself to some activity in the afternoon. I had to buy food for my husband and myself.
I did the shopping, and bought some fabric, cheap, in a bargain store, to make curtains.
Well, there was hell to pay for the curtain material. My husband ranted and raved and screamed at me for wasting money.
"What do you think we are-Rockefellers?" he said.
"I just wanted to make the house look nice," I said.
"What nice! It's a fucking tenement."
"Well, we don't have to wallow in shabbiness," I said.
"Don't do that again," my husband said, pointing a finger at me threateningly.
By now I was getting scared. I realized just how violent and surly my new husband was.
The following night when he came home, the curtains were made and hanging in the living room.
But he just sat in the living room, drank his beer, and ignored me.
This kind of life went on for about six months. I dragged from day to day.
As I said, when I broached the subject of getting a job, Bill would get livid.
But finally, I bestirred myself again, and I got a part-time job. I didn't have to be at work until ten, and I left at three-thirty.
There wasn't too much to do in the house, and I could get it done before I left for work, and after work, I had plenty of time to shop and make meals.
This gave me a little leeway with money, and I bought some more fabric and made curtains for the bedroom and living room, and bought a bedspread for the bed, and did little things to fix the place up so it looked better than it had.
It even got to be my private joke, because my husband just never noticed anything.
He came home faithfully every night with his six-pack of beer, and he watched television till the wee hours, and he always woke me up to fuck me.
I didn't like sex, either. Bill was brutal and demanding, and he always left bruises where he touched me. I never had an orgasm with him, until the day he came home, and noticed all the bright touches in the house.
That's what started the whole thing.
I had bought some paint, and done the kitchen, making it real bright. With the new curtains, it almost looked like a decent place for a human being to live in.
"What's this?" my husband asked, standing in the middle of the room and staring at the bright clean walls.
"I fixed it up," I said, nervously. "Do you like it?"
"You spending my money on shit again?" he bellowed at me.
"No, it was my money!" I could have bitten my tongue for letting the cat out of the bag like that.
Bill stalked over to me, and glared down at where I sat at the kitchen table, nervously playing with a fork.
"Let's get something straight," he said. "I'm the man of this family, and I bring the bread home. Any money I give you is my money, not yours."
"I didn't use the house money," I said, getting scared. He seemed so mean.
"Well, then what money did you use?"
"I had some saved from a part-time job I had when I was in high school," I lied.
He grabbed me by the neck of my blouse and lifted me bodily out of the chair, so violently that the chair clattered over backward.
"That money belongs to me, too, just like you belong to me," he snarled. "How much more of it is there?"
"None," I stuttered, terrified.
My husband slapped me brutally across my face, sending me reeling across the room.
"You're lying!" my husband spat. "What are you doing, turning tricks to get money?"
My eyes opened wide. "No, Bill, no!"
"Then where are you getting that money?" he screamed, livid with rage.
I lowered my eyes. "I have a part-time job."
"You what?" he screamed, coming over to me, and dragging me to my feet. "What did I tell you about working? I bring the bread home here. There's only one boss in this house, and that's me, and I hold the purse strings. You'll live on what I make!"
He threw me across the table. "Going out on me," he snarled.
He ripped the curtains off the window, and then ripped them to shreds, taking the long pieces he had ripped, and tying my hands and feet to the legs of the table.
He had thrown me face down on the table, and now I was spread-eagled, and bound.
"Bill," I said, softly, trying not to cry, "please let me go."
"To step out on me again? No, sir. You'll stay put there till I decide to let you go."
Bill ate his supper, standing up, eating out of the pans which were on the stove.
Then he left the pans on the stove, and went to the refrigerator to get a beer. I heard him walk into the living room, and turn on the television set.
For hours I lay spread-eagled across that table, feeling the weight of my body press my breasts flat into the hard wood. My arms and legs ached from being strained into the unnatural position.
Finally, I heard Bill stir, get up and turn off the television set. Not only did my body ache, but at this point, I was freezing, since there was a heavy draft from the kitchen window.
He came out to the kitchen, and grunted.
"Bill, please let me go," I said, looking up at him. My eyes were smarting with tiredness, and my head ached.
"No," he said, walking around to my posterior. He lifted my skirt, and then yanked my panties off my body, ripping them.
I felt his rough hands on my ass cheeks, and then I felt him place his massive fuck hammer at the entrance to my cunt.
I winced as he thrust in brutally. His thick rod spread my pussy walls wide. I felt my pussy tingling, as he thrust inward, grunting with each thrust.
I had taken to playing with myself after I went to bed, before Bill joined me, just to get my pussy juices rolling.
Bill didn't believe in foreplay, and since there was no love lost between us, it was difficult for me to feel desire for him.
His cock abraded my cunt as it thrust into me, his hard flesh rubbing harshly, tightly wedged in my cunt.
Then he started to pump in and out of me with that rough animal way he has, and I felt as if he were pulling my pussy flesh off every time he yanked his cock out to the tip.
But a funny thing started to happen. As his cock shoved its way roughly in and out of my cunt, my pussy juices started to flow.
I think his rough thrusting had been slamming my muff heavily into the table, stimulating my clitoris. I felt it tickling me, felt my pussy lips start to swell, as my heat rose.
As my cunt began to flow with its thick syrup, Bill's thrusting cock slipped in and out more easily.
I began to even feel a perverse pleasure at being fucked in this position.
After all, my physical condition, bound as I was to the table, was a highly accurate reflection of my spiritual condition, bound to poverty, and to a loveless union with this man.
I couldn't complain. I had married him. I was at the age of consent. So I figured I just had to live with what I got.
His cock slithered in and out of my dripping twat. My breasts were being pressed rhythmically into the harsh wood of the table, as he slammed into me again and again.
His rough hands grasped my haunches, and he humped deeply into me over and over. I could feel his cock swelling in my cunt as his orgasm approached.
My body was a riot of conflicting emotions. Hatred for Bill, and my condition was one of them, and mixed with it was the hot pleasure which was starting to roll through my body.
The whole bizarre, perverted scene was turning me on, as his massive cock slithered into me from behind.
Bill was taking me like an animal takes his mate, and he was just as devoid of emotion and consideration and caring.
I felt my hips start to hump upward, as my lust and excitement grew. I ground my hips backward into his hard-thrusting groin.
He slammed his cock deeper and deeper into me. The rough sting of his abrading cock turned into a warm, pleasing friction that stirred my cuntal muscles to a greedy rippling motion that clutched at his cock.
I couldn't believe I was actually getting pleasure out of this degradation, but I was! Intense pleasure!
My body turned warm. I forgot how cold the room was. My nipples puckered under the pounding pressure of Bill's body, which slammed them repetitively into the table.
