There is nothing abnormal about sexual fetishes. We all have them to one extent or another. A favorite sexual position can be a fetish; the need to be intoxicated or stoned before having intercourse is a fetish; insisting that the sexual partner wear particular clothes, or act in a special way, all represents various degrees of sexual fetishism.
There are forms of fetishistic behavior, however, which go well beyond the bounds of normal sexuality. It is these areas that this collection of stories focuses upon. It is most particularly in the area of violent sexual fetishes that we draw the readers attention.
Increasingly, in this complex, fragmented society in which we find ourselves today, it is difficult for many people to express their needs for love and sexual intimacy in socially acceptable ways. There is a need to hurt, to dominate, and control that is becoming increasingly prevalent. It is not within the scope of this book to pass judgment. What we wish to do here, is provide insight into the minds of violently fetishistic human beings.
In this book, we will present three stories, dealing with three different aspects of abnormally violent sexual behavior focusing on three specific fetishes.
LOVE'S FRAGRANCE
Greg Friedman had recently changed from the day to the night shift at his job, and he was entirely unaccustomed to having his days free. It's not that he was a bore, or even a fool for work. There were certainly plenty of things to occupy his time. He just hadn't figured what exactly those things were.
Greg, who at only twenty eight years old, had already established himself as a successful magazine illustrator, suffered from an acute case of that uniquely American disease, success.
He had more money than he had ever dreamed of having, along with accompanying armies of acquaintances, wardrobes of clothes, advanced gadgetry for both convenience and amusement, and an advanced case of ennui.
But Greg was not without hope. He knew that he had many gifts, the least important of which seemed to be his uncanny ability to draw. He was extremely handsome, well-built, he wore clothes (even dungarees) with class and style, and he turned nearly every woman's head on the street as he passed by.
In short, Greg Friedman was born to be a winner. And to outsiders all those outside his head space he was an obvious winner. And since Greg alone was privy to his self-image, he alone knew what a miserable failure he was.
All of this is an absurd way in which to present this character, for without exception, every human being feels himself a failure for one thing or another. It's simply important in this instance, to show how acutely Greg was bothered by this universal dilemma.
Unlike the vast nameless majority of men past thirty years of age, Greg couldn't fake his self-realization. He had sniffed some truth about himself, and about life, and he obsessively kept his nose pressed against the cause of his unrest, his uncertainty namely his misery.
In addition to his many successes in illustrating a number of New York magazines on a continuing freelance basis, he had just landed the art directorship of High Fashion magazine. HF is the magazine's magazine in the world of haute couture. There would be many jealous art directors, in New York, and abroad, when word spread about the young man's dramatic uprise.
The magazine publisher was a peculiar man, and a great believer in the super natural. An astrologer had once told him that his best work would be accomplished at night, so since 1967, when he founded HF, the staff worked at night.
Accepting his new position meant that Greg would have to work nights. This involved the hours of six p.m. to midnight. Not really so bad, he felt, as it left him his late nights for catching old films on television, and thinking. But what to do about the days posed a particular problem for him.
Indeed, this is a universal problem for all those who suddenly find their habits twisted around. Man is a creature of habit, and sometimes it takes great shocks to turn him about, and put him on a new course.
It was a sunny, yet chilled early afternoon in November, and Greg was strolling along Fifth Avenue, staring into shop windows, aware of the interested glances of many lovely young women. He chose to ignore these, drawing some pleasure in being a tease an aloof desired object, beyond the reach of the anxious female strollers.
Enough women had played that game with him over the years, that he took sweet pride in the deliciousness of revenge. He had very nearly gotten to the point of being bored with women. He searched for something deeper in his meetings with the fair sex, but was forever disappointed. He was so acutely aware of their nervousness, and his own, that he was nearly crippled. He sensed knew in fact that when he was with the "right" woman, he would know it. Things would flow.
He had enjoyed that feeling before. He had known how smoothly things can happen, as though they were meant to happen. And he also knew full well how difficult it was to force something to happen which clearly was not meant to be.
There had been times in his life, particularly with women, when Greg wanted desperately to seduce, to consume, to possess some exceptionally beautiful woman. And as this was before his becoming well-known, they had rejected his advances. Even women, whom he sensed really loved him, had tossed him aside in search of instant money and power. Until relatively recently, he let such situations hurt him to the core. And he would mope for months, feeling the deep bruise on his heart.
But within the last several years, he had learned to overcome this reaction. Actually, he grew to the point of simply not caring. And as his career began to take off, as his magazine covers were solicited from publishers all over the world, the women seemed to come along as a fringe benefit like frosting on the cake.
His present situation, the floating, lifeless feeling of being in life, and yet not part of it, confused him. There were times when he wasn't sure whether he should enjoy the detachment, the sweet solitude of it all; and there were also times when it seemed as though he were drowning in it, starving for contact. To touch.
When he was in this uncontrolled, anxious state, he suffered immensely. It was the suffering that only one who had tasted of love, and lost it, can comprehend. Greg had been married as a younger man. At twenty one, he married his high school sweetheart, Bonnie Gladstone.
It was the closest that Greg had ever come to finding himself inside love. Bonnie was a lovely young woman, with long chestnut hair, and they made a handsome couple together.
They were married for three years, and the first year of the marriage was the sweetest, most fulfilling period Greg could recall. They were the best of friends, shared everything, loved openly, and enjoyed sex very much. She was the only woman Greg had ever known who understood, and accepted his fetish.
Since early childhood, woman's panties had held a place of peculiar importance for him. His mother, a very beautiful woman, knew that Greg was enamored with her in a sexual manner. At the age of five, he would take his mother's panties from the dirty linen basket, and hide them beneath his pillow. He was only five, and both his mother and father thought it cute, and quite normal. His father was a psychologist, and his mother, a. teacher. They considered themselves quite educated, and liberal. They certainly didn't want to interfere with their son's sexual development.
Walking down Fifth Avenue, oblivious to the faces that stared at him, and of the taxi cabs hurtling around the corners, the sirens, the horns blaring. It was only November, and Christmas decorations were being fitted in the store windows.
The festive, active life on the street helped the handsome young man drift off into a dream world of past recollections. He thought about his mother.
He had never told her, and really did not suspect that she knew all along, that he was sexually attracted to her. Laura Friedman was, a very beautiful woman, with long blonde hair, which she kept in a conservative bun, and sharp, European facial features. Her figure was memorable as well, long, shapely legs, well-formed breasts, and a lovely rear-end.
Even as a boy, Greg was well aware of how men would pause to admire her as she walked past. His father never seemed to mind. In fact, Greg thought that it all made his father feel fortunate being married to such a beautiful woman.
Greg was proud, too. He would often try to see his mother naked, to admire her beauty. He had been raised to appreciate beauty. The house was filled with fine paintings, sculpture, and beautifully illustrated books. There were even books that had photographs of naked women in them. He was never forbidden to look at these pictures. And thus he grew up believing that sex was a very natural, open part of life.
It isn't, but that bubble wouldn't be burst until he was much older.
Even at the age of ten, Greg continued to keep a pair of his mother's panties beneath his pillow. It was sort of a family joke, and the significance was glossed over. When he began masturbating, when he was twelve, he rubbed his erect young penis against the soft fabric of Laura Friedman's panties.
He would imagine that he was making love with his mother. The fact that he was now ejaculating into the panties, imagining that was inside his mother, of course, quickened his anxiety over the beautiful woman who was his mother.
And this resulted in him hating his father. Eric Friedman was well aware of the source of the competition his son felt with him. And Eric was very much in love with his wife. At first Laura and Eric Friedman laughed about Greg's Oedipus Complex. But that didn't make it go away.
And because of the proximity of the problem, Eric, who was by profession a psychologist, didn't truly realize how deeply this sexual affliction had taken root.
He felt that Greg would simply outgrow the problem. As Greg became older, he also became more secretive about his sexuality. He felt some embarrassment about his mother's panties, and would no longer keep them beneath his pillow. Instead, he kept them hidden away beneath his mattress. And whenever he had a chance, he would pull them out and masturbate with them wrapped around his growing member.
Greg's attachment to his mother interfered with his relationships with girls at school. The teachers reported that he kept aloof from children his own age particularly little girls instead, currying favor with the female teachers.
Laura, a teacher herself, was worried about this situation, and wondered if she wasn't raising a "Mama's boy," who would constantly be seeking maternal love from women. His father was quite upset, and wanted to put the boy into psychotherapy. The mother disagreed, and the subject became a hot issue, causing numerous fights. Indeed, the problem eventually led to the parents' divorce.
The divorce made Greg very happy. He never felt very close to his father anyway, and the divorce simply opened the way for him to have a closer relationship with his mother.
Now, his masturbation fantasies became much more intense. He was sixteen years old, and very much aware of his sexuality. He found it very difficult to contain his sexual passion for his mother. When he saw her, when he smelled her hair, or the perfume about her, his penis would tremble with excitement, and he would have to cover the bulge in his trousers. There were times when he came close to confessing his need for his mother, but it was frightening to him.
He continued to steal his mother's, panties from the bathroom, sniffing them, rubbing them over his face, and masturbating into them. When they became too soiled, too encrusted with his spent semen, he would wash them and sneak them into his mother's lingerie drawer.
He loved to run his fingers over the smooth material, feeling the luxuriant softness of the silk, and lace. Things feminine, and delicate made his penis grow hard. His mother was the symbol for him of all that was sexual, and exciting.
Several months following his parents' separation, Laura began casually seeing men. Once or twice a week, she would go out with one of several suitors. It was only understandable, as Laura Friedman was still in her thirties, and remarkably beautiful.
Her dating other men, posed a threat to the young man. He pouted, and was sucked into a deep depression as a result. Laura was aware of what was bothering the young man. But she didn't know how to deal with it.
What Greg didn't know about his mother is that she secretly harbored desire for him as well. With her it was a relatively new twist in her relationship with her son. When he was young, and busily stole her panties from the dirty clothes basket in the bathroom, it was cute. But now he was a sixteen year old man. And he was a very handsome young man at that.
People even on the street would often stop and stare at him. He was simply one of those men who incur the admiration of women, and the jealousy of men. There wasn't a thing he could do about it.
Greg was playing varsity tennis at his high school, and would often lounge around the house in his tennis shorts, and nothing else. She liked to observe the way his muscles rippled as he moved. And when he began to grow hair on his chest and face, she knew that he was now a man.
The boy's habit of taking her panties was no longer simply amusing, it was sexually provocative, and she felt a keen attraction to the boy. A heavy drama hung in the house. Both Greg and Laura Friedman were aware of their desires for each other, but both struggled to keep the desire in check.
They shared the large apartment together. It was simply a question of time.
It all happened one Saturday evening. Greg had been busy playing tennis all morning. And in the afternoon, he smoked marijuana with some friends. His mother had been shopping with girlfriends, excited about a date she had that night with one of her fellow teachers at the private girl's school.
Greg was still rather stoned early in the evening. His mother had recently returned home, and was busy in the bathroom. While she was in the shower, Greg dreamed about being with her, washing her back, fondling her breasts, pressing his excited young penis against her blonde bush.
After Laura showered, she busied herself in her bedroom, applying her make-up, and drying her hair. The bathroom door was open a crack, and she was able to see the bathroom, reflected in the make-up table mirror.
She saw Greg creep into the bathroom, and search in the dirty clothes hamper for the panties she had worn that day. She paused as she applied her dark red lipstick, and smiled as she watched the handsome young boy pull the pink satin undees out of the basket and hold them to his face.
But the amusement turned to sexual tension as she noticed how his prick strained against his tennis shorts, how excited he had become while pressing the moistened crotch of her panties to his nose and mouth.
She felt a sudden flush of warmth spread through her. And tingling sensations of sexual pleasure passed through her groin. Through her dressing robe, she felt her nipples grow swollen with desire. She wanted her son. She wanted to make love with Greg.
Reason, intelligence, and a sense of the drama of what she imagined registered in her mind. She was frightened, but so very horny with lust for her son. She felt his attentions as a very deep form of admiration for her beauty. She knew that he loved her very much not simply as a son loves his mother, but as a man loves a woman. She found his fetish for her panties to no longer be something comical; now it was deeply sexual, perversely provocative. She approved. Indeed, she was filled with passion because of her son's aberration.
Without really thinking about it, she rose from the dressing table, and moved towards the bathroom. Her body was trembling with excitement. She wanted her son, and she knew he wanted her. It was simply a question of how it was going to happen. Was she going to seduce him? Or force him to openly admit what he wanted? Was all of this simply a fantasy? Would there be damage to his development? Would she feel guilty? What about her date that evening? So many thoughts flashed through her mind as she crossed the bedroom.
Standing before the bathroom door, she paused, to reflect. But there was nothing to reflect. She could feel her vaginal juices stirring in her cunt. She wanted her son. And she was turned-on enough, to momentarily lose her reason.
Throwing open the bathroom door, she stared at her son. He quickly reached behind his back, with the panties clutched out of sight.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her blue eyes flashing with hot desire. Her lovely mouth trembled with expectation.
"Nothing," his mind raced for a rationale, "I was ... I was just looking for some socks."
"In the dirty clothes?"
"Yes, I need some gym socks," he stammered.
"Stop it, Greg," she said. "Don't lie to me. I'm your mother. And I know what you are doing, and what you have in your hand. Admit it Greg. You want me."
He stood for a moment, trembling on the brink. He flushed with embarrassment. He wanted so much to tell her everything, to admit the deep love he had for her, the desire.
"Is this what you want, son?" she threw open her dressing gown, revealing her total, beautiful nakedness.
The handsome young man stared at her lovely figure at the well shaped breasts, the beige nipples, the flat tummy, and the blonde bush. Her legs were shiny from recently being shaved, and oiled.
His cock swelled immediately in his shorts. Yes, he wanted her desperately.
"Oh, mother," he trembled as he ran into her arms, and pressed her body to his, feeling her warm breasts against his naked skin. The warmth of her genitals pressed into his.
"Oh, mother," he moaned with happiness, feeling his erect penis pressing against her bush, "I've wanted this to happen for so long. I love you more than life itself."
"I know, Greg," she patted him on the back, caught between the powerful, carnal, attraction for her son, and her fear of damaging him, making him somehow into a sexual freak.
His lips pressed to hers, in a youthful, naive attempt to make love to his own mother.
She was breathing hard, her face flushed with desire. And her pussy was filled with hot passion for the boy. She ran her fingers over his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of firm flesh. Youth excited her. She knew that to make love with a young boy, would be much different than with a grown man. With Greg, she sensed, it would be pure, soft, and sensitive.
But she was afraid.
"Mother, I've wanted you for so long," he said. "Can we make love?"
"Oh, Greg," she sighed, "you are so beautiful. And you are so strong, and young. But I'm afraid."
"Afraid?" he drew back, confused.
"Not for myself," she explained. "I'm afraid for you. I don't want to screw you up. Life is so complicated, and we are so complicated. Can you really handle this?"
"I've dreamed of nothing else," he affirmed his love for her.
"Have you ever been with a woman?" she asked.
"No, I'm a virgin, Mom," he freely admitted. "There just hasn't been anybody who excites me as much as you do."
"You're only sixteen, and already you know how to flatter a woman," she laughed. "Does it mean it's going to happen? Are we really going to make love?"
"Is that what you want?" She wanted it as much, if not more than her son. Her body was a furnace of desire for the boy.
"So much, if only you knew."
"Well, Ralph is going to be here soon to pick me up," she suddenly took stock of outward reality. "I'd better call him, and tell him I'm sick. I don't think I would enjoy my evening with him, knowing that you're at home, all excited about me."
She touched his hot, swollen prick, through his shorts, smiled, and returned to her room.
Greg remained in the bathroom, confused, and unsure of himself. He stuffed the panties back into the basket, wanting to hide the evidence. His heart was pounding with excitement.
He could hear his mother dialing on the phone.
"Ralph? Hi, this is Laura. Listen, honey, I've suddenly taken ill. It must have been something I had for lunch. You do understand, don't you? I'll call you tomorrow. Yes, I'm sure it's nothing serious. I have a good doctor ... Yes, thank you for being so understanding, Ralph. Goodnight, then."
The phone was placed back on the holder.
"Don't be shy, honey," she said. "Come in here."
Greg meekly walked into his mother's room. He wasn't sure what to do. The reality of making love with a woman had never come this close to materializing. And this was with his own mother.
"Don't just stand there," she said. "Come here, sit on the bed with me. Let's talk, honey."
"What do you want to talk about?" he asked.
"Tell me why it is that you want so badly to make love with me."
"Gee, Mom," he gushed, "there are so many reasons. I think you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I don't think I'll ever find a woman like you anywhere."
"You are so sweet," she purred, basking in the adoration, like a peacock wooing a spouse. She was all aglow.
"I think you should call me Laura, when we are alone like this, don't you think? It will make us feel more comfortable with each other." She removed her dressing gown, and let it drop to the floor.
"Tell me, darling," she said, "do you find me really so very attractive?"
"Oh, yes," he took her in his arms, and pressed his face against her warm breasts. His lips brushed her nipple, and she sighed with, excitement. It had been a long time sine Greg had had his lips on his mother's nipple.
"I'm going to teach you all about women, and how to please them," she said. "You will be the world's greatest lover, because I will teach you, not in a selfish manner, but in a way that you will be the best."
"What do you mean, Laura?" It was difficult for him to call his mother by her Christian name.
"What I mean, she said, is that most women are only interested in putting you under their power making you into their sex slave. I only want to help you fulfill yourself."
"You make it sound so clinical," he said.
"No, it's not that way at all, darling," she said. "Oh, I guess I am a little full of shit. You don't mind me being honest with you? (He smiled.) Well, I think I'm just a wee bit nervous about all of this, too. It's rough on me to admit that I lust after my own son."
"But, you are a woman, and I am a man," he said. "It's perfectly normal to me. It's society that makes all these rules."
"Oh, Greg, if it was only that simple. But love just never is."
"I don't ever want to be close to any woman but you," he whispered into his mother's ear.
"Don't be silly," she tried to retain some control over herself, despite the fact that she was even more turned on than was her son.
"Laura, can I ask you a special favor?"
"Of course, Greg, what is it?"
"I wonder if you would put on a pair of panties?"
"Oh, Greg," she laughed. "You really are so silly."
"I can't help it."
"I know you can't. And I really understand.
You're only sixteen, and you have fetishes like a dirty old man. I really hate to think about what you will be like when you're fifty."
"Gee, I hope I'm not a weirdo."
"Oh, honey," she purred, "you won't be a weirdo. Whatever you are will be fine with me."
The woman released her son from her grip, pausing to admire the swollen prick in his shorts, and then she went to her bureau, and pulled out what just so happened to be Greg's favorite pair of panties.
They were pink silk, bordered with black fringe. They were extremely brief, and sexy.
He panted with excitement as he watched his mother step into the panties. They barely covered her mound of blonde pubic hair, and it was just the perfect touch to excite the lad.
"Oh, Mom, I mean Laura," he smiled, and rose off the bed, "you are so beautiful and sexy. I want you so much."
"Greg, you make me feel just like a little girl again, thank you, darling."
He was on his feet, standing before his mother. They looked into each other's eyes, filled with sexual desire, and admiration for each other.
Then she opened her arms, and Greg rushed towards her. They held each other tightly, kissing passionately, and fondling each other.
Greg kissed her on the mouth. His lips were closed tightly, he hadn't yet been instructed in the art of French kissing.
They both were trembling with excitement as the dark fuzz on his chest rubbed against the woman's swollen breasts. Her nipples grew firm, and he pressed his swollen cock against her panty-covered sex.
"Come, lie beside me on the bed, and I'll teach you how to kiss, darling," she purred.
On the bed, lying face to face, the lovely woman took her son's head between her hands, and pressed her lips to his. They kissed deeply, and passionately.
"That's it, honey, use your tongue in my mouth. like this."
She curled her tongue, and flicked it about in her son's sweet, young mouth. They were both extremely excited. Greg took to sex like a fish to water. His hands moved delicately over the woman's breasts. He was thrilled to feel her nipples respond to his touch. He no longer felt shy with her. It was as if he had control over his mother. She was now but a woman, and he was a man.
"I want to kiss your pussy," he said.
"I would like that, honey," she moaned. "Should I take off my panties now?"
"No, leave them on," he said nervously. The panties held enormous sexual significance for him. He was psychologically tied to the woman's drawers, and insisted she wear them while he suck her sex.
The beautiful older woman moaned hotly, as she spread her legs, and felt her son's anxious mouth press against her sex.
Her panties were soon soaked with her own hot lubricating juices, and his saliva. Running his tongue along the outline of her organ, he sucked at her firm clitoris, and sucked on the juices that had collected.
The panties were completely soaked through. Never in his life had Greg felt such excitement. His cock was pounding in his shorts. His mother was equally filled with passion.
Her sexual relationship with her husband had never been as exciting as what was now happening between her and her son. She was mad with passion for him, and the feel of his lips, and tongue against her vagina drove her nearly hysterical with desire.
Laura had brought her knees up, so her feet were flat on the bed. Greg was lying flat, sucking madly at her crotch. The material, as it grew soaked, slid into the fold of her pussy, so that her labial lips were exposed. The panties now were simply a little string of material stuffed into her slash.
"You certainly don't need lessons in oral sex, my darling," she sighed.
But he wasn't listening to her words. All of this was too good to be real for the young man. He was lost in the total deliciousness of what was happening. He was totally obsessed, and hypnotized by the woman's sex. The scent of her pussy, and the taste of her soaked panties made him wild with need. His prick was straining against his shorts, as if it would tear through the material.
Suddenly, in a fit of passion, he tore the panties with his teeth, like a wild animal tearing at an animal carcass, and pulled the material away. Holding the discarded, soaked panties tightly in his hand, he continued to suck on his mother's pussy.
His tongue searched deeply into the recesses of her sex. He followed the curves, and folds of the inner and outer lips. He thrilled to the firm clitoris in his mouth.
"You're going to make me come, darling," she moaned. "Better stop. We need to go on for hours."
Smiling, quite proud of himself, Greg moved his mouth from his mother's excited pussy, and sat up. His cock was straining against his shorts. The athletic supporter he was wearing cramped his style. His nuts were beginning to throb with pain.
"Let me help you out of your shorts,"
Laura purred. "I haven't seen your cock since you were a little boy."
He let his mother help him slip out of his shorts, and jock strap. As his eight inch cock sprung out, she gasped with admiration.
"What a lovely cock," she said. "I'm so proud. It's even bigger than your father's. And it's so pink, and innocent. My virgin son, this is a wonderful day for us. Already I am happier than I have ever been with a man."
He smiled with extreme glory. His confidence was at a high. He felt like a god.
"I want to suck that handsome cock of yours. She didn't need to ask him twice. So many times he had imagined his mother sucking on his cock. He had seen photos in magazines of women sucking on cock. Whenever he saw a picture of a blonde woman sucking a man off, he imagined that it was his mom.
And now it was.
"That's it, honey," she said. "Lie on your back, and just relax. Let me do all the work."
It was so nice to simply relax, and watch his beautiful mother admire his dick. She kissed it all over, and with each kiss, he felt a rush of hot excitement.
He was excited, watching her mouth slide down over his prick, her tongue wrap around his organ, and her long blonde hair brush his balls lightly.
She was humming with satisfaction, as she sucked him. He watched her 'mouth slide up and down his stiff dick. And the sensation was glorious. Her fingers toyed with his balls, and pressed against his anus, and he began to feel the stirring of orgasm in his testicles.
He relaxed deeply, and spread his legs. Her mouth moved excitedly up and down his shaft. He was pumping to meet her downward strokes, and knew that it wouldn't be long until he shot his load into her mouth.
He wondered if that was acceptable. He had seen photos of women with come dribbling over their lips. It excited him to think about shooting his jism into the woman's mouth into his mother's mouth.
As he began pumping into her mouth with furious sexual excitement, it became clear to him that she wanted him to shoot in her mouth. He was pleased, and shut his eyes with excitement. He could feel his prick throbbing in her mouth. Faster and faster she sucked him. His nuts were on fire.
"Oh, that feels so wonderful," he moaned, pumping in and out of his mother's mouth. "Soon I will come."
She didn't pause to reply. She simply continued sucking on him. A thrilling, hot wave of passion shot through him. He held the panties to his face. He sniffed the sweet fragrance of his mother's pussy, and anus, and he felt the come ready to burst from his sacs.
"Oh, Mama," he cried, and moaned with pleasure as his come shot into her mouth. He watched her pleased expression as she gobbled up his love nectar, and eyed him with hot excitement.
She completely milked him, sucking at the head of his rod with great excitement. Up and down she sucked him, and he felt as though he would pass out from the sheer joy of it all.
Finally, the last droplets of jism spent from his cock, Laura slid her mouth off the young man's still firm meat, and moved up to his face. Without words, she kissed him on the mouth and smiled lovingly.
"I could taste my own jism in your mouth," he gushed.
"Sort of saity, eh?"
"All of this is so new to me," he said. "Am I normal, Mom?"
"Yes, of course you are," she smiled, "and don't you worry. There really are no rules. I'm just beginning to understand that myself. It's simply a question of not worrying about anything. People will talk, but it's all bullshit. You can be who you want to me. Just never forget that as you go through life."
"Oh, Mom," he kissed her breast, obviously still filled with passion.
"Please call me Laura," she smiled. "And do you think you could make love now? Or are you tired?"
"I think I could play with you all night," he said, squeezing her panties. His cock was fully erect.
"And I could make love with you endlessly as well," she kissed him on the mouth."
"I'm not sure what I have to do," he admitted. "Will you show me?"
"It's all so simple," she said. "Don't worry about a thing. You'll see."
Laura turned over on her back, and spread her legs widely for the young man. He crawled between her lush, lovely thighs, and stared with intense interest at the opening, into which he would stuff his virgin tool.
Leaning against her body, he glowed with happiness as he felt his prick slide against her moistened sex organ.
"Oh, you feel so good against me," she purred. "Let me frig myself with you. I seem to have dried up a bit."
Greg moaned with excitement as his mother pressed the head of his cock against her swollen, yearning clitoris, and began stroking" herself.
"Oh, you have such a fine, handsome cock, Greg," she murmured, "you are so fortunate.
And it feels so good against my pussy."
It was an interesting sensation for Greg, to have his sensitive cock rubbed so furiously against the swollen clitoris. It was terribly exciting, yet slightly painful. It felt nearly too good.
"Oh, yea, you feel so good," she moaned. And then she pressed the head of his penis into her vagina. The sensation was thrilling, so new, so hot, and so tight.
He melted like butter in her arms, as she held him close, and pulled his long stick deeply inside of her. When he was all the way inside, he held her panties against his face, sucking on the juices which still moistened the material, and thrilled to the new sensations.
"It feels so right to have you inside of me," she sighed.
"It feels right to be there," he said. And instinctively, he began moving his penis slowly in and out of her opening. She used her well-trained vaginal muscles to grip his stick firmly, as she returned his thrusts, and they hurtled towards orgasm.
Laura had her fingers pressed tightly against her clitoris, which she stroked with great expectation. "Oh, darling, you make me feel absolutely wonderful. I never want this to stop."
Greg could hardly speak. He was totally lost in the deliciousness of the fuck. He mumbled as he drove his meat in and out of the woman's hot hole.
"I'm going to come again," he blurted, as he began thrusting powerfully in and out of her sweet hole.
"Me, too," she murmured, frigging herself wildly, trying to pace her orgasm with her son's.
"That's right, honey," she moaned. "I'm almost there. Oh, yea, it feels good. Oh, baby, I'm coming. Yea, coming, oh, darling."
And she wept as she orgasmed. So much built-up tension, and sexual excitement spilled from her. She was excited beyond words and sobbed with happiness as her clitoris thundered, and her body quaked.
"I'm going to come, too," he groaned, straining with excitement as he was ready to shoot his semen into her.
"I love you, Laura," he blurted, and then shot come into his mother's womb.
She continued to experience wonderful, mini orgasms as her son sprayed her pussy with jism. They held each other tightly and moaned with release, and love.
"That was so wonderful," she enthused. "I am so pleased that this happened, darling."
"I am, too," he said. "It feels so normal. Can we go on like this, Laura?"
"I don't see why not?"
"Will you be going out with other men?"
"I think I should, don't you?" she was stroking his hair, feeling very much in love with him, but fearful of influencing his development as a man. "And I want you to start dating girls. You are a very handsome young man, and I don't want you to miss out on having a proper adulthood."
"But I don't want to see other women," he sat up, pouting. "And I don't want you going out with other men!"
"Are you going to be possessive? A jealous lover?"
"Laura, please! I love you so very much."
"I know, but you are my son," she smiled. "We overcome the bullshit about incest, but there are still other restrictions we have to deal with."
"Like what?" he asked pensively.
"Like the fact that I am twenty years older than you, for one."
"Why should that stop us? There are many young girls who are in love with men old enough to be their fathers."
"I don't want to argue anymore about this," she said. "Let it go for now."
"Let's not fight," he kissed her softly on the cheek. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"
"Of course," she smiled. "It's been lonely s sleeping all by myself in this big bed."
Greg and his mother continued to have an intense sexual relationship for six months. And then tragedy struck. It was a freak accident, really. While Greg was playing tennis after school, preparing for a city-wide tournament, Laura Friedman slipped on the stairs in their brownstone apartment, and fell to her death.
Greg discovered her body when he returned home that evening. Needless to say, the accidental death, following the trauma of the divorce, and his incestuous relationship with his mother, nearly drove the young man over the brink.
Fortunately, his father came through, and became a close friend to his son. The sexual relationship between son and mother was never discussed. Despite the fact that Greg's father was a talented psychotherapist, he never suspected the sort of relationship that had gone on between mother and son.
His father moved back into the apartment, and life continued as usual. Usual for the father, that is. But life had changed dramatically for Greg. He had carefully gone through his mother's drawers following the funeral, taking all his favorite panties, and hiding them in his bedroom.
For six months he fantasized about Laura, while masturbating frequently into the dead woman's panties.
Only very slowly did the handsome young man finally come to accept that his mother was gone. There would be no more sex with the lovely blonde woman.
He was beginning to become more receptive to the women in school. Particularly Bonnie Gladstone. Bonnie, an extremely lovely, all-American girl, was head cheerleader at the high school. And she had her eyes on Greg for quite some time.
He was aware of it, but had been completely bored with women until Laura's passing. Now, slowly, but surely, he began to open to them to be aware of the hot possibilities which existed.
Bonnie was clearly the most beautiful girl in the school. Her reddish brown hair was long, and silky, her features were classical and beautiful, and she had a stunning figure.
She had been popular all through high school. She had characteristically dated the football team captain and it came to be expected that whomever was voted as captain of the football team, automatically inherited Bonnie Gladstone, and proudly so.
Their senior year in high school, however, changed the pattern. Greg came on to her, and the football team captain was out of luck.
The relationship started out innocently enough. Greg knew that Bonnie was not a virgin. She had even been engaged to the preceding year's football captain. And Greg had admitted to her that he had had sex before, though he never told her with whom.
It didn't matter, however, as they decided early on that what they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them.
Greg's father was away for a psychological symposium in Los Angeles, and he would be gone a week. It was a month before their graduation from high school, and they made a plan for Bonnie to move in with Greg for the entire week.
Bonnie lied to her parents, telling them that she would be staying with a girlfriend. It all flowed smoothly, and they both looked forward to what they knew would be their first sexual experience together. They had petted quite heavily on the weekends, but had not yet made love. It wasn't a question of morals. It's simply that they wanted to know each other,and feel comfortable with each other when it happened.
Friday, after school, they went directly to Greg's house, and smoked marijuana all evening. Finally, they got around to matters sexual. They were both a little excited. For several months they had worked slowly up to this important step.
And despite the fact they were both experienced, in many ways this felt like the first time. They were both rather stoned, and feeling sensual, and Greg managed to lead her into his dead mother's room. His father had been sleeping there as well, but Greg desired to make love with Bonnie in his mother's bed.
Though the pert young brunette was not at all similar to his dead mother, he did find, or imagine, some inner traits that were similar. He liked Bonnie's mature attitude towards life, and love. She was strong, and clever, and Greg felt she was a good woman. She was also a fox, and nearly every male student and teacher at the high school were jealous that he was dating her.
It was quite a victory for his ego as he sat beside her on the bed, with his arm wrapped around her, his nose pressed against her sweet-smelling hair.
"Let's get undressed," he said, quite loosened by the marijuana.
"Okay," she smiled, showing her dimples. Her teeth were so white, and her face held such youthful hope, and innocent beauty.
Greg was shocked to discover that the lovely young woman wasn't wearing panties.
Her figure was lovely enough, but the missing panties bothered him. He had yet to recover from his fetish. Indeed, it seemed to grow more pronounced with time. When he saw pretty girls, or attractive women stroll past him, he always looked to see the mark of their undees against their skirt, or pants.
"You have such a handsome body," she said, admiring his muscles, and the firm, smooth flesh of his body. His cock was erect, and beautiful, as it stood out from him like a cobra snake dancing to the Indian flutist.
"And you do, too," he meant it. Studying the .young girl's naked form, he admired her small, but perfectly shaped breasts, the pink little nipples, the patch of reddish-brown hair covering her young pussy, her long, tanned legs, and her firm, baby-smooth ass. "You are as beautiful as any of those models in the girlie magazines," he said proudly.
"Thank you, honey," she kissed him on the mouth. "That's the nicest thing a man has ever said to me."
"Only one thing bothers me," he smiled, kissing her erect nipple softly.
"What's that, darling?"
"I wish you would wear panties."
"But why? They're completely out of style."
"Because I just happen to like them, that's all."
"That is the most peculiar thing I've ever heard," she said. "All the boys are really excited that girls aren't wearing panties, and you insist."
"I'm just peculiar," he blushed. "But how about it?"
"If it's so important to you," she said, "I'll wear panties."
"Great," he enthused, as he ran into his own room. Looking through the bottom of his own underwear drawer, he found his mother's panties. He selected a pair of white lace panties, very feminine, and exciting to him.
Entering his mother's bedroom, he found Bonnie sprawled on the bed, her legs spread widely, and her fingers moving sensuously over her her hot pussy.
"What's wrong?" he asked, sheepishly, "couldn't you wait?"
"I was just getting warmed up for you, handsome," she purred. "What do you have there?"
"Panties," he held them aloft.
"What are you doing with women's panties?" She was laughing, as though it were a joke.
"You aren't a transvestite, are you?"
"Of course not," he said, handing them to her. "I just get off on them. I think it's so sexy when a woman wears things like this. You will put them on, won't you?"
"If it's so important to you," she smiled, taking the panties, and slipping into them. "I simply can't imagine what a pervert your are. Have you always been like this?"
"Yes, always," he smiled. "I just think they're great. Those yellow ones are my favorite."
"Did you actually go into a shop, and buy them?"
"Don't ask so many questions," he said, stroking his long cock with excitement, as he studied the beautiful girl in the yellow panties.
"You might be crazy, but I love you anyways," she smiled.
"I love you, too," he said, sliding beside her, and kissing her passionately on the mouth.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The room filled with the drama of pending sex.
Pressing his erect cock against her panty-covered groin, the handsome young man began pumping her, and they were rapidly lost in a sea of hot sexuality.
"God, you sure know how to turn a girl on," she moaned. "Where did you learn moves like that?"
"Around," he mumbled into her ear. "Besides, you inspire me."
She nearly had an orgasm as he sucked on her breasts. Carefully kneading the soft, warm breast flesh, he flicked his tongue against her sensitive nipple. And while he excited her breasts, he pressed his fingers against her crotch. The sensation of the lace panties against his fingers engaged him enormously. He was panting with excitement as he sucked her nipples, and stroked the fires beneath the panties.
When the underwear were completely soaked with hot pussy juice, Greg climbed between her thighs, and began sucking at the material. The girl was going crazy with lust. Never before had a man worked on her so expertly. And he was still a boy. Greg amazed Bonnie. The way in which he gripped her behind, lifting her panty-covered pussy to his mouth, inflamed her with lust. She could feel his tongue probing and searching, sliding, and flicking.
"Oh, fuck me, for God's sake," she moaned, "I can't stand this. Please, darling."
Greg had satisfied his fetish enough by this point, to rip the panties off her with his teeth, and press the full length of his tongue into her pussy. The young girl sighed with pleasure and put her hands to his head, directing his oral copulation.
"I want to feel your cock, please, before I come," she again pleaded for insertion.
Greg moved between her long, lovely thighs, and holding the panties to his mouth, sucking at the cunt juices, he pressed the throbbing head of his penis deeply into her sex.
Bonnie wrapped her legs tightly around the young man, pumping furiously against him, as he forced his cock in and out of her young cunt. She was quite tight and it did not require many strokes before he shot his load of hot come into her box.
Seconds later, while he was still milking his stick in her pussy, she gasped with joyous release, and orgasmed profusely.
"Oh, my darling, lover boy," she howled, "never before has it been so sweet. Never before have I enjoyed such wonderful pleasure. You are the greatest lover the most wonderful fuck artist in town."
"You sure know how to swell a guy's head," he laughed, pulling his thick rod from the girl's juicy twat.
"That was so nice," he said again, as he calmed.
"It was more than nice," she smiled, turning to face him, and kissing him passionately on the mouth. "It was beautiful, heavenly, and utterly beyond description. Greg, I think I love you. No, I know I love you!"
"I love you, too," he said, sniffing her panties and rubbing her breast tenderly.
"Will you put those panties away?" she smiled. "You're absolutely crazy."
"Give me a break, will you?" he continued sniffing them, crazed with perverse lust.
"I hope we aren't through for the night," she said.
"You want to fuck again?" he quizzed her. "Sort of." ' "What do you mean, sort of."
"Relax," she smiled. "I don't know, I sort of feel embarrassed talking about it."
"About what?" he asked. "Sodomy."
"Sodomy?"
"You know, ass fucking."
"Are you serious?"
He was a bit shocked. His mother was never into buggery, and he was completely surprised to hear of such things especially from his high school sweetheart.
"I got into last year," she confessed. "My beau was really wild about ass fucking. I'll tell you, it took me a long time to give in to it. I mean, it sounded so disgusting at first. And the first few times I let him try it, he hurt me so much. But you know, I really learned to like it. It seems that I have my best orgasms with a cock up my ass."
"I can't really conceive of what it would be like to shove my cock up your ass," he admitted. "But it sounds sort of interesting.
Can it really fit into that little hole?"
"It's simply a question of relaxing, honey," she said, turning over, and exposing her lovely rear end.
"Will you put the panties back on?" he asked, handingthem to her.
"You and your panty thing," she laughed, taking the soaked, and crumpled underwear in her hand. "But these are ripped. Don't you have another pair?"
"I have many," he said, leaping off the bed, and running back into his room.
"I wouldn't be surprised," she laughed.
Greg was back in the room in a flash, his erect cock swaying back and forth. In his hand he had a pair of black silk panties. They were very briefly cut.
"Here, put these on," he requested.
The lovely young brunette slipped into the panties, and rolled back over on her belly.
"I can't imagine how you are going to fuck me in the ass while I am wearing these," she exclaimed.
"Don't worry," he said, "I'll make you feel good. You'll see."
Greg moved in between her thighs, pressing his face against the crack in her ass. He sniffed, and rubbed his nose up and down the crack in her ass. The brief panties only covered about half of her beautiful ass. He studied a very well placed beauty mark on her ass as his lips and tongue pressed deeply into the fold of her rear end.
As his tongue soaked the material and pressed down against her anus, she moaned with excitement, and began pressing her groin against the bed clothes.
Greg was quite rapidly getting used to anal love. He could smell the acrid aroma of her anus, and taste the bitterness of the opening as the panties became engorged with his saliva.
Pulling the lovely young woman to her knees, he used his fingers to press against the material, exciting her clitoris, and summoning hot juices from her slit.
They were both extremely turned on, and Bonnie was close to orgasm. With his teeth, Greg tore a hole in the panties, right over her puckered anus. He used his fingers to open the hole slightly.
She was thrilled by the move, and couldn't wait to feel his rod stuff her ass-hole.
"Use saliva for lubricant," she swooned.
Greg spat on his fingers, and covered the head of his cock with the moisture.
Greg pressed the head of his cock through the small opening in the torn panties, and felt the hot tightness of her anus.
Bonnie moaned with approval, climbing to her knees, and using her hands to spread her ass cheeks apart for him.
Greg gripped the young woman about the waist, and pressed against her.
She moaned with pleasure as she tried to relax, and take the penis inside her behind. They both grunted and puffed with excitement as the erect penis slowly slid into the tight opening.
"You are so big," she moaned. "It feels heavenly. Harder, faster, darling. Don't be afraid of hurting me. I like it very much."
The young man found it perversely delightful to feel her hot bowel against his throbbing peter. When he was all the way inside of her, Bonnie was relaxed enough to participate in some inspired ass fucking.
She reached between her thighs, and through the material of the panties, she frigged herself. Taking a firm grip of her clitoris, she wildly stroked her meat, feeling her sexual temperature rise swiftly.
Her breasts were swollen with desire, and she was teetering on the verge of orgasm, as she heard Greg moaning with passionate preparation for ejaculation.
"Oh, God, this feels wonderful," he moaned. "You drive me crazy with desire, my darling."
"And you do the same for me," she nearly screamed, as the first grip of orgasm met her head on.