The rhythmic tingling in my nipples shot through my whole body. And my cunt was going crazy.
Bill slammed into me again and again. For the first time in our marriage, I was getting pleasure from his big brutal cock as it rammed in and out of me.
My cunt was flowing copiously with my juices, as his peter lurched wildly in my hot pussy.
I started to squeal, and felt my body convulsing with the fiery bliss which had taken over, dispelling my gloom, my sense of the bleakness of my life.
If this were what sex was all about, I liked it!
My body got feverish as the pleasure intensified.
I felt my hips go out of control. I humped my rounded ass cheeks lasciviously back into Bill's hairy loins.
I felt his huge dork swelling as it slithered in and out of my well-buttered cunt. I felt the throbbing in his pistoning shaft grow stronger. His balls were slapping into my exposed, helpless flesh.
They were all wet and slimy with my juices which were pouring from me like a hot geyser.
Bill grunted again, and increased the strength and tempo of his wild thrusting. He spewed his first load into me.
Excited as I was, the hot contact of his heavy, slimy come pouring into me, mixing with my own come juices, added to the delirium which shook me.
I felt as if my whole body were involved in some kind of hot upheaval. I shook, my wrists and ankles straining against the bonds which pinned me to the table.
The table creaked under my husband's violent fucking. Our shaking bodies were glued together with our sex sweat, as he fucked me furiously.
Each time his massive dork slithered into my cunt, he dumped another load of scum, which added to the heat pouring through me.
With a grunt, Bill's cock released the last of his liquid lust in the infemo of my pussy.
My own orgasm started to fade away, until I lay, prostrate, ignoring my humiliating fetters and the degrading life I was living. I just basked in a wonderful after-fuck glow that made my body feel alive.
Bill pulled out of me, and released me from my humiliating servitude, and I went gratefully to bed.
But that was just the start of the nightmare that made me want to seek a divorce.
INTERVIEW TWO
I had had to stop Norma at that point in our interview.
Since she seemed exceptionally distressed, I made an appointment for her to return the next day during my lunch hour, convinced that she needed immediate assistance.
Her previous disclosures had had some therapeutic effect, as she appeared less timid, less helpless.
As I said yesterday, that first bondage episode was just the beginning.
Nothing really changed, except that the whole incident had aroused me to an unusual sexual peak.
I didn't find Bill's love-making so objectionable, and I derived more sensual pleasure from our fucking, and from my own body. As I matter-of-fact, I began to have fantasies of being raped, Of being tied up and made the victim of some man's lusts.
I had never made it with a man, except Bill, but now my fantasies encompassed almost every man I saw.
The morning after Bill had fettered me to the table, he acted as if nothing had happened.
I made his breakfast, and packed his lunch for him, and he went off to work as usual.
I was supposed to report to work at ten. I thought long and hard about it, but decided to pursue the course I had undertaken.
So I went to work. It was the worst day of my life-not that my job was so bad, or that I performed badly. But I was so scared about what Bill might say or do.
When he came home that night, he said nothing-didn't even seem to notice that I had put up new curtains, which I had bought on the way home from work.
I just couldn't live in the shabbiness to which I was consigned by birth and monetary disposition, without doing something about it.
As I said, Bill didn't notice-again.
By now, I even had a small bank account-not much, but it was growing slowly, and I had a sense of achievement.
The next time I was subjected to Bill's degrading temper happened when I decided to do something about the bathroom.
This time, I decided to be very, very careful. I bought the paint and some plaster, since the bathroom plaster was dreadful.
My opportunity came when Bill was offered some overtime. Bill is as good a provider as he can be, I guess, and he works as often as he can. He was to work for a weekend, which gave me time to get the bathroom done.
I spent Saturday plastering, and chipping away old pain, and then I painted the room.
As usual, Bill didn't notice the paint job when he came home. I had bought material for shower curtains, and curtains for the windows, and also a rug to match.
I sewed these on Sunday, and when Bill came home about two in the afternoon, the bathroom looked quite cheerful.
As usual, he plunked his six-pack on the table, for me to put into the refrigerator, and went to take his shower.
My heart was beating furiously as his footsteps retreated down the small hallway to the bathroom.
I heard the door open, and then there was silence for a moment. "Norma, come here!"
Swallowing hard, to soothe my fear-constricted throat, I walked out of the kitchen, and down the hall to the bathroom.
Bill was leaning against the door frame, staring at the clean white walls, and the bright blue print curtains and shower curtains.
"Where did this come from?" he hissed, staring at the decorations.
"Oh, Bill, I was doing the marketing today, and someone was moving out of an apartment. I found this in a carton which had been thrown in the litter barrel out front. Aren't they nice?"
Bill's eyes opened wide.
"You picked stuff out of the garbage like some lousy beggar?"
His rough hands reached out and grasped my arms in a bruising grip. He started to shake me furiously.
"I don't make enough money for ya, huh? You have to scrounge like some lousy street tramp? What do you think I am? An idiot?"
"Bill!" I exclaimed, trying to free myself from his grasp. "Please, you're hurting me!" My teeth were rattling from the violence of his rough hands as he shook my body furiously.
"Damn you!" he growled. "You don't have the sense you were born with! I'll teach you!"
He roughly pushed me into the bathtub and got in after me.
"Bill, what are you going to do?" I asked, feeling my fear rise higher, as he grasped both my wrists in one hand.
With his other hand, he removed the belt from his work denims, and lopped it around my wrists.
Then he threw the other end of the belt over the shower nozzle, and attached it to the buckle, pulling hard, so that I was barely able to touch the bathtub floor with the balls of my feet.
My shoulders were incredible strained from the position. He had fettered me to the shower with my back to the wall.
He got out of the bathtub, and took off his clothes, and then got back into the bathtub and turned on the shower.
I squealed as I felt the hot water pouring over me, drenching me, making my clothes cling to me.
As if I weren't even there, Bill took a shower, while I spluttered and struggled under the heavy hot spray of water.
My uplifted arms caused my tits to rise, and the hot spray beating down on me puckered my nipples, making them prominent through the thin cotton material of my house dress.
Bill finished washing, and then rinsed off.
He turned to look at me balefully.
"Look at you, slut!" he snarled. And then he started to laugh.
I don't know why, but his laughter hurt me more than his name-calling and his other verbal abuse-hurt even more than being bound in this humiliating way to the shower nozzle.
I started to cry.
Bill reached out and palmed my breasts roughly, kneading my puckered nipples roughly between his thumb and forefinger.
Then he grunted, and ripped off my dress and threw it in a soggy heap on the carpet.
"Maybe you can find some extra dresses in the garbage," he said, pulling my panties off me.
My gleaming wet, fettered body was now exposed to any rough treatment he might choose to deliver.