"Here I come," he shouted, gripping her powerfully, and shooting hot jism deeply into her rectum.
She gripped him firmly with her anal muscles, and helped him to milk himself dry.
They continued to fuck like this until they were both exhausted. As Greg pulled his deflating rod from her come filled behind, he bit her on the back of the neck, and told her how much he had enjoyed the pleasure of the sodomy. "I'm glad you like it. It's truly my greatest pleasure."
"I could learn to like it a lot," he smiled, pulling her panties down over her legs.
While he sniffed them, and rubbed the juice-filled panties over his face, the girl started to laugh.
"We really make quite a pair," she said. "You and your thing for panties, and me, and my anus fetish. We really should get married."
"Maybe we will," he smiled.
And .that's precisely what happened. Six months after their graduation, they were married in a quiet ceremony, just for family and close friends. They took an apartment in the Village, which was convenient, as Bonnie was taking classes at New York University, and he was attending the Parsons School of Design.
They lived and loved each other satisfying each other's sexual fetishes for three years.
But then everything seemed to come apart. In this instance, it was Greg who suffered the pain of abandonment.
Bonnie, a very highly sexed young woman, had become a lesbian. It was not a situation of her stopping to love Greg, and she explained that to him. It was more a situation of her falling in love with her Political Science professor, a very stunning, and classy Frenchwoman.
Greg had been jilted. And at the end, because he tried to cling, things got a bit cruel.
"Please don't leave me," Greg pleaded. "I don't know what I'll do without you. Who else is there to understand me?"
"Well, maybe it's about time you saw a psychiatrist," she said. "I think you are very sick the whole panty thing is absolutely nuts!"
"You didn't seem to think so these last three years," he sniffed.
"I was young," she said. "Besides, I didn't realize just how important the fetish was for you. Now that I'm leaving, I can be honest with you. I think you are very sick, Greg. It's not so much me that you love, it's the fact that I play along with your sick sexual fantasy. Do you think I really enjoy wearing panties while I make love to you? Sure, you cut holes over the pussy and ass-hole, but do you think that's acceptable?"
"How dare you speak to .me like that!"
"Oh, I suppose you're going to say that because I'm into anal sex, that you have a right to act out your panty fetish?"
"Yea, exactly," he said.
"Well, it just doesn't work that way," she said. "First of all, there's nothing abnormal about my desires. I can take you to the library and show you volume after volume of books on human sexuality, which list anal sex as a very normal, heterosexual experience. But you won't find anything about panty fetishes in those books. You'll have to look in books on abnormal sexuality to find that."
"Listen to you, you little dyke bitch. You think you're normal? You're full of shit. That's what you are."
"I don't have to listen to that," she screamed, and walked out. "I'll be back for my things tomorrow. It's finished." And she slammed the door behind her.
Again, Greg Friedman was left high and dry. First his mother died, and now his wife had left him for another woman.
He went back to masturbating into women's panties, he left women alone entirely. All of this was a blessing in disguise, for Greg became involved in his studies with deep dedication.
He won honor after honor at Parsons in his senior year, and had put together a very fine portfolio.
The fine samples of his work enabled him to secure many fine art assignments right after graduation, and it wasn't long before he had moved to the Eastside into a very beautiful terrace apartment.
He decorated the apartment lavishly, and equipped it with a complete artist's studio, so he could work at home.
And the work literally poured in. He was much too busy to purse women. Now and then, just for a change, he would have a high priced call girl come up to his apartment, put on a pair of his mother's, or Bonnie's panties, and act out his fetish with him.
But it wasn't the same thing as being deeply involved, emotionally, with a woman. He needed the understanding, and compassion of someone who truly loved him. , Greg felt, and rightly so, that the professional women he brought up to his place were secretly laughing at him. He didn't trust the hookers. He didn't believe that they really cared for him, or his special needs.
And this brings us up to the present time.
Walking along Fifth Avenue, Greg's attention was drawn to a little shop which had several mannequins in the window dressed in garter belts, panties, and stockings. It seemed to be an interesting shop, and Greg was used to shopping for lingerie in women's shops so he didn't feel at all strange about entering the shop.
The" shop was empty as he walked in. The young blonde behind the counter smiled at him as he entered. Her eyes immediately fell on the nicely proportioned bulge in his trousers.
"Can I help you?" she smiled.
Greg could hardly get the words out. He was used to being around beautiful women working at High Fashion magazine had brought him into contact with some of the world's most beautiful women.
But there was something special about this one. She reminded him somewhat of his mother.
"Do I know you?" he asked, smiling, and falling deeply into the young woman's clear blue eyes.
"I don't think so," she smiled. "I'm sure I would have remembered your handsome face."
He stood there, without speaking, studying the young woman. She let him, feeling rather lucky that such a handsome young man would be so impressed by her.
"My name is Sandy," she smiled, beginning finally to blush from all the attention.
"I'm Greg," he said, without taking his eyes from her.
Sandy was a most attractive young woman. Her yellow-white hair was pulled back in a French style pony tale. Her facial features were sharply sculptured, and her blue eyes were dazzling with clarity and a young allure.
Stepping from behind the counter, Greg admired her lovely body. She was wearing a tight-fitting sweater, which outlined her lovely breasts. It was apparent she wasn't wearing a bra, as her erect nipples were clearly visible protruding against the soft cashmere.
She wore a Scotch-plaid kilt, and black and white saddle shoes. But she was not a young girl. Greg guessed her age at about twenty two, or twenty three. There was something very sexy about the fact that she dressed childishly.
"Really, Greg," she smiled, "you embarrass me so. Won't you say anything?"
"Oh, I am terribly sorry," he smiled. "It is so rude of me."
"Not really rude," she winked. "A girl-likes attention. But the way you are staring at me, I get chills all over."
"Is it really like that for you, too?"
"Oh, you are a silly romantic," she laughed. "Now, to change the subject, is there anything I can show you?"
"Yes," he focused back into reality. "I would like to look at some silk panties."
"Silk panties."
"Yes, lady's underwear."
"I know what silk panties are," she smiled. "Are they for you?"
"Of course not," he blushed, wondering if the young woman knew.
"Then they are for a friend? A lover."
"Let's just say a friend," he smiled. "I hope you don't mind that I'm a little jealous," she smiled.
"There's nothing to be jealous about," he explained. "They are only for a friend."
"I see," she really wasn't sure what was going on. From time to time transvestites frequented the shop, buying all sorts of outlandish women's lingerie.
"Is there a particular style you would like to see?" she asked, turning towards the shelves of women's underwear. "We have all sorts of cuts, and designs. Did you want something imagine?"
He wasn't listening carefully to what she was saying. He was rather taken with her body, as outlined by the kilt and sweater. He could barely discern the line of her own panties skimpy little briefs that appeared to barely cover her ass.
"Did you hear what I said?" she turned, smiling.
"No, oh, I'm sorry, I was admiring you."
"Admiring me?"
"Yes, you have a very lovely figure."
"I'll bet you tell that to all the girls."
"No, I really don't," he blushed. "You really mustn't think me odd that I've come to the shop. I really do like to select panties for my friends. You see, I don't think women are as aware as they should be of how important panties can be."
"You really talk like a pervert, do you know that?"
"Well, what if I was?" he smiled boldly. "Would that be so terrible? Are we all not really perverts of one kind or another?"
"Well, I suppose you have a point there," she smiled. "But really, what would you like to see?"
"Oh, show me anything you like," he said. "Let's see if we have similar taste."
"Okay, that will be fun," she aid. "Let's see. Oh, yes, we have in a new shipment of really lovely little panties from France. They're very delicate, hand woven silk from China."
"That sounds nice," he said. "I would like to see those."
The lovely young woman turned away again, and Greg's eyes immediately fell on her lovely ass. He studied the line her panties made across her rear, and he felt hot excitement in his groin as she reached up high, to bring down the stack of panties.
His cock was fully erect in his trousers, and he moved beside a table filled with women's slips, to try to cover up the evidence of his sexual interest.
"Here," she placed the box down on the counter. "Aren't they cute?"
"Yes, heavenly," he knew she was trying to tease him. And he decided to play along with the game, just for fun.
"How much are they?" he asked, holding a skimpy pair of white ones aloft.
"They are fifteen dollars each," she said.
"So expensive?"
"Well, they are hand made. Would you like to look at something cheaper "No, they seem to be worth it."
"What size are you interested in?"
"Oh, she's about your size, Sandy."
"Now, isn't that a coincidence?" she smiled, spreading the contents of the box on the counter. "You see, we have all different colors. Which ones do you like?"
"The pink ones are nice," he rubbed them against his hand. "So soft. And I like the black ones better give me two pair of those and the apricot ones, and I do like the white ones, and ... Say, how many different colors are there?"
"Twelve," she smiled. "It's a very complete line."
"Well, I think I should take an even dozen," he said.
"You must be very rich, for such a young man."
"I do alright," he said.
"Come on, tell me the truth," she smiled. "Is this a gag, or do you really always buy women's panties?"
"I always do," he smiled, feeling a genuine liking for the pert young blonde.
"Do you want them gift wrapped, or are they fine the way they are?"
"Any way you like," Greg smiled, hypnotized by the beautiful young woman's sensuous beauty.
"Very well," she smiled, moving back behind the counter, writing the large sale into her sales book.
Sandy didn't notice Greg moving behind her. He was transfixed by her well formed young ass. He couldn't take his eyes off of it, and his head was filled with thoughts of sodomy, and licking her pussy, and sniffing her panties.
He gently lifted her skirt up to her waist, and took a look at her panties. She was wearing yellow nylon panties, very brief, and covering only half the crack of her ass.
"Oh, you nasty man," she whirled around, pushing her skirt back down. "You have some nerve!"
"I'm sorry, Sandy," he blushed. "I couldn't help it. You are so desireable. I had to take a look at your panties."
"Well, did you like what you saw?" She really was a little miffed, wondering if she was safe in the shop with this apparent pervert.
"Very much," he smiled. "I think you are precious. Can I look at your panties again?"
"Oh, you are a little wacko in the head, aren't you?"
"Aren't we all?" he smiled.
"Oh, I guess so," she laughed. "I don't know why I'm acting like such a little holy princess. "I have a few perversions of my own."
"Like what?" he smiled.
"Well, I like oral sex," she blushed, as if she had just said something incredibly bizarre.
He watched the pretty shop girl as she fluttered through the lingerie, "That's pretty tame," Greg laughed. "Why don't we get into something right now?"
"Listen, guy," the young blonde suddenly realized the handsome young man wasn't kidding around, "I have a boyfriend, and I really don't think this conversation is getting us anywhere. Why don't you go to shop somewhere else?"
Greg stared at her hatefully. He wasn't in the mood to take shit. He was madly passionate for the lovely young blonde. His head reeled with the intoxication of being in a shop filled with women's panties. He looked down on the counter and saw a long pair of scissors.
Grabbing them, he simultaneously grabbed the girl, and pressed the pointed scissors to her neck. "Now, you just do as I say, and everything will be just fine. Do you understand?"
Sandy nodded, gulped hard, and began trembling all over. "Listen, mister, I was just joking with you. I really like you. I think you're a swell guy, and really handsome, and sexy . . "Why don't you shut your God-dammed mouth? You are a lying little bitch like all of them. Now, you just do as I say, or I'll rip that pretty little throat of yours out.
"Do you understand?"
"Oh yes," she smiled, trying to act normal.
Greg could feel his cock pounding with excitement as he pressed up against her.
"Okay, let's go to the door," he said. "And don't try anything."
He led her to the door of the shop. "Okay, lock the door, and hang a sign saying out to lunch, or whatever you normally put up when you are leaving."
The lovely young blonde did as she was told. I
Greg forced her back across the shop, and into the store room, well away from the stares of passersby.
"Okay, girl," he said, his hand holding the scissors against her throat, "take your skirt off."
He was breathing deeply with passion, and his cock was fully erect as he watched her drop her Scotch kilt to the floor. He stared hungrily at her panties.
She was trembling with fear.
"Listen, mister," she said with a shaky voice, "there's no need for rough stuff. If you want to fuck me, that's just all right with me. In fact I'd like that. You really turn me on . .
"Stop babbling," he screamed, getting to his knees and pressing his mouth against her panty-covered crotch.
"Oh, your pussy smells so good," he moaned, pressing his tongue against her panties, and then biting at them, sucking, and manipulating her pussy with his fingers.
Sandy was beginning to get turned on, but she was also frightened. She wasn't sure whether this was a gag, or whether Greg was really off his rocker. She knew better than to ask.
Greg pulled her down to the carpeted floor, and thrust his face between her thighs. Tearing her sweater off her body, rubbed her breasts with his fingers, feeling the nipples grow erect, while he sucked at her pussy.
Hot cunt juices were dribbling from her slit, and saturating her panties.
Suddenly, in a fit of passion, Greg tore the panties away from her hips, and began sucking at her blonde-covered pussy. She moaned in hot passion, and began pumping up against his mouth. She was quite turned on.
"Oh, you suck so well," she wasn't lying.
"Don't talk to me," he screamed, his mouth moving over her pubic mound.
His fingers toyed with her anus, and she began to sense that something terrible was going to happen. Sandy was a girl who was used to normal sexual relations. This type of behavior was new to her. The way Greg" was groping at her tits, and sucking wildly at her pussy gave her cause for alarm.
But when he shoved his finger up her ass, and began moving rapidly back and forth, and in and out, she howled with pain. This was something entirely new, dirty, and frightening.
"You shut up, God-dammit," he shouted, slapping her powerfully across the face. "Now turn over."
The trembling young woman did as she was told, And Greg admired her well formed ass globes. He couldn't wait to shove his cock up between her buns, and feel the hot pleasure up her ass.
As he pressed the head of his erect penis against the virginal opening, the young woman howled with pain.
He smacked her powerfully on the side of the head, and again warned her to keep her mouth shut.
She shoved her fingers into her mouth, to prevent herself from screaming, while the perverse young man forced his huge erection deeply into her behind.
The pain was excruciating, and young Sandy nearly passed out as he again and again forced his large penis into her rectum. Blood was running freely from her tight opening.
But Greg didn't care. Her juice soaked panties were held tightly against his face while he pounded his meat in and out of her ass-hole.
LOVING MADONNA
Loving Madonna is the name of a boutique for expectant mothers. It's located on the fashionable Eastside of Manhattan, and frequented by some of the most beautiful pregnant women in the world. It's a very exclusive little shop, and extremely over-priced. It caters to show business personalities, the wealthy, and all those who are willing to pay the price to pretend they are.
There is a smart little European style coffee shop across the street from the Loving Madonna. And nearly everyday of the week, one can find Bob Kern sitting, sipping coffee and staring across the street. The waiters at the coffee shop consider Bob to be a harmless eccentric, or perhaps a successful writer a man who has time on his hands; time to sit and stare out the window for hours on end.
They haven't figured out what Bob Kern is doing there in the window seat.
The darkly blonde young man caught his own reflection off the window, as he stared out on the street. It was early spring, and the sun was shining warmth on the thawing city. It had been a long, cold winter, and with its passing, Bob felt life coming back into him. He hated winter, and often wondered what he was doing in New York.
It had been two years since he received his medical discharge from the Air Force, and New York seemed like the best place in the world to get lost to try to forget the shame of what the Air Force had found out.
He knew he was lucky not to be rotting away in some military prison. The Judge Advocate's Office had wanted to try him for sex crimes, and really throw the book at him.
It was only because the Department of the Air Force wanted to spare itself the embarrassment of the newspaper headlines that he was treated as a medical case. The medical discharge was in reality a psychiatric discharge, but nevertheless, it entitled him to a monthly allowance of $500. For serving twelve years in the U.S. Air Force, it was a nice retirement.
Bob didn't have to work. And that meant that his time was free to pursue his interests-And Bob Kern's most vital interest was pregnant women, as well as women who had just given birth.
He had been to psychiatrists in the Air Force, as well as. civilian psychiatrists, and they all warned him that he would have to overcome his obsession, or face criminal charges.
Thus far, Bob had been lucky. The Air Force had been lenient with him. The woman didn't press criminal charges. And she talked her husband out of pressing charges as well. The few connections he had made in New York went well for him. The women were understanding, but without exception, they warned him that if he ever approached them again, they would send the police after him.
Bob tried desperately to retain control over himself. He didn't want to lock horns with the authorities. He knew that because of his past record, he could be sent to prison for a very long time. And if he was unlucky, he could be sent to an institution for the criminally insane. Bob Kern was no dummy. He knew that he wouldn't last long in such a place.
And yet, the compulsion, the passion he felt for new mothers refused to release him from its powerful grip. It was a struggle which he knew he would lose. He only hoped that he could escape criminal prosecution.
His dream was to find a woman who would understand. A woman he would not have to be violent to in order to fulfill his bent sexual needs. He loathed violence. He hated having to threaten the women to gain the affection and sexual fulfillment which tormented him.
As the sun shone in the cafe window, Bob studied his face. He looked like a civilian now. His dark blonde hair fell in a thick wave across his face. He still had a boyish appearance for a man in his early thirties, though the signs of age were creeping. Shallow lines were becoming etched around his eyes, down from his nose to his mouth, and his hair was beginning to thin around the crown.
He smiled, admiring his white teeth, and the wholesome personality he presented. His boyish, innocent good looks had allowed him to get away with a lot.
The waiter brought him a fresh cup of coffee, and gently laid out a napkin, knife, fork, and spoon. Though the waiter knew no food would be ordered, he set the table anyway. It was just habit.
As the silverware was placed methodically on the napkin, Bob's mind was tripped back in time to his Air Force days. That's when the trouble all began for him.
When Bob Kern first joined the Air Force, he did exceptionally well on his intelligence testing, and was sent to medical technician school, where he learned how to be a maternity technician. Which in the military, is akin to the civilian mid-wife.
He stared down at the shiny silverware, and thought about the delivery instruments he handled daily in the Air Force hospital. So many instruments he had to memorize the names of, the uses of, and the proper manner in which to present to the Doc. Everything happened very quickly in the maternity ward. By the time the women were inside the delivery room, they had already spilled their water, and were ready to deliver.
From the moment that the anesthetist administered nitrous oxide, there was only fifteen minutes in which to act, before the infant felt the effects of the gas.
It was considered a dangerous risk to deliver an anesthetized infant: too many things could go wrong.
So, with the woman's feet up in stirrups, and the doctor's hands pressed inside her vagina, there was a rhythm of excitement, and hurry in the delivery room.
When Bob first started working in the hospital, he felt the usual pride that all young medical workers feel in being able to help. Watching children come into the world is an amazing experience. At first Bob viewed it with almost religious interest. He felt a rush of joy, and tears often came to his blue eyes when he assisted on a delivery.
But as he became used to it, he became aware of the sexuality, of the passionate side of what he did for a living. There in the maternity ward, there were many young women wives, and sometimes daughters, of enlisted airman, and officers. They were all pregnant, or had recently delivered. There was much nudity, and frequently the loud cries of women who were in difficult labor.
All of this excited him tremendously. He never discussed these feelings with his fellow workers. It was a deep, passionate secret. For many years he found sexual satisfaction only in masturbation in thinking about the young women who were pregnant, and writhing, and screaming in pain as they tried to force the human being inside of them out into the world.
His entire work day was one sexual torment after another for him. It all started early in the morning when he first reported to work.
There were never enough female nurses, so Bob had to take care many of the medical routines which by rights should have been handled by women. Among these duties was the taking of temperatures, massaging, and prepping the women for delivery.
It is indeed understandable that this daily contact with young pregnant women would lead to difficulties and eventually a violent sexual reaction.
Bob Kern was like a walking, time bomb. It was simply a question of time until he exploded.
The fjrst thing in the morning, Bob would visit each room, to take the rectal temperature of the patients. This included both women who were about to deliver, as well as those who had just given birth.
They were used to him, and seeing the handsome young man in his hospital whites assured them that he was a member of the medical profession, and thus not really just a normal man, with normal desires, and sexual needs.
It was a great cover for Bob to act out many sexual fantasies. It is truly amazing how uniforms can mislead people. Individuals are so frequently in awe of men in police, or military uniforms. One somehow expects some sort of noble behavior. With doctors, nurses, and technicians, this is especially so.
Very few people stop to think that beneath the white uniform, there is a normal or even an abnormal person.
Bob Kern fell into the latter category.
His throat would grow dry, and his heart would beat with excitement as he pushed the medical cart along the shiny linoleum hospital corridor, entering each room.
There were often as many as twenty women in the rooms. And for the most part they were young. That's typical of a military hospital. Many of the patients were extremely attractive. Especially the officers' wives.
Bob would greet the patients, and make small talk with them. If they had not yet delivered, he would assure them that it would all run smoothly, and that there simply was nothing to be afraid of.
It the patient had just delivered, he would congratulate them, and tell them he had looked in on their child, and he or she was absolutely the most beautiful child he had ever seen. In short, Bob Kern, though only a lowly enlisted man, had quite a bedside manner. Indeed, many of-the patients felt more comfortable with him than they did with their physician.
In the final year of his Air Force enlistment, the level of his sexual need for actual contact with these women had reached a critical stage. There had been normal sexual relations with women he had picked up in town, or WAFS he had dated. But it wasn't satisfying. He didn't know why, but he knew that he would have to act out his sexual fantasies with the women in the maternity ward.
Bob Kern was bright, but he was no psychiatrist. The need for a mother object, the desire for human breast milk, all pointed to a strong Oedipal complex. If Bob had been told that to his face, he would have laughed. For him, these women simply held great sexual power over him. He didn't analyze why. He simply reacted. And for over a decade, the fulfillment of this need was achieved only through masturbation, imagining himself lying in bed with a pregnant woman, sucking at her milk-filled breast, while he painfully rammed his cock up their cunt, and ass-hole.
It was all just a masturbation fantasy, so he didn't feel there was any harm in harboring such violent sexual thoughts.
Entering the maternity ward early in the morning, Bob listened for the cries of women in labor. Their unabashed screams, their agony as they tried to force the babies from their wombs excited him terribly.
He would always have an erection as he moved with his cart from room to room. For this reason he always wore a surgical robe over his hospital uniform. He would claim that he was cold blooded, and was always feeling a chill. But the only chill he really felt was the sexual chill that ran up and down his spine as he looked in on the women.
The last year was the toughest for him. It seemed at times, Bob felt, that God was playing a game with him. That last year seemed to be a test. So many of the patients were extremely good looking as though they were placed there simply to bait him. So often now he felt himself lose control. The conflict between his masturbatory fantasy world, and his desires to make physical love with these women was narrowing, and coming to a head.
"Good morning, Mrs. Berger," he said one morning as he pushed his cart into the room of a particularly beautiful mother to be. "Let me see on your chart what we need to do today."
"I'm so uncomfortable, Corpsman," she said, I think I will give birth this very moment."
"Have you started having contractions yet "No," she smiled, "I just feel it. Intuition, I guess."
"Is this your first?" he asked, as he held her wrist, and felt her pulse. But he wasn't really listening to what she said. He was staring at her lovely long blonde hair, as it spilled on the white pillow case. Her blue eyes stared off into space, she was obviously dreaming about her baby.
Bob listened to her babble on about how excited she was. But it wasn't really registering. He was looking at the little blonde hairs on her arms. He wondered if she had blonde pubes.
"I wouldn't worry, if I were you," Bob smiled. "You are in good hands with us. Now, let's see, the doctor indicates in your medical chart that you are expected to deliver this evening."
"Oh, I hope so," Bryce Berger smiled. "These nine months have dragged so. And my husband is overseas now. It's been hell going through this all by myself."
"Yes, I'll bet it has," Bob said, thinking about the beautiful pregnant woman lying alone at night in her bed at home. He wondered if she grew horny, and if she masturbated. So many sexual images moved across the movie screen of his mind.
He pretended to be reading the woman's medical chart while he watched her. There was something extremely beautiful about a pregnant woman, he thought. There was a rosy glow to Bryce Berger's skin. She seemed so healthy. He studied her full breasts as they rose and fell against the crisp hospital sheet.
He wondered if she had much milk in her breasts.
A woman screamed in agony down the hall, and Bob felt a quiver of sexual excitement in his groin.
"It sounds like she's being tortured," the woman said, nervously.
"They get pretty wild when they're in labor," Bob said. "I think it's more drama, than actual pain."
"I hope so," she smiled. "I hope it "will be over soon."
"Well, let's see if we can help you along," Bob smiled. "First, I have to take your temperature."
"I really don't know why," Bryce said. "I'm not sick, you know?"
"Of course you're not sick," Bob smiled. "It's simply routine. It's to make sure that nothing goes wrong infection and all that."
"Yes, better safe than sorry," she smiled, and then opened her mouth to receive the thermometer.
"I'm sorry," Bob explained, "but we are instructed to take all temperatures rectally."
"I hate that," she sniffed. "It's so uncivilized. And embarrassing, and I just can't stand to have anything shoved up my ass."
"This is a hospital, Mrs. Berger," Bob explained. "There is simply nothing to be embarrassed about. I've been doing this for over ten years. Believe me, it is all routine to me." He was lying. For the thrill of shoving the large rectal thermometer up women's ass-holes was something he loved. He lived for it.
"Oh, very well," she said, "but would you mind closing the door. I feel very embarrassed by all of this."
"Of course," he said, and went to close the door.
"Now, let's see how big you are," he pulled the sheet down over the woman. "Yes, you are pregnant, aren't you?"
"Brilliant, Sergeant, absolutely brilliant."
They both laughed as Bob looked down over her gorgeous body. For a pregnant woman, Bryce Berger retained a rather nice figure. She was not huge. In fact, it appeared as her belly was simply bloated. Or she had a pot belly.
Her breasts were small, and perfectly formed. Bob stared momentarily at her pink nipples, fighting against a mad desire to suck at her breast, to drink the milk meant for her child.
Lowering his eyes to her crotch, he delighted in the tufts of blonde pubic hair which covered her organ.
His penis was pounding in his trousers as he shook the thermometer down to zero. He could feel the heat of his organ rubbing against his thigh.
He saw how the smooth, white skin was stretched tautly over her hips.
"Now, Mrs. Berger," he smiled, "please turn over on your side and let's make sure you don't have a fever."
The lovely blonde turned over on her side, exposing her lovely ass. He felt a flush of excitement rush through him as he studied the smooth, pale ass globes.
"You will be gentle, won't you?" she turned her head, and smiled.
"Of course I will," he covered the tip of the mercury bulb with vaseline and sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand gently on her hips. Spreading her ass globes apart, he hungrily stared at the puckered pink anus. The area was outlined by little blonde hairs, and her ass-hole seemed like a little pink rosebud.
He would have liked very much to lower his mouth to her ass, and kiss the tiny opening. He had to constantly fight these ideas. And it was becoming harder and harder to do so.
He could feel her warmth against his hand as he pressed the thermometer slowly into her behind.
"Oh, it's so cold," she sighed. "I'm sorry," he smiled, taking secret delight in causing the woman discomfort. He slid the glass rod slowly in and out of her behind, feeling his balls tremble with excitement, and his penis grow rigid.
"There, now we have it," he said. "Are you comfortable?"
"Well, about as comfortable as can be expected under the circumstances," she said. "My breasts are aching a bit. I think I'm a regular dairy the way I manufacture milk."
"Well, I have a breast syringe with me," he looked over at the medical cart, "we'll be able to relieve the pressure."
"It's funny how painful it can be to have full breasts," she observed. "No wonder cows get so uptight when they aren't promptly milked every morning."
The talk of milk, and breasts excited the young airman even more. He was usually able to maintain, but this woman this beautiful blonde turned him on in the extreme.
He thought about her being all alone for most of her pregnancy, about her husband being far away, and he pictured her masturbating to relieve her sexual tension. Everything about this woman posed a threat to him.
He was afraid he wouldn't be able to maintain his image his aloofness from his perversion. As he sweated in his uniform, feeling his penis pound against his thigh, he wished that he could stop time, or be invisible. He would have liked so much to climb into bed with the woman, to shove his cock in her pussy, and ass, and drink milk from her rosy pink nipples.
"Say, hasn't the thermometer been in long enough?" she asked.
"Yes, of course," he snapped to. "I was daydreaming, I guess. Sorry."
"Oh, that's okay," she said. "I suppose it gets wearisome dealing with neurotic pregnant women all day long."
"No, actually I like my work here in the hospital very much."
If only Bryce Berger knew how much.
"Let's see what your temperature is," he said as he took the glass rod in hand and slowly pulled it from her lovely anus. As he pulled it from her, he carefully watched her anus pucker and quiver with nervous tension. He pulled it very slowly, rubbing the tip of his fingers against the blonde fuzz that sprouted around her opening.
He wondered if the touching excited her. He saw little goose bumps from along the inside of her thigh, and around the delicate anus. But she didn't say anything.
"What was she thinking?"
"Well, everything appears to be normal back here," he shook the thermometer, and placed it back into the bottle of antiseptic.
"Well, I'm glad I don't have an infection," she said, rolling back on her ass. "It sure is hard moving about with this load." She pressed her hand against her belly. "Gee, I wonder if it's going to be a boy or a girl? Oh, I felt it kick. Do you want to feel?"
Bob wasn't sure whether she was teasing him, or simply being innocently friendly. But he placed his hand on her belly, and felt for the movement.
"Can you feel it?" she asked.
"No, I guess it's stopped. Just getting a bit restless."
Her belly felt hot against his hand. He let it linger over her navel for a few extra moments. His penis stirred with excitement. It was very difficult for him to contain himself.
"Sometimes one can hear it's heart beat," Bob said.
"Oh, do listen," she enthused. "Do you have a stethoscope with you?"
"No, I'll just use my ear," he smiled, not waiting for a rebuff, and lowered his ear to her belly.
Bob could hear the sounds of her stomach gurgling. And very faintly he could hear the infant's heart beat. But he didn't really care about that. He was staring at the blonde bush in front of his face. He could smell the aroma of the woman's vagina. It excited him.
"Can you hear anything?"
"Oh, yes," he sat up. "It sounds like a real healthy one."
A healthy pussy, yes.
"Now, let me see..." he fumbled through her chart. He wanted to spend as much time with this woman as possible. He felt himself in love with her, in a perverse way. Yet, it was as close to real love as he would ever come. For some reason, Bob Kern could never understand real love. All he knew was the excitement in his penis.
That was a shame, for he had a lot of potential. He was intelligent, handsome, and there were many women who would give their hearts gladly to him. It just wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was sick sex.
"Well, I think I'd better prep your vagina," he said. "It seems that you are going to deliver today."
"What does that mean, prepping?"
"Oh, you see," he began, "I must shave your vaginal area. Hair carries bacteria, and just to be on the safe side, it is routinely shaved."
"I really don't understand why," she said. "There isn't going to be any cutting, is there?"
"Actually, the physician often has to make a slight incision in the vagina to make room for the infant's head."
"Oh, I do so hate the thought of pain, and blood."
"Oh, you will be anesthetized," he explained. "You won't feel a thing. And then you will be stitched up, as good as new."
"I certainly hope so," she said.
"Do you want me to remove some milk first?"
"Yes, you'd better," she said, "my breasts are painful."
"Gladly," he said, reaching for the syringe. "You do have very lovely breasts," he hoped that wasn't going to far.
"Thank you," she blushed. "Tell me, do you see me as a woman, or a patient?"
"As a patient, of course," he spoke very officiously, threatened by her question.
She noticed him blush. "I ,hope I haven't hurt you by that," she said. "I didn't mean to question your professional ethics."
"No, I understand," he smiled, wiping the tip of the suction apparatus with an alcohol sponge.
"I just wondered whether corpsman, and even doctors only see us as patients, or also as women."
"Well, of course, besides being a patient, you are a woman also," he did some fast talking, while he placed his hand on her breast.
"But after having gone through this so many times, it becomes a routine of sorts."
"I understand," she grimaced.
"Does that hurt?" he asked, squeezing her breast tenderly.
"A bit. Is that normal?"
"Oh, I think so," he smiled. "Let me just check to make sure there aren't any infections."
That was a valid reason to be toying with the woman's breasts, but Bryce Berger was beginning to understand that there was possibly something more going on than simple bedside manner.
What Bob didn't realize, is that the woman was be inning to respond to him. Not so much consciously she was much too moralistic to start anything with a hospital corpsman. Her husband was a colonel, a pilot, and if it was ever discovered, somehow, that she encouraged this handsome young man, it would be disastrous for her marriage, as well as her husband's image on the base.
Military camps are akin to small towns. Everyone knows everyone's business.
She didn't let on that it felt good to have her breasts gently massaged by the handsome young man.
Even as he continued to manipulate her mammaries, his face blushing and his body filled with carnal intent, Bryce Berger looked away. Her pussy was trembling with excitement, and she could feel warm juices begin to trickle from her slit.
She knew that it wasn't amniotic fluid it was lubricating juices. The corpsman was turning her on. And he was turning himself on as well.
Her small, well-formed breasts felt wonderful in his hands. As he tenderly squeezed them, and felt the islands of milk slosh inside, his penis trembled with excitement. He had never been so close to stepping over the boundary of ethical behavior.
He had completely lost sight of what was going on. Bryce was staring at the wall, not sure what to do. She felt sorry for the horny young man, and yet at the same time, she enjoyed the attention. As absurd as it all was a pregnant woman, in a hospital, having her breasts fondled by a corpsman she enjoyed the attention. It had been so long since she felt physical attention.
"Really!" she exclaimed, turning to look at the flushed young man.
"Oh, excuse me," he turned a deeper shade of crimson. "I was daydreaming I guess."
"Or something," she blushed as well. "Tell me, Sergeant, don't you have any girlfriends?"
"Oh, yes, of course," he lied. "I really wasn't feeling you up, you know."
"Oh, no? Then what exactly were you doing?"
"I just was daydreaming," he lied. "I get carried away with my thoughts at time."
"Very well," she smiled, not sure if she was really safe in this young man's care.
"Now, let's see if we can relieve some of that pressure," he said, as he pressed the mouth of the suction syringe against her now erect nipple. He was too nervous to realize that he had turned the woman on. He didn't want to deal with that he was afraid. He was terrified that the woman understood what was really going on in his mind.
Holding the suction cup against her breast, he squeezed the bulb handle, and sucked warm, human milk into the bulb. Squeezing it into an empty laboratory cup, he watched the milk rise. He did this twice with each breast.
"There, does that feel better?" he asked, laying the syringe aside.
"Yes, much better, thank you," she smiled.
"It's a common complaint," he said.
"What is?"
"You know, too much milk exerting pressure in the breast. I understand it can really be quite painful."
"It can," she continued with the small talk, trying to avoid touching upon the sexual pressure that hung in the room like fog over the San Francisco Bay.
"Tell me, Sergeant," she smiled, "what happens to that milk?"
"Oh, it's thrown away," he explained.
"But can't it be saved for my baby? What if I don't have enough?"
"Don't worry," he smiled, feeling a little relieved to feel the pressure in the room subside somewhat.
"You will manufacture plenty more before baby is born," he explained. "It wouldn't be safe to give this milk to a newly born infant. It could pick up some airborne bacteria, which can be fatal to a newborn infant. They build up an immunity pretty quick, though."
"Oh, that's good," she said. Bob Kern very carefully put the container of the woman's milk aside, planning to deal with it later. He knew he wouldn't throw it away. It wasn't often that Bob actually drank the patients' milk. Only when he was particularly sexually attracted to the mother.
That was part of his entire sexual fantasy. He would sometimes sip from the container of human milk while masturbating alone in the barracks, or in a toilet at the hospital.
"Well, we should shave you now," he smiled.
"Is it really necessary?" she was beginning not to trust the young man. She certainly didn't want to find herself in an uncalled for position. She was beginning to feel quite embarrassed.
"I assure you this is entirely routine," and he was telling the truth.
The only thing that was not routine was his sexual desire for this woman. And he was finding it harder and harder to contain it. He felt very much like a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde character, as the enormous strength of his perverse desire pounded in his subconscious, making his cock have a mind of its own. If only Bryce Berger wasn't so very beautiful, he might have been able to contain himself. But she was so very attractive, and young, and lonely. His fantasies simply wouldn't leave him alone.
Standing up, trying to turn from her so she wouldn't see his huge erection pressing against his robe, the young corpsman prepared the items for the perineal shave, He slipped a water repellent paper sheet beneath her ass, and instructed her to spread her legs widely apart, touching the bottoms of her feet together. She blushed with embarrassment as she thus revealed the full anatomy of her vagina and anus.
"Have you voided today?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Have you urinated today?"
"No, actually I was wondering about that," she said. "I've been finding it quite difficult to pee these last few days. Why is that?"
"Oh, it's nothing to be alarmed about," he explained. "It's because your womb is pressing against your bladder. Everything gets pushed out of place. I think I'll catheterize you, just to be on the safe side."
She hoped that he wasn't just making up stories so that he could touch her pussy, and fool around with her. She was too afraid to raise the subject also, she was more than a little excited by all the personalized attention. Bob Kern was a very handsome young man.
He removed a disposable catheter set from the medical cart and opened it. There were a pair of gloves inside, but he chose not to put them on. It wasn't really necessary, as the lubricating jelly had an anti-bacterial agent. He wanted to touch her pussy, and feel the light pubes against his fingers, and her hot flesh.
He soaked a sponge with disinfectant, and rubbed her pussy gently. He watched her expression carefully as he moved the liquid saturated sponge over her outer vaginal lips, as well as her inner lips.
Holding her pussy lips apart with his fingers, he stared hungrily at the pink, glistening inner flesh. He purposely stroked her clitoris with the sponge several times, and watched her shut her eyes with excitement.
Nothing turned him on more than watching the patients respond sexually to his touch, and yet not be able to express it to hold the thrilling sensations inside, as a secret.
He knew he was getting to this lovely blonde woman. He could feel her pink clitoris grow firm beneath the sponge. He watched her anus puckertightly with excitement.
"I think I must be quite clean by now," she gasped, finding it quite difficult to contain herself. v
"Yes, I think so," he said, tossing the sponge into the trash container. He studied her flushed face, and felt his cock pounding in his trousers. He was beginning to wonder if he would be able to control himself. He was feeling a violent frenzy of excitement build in him. He wished he could be alone with this beautiful woman, somewhere far away from the Air Force, and from right and wrong. When he was excited like this, Bob Kern forgot the difference between right and wrong.
Taking a hold of the tan catheter, he dipped its tip into a container of lubricating jelly, and then spreading her inner lips, he pressed the catheter tip into her urethra. Very slowly, he pushed the rubber tube up her urethra, resting the side of his hand against her clitoris. He could feel the hot piece of flesh tremble with excitement against his hand, as he rubbed it against her.
She sighed, unable to control herself.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes, it just feels a little strange. Uncomfortable, I suppose."
He had been with her over half an hour, and was taunting and teasing her the entire time. It was becoming quite difficult for Bryce Berger to control herself. The more she began to lose control, however, the easier it became for Bob to take control. Somehow, he didn't feel nearly so intimidated when he knew he had power over the woman. i
"There, I think we've done it," he smiled, watching the yellow urine begin to flow along the catheter. He pinched it, to stem the flow, and reached for a plastic container, into which to let the piss flow.
Purposely, as he pressed the proximal end of the catheter into the plastic jug, he let some hot piss run over his fingers. The feeling, and the aroma of the urine excited him terribly.
He let the piss run freely into the container, until she had completely voided, and then pulled the tube from her opening.
"There, do you feel better now?" he smiled.
"Much," she avoided his eyes. It was apparent to both of them now that a sexual game was being played. Yet, they both persisted in pretending, at least on the surface, that everything was entirely professional. Both wondered who would be the first to step over the boundary of honesty.
Bob fantasized about having a relationship with the woman. While he prepared the prep kit, he wondered what would happen if he admitted his desires for the woman, and took his chances. But he was only an enlisted man, and she was an officer's wife a colonel's spouse. It wasn't worth the risk, as long as he could control himself. And that was becoming increasingly difficult.
The woman was beginning to become visibly affected by the sexual teasing. Her breathing was difficult, and she was flushed all over. Her legs were still spread, and while Bob prepared to shave her, he kept glancing over at her vagina, feeling excited by the pink flesh, the blonde pubes, and the tight pink anus.
"This might feel a little cold," he explained, as he poured sterile water into the soap dish. Immediately the soap began to foam.
The young woman didn't say anything as Bob scooted near her on the bed, with a' handful of soap-filled sponges. He began to lather her bush, and rectal area, taking much longer of course than was necessary.
She sighed with pleasure, closing her eyes, and finding it rather difficult to pretend that she wasn't feeling all the wonderful sensations she was indeed feeling.
"Are you okay?" he smiled, lording his power over her, as he rubbed the mixture of water and soap into her pussy.
"Oh, yes," she sighed, "it's just a little cool. That's all."
"Oh, it will warm up soon enough," he said.
And they both kneew what he really meant.
"There, I think you are soaped enough," he said, putting aside the soaked sponges, and removing the disposable safety razor from the prep kit.
"You let me know if I hurt you," he said.
"You're not going to cut me, are you?"
"No, no," he smiled. "Don't worry. This really is a safety razor. It's just that sometimes, when I don't use enough soap, the razor pulls slightly."
"Well, I'll certainly let you know if you hurt me."
"Yes, do that," he said, feeling droplets of hot, sticky jism dribble from the tip of his erect member. He could feel the sticky semen soak into his trousers. It was difficult for him to maintain. He had been feeling sexual excitement since he entered the room, nearly forty-five minutes earlier.