I watched his cock lurch to fullness, bobbing straight out from his powerful, hairy belly, red and throbbing.
Strangely enough, as before when he bound me to the kitchen table, I felt my juices begin to rise, felt my heart quicken with pleasurable anticipation.
Maybe it was the thought that he desired me, even in this craven position, that so aroused me. Whatever it was, my blood rushed hotly through my veins and my body became suffused with the flush of lust.
He pulled my legs up, and hooked them around his waist, and walked into me.
I felt his cock head pressing against my wet and dripping twat. The water beat down continuously in a stinging spray that only enhanced the erotic sensations which were running hotly through my body.
He humped into me, and impaled my suspended body on his massive fleshy nail.
"Ahhh!" I gasped, as he slid his hot, pulsing prick all the way up my eager twat.
The heat from his prick flooded my cunt, and added to the feverish throbbing which pounded wave after wave of pleasure through me.
I felt myself shivering with the pleasure, as Bill started to fuck me, his massive, meaty fuck muscle dipping into my hot twat again and again.
The pleasure was so intense that my toes curled up, my legs straight out at Bill's waist, where he had placed them.
His wet body slammed into me again and again, as he slid in and out of my cunt, leaving furrows of pleasurable excitement behind.
I started to come almost immediately, my cuntal muscles clutching and grabbing at his slippery schlong.
The hot spasms took hold of me, causing my dangling body to quake furiously.
Bill started to shoot his load, and I felt his gism spewing into my already flooded cunt. His man juices mixed with mine, and poured out of my reamed out cunt, as his cock splashed in and out of me.
I closed my eyes, and surrendered to the hot bliss of being fucked furiously, slave to my husband's wishes, helpless in his rough arms as his hairy loins smashed into my wet and swollen muff over and over.
With a guttural moan, he shot the last of his load into me. His body relaxed, pressing into mine.
The only sounds in the room were the hissing of the hot spray and the heavy panting of the two of us, as we recovered from the violent orgasm which had shaken both of us to our roots.
Since then, he has bound me several times, not just for decorating the apartment, but also for serving food he didn't like, for saying something that displeased him, or, I suppose just on general principles.
And I'm getting sick of it. I think it's an awful way to get pleasure, and I have to confess that every time he ties me up, I come wildly.
I have to get out of this life, before it gets hold of me, and makes me as crude, and hopeless, and cruel as my husband, and my father!
CONCLUSION
Norma's case was not at all unusual.
She came from a ghetto, and lived in grinding poverty.
That kind of deprivation will elicit cruel and unusual responses from the most healthy of individuals.
What was unusual about her case was her intelligence, and her motivation to better herself if she could.
Upon careful questioning, I discovered that her husband may have bruised her because of his roughness and insensitivity to her, but he was never violent physically, in the sense that he beat her.
The course of therapy for Norma was carefully mapped out.
I enrolled her in therapy at the local clinic, where she would meet and discuss her problem with others like her.
Going home to her parents, of course, was not the answer. Divorcing her husband was one solution, but I asked her to hold off for a year, to see how counseling helped her with alternatives.
As for her pleasure in bondage, I recommended several books on that particular sexual practice, knowing that she needed assurance most of all that, far from being a perverted and harmful practice, it was fairly common, and perfectly normal to indulge in, as long as it did not lead to extreme results.
Consoled in that respect, Norma has agreed to undertake therapy.
She is doing well, still working and saving money.
Her marriage, however, is not good, since her husband cannot respond to her in human, or emotional terms.
At last report, Norma had got a better job, with more money, and had left her husband. She was proceeding with the divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty.
Her worst fears of what her husband would do to her have not been confirmed. At the worst, she has suffered his verbal abuse in several instances, but he has stopped bothering her about coming back, since, according to Norma, he is now living with another woman.
CASE HISTORY SEVEN
Subject: Leda W. Age: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
Leda was a tall, slender young woman, who looked considerably older than her seventeen years.
She was extremely well-built, what one would call a traffic-stopper, and her carriage and movement seemed to indicate that she was aware of it.
For all her self-assured mannerisms, however, she seemed hesitant about beginning her story, when I invited her to do so.
After some prodding, however, she did launch into the reason for her being in a psychiatrist's office.
I ran away from home and got married. I was only sixteen, so my parents could have had my marriage annulled.
It took some fighting, when Sam and I came back from across the state line, to save the marriage.
And I certainly wouldn't like to give Sam up.
It was Sam who suggested I come here, because of the way I feel about certain things that we do.
Don't get me wrong. I love Sam, and I love the way our life is. But sometimes, when I get to thinking, I wonder about how normal we are.
I met Sam a couple of years ago, when I was a sophomore in high school. He worked at the local garage, which he owned in partnership with a friend of his, who was our best man.
I seem to do everything early. My parents always said I was precocious. I was driving my father's car when I was twelve, and after a lot of hassles, he would occasionally let me drive it when I turned fifteen, because I look so much older than I am.
And I'm a good driver, really. I've never had an accident or gotten a moving violation.
Anyway, there was this big burly red head when I drove into the gas station one day to get gas.
He smiled at me in a way that made my pussy tingle. I had my cherry popped when I was twelve, so I'm no slouch when it comes to sexual matters. At least, I thought so, until Sam and I got married.
Sam is a wonderful guy. After that first time I met him, I kept coming back to the garage again and again, just to look at him.
He finally made a date with me, and one thing led to another, until we had both agreed that as soon as I graduated from high school, we would be married.
We eloped on my graduation night.
It was the best thing I ever did, and I have not had one reason to regret my impulse. Even my parents have come around. They're crazy about him, too.
My confusion began one Saturday afternoon. Sam and I had worked in the garden of our little home all morning, and I had gone upstairs, to take a shower.
We were going to go to a movie that night with another couple we knew.
As I stepped out of the shower, my body gleaming from the water, I heard Sam's voice.
"Leda, honey?"
"Yeah, Sam?"
"Come here, sweetheart."
His voice sounded so sexy, that I didn't wait to wrap a towel around me. I just went to the bathroom door, which is off the master bedroom, and opened it.
"What do you want, honey?" I asked.
"You," he said.
He was standing in the middle of the bedroom floor, stark naked. His beautiful body just glowed, and his huge prick was standing straight but from his flat washboard belly, fully erect.
His pubic hair was as red as the hair on his head, and just as thick and curly.
The sight of his magnificent body turned me on completely. I walked over to him, smiling, my cunt aching to feel his cock stuffing it.
I grabbed his thick, long prick with my hand, and pumped gently on it. He just stood there, smiling at me.
I suddenly realized that his hands were behind his back. There was also a sly quality to the smile.