With his hand on her pubis, he pulled the vagina to the side, stretching the vagina, so that he could shave it easily.
As he dragged the razor over the silky blonde hairs, she sighed. It felt good. It was especially stimulating that Bob had his finger pressed against her clitoris, and he was rubbing it.
He wasn't sure how far he would go. It really depended on her reaction.
Thus far, she was doing a fine job of acting. Bryce had turned her head into the pillow, and murmured softly, but she couldn't disguise the obvious swelling of her clitoris. The young man was definitely getting to her.
Very methodically, the young man moved the razor along her pubis, and down the sides of her vaginal lips. She was beginning to look like a little girl again.
When the soap began to dry, he would soak several sponges, and rub her sex until it glistened with bubbly suds. Her clitoris was beet red, and fully erect. The young man could hardly swallow he was so filled with excitement. He didn't ever want to stop. He planned to prolong the lovely sense of power, and perverse sexuality for as long as possible.
Still, after several more minutes of careful shaving, he had finished with the vaginal area. He noted that Bryce's nipples were fully erect, and with her face turned from him, she was breathing extremely heavily.
He could see that her neck, and her ear were nearly crimson with blood pounding through her head. The woman was quite turned on. And so was he.
"There, I believe we have finished with your vaginal shave," he said, moving back. The woman looked quite embarrassed as she looked down at her naked pussy.
"Gee, I look just like a little girl again," she sighed. "How strange."
"I find it very attractive," Bob Kern winked.
She pretended she hadn't noticed. "Well, can I put my legs together now? Are we all finished?"
"Not quite," he explained, "I still have to shave around your anal area."
"Is that really necessary?" she was beginning to become rather disturbed.
"I assure you it is," he said.
The pregnant woman wore a worried expression.
"Why is that?" It was apparent that the woman was beginning to grow apprehensive about the obvious sexual overtones.
"Because the anus is the dirtiest part of the human body," Bob explained in the most professional manner he could muster. "Those little hairs around your anus may harbor germs that can injure your baby even threaten its life."
"Oh, very well," she looked away in embarrassment. Bryce was caught between wanting to maintain some dignity, and the sexual craving for the young man.
As Bob rubbed the soap-filled sponge against her rectal area, he felt his cock pound with almost uncontrollable urgency. The female anus was just about the most provocative part of the woman for him. To touch this lovely woman's ass-hole would test his ability to restrain himself. As he passed the moistened sponge over her bottom, he imagined his tongue probing the depths of her behind. He visualized himself between her thighs, pressing the head of his prick inside her tight opening listening to her scream with pain.
He restrained himself, and continued to methodically rub her anus. He did press ihe sponge several times against her anus, and listened to her moan with pleasure. He would not have a moments rest until he made love with this woman. He stared at her belly, imagining himself holding her, pressing his cock into her rectum, while squeezing her milk-laden breasts, and her child-filled belly.
When he had fully soaked her bottom, and could not go on any longer without it being quite obvious that he was playing a game with her, he tossed the sponge aside, and began scraping the fine blonde down with the razor.
He watched the anus tremble with excitement as the razor dragged ever so close to the forbidden opening.
At last, he hand finished with the razor prep, and placed the used supplies on the medical cart. After pulling the water-resistant cloth out from under her lovely buttocks, he pulled the covers over the naked woman.
"Well, that's all for now," his words were pregnant with hidden meaning.
"Do you think I'll deliver today?" she tried to put the conversation back onto a realistic plane.
"The doctor has scheduled you for delivery today, so I guess it will be today," Bob said.
"But what if I don't go into labor?"
"You will," he smiled. "There are drugs now to induce labor."
"I see," she said.
"Well, I'll see you later," Bob smiled, wheeling the cart out of the room.
"Thank you," she called after him, but wasn't really sure why. Though the handsome young man had turned her on, she felt threatened by him, and not so sure that he wasn't a bit mad.
Bryce thought about mentioning the incident to the head nurse, or to the doctor when he came by on his mid-afternoon rounds, but decided against it. She was a rather shy woman, and didn't want to make a fuss.
She thought about the sergeant after he had left. She was still rather excited by all that had happened, and unconsciously reached beneath the covers, to press her hand against her smooth vagina.
The sensation was strange to her. Even as she felt her child kick inside of her womb, she pressed her fingers to her clitoris. It had been so long since she had been with a man, and she was very horny after the incident with the corpsman.
Bryce gasped with excitement, trying to muffle her voice, as she pressed her fingers against her clitoris.
To her consternation, she found herself visualizing Bob Kern in bed with her, making love to her, as she masturbated. The sensation of her freshly shaved cunt, and ass-hole felt strange. She rubbed her fingers all over the area, as she squeezed her clitoris, and felt hot waves of sexual heat shoot through her.
Bryce had been quite turned on when the handsome young man had pressed the soapy sponge against her anus. Her husband had never toyed with her ass-hole, and the hot sensations she experienced while playing with her rectum, magnified the sensations in her swollen clitoris.
She had a finger pressed deeply into her ass, while she frigged herself. She felt her orgasm begin to build. She hadn't been so excited since the night her husband impregnated her leaving her something to remember him by while he was overseas.
While the lovely young blonde woman was busy masturbating in her hospital bed, Bob Kern had cleaned off the prep cart, and went into the men's bathroom. He brought the container of Bryce's milk with him.
Alone in the toilet stall, he pulled his trousers and boxer shorts down, and began stroking his throbbing rod, while lifting the cup of milk to his lips.
It was warm and sweet, and it turned him on terribly as he stroked himself wildly. He finished drinking the milk, imagining himself lying in the lovely woman's arms, and fucking her senseless while drinking from her paps.
And then he could feel his orgasm begin to build. Grabbing a handful of toilet paper, he covered the end of his prick as he began shooting gobs of hot jism.
He began jerking up and down on the toilet seat, and finally stood in a crouched position, mumbling to himself as he ejaculated into his hand.
When he had finally relieved himself, he did feel a little bit more under control of the situation.
Simultaneously with his orgasm, Bryce Berger, down the hall, was coming as well. And it was Bob Kern, and not her own husband she was fantasizing about as she frigged herself to oblivion.
Her fingers were moving rapidly, in and out of her pussy and anus, while she applied firm pressure to her magic button. Hot sexual thrills raced through her body, and she nearly screamed out with passion as she came.
And then she fell into a satisfied slumber, feeling her yet-to-be-born infant stirring inside of her.
For the rest of the afternoon, Bob busied himself with his chores on the ward, prepping other patients, and running specimens to the laboratory, and assisting in the delivery room when he was needed.
It was late in the afternoon when Bryce Berger's physician, Dr. Becker, came by to visit with her. He didn't stay long, and after he left the woman's room, he went immediately to the ward nurse and chatted with her.
Bob was quite frightened, imagining that the woman and told on him. He was guilt-ridden and much too anxious to carry on with his duties until he knew exactly what was going on.
He was greatly relieved when the doctor left, and the head nurse, Captain Reynolds, called him over.
"Sergeant," she began, "Dr. Becker is going to inject Mrs. Berger, and induce labor. He expects that she'll deliver tonight."
"That's nice," Bob said. "She was a bit worried."
"I have a special favor to ask you, honey," the nurse, a lesbian, was often quite friendly with Bob. She sensed that he was a bit of a pervert, and it was like a secret club with them.
"Yes, what is it?" he asked, expecting to hear something routine.
"I was supposed to pull emergency duty tonight," she said. "And I really didn't expect Mrs. Berger to be this far along. I wonder if you would do me a big favor..."
"That depends," he smiled, knowing that he really didn't have a choice he was a sergeant, and she was a captain.
"Would you pull the emergency call for me tonight, and set-up the delivery room for Mrs. Berger. It should be a normal birth, no complications. I know you can handle it."
"That would be fine," he gulped hard, wondering if he could indeed handle it. He had come so close to forcing himself on her earlier. He wasn't sure whether or not he could handle the pressure. He would be alone with her, expect when the doctor was attending. He wouldn't have to worry about he infant. There was a nurse assigned to the infant care section.
"Oh, I'm so glad," she smiled. "I'll make it up to you, I promise I will."
"No worries," he said. "So you have a hot date tonight."
"Yes," she blushed, "I've been after that spunky new nurse in surgery for months. It's been a rough trip trying to get her in the sack. But tonight I think I'll be able to pull it off. Wish me luck."
"I do," he smiled. "I don't know about you nurses. You sure are a perverse lot."
"You can't fool me," she smiled. "I know you are a bit of a pervert yourself. But you are so secretive about it. I haven't figured you out yet. But I will."
"Well, let me know when you do," he smiled, turning, ready to resume his ward chor "Oh, I will," she smiled.
That left the young sergeant feeling a bit threatened as he wandered off. "I better watch out for her," he thought to himself. There were times when Bob Kern really frightened himself. He thought about all that had happened that morning with the blonde woman. It made his heart beat rapidly, and his cock swell with excitement.
And that frightened him. More than anything else in the world, he was terrified of losing control, and doing something bad.
Dr. Becker returned to the ward after lunch, and injected Bryce's cervix with a drug designed to hasten labor.
Captain Reynolds and Bob then wheeled Bryce Berger's bed into the labor room. She was the only woman expected to go into labor that day.
Bryce gave the young corpsman a secret glance as the two attendants left the room.
Bob had caught it, and wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed to be a mixture of both desire, and fear.
And he felt precisely the same way.
It was about seven p.m. when Bryce began to go into labor. The nursery was down the hall, and out of earshot of the labor area. Bob was the only staff person there. The doctor didn't want to be called at home until she had broken her bag of waters.
"Oh, it hurts," she screamed. "I can't take it. Can't you give me something?"
She was yelling to no one in particular, just screaming with the agonizing pain of uterine contractions.
"How are we doing?" Bob smiled as he entered the labor room.
"What, you still here?"
"Yes, I'm pulling emergency duty tonight," he smiled. "Don't worry, I've been through all of this as many times as the old woman who lived in a shoe."
"I'd laugh," Bryce tried to smile, "but the pain is awful. I really don't know if I can go through with this."
"Of course you can," he sat on the edge of the bed, and stared with more than casual interest at the lovely woman, as she grimaced in pain, and tossed her head from side to side on the pillow.
"It hurts so much," she cried, "isn't there something you can give me. Some drug?"
"No, I'm really sorry," he said. "This is just how it is. It's all biblical, you know?"
"What is?"
"The pain part. Don't you remember in the Bible how angry God was that Eve gave Adam the apple of knowledge of good and evil?"
"Of course," she paused in her yelling, to listen to the story. "But what the hell does that have to do with me?"
"Well, as punishment for going against what God had commanded, he punished humankind by making childbirth painful for women, and making man have to work for a living."
"Oh, yes," she sighed, "now I remember. Well, it's all too cruel to believe. Why in the world I have to suffer like this, because of some crazy dame back in the beginning of time just doesn't seem right."
They both laughed at the little joke.
"Oh, really, sergeant," she moaned, "it does hurt. When will it stop?"
"After you break your bag of waters," he said, "then I can call the doctor and the anesthetist, and we'll give you some gas, and the next thing you know, you will be a mother."
"I hope it goes as easy as that," she said, gripped once more in the . fist of painful contractions.
Bob was beginning to grow excited by the spectacle. Her sweaty face, her matted hair, and the way she screamed initiated sexual thoughts. He felt his cock grow hard in his pants. Once more he was losing control. He was lusting for this woman.
Her screams excited him. With each scream, he would imagine that he was lying on top of her, shoving his cock into her pussy, and into her ass-hole.
He was beginning to perspire as much as she. But for different reasons.
"Really," she screamed, "I think I'm going to die. It isn't worth it. I'll never do this again. I hate the baby. It's killing me."
"You mustn't talk like that," he said. "It's a beautiful thing to bring a new life into the world."
But he really wasn't thinking about what he was saying. He was just talking. He was extremely horny, and only hoped he could control himself.
"Am I almost ready to break my bag of waters?"
"Let me check," he said, lustfully pulling the sheets down over her body. Her legs were pulled up, and wide apart. He stared at the gaping vagina, which seemed inflamed.
Putting his hands on her pussy, she bolted with pain. "What are you doing? Are you going to do something perverse again?"
"If you prefer me to simply leave you here in your pain," he said, "that's fine with me. "No please, I'm sorry I said that," she said. "I really enjoyed it. Honestly."
"Very well," he smiled to himself, sensing victory, wondering if she would let him fuck her after she was discharged.
Putting his fingers against her vaginal lips, he spread her apart and looked into her cunt. He could see the amniotic sac ready to burst, spilling her waters, and announcing the rapid arrival of a new human being.
Bob couldn't help but take advantage of the situation, and begin pressing the side of his hand against her clit.
"Oh, you sick person," she protested. "How can you think of fooling around with me at a v time like this?"
"What do you mean?" he drew back.
"You know very much what I mean," she screamed with pain, as her contractions began again. "Like this morning."
"Didn't you enjoy yourself?"
"Oh, yes," the pain was forcing honesty.
"Then why fight it?" he was beginning to feel a surge of sexual power.
"I'm sorry, can't you see how much pain I'm in? Please give me something for the pain."
"Maybe this will help," he said, and he began to gently rub his finger tips against her clitoris. The piece of erotic flesh soon was engorged with hot blood, and turned crimson.
Along with her moans of pain, she began to moan with pleasure.
"Does that help?" he spoke through gritted teeth.
"Oh, yes," she sounded delirious with a mixture of pain and pleasure.
He couldn't help but to press his mouth against her lovely pussy. As she screamed with the pain of her uterine contractions, the addition of sexual excitement somehow took the rough edge off.
Bob began sucking at her erect clitoris, pressing his finger against her anus. His cock was pounding in his trousers. And while it did feel good to the young woman, the pain was increasing rapidly.
Soon, she felt, she would pass out from the extreme pain.
"Something is happening," she screamed. "I think I'm going to give birth. Oh, it hurts. Please stop taking advantage of me. Please, I'll see you after I get out of the hospital. I'll do anything you say. Only please stop tormenting me like this. Really!"
Bob drew back, not so much out of concern for her, but because he sensed that her amniotic sac would soon burst, and he didn't want to get a mouthful of the pungent organic fluid.
He was right. No sooner had he lifted his mouth from her much abused slit, than the sac burst, and out came a flood of hot organic juice.
"Oh, God," she said. "I'm going to have a baby."
"That you are," he smiled. "Just keep calm, I'll go call the doctor."
It was difficult for him to run down the hall, because of the huge erection in his trousers. He called the doctor, and the anesthetist, and then changed into sterile surgical greens, and began scrubbing his hands. He hoped to have the linen and instrument backs opened by the time the doctors arrived.
He cheated a little on the scrubbing brushing his hands with soap and water for only five minutes, instead of the recommended fifteen.
And then he rushed into the delivery room, and began opening the packs, and arranging the instruments. Within twenty minutes, he had the room ready for the delivery.
The anesthetist wheeled Bryce Berger into the room, while the doctor was scrubbing his hands. She was rather delirious with pain, as well as feeling the effects of a pre-operative medication the anesthetist had just injected into her vein.
The anesthetist helped the woman on the table, and held the gas mask to her mouth. She was soon under the influence of the nitrous oxide.
The obstetrician, Dr. Becker, entered the room and helped the gas man to put Bryce up in stirrups. He then lowered the end of the table, so he could stand directly behind her, and began washing her pussy with surgical soap.
"She's rather small," Dr. Becker said. "Do you have the delivery forceps on the table?"
"Yes sir," Bob said, staring perversely at the woman in stirrups.
"And a scalpel and suture set?"
"Yes, sir."
"I think I'll have to make an episiotomy, she is quite small."
"I'll be ready for you, sir." After putting on his surgical gloves and robe, the doctor motioned for Bob to pull the instrument table up beside him.
After covering the woman in sterile drapes, he inserted his hand into her pussy and felt for the infant's head.
"Oh, this won't be such a difficult delivery after all," he said. "The little tiger is trying like hell to get out of there. Must be a damn fool."
Everyone in the room laughed, except for Bryce. She was sound asleep. "Here he comes," Dr. Becker announced. "And he's got a fat head, just like his father."
That frightened Bob somewhat to think that Dr. Becker knew Bryce's husband. And he lusted for her so desperately.
"Bob was finding it difficult to function," his thoughts were on the woman's sex.
As the baby was pulled out to the shoulders, it already started crying.
"Well, we got the head out without the forceps," Dr. Becker said. "Better give me the suction, Bob. The nose is filled with fluid."
Bob quickly handed the doctor the suction, and he began sucking the thick fluids from the newborn's nose and mouth.
"And the knife," Dr. Becker said. "This little tiger has shoulders like a football player."
Bob watched with interest as the doctor cut through the vaginal wall, opening the woman up. And then the baby just slid out. A few smacks on the bottom of the baby boy's feet, and he was crying quite loudly.
Dr. Becker amputated the umbilical cord, tied it off, and put the baby boy into a portable bassinette, which the nursery nurse took, and wheeled into the nursery. Bryce wouldn't see the baby until the next day.
The Anesthetist began to wake the woman, by flushing her lungs with oxygen", while Dr. Becker sewed the incision into her vagina. When he had finished, he curetted the remnants of after-birth from her womb, washed her vagina off, and waited for her to awake. Bob busied himself straightening the room.
She coughed several times as she woke, and was rather rapidly lucid.
"My baby?" she asked.
"A healthy boy," Dr. Becker announced.
"Oh, wonderful," she smiled, "the colonel will be so pleased a boy." She was still rather groggy. "I must tell him."
"We'll phone him tomorrow," Dr. Becker said. "For now, you need plenty of sleep."
"Yes, doctor," she said, "whatever you say."
The anesthetist transferred the woman to her bed, and wheeled her back to her room.
Dr. Becker thanked Bob for his help, and left the room as well. It only took Bob a few minutes to straighten the room, and prepare it for the next delivery. There weren't any more expected that night, so he left the soiled instruments in a sink for the day crew to clean.
It was quite quiet in the maternity ward, as Bob finished up. Bryce Berger was resting quietly in bed, the baby was being well taken care of down the hall in the nursery, and the anesthetist and Dr. Becker had left for home.
Bob couldn't get Bryce Out of his mind however. He thought about how lovely she looked in her nakedness after she had delivered her baby. Her tummy was flat again, and he could tell that she was the owner of a very fine body. His thoughts were again sexual, and focused on her.
He sensed that if he looked in on the beautiful blonde before he left, that he would be making a big mistake. Yet he couldn't help himself.
Lust was dealing the cards, and he was drawing wild ones.
"Hi, Bryce," he said, walking into the room. By the light of the wall lamp, he could see that her eyes were open.
"I feel a little groggy," she said. "I have a son," she exclaimed. "I know," he said, "I was there."
"How is my boy?"
"He is doing fine, and receiving wonderful care in the nursery," he said. "But how are you doing?"
"Oh, I feel great," she sighed, "I'm not even tired. I wanted to apologize for yelling at you earlier."
She flashed her most ingratiating smile, and she looked just like a little girl. A golden little girl.
"Oh, that's alright," he smiled, "I understand."
Bob was sitting on the side of the bed, staring at her blonde beauty, as reflected by the weak wall light. There seemed to be a golden glow around her, like a halo.
"You're very beautiful," he found himself saying.
"Thank you," she blushed, turning away. She sensed that Bob Kern was much deeper than she at first suspected deeper in a dark, perhaps dangerous way.
"Well," she turned her face from him, "I think I'd better get some sleep. This has been quite an ordeal for me."
She waited, in silence, for the young corpsman to get up and leave. But he didn't.
He was staring at her intently, feeling his penis begin to throb with excitement. He wanted this woman, and he was fast approaching the point of forgetting the consequences for acting out such fantasies. A hidden person a person had lied dormant for so long was about to emerge. And Bob Kern had no more control.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to against the woman's pale cheek.
"No, please don't do that," she pleaded. "This is wrong. I'll have you reported."
"Oh, will you, really?" he tore the sheets off her body, and stared at the white cloth dressing over her pussy. It was slightly reddened from the normal bleeding that occurred after a delivery.
"This is outrageous!" she raised her voice.
The young man pressed his mouth to hers, as if to stop her from screaming. But she screamed into his mouth with terror. Bob didn't care. He was mad for this woman's sex; for the milk in her breasts; for the perverse voice screaming for him to take her.
The lovely new mother writhed about on the bed, protesting against the unholy act. But there was no stopping Bob. His hands moved roughly over her breasts. He squeezed them, and sucked the milk which squirted from her sensitive nipples.
She kicked, and tried to pull away from him. Bob cocked his arm, and slapped her powerfully across the face. She was stunned. She simply stared at him, hatefully, while he climbed up on the bed, and tore the bandage from her vagina.