"Sam, what are you up to?" I asked, laughing.
I have to tell you, Sam is a jokester. Oh, he's not the guffawing fool who slaps you on the back hard, and tells awful jokes, or makes jokes at others' expense.
But he is mischievous, just like a kid, sometimes, and that sly smile usually meant that something was going on in the back of his head.
I wasn't at all apprehensive. As I said, his humor was never used hurtfully, and the most I could expect was a good laugh.
"Eat it," he said, his voice husky with lust.
"There's nothing I'd like better!" I laughed, getting down on my knees, and sticking out my tongue to lick off the gorgeous drop of pre-come which was oozing from his piss slit.
I moaned, and opened my mouth to take his bulbous cock head into my mouth. I love giving my husband head. He has a beautiful cock, and he's so warm and manly, and he just tastes so good.
I started to bob up and down on his cock. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the pleasure of his cock stuffing my mouth.
I felt Sam's hands move from my shoulders down my arms. I was .too absorbed in his beautiful cock, burying more and more of it in my mouth, until his cock head was planted at the entrance to my throat, to notice, or to wonder why he had put my arms behind my back.
And then I felt the cold kiss of steel against my wrists, and I heard a clinking sound.
My eyes flew open, and I pulled off Sam's cock to look up at him. The smile on his face was positively radiant with lust, and his blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
I looked over my shoulder, and realized that my husband had handcuffed my arms behind my back!
"Sam! What are you doing this for?" I exclaimed, still more surprised than apprehensive.
"I think a wife should be disciplined by her husband occasionally," Sam said. 'Just to keep her in line, and teach her who's boss."
"You're the boss!" I said, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or get angry. "Let me go!"
"Ahh!" Sam exclaimed, backing off from me to survey his handiwork, "if I'm the boss, how come you have the cheek to issue a direct command to me?"
I didn't know how to respond.
Sam produced another set of handcuffs, and bound my ankles in the same way he had bound my wrists.
Then he took out some rope, and, pulling me backward, he bound my wrists to my ankles.
The strain of my position was a little bit uncomfortable. My pulled-back shoulders raised my full, melon-shaped breasts upward, the puckered nipples standing out prominently from the white soft mound of flesh.
My pussy was also exposed. The lips were all wet and swollen with my desire for Sam, my blonde muff twinkling with the bright red gash of my labia peeking from between the outer plump lips.
Sam looked down at my exposed womanhood, and licked his lips. His cock throbbed, and another drop of pre-come formed at the tip of his slit.
He straddled my body, bracing himself by placing his hands on my shoulders.
"Now, eat it!" he demanded.
I was excited as well as slightly anxious about what he had in store. But I also trusted him. I knew he wouldn't do anything to hurt me.
The handcuffs chafed my wrists and ankles, and my strained joints ached somewhat, making me uncomfortable.
But overriding all the sensations was the sensation of lust which was building in my heated loins, as I gazed at my husband's beautiful prick bobbing just inches away from my mouth.
I licked my soft lips, and again opened my mouth, sucking his cock head into my mouth.
I tongued his piss slit, prying out the precious drop of pre-come, and savoring it before I swallowed it.
His cock head was thick and throbbing and warm, even to the touch of my very warm mouth.
He started to slide his cock inward, until I felt his cock head pressing against the back of my throat.
I started to swallow, getting off on my helplessness, feeling my passion rise to incredible heights, as I thought of how Sam had mastered me, taken possession of my body.
The back of my neck ached, and my head was throbbing. The feelings were not so severe as to be painful, only slightly uncomfortable. I started to gobble up his cock, bobbing my head as much as I could, forward, to grab and suck on more of his magnificent man meat.
I really loved to suck on Sam's cock. I ran my tongue around and around the shaft, as Sam started to slide in and out of my mouth.
He would pull his cock out to the tip, and then slip it in again, embedding it at the entrance to my tight, hard-swallowing throat.
I groaned, feeling Sam's cock distend slightly, as his passion rose. His hairy groin started to fuck into my mouth more and more furiously, as my tongue lashed at his fleshy shaft, wanting to experience the ultimate pleasure, the feeling of my husband's come pouring into my throat
Even the position I was in was adding to my pleasure. My husband's big, burly body lowered over mine. Through half-closed eyes I watched his muscles ripple with his sensual, undulating motions, as he thrust his cock in and out of my hard-sucking mouth. "Mmmmm!"I moaned.
"Yess!" he hissed, his hands tightening on my shoulders, "suck it, suck it, suck it. Let me feel your tongue on my big prick."
I drove my tongue around and around on his shaft.. As he pulled out of me, I tried to pry my tongue into his piss slit, lapping up all the juices which were pouring from it.
My own pussy was quivering violently, as I slid my mouth up and down on Sam's beautiful prick.
His breathing became heavy, and his sweat started to pour from his body, dripping onto mine.
His cock lurched in and out of my mouth, and I increased my sucking motions on it, wanting to feel his scum pouring down my throat, and filling my belly.
My pussy juices poured down my strained thighs, sticky and warm. Even that sensation was erotic, and added an extra component of excitement to my pleasure.
He started to really fuck my mouth, his hands pressing me further backward. The strain created a throbbing pressure which filled my whole body with glorious pleasure sensations.
I abandoned myself to the hot pursuit of my husband's spunk, turning my mouth into a vacuum to suck out the contents of his heavy balls.
His balls were slapping against my chin, as he drove his cock in and out of my mouth.
He started to grunt, and his handsome, healthy-looking open face became twisted, distorted in a bizarre mask of unbridled lust that almost looked like pain.
His eyes closed. His face was flushed and his body quivered, taut and trembling in the throes of his impending climax.
I loved him when he was like this.
I was bound and helpless, a prey to any whim he might visit on me. But he, too, was helpless, a victim of the pleasure my lashing tongue was visiting on his magnificent hard, meaty cock.
I moaned, feeling my pulse racing, feeling the throbbing, hot heavy ecstasy building powerfully in me.
My orgasm rumbled in the depths of my dripping twat, just on the verge of erupting like a lurid flower, as I felt the first spewing of his come into my mouth.
I swallowed even more furiously, wanting to capture all of his spunk, not wanting to waste a drop.
But my husband has a lot of come in his balls, and he kept humping into me, his balls slapping wetly against my chin, his wiry pubic hairs tickling my nose and mouth, and each time he humped into me, more and more of his spunk shot like a hot geyser into my throat.
It started to dribble out of the corners of my mouth. I felt it traveling in thick, slimy streams down my throat and into my stomach. His cock would swell just before each ejaculation, and I would respond by gulping harder, in order to suck all of his spunk into me.
He groaned hard, and his body became covered with sweat, as he spewed the last of his hot, frothing man juices into my eager, gulping throat.
"Whew!" he gasped, as his eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at me.
My pussy was quivering violently. I needed to come too. I looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes, lusting for his cock in me, or his mouth on my hot and suppurating twat.
He grinned, and his hand traveled down from my shoulder, to cup one of my breasts.
By now, in addition to the hot and furious lust that was boiling in my body, I was trembling with the strain of the unnatural position I was in.
The hard metal cuffs bit into my wrists and ankles. I was still open and helpless to whatever use my husband chose to make of my body. Even that knowledge did nothing to hinder the hot passion which had taken possession of my body. I wanted him fiercely.
I looked up at him, almost pleading, and licked my lips, capturing some frothy scraps of come which were still lingering on my moist mouth.
I felt his thumb and forefinger kneading my nipple. My body became so excited that I broke out in goose bumps.
"Oh, Sam, I need you!" I gasped. His cock was still bobbing near my chin, gleaming with my saliva, and still semi-erect. I watched my statement cause his cock to blow up to a greater size.
I reached down with my mouth to encourage its growth, wanting to feel it stuffing my cunt.
"Ah! Ah!" my husband said, backing away. My mouth closed on empty air, instead of the warm, strong joy stick that I loved so much.
"Oh, Sam, please ... '. " I begged.
He stood up, smiling down on my prostrate, fettered form, and grinned.
"Do you want me?"
"Yes, yes!" I said, my voice strident with desperation.
My pussy was aching furiously with the pain of my desire. It had been thoroughly aroused by my sucking on his cock, by the feeling of power that emanated from him, making me feel weak and silly.
"Well, ask for it," he smiled.
"Please, please, Sam, let me have your cock."
"What do I get for it?"
"Anything! Anything you want. You can tie me up, beat me, do anything, but I have to have your cock."
"Why do you want my cock?"
"I want your beautiful, luscious prick stuffing my hungry twat," I said, getting fiendishly aroused by this talk.
My husband and I often talked dirty like that to each other, and it never failed to arouse me.
Sam put one bare foot on my stomach, softly, and pressed inward, gently. My pussy cream flowed in great, sticky, slimy floods, as I felt my husband's foot on my belly, pressing into my soft warm aroused flesh.
"Unh! Please, Sam, I'm going crazy!" I squealed, wincing with the pain in my cunt, the tormenting itch which caused me to squirm and wriggle in the iron manacles which bound me helpless.
Sam's foot traveled downward, until it was planted in my thickly-furred muff. I arched my hips upward as much as I could, trying to wriggle around his foot, trying to stimulate my stinging clitoris against the calloused flesh of the sole of his foot.
Sam laughed, and pulled his foot away.
"I see what you're trying to do, and the answer is no."
"No?"
"No!"
"Sam, please," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because I love you, I guess."
"But Sam, I want you."
"Who's boss in this house?"
"You are, darling. Please, please ... ! "
I started to cry in the throes of my sexual hunger, squirming around furiously in the handcuffs. All I succeeded in doing, was to knock myself over on my side, my body a taut bow, stretched to capacity by the way my husband had tied my arms and legs together.
At that moment, I thought I might hate my husband, as I struggled with my sexual anguish, and my desire.
INTERVIEW TWO
I made an appointment for the following week for Leda, so that she could finish her story.
She arrived on time, and continued with her story.
I don't know how long I struggled with my rage, and my frustration, not to mention those iron handcuffs.
I alternately screamed and yelled, and pleaded with my husband. The whole time, he just stood over me, occasionally stroking my struggling body with his foot.
His cock was now huge again, and bobbing luridly, fringed at the base with his thick, beautiful red pubic hair.
I can never remember feeling such anguish before. That kind of intense desire, unfulfilled could easily drive someone to mayhem.
I even threatened to kill Sam, to leave him! That's how frustrated I was.
There was no way in hell I was going to get out of those handcuffs. I think my biggest fear was that he wouldn't service me, wouldn't relieve me of the passion that had bloated my struggling body.
Finally, my struggling subsided. I lay, sobbing quietly for awhile, feeling the sharp lightning-like flashes of pain rip through me, as my overheated cunt wreaked havoc with my body.
Sam reached down, and picked me up, and lay me on the bed. Then he unlocked the handcuffs.
I thought he was going to free me, but he didn't.
Instead, he produced another pair, and he proceeded to spread-eagle me to the bed.
Then he teased me. He teased me with his tongue, and his finger, always stopping just short of my orgasm, until I was a quivering, crying wreck on the bed.
I let out a great cry of joy when he finally lay on top of me, his heavy warm body pressing mine into the bed.
I felt his cock head pressing at the entrance to my hungry twat. And then he shoved it in.
It went in easily. My cunt was awash with the juices of my desire.
I started to come almost immediately.
It was the strangest and most remarkable orgasm I ever had. My cuntal muscles clutched greedily at my husband's cock, as he slammed inward, until his balls were pressing against my ass cheeks.
I groaned, as he started to move in and out of my rippling, climaxing twat.
I came and came and came. It was as if there were no end to that orgasm. My juices poured in wild quantities, and Sam's cock, as it plunged into the thick honey, made wet, sucking, slurping noises.
He grunted as he speeded up his humping. My muff was gyrating lasciviously around and around on the hairy base of his hard-driving groin, as he built up his own heat.
I couldn't wait for him to release his liquid load into my wildly convulsing cunt.
I couldn't get enough of him, as he thrust inward, and then pulled out and thrust inward.
And all the time, my cuntal muscles clutched greedily at his hard-fucking pole, which pistoned in and out of me.
I wanted to suck in his very balls, which were now slimy and matted with my come juices, as they slapped against my ass cheeks.
I was mad with lust. I felt wide open, hot, eager. I writhed like a mad woman beneath my husband's body.
I was still climaxing with delicious convulsions, which would make my whole body taut and stiff, and then relax it, and then convulse it again, when my husband started to shoot his wad into me.
The strong spewing of his scum into my sucking snatch only drove me madder..
"Ohhh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck meeeeeeee!" I screamed in a long drawn-out wail, as my husband's cock shot geysers of his hot, frothing come into my overheated twat.
I was still climaxing when he finally pulled out of me. Even after he had released me, I was squirming and clutching at him.
He held me in his arms, and kissed my feverish cheek, as I tried to press my muff into his groin.
"No more! We're going out, remember?"
"But I want it, want it," I moaned, pressing my tits into his muscular chest.
"You'll get it, later!" my husband laughed.
He picked me up and took me into the bathroom, and turned on the shower to cold, and I screamed as I felt the ice-cold prickling spray on my overheated body.
It helped get me through the night.