Bryce Berger couldn't believe this was happening to her. Terrible thoughts raced through her mind. She wondered if her life was in danger. She thought of Charles Manson, and the Son of Sam, and sobbed in fear that she would lose her life.
"My baby, my baby," she cried out, softly, frightened of renewing the corpsman's wrath.
Bob rubbed his hand over her pussy, forcing her thighs apart, and touching her sensitive clitoris. She moaned with slight pleasure a pleasure he had managed to arouse despite her fears.
As he continued to rub her clit between two fingers, he jerked open his trousers and pulled out his cock.
It was huge, and menacing.
"I'll bet it's been a long time since you've felt one of these?" he scoffed, as he took her hand and forced it against his hot stick.
At first she was horrified, but it had been a very long time, and she secretly felt a warmth in her pussy as she began stroking it. Despite the violence, the madness of what was happening, there was a sexual arousal.
Instinctively, she brought her knees up; her pussy wanted his cock inside. "So, you want me?"
"No, no, you'll hurt me," she cried. "This is wrong."
He slapped her again, and again. A steady trickle of blood began to move from the corner of her mouth.
"I'm going to fuck you lady," he gave her a cruel look. "And I'm going to suck on your tits while I'm doing that. What do you think of that?"
"Please, Bob," she tried to calm him. "Do you know what you're doing? You're breaking the law..."
He wasn't listening. The powerful, perverse need for her had taken over. He was a driven man. Pulling his trousers down to his knees, he moved up between her thighs, and pressed the head of his cock against her clitoris.
As he rubbed against her, exciting her against her will, he leered, "See, that's not so bad, is it?"
"Please don't do this, please!" she sobbed.
"Shut up!" he slapped her again, forcing his cock into her sore opening. Several stitches broke loose from the episiotomy as he tore inside of her. Blood began to flow down her thighs, and over his trousers.
"Why, you bloody bitch," he shouted, slapping her again. "You've messed up my uniform."
Again and again he pressed into her pussy. She no longer felt any pleasure. It was sheer pain. He pushed his mouth to her nipple and sucked milk from her. He bit her breast savagely as he did so. She sobbed louder and louder, fearful for her very life.
He was almost ready to cream. Pulling his cock from her pussy, he immediately thrust it up against her anus.
"No, no," she cried, "please stop this. You are hurting me so much."
He slapped her again, and loosened several teeth.
Bob had forced his large cock into her virgin anus, tearing several blood vessels as he did so. She cried with terrible pain as blood flowed from both her openings.
And still he continued to bit at her nipples, driving his rod in and out of her anus. He had forced her legs up high, so he had full exposure. Her entire rear was covered in blood, and still he continued to pumping.
Suddenly there were footsteps outside. Several nurses, and doctors, from the adjoining surgical ward, had heard Bryce's screams, and they expected to find a patient in the grip of death.
They stood momentarily shocked in the doorway, watching the crazed corpsman sweating profusely while he sucked milk from the woman's breast, and banged his cock . powerfully in and out of the woman's anus.
"Sergeant!" one of the doctors shouted. "Get away from that patient at once.
But either Bob Kern wasn't paying any attention, or he was beyond reckoning with. He continued to fuck the woman in the ass, oblivious to the growing audience gathered at the door. No one was sure what to do.
And while he was ejaculating, tearing at the woman's hair, and groaning loudly with lust, several doctors took him by the shoulders, and pulled him away from the woman. No one in the room will ever forget the look in Bryce Berger's eyes. They were crazed, frightened eyes. She would never forget what had happened.
And thus started the court-martial of Staff Sergeant Bob Kern.
Bob Kern had just finished his second cup of coffee. The sound of the cup clattering against the saucer woke him from his daydream. He was back in New York City, sitting alone in the coffee shop, staring out onto the street.
He glanced over at the maternity boutique across the street. Several pregnant women left the store. He followed their movements closely with his eyes. He felt his cock begin to stir. Despite many sessions with military and civilian psychotherapists, Bob hadn't recovered. He had successfully developed passing relationships with several pregnant women during the most recent several years most frequently poor unwed mothers, who, for a fee, allowed Bob to act out his fantasies. But the relationships were always quickly terminated with threats of calling the police. He couldn't seem to stem his violent urges.
A lovely redheaded woman, who appeared to be about six months pregnant, walked from the shop. This one was special, and Bob threw a dollar on the table, and raced outside.
He hurried across the road, and moved towards her not to talk, just to get a better look. She was extremely lovely, her red hair reflected the spring sunlight like a prism, her green eyes seemed so clear and full of life, and she had that healthy, rosy glow of the mother-to-be.
The former corpsman suddenly felt weak in the knees, and his cock began to swell in his trousers. He followed her down the block, wondering how he would approach her.
She was by no means a poor undwed mother, this woman had money, class, and position. He could tell by the way she was dressed, and the way she carried herself.
His penis was pounding with fury, and he could feel hot perspiration form on his back as he slipped into his old sickness. He clenched his fists as he followed her down a side street. He knew only that he had to have her.
RAWHIDE
"Oh, Jim, why do you have to be so violent?" the lovely young brunette whimpered, rubbing the painful whip cuts on her shoulders and breasts.
Candice Brinkley cowered before the handsome, black leather clad man. She could see his erection pressing against the tight leather slacks, and she felt a shudder of sexual desire in her groin.
"You aren't at all the sort of man I thought you were," she whimpered. "You've misled me."
"You wanted to fuck, right?"
"No, Jim," the aspiring model cried, "I wanted to have a meaningful relationship. But you wouldn't know what that means. Look at you, you're sick!"
"I don't have to take that kind of shit off you," he said, as he raised the black and white woven bull whip behind his head, and cracked it over the young woman's head.
The thundering crack of leather against air reverberated through the black leather-covered walls. They were in the "game room" of his Eastside townhouse. No noise escaped the leather walled room. No woman escaped until James Richards had done what he had to do.
"Please don't hurt me anymore," she dropped to her knees, and begged. "Jim, I loved you. I trusted you. I was willing to go so far with you. And look how you treat me."
She removed her hands from her breasts, revealing the fresh cuts in her flesh.
The sight inflamed Jim with lust.
"The scars become you," he smiled. "They are my brand on you. You belong to me now."
"This isn't how normal people are supposed to live," she whimpered, getting back to her feet. "How can I love you when I live in constant fear of you. And I do want to love you, Jim. I know that deep down you do love me. You just don't know how to show it. That's all."
"Don't give me any of that psychological shit," he shouted. "I'll do as I please with you. You are to one who wanted to move in here."
"I wanted to live with you because I love you," she said. "I didn't know this side of you. You never let me know."
"Well, now you know."
The lovely young woman moved over to the full-length mirror. She looked at her damaged body. "My face and body are all that I have, Jim," she whimpered. "This is how I am going to make a living. You're lucky, you just write your books and send them to the publisher. I have to go out into this crazy city, and try to make a living. Me and about a million other girls just like me."
He wasn't listening carefully to her words. He was more intent on studying her from the rear. Her narrow back, and youthful ass intoxicated him. He could feel his rod pulsate in his leather trousers.
Jim moved behind the woman, and looked momentarily at himself in the mirror.
He adjusted his black leather motorcycle cap, and tucked the whip into a loop on the side of his pants. He looked like a cross between a motorcycle thug, and an Argentinian gaucho.
Candice busied herself with her fresh wounds, studying them in the mirror, and sighing with disgust. "This is bad, Jim. You should never have gone this far.
He wasn't listening. He was moving his body around in front of the mirror admiring himself.' His thick black hair dropped over the collar of his black leather jacket, which he unzipped enough to show off his muscular, black-hair covered chest. The tight black leather pants looked especially sexy from the side, he thought, as he turned and admired his outline.
At twenty-seven, he still had a very youthful, athletic frame. The shiny black cavalry boots reflected in the mirror, and he brought the toe of the boot up against the back of his pants, to rub it to a high shine. He turned slightly to the rear, and admired the silver spurs he had custom ordered.
Turning back full-on to the mirror, he raised the cap off his head, and ran his fingers through his thick black hair. He studied his cleanshaven face, admiring the sharp jawline, cleft chin, and his light blue eyes. He knew he was handsome, and could get away with what ever he wanted with women.
He put the cap back on his head, and returned to admiring the lovely young brunette. Her pale green eyes looked so hurt, and she had her head slightly lowered with shame as she studied her body in the mirror. She had become Jim's sex slave, the victim of his powerful, and violent leather fetish. And there was no turning back for her. She loved this man, and though it was difficult for her to accept, or admit to herself, she needed the abuse that he dished out.
They were a matched pair.
Her breasts seemed swollen as he studied them in the mirror swollen from a mixture of pleasure and pain. The tan nipples were erect, and looked extremely sensuous as they juxtaposed against the pink flesh of her fresh wounds.
His eyes traveled down the length of her young, graceful body. He admired her flat belly, and shallow navel. He studied several older scars across her lower abdomen, which he had inflicted several weeks earlier with a riding crop.
Her black pubic mound glistened. He studied her narrow thighs, and long legs. He knew how attractive she was, and he sometimes hated her for it. He was as much the slave of her beauty, as she was of his whip.
Taking several steps back, he again looked at her ass. And his cock pounded with excitement.
"You have a beautiful ass," he sighed. "I would like to smack it."
"No, Jim," she cried turning away from the mirror. "Please don't hurt me anymore."
"Admit you like it," he smiled, flashing pearly teeth, as he unhooked the coiled whip from his pants.
"I admit that now and then I get excited to play around with the whip," she said. "But you don't know when to stop. Look at my body. I look like a human pin cushion."
"Don't worry about your dammed modeling career," he said. "There aren't any scars on your face, arms, or legs, right?"
"Not yet," she pouted. "But one of these days you'll go to far. One of these days you might kill me. Jim, I think we should call all of this off. We're not good for each other. You are a sadist..."
"And you are a masochist," he smiled. "We make a perfect pair."
She smiled for a moment. "You are probably right," she said, "but that doesn't mean that we aren't poison for each other. Face it, Jim, you don't have control over yourself once you've started in with the whip. It stops being fun and games right away. I don't know what gets into you. I think I should be leaving now. I think I have to try to forget all about
"You're not going anywhere," he said. "Get up against that wall."
"No, I can't take any more," she stared at him defiantly.
"Listen, bitch," he shouted, "you do as I say. It will be much worse if you fight me."
She knew he was telling her the truth. There were times when she hated him desperately for the way he ordered her about, and for the degrading things he subjected her to. But she loved him also. And that was the great conflict.
"Are you going to whip me again?" she asked, as she backed off against the wall.
"You know I am, why do you have to ask."
Candice Brinkley fell silent. She knew it was absurd to fight. She had to accept all that was happening.
"Turn to the wall, woman," he ordered her. She did.
"Now, put your hands flat on the wall, and spread your legs wide apart." She did that also.
"Oh, you are a fine looking woman, Candice," he purred, as he studied her vulnerable position. Her long legs looked so beautiful, spread wide apart. His eye moved up along the length of the beautifully formed appendage, he looked at the the tufts of black pubes hanging from her pussy.
Her ass looked terribly inviting. In the month that he had been seeing this woman, he had only fucked her in the ass on several occasions. She was new to buggery, and she protested too much. He wanted to break her in slowly, without breaking her.
He knew that she was truly fond of the whipping he never really hit her that hard. But she was indeed frightened of taking his cock up her ass.
"I do like that sweet ass of yours," he sighed, flicking the twelve foot whip along the floor like a snake. "I think I'm going to have to abuse it a little."
"Not too roughly," she cried, "I do have to sit down on it from time to time."
He repressed his laugh. He did enjoy Candice's sense of humor, but felt there was a time and a place for everything. And when his cock was stiff, he was not into laughing.
Bringing the whip up of the floor, he cracked it several times in the air, excited by the sound of cracking rawhide. As his body began to sweat with excitement, he smelled the odor of sweat mingled with leather. It was a smell that excited him very much.
He brought the tip of the whip stinging against Candice's bare bottom.
"Oh, God," she screamed. "That hurts.
Please, Jim, enough for today."
Again, and again, he cracked the whip against her ass. His cock was pounding with excitement as he tore open her ass flesh. She was crying, trembling with fear half for real, and half to excite her man. They had developed quite an understanding for each other's sexual individuality.
Now and then they both went a bit too far and Jim crossed the border of acceptable pain. Even as a masochist, Candice had her limits. And he didn't like to lose control. To him, it was a sign of weakness.
Cracking the whip, listening her screams, and enjoying the sensation of his cock pressing powerfully against his pants excited him terribly. But when he went crazy, and began whipping in a frenzy, losing all control of his senses, he hated himself.
Again, and again he let the tip of the whip sting against Candice's lovely behind.
"Oh, Jim," she cried, "this is really enough. I don't think I can take much more of it. Please do stop."
"But he was rapidly approaching the point of no return that no man's land between self-restraint, and being sucked powerfully into the vortex of his own madness.
Again and again he cracked the whip against her ass. Tiny rivers of blood were running down the length of her legs. The little ribbons of crimson excited him. They contrasted beautifully against her tanned flesh.
"Oh, Jim," she moaned, "you are being evil again. Please stop."
Suddenly, and luckily for Candice, Jim came back. into focus. He shook his head slightly, and smiled with the awareness of having pulled himself out of a mental nose-dive.
"Jim, please stop," she hadn't realized that he was calming.
"I'm sorry," he said, "did I go too far again?"
"I'll say," she turned, and looked at the damage on her ass. Look, there's even blood. Oh, you are a devil, Jim Richards."
The young woman began to move away from the wall.
"Don't move," he said, gripping the whip handle tightly. "I like you just the way you are."
"But I want to wash the blood off before it dries," she said. "Really, Richard, this is too much."
"Don't back talk me," he snapped. "I'm just discovering how lovely your ass is. I want to make nice to it."
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking?"
"Could be, my lovely flower."
"No, Jim," she pouted, ready to cry again, "you promised you wouldn't do that anymore."
"Promises are made to be broken," he said. "Let me rub some cocoa butter into your wounds, my love. It will let you heal easier, and it does smell nice."
The leather clad man took an opened bar of cocoa butter off a small cabinet, and began smearing the pale lubricant into her fresh wounds. She was still facing the wall, with her legs spread. She knew better than to change positions when she had been ordered not to.
He reached before her and began rubbing the cocoa butter into her full, well-shaped breasts. He sighed with pleasure as he covered the flesh with the soft cream. He was beginning to feel passionate, rubbing the warm cream into her swollen breasts, toying with her nipples.
"Feels good, eh?" he sighed.
"You are such a crazy man, Jim," she smiled. "First you hurt me, then you make nice, and then you will hurt me again. I know how you work."
"And I know that you love it," he leaned forward and kissed her on the back of the neck. "I do love you, Candice. I hope you know that."
"I do," she smiled. "I'm crazy, too, just like you.
"The entire world is mad," he said, "we at least act it out. We're the only honest ones around."
Jim covered his fingers with the sweet smelling butter, and reached beneath her thighs, from the rear. He began rubbing the cream over her pussy, feeling her erect clitoris press against his fingers. He pressed two fingers into her vagina, and she swooned with pleasure. He was getting through to her, and she loved it.
Back and forth he moved his fingers over her pussy. And her sexual temperature was rising fast. Only when he could feel her hot lubricating juices run over his fingers, did he begin moving towards the real object of his desire.
She moaned with pleasure, mingled with shock, and fear, as his hands moved over her firm ass globes. She knew what he was saying with his fingers. He was saying that he was going to take his pleasure in her little rear opening.
Both his hands were working rhythmically over her ass cheeks. His cock was pounding with desire as his fingers moved closer and closer to the beige little opening.
"Oh, Jim," she moaned, "you will be gentle, won't you."
"Of course," he said automatically, but he was totally unaware of what she was saying. His only thoughts centered on her anus, and his mad craving to drive his erect penis deep inside.
"Oh, I do hate it so when you toy with my anus," she said.
"Please stop talking and relax," he said as he slid his greasy fingers over her lubricated pussy.
She braced herself for pain and in so doing, pressed down and contracted her sphincter muscle as he his fingers pressed against her anus.
She screamed.
"Relax, dammit," he scowled, pressing his index finger slowly into her anus.
"Oh, Jim, please don't..."
But she knew he wasn't really listening. And that he didn't really care whether or not he was hurting her. He was a man intent on buggery.
She tried to relax, as his finger moved slowly in and out of her anus. She was beginning to feel cramps, and hot flashes of pain shoot in and out of her rectum.
She tried her best to relax, but it was difficult. She knew that if she whimpered too much, he would get violent. Playing with Jim was like walking on fire. The only way to bear it was to imagine it wasn't really happening.
Jim now had two fingers in her ass, and he was forcing his way in and out with violent motions. She was slowly beginning to relax not so much because she willed it, but because he was stretching her with his digits.
Beads of perspiration were forming on the lovely young woman's forehead as he finger-fucked her ass-hole. He was hurting her, and all she could do was bite her lip.
"Could I at least masturbate?" she gasped, knowing that if she was at least turned on, the pain would not be nearly so intense.
"Of course," he moaned, not really listening. His eyes were glued to the activity of his fingers in her rear.
His cock was straining, ready to burst through his pants. He loved the building drama, the desire in his balls. Pulling the whip off his pants' loop, he pressed the handle against her stretched anus.
"Not the whip handle," she cried out. "It's much too big. Please, Jim..."
But he wasn't about to stop. Slowly, he pressed the head of the whip into her anus. He watched carefully as the fat handle disappeared into her bowels. Very slowly, he pushed, and pulled on the handle. She gasped with pain, and horror as it went deeply inside of her, stretching her painfully, and then then was pulled out.
"I can't take much more of this," she screamed. "Really, Jim," she was sobbing now, "it hurts. Oh, it hurts so much. Please don't."
"There, that's all," he smiled, as he dropped the soiled whip to the floor. "Now, you are ready for me."
"Please be gentle," she begged, "you hurt me so much."
He didn't answer, as he fumbled with the rawhide straps which served as the zipper on his pants.
Pulling his huge erect penis out of the tight-fitting leather pants, he stroked it several times, moaning with pleasure and then placed his arm around the beautiful young woman's waist, and pressed the head of his dick to her anus.
"Oh, please," she moaned, "it hurts already."
He moved his hand down to her bush, and began toying with the woman's erect clitoris. Slowly, she began to relax. He didn't plunge in deeply immediately. He took his time, stroking her clitoris, trying to get her lost in a sea of pleasure, so that he could take his pleasure in her ass-hole.
"Oh, yea, darling," the brunette began to moan. "It feels good. Just like that. I like it."
What she was referring to was the interesting sensation of having her clitoris aroused, while just the tip of his penis was pressed slightly into her anus.
Hot flashes of excitement shot into her rear, while her clitoris throbbed with excitement. She began to sway on her feet, feeling the rhythm of sexual heat shoot through her.
"Oh, yea, babe," she moaned, "I think I'm going to come soon. You are so good to me."
He didn't want her to come yet. He wanted to tease her, to make her beg for the orgasm, with his cock shoved deeply up her ass-hole.
"Wait a while, sugar," he said, removing his finger tips from her clit, and generally rubbing her pussy.
As he did this, he began to shove his meat slowly into her bottom.
She arched her back, and cried out with pain, as the large penis began to sink into her bottom.
"Oh, baby," she cried, buckling at the knees, "I don't know if I can take it."
"Of course you can," he said, pressing his fingers back against her clit. Several strokes, and the halting of his entrance into her behind, restored her strength, and she was again moaning with pleasure.
He unhooked the whip, and very methodically wrapped it around the young woman's neck, and shoulders. He pressed his nose against the whip after he had encircled her upper torso, and thrilled at the scent of leather, while he pressed his cock deeper and deeper into the woman's ass-hole.
"Oh, Jim," she moaned, "please, I don't know if I can take it."
"Take it, woman," he shouted, as he forced his fat erection deep inside her. "Learn to like this," he gasped. "This is what I like the most, and you will damn well learn to like it."
"Oh, Jim," she buckled, "it hurts."
"Shut up," he pulled at the leather whip around her throat. "Play with yourself, come. Hurry, I can feel my jism boiling in my nuts."
"Oh, yea," she moaned, "that is better." Her fingers were moving rapidly over her erect, sensitive clitoris. Deeper and deeper he forced his cock into her ass-hole.
When he was finally in to the hilt, pressing his pubis against her firm ass globes, he moaned with pleasure as began ramming his stick in and out of her.
"Oh, I do like that," he moaned. "Your ass-hole is so tight, and nice."
"Please be gentle," but she didn't sound as if she really meant it. She was very close to orgasm, as her fingers worked swiftly over her swollen clit, and moved gently in and out of her lubricated twat.
"I am going to come soon," she moaned.
"That makes two of us."
"Oh, honey," she moaned. "We'll come together."