But I almost attacked Sam when we got into the front door after the date. All I wanted was his cock plugging my cunt.
He did oblige, and he fucked me all night.
Since then, however, he has practiced bondage a lot. He has a whole array of leather equipment, and he never ceases to amaze me with his ingenuity.
I really love playing the games, but at the same time, I wonder just how bad they are.
Do you think we're perverting our relationship with these games we play? I mean, I love my husband. I would do anything he told me to do, just because I love him.
He certainly doesn't have to tie me up to make me obedient, but lately I've discovered that in order to get him to play the game, I do little nasty things that irritate him, or make him want to tie me up. What should I do?
CONCLUSION
I assured Leda that bondage and discipline games were a very healthy manifestation of an open and good marriage, and that she need not trick her husband into playing the games by displeasing him.
All she had to do was ask, or indicate that she was prepared to play the game.
Counseling Leda was a simple process. As she herself claimed, her marriage is very good. But Leda is young and although she was sexually active before she was married, her sexual encounters were fairly simple, and precluded the more sophisticated variations of sexual expression.
I did have one session with her husband, to determine what his mind-set was in relation to the games.
He had learned them from an old girlfriend, and noted that they had given him much pleasure, and seemed to intensify the woman's responses.
Sam, wanting to please Leda, had started to play the games with her, and had been puzzled by her obvious whole-hearted enjoyment of the games and her after-the-fact distress.
I counseled him to be more open with his wife, and to explain things to her more clearly.
Young and pliable as she was, he could teach her to accept these games, so long as they were presented in a loving context.
There was no further counseling indicated for this happy young couple. I assume that they have continued with their bondage games, and, freed from self-doubt about the morality of them, have developed new and interesting variations of their original devices.
CASE HISTORY EIGHT
Subject: Wendy S. Age: Twenty
INTERVIEW ONE
Wendy appeared to be quite disturbed when she came into my office. I calmed her down, and invited her to tell me why she had come.
She sighed, got hold of herself, and calmed down enough to tell me a coherent story.
I'm twenty years old, Doctor, and I don't know what's happening to my mind.
I've been married since I was seventeen.
After the honeymoon, which was very nice, and of course hot and heavy in the sex line, my husband, Mike, and I settled into what I thought was a nice normal, happy life.
I didn't expect the sex to stay exciting. I mean, how can you live with someone for a long time, without occasionally getting bored with them?
I understand this.
The first few times my husband cheated on me, I shrugged my shoulders. I figured, what the hell, he was coming home every night to me, wasn't he?
But then I got angry. Here he was wining and dining girls, but I was still doing the laundry, making the meals, and when he did step out there would be no nookie for me, because he was tired.
So I turned the tables on him. I went out and found myself a lover. Of course, just the titillation involved in cheating on my husband, whom I really love, created some marvelous sexual experiences for me.
One day, a woman whom I know, caught me checking into a motel with my lover.
This woman had always had a yen for my husband, and I knew for a fact that she was one of the women he had been seeing behind my back.
When my husband confronted me with my infidelity, I just laughed in his face.
And the shit hit the fan, so to speak.
"What do you mean, laughing at me like that! Do you enjoy making a fool out of me?"
"I was only doing to you what you're doing to me," I exploded. "After all, if you can cheat on the side with Catherine, whom I'm sure told you that story, and Amy, and Sally, and Sue, why shouldn't I get some nookie from Tom? You're so wasted when you come home, you don't have any left for me."
My husband was flabbergasted at my revelation.
"How long have you known?" he asked.
"Since almost the first time you did it," I snorted.
Mike sat down in the chair at the kitchen table.
"Listen, I think we better talk this over."
"I don't want to talk," I retorted. "I'm going to carry on. I've missed a lot of nookie in the last year, and I have to make it up. I'm not objecting to your affairs, so you have no right to object to mine."
"But you're my wife!" Mike exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table.
"And you're my husband!" I screamed. "So what? Your being my husband didn't stop you from making a fool out of me with all those other women, including the one who tattled on me, with whom you've been making it."
My husband got up from his chair, and walked into the living room. He sat there all night, just staring into space. I went to bed, and fell asleep.
I figured right then and there, when I woke up the following morning that I had created a rift in our marriage.
Mike had not come up to bed at all. I went downstairs, to make his breakfast, dressed in my wrapper.
As I passed the hall mirror, I saw the way I looked, and wondered how much of that had to do with my husband's defection.
I looked shabby, dull, uninteresting. The wrapper was missing buttons, and it was totally sexless. My hair was up in rollers.
But then, I thought, as I started to put on the coffee, Mike hasn't been so great either, hanging around the house unshaven, in his T-shirt, and lately he had been growing a paunch.
I went into the living room, where I assumed he had fallen asleep. He wasn't there.
I panicked. I went through every room in the house and couldn't find him. There was no note to tell me whether he had left for good, or just sought consolation in the arms of another woman.
I spent the morning with a growing fear. I hesitated to call his office, because I didn't want to upset him. He has a high-pressure job which requires all of his concentration, not to mention considerable calm diplomacy with other people.
About lunch time, Tom called and wanted to know if I could meet him for a few drinks after work.
"Of course," I said.
"Maybe we can get a quickie in," he said, his voice purring. I felt my cunt cream at his invitation.
"Oh, we can get more than a quickie in," I said. "Mike's out of town on business," I lied. "We can spend the whole night together, if you want to."
"Great, I'll make reservations. See you at our usual place at six."
"I'll be there," I said.
I went up and put on my best clothes. Then I went downtown, and had a facial, with a complete make-up job, and had my hair done, as well as my nails.
I looked in the mirror as I left the beauty parlor, and got excited with my looks. I was stunning, and I enjoyed the walk to the cocktail lounge where Tom and I usually had our assignations. I turned quite a few heads, let me tell you.
I had almost forgotten what it was like to be desirable.
Tom and I had an intimate supper, and then went to the motel where we usually made love.
"I've never seen you look so lovely," he whispered, taking me into his arms.
I pressed my muff into his bulging crotch, and took off my clothes, never taking my eyes off Tom, while he disrobed.
Then we were in each other's arms again, writhing on the bed.
Suddenly, the door to the motel room, which Tom had not locked, swung open, and there was my husband.
There was murder in his eyes. He had a gun in his hand!
"All right, get over into that chair!" he snarled at Tom, indicating where he wanted him to sit.
Tom went quickly to the chair, where Mike tied him up. Tom's cock was lurching wildly, still fully erect.
I sat in the bed, waiting for the ax to fall, wondering how I had gotten myself into this. I had read for years about girls who got killed by their boyfriends, and their husbands for just this thing.
I just never expected it to happen to me.