"Yea," he said, pulling at the whip wrapped around her neck.
And then they began to come.
Candice hugged the wall as her orgasm thundered through her groin. Her clitoris was throbbing with desire, and her anus tightened instinctively around his hot stick. He thrust it in and out of her, and she was now returning the pumps, enjoying the burning sensation of cock in her ass.
When the jism began to spurt from his tool into her bowels, he grabbed her tightly, and forced his cock powerfully in and out of the tight opening.
"Oh, babe," she moaned, "now I like it. I think I'll learn to like buggery one of these days. Oh, yea."
"Well, it's about time," he said. "Since you know that it's ass sex that I love, you should have learned to love it weeks ago."
"Try to be understanding," she said, as the black leather-clad man pulled his rod from her behind. "I must say, I enjoyed that so much."
"Can I move from the wall now?" she asked.
"Yes, of course," he said, pulling the whip from around her, and pushing his cock back in his trousers.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," she moaned, turning, and rushing into the young man's arms.
"Cut it out," he said, moving back from her. "You know I don't like your syrupy emotionalism."
"Please give me a break," the naked woman pleaded with her eyes. "I have so much love to give you. Won't you let me?"
"No," he shouted. "Now stop it! We have a fine relationship, why the hell would you want to spoil it with emotional shit?"
"But it's not shit," she said, "and until you learn that, you are going to be a very unhappy young man."
"I don't want to hear this kind of shit, please, Candice!"
But she didn't stop. The young woman was in love with Jim, and she desperately wanted to understand him.
"Haven't I let you do everything you want to me? I let you beat me, fuck me in the ass, and abuse me in every way imaginable. You might be right, Jim. Maybe I am a masochist. But I want more than simply pain. I want love, and affection. At least be my friend."
"I am your friend," he said. "What do you want from me, anyway?"
He was beginning to soften somewhat to her emotional cravings.
"Just to talk, honey," she wiped the tears from her eyes with the side of her hand. "About what?"
"About you," she smiled, sensing that Jim was beginning to finally understand her.
"What do you want to know?"
"Why are you such a brute? Why do you have so much anger in you? Have you always been like this?"
"You certainly want to know a lot," he said.
"I love you, Jim," she said. "Doesn't it make sense that I would want to know you? Several weeks ago you walked up to me in a bar, dressed in black leather, and asked me if I wanted a drink. Well, I almost laughed in your face because of what you were wearing. I can't tell you how many jokes go around about leather boys like you."
"I'm not a leather boy!"
"I know that now," she said. "I know that you are a fine writer, and a very wealthy man .
"And I can afford to indulge any fantasy I want," he scoffed. "I can be as eccentric as I wish."
"Of course you can," she said. "What is it, money you want."
"It's not that at all," she was beginning to cry again.
"What the hell are you crying for?"
"Because you frustrate me so much," she moved into his arms, and nestled her head against his leather clad shoulder.
"Okay, honey," he smiled. "So you want to know about me why I am the way I am?"
"Please, honey. Tell me about the leather, and the anger."
"I guess it all started back when I was a child..."
The handsome young man was carried back to his childhood.
He recalled the horror of growing up, the misery of having a sadistic father, and a frightened mother. He was an only child, the son of a wealthy attorney, and a former fashion model, you happened to resemble Candice.
They had been extremely happy when they were first married. They had been college sweethearts at the University of Pennsylvania. She was studying music, and he was in his senior year of law school.
They were married when he passed the bar, and became a junior partner in his father's law firm.
They were very much in love, and instant success enabled them to have a model marriage at first.
Mary Richards didn't have to work, her husband, Harold, earned a vast sum of money.
They bought a large manor house outside of Philadelphia the first year Harold was out of law school, and Mary kept busy playing the piano (her greatest passion in life), and keeping house.
Mary had married into a very distinguished Philadelphia family, and she was soon a member of the elect. Her name was in the social register, they joined several private clubs, as well as the most prestigious country Club in the county.
At first Jim's mother was very happy. But as the second year of the marriage came around, she began to grow bored. Society life was stifling for her. She missed the interesting, eccentric, creative types she had studied music with at the university.
Harold's law partners, and his friends mostly all lawyers, and doctors were stuffy, and Mary found them boring. Their wives were even more boring, she felt.
The second year in the marriage, she began to push for a baby. She told her husband that she felt a child would keep her occupied, and fulfill her as a woman. But Harold Richards was a man in a hurry. He was in a hurry to build the largest law firm in the east. And he didn't have time to worry about raising a child. He told Mary that they should wait a few years, "until life had become settled."
To keep her happy, and out of mischief, Harold bought several adjoining acres to their property, as well as some farm machinery, and livestock. He thought his wife would enjoy playing the role of gentlewoman farmer. In the back of his mind, he had plans to eventually raise quarter horses.
For a year or so, she was pleased to play this role. She was seeing less and less of her husband as his business contacts grew, and he signed several international accounts.
Now, in addition to serving the needs of numerous east coast corporate and private clients, he had business commitments which took him to the four corners of the earth.
She was desperately lonely, and dreamed of nothing else than a child. Yet Mary knew that Harold would never consent. She was just beginning to realize how selfish he was. All he cared about was himself, and his law practice.
Mary Richards decided to trick her husband. While he was in Tokyo on business, she went off the pill. She awaited his return several weeks later, when she knew that: she would be in the middle of her ovulation cycle. She was going to have her baby. And she was a stubborn woman.
There was nothing special about the night Jim was conceived. He was only home for a few days, before having to fly to Jamaica, to close a new deal.
She purposely got him drunk and seduced him. They made love very infrequently anyway, and it was easy to steal his seed. It was not a very memorable fuck. Harold was a premature ejaculator. But she had his seed. And that's all she wanted.
Harold Richards was furious when he discovered his wife was pregnant. He insisted she have an abortion, but she refused. He never forgave her for what he claimed was "tricking him."
He began to spend more and more time away from home, and Mary knew it wasn't all business. And when Jim was born, he couldn't be found.
Harold didn't see his new son until Jim was over a month old. Of course, the child sensed all that was going on around him, and though he had his mother's love as neurotic as it was he was never able to feel close to his father.
Afraid of tarnishing his professional reputation, as well as his social position, Harold Richards would not consider a divorce.
He instead became increasingly estranged from his wife, and young son. By the time Jim was five years old, his father's law practice had grown to the point, where a new crop of junior partners were able to take over the lion's share of the work load.
Most of Harold's work was conducted from an office in the house. And that usually required very little time. Normally, he would speak to the office several times a day by phone, guiding the development of important cases.
Most of his day was spent in the newly built stables. He was quite proud of the string of race horses he had bought, and he had plans to make a big name for himself on the racing circuit.
Harold had as little to do with his son as possible. They hardly ever spoke, and when they did, the father insisted the child call him sir, and not bother him unless the matter was absolutely urgent.
Mary didn't want her son to grow up to be a Mama's boy, so she had him become involved in the Boy Scouts, and other masculine" organizations.
Still, the young man was experiencing grave difficulties in coping with life. He felt bitter about his estrangement from his father, and by the time he was twelve years old, he had already been kicked out of most of the private school in Philadelphia. He couldn't keep his hands off the other students. And almost daily he was involved in fist fights.
Mary tried sending the boy to psychiatrists, but he wouldn't cooperate with them. He didn't trust anyone but his mother, and as her mental condition began to deteriorate, and she became increasingly neurotic, and self-pitying, there was virtually no one for the growing lad to talk to.
There were no schools left in the area which would allow him as a student, so Mary had to hire tutors to come to the farm.
But, he was quite abusive with them, and ultimately, Jim ceased his formal education at the age of sixteen. He was by no means dull; he was a vociferous reader, and writer, and his mother held hopes that he would one day make her proud somehow.
She began to worry about that, when he showed up one day on a Harley Davidson motorcycle, wearing a black leather jacket. He had seen Marlon Brando in the Wild One on television, and had at last found a hero, a male figure he could relate to.
He was desperately angry at the world.
His father by this time had absolutely nothing to do with him, and had discussed with Mary, on numerous occasions, the need to throw "the worthless boy" off the farm.
By law, the mother could keep him until he was eighteen.
Of course, Jim was aware of all that was going on, and it made him burn with hate.
He had no friends, and spent all his time racing his motorcycle on back country roads, and reading novels in his room. He was almost eighteen, and he had never been with a woman. He didn't feel at all bad about that either. He harbored too much hate, and anger to allow himself to be close to anyone.
His mother had become an alcoholic, and he couldn't trust her anymore.
And then, on the day of his birthday, his father knocked on his door, and walked in. Jim was surprised, because he could not recall his father ever being in his room before.
"Hi, Dad," the young man hoped, desperately, that perhaps his father would one day love him. As much as he acted to the contrary, Jim wanted his father to love "What trash are you reading now?" Harold Richards scowled at his son, who, clad in blue jeans, and leather jacket, was sitting on the bed, reading.
"Madame Bovary," he said. "What is that, some pornography."
"No, father," the sensitive, but angry young man returned the vicious look, "it's a fine novel, by Gustave Flaubert."
"French bullshit, if you ask me."
"I didn't," the son became defensive, realizing that there would indeed never be love between them. "What is it that you want?"
"Well, you are eighteen now," Harold said. "I'm surprised you remembered."
"Don't be impertinent with me, young man," the lawyer shouted. "I think I'm still man enough to break your worthless neck if you force the issue."
Jim could feel his muscles strain, and the hate boil in his belly. But he wouldn't strike his father while his mother was still alive. He knew that despite what his father had done to both of them, his mother still desired to keep some semblance of order in their lives.
"Did you just come in my room to say nasty things?"
"No, not at all," the lawyer smiled. "I came to simply inform you that I want you off the property. You are eighteen now, and legally you're an adult though I often wonder if that could be true in your case. Don't think that your mother can pull you out of this one, because I am the head of this household, and if you make trouble, I'll just divorce her and throw both of you out on your ass."
"Well, I'm glad," the young man screamed. "I can't get out of here soon enough. In fact, I'll leave tonight."
"That's perfect," Harold said. "And take what you can fit on your motorcycle with you. I plan on burning what you leave behind to get rid of every trace of you."
"Just tell me, father," his fists were clenched, but he restrained himself from attacking the man he loathed with all his heart and soul, " why to you hate me so much?"
"Because I never wanted you," he replied, in a perfectly calm manner. "You're mother tricked me. She wanted a child. Perhaps if I had been privy to the planning, it would have been different. But as far as I'm concerned, you are simply a little bastard totally unwanted."
"I see, father," he smiled. "Now I understand all the misery you've put me through these last eighteen years."
"Don't try to lay any guilt trips on me, you worthless sack of shit. Why, you aren't even worth the powder to blow you up. It could have been different. If you would have done well in sports, or even received high marks in school, I might have learned to love you. But look at you. All you do is sit around and shine your motorcycle, and read novels. You are absolutely without socially redeeming value."
"Thank you, father," Jim smiled, "I guess I'm just a chip off the old block."
"Very funny," the lawyer turned to leave. "If you were only half as important to me as the slowest of my race horses, I wouldn't be doing this. I might even give you space in my stable. But the way I see it, you should be out in the poison of society. I never want to hear from you again I know you'll simply end up in some prison somewhere."
"Great dialogue, Dad," Jim laughed. "I'll have to remember what you said. "I can put it in some novel in the future."
"You'll never even know how to write your name properly," the lawyer laughed, and left the room.
The father slammed the door. Jim was relieved by the dramatic break-Jim immediately got up from the bed, and went to his closet to get his motorcycle saddle bags. He began putting his few belongings of importance into the bags several pairs of jeans, a few shirts, and several novels and note pads.
He left his room forever a half hour after his father had addressed him.
He stopped in his mother's room to say goodbye, and was deeply hurt to find her so drunk that she couldn't even focus on him. She hadn't the slightest idea of what he was talking about. He left her a note. This note was eventually published in an Eastern literary journal, thanks to his mother sending it in two days before her suicide. The positive response to the note from publishers and literary critics alike, led the struggling young writer to numerous contracts for novels.
The letter is as follows:
"Dear Mom, I really wish I could have discussed all this with you personally, but you were too drunk. I know it's not your fault life is complex, and I can't even begin to fathom the hidden meanings' and motives. I think we both know how much we have suffered. And I know that in my heart, I can never forget father the man you married for what he has done to us.
"You only wanted to play the piano, raise children, and strive to be happy. He never let you. He simply wanted you for a show piece. He is the most selfish human being I have ever encountered, or even read about.
"I cannot fathom why, in the scheme of life, this should have happened. I can at least rationalize it by feeling that the hideous experience of my life will, no doubt, give me much material to write about in the novels I know that I will one day write. But I can imagine no reason for the suffering you have had to endure.
"I know enough about life," he continued, "to know that the kind of suffering we have lived through is not necessary. I hope that someday I can learn to forgive life, and have a fulfilling life. All I feel now is hate, and a desire to hurt people. I know it doesn't make sense, and I don't want you to think that you have been a failure as a mother because I turned out the way I did.
"Perhaps I will write a book soon," he wrote, "and in it I will be able to express all these things in a way that other people can learn how important love is. Do you see what has happened to us because father could not find it in his heart to love us. You, at least, are not so young anymore. It's not like me. I am only eighteen, and I have a life ahead of me-years and years of time to kill. And the years will surely kill me with the bitterness I feel inside of me.
"I feel as though I am dead inside. And I am so angry about it. I want to punish the world for what has happened to me. I hope you don't think I am sick for writing this. Pray for me. I pray for you, even though I can't imagine that there is truly a God who would allow all these terrible things to happen to us.
"I have to leave now," he wrote, "and I think it's best that I just disappear forever. I know that father can never love me. I don't think he is really capable of love, anyway.
"And I hope that with me out of the way, your own life will flow better. Maybe with me out of the way, you and father can at least become close again. You must have liked each other once. You did marry him.
"I guess that's all I have to say, mother," he wrote. "Don't worry about me. I'm full of anger, and I think it will give me fuel for a creative life. I only hope that I can learn to be happy.
"I will have my revenge against father," he wrote, "I am going to kill all of his beloved race horses even the colts. It doesn't seem right to me that they should live, and enjoy all his love, and attention, while we have been forgotten, and quite neglected. Goodbye, mother, and please remember that I love you. I hope someday to redeem us through my literary efforts."
After penning the letter, he left it on the drunken woman's bedside table, and left the house with his saddle bags over his shoulder.
He walked down to the stables, feeling bad for what he had to do, because of the innocent horses. He knew it was the best way of punishing his father. And revenge for the eighteen years of misery seemed muchmore important than than the horses.
Inside the warm stable much warmer than any emotional life he had ever known, Jim Richards placed his saddle bags on the straw-covered floor, and searched for a weapon.
He found the large knife that was used to cut the twine on the bales of hay, and sharpening it on on a whetstone, he moved from stall to stall, cutting the throats of the horses.
He felt badly for them, as they dropped to their knees, blood spurting from then-amputated arteries. But his anger seemed much more important to him than his father's beloved horses.
As the last horse, a two month old colt, dropped to his knees, he tossed the knife aside and taking his saddle bags, climbed atop his motorcycle. An hour later, he was on the highway leading to New York City.
New York City provided many challenges for the young man. He was by no means broke, as there was a sizeable trust fund that had been setup for him.
He simply had the fund transferred from Philadelphia to New York City. He found an apartment in the Upper Westside, and bought a typewriter. He began right away to work on a novel the story of his life, as recalled in flashbacks while riding a motorcycle across America. t
Jim had a lot of confidence in his writing, and in the story he wanted to tell. He labored ceaselessly on the novel for six months, taking a break only to attend his mother's funeral.
His father was not at the ceremony. Mary Richard's suicide filled him with resolve to become a successful writer. Rather than depress him, he became stronger. It was for his mother that he now wrote, and he found that with a purpose like that, his writing improved manifold.
He was still working on the second draft of the novel when he turned nineteen. It dawned on him that at nineteen, he was old enough to have a woman.
Despite the fact that he didn't feel there was any emotional life in him that it would be quite impossible to truly feel love he did want to take the sexual step into manhood.
New York City is a very easy place to get laid, if that's what one is looking for. It's perhaps the most difficult city in the world to find love, however. And that suited the angry young man just fine.
He found his prostitute cruising on Park Avenue, and followed her to a tacky transient hotel on one of the Eastside's side streets.
The woman was rather attractive, and young, and Jim did feel quite a physical attraction to the redhead.
Cynthia was rather attracted to the handsome young man, though she was a bit put off by his leather jacket and motorcycle cap.
"There are only two kinds of men in this city who dress like that," she said.
"And who are they?" Jim looked forward to an education in the sexual types of New York.
"Faggots, and straights who are into S&M."
"Faggots I know," he smiled, "and I assure you that I am not one of those. But what is S&M?"
"Sado-Masochism," she replied, "where are you from anyway?"
"Philadelphia," he replied.
"Well, you seem like a country bumpkin."
"I am, in a way."
"Well, you're cute anyway."
He liked the way the attractive redhead talked to him. Up in the hotel room, he sat on the bed and watched her while she undressed.
"You just like to look?"
"Well, it is all so new to me."
"Now, you are probably going to tell me that you are a God-dammed virgin, and want me to show you how."
"Well, actually I am," he smiled sheepishly. For the first time in his life, he was beginning to feel a little tenderness for someone beside his mother.
"That's the story of my life," she laughed. "AH I seem to get are the virgins, and the perverts. Aren't there any normal men out there?"
"You don't have to be cruel," he said. "Gee, I'm sorry, kid," she said. "I didn't take you for the sensitive type. I guess it's that black leather."
"I can't imagine what my jacket and cap have to do with anything," he snapped, starting to feel defensive.
"Easy does it, honey," she smiled. "You are quite an angry young man, aren't you?"
He only stared at her while she removed her bra.
"You like my tits?" the attractive redhead asked.
"Yea, they're nice," he said.
He had never been with a naked woman before. When she had stripped down to her black bikini panties, he found himself getting quite hot and excited.
He took off his jacket.
"That's it, good looking," she smiled, "why don't you take off all your clothes. That will make all of this much easier. Do you have the money?"
"Yea, I got money," he was beginning to feel intimidated by this woman.
"Do you mind if I see it?"
"Look lady, I don't know what the problem is," he was growing furious. "I have money. How much do you want?"
"How about thirty dollars?"
"Fine," he pulled his wallet out, and tossed three tens on the bed.
"That's a good boy," she smiled, slipping out of her panties. "You know, nowadays, a girl can't be too careful about the Johns she picks up. There are more screwballs in New York than anywhere on earth. I'm convinced of that."
But Jim wasn't listening. He was staring at the woman's mound of red pubic hair.
He had never imagined that redhead's have red hair on their genitals.
"Haven't you ever seen a naked woman before?" she laughed as she sat beside the teenager on the bed.
"In pictures," he replied.
"That doesn't count," she smiled. "Come on, take your clothes off. Let me see what you're hiding."
"What do you mean, hiding?"
"You cock," she laughed. "Jesus, you sure are square."
"Listen lady," Jim started to get off the bed, '. 'if this thing is going to be an exchange of insults, why don't we just forget it?"
"Calm down, youngster," the hardened prostitute said. "I just want to give you your money's worth, that's all. It is your first time."
"You keep saying it like I'm a freak or something," he said. "I'm only nineteen. What do you expect?"
"Nowadays, the eleven year olds are getting it on," she sat back and smiled sardonically.
"Listen you bitch," he grabbed her by the hair. "Just tell me what I'm supposed to do, and keep your mouth shut."
"See, I knew you were some sort of sadist a damned sadist. You just want to beat me. That's it, isn't it?"
What the young man had no way of knowing is that this lovely redheaded hooker was a masochist. She desperately wanted the handsome young virgin to beat her senseless. That was the only joy she knew in sex. Too much hooking had taken all the pleasure out of normal relations. They had to be sick.
"Don't talk back to me," she laughed. "You street punks think you can shove everyone around. Well, you can't shove me around. I'll bet you're a little fairie, aren't you?"
Suddenly, Jim felt his temper explode. He struck the woman, and she kept laughing. He hit her again, and again, and again, and each time he struck her, she seemed to enjoy it more.
He was totally baffled.
But strangely, he felt his penis grow rock hard in his jeans as he hit her. She was smart enough to notice the bulge in his pants, and she knew why it got there.
"Okay, friend," she smiled. "I think we finally understand each other."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is we should stop shitting each other. You are a sadist, and I'm a masochist. We're bent folk, and that's how we get our kicks."
"I'm not paying you thirty bucks to be psychoanalyzed," he snapped.
"I know," she smiled. "You are paying me to make a man out of you. But you are going to have to help me with that little chore. I fear that you might be a hopeless case."