"And now, you!" my husband said. He grabbed my wrists harshly, and pulled my arms up over my head. He tied my wrists to the headboard, and then, pulling out more rope, he tied my feet to the foot of the bed, spread-eagling me.
Without another word, he pulled off his own clothes. I opened my eyes wide with shock.
Not only did he mean to kill me, but my husband was going to fuck me in front of my lover!
"Mike, please, just kill me and get it over with, please!" I screamed, my eyes traveling from Tom fettered to the chair, his cock still bobbing luridly erect, and my husband, with his massive dong sprouting from his thick pubic hair.
With a grunt, he fell down on top of me like a wild man. His hands pawed at me, and he placed his massive schlong at the entrance to my dripping twat.
At this point, I couldn't tell if I were creaming because of the excitement with Tom, or the lurid insistence of my husband, who had bound me to the bed.
He thrust into me, spreading my pussy walls wide. He hadn't been this ardent with me in a long, long time, and I felt the full effects of his massive dork, as he thrust, bails-deep into me, pulled out and then shoved his joy stick in again.
His cock went wild in my cunt, the friction of his pistoning further increasing the fever that had already taken hold of my body.
His cock rammed into me brutally. His hips were like a pile-driver, slamming his cock deep into my cunt and pulling it out.
His hot body writhed over mine, his fingers dug into my tit-flesh.
Of course the erotic impact of Tom's watching this whole scene was not lost on me.
I started to writhe under his body, squealing and squirming, helplessly bound to "the bed, and subject completely to my husband's will.
His hips slammed into me, the wiry hairs of his pubes tickling my inflamed cunt.
My body jerked and squirmed under my husband's masterful stroking as he pistoned his cock in and out of my well-buttered cunt.
His buttocks rose and fell as he drove his massive mauler deep into my womanhood.
My heat rose, until I felt my orgasm rippling deep in my belly. My cuntal muscles started to grip hungrily at the slippery, throbbing hot dork which was driving me crazy.
"Ohhh!" I groaned, gritting my teeth at the incredible pleasure which had made my body go wild.
"Unnh! Bitch, I'll show you who's man of the house!" my husband said, thrusting his cock again and again into my wild twat.
My wrists and ankles strained against the bonds, not because I wanted to be rid of them, but because my body was delirious with the hot pleasure which Mike's cock was driving into me.
I couldn't believe that this wild man was my indifferent husband; couldn't believe that he was screwing the eyes right out of my head in front of my lover.
I reveled in his passion, and drove my swollen, sticky-wet muff up into his hard-driving loins again and again. I jumped and jerked on the bed wildly, as my husband fucked me-really fucked me-fucked me as I had never been fucked in my life.
And I was bound, helpless to the bed, with my lover looking on!
"Ahhhh!" I started to scream as my orgasm gripped my body, and caused it to convulse even more spastically. My husband kept on fucking me furiously, his body covered with sweat, his cock covered with my come juices, as I spewed the honey out of my pot copiously.
My orgasm was intense and prolonged. I could feel my eyes bulging out of my head.
Just as my orgasm peaked, I felt Mike's scum pouring into my hot twat. I wriggled lasciviously around and around on his long fleshy nail, which impaled me to his angry, wild, hot body, feeling his cock plunge even deeper into the flowing well of my cunt.
Mike's body slammed into me furiously, almost bruising my swollen convulsed twat.
Finally, he collapsed on top of me. After awhile, he got up, and released me.
I was still scared, not knowing what he intended to do.
"Get dressed!" he barked. "I'm taking you home-with me!"
He released Tom, and the three of us left the room together. Tom and I were silent. After all, what could we say?
But I grinned as Mike drove me home.
And I was still grinning, when we got into the house, and he closed and locked the door, and carried me up to our bedroom, and threw me roughly on the bed.
He fucked me furiously, all over again. And he kept fucking me all night.
The problem is, Doctor, I like it.
He has given up his women, and he does nothing but fuck me. Frequently he ties me up. Once he even gagged me.
But I get off on it consistently.
Am I perverted?
CONCLUSION
I was happy to assure Wendy that she was far from perverted.
The infidelities which the couple had practiced, and with which they finally confronted each other, had cleared the air, and brought them down to earth, so to speak.'
The bondage was one way for Mike to assert his territorial rights over his wife.
It turned out to be an excellent method for reviving his wife;s sexual interest in him.
There was no need for counseling in this case.
Both of them began to enjoy their sexual contact and were content.
CASE HISTORY NINE
Subject: Laura D Age: Nineteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Laura was an exquisite blonde who walked into my office timidly.
Her lovely blue eyes were red with weeping.
She was most uncomfortable, and it took some prodding to get her to reveal her reasons for calling me, and making the appointment.
I reminded her that she had made the call, and that she could sit there silent and weeping for the hour, and it would still cost her the fee, or she could seek relief for whatever was distressing her, by confiding in me.
That seemed to convince her. After a hesitant beginning, she told her tale freely.
Following is the unexpurgated transcription of the tape of her interview.
I'm here because my husband beats me.
He does more than that, he does awful things to me.
like, he ties me up with straps, and gags me by stuffing things in my mouth.
Not only that, I'm sick! Sometimes I even enjoy it.
The problem is, I feel less and less human every day, because of what he does.
And we don't talk any more.
I always loved Bill because he talked to me, as if I meant something to him. Now, we don't talk at all.
He just ties me up and we fuck.
It never used to be like that.
When we were first married, it was like a honeymoon, every day. I've been married for two years now.
But the honeymoon's over, now. And I don't know what to do.
The first time it happened-I remember it as if it were yesterday. We used to have a lot of lover's quarrels. But they weren't serious.
Bill and I agree on all the basic things. At least we used to.
But there's one thing about Bill; he's very definite about what he-likes and doesn't like. And he doesn't like the color pink.
Well, I do. And every time I come home with something pink, a dress, or maybe a scarf, he gets angry.
We used to have a lot of quarrels before we'd go out at night because I'd want to wear pink which is very complimentary to my complexion, and Bill would object.
"But why?"
"Because it's a child's color, and you're not a child. You're a woman. Go change your dress. I won't go out with you in that dress!"
Well, Bill always won.
One night he called me from the office.
"Laura? Ned and Sally Williams are in town. Want to meet me downtown and we'll have dinner with them?"
Ned was Bill's best man at the wedding. He had got married about six months after us, and moved away. I was very fond of him.
"Sure!" I said. I told Bill I'd meet him at the Larchmont Restaurant, where they had planned to eat, and then I went up to shower and dress.
Of course, I can't say what I did was blind, or that I wasn't thinking. It was quite deliberate.
I put on one of the pink dresses that Bill loathed.
The dinner was, I thought, a success.
Here, I'd gotten away with something, and
Bill hadn't objected.
I had forgotten what a gentleman Bill is-in public. But when we got home that night, and Bill had followed me into the bedroom, he lurched at me, and with one violent motion he had ripped the dress right off my back.
"How the hell many times do I have to tell you I hate pink? I don't ask much of you, Laura, and I don't think going along with me on this score is such a big thing to ask."
I got angry.
"And I don't know why you shouldn't go along with me, at least once. We could at least compromise on it," I exclaimed, feeling the heat of my anger rise to my cheeks.
Bill reached out and pulled my bra off of my burgeoning boobs.
Instinctively, I covered them, shocked at his gesture. He had never done anything like that before.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to teach you a lesson, bitch," he snarled, taking me and throwing me on the bed.
He walked over to the bed, and took the ripped dress and tied my hands to the headboard.
I got scared suddenly. Was he going mad? I didn't know. I couldn't believe what was happening!
My own gentle husband was attacking me!
As I watched, over my shoulder-he had tied me beUy-down on the bed, Bill stepped out of his clothes, and folded them carefully over a chair, the way he always does.
I was shocked to see his cock fully erect, when he stepped out of his jockey shorts. I didn't think he would get hard from just being angry with me, and he must have been angry from the moment he saw me walk into that restaurant with that pink dress-which Sally thought was luscious, by the way.
He walked over to the bed, and then fished into the night table drawer.
He pulled out his favorite belt which he kept there.
It was made of snake skin-very heavy, and ornate, with a heavy brass buckle on it. He fondled it for awhile, staring at me.
"Bill, what are you going to do?"
"Shut up! Just for once, you're going to do it my way, and not your way. You're altogether too stubborn," he said.
He put the snake skin belt down on the bed, and went to the closet, extracting several ties from the rack which was on the door.
He tied them together, and then came over, and pulled my kness up in front of me, until my knees were pressing into my full boobs.
He ran the long length of fabric into the cleft where my knees bent and then ran the cloth around my body twice, so that I was really pinioned on the bed.
I was really scared now. My ass cheeks were high in the air, and I was helpless, subject to his every whim.
He picked up the snake skin belt, and raised it over his head, and then he began to beat me with it, slapping it down on my up-lifted ass cheeks again and again and again.
Each stroke seemed to be more brutal than the last. I could feel the fiery stings of the belt, which had sharp edges, as the leather dug into my rounded ass buns.
I could feel the welts rising, with each cutting stroke which he delivered. At first, I begged and pleaded, and finally the pain got so great, that my loud shouts and cries subsided to a long series of moans.
The heat from my ass was intense, and it permeated my body, making me shake all over.
My ass cheeks began to throb, and then I realized with a shock, as I felt the throbbing increase, that I was creaming!
I could feel the hot juices from my cunt pouring out of me, as my husband laid that snake skin whip on me again and again.
He ran the whip up my back, leaving great, livid welts all over my soft, vulnerable, helpless flesh
I could feel my nipples puckering against my knees, and the sensation became incredibly erotic. I moaned more deeply now, and what embarrasses me is that the moan was not just pain, although that was present.
But I was beginning to enjoy it. I could feel my ass cheeks, almost in spite of myself, humping up in the air, wiggling furiously around and around as Bill laid that leather belt on me.
Finally, he lay the belt down.
"Now do you know what color I don't like?" he asked, sarcastically.
"Pink!" I sobbed, bewildered by the conflicting emotions which were roiling through my quivering belly.
"And what color are you not going to wear when you're with me?"
"Pink!" I sobbed.
Bill laughed, sardonically.
"You might be interested to know that your ass is red. I refrained from whipping you so lightly that only a pink color showed. That's how much I hate pink!" he said.
He got up on the bed, kneeling behind my ass cheeks.
Again I felt the fear rise, as he fondled my stinging, burning ass cheeks. He had beaten me royally, and I was going to carry the marks for weeks afterward, but right now, I became acutely aware of my creaming cunt.
My husband parted my ass cheeks, and then ran his finger down the ass cleft until he reached the slit of my womanhood.
I knew it was wet and swollen, since I could feel the blood pounding in my delicate pink woman meat.
My husband grunted as he stuck a finger into my cunt. Then I felt his massive, bulbous cock head pressing into my womanhood.
The pain in my ass started to mix luridly with the pleasure of his cock as Bill thrust it into me.
It slipped into my incredibly lubricated cunt very, very easily. I felt its massive girth spreading wide the walls of my pussy, felt the hot throbbing of his shaft, as he stuffed me.
And the strangest thing is, with my hands bound over my head, with my ass exposed to my husband, my knees pulled up under me and bound to my body, the sensation was fantastic-more fantastic than anything I had ever felt before!
I couldn't believe how quickly my cuntal muscles became hotly aroused, clutching at my husband's prick as he started to piston in and out of me, slowly at first, stroking the walls of my pussy with long, deep, strong thrusts, and then with increasing frenzy as his passion grew.
I could feel his heavily-haired balls slapping against my nether flesh. They soon became coated with my come cream, which was flowing furiously and hotly down my hot fuck channel.
My husband's cock dipped into my flowing honey pot again and again. I could feel his cock lurching against the sides of my fevered cuntal walls, as he drove himself to a frenzy.
He ground his loins into my ass, and I humped my flaming ass cheeks back into his hairy loins, loving the feel of his cock, surrendering to the hot bliss of having his great fuck rod ream out my pussy.
I started to groan heavily as I felt myself go hot and weak with the growing orgasm in me.
I felt my husband start to shoot his hot, frothing load into my captive cunt, and his heavy, viscid come cream triggered my orgasm.
I don't know doctor, do I need help?
CONCLUSION
I recommended heavy marital therapy for both Laura and Bill.
His objection to the color pink was extreme, I thought, and I discovered the reason for it on his first private visit to my office.
His mother, who had always been a helpless, infantile sort, had always worn pink, and insisted he wear it long past the time when baby clothes should have been put away.
CONCLUSION
As you can see from these case histories which I have presented, bondage is a fairly common occurrence in marriages.
Far from being perverted, it is a natural expression of the relationship between a man and his woman.
Since marriage binds men and women to each other, the bondage is merely the physical equivalent of that binding.
Unless severe physical torture accompanies it, bondage is much to be recommended as a bedroom sport.
It puts zest in tired marriages, and whets the sexual appetites of the people involved in it.
It would be better for everyone, if more bondage were practiced, and if more people knew that it wasn't as perverted as it is reputed to be.
As you can see from the case histories I have presented, the bondage did no lasting harm, even in those relationships where the validity of the social ties could be called into question.
And frequently, as I have also demonstrated, bondage is much to be desired as a titillating variation on sexuality.