She finally succeeded in pushing him over the edge. In a fury that had been building in him for so many years, he grabbed the woman by the hair, and began slapping her powerfully across the face. Again, and again he struck her. She was moaning with pleasure. The more he hurt her, the more she seemed to like it.
And what surprised the hell out of him, was that he enjoyed it as well. Cynthia was right. He was a sadist. But he wasn't thinking at this point. He was bent on having his sexual satisfaction from this teasing woman.
She pulled away from him, and laughed, while she spread her legs, and used her fingers to expose her pussy.
"I'll bet you'd like to stick your rod in there, wouldn't you, boy?"
Jim stood and began tearing at his clothes.
He tossed his jacket aside, and tore his tee-shirt off. She stared with sexual hunger at his youthful figure.
"Take it all off," she laughed. "I'll bet you have the tiniest little cock in town."
He reddened with embarrassment, and struck her across the face with hositility.
"Oh, I like that, boy," she laughed. "You can do that to me all night."
And suddenly they both began laughing.
"Oh, this is all insane," he sat down and laughed at the both of them.
"But it's fun, isn't it? We're like actors on a stage. Tonight it's a comedy. Tomorrow it might be a tragedy. Who knows, maybe there will be a happy ending."
"Let's hope so."
"Now, let's get you undressed," she sighed. "I promise to be nice because this is your first night. Funny how I spotted you for a sadist. You didn't even know you were one."
"I didn't even know what the word meant, really, until I met you."
"Well, I hope we do have a long, and fulfilling friendship," the lovely woman said, as she pulled Jim's black boots off his feet, and helped him off with his tight jeans.
"Say, I like a man who doesn't wear drawers."
"I can't stand the feeling of anything grabbing at my balls."
"Well, you won't mind if I grab at them, will you?"
And when she had said that, she put her hand around the virgin's erect cock, and began stroking him.
"That feels real good, doesn't it?" she smiled.
"Yea," he lay back on the bed and watched her stroke his cock.
"If I'm nice to you, and make you feel good, will you do whatever I want to me?"
"Yea, sure," he moaned. He wasn't really listening. Her expert hand movements over his cock shaft turned him on excessively.
The lovely redhead tossed her long tresses back over her shoulder, and brought her lovely lips to the head of his cock. He moaned with pleasure as he felt her warm, moistened mouth close over his cock.
Slowly, she took the entire head of his cock in her mouth, running her tongue over he sensitive flesh. Her fingers closed over his balls, which she stroked lovingly while her mouth moved up and down the sex stick.
Jim felt a natural emotional warmth for the woman who was teaching him about sex. He reached out to stroke her lovely red hair, but was surprised when she drew back.
"Don't be nice to me, boy," she warned. "I don't like emotional shit. I want it straight, and mean. I am just being nice to you now because it's your first time."
He didn't say anything in reply. He didn't understand this woman, but he did realize that he enjoyed the perversion that was going on. He remembered how nice it felt when he was angry at her, and grabbed her by the hair.
And she seemed to like it very much.
Cynthia went back to sucking his cock. She moved her mouth rapidly up and down the thick penis. Jim could feel his jism begin to boil in his nuts. He started pumping his rod into her mouth, and found that-she liked it.
The harder he pumped, the more she seemed to Tike it. The woman was most definitely a masochist, and Jim was beginning to enjoy acting out his hate through lust.
He shoved his cock deeply into the back of her throat as he came. And she moaned with pleasure as he shot hot jism into her mouth. He watched her swallow his load, and he trembled with excitement.
"There, wasn't . that nice?" she asked, removing her come-covered lips from this hot penis.
"Yea," he smiled. "I liked that a lot. What else can we do? I really would like to shoot off inside of you."
"You will," she smiled. "But first you have to do a favor for me."
"What?"
"Beat me."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes," she smiled. "It isn't as strange as all that, now. Don't go puritan on me. It's obvious that you enjoy inflicting pain. Well, I just like taking it."
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
"I want you to slap me, and whip me with your belt," she started to grow flushed in the face as she talked to him. She stared at his cock, and moved her head from side to side. You have such a handsome cock, and I do want to feel it shoved up my pussy. But first you have to earn the right. You have to hurt me. I know it won't come difficultly to you."
"Like this?" he slapped her gently across the face.
"No, harder," she said. "And let me hold your leather jacket while you are hitting me. The smell of leather turns me on when I'm feeling pain. You'll learn all these things as you develop into the sadist you were meant to be."
Jim started by smacking her gently. But the more he hit her, the more she seemed to like it. Her cries of passion turned him on, and he began hitting her harder and harder. She turned over and begged for him to use his belt on her ass.
Pulling the black leather belt out of the belt loops of his jeans, he doubled the leather strap and began spanking her. At first he was gentle, but the way she moaned with pleasure, he became quite turned on. Again, and again he brought the leather belt cracking down against her pink ass.
His cock was throbbing with desire, and then every nerve in his body seemed to scream out with pleasure. He was learning quickly how to translate his anger, and emotional pain into the release of sadistic pleasure.
The woman screamed with real pain, the affair was beginning to go too far. But he couldn't help himself. He was lost in a delirium of of pleasure.
"Stop, that's enough," she pleaded, rolling over, and trying to grab the belt. "That's too much!"
But he couldn't stop. His cock was thrilling to the sound of her protests. Again and again he hit her with the belt. He covered her pretty little breasts with the belt welts. Tears poured from her eyes.
"You're going too far," she cried out in excruciating pain.
Only when he was ready to fuck, did he toss the belt aside, and grab her by the hair. He pulled at her long locks as he tried to mount her.
"Calm down, you're going to hurt someone," she whimpered, as he climbed between her thighs, and blindly tried to shove his cock up her cunt.
"This isn't how it's supposed to be," she cried.
But he wasn't listening. He was berserk with built up hostility and sexual need. He pounded his cock in and out of her pussy, inflicting pain. He pressed his mouth against one full breast, then the other, sucking wildly at the now frightened woman's nipples. He pounded his cock in and out of her as if she were a container of putty. He had no idea of the damage he was doing to her.
His head reeling with drunken perversion. He couldn't get enough. And the more she cried, and tried to break away from his grip on her, the more he enjoyed himself.
"Oh, God," she cried out, "you're going to kill me. You're going too far. Please stop. In the name of sanity, please take your cock out of me."
She might as well have been talking to the wall. He didn't listen to a thing she said. Instead, he pulled his cock from her cunt, rolled her over, and prepared to do the same damage to her anus.
"Please," she cried, "Let me rest. Leave my ass alone. You are too rough. Please, this isn't for real. We were just playing, remember?"
"Shut up, you damned whore bitch," he screamed.
She grabbed the leather jacket, and pulled it under her face as a pillow. She sniffed the pungent leather, becoming intoxicated with perverse lust, as she felt the huge erection press against her rather tight anus.
She wasn't sure at that stage whether she was enjoying herself, or whether her life was in danger. That's the nature of such violent fetishes.
"Oh, God, you're going to split me in two," she whimpered as the large prick was forced up her behind. Yet she returned the thrusts, and was rapidly moving towards orgasm as he stuffed his cock in and out of her rectum.
Seconds later, Jim shot a load of hot spunk into her ass-hole.
The young woman came seconds after that.
They lay quietly on the bed for many moments.
"Well, you sure as hell aren't a virgin anymore," she smiled, turning over.
"I guess not," he sat up. "Jesus, did I do that to you?"
Jim was looking at the bloody welts on her breasts, back, and ass.
"You sure as hell did," she smiled, painfully. "I thought for sure you were going to kill me and put an end to my misery. No such luck, I'm afraid."
"I guess I blacked out or something," he said. "Gee, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Don't be stupid," she laughed. "I begged for it. It's my thing."
"You really like that?"
"Yep, I sure do. About, as much as you like doing it."
"Oh, God," he put his face in his hands, sobbing gently, "what's wrong with me? Why can't I be normal like other people?"
"Those so-called normal people would like to be like you, believe me," she stroked his hair. "It all starts in childhood. I'll bet you were raised in a sick excuse for a family."
"Yep," he raised his teary face from his hands.
'Me, too," she took is hand. "There must be some way people like us can find meaning in life."
"I hope so," he said. "Will I be able to see you again?"
"Sure," she smiled. "Same time, same station."
After that evening, Jim and Cynthia began seeing each other on a weekly basis. That relationship continued for six months. They explored all the phases of S&M love during that time. And within the framework of their sicknesses, they fell deeply in love.
Then one Sunday morning, while reading the New York Times, he came upon Cynthia's photo.
She had been found beaten to death.
For months after that, Jim visited the S&M bars in New York, picking up a woman here and there, to act out mutual madnesses with. Then he grew entirely bored with the whole matter of sex, and gave up sex altogether. He found it was not worth all the fuss.
And besides, it interfered with his creative life. He put all the energy he had been investing into his sexual relationships into his writing. Within six months after that, he had found a publisher for his book, and had a $10,000 dollar advance against royalties. He received rave critical reviews, and it was about this time that he met Candice Brinkley in a bar.
"Oh, Jim," Candice murmured, kissing him on the lips. "I'm so glad you told me all about it. I can understand you so much better now. You've had a hard life, honey. I hope that we can continue to grow closer together."
"I do, too," he kissed her on the lips. "It's funny, but I feel a great deal closer to you now. Getting to know each other means a lot to me. After losing my mother, and then Cynthia, I never really expected to find love again. Now there is hope in my, life once more."
"I feel exactly the same way. Let's always talk things out, and not just act out our craziness. Let's really get to know each other."
"I'm all for that," he said. "But it feels like there is so much unresolved hate in my life. I just don't know how to deal with it."
"I have an idea, honey," she smiled.
"Why not go see your father? Go and have it out with him."
"That might not be such a bad idea," the young man said. "I think I could kill him now, and then my life would be normal again. I should have killed him instead of his damn horses."
"Don't talk like that," she held him close. "I meant you should go have a talk with him, and try to get to know him again. Maybe there is hope for the two of you. If you could only purge yourself of all this hate. Maybe if you would just lose your temper with him, it would solve all the problems."
"Who are you kidding? Because of him my mother took her own life, and my life has been misery. There's no way I can forgive him. The only way I'll ever be satisfied is to see him in his grave." .
"You mustn't talk like that," she said. "It's a sin."
But Jim was no longer listening to what she said. The leather clothes creaked as he walked about the room, imagining himself beating his father to death. The more he thought about it the more vividly he imagined pressing his fingers down on his father's throat, blocking off the oxygen, killing him the better he felt.
"Jim, Jim," she cried out, " where are you going."
But he didn't answer.
Minutes later he was on his motorcycle racing down the road toward Philadelphia. All he could think about was putting his hands around his father's throat and squeezing the life out of him. What Jim, in all his hate, had forgotten, is that nearly ten years had passed since he left home. A great many things had changed since his departure, and his mother's suicide.
He would be riding his bike into a strange, different world, than the one he rode out of nearly ten years earlier. It was like time traveling. And one never knows what to expect when one faces the past.
His muscles were flexed with hate as he raced his motorcycle down the road towards the estate which at one time had been his unhappy home. He couldn't believe his eyes as he rode onto the estate.
Everything was overgrown and in shambles. Weeds were overtaking the fields, the fences were down, and the place looked desolate. In the early evening twilight, an eerie gloom hung over the place.
Jim didn't know what to think as he rode past the stables. No life stirred inside. He was more baffled than angry as he parked his Harley in front of the house and walked along the weed-infested walkway to the house.
He knocked on the front door, and studied the peeling paint. It seemed as thought the place had been abandoned years ago. He was almost ready to turn around and leave, when he heard footsteps inside.
The door opened slowly, and there before him stood his father, or at least what resembled his father.
The stroke paralyzed man looked as though he had aged fifty years since Jim had seem him last. His face was covered by a white, stubbly beard. The' man reeked of filth, and alcohol.
"Father, is it you?"
The man didn't reply, he seemed to be looking straight through the young man. "Father, what is it?"
The man began to babble, saliva dribbling over his lip, and down his chin.
Suddenly, all the anger was gone. The young successful writer realized that all the hate he had felt for so many years was no longer valid. Life had punished his father for what he had done to his mother and himself.
The old man seemed to have suddenly recognized Jim. He couldn't speak in a comprehensible manner, but he lifted his shaking, shrunken arm, and took the young man by the jacket, and seemed to indicate that he should come in.
Jim cautiously followed the old man into the house. He felt, however, that he should turn and run. Something inside was choking him. It was emotion, something which had been lying stored away for years and years.
He followed the trembling, obviously dying, old man into the house. The old man must have realized that it was Jim, his son, that he was leading through the house.
He led the young man to his old room. Jim followed his father inside, and was shocked to see that the room had not been changed at all since his sudden departure nearly a decade earlier.
The old man collapsed on the bed. Jim sat beside him and was shocked to see the copy of Madame Bovary, which he had tossed aside so many years ago, still lying open on the desk.
"Jim, Jim," the old man called his name.
"Yes, father, what is it?"
The old man mumbled something, but Jim couldn't quite understand. Then his father coughed several times, and collapsed on the bed. He was dead.
Jim took the body in his hands and stared into the old man's face. It was lifeless, and so very old and miserable. Untold tales of deep, unimaginable suffering showed in the man's face.
He slowly let the old man down on his old bed, and walked into the living room. He used the phone to call the police, to inform them of the death. The desk sergeant asked that Jim stay to give a report.
But he immediately went to his Harley, and raced off. His heart was pounding with freedom, and release. What he had found was much better than revenge.
He had found release from the terrible burden he had carried for so long. His father was dead, and now he could fully live. His father had suffered for what he had done to his wife and son. And he had been punished enough.
As Jim raced his motorcycle home to New York, he hoped Candice would be at his place, waiting for him.
There was so much he wanted to tell her. His heart was full, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he was ready to love.
Parking his bike outside his brownstone apartment, he raced inside. He had been gone nearly eight hours. But it seemed like an instant. He called out her name as he ran up the stairs.
"Here, Jim,"" she called, "I'm in here."
"Oh, Candice," he called out, tears running down his face, "I love you darling. I can really love. I am free!"
"Oh, I am so glad," she gushed, running into his arms, and kissing his face passionately. "I so missed you. You must tell me everything."
"There is so much to tell, and yet so little."
"Don't talk in riddles, like a dammed writer," she said. "Just tell me, plain and simple."
"He' dead, that's what happened."
"Oh, honey," she whimpered, "I am sorry. You didn't kill him, did you?"
"Of course not," he laughed. "It just happened that way. The place was a shambles. I think his life must have completely fallen apart after mother killed herself. And he must have had a stroke.
"He was a tired, broken old man," Jim talked at breathless speed.
"Slow down, honey," she squeezed him in her arms. "I do want to know all about it."
"Well," Jim said, "at first I wasn't sure that the old bastard recognized me. He seemed pretty far gone. He led me into the house. He was babbling so, and everything was a shambles. His life had completely disintegrated on him. It was sad, and all the hate that I had been harboring all those years suddenly vanished. And then he led me to my old room. And it hadn't changed at all. He kept it exactly the way it was."
"He must have regretted everything that happened."
"More than that," Jim began to cry again, "he really loved me."
"But, of course he did," she smiled. "Parents can't help but love their children, even if they wish they could hate them. It's simply an impossibility to hate what is part of you. Not deep down."
"I wish I had known all these things before," Jim sniffed. "My entire life seems now to have been a waste. I spent my youth filled with hate. What sort of life is that to live?"
"But it's over now," she was crying, too. They were both feeling the birth of true love, and the passing of the perverse need that had previously held them together.
"Isn't life grand, after all?" he laughed.
"It always was," she smiled, pressing her hand against his groin.
"And what about your leather clothes, and your belief in sadism?"
"It's all hogwash," he laughed, tearing his leather jacket off and throwing it across the room.
"You had better take these leather pants off also," she began pulling the leather straps aside.
"You're right," he laughed. "I certainly don't need these perverse reminders any longer of what a sham my life has been."
"Don't talk like that, honey," she said, pulling the pants down off his boots. "Everything happens for a reason."
"Well, I certainly can't think of any good reason why I should have suffered so much up until now."
"If only because now you can really enjoy life," Candice smiled. "You simply had to go through hell before you could get to heaven."
"Oh, you are so right," he laughed. "I can't remember ever being so happy. Let's get married. You've made me such a happy man."
"It's not me who has made you happy," she smiled, stroking his cock. "It's you. You allowed yourself to feel love again."
"Well, you helped me a lot with that."
"Very well," she smiled, getting to her knees on the floor. "To show you how much I appreciate having you back, I want to suck you better than you've ever been sucked before."
"My, you certainly are a little pervert," he laughed. "But first promise me that you will marry me."
"I do," she giggled, and then began stroking the large penis. The flacid member rapidly grew erect. As she ran her tongue over the tip of his cock, and listened to his murmurs of joy, and happiness, she realized that Jim had indeed overcome his perverse need to inflict pain to feel pleasure, and happiness.
He had become a normal human being again.
"Oh, my darling," he sighed, while the woman sucked his penis. "You've made me such a happy man. Can we have children, and a big house, and a happy life together?"
She looked up at him, her lovely eyes filled with tears of happiness, and ran her warm, moistened mouth down the length of his cock, and back again to show her happiness.
Seconds later, the happy young man ejaculated into the happy young woman's mouth. They dreamed they would live happily ever after.
Without leather.
Without pain.
"Oh, that was sweet, to be extremely emotionally free with you. So much pain for so long," Candice murmured. "But you know what's really strange."
"No, what's that."
"I miss the roughness."
"Now, if that isn't the most absurd story I've ever heard," Jim smiled, though with worry wrinkles etched deeply into his forehead. "After all that, and now you want me to hurt you again. I just don't know if I can."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Candice said. "It isn't like that at all. I'm so very happy that you've broken through that block of yours. If you only knew."
"Well, that is what I thought..."
"But it can't be that you are all of a sudden going to be some sort of prince charming, or really swell guy. Let's face it, Jim, you are a bit of a rogue at heart. And there is just no way you can overcome that. I think that now you have gained some new insight into your sensitive nature. And I am very pleased for that. I think you need to know that side of yourself. But for heavens sake, don't go pussy on me now. I need a man to hold and to love. And sometime I want my man to be rough with me, to lose his temper, you know, to be normal.
"If you start acting like a dammed priest with me why, I just think I'd lose interest in you," she was adamant.
"Oh, I see what you mean," he took Candice in his arms and kissed her mouth passionately. "You just don't want me pulling a schizo turnaround on you."
"Oh, then you do understand," she cooed. "I am so pleased, Jim."
"So, what am I supposed to do, slap you now, to show you how much I love you?"
"Oh, don't be silly," she laughed. And she laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. And Jim started laughing too. They seemed to have reached a deeper chord in their relationship. Their souls suddenly seemed to be touching.
"Oh, it is so damn nice to have all of you now," Candice gushed.
"I know, I know," his hands moved over her soft breasts. Her nipples became erect, and he lowered his lips to the firm little berries. "I want you so much, darling."
"How about if you fuck me in the ass, darling?"
"You mean you want me to?"
"Oh, yes, so much."
"But I've always had to force you."
"That was always half of the fun," she explained, with a wide smile on her face.
"Now, I do understand you," he laughed.
"You just want a hard time."
"Oh, yes, my darling," she smiled. "Rape me, honey."
"I will," he laughed, as he slapped her across the face, and turned her to the wall. "I'm going to shove my cock up your ass. How do you like them apples?"
"I think I much prefer cock in my ass than apples," she teased.
"Don't make fun of me," he said, bending her over, and pressing his meat against her anus.
"I'm not," she groaned, as she shoved the head of his dick up her tight ass-hole. "I was just making a joke."
"Some joke," he winced, as he shot his load deep in her.
"I want more of that," she said. "You've really got me going now."
"Give me a break, honey," he said, "I just rode my bike all the way in from Philadelphia, and gave you one hell of a fine ass fuck. What more do you want?"
"I miss the violence, darling."
"Haven't we already been through that?"
"Yes, but can't we pretend at least?"
"I think it's sick," he sighed. "I had a severe problem for so long because of all that shit. Do you think I really enjoyed hurting you? I didn't. I couldn't help myself. And now that
I've resolved this problem and want to shower you with my love. You don't want it."
"It's like life, honey," she smiled. "Come on, just smack me around a little bit."
"Oh, okay, but if I slip back into my old ways it's your damm fault."
"Don't lay those kind of responsibilities on me, mister."
"Oh, shut up," he snapped. "You started all of this shit anyway."
"I've had it with you."
"Now you are the bitch!"
"Don't call me a bitch, you creep!"
He drew back his hand, and without thinking, brought it crashing down on her face.
"You bastard!" she kicked him.
"You haven't seen anything yet, you little bitch you're out to ruin my life. I just can't be good enough for you, eh? Well, you're just like my father, and I'm going to give you a beating that you'll never forget. Maybe then you will learn!"
